Page 33 of Knights Game

“Look, Layla, I’m really sorry to have to call you, but this month’s bill hasn’t been settled yet, and we had to do another assessment after he almost had that fall last month. We’re going to have to up his care package.”

I groan inwardly. If the bill hasn’t been cleared, the payments bounced, which means the bastard Alec hasn’t paid me on time, again.

I rub at the throbbing pain in my temple.

“Oh, God, Sylvia. I should have been paid, I’m going to have to chase my employer again, I’m so sorry this keeps happening.” My cheeks heat. I can’t even look after myself, let alone my grandad.

Who was I kidding?

“I understand your circumstance, Layla. Do you want to review your payment plan?” Tears prick the back of my eyes and I clear my throat.

This is mortifying.

“I think so,” I say sadly. “Do you know how much the additional care plan will be for the monthly payments?” I’m dreading the answer, but I need to know just how up the creek I’m going to be.

“We’re looking at another ten thousand pounds a year, which will increase the bill to seventy-two thousand per annum. And you are already carrying quite the debt, my love.”

She is sympathetic, and I silently thank her for it.

“There are other lovely care homes in the area, dear. Do you want me to schedule some visits? I’d happily come with you.”

No. We’ve had this conversation. She wants what’s best for him, but she also runs a business and now he’s in the room of a potential paying customer.

“You know I can’t move him.”

“He will eventually settle in another place though. It may just take some time.”

“But he’s safe there, he feels safe there.”

She’s right, she’s the expert and a little voice in my head says I’m being selfish. I keep him there because moving him would give me more heartache and stress. Even though, in the long run,it would be better for me and my financial situation. I look to the hallway, tapping my fingers against my lips.

“How much in arrears is my account?”

“You’re still chipping away at last year’s fees, with this year’s as well, we’re looking at just over ninety-five thousand pounds.”

Any blood that was left in my face drains, and I lean forward, puffing out the air from my cheeks. Katy surely had this figure on my spreadsheet; why wouldn’t she have told me?

Unless I neglected to admit that I hadn’t paid off last year’s costs.

“Can you give me until next Friday? I’ll be up there anyway, and can you talk me through his latest assessment then too?”

“Okay, that sounds good, shall I book you in at,” she pauses, likely checking her calendar, “how about 11, does that work? Then you can have your usual lunch with him.”

“Perfect. Okay, I’ll see you then.”

I hang up the phone and throw it on the floor, burying my head in my hands.

I pounce on Katy as soon as she crosses the threshold into our flat. “Can I see the spreadsheet of doom, please?”

“Oh. Hi, honey. Yes, I’ve had a fabulous day. Oh, I would love a glass of wine, thank you.”

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you want to see the spreadsheet of doom?” she asks as she follows me into the living room to get her laptop. She sits at the small oak table and powers it up.

I head off into the kitchen, grabbing us a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. “Because I think I neglected to tell you something.”

“God, really? Bad?”

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