‘She became pregnant with another man’s child. It deflected any suspicion there may have been about your mother and me.’
‘Who was he?’
William scoffs. ‘Who the hell knows? Gracie certainly didn’t.’ Resentment pours from him and he releases a calming rush of breath. Speaking of this makes him angry. And it just makes me hate my mother more. ‘You were probably the best thing that could have happened.’
‘I’m glad someone thinks so,’ I say scathingly.
‘Olivia!’
‘I’m glad I served a purpose,’ I laugh wickedly. ‘And here’s me thinking no one wanted me, yet it turns out that I did my mother’s pimp a favour. My purpose in life is making me so proud.’
‘You saved your mother’s life, Livy.’
‘What?’ I snap. He’s not going to suggest that my purpose was to deter the enemy, to deflect from Gracie and William’s relationship? ‘Just so she could abandon me later?’ I ask. ‘For all we know, she’s dead, William! My purpose stands for shit because despite everything, she still ended up f**king dead! I still have no mother and you have no Gracie!’ I heave violently next to him, blinking back tears of fury. The compassion has been sucked up, the merging parts of my heart severed in the blink of an eye . . . or the delivery of a thoughtless sentence. He was doing so well. The history of their relationship momentarily made me forget about the matter at hand. Miller. And me. Us. We’re not destined to follow the same destructive path of tortured love and irreparable heartache. We were on our way, but we saved each other.
I stand and swing towards him. He’s regarding me carefully. ‘Miller won’t let me down like you did Gracie.’ I turn and storm away, hearing him hiss on a wince. I half expect to be seized before I make it out of the square, but I’m allowed to remove myself from William and his revelations without intervention.
*
I don’t mean to, but when I finally make it home, I slam the front door shut, still reeling after my time with William and exhausted after my time at the doctor’s. I don’t recall much of my time sitting opposite my GP’s desk. I blurted my predicament, was interrogated before being prescribed the morning-after pill and contraceptive pill, and left, taking myself across the road to the pharmacy. And it was all done in a cloud of hopelessness.
The harsh clatter of the door crashing within the frame prompts Nan to scuttle from the kitchen in alarm. ‘Livy, whatever’s the matter?’ She glances down at her old watch. ‘It’s not even midday.’
I don’t bother trying to compose myself – I’m still too wound up – so I utilise my only other option, which is fine because it’s part true. ‘Del sent me home.’
‘Are you ill?’ Her steps increase in pace as she wipes her hands on the tea towel, until she’s standing before me feeling my forehead. ‘You have a temperature.’
Yes, I have. I’m burning with blinding rage. Sagging against the front door, I let my grandmother fuss over me, grateful for the sight of her friendly face, even if it’s etched in worry right now. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Pa!’ she scoffs. ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining!’ She brushes some damp tendrils from my face. ‘The faster you learn that I’m not doolally-tap the better.’ Her old sapphire eyes drill holes into my pathetic form. ‘I’ll make tea.’ She’s off up the hallway. ‘Come.’
‘Because tea makes everything in the world right,’ I mutter, pushing myself off the door and following her.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ I land in a chair and retrieve my phone from my satchel when it chimes.
‘A call?’ Nan asks, flicking the kettle on.
‘A text.’
She turns, genuine curiosity my way. ‘How do you know the difference?’
‘Well, because a call . . .’ I halt mid-sentence as I unlock my shiny new device. ‘Are you ever going to have a mobile phone?’
She laughs and returns to tea-making duties. ‘I’d rather get a back massage by Edward Scissorhands! Why at my age would I need one of those silly things?’
‘Then it doesn’t matter what sound signals a text, call, or e-mail, does it?’
‘E-mail?’ she screeches. ‘You can send e-mails?’
‘Yes. And you can use the Internet, do your shopping, and delve into social media.’
‘What’s social media?’
I laugh, flopping back in my chair. ‘You won’t live long enough for me to explain, Nan.’
‘Oh.’ She shows complete indifference as she pours boiling water into the teapot, and then milk into a tiny jug. ‘There will be little point for people to leave their homes if technology continues at this rate. Texts and e-mails. Whatever happened to having a face to face conversation with someone, hmmm? Or even a nice chat on the phone. Don’t ever send me a text.’
‘I can’t – you don’t have a mobile.’
‘An e-mail, then. Never send me an e-mail.’
I smirk. ‘You don’t have an e-mail account, so I can’t send you an e-mail either.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
I titter to myself and direct my eyes to the screen of my phone as Nan brings the tea to the table and pours, loading mine with sugar.
‘Need fattening up,’ she grumbles, but I ignore her because William’s name is glowing at me, telling me he’s sent me a message – one I know I won’t want to read. It doesn’t stop me from pushing the Open button, though.