Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection. Rebecca Winters

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       Chapter Seventeen

      ‘How dare you?’ My voice was quiet but it was obvious that Michael sensed the anger within it. He opened his mouth but I cut him off before he could speak. ‘You accuse me of talking about things of which I know nothing when you’ve just done exactly the same thing. You have no idea what I think about marriage or anything else, come to think of it! But just so you know, I actually do know a little about these things. I might not have been married myself but that doesn’t mean I’m entirely ignorant about it all. And you couldn’t be more wrong if you think I’m naive enough to think that marriage is some Disney-like state of affairs. I know it’s not! Why the hell do you think I’ve steered clear of long-term relationships for so long?’

      From not being able to find any words, it now seemed like I was unable to stop them.

      ‘I’m sorry that your marriage broke down, I truly am. I know that she hurt you terribly and I’m sorry for that too. But don’t act like it gives you the monopoly on the knowledge of painful situations Michael, because it doesn’t. Not by a long shot!’

      ‘Kate – ’

      ‘Do you want to know what my most vivid image of marriage actually is? It’s of coming home from school to find my mother on the sofa, in her dressing gown, with an empty bottle of vodka on the floor beside her. It’s of sitting beside her on the sofa at two o’clock in the morning as she waited for my father to come home, which he might or might not do. It’s of cleaning the house and cooking the meals because she was rarely in a fit state to do it. It’s of trying to remove the stain of a lipstick that isn’t my mother’s from my father’s shirt and gagging at the smell of perfume from it that also isn’t my mother’s. It’s of finding my mum at the bottom of the stairs and doctors telling me she has internal injuries. So, Michael, no, I don’t have some sunshine and roses image of marriage and I know exactly how much hurt one person can cause another. So don’t you dare accuse me of not caring or not understanding something just because I’ve never had a wedding band on my finger!’

      Neither of us said anything for a moment. Our eyes were locked, mine blazing and his with the sort of shocked look to them that someone gets after they’ve just had the verbal equivalent of both barrels unloaded point-blank. The silence was heavy and suffocating. My chest heaved and I knew I had to get out of there.

      ‘I think it’s best if I left. You should do what you want with the album and the rest of the stuff. You know your own mind.’

      I turned to go and Michael caught my hand.

      ‘Kate.’

      I shook my head and pulled away, half running down the stairs, thrusting my feet into my shoes when I got to the bottom. Grabbing my coat and scarf, I pulled open the door and stepped out into the lightly falling snow, shoving my arms into the sleeves as I ran along the road, needing to get away as fast as I could.

      I’d never meant to unleash the torrent of words onto Michael. I knew his enquiries about my dinner with Calum had been made in the context of friendly conversation. And I certainly had never meant to tell him about my childhood with an alcoholic mother and a philandering father. I put my hand to my head, half in embarrassment at what I’d just revealed and half to try and still my now pounding head.

      Hurrying along to the Tube station, I replayed my outburst, furious with myself for once again losing the professionalism of which I was so proud in front of Michael O’Farrell. Six years and I’d never once lost it until I met him, on the first, and now what I imagined would probably be my last, appointments with him: Perfect bookends of embarrassment. He was well on the way to being done anyway and Bernice could deal with the last bits.

      We’d spoken casually about me helping with some ideas on how to get the house properly finished from an interior design perspective a few sessions back, but I think it was safe to say that was now a nonstarter. Apart from anything else, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to face him again. And certainly not any time soon. I pulled off my scarf, suddenly hot even though I hadn’t yet descended into the warmth of the Tube tunnels. As I crammed myself in-between the hordes of workers, tourists and Christmas shoppers all vying for a spot on the escalator, I heard my phone bleep with a message. I pulled it out and opened the text from Bernice.

       Last-minute booking tomorrow. Tried to reschedule but client started СКАЧАТЬ