Book Two: Thirty Days, Book 2 Page 4

  “For the hundredth time I know you are. I have seen pictures,” Nicola yells back.

  “What pictures?” Taylor’s voice is now calmer but just as harsh.

  “Online, on this blog my friend Jasmine follows,” Nicola replies petulantly.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I can hear the confusion in Taylor’s voice.

  “There’s this blog about you, one of those society things, and it has all this info about you and Abby. And then last night there were photos showing you with someone else.” Nicola seems confident but not at all happy about her revelations.

  “But I was with Abby last night.”

  I decide enough is enough and make my way into the living room, where Taylor and Nicola are arguing.

  “Nicola, it’s true. Taylor was with me all of last night,” I interrupt. Shock spreads across Nicola’s features as she runs her eyes over me.

  “Ab…Abby, your hair?”

  I touch the nape of my neck, still not used to the absence of my waves. “Yeah, I had a bit of a makeover day with my mum yesterday. It was quite drastic. So what is this blog, then?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

  “I am so sorry, Abby. There was this picture of Taylor kissing this woman with short hair and I thought…” Nicola trails off, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “That’s okay, hon,” I respond, feeling sorry for Nicola and secretly astounded that she came to defend my honour. “Let’s take a look at these pictures as I certainly didn’t see anyone taking any last night.”

  Taylor flips open his laptop and then looks expectantly over at Nicola, his expression grim. “Um, just Google ‘blog sugar and spice’,” she instructs, her voice wobbling with nerves. Taylor’s expression remains unreadable while he scrolls down the page.

  “It looks like some sort of society commentary. I know there are a couple that follow me, but my PR guys normally keep tabs on all this stuff. I mean, you can’t see Abby’s face and the picture is pretty poor quality, so it would be easy to make assumptions. They even had me linked to Madonna a few years ago. It’s all speculation and innuendo.” Taylor waves dismissively at the screen, clearly unconcerned.

  I am curious to see what is being said, so I pull the laptop towards me and start to read. At first the feature seems rather innocuous, but as I read more thoroughly, a sense of unease settles on me. I notice a link to a list of earlier blog posts, so I click, curious to see what has been written previously.

  I remember seeing some of these blogs when I Googled Taylor the first time, and it was all rather harmless gossip sites with pictures of parties and film premieres. I sometimes forget that Taylor is this multimillionaire businessman who also happened to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors until I came on the scene. Little old me with my chubby hips and lacklustre hair, if this blog is to be believed.

  The more that I read as I click through the links, the more I feel the vitriol and anger coming through the words. This is not only a commentary on Taylor’s comings and goings; this is a site that appears dedicated to belittling me and making me out to be some whiny, wannabe gold digger. I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, desperately trying to keep my expression neutral. Clearly, Taylor didn’t look any further than the first page.

  Just then I notice a link entitled ‘Desperate to Die’ and I click on it, foreboding filling me up and making my hands tremble. The images I see fill me with horror and have me rushing to the bathroom, where I end up emptying the contents of my stomach. I flinch when I hear Taylor roar “Motherfuckers!” and then the sound of things smashing fills the flat.

  When I finally stop retching, I curl my arms around my knees and find myself rocking backwards and forwards slowly as the images in my mind play like a never-ending show reel. First a picture of me being loaded into an ambulance. Then an image of Taylor, covered in blood, staring at my unconscious form, abject misery on his face. Then picture after picture of the inside of my bathroom covered in blood: the bath, the floor, wet towels soaked through in crimson, lying limp where they were discarded.

  “Abby, Abby, baby, look at me.” Taylor is sitting down on his haunches, his hand gripping mine. I feel like I am floating above my body, staring down at this scene. I can hear Taylor, I can see him, yet he seems so far away. My blank stare obviously unnerves him, and I see him reaching for his phone. I want to ask him what he is doing, whom he is phoning, but my body doesn’t seem to be responding.

  “Dr Grohl, please. It’s Taylor Hudson calling. Please tell him it is urgent.” Worry is spread across Taylor’s features, and finally, my voice makes a reappearance.

  “Is that what it was like when you found me? How could I do that, Taylor? Such a mess, I can’t believe you had to deal with that.” My voice is filled with the pain that has spread through my entire body. An aching remorse that fills me with shame.

  Just as Taylor is about to answer, David comes on the line, and Taylor quickly explains what has happened. David insists on coming over to check on me and suggests that Taylor gets me some sweet tea for the shock.

  “Come on, Abs, let’s get you off this cold floor,” Taylor suggests, helping me to my feet and leading me out of the bathroom.

  “Nicola,” I gasp. The thought that she might have seen those pictures fills me with dread. She is only fifteen. Me seeing them was bad enough, but she is still an impressionable girl.

  “I sent her home already. She didn’t see anything. The minute you bolted I knew something was up so I suggested that it was just morning sickness and that you would need to rest so she doesn’t know. It was only she left I saw exactly what made you take off.” Thank heavens for that, I think to myself. I don’t even dare contemplate how many other people have seen those pictures. I had noticed a comments section on the page but hadn’t been brave enough to read any of them. On reflection, I am glad that I didn’t.

