Chapter Fourteen - Regina

Today has been a lovely day.

I woke up this morning feeling rejuvenated, having had a fantastic, deep sleep despite all the heaviness last night. It was as if, having unburdened myself to Henry, a weight I hadn't realized I'd been carrying had lifted just a touch, and a new sort of serenity had entered its place. I wasn't even bothered by the trio of top-volume alarms waking me at 8:00. I was determined to get up and enjoy my day. The spa was calling me.

We stopped to chat to Henry's family first, who seemed delightful, although not half as crazy as advertised. Emma was there too, and I managed to be causal around her again. The two of them didn't keep us long, so we were off to the spa in no time. It was just what I needed after yesterday. The water in the pool was gently warm; the sauna was ferociously hot. Henry and I slathered on fancy clay face masks used the foot spa, and spoke for hours about nothing in particular. He didn't push me to talk about Dianella again, and I was grateful because this morning of pampering was really helping me put her and those nasty texts to the back of my mind.

But then she started sending more of them. The first came almost as soon as I left the spa. Henry was right next to me, and I showed him the message without thinking to much about whether I should. It only said, "Hey." Henry asked gently if I was all right, and I found to my surprise, I was. I had walked out of the sauna feeling relaxed and refreshed, and those feelings hadn't simply vanished when I read Dianella's text. Admittedly, there was a slight sense of unease creeping in, but I was realizing that I could hold on to my happiness at the same time.

I vowed then to focus on the lovely parts of my day as much as possible, and I did it all with Henry by my side. I ate loads of good food, including some truly exceptional granary bread baked fresh by Mrs. Nolan this morning. I went for a long walk around the gorgeous grounds and got to know Belle and Mr. Gold a little better. I had a nap in the middle of the afternoon. I relaxed in front of the fire and chatted easily with the Nolans and the rest of the family. Basically, I found every little bit of joy the day had to offer.

It didn't stop the texts from coming, of course. I received so many in the early afternoon, each with contradictory implications of love or hatred or concern or indifference, that I ended up locking my phone in the drawer upstairs. Unfortunately keