I know she’s referring to Mac. I feel a flicker of unease deep inside. Have I exchanged one controlling relationship for another? Surely not. I’ve felt nothing but pleasure when I’ve been with him or spoken to him.
I don’t want to go into this relationship with suspicion and fear. But she’s right. My safety has been compromised, on both the physical and spiritual planes, and I need to be careful.
“You should go home and get some rest,” Kimi says gently. “You’ve suffered a psychic attack on top of a physical one. You probably shouldn’t have come tonight, but it’s done now. You need to take care of yourself, Persy. You are very precious to us. I hope you know that!”
She comes over and gives me a hug. I swallow hard at her words and her obvious affection. “Thank you,” I say, rising to give Ella a hug, too. “For everything.”
Samantha, Charlie, and I head out, leaving the two older women to talk. We stop by our cars, shoving our hands in our pockets. Ooh, it’s cold, frost already forming on the bushes and trees around Kimi’s house. We’re on the edge of Dartmoor here, so we’re likely to see snow again in the not-too-distant future.
“Don’t let that spoil your date tomorrow,” Charlie says. She knows me too well.
“I’m sure Mac had nothing to do with all this,” Samantha agrees. “He pulled you out of the river, didn’t he? He would hardly have done that if he was the one who’d left the prints.”
“That’s true.” The thought comforts me. “Every instinct I have says to trust him. But it’s hard to trust yourself, you know?”
They both nod. “Is he cute?” Charlie asks.
“Very cute. And he has the uniform thing going for him, too.”
“Ask him if he’ll leave his hat on in bed,” she says, and we all chuckle.
“You going to be okay driving home?” Samantha asks.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’ll be even better after a good night’s sleep.”
We all hug, and then get in our cars and drive away.
It’s not far to my parents’ house. I’m not normally afraid of going out at night, but tonight I find myself searching the darkness, my heart racing as I drive carefully along the narrow country lanes.
Then I think of the stag in my vision, standing before me and the wolf, protecting me. You have an angel watching over you, Mac told me.
Hoping he’s right, I drive carefully through the night.
*
The next day, at eight-thirty, I call work and ask to speak to Lawrence, my boss.
“Hey, Persy,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him.
“I’m so glad to hear that. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about the accident. They said your car’s a write-off.”
“If it’s not, it’s going to be a very squelchy ride.”
“Persy, don’t joke. It’s bloody awful. I hope you’re ringing to say you’re staying home today.”
“I am.”
“Good. If you weren’t, I’d have come and handcuffed you to the bed.”
I blink a few times, not sure if he meant that to sound quite the way it came out. He’s married, but the way he often looks at me tells me he’s attracted to me, and his words make me uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything, and I frown and shift on the mattress. Mum made me stay in bed this morning, but now I feel uncomfortable talking to Lawrence in my pajamas.
I decide changing the subject is the best course of action. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Fire away.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice.”
He goes quiet on the other end of the phone. Then he says, “What?”
“After what happened on Friday… I’ve been thinking a lot about things. I’m really grateful you offered me a full-time job, and I thought I’d be satisfied working there, but I’m ready for something more. I spent a long time getting my degree, and I want to do something with it.”
“Working in a law firm is a perfectly acceptable occupation for a graduate,” he says stiffly.
I don’t want to offend him. I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “A law graduate, yes. My degree is in archaeology.”
“Lots of archaeology graduates go into law. The skills are transferable, and—”
“I’m a secretary, Lawrence, not a lawyer. I type letters. File documents.”
“You do much more than that. I was hoping you’d take some qualifications, become a proper legal secretary or a paralegal, and—”
“I don’t want to,” I say, irritated by his persistence. “I’m sorry, but I don’t enjoy law. I want to do something related to my degree.”
“And how likely is it that you’re going to be able to get a job in that area? Do you know how many graduates there are in your field? And how many jobs are actually available in museums?” His tone is dismissive, scornful.
I bite my lip hard. I’d expected him to protest, but not as vehemently as this. I don’t like his aggression; it reminds me of Jude, and it’s making me uncomfortable.
I’m not good with confrontation. Normally I’d have backed down, told him I’d made a mistake. But this time I’m not going to.
“Two weeks,” I say stiffly. “My last day will be the twenty-second.”
“I don’t think you need to work your notice,” he says. “You’ll probably be off sick for half of it, anyway.”
My cheeks flame at his dismissive tone. “That’s not fair. I’d been planning to come in tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll give you two weeks’ pay. Go and look for your heart’s desire, Persy, you silly little girl, but don’t come running to me when you don’t find it.”
He hangs up.
I flop back onto the bed and cover my face with my hands. Damn, damn, damn. His description of me, you silly little girl, makes me want to curl into a ball. Is he right? Have I just done a really stupid thing?
I know my parents are going to say I’ve been an idiot. Jobs aren’t easy to come by at the moment, and the position had been secure and stable.
But is that the extent of my ambition—to be secure and stable? I’m not going to sniff at those things, but equally I want more than that out of life. When Lawrence offered me a full-time job, Jude said I’d be crazy to pass it up. Thinking I was going to marry Jude and settle down in a two-bedroomed house with two-point-four kids, I followed his advice and took the job. I pinned my hopes and dreams on another person, and I’m not going to do that again. It’s up to me to make myself happy—it’s not somebody else’s job.
My eyes sting, but I refuse to let the tears drop. I’m not going to cry over Lawrence and his bloody job. And I’m not going to cry over Jude.
My phone beeps, announcing the arrival of a text. I pick it up, wondering if it’s Tia. It’s not; it’s Mac. I smile as I see the message.
Morning, beautiful. Looking forward to our date tonight. Mac x
He thinks I’m beautiful? I get an instant glow. I type in, Morning! Nice to hear from you so early. Looking forward to it too. P. I hesitate, then add a kiss because he did, and send it.