19 | Open Book

Alexei | Grace

THE DRIVE HOME WITH VADIM was silent as always. I bit my lip and stared out of the window trying to hold back tears. I kept a brave face in front of Alex but the harsh way he'd spoken to me was nothing like the man I met at the hospital two years ago. There was something callous and granite-like about him. As though he'd forgotten how to smile. Usually I enjoyed trying to cheer people up, but I wasn't sure if he even knew what happiness was anymore. At the hospital, a few regular patients had taken to calling me their ray of sunshine. And while Lena would tease me furiously for it, I wasn't so sure if it was even true.

"Miss Perne?" Vadim's voice dragged me from my thoughts and I realised we'd reached my flat. I unfastened my seat belt in a daze and threw open the door.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "See you later, Vadim."

He gave a curt nod and then the SUV pulled away down the street. Half of me wasn't sure I ever wanted it to come back.

When I let myself into the flat, I could hear the low hum of dad's tinny radio wafting from the living room. A bright white light flooded the floor where I stood and I knew he must be working on a model. I'd been getting home late most nights this week, so I didn't have time to do much other than make dinner and flop down in bed exhausted. We hadn't spoken a great deal about anything lately. Certainly not my new job, though dad must have noticed the sudden regularity of my hours. Not that they were supposed to be regular—I'd just spent a lot of time there to avoid my own reality.

Since our fight, I hadn't spoken to Jonah. I wasn't sure what that meant for us right now. But after Alexei's harsh words tonight, I felt more alone than ever. I'd pushed my boyfriend away, all but abandoned Lena, and barely spoken to my dad who I loved more than anyone. All for my job. My job where half the time now it seemed like Alexei didn't even want me.

"Hey," I called out from the doorway, leaning against the frame. Dad lifted his head a fraction to glance at me, and then quickly pulled off the magnifying visor he wore when he saw it was me. He clicked the bright work lamp off.

"Hey, Gracie," he breathed with a smile. There was a small metallic whirring as he manoeuvred his chair so that it faced me. "You're home early."

I tried to ignore his lingering gaze as I shrugged out of my jacket. "It's Friday," I said lightly. "They'll call if they need me. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner." What I really meant by this was that I wanted to avoid Jonah for as long as possible. There was a big discussion we needed to have but honestly, I was exhausted.

"You sure you don't want to call that boyfriend of yours?" Dad asked, brows furrowed. I could tell he knew that something was off, and Jonah was honestly like a son to him. "You've been working a lot this week, Grace, and he's been around every day trying to catch you."

"I know, dad. I'll see him at some point this weekend, I promise. But right now I've just got a starting bonus paid into my account and I've hardly spent time with you all week. Let's go out, just us two. My treat."

Finally a grin spread over his face. "Well, alright then."

My dad's chair meant that a lot of places were a no-go for us. We couldn't use public transport easily, especially not in bustling central London, and I couldn't afford a car that was adapted to his needs. So, most of the time, we stayed within walking distance of home. There was a Wetherspoons a few blocks away from us that we usually ate at when we went out—it wasn't the nicest place, but the food was decent and the drinks were cheap. My dad and I were the sort of people who would happily settle for a good old pub slap-up meal over a fine dining experience.

"I just need to get some money out of the cash machine," I told my dad as we drew nearer to the bank. He insisted on wheeling himself everywhere when we went out, rather than using an electric-powered chair, and he'd never let me push him. He said he didn't want to get lazy and fat, but I think what he really meant was that he wanted to be able to do something for himself.

"Go ahead," he nodded, coming to a stand still as I approached the machine.

The truth was that I didn't actually need to withdraw money at all; I could easily pay by card. What I wanted to do was check my bank balance. Alexei's ambiguity about the size of my starting-bonus had left me feeling uneasy for some reason. I pulled my card out and fed it into the mouth of the cash machine, quickly typing in my pin. I chose the "check balance" option and waited as the screen loaded.

