Page 66 of One Bed

And she’d wanted to. It had taken all she had not to ask him whether he liked what he was reading. And damn her for wanting to tell him about the rest, abouteverything. Because she suspected he was the only person, apart from Golly, she could trust.

He got her, on levels she never thought were possible. She respected his opinions, loved his sharp mind, adored his body. Yeah, he was closed off, he kept his thoughts and emotions under tight control, but he wasn’t cold, or heartless. Someone caused him to keep his deepest feelings to himself, someone hurt him deeply enough for him to question being honest and open, to make him afraid of showing his softer side. Bea would like to track that person down and shove a fork in their throat.

She scooted back on the divan, and grimaced when she teetered on the edge of the dip. She stood up, and took the chair, and Gib moved to the short side of the coffee table, to face her again.

‘Since you know I’m Parker Kane, I might as well tell you why I can’t be Parker Kane.’

Gib frowned. Right, that was clear as mud.

He stood and went into the kitchen to grab two bottles of water from the fridge. After cracking the top for her and handing it over, he sat again, his expression pensive as he waited for her to open up. She liked that he didn’t badger her to talk, that he was content to let her take her time.

But it was hard, it always had been. As much as she loved Golly, her godmother wasn’t a sympathetic soul. She’d had friends at schools, but lost contact with them a short while after she and Gerry started dating. As for her ex…

Well, Gerry wasn’t interested in any subject beyond himself.

‘I told you I was raised by my dad, but that’s wrong. I raisedhim. I was an incredibly adult child, and I took on adult responsibilities … cooking meals, paying bills.’ She hauled in a breath, knowing the next bit would be hard. ‘Because of him, I sometimes still feel it’s my fault when people disappoint me. I’m compelled to make people happy, frequently to my own detriment. I’m overly responsible and have always felt the need to hold up the sky.’ What had she forgotten? Right, the big one. ‘And Ihatebeing criticised, even a little bit. It takes me straight back to my childhood. As a child, I made adult choices with adult consequences, but I was criticised when things went wrong.

That’s as much as I can say about my dad. It wasn’t fun, and holidays with Golly kept me sane.’

Gib picked up her hand and placed a kiss in her palm, before returning her hand to her lap. That little action and his lack of judgement encouraged her to continue.

‘My mum messed me up in other ways. Being a mother wasn’t something Lou was prepared to do or be. She was a journalist, covering social events, and she landed a job writing a weekly column for a tabloid newspaper. How, I don’t know, because her writing sucks.’

Did she sound bitter? Shewasbitter. Bea often wondered if her mother’s editors and readers realised how often Lou recycled phrases, ideas and thoughts. She was convinced Lou hadn’t had an original thought since 2001.

‘Go on,’ Gib encouraged, opening his water and draining half the bottle in one long swallow.

‘Lou rarely made an effort to see me, and ten years ago, her columns changed. She became more outspoken, and more outrageous in her views. Her work hit a nerve, because she started getting lots of reactions, both good and bad, to her opinion pieces.’ She wondered how to explain what her mother did next. ‘Have you ever seen those “Am I an asshole?” threads online?’

He nodded. ‘I’m familiar with the concept.’

‘Well, Lou started writing a monthly column called, ‘Am I wrong?’. She’d take a hot topic, and twist it up, spin it around, mock it, and cause mayhem. She became a household name, mostly for being a jerk.’

Bea waited until Gib looked at her and he sighed. ‘There’s more, I take it?’ he said, sounding resigned.

‘So much more…’ Bea took a swallow of water, anger and humiliation blazing through her. She picked up the end of his shirt and twisted it around her clenched fist.

‘You don’t have to tell me, Bea,’ Gib said, his words calming some of her internal heat and frustration.

Another sip of water, another sigh. ‘I picked up a contract for my first threeUrban Explorerbooks. Professionally, I was flying, personally, my world was collapsing. The day after I got the offer, I caught my ex cheating, in my bed. During the fight that ensued, his fist flew past my ear and landed on the fridge door behind me, denting it. Instantly, I knew the next time he raised his hand, it would connect with my face or my body. It was the wake-up call I desperately needed. I threw him out and changed the locks.’

‘Good for you,’ Gib murmured.

‘I told him to text me his new address, so I knew where to send his clothes and possessions, and when he sent it I found out … well, that he’d moved in with my mother.’

‘Fuck.’

The memories were a knife sliding between her ribs. ‘Not only did he move in with her, but he also moved into her bed, and they were often photographed together. I kept a very low profile, so it took a while for the press to work out she was dating her daughter’s ex. Then she penned one of her ‘Am I wrong?’ columns, saying she was in a relationship with her daughter’s ex and was it wrong when her daughter kicked him out and ended their relationship?’

Gib ran his hand over his face. ‘Christ.’

Yeah. ‘The press were relentless, desperate for a reaction from me. That’s when my publishers suggested I consider using a pseudonym. My mother still doesn’t know I’m Parker Kane.’

Gib shook his head and Bea saw anger in his eyes. ‘That was a truly shitty thing for them to do. I’m so sorry, Bea. Can I rearrange his face for you?’

His offer made her feel a little warm and fuzzy. ‘Not surprisingly, she and Gerry didn’t last long. Partly because they’re both cretins, partly because I genuinely believe you can’t build your happiness on someone else’s sadness.’

She looked past his shoulder. ‘She still writes the column, it’s still popular.’ She pulled her lip between her teeth. ‘I’m scared of being linked to her, scared of the public criticism and scrutiny.’

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