  Taylor deposits me on the sofa and then disappears off to make me a cup of tea. I can see a dent in the wall where Taylor threw something, but I can’t figure out what it was until I notice the laptop in pieces on the floor. Okay, well, that accounts for the noise, then. When Taylor returns, he watches me like a hawk as I sip the tea and doesn’t relax until David arrives.

  We chat briefly, and my anxiety ramps up when I tell him about the pictures and how they are running on this endless loop in my head every time I close my eyes. David suggests giving me a sedative, and I baulk at first until David suggests that I need to rest and let my subconscious work through everything. I take the tablet and start to feel drowsy fairly quickly, so Taylor helps me into a pair of pyjamas and settles me in bed. I am just starting to drift properly when I hear Taylor’s voice through the fog.

  “How the hell did they have access to her medical records, David?” The fury in Taylor’s voice is apparent.

  “I have no idea, Taylor. There are five security levels to get through to get access to patient records, so there is not a chance in hell an outsider could have done this. I am going to head back now and talk to our head of Security and get to the bottom of this.” I can hear David’s frustration and anger simmering.

  “Okay, but I want my guy Henry to be a part of the investigation. We need to shut this thing down, now!”

  “I hear you, Taylor, but there is no need to get your guys on this.”

  “Like hell. Henry is going back with you now. I need to know who is behind this. I will not let anything happen to Abby. Ever.”

  “You really do love her, don’t you, Taylor?” And before I have a chance to hear his answer, the world fades to nothingness.

  The Fifth

  My head is pounding from the effects of the sedative when I finally manage to open my eyes. Taylor’s chocolate brown eyes stare intensely at me, a frown furrowing his brow. I smile weakly at him, but even that small movement sends pain shooting through my skull, forcing a grimace across my face. Taylor silently hands me some cool water and a couple of painkillers, which I take gratefully before flop
ping onto my back with my eyes closed.

  “These should kick in soon and then hopefully you will feel a bit better. David said you would probably wake up with a killer headache…” Taylor trails off and I can tell he wants to discuss last night, but I know I am just not ready to confront today’s big issue. I don’t reply, so he places a light kiss on my cheek before adding, “I need to go out for a bit, but I’ll be back for lunch with your parents later.”

  “Okay,” I answer in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll see you a bit later, then.” I know I should ask where he is going, but knowing Taylor, if he wanted me to know he would have told me already, and I really don’t have the energy to fight with him. I wait until I hear the front door close before attempting to get out of bed. I have no sooner placed my feet on the floor than bile rises up my throat, and I am attending my usual morning appointment with the porcelain gods.

  I spend the morning cooking and baking, all the while trying to avoid thinking about yesterday’s horrific event. I knead dough with furious concentration, anything to block out the images that keep fluttering into my head. It is a relief when the doorbell finally rings.

  As I greet my parents, I can’t help but wonder where Taylor is, but that all gets swept to one side when my dad starts exclaiming excitedly over my makeover. Half an hour later, it is clear that Taylor is officially late, so I set out our lunch of feta, sundried tomato and spinach tart, crusty rolls and salad. He hasn’t responded to my texts, so I tell my parents that we will eat without him. I see disappointment flit across their faces, which is a bit strange, but I shrug it off, not really wanting to delve into any more drama.

  We are halfway through lunch when my mum nervously clears her throat and shoots a look at my dad. I can’t help but think that something is going on, so I wait patiently for whatever bombshell is about to be dropped on my head, not sure that I can deal with anyone else’s crap right now. But hey, it never rains but it pours, so why not add to the shitstorm that is my life?

  My dad takes a breath before he starts. “So your mum told me about your idea for the expansion…” Okaaayyy. So this wasn’t what I was expecting, so I wait for him to continue. “Well, we have had a talk about it, and we would like to invest in your business…” Dad trails off with an expectant look on his face.

  Quite frankly, I am shocked. This is not something I would have ever expected from my parents, and my disbelief is quite possibly written across my face, so I quickly change my expression into something neutral.

  Reading me, Mum quickly interjects, “Honey, what your father means is that we know you can’t afford to do this expansion on your own, but we believe in you and think that it is really something that will be a success. We don’t want to just lend you the money, though if that’s what you would prefer, we are happy to. We want to invest in the business, be a part of your life and your work.”

  Seriously, I am gobsmacked! “Wow, I am stunned. That is amazingly generous of you both, but I can’t take your money. I am so honoured that you want to invest, but seriously, you can be part of this without giving me money.”

  We argue back and forth for a while until, eventually, I capitulate. My parents have persuaded me that selling their house in Primrose Hill is something they have been considering for a while and this is an opportunity to settle in Brighton with extra capital to invest in my business. Deep down I feel a real sense of excitement at having my parents in my life in this way. The last few weeks have felt a little like they have been babying me, trying to wrap me up in cotton wool to make sure nothing bad can happen. But this will mean moving forward. Expanding Bread is going to take a huge effort in both time and money, so the knowledge that my parents want to be actively involved actually gives me a huge sense of relief.

