Save Her by Abigail Osborne (i can read books .txt) 📕

certain that marrying into the Cavendish family was the right path for them both. When she realised that Greg had a brother, it had felt serendipitous. But now, spending some time with Flora alone, she wished more than anything that she had never met Greg Cavendish. She fingered the bruise along her arm, pressing at the place where it was the most painful. It was her punishment for bringing these men into their lives.

‘Cheers,’ yelled Flora. She attempted to clink her glass with Sophie’s on the table. But Flora’s vision wasn’t quite what it had been before she began drinking and the next thing Sophie knew her blouse had been drenched by the ‘mocktail’ she had been drinking. Flora began to apologise profusely and urgently searched for a napkin. Once she found one, she moved over to Sophie’s side of the booth and began to rigorously scrub off the wine from Sophie’s arm. She hissed in pain before she could stop herself. The silk of her shirt had become translucent from the drink. The angry red and black bruise that snaked up her arm was plain for anyone to see, even in the dim light of the bar. Sophie looked up to see Flora’s eyes wide and fixed upon her arm.

‘The Macarena’ began to play, and before Flora could say a word, Sophie reached for her and dragged her onto the dance floor where a clumsy circle of people had formed. Taking advantage of the cheesy music, she began to complete the dance moves of her youth, acting like she was having the best time in the world. She ignored Flora’s stares, hoping to avoid a conversation about the marks on her arms. She was not ready to share that story yet. It seemed to work, as Flora appeared to be seduced by the drunken joy and happiness in the room. Thank god for alcohol clouding her friend’s brain.

Her phone beeped and she pulled it out of her pocket and despite the stifling heat in the bar, her blood ran cold. Alistair.

We need to talk. You can’t avoid me forever.

25

The world was spinning. Flora couldn’t get out of bed without her stomach lurching dangerously. Why oh why did she drink so much? It was all Cecelia’s fault. If she hadn’t been so evil then Flora would not have had to drink away her sorrows. She felt unsettled, like something had happened last night that upset her, but her memories were blurry. All she could remember was drinking and dancing. Picking up her phone, she began to text Sophie, hoping she could convince her to bring her a McDonald’s breakfast. It was the best hangover cure in the world, something she’d learnt at university. An email popped up as she was typing, it was from Polly, one of the mothers at the centre.

‘Thought you ought to see this…’ a link to the Manchester News website was underneath. Clicking on it, Flora saw the title ‘Mother of Autistic Child Denied Support because of Poverty’. She read through the article and before she knew it, she had thrown up on the floor.

Whilst she was scrubbing her sick off the grey carpet, she received another copy of the article from Cecelia along with a demand for an urgent meeting.

Linda’s words in the article reverberated around her mind.

‘The woman, Flora, couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She looked at me like I was scum of the earth. The whole place was packed with rich kids. It breaks my heart that my Ethan is being denied the therapy other children have because I am a single mum that can’t afford their prices. She didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face that she wouldn’t help my son. Sent one of her lackeys to meet me and give me the brush off.’

Linda. How could she do this to her? It was all her own fault for not explaining everything properly to Linda. Why did she let Sophie talk to her? She should have explained that she had to make ends meet.

According to the article they had tried to contact her for comment, when? If they had, she could have explained that she did not take money from the Cavendish family and that the centre was not doing well. Flora felt guilty not taking the Cavendish money to expand her centre and it was something she thought about every day. When she looked at her Excel spreadsheet and extended the limit on her business credit card, she had to stop herself wondering how much easier her life would be if she just accepted the money. How many more children could she help if she opened more than one centre? But she just couldn’t do it. Not for Ethan. Not for anyone.

Travelling into work, the words of the article kept reverberating in her mind. She could no longer control her guilt at not helping more children. At not helping Ethan. Linda had taken her guilt and exposed it to the world. She could no longer deny that she was turning her back on money that could help a lot of people. What sort of person did that make her? Under the scrutiny of the world, would her desire to remain independent and ensure the business remained under her control stand up in the light?

She unlocked the centre and tried to give herself a pep talk. This centre was hers. She had opened it before she met Sam and named it after her parents. She had built it from nothing. It was part of her identity.

Flora was scared that once she started dipping into the Cavendish pot of money she would lose what defined her. She was also not stupid. Nothing in life came for free. She would be beholden to the Cavendish empire for the rest of her life. Cecelia would claim an input into what she did and how she did it. Up until now, she just had to secretly struggle