Page 61 of Take Me Away

‘Well, your time away is causing absolute chaos, sweetie. The Vogue shoot’s been rescheduled twice. Miranda’s about to bump you for that new Netflix ingenue if we don’t lock this down.’

I pace towards the kitchen, trying to find air that doesn’t feel heavy with damp plaster and regret. ‘I’m dealing with some personal things.’

‘Honey, we’re all dealing with personal things. That’s what therapists and Merlot are for.’ The clack of her keyboard undercuts her breezy tone. ‘Richard’s losing it. Says you’ve gone off-grid. We hired him for a reason, Isla. He deals in crisis management, and frankly, darling, your career is in crisis.’

‘I know.’ I omit that I don’t care.

Although in my line of work, that’s the same thing. No career? Might as well be dead anyway.

Reality hits like cold water. ‘I need time to think.’

‘Time is a luxury you can’t afford, darling.’ A beat. Then softer: ‘Look, I know Marcus gutted you. But hiding isn’t the fix. You did what you wanted, you spoke out, but he’s going to ruin you. I know Marcus and he won’t stop until he’s been exonerated and your name is six feet down in mud.’

‘I’m not hiding. I’m regrouping.’

‘Call it what you like. But call Richard tomorrow. You either have to stand up the whole way and let people in;, or let them see what happened to you and why it’s taken you so long to speak up. If you don’t, you need to realise you are just going to be labelled the mad bad woman of the moment and people – producers, directors, studios – they’ll just see you as a liability.’

My grip tightens on the windowsill. ‘I’ll call him.’

‘Promise me, Isla.’

‘Tomorrow,’ I say, but my breath is coming in tight little jabs now.

‘That’s my girl. Now – Vogue. I’m thinking stark contrast. Structured, sharp. Diana in monochrome meets vengeance chic.’

My chest contracts. I can’t breathe. The walls of Maggie’s kitchen feel too close.

‘I need to go, Simone,’ I manage. ‘Tomorrow.’

I lean down, clutching the kitchen work surface. There’s a wild pulsing in my ears.

I can’t fucking breathe.

‘Isla.’ A hand on my shoulder makes me jump. I glance over to find Kit so close, the warmth of him spreads straight through all my layers until it gets to the cold numb parts of me I like to hide.

Neither of us speaks. His expression is torn, but perhaps not as shredded as I feel on the inside.

Eventually he says, ‘The roof is finished,’ and just like that, I switch myself back on, smiling, pretending, acting, moving away from the weight of his hand on my shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ I say, forcing on my best smile. ‘How much do I owe you?’

His expression darkens. ‘Nothing.’

‘Kit, I can’t just⁠—’

‘You can.’ He tucks a rag into his back pocket. ‘The flashing will need replacing properly at some point, but this will keep you dry for now.’

‘At least let me make you a cup of tea before you go,’ I offer, not ready for him to leave. ‘You’re soaked.’

He hesitates, then nods once. ‘All right.’

I busy myself with the kettle, hyperaware of his presence as he moves into the kitchen, looking around at Maggie’s things with a quiet familiarity that makes my heart ache. He knows this cottage almost as well as I do – probably better, given how long I’ve been away.

‘Not much has changed,’ he says, running a finger along the edge of the countertop, eyes catching on the collection of sea glass Maggie kept in a jar by the window.

‘No.’ I feel the weight of that truth. ‘Sometimes I think time just … stood still here.’

‘Not everywhere.’