I give her a wry smile. “Busted. No. But I do dogsit for him, so Bearcub knows the house. I asked to borrow him for the night.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” She climbs onto a barstool at the breakfast bar.
I gesture at the coffee machine, and she nods, so I start making us both a cup. “I’m glad you came over.” I set the espresso pouring and retrieve some milk from the fridge. As I pour it into the jug, I glance at her. “You sounded as if you’d had quite a shock.”
“Yeah.” Her smile fades and she scratches at a mark on the countertop.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She glances over her shoulder, makes sure that Thea is still in the garden, then looks back at me. “Mark took an overdose.”
I nod slowly and swap the cups. “I thought that might be the case.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Really? I was so shocked. Why did you think that might have been it, and not an accident or something?”
“Because of what’s been happening, with the money and everything.” Once the second espresso has poured, I set the milk steaming, and turn and face her, folding my arms.
“I don’t get it,” she says, clearly confused. “I paid off the debt. He had no more worries. All he had to do was concentrate on getting better. It was a new start for him. He has everything—a job, a wife, a daughter, a roof over his head. Why would he try to kill himself?” She’s close to tears.
“I don’t know,” I say carefully, “but I imagine he was ashamed.”
She blinks. “Ashamed?”
“He enjoys gambling. He likes the buzz it gives him. But he knows it’s wrong. The fact that he likes it, and that he can’t fight it, will probably make him feel weak, and maybe worthless or stupid.”
“But it’s not,” she says, her brow furrowed, “addiction isn’t a character flaw.”
“Well, you and I know that. But being ashamed of an addiction is very common. People will try and hide it, deny it, rationalize it, do anything rather than face it and address it.”
I pour the steamed milk over the espresso, stir it, and slide hers across to her. “He’s a guy, Chess. You can tell us we’re equals until you’re blue in the face, but we all feel it’s our responsibility to be the man, to look after our families, and to provide for them. He let his family down. He risked his parents’ home. He caused his wife stress and anxiety and probably lied to her, too. He was a bad role model for his daughter. And he forced his sister to go against her better judgement for money because she wanted to help.”
“He doesn’t know it’s a fake engagement,” she whispers.
“Most people won’t guess, but he’s a smart guy. He knows we haven’t seen each other for a while. And then, out of the blue, at a time he needs you most, we bump into each other, get engaged in a fortnight, and then you miraculously produce enough money to pay off his debt? Believe me, he knows.” She should probably have told her family the truth from the beginning, but the stupid contract took away that option, and now we’re caught up in this web of lies.
I can see understanding sinking in slowly like a stone tossed into the ocean. And I know immediately what she’s thinking.
“No,” I say firmly, pointing at her, “don’t go down that road.”
“But… if I hadn’t tried to help…”
“You can’t blame yourself, Chess. He’s an addict. He’s fucked up. It’s nobody’s fault, not even his, and certainly not yours.”
It’s too late, though. Her face crumples, and then she covers it with her hands and starts crying.
“Ah… fuck…” I walk around the breakfast bar, go up to her, and wrap my arms around her. She’s still sitting down, and she buries her face in my chest and sobs.
“It’s okay…” I rub her back and kiss the top of her head. It must have been a huge shock to her.
I’m surprised she didn’t go to the hospital considering her dad has gone too. But someone has to look after Thea, and it wouldn’t surprise me if her mother suggested it. I know Chessie has been working super hard to try to keep the family on its feet, and I’m sure her mother knows the impact it’s having on her mental and physical health, and is trying to give her a break.
A skittering noise on the floorboards causes me to look over, and I watch Thea come in with Bearcub, whose nails clack on the wood as he trots in to have a drink from his water bowl.
“Chessie?” Thea asks, approaching us. “Are you okay?”
Chessie nods but doesn’t look around.
“She’ll be all right in a minute,” I say to Thea. “Do you want to give Bearcub a treat? They’re in that box over there. He can’t have too many or he’ll get fat, but you can give him one if you like.”