Way Down We Go

Chapter Twenty

"And preforming next on the platinum music awards, with the new hit single from her new album 'Double Dealing', this is Scarlett Bealiau!"

The song started. I looked around, my body trembling from cold and need, fear and uncertainty, I lifted the mic to my lips and started to sing.

"I got no excuses

For all of these goodbyes
Call me when it's over
'Cause I'm dying inside"

"Mary, time to get up." Catherine spoke, shaking my shoulder as I lay on the couch. I grumbled, much like I had done as a child, and swatted the soft, manicured hand away. She tutted in a motherly way and continued to pester until I finally let up several minutes later.

"What?" I complained, scrunching my eyes up as I struggled to make out the bronze curls and copper-hazel eyes of my true mother, but all I saw was a misshapen lump of colours and grey. Why was she so blurry?

"I've made you some tea," she handed me a china mug. I mumbled my thanks and sat up, the blanket that had been strewn over me sometime in the night billowing across my waist. I took the mug, wincing at the feeling of heat overtaking my cold hands. "You're so thin, baby." she tutted, taking one of my hands. I struggled to hold the mug in the one spare one. I looked at my hand, and it was indeed rather skinny. These last few months had been nothing but a hectic blur, food was a foreign concept to me now. But what choice did I have? I was a puppet for management. "Aren't you eating?" she asked, lifting my chin with one of her own hands, letting down mine.

"I'm busy, mama. Management tells me all publicity is good publicity, even if the spark breaks me apart." I sighed, taking my face from her grasp. She sighed in sympathy, for the similarities between she, Diane, Henry and Sebastian were almost mirrored by the awkward quartet that Francis, Lola, their unborn babies and I were.

"Francis, Lola, the babies." she nodded. "I'm sorry, love. I never wanted my child to turn out like his father." she said, as if Francis' mistakes weren't in fact his own, but as if it was her fault.

"I don't think he's becoming his father in the sense of husband," I whispered, taking a sip of the hot tea to soothe my aching, dry throat. "He made a drunk mistake, but that's changed our lives forever."

"It in no way excuses it, intoxication." she hissed.

"I know, mama. I know." I looked away. "He's not an alcoholic or anything close, but he made a horrible mistake and that must be atoned. And I can't be with him and give him the opportunity to do it again, hurt me like this again."

"I understand, but is the divorce in any way avoidable? Just remain married on paper, search for another." she damn near begged. I closed my eyes. I felt awful for filing for divorce. The only reason we were betrothed in the first place was for mutual benefit for our companies and for his fathers' empire not to crumble to dust. They were better now, but the divorce would sever the steady stream of money that my family and I put into their brand. I felt awful for severing that tie, but I couldn't find it in myself to tighten it.

"I can't." I whispered. "I want to find somebody and marry for love, to be happily married with kids of my own. I can't do that and be married to your son at the same time." I looked away from her sad eyes. As a mother, she understood. But as a businesswoman, she objected. "I'm sorry." I shook my head.

"I don't like it, Mary."

"Neither do I." I rolled my eyes. "I would have given anything for this not to have happened, but it has. I didn't want it to be this way." 

"But it is this way, my child."

"It is." I agreed.

"It could just be a business transaction." she offered. "Your and my son's union. A business transaction, like it always was supposed to be." she nearly begged again.