Page 82 of Voracious

I don’t hold her when they offer, and Barry understands. Lisa probably doesn’t, but I’m sure her husband will explain later.

She goes to rest while Eva’s napping, and Barry sits down with me, going over my new identity and how I go about not getting caught – handing me a passport with my picture on it with a completely new name.

He takes my phone, dismantles it, then puts it into a folder. The new phone is the same but with a new number. I’ve not to use it to reach out right away – I’ve to be discreet, careful and not use it socially.

Then he places a bank card down and paperwork. “I need you to sign these.”

“What are they?”

“Don’t make a big deal when I tell you, okay?”

I stare at him, unblinking, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Kade set up a sort of safety net for you and his family. Each one of you got a lump sum – to be given if he passes away. This is me honouring that deal while he’s still alive.”

I glance at the paperwork, then my eyes lift to him. “Is this a joke?”

“Nope.”

“Kade gave me eighty-six million pounds?”

“Yep,” he replies. “Please sign it so we can move along. I’ve got loads of stuff to go through.”

It takes me an hour to sign it, and Barry is close to losing his patience.

A couple of days later, Eva is cleared to fly.

And my next chapter starts.

25

KADE

FLASHBACK

Dad keeps to my side as we walk around the man-made lake, chirping birds sounding from the speakers of the park in the middle of the institution. I kick a stone into the water, numb, unable to form any words, so we keep walking without speaking.

He understands.

I don’t.

I don’t understand why life can be so cruel to take away such a precious thing. We were happy and ready and prepared, and an accident ripped everything away from us.

I should be with my girlfriend right now, talking to my unborn daughter while my head rests on Stacey’s bump. Making plans for when she’s set free from her nine-month stint.

I shouldn’t be walking around the institution like a lost puppy, wondering if the ache in my chest will ever settle. There shouldn’t be a bottle of vodka in my hotel fridge, unopened but waiting to be. I shouldn’t have smoked a billion cigarettes on the way here.

I’m silent and so is he, but that’s alright. We don’t need to talk; we don’t even need to look at each other to feel the comfortable father–son bond. This is enough for us both.

It’s been a month since that horrifying morning. A month since Stacey spent the entire day and night in hospital, refusing to see anyone, even me. She had a procedure done to remove everything that was left of our daughter, and it took three days until the doctors were happy to discharge her.

She had a panic attack two days later and screamed when I tried to help her. My mum had to step in and calm her down.

Mum said she wastraumatisedand needed time to herself, so I gave her it. I lasted four days before I snapped and begged to see her.

We met by the water at LochThom, where she hugged herself and stayed quiet, and I stared at her as the wind whipped her hair around her grief-stricken face.

We were broken, mad and exhausted. But not with each other – I knew that.

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