“Sash.”
Before she can see who it is, a hand goes under her arm, while the other stays extended out in front of her, both to clear the path in front and force back overeager cameramen. Sash no longer has control of her body, but when she finally sees who does, she is both surprised, and extremely happy to see her.
Abbey glares at the police officers who stand and watch as though observing a curious example of contemporary street theater. None of them seem to know how to deal with what’s going on. Eventually they understand that Abbey isn’t so much as stealing Sash away, but doing everything to save the poor girl from a mauling at the hands of both journalists and fervent members of the general public, and finally step in to help, forming a protective barrier either side to push people back to where they belong, and chaperone the two girls back to Abbey’s car.
Sash is so overwhelmed by what’s going on, she can barely form words necessary to describe or control her situation. Instead, with heart racing and eyes wide, she just lets Abbey take control - like she has done before on a number of occasions - and save her from a situation she would otherwise have let completely debilitate her.
Once in the car, the hood up and the windows sealed, Abbey slams her Manolo Blahnik down on the accelerator. In another moment, and if she wasn’t looking up past the crowd outside to the office on the top of the tallest building in New York, where she knows Dante will be sat, planning the demise of their relationship the moment after taking her virginity, she might have recognized the shoes.
With the back wheels spinning noisily against the tarmac, they zoom off as quickly as the car will allow them, several members of the general public left on the floor in their wake, having had to dive quickly out of the way to avoid them.
Behind, some journalists decide to take to motorbikes, in order to follow Abbey’s car, while others decide to wait, hoping Dante will be the next to burst unexpectedly through the doors.
Sash has her hands held protectively over her belly, while Abbey weaves expertly in and out of traffic, one eye on her best friend, the other on the road ahead. She can see the journalists swarming in behind her, but she’s a better driver and her car is a lot faster. Two of them she loses by jumping through traffic lights, another she sends in a different direction by turning late at an intersection, and the six or so others she leaves for dust as they exit the city and take to the freeway.
In all that time, Sash still hasn’t moved her hands away from her belly, she hasn’t stopped weeping silently, and she hasn’t spoken. With a little bit more time to concentrate on her now the chaos has been left behind, and more than concerned by her best friend’s appearance, Abbey decides to break the silence.
“Are you ok, Sash?”
Sash struggles to find the words to respond. Instead, all she seems like she can do at the moment is cry, communicate in little nods or shakes of the head and try to control her breathing. Abbey sweeps her hand through Sash’s hair, tucking the waviness behind one ear. She’s seen her friend hurt a number of times before, but nothing on this scale.
“I’m going to take you home, ok?”
Sash nods and looks away. She’s ashamed that her best friend is seeing her like this again. She’s embarrassed that Abbey knows about her and Dante, and that what she knows is what the papers have decided to publish and not the truth. If she had enough energy to tell her the real story she would, and she’s angry with herself that she can’t even bring herself to begin to think about how to start. Abbey is the first person she wanted to know, but definitely not in this way. Like this it feels like the worst kind of deception.
She’s staring at it for a long while, not even knowing what it is until it angrily dawns on her. Fifteen minutes from the city and there it still is like a thorn in her side, Dante’s long black tower piercing the sky above like a poisonous needle from earth.
“He’s a fucking liar”, Sash says finally. “A fucking worthless piece of shit liar.”
Chapter 8
There are journalists as close to the house as they can get.
“Fucking animals”, Abbey comments. When they get close enough, she leans out of the window to berate them within ear shot. “Go and get a real job. Go on, fuck off and find another story, there isn’t one here.”
Henry’s on the doorstep drinking a cup of coffee, and as Abbey pulls the car alongside the house, he waves at Sash. If Sash was looking at his waving hand and not the comforting familiarity of his face, she’d notice the lightly tarnished rope bind marks on his wrists.
Just to have him look at her, his sweet smile, his caring eyes, she feels a hollow in her stomach like someone’s carved out her soul. She doesn’t know why, but she feels like she’s done something wrong, like she’s just confessed to a heinous crime or admitted a catalog of wrongdoing, even though neither Abbey on the car journey over, nor the look her dad is still giving her would make her feel that way.
If anything, what she should feel is acceptance, and the horrible thing is that because they are giving it to her, it almost makes her feel worse. They know about her and Dante, everyone does. That news has negatively affected their lives and now she needs to explain both what happened in the first instance, and why now she’s on her own and not by his side. More than the sense of feeling like she’s just confessed to a heinous crime, she feels like she is about to, and everyone else is happy because they already know what’s coming, ready to point the accusatory finger and say, “I told you so.”
“Moving back home?” Henry says when Sash is up alongside him.
“Thinking about it”, she says back, her eyes jammed up with tears.
“Hello, Sash.”
“Hello, Dad.”
There is nothing like the feeling of coming back home. Her bedroom may be an office, the other one may remind her so much of her stepbrother it hurts just to think about it, but her dad is here, Tracy is here, Ghost is here and so are all of her memories.
There is a tense silence while Henry observes his daughter, while he rubs the tears away from her cheek with a tobacco stained thumb, while Tracy stands in shadow by the sink unsure how to begin, and Abbey wonders whether now she’s brought their daughter home, whether she should be here at all.
“I didn’t know you were in California?” Tracy says, when too much time has passed and she can’t cope with the discomfort.
“I wanted to call-“, Sash begins, welling up again in the process and unable to finish her sentence.
Henry puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hey”, he says. “There’s no need for that. You’re home now. Listen, you don’t need to explain anything to us, seriously. If you want to talk about what’s going on, that’s absolutely fine, but if you don’t, that’s fine with us too. This is your house as much as it is ours and there are no judgments here. You’re our daughter and we love you, whatever you do.”
Sash feels completely useless. She feels like she’s spent the last hour doing nothing but crying.
“If you need us, any of us, we are here to listen. Ghost too.” Ghost’s ears prick up. “He may not look it, but he’s the best listener of all.” Now Henry leans in to whisper into Sash’s ear. “Just don’t tell my wife.”
Sash can’t help but laugh a little at that. Her dad always has the capacity to make her feel better.
“How long have they been out there?” Sash asks, already feeling a little better.
“All day so far”, Tracy says. “I’ve called the police but the said they can’t do anything if they’re not on our property.”
“Fucking animals”, Abbey says again.
“Thank you, Abigail”, Tracy comments.
Abbey shrugs. “It’s what they are”, she says. “you should have seen them at Dante’s office tower.”
Sash turns to her. “Thank you, by the way. I didn’t say it before, you know, for being there.”
“Sure”, Abbey says with a smile. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Didn’t I tell you I’ve always got your back? That and I’ve been glued to the TV since the story broke. This is better than Game of Thrones. Where else was I going to be?!”