Page 115 of All the Forbidden Things
“Not a problem,” the officer replies and leaves.
“Look, everything has checked out fine with Layla. She’s happy, she’s healthy, and she’s obviously well loved. Some, or maybe a couple of arseholes have apparently got it in for one or the other of you, so my advice would be to watch your backs.” She looks between Max and me. “Just so you know, we were also told that you were caught stealing alcohol from Mr Young's fridge on Friday night.”
My mouth drops open, and this time, Max does look my way.
“That little bitch,” I whisper-shout.
“So, yeah, you probably have half an idea as to where some of the concerns we were advised of came from.”
Max stares at the floor while shaking his head.
“I’ll be honest, I read the papers. I watch all the celebrity news shows, so I know what the speculation is regarding thesituationhere, and I’m pretty sure I know who’s playing games, but as you can understand, from our point of view, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. In saying all of that, next time, I won’t turn up mob-handed.”
She smiles at Max, a smile that might easily be mistaken for a swoon, especially when she bats her extended eyelashes.
Max nods. “Yeah, not turning up with the press and the police would be much appreciated.”
“The press has nothing to do with me, they were already here when we arrived.”
“I bet they were,” Max says as he shows Dawn and Ben out the front door.
“Oh, and, Billie, could you chase up your DBS? It’ll look better for everyone if you’ve got official paperwork to show you’ve been police-checked and cleared to work with kids,” Dawn turns to me and says.
I nod. “I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
I stand beside Max at the front door and watch as Aaron pulls up and moves straight towards Dawn as soon as he exits his car. Max leaves me standing in the doorway as he joins them on the driveway. The three of them start a conversation, and Aaron and Max both point and look in my direction several times as things appear to get a little heated. Feeling like I’m about to throw up, I go back to the kitchen and sit at the table. Then I remember what Dawn said about me stealing wine, and I stand to go and confront Deana before thinking better of it. Drawing in a deep breath, while fighting back tears of frustration and anger, I set about making Layla’s bottles for the day.
Max’s voice interrupts my focus. “I’m going over to yours to talk to Aaron. I’ll take Layla with me. Can you grab her some clean clothes before you head over too?”
Without turning around, I nod.
He leaves.
And that’s it. The sum of our communication. After everything we shared last night, that’s all I get.
I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m totally confused. But I get the bottles made and then head into the laundry where I’ve started keeping a pile of Layla’s clean vests, babygros, bibs, and blankets. When I turn to go back to the kitchen to collect the bottles, Whitney’s sitting in her wheelchair blocking my way.
“Oh, Billie . . . Dear-oh-dear sweet girl. What a terrible start to the day you’ve had.” She tuts and shakes her head. “The press can be brutal once they form a negative opinion of you.”
I’ve no clue what her game is, or what she hoped to achieve by this morning’s little stunt, and despite there being so much I could say, so much I want to say, I don’t. Max and the custody of his daughter might be at stake here, so instead of behaving like the little girl she assumes I am and losing my shit, I remain silent. I smile, squeeze past where she’s sitting in her wheelchair, and sway my hips as I make my way to the kitchen.
Max
“Something needs to be done!I don’t know what, but I will never, ever, havethatgirl put inthatposition because ofthatbitch again.” I pace. I’m so fucking angry, I feel like I’m coming out of my skin.
My phone’s blowing up in my back pocket, Layla’s screaming, and I’m barely reining in my need to go across the road, drag my crippled wife out into the street, and dump her arse there for the world's press to witness.
“You need to get this divorce sorted so I’m out of this marriage at the earliest fucking opportunity, and I need her fucking gone before I go over there and kick her arse out.”
Aaron crosses one leg over the other while typing something on his phone.
“Are you even fucking listening to me?” I’m about to punch him right in the face when he finally looks up.
“First of all,” he responds slowly, as his eyes track me while I continue to pace, “you need to calm down.”
I stop pacing, lace my fingers together, and press them into the top of my head in the hope that, by keeping them there, I won’t wrap them around his throat and squeeze very fucking tightly.
“And second of all . . . You. Need. To. Calm. The. Fuck. Down.”
