Page 72 of (Not So) Mad About You

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alli said. She turned back toward the door of the tiny flat. “Nothing at all. You’ve ruined mylife. That’s the end. There’s nothing more to say.”

“Alli—”

“What? You were just doing your job? You were just following orders? You were just trying to avoid confrontation with Luke? I don’t care what your excuses are, Bea. You’ve ruined my life. Destroyed it. All because you can’t think for yourself.”

“All because I did my job and told the truth,” Bea said stubbornly.

For a second, Alli saw fire burning in Bea’s eyes. She laughed. “So now there’s something you’re passionate about, huh? Now you can stand up for yourself. Forget it, Bea. Just fucking forget it.”

The anger was boiling up again, rising until it filled her from head to toe, until it was all she could think about, until it was all she was. And with the tiniest piece of herself that was left she managed to open the front door, managed to walk out, managed to leave before she did something she’d truly regret.

Chapter Twenty Nine

The couch cushion was soaked with tears and Bea’s head hurt, her nose was swollen, and she could barely see. No more tears would come. She was dried up and dehydrated and didn’t know what to do.

She’d only been doing her job. And, honestly, she’d had no idea that Alli would fail the program just from one silly attendance report. Bea had been careful to include that Alli had participated in the latter half of the program, and she’d assumed that would be enough to get her through. Never for a second had she dreamed otherwise.

And now this. Now Alli’s temper so hot and frightening had come into her flat and Bea knew that things couldn’t be the same. She knew that things had changed. But she was just getting used to the last set of changes. How could she handle this now?

She miserably pulled out her phone and texted Liz an SOS message. She couldn’t deal with this alone. But just as the text sent, the front door of the flat opened.

For a second, quite stupidly, Bea thought Alli might have returned. She leaped up, desperate to explain herself. But it was Marilyn that walked through the door.

“Gosh, you look a bit rough,” Marilyn said cheerfully. “Are youalright?”

“No,” Bea said more sharply than she’d intended.

“Alright, alright, no need to snap,” said Marilyn. “I just bought home some shopping for mine and Robbie’s dinner. I’ll just put it away and then I’m back off to work.”

“Fine.” Bea said dismally.

Marilyn stopped by the kitchen door. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Bea said again.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” said Bea through gritted teeth. When was Liz going to text her back? She had a broken leg, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like she could be out doing anything. She started pacing again.

“Only,” started Marilyn.

She was interrupted by Bea tripping over one of the Ikea boxes that were stacked against the couch. “Jesus Christ,” Bea said.

“Whoops,” said Marilyn.

And something snapped inside Bea. “Whoops? Whoops? That’s all I get? These boxes have been stacked here for weeks now, and there’s been no attempt to move them.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Marilyn said, moving over to re-stack the boxes.

“No, enough is enough. Sorry means nothing. Do something about them,” Bea said. She was standing with her hands on her hips, knowing that she was mimicking Alli and unable to stop herself. “Either find somewhere to put them or throw them away, one or the other.”

“I know,” Marilyn said. “I’m sorry. I’ll put them in our room.”

And another thread snapped. “No,” Bea said firmly.

Marilyn paused, boxes in hand. “No?”

“No. It’s not your room.”

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