“Oh my god! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
“Gwen…”
“I thought you were injured, or in an accident… What the hell is going on?”
“I was…”
“How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea how badly I’ve been panicking?”
“Will you shut up?” He snaps and I can tell by the tone in his voice that his hands are probably balled into fists. “I’ve been arrested.”
Wait… what? “Come again?”
“It’s a long story. My solicitor has only just managed to make it here and get me my phone call.” He sounds exhausted.
I don’t know what to say. “What happened?”
“I… I can’t say right now. This isn’t a private call.”
“Who’s pressing charges?”
“Who do you think?” He bites out, angry at the situation.
If I were a cat I’d be hissing.
“What can I do?” I ask softly, hating the thought of him having to spend the night in a cell. Unclean, cold and small.
“Nothing. Just stay at home, lock the doors and don’t open the door to anyone. Do you hear me?”
Gulp. “I hear you.”
“I love you, Gwen. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t believe that. I can only imagine how he’s feeling. “Okay.” Then I choke out. “I love you too.”
Well… this is a situation I’ve never been in before. I definitely do not like it.
But what else can I do?
My thoughts go to the boxes I have yet to unpack that I’ve placed at the back of my closet. My thoughts then start rifling through the contents. When my thoughts remind me of the one thing I need in order to do something I’d never consider under any other circumstances, I feel physically sick.
Blackmail is wrong. So wrong.
But this is Nathan… if I can get Mr Weston to drop the charges…
This isn’t me! I don’t do stuff like this!
Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to start. How would I even get in touch with him?
Nathan’s office springs to mind. He’s bound to have some kind of contact number for his dad in there. He’d hate it if I were to go through his things though. Maybe I can find a contact number for his solicitor. Then I’ll hopefully find out what’s going on. That seems like more of a rational thing to do.
As I push open the door I wince at the scent of bleach, the same scent that assaulted me when we lived in the village and the same scent that assaulted me when I caught him watching SpongeBob on his laptop.
“Put it down,” I demanded, glaring at the bottle in his hand before tugging it away.
“But…”
“I already cleaned yesterday. I used plenty of bleach. It doesn’t need more.”
“You didn’t clean it enough,” he snapped, pointing to the skirting boards which, in my opinion, were sparkling.
“You’re demented. The fumes aren’t good for Dillan. If you want to bleach something, bleach your office.”
We stood staring at each other, neither of us relenting, neither of us giving in. “I’ll just do it while you’re gone. He’ll be crawling soon. He needs clean floors.”
“A layer of bleach and a layer of sterilising fluid is plenty clean, Nathan. He needs to be exposed to dirt and germs or he’ll never have an immune system.”
“But…”
“Fine, let’s compromise.” I smirked and flicked my hair over my shoulder. “If you bleach after I’ve already done it, I get to keep eggs where I can reach them and see them.”
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before snatching back the bottle and heading towards his office. After a fist pump and a victory jig, I called after him, “You should really see somebody about that Nathan!”
To which he responded by slamming his office door, which only made me laugh... a lot.
The place is sparkling, as I expected it would be. I remember the first time I wandered into Nathan’s territory when he was ill. I was pregnant at the time. I feel a lot like I did then. Like an intruder.
This is his space; it’s the only place he doesn’t like being disturbed.
But he’s not here, so I’m going to take my chances. I’m sure he’ll understand.
Without another thought, I head straight to his leather chair and take a seat. I begin to check through the drawers for a phonebook, anything, but come up with nothing but files and boring paperwork.
In the bottom drawer I find a sketch book and have a quick flick through it. It’s full of jewellery designs. Nathan’s drawing skills are basic, but the shape of the jewellery speaks for itself. He’s got so much talent.
I finger the faint pencil lines fondly before carefully putting it back and sitting back in the chair.
What am I doing? I rub my face with both hands and sigh deeply.
“I’m never going to find anything in here,” I mutter to nobody and stare at the empty space where his laptop should be. I know he keeps most things on there, but he usually takes it with him wherever he goes, so that is a dead end.
I walk over to the filing cabinets in the corner and start thumbing through the almost empty drawers. Dead end… yet again.
I’m about to give up, when I remember the medium sized lockbox he carried from the car and straight into his office not too long ago. It was after his last trip to his house in the village.
Maybe that has something I can use… or maybe I’m just curious. But where would he keep it?
The room is basically empty, save for a few pictures on his desk, which sits in the centre of the room. There’s a large filing cabinet in the corner and a small, dark leather couch in the far corner.
If I were a lockbox, where would I hide?
I almost laugh at myself. Sometimes I can be really weird.
I check under the drawers of the desk, behind the couch, behind the filing cabinet… nothing. Where the hell is it?
As I’m rechecking the drawers, I almost slap myself. The middle drawer has a hidey space. I pull everything out and place it neatly on the desk before tugging up the thin base of the drawer. Jackpot!
There’s no key to said lockbox… sigh. He probably carries it with him.
What’s this?
I pick up the small leather bound book and notice the journal I bought for him a while ago hiding beneath it. Smiling, I unwrap the leather strap from around the small book in my hand and flick to the first page. My hands immediately snap it shut when I realise it’s a diary of sorts. As much as I want to read it and see into Nathan’s mind, I’d never betray him like that.
Something flutters to the ground, a single, folded sheet of paper. Shit. I’ll never find what page it was placed on!
I carefully pick it up from the ground and I’m about to guess a page to slide it under when the large title shines through the thin paper.
Last Will and Testament
My fingers tremble as I peel it open and stare at the opening line, written in familiar scruffy handwriting.
Dated… two days before he died.
Signed by Nathan Weston and… Sasha Rutter.
My heart shatters and my hand flies to my mouth. My entire body begins to shake and the pain I feel in my chest is unbearable.