  The afternoon flies by as I bring out all the information and plans that Taylor gave me. Both Mum and Dad have some helpful suggestions that I make a note of, thinking that I will be able to make a start tomorrow after the morning bake. It is only when dusk starts to fall that I realise Taylor hasn’t made an appearance. I check my phone for texts or calls, but there is nothing, so I slip out to call him. It goes straight to voicemail. Unease sits like a lump in my stomach. It is not like Taylor to have his phone off, but I decide to give him a couple more hours before I start to worry. My parents seem to sense my turmoil and offer to stay, but I shoo them off with assurances that everything will be fine. With a couple of final hugs, they head off with promises to let me know how they get on with selling the house.

  I keep myself busy tidying up, knowing that if I start to dwell on Taylor’s whereabouts, I will just end up driving myself crazy. I am so engrossed that I don’t hear the door open and steps on the stairs until a pair of strong arms wraps themselves around my waist. I start with fright but relax into Taylor’s embrace when his signature citrusy scent fills my senses.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call to let you know that I was going to be so late. Battery died,” Taylor offers up as an explanation, holding out his blank phone.

  I am still a little mad at him despite his explanation, so I simply shrug and carry on clearing the dishes from the table. He could have found a way to call me if he had really wanted to. The tension between us ramps up and the stubborn part of me feels like picking a fight. I think Taylor senses this as he suddenly grabs my arms, spinning me around to face him before pinning my arms to my sides.

  “I spent the day with Henry trying to track down the origin of that blog,” Taylor says quietly. “We were in a server room most of the time. There was no reception, and by the time I came out, my battery was dead. I was so late I didn’t want to stop to try and find a phone.”

  I can see the sincerity in Taylor’s eyes, and I immediately feel bad for doubting him. “That’s okay,” I whisper. “Did you have any luck with finding out who is behind it?” I ask, hopeful that there will be a resolution to this.

  “No,” Taylor shakes his head. “We think we have traced a couple of things, but we still haven’t been able to get an actual name. It is going to take a little while longer, but Henry is on it. So did you have a good afternoon with your parents?” Taylor asks, changing the subject, and I am glad to have something positive to talk about. With excitement I fill him in on my parents’ offer but pause when an expression that I can’t fathom crosses Taylor’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “So why will you take money from your parents, but when I offered, you wouldn’t let me buy the shop for you?” I can tell Taylor is hurt, so I try to explain that it is not so much about the money but the fact that after all this time my parents want to be actively involved in something that previously they would have scoffed at means more than I can say. My tone is pleading as I try and make him understand, and I think I finally get through to him when his expression softens and he bends down to kiss me softly.

  “Okay, I get it. But just so you know, if you need the money, it is there.” Taylor’s hands have started moving over my arms in light circles, and I find myself melting into his embrace—that is, until the thing that has been bugging me to remember it all day suddenly surfaces.

  “Oh shit!” I freeze in Taylor’s arms and confusion clouds his expression. “You told Nicola I had morning sickness.” Comprehension dawns on Taylor as the reality of what he told his sister sets in.

  “Fuck.” The word is harsh but his voice is low.

  My whole body has started trembling as the implications of Richard’s knowledge of my pregnancy flit through my mind. I can see Taylor is having similar thoughts as I whisper, “What is Richard going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk to Stix, see what she has said. The shit is really going to hit the fan.” Taylor’s expression is grim as he pulls me into his body as if he is trying to completely envelop me. We are both quiet as we stand, arms wrapped around each other.

  A sharp ring interrupts, bringing me out of my reverie. It takes a moment to realise that the sound is my house phone, and when I pick up, all I c
an hear is sobbing on the other end. “Hello?” I say cautiously.

  “Oh, Abby, I am so sorry!” Nicola wails down the phone. I have to pass the receiver over to Taylor after a couple of minutes when it is clear nothing I say will calm her down.

  “Where are you, Stix?” Taylor calmly manages to get Nicola to reveal that she is at her grandmother’s and tells her he will be right over. He stops only long enough to grab his jacket and plant a brief, troubled kiss on my forehead before running out the door.

  It is really late when I hear the front door open and then close softly. I had made up the sofa bed in case Taylor brought Nicola back with him, but I can tell from the footsteps he is alone. I lie in bed, waiting for Taylor to come through, but after listening to him moving around quietly for a while, I finally give in as sleep claims me.

  The Sixth

  Taylor is gone when I wake, but I roll over to find a note on my pillow, promising to let me know everything when he gets home. I find myself worrying about Nicola, worrying about Taylor and, finally, worrying about my little Bean. Knowing that Richard knows about my pregnancy sends a shiver down my spine.

  I know I stood up to him previously at Genevieve’s party and told him that he didn’t scare me, but when I found out how Richard’s threats to Taylor caused the downfall of our relationship, the fear of him returned. His obsession with Taylor—and that is what it has all boiled down to—means that he doesn’t want anyone to replace him in his brother’s life. He has already made it perfectly clear how he feels about me, and I am just terrified that his reaction to a baby would be even fiercer. After all, he abused Nicola as a baby too.

  I finally force myself out of bed, grateful that the morning sickness seems to be absent for a change. I find my mind wandering all morning as I bake, wondering what on earth Taylor is going to tell me when he returns.