I had to bite my cheek to keep from gasping.

With constant bills going out my balance usually stood at around eight hundred pounds, on a good day. On a bad day it was more like five hundred. Now it had gone up to the startling total of two and a half thousand. I stared at the obnoxious number in shock.

"Everything alright, Gracie?" My dad called from across the street. "We can always just get a take away pizza..." How ironic that he automatically assumed my hesitation stemmed from a lack of money, when in fact it was quite the opposite.

I took a moment to close my eyes. I held my breath. Counted to five. Opened them. Still it was there, that very same number that was far too high—far more than I deserved. It had to have been a mistake. Alex couldn't possibly have meant to give me that much. When he'd said starting bonus I'd expected a hundred—not two thousand!

Still shell-shocked, I called back over my shoulder, "everything's fine, dad", and withdrew a twenty pound note just to seem like my excuse was legitimate.

We set off again down the street, and no doubt my face looked as though somebody had just revealed the date of my death. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had crawled inside me. I felt cheap, somehow. As though I'd been given money for nothing, like I was a charity case. I felt undeserving.

"You're quiet," dad observed.

I bit my lip and avoided his gaze, "I'm fine."

"You know, if you can't afford it..."

"I can," I interrupted quickly. "I was just thinking, maybe we should go somewhere new." The idea struck me out of nowhere but I rolled with it easily. Even if the sudden influx of money had been a mistake, nobody could blame me for using a little of it to treat my father. He deserved it. "We could go to that fancy-pants Italian place," I thought out loud and dad chuckled.

"Gracie, you know I'd love to, but that place is expensive."

"Money isn't a problem," I muttered quickly. "I got a bonus from work."

"Even so—"

"A big bonus." His expression still looked hesitant so I grabbed his chair and began wheeling it away from Wetherspoons and towards the flashy Italian place. "Come on, it's my treat. I insist."

The building's overall structure was made of a beige coloured stone, yet at the bottom large glass floor-to-ceiling windows stood allowing envious passers-by to stare in. I let dad wheel himself through the door behind me, trying to push down the odd nerves that had gathered in my chest. The whole place screamed money; the elegant dark wood tables with flickering candles in fancy silver holders; the delicate floral scent that wafted in the air; the low hubbub of sophisticated chatter rising from tables where men and women were dressed up in Sunday-best.

A young waiter quickly greeted us and kindly escorted us to a table near the back of the room. He seemed to be around my age, maybe a few years younger, with lanky limbs that seemed out of place in such a refined establishment. He graciously moved things out of the way so my dad could get to the table and then handed us two sets of leather-bound menus. I flicked one of mine open—the wine menu—and quickly shut it again with a gasp. Those prices were extortionate! Fifty pounds for a bottle of wine?!

"Would you like to order any drinks now?" the waiter asked. "Or I can come back when you've had time to peruse the menu."

Dad's eyes widened as he also glanced at the list of wines and then connected with my own. He pursed his lips and tried to hide the sympathy behind his expression.

"Um..." I flipped open the menu again and remembered the figure that had come up on the screen of the cash machine. I could afford a treat just this once, couldn't I? "We'll have the, uh—" I pointed at the cheapest bottle which I couldn't pronounce the name of, "—that one, thank you."

The waiter looked at me like I was crazy and read out the name in perfectly fluent Italian, the intonation of his voice turning it into a question. I stared blankly back for a few seconds then nodded. "Yes, thanks."

He quickly departed and when I looked across at my dad he was chuckling. I felt my cheeks flame red. "Stupid foreign wines," I muttered as I set the menu back down.

"You know, that bottle you ordered—"

"Was the cheapest on the menu," I interrupted, "and I won't hear another word about it."

Dad shook his head but didn't argue the point any further. I tried to send him a smile to diffuse the tension but my mind was on other things. Namely, Alexei. It seemed like I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him lately.

"So are you going to tell me about this new job of yours?" My dad asked so casually I almost didn't hear him.

