Free Kept by Elle Field Page B

they
all approved of, even if I wasn’t convinced they approved of me.
    A few times I insisted on writing him a cheque – my parents
dropped off one to cover my living expenses which Piers refused so I cashed it
to pay off my overdraft – but he never accepted any money from me. He wouldn’t
even let me treat him to dinner.
    Slowly that card became the means to fund my spending. Piers
never once questioned what I spent, and, eventually, I stopped offering to pay
my way. I accepted that when it came to money, Piers would always pick up the
bill.

Chapter Twelve
    Good afternoon
ladies and gentleman. We will shortly be arriving in Brockenhurst. Could all
passengers alighting here please ensure they take all luggage and possessions
with them. This is Brockenhurst. Thank you for travelling with Golighty Trains
today. We wish you a pleasant and tranquil onward journey.

 
    So, you see, that’s all of it. Four years ago I took an
ambulance ride with a City boy named Piers after a demon MD made me cry.
Bizarre? Yes. Life changing? Certainly, yet it’s only now I’m starting to
realise that none of what happened has done me the slightest bit of good.
    Why have I wasted time the past four years? Wasted it shopping ? I could have done a fashion
internship, something useful. Just because I had the opportunity to spend,
spend, spend, it didn’t mean I had to. Why didn’t I save some money for a rainy
day, a dark and dismal day like today? Not that I made any money to save, please understand, but Piers did. He made
serious money, serious money perfectly suited for the “more, more, more”
lifestyle I quickly embraced. The thing is though, he didn’t mind. His greatest
pleasure in life is seeing me happy... was seeing me happy, and I never realised it would come to this.
    I’m nothing now, flung out of his house without a possession
to my name all because my happiness is firmly off his agenda. OK, OK, he did
allow me ten minutes to pack one lousy weekend bag – Prada, mind you – but I
should have taken his favourite crocodile-skin Dunhill’s holdall. That would
have shown him... nothing. It would have shown him nothing, would have only
reinforced how selfish and lousy I am, how he’s better off without me.
    I panicked, couldn’t comprehend he was kicking me out there
and then, never to return. Yet he has.
    The past four years are now represented by travelling
trinkets, my personal papers, a few items of clothing. That’s it. It’s
insignificant, like I’m insignificant to Piers. I walked out of the door – was
kicked out of it if I’m perfectly honest – in the Burberry trench coat I picked
up off eBay for pity’s sake. The
latest Max Mara coat is sat nestled in my wardrobe right now ; my once-worn Marc Jacobs soft purple leather jacket,
butter-soft with the funkiest epaulet on the front pocket will be next to it. I
can picture it so vividly that I can almost smell the leather, feel the baby
smooth delight on my skin. I have a Moschino Bouclé
coat on order – black, but there’s nothing understated about its sleek lines
and finish. No doubt that will be sent back, along with the few other pieces I
may have ordered at the same time. I wonder what he’ll do with my wardrobe.
What a waste of fashion; what a waste of me.
    I sigh deeply at these thoughts. Even though I feel it is my
right to rip Piers apart, deep down I know he doesn’t deserve it. Even deeper
down I know it’s my fault. Knowing this makes me feel lousy and I do not need
this where I am going – back to a place where I was the one to blame for
something that went wrong there six years ago. I sigh again, realising I’ve
finally hit rock bottom. It had to happen one day as I’ve been living off
borrowed luck. It’s a shame you can’t purchase luck on a credit card...
    Why are trains so
slow? I could have flown to some European city in the time it’s taken me to get
from London to the New Forest. Not that I will be flying to any European