Page 43 of The Retreat
Talia sat up and faced her, nodding. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to do something you weren’t OK with.’
Imogen swallowed, her anger still simmering beneath the surface. ‘I’m OK. I mean, I was. Before.’
They both stewed in the awkward silence that followed, neither knowing exactly how to proceed. Imogen’s mind was still spinning, but there was something else beneath the frustration.
Deep disappointment.
This was exactly what she’d been told it was. And she didn’t have much cause to question it. Talia was simply a good actor.
All Imogen was getting from this weekend was money. And that was fine. What more could she expect?
Twenty-Nine
Talia was lying on the floor of the small room in her uncomfortable makeshift bed.
Her mind wouldn’t stop. Every moment replayed itself in loops: the glances, the gestures, the performance. Was she really pulling this off? The question circled endlessly, but it danced with a second question. An even more troublesome one. What the hell was happening between her and Imogen? And then a third brain teaser. Was Talia fighting it hard enough?
The answer to that last one was, maybe a littletoohard. One moment in particular was front and centre.
‘It’s what people will expect. And for ten grand…’
Talia flinched at the memory, her face heating in the dimness. God. Shehatedhow that had come out. It had sounded cold. Like she’d reduced Imogen to a number, to a service paid for and owed.
Talia didn’t see it that way. But it had come out because it was easier than saying something honest. So she’d gone for the easy line. A jab about money.
Talia didn’t want to be that person. The one who weaponised money, who turned vulnerability into debt andobligation. That wasn’t who she was. Or at least, it wasn’t who shewantedto be.
She glanced up at the bed. Imogen’s figure was curled beneath the covers, still and quiet, her breathing low and even. She was out. It should have irritated Talia how easily she was sleeping. A day ago, it would have. But now…
That was half the problem. The hatred she’d always felt for Imogen, comfortable and familiar, was slipping. And she didn’t like that. Not one bit. She didn’t know what was replacing it, not really, but it was something softer, something frightening.
Talia shifted onto her back, the light from the window casting faint shadows across the ceiling.This is ridiculous, she thought.I need to get my head straight.But the truth was, nothing felt straight. It all felt like it was bending under the weight of something she didn’t have a name for.
She listened to Imogen’s breathing. It soothed her, despite everything. That quiet, steady rhythm.
What a mess. She’d wanted control, and now she couldn’t even trust her own feelings.
She shuffled again, wondering how many hours of sleep she’d get tonight. Her insomnia didn’t need much to keep her mind racing, replaying every mistake of her day. It certainly had plenty of material to work with tonight.
She braced for it. The endless circling, the restless toss and turn of thoughts refusing to quiet down. But instead, she found herself listening to Imogen’s breathing again. Soft. Steady. Grounding.
And somehow, without quite meaning to, she focused on that. Just that.
She didn’t notice the moment her thoughts stopped spinning. She didn’t notice when the tension in her shouldersloosened. She only noticed, much later, if it could even be called noticing at all, that she’d fallen asleep to the sound of Imogen’s breath.
***
Talia was standing at the edge of a road. It was busy. Trucks and cars zipped by, honking their horns.
Across the road was a playpark. Talia knew that was where she wanted to get to. She was an adult; she knew that. But still, she needed to be there.
Talia took a step onto the road.
No one slowed down. Horns blasted. A blur of red and chrome shot past close enough to ruffle her clothes. But she kept walking. It was like wading into a current.
Halfway across, everything changed. The sound dropped out. She was floating, carried across to the park.
She walked through the gate, and Imogen was ahead of her, sitting on a swing that hung from nothing.
