Page 28 of After the Rain
“Mmhmm,” is the only response I can manage. Aidan stands and lifts me as though I weigh nothing, before carrying me back tobed. He lays me down gently, then retreats to the bathroom, returning with more water and a small blue box. Paracetamol. Thank God. He pops two pills out of the pack and hands them to me. I sit up, leaning against the headboard and swallow them down with the water. A sudden thought enters my mind, and my eyes pop wide open.
“Where’s Pax?” Aidan strokes my cheek.
“He’s at Mum and Dad’s. He doesn’t enjoy sailing, and it’s a bit too cold for him to be out on the water all day anyway, so I dropped him at the farm before we went out yesterday, and then he stayed for a sleepover. He’ll be happy as Larry after a night being spoiled rotten and sleeping on their bed, no doubt.”
I relax, glad to know that Pax is OK and not missing. I hadn’t even considered that I hadn’t seen him last night, but I should have known that Aidan had taken good care of him. He loves that dog so much. So do I. He’s been like a comfort blanket to me so many times. Archer and Cole tease Aidan relentlessly when we’re at work because Pax no longer sleeps on his bed in the workshop. He sleeps on his bed in the office instead – with me. It makes me happy to know that he has accepted me into his owner’s life.
I hear a noise downstairs that makes me frown in confusion. The telltale clatter of dishes on the counters and the kettle boiling.
“It’s Wren,” Aidan clarifies. “She slept over. I’m not sure which one of you was worse off, to be honest.”
“Him. He was,” Wren’s slightly indignant voice carries up the stairs. “I was merely tipsy. Now get your arses downstairs. I made bacon sarnies.”
The initial thought of eating tests the strength of my stomach, but I know the salty, greasy food will make me feel better afterwards. So, I drag myself up with Aidan’s help and dress in a pair of his joggers, rolling the ankles up and tightening the drawstring as much as I can, and my favourite green hoodie of his. He wore it yesterday morning, so it smells deliciously of him.
I wrap my arms pathetically around his neck from behind and pull myself up so I can wrap my legs around his waist in a piggyback, making it very clear that I have absolutely no intention of walking myself downstairs. He chuckles and grabs my ankles, rubbing his thumbs softly over my skin as he makes his way – carefully – down the stairs. The unceremonious way he sheds me like a backpack onto the sofa is less careful, but I’m downstairs, so I don’t care. He takes a seat on the armchair that sits at a right angle to my end of the sofa, leaving space for his sister next to me. I grin at him cheekily before pulling my blanketfrom the back of the sofa and wrapping it over my legs.
Wren joins us in the lounge with a tray of bacon sandwiches that smell amazing and three cups of tea. We devour breakfast very quietly, the only sounds the odd muffled groan at the salty flavour of the bacon and the spicy sweetness of the brown sauce. Don’t come at me with your tomato ketchup on bacon – it’s HP brown sauce or nothing.
When we are all satisfied and are reclining on the sofa, Wren pulls out her phone.
“Ugh. Sam liked the photo I posted on Instagram.”
“What photo?” I ask, my memories fuzzy.
“The one of us three with our wine last night.” She holds her phone up for me to see it. “Why the fuck is he liking my photos on Insta but ghosting me in person and over text? Fucking prick.” Her indignation is justified because, yes, he’s acting like a prick. But everyone in the room knows that he isn’t actually a prick. There is something going on that he isn’t sharing, and I know that Wren will regret her name-calling later.
“I still maintain that you need to talk to him,” I say before a sudden wave of panic rises in my stomach, threatening to force the sandwichand tea I just consumed back up. “Did you tag me in that picture?” I grab her phone, none-too-gently, and look at the picture again. Sure enough, there are two little tags on it indicating @Poppys-fenside-common and, fuck! @Rain-on-my-parade.
The panic on my face obviously hits, and she grabs her phone back, frantically tapping at the post to untag me. Aidan has sat forward in his seat, his jaw clenched and eyes hard as he glares at his sister.
“Fuck, Rain, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think! I found you and followed you a few weeks ago. I didn’t even think. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
The rising panic in my throat takes a back seat to the wave of concern for Wren as tears fill her eyes. She knows everything about what happened with Dan. So does Poppy. We talked about it again last night, after she posted the photo. But she knows why I don’t want to be tagged in anything. I didn’t even realise she had followed me as I haven’t logged into my account since I got my new phone, too afraid that he can somehow hack it and find where I am.
“What the fuck, Wren?” Aidan bellows, rising from the sofa, his hands running back through his hair, which is loose around his shoulders. “How could you be so stupid?” Wren blanches immediately at his words. I’ve neverheard Aidan say one harsh word to his sister. His brothers? Sure. They give each other shit all day at work, but never Wren. She’s the baby. The one they all protect – even though I know it drives her insane – and so I’ve never heard him even say one bad thing about her, let alone raise his voice like that.
“Aidan!” I admonish, horrified by the tears now rolling down Wren’s cheeks. “It could have happened to anyone. She didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know that! But that’s been online, tagged with you in it for what, twelve hours? Longer?” I check the time on the clock I can see from here in the kitchen. A little after ten thirty, so yeah. It’s been up for about fifteen hours. Aidan must read the realisation on my face. “Fucking great. And Poppy’s account is for the café, so it’s clear where it is! Has anyone liked it?” Aidan’s breathing is starting to pick up, and I know if Pax were here, he’d be pressing into his side right now. I jump up from the sofa and grab his hand, pulling him back down into my seat and climbing on his lap before wrapping the blanket over us both. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and I kiss him gently on his lips before cupping his face and forcing his face to meet mine. His eyes open, and I ask him with my own eyes,OK?He knows what I’m asking as he nods with another deep breath, then pulls me even tighter against him if that was evenpossible.
Wren looks wrecked, as she, presumably, checks who has liked the photo.
“It’s just people I know. Sam, Archer, Mum, Poppy.” She goes silent, and when she doesn’t speak again, I look over at her to see that she’s gone very pale.
“What? Who?” I ask a bit frantically. I really fucking hope it’s not Dan. That would be exactly the kind of passive-aggressive bullshit he’d pull just to let me know he’d seen it and knows where I am. If that’s the case, I’ll have to go. I can’t have them turning up and causing trouble or hurting Aidan. Or anyone else. The thought of leaving Aidan makes me physically flinch, and he notices.
“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls quietly into my ear. “Don’t even fucking think it.” The fact that this man knows what I’m thinking just from the reactions of my body will never cease to amaze me.
“It’s a private account. @core-bear? Does that ring any bells?” Wren’s voice is timid, as if she knows how bad this could be.
“Core-bear? That’s Corey.” The relief I feel is palpable. Corey’s OK. Dom used to check his texts, but he never uses Instagram. Says it’s fantasy-life bullshit, which, in all fairness, is often the case. But he wouldn’t even think to go into hisInstagram, not least because I know Corey keeps all his social media apps ‘out of sight, out of mind’ inside a folder about three pages into his phone’s collection of apps.
“Your friend Corey?” Aidan asks, and I nod. “Well, fuck. We-I thought about it yesterday and thought we could maybe use someone’s Instagram to send him a message pretending to be like, an old school friend or something, just to make contact, but I guess Wren saved us the hassle.” His voice is bitter, and Wren recoils at his harsh tone.
“Stop it,” I say to him, meeting his eyes once more. He rolls them slightly but looks regretful about his words afterwards. Not that he apologises. I’ll get onto him about that later. Right now? I want to message Corey. Well, technically, I want Wren to message Corey. “Wren, babe? Hand me your phone?” I hold my hand out, and she warily hands it over to me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, concern obvious in her voice.