Still staring down at the table deep in thought, I mumbled, "hmm?"

"Your new job. You can't expect me to believe you've been running off to the hospital every day this week," he chuckled.

Finally I looked up and felt my stomach bottom out. I'd been hoping to avoid the topic for as long as possible, and so far this week it had been going well. Dad hadn't questioned my continued absence from the house, and somehow I'd convinced myself he never would. Now I didn't know what to tell him. Not just because I wanted to protect him from Alexei's world—which I did—but also because I didn't know what I was allowed to say. I swallowed hard. "Um."

"And that hospital haven't given out bonuses to you before," dad went on, "certainly not large enough for you to afford to eat at this place." His eyes narrowed then, "did they fire you?"

"What?!" I exclaimed. "No, dad, of course they didn't."

"So you quit."

"It's not like that—" The waiter arrived at our table then and I clamped my mouth shut. He set two large glasses down and began pouring the wine into them. Each glug of the bottle intensified the tension between the two of us. Dad's eyes never left mine and I could feel the disappointment behind them. He'd dedicated his whole life to the NHS before his accident. If he found out I'd gone private it would kill him.

"Dad," I said once the waiter had left us. "Please. I don't want you to be mad at me, but—"

"Are you happy?" His question came so suddenly that I was left staring open mouthed for a moment. Dad took the opportunity to continue. "If you're happy, Gracie, then that's what matters."

"Well..." I wanted to say yes but my voice faltered. Was I happy? I was happy about not working any night shifts in the past week. I was happy about having a regular sleeping pattern. I was happy about the improved money. Yet there were also things I didn't like about my new job. I didn't like constantly feeling on edge as if I were in danger that could present itself at any given moment. And furthermore, I didn't like that I didn't know what that danger might be—I didn't know who I was working for, or what they might do.

I picked up my glass of wine and took a large gulp of liquid courage. "I am," I nodded. "It's nice not being constantly tired."

Dad offered a weak smile and glanced down to the food menu. I could tell he was trying to act disinterested when he asked, "so are you going to tell me where you work now?"

It was the sort of thing I should have been able to tell dad in a heart beat. Getting a new job was something we should have been celebrating together. Since mum died I'd always told him everything and being unable to now was alien to me. I didn't like how guilty it made me feel looking at him across the table and being forced to lie.

"I was offered a job at a, um, a private hospital." Even to me the words sounded clunky and false. I took another gulp of wine to wash away the bad taste they left in my mouth. "The pay is a lot better, and I have more free time now so that I can be at home."

"That's great, Grace."

We both went back to looking at our menus. I tried to pretend I didn't notice that my dad only called me Grace, or that his voice held a note of disappointment.

The rest of our meal passed slowly. The food was good which I could tell pleased my dad, but a faint remnant of tension still hung in the air between us.  By the time we asked for the bill I was four glasses of wine deep and definitely beginning to feel the effects.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom before we leave," I said, getting up from the table. Dad nodded in response, taking another sip of wine. He'd paced himself much more steadily than I had, so was only on his second glass.

Compared to Wetherspoons, even the bathroom of this restaurant was fancy, with reed diffusers and floral arrangements. I felt entirely out of place washing my hands in a marble sink and smelling the delicate scent of jasmine wafting through the air. I tried to avoid seeing myself in the mirror because I knew that would only make things worse. I was still flustered from having to lie to my dad and I knew my expression was as readable as an open book.

When I pushed through the bathroom door to get back into the restaurant, however, I nearly collided with somebody...

A/N hey guys, I don't usually write any notes at the end of chapters but I just wanted to say two things. Firstly, thank you to all of my new readers who have appeared out of no where—it's nice for A&G to finally get a little more recognition. Secondly, my a-levels start on Wednesday so the chances are you won't hear from me again for the next two weeks. Please be patient and know that I'll be wishing I was writing for you instead!

Good luck to anyone else with exams to sit this season. See you on the other side!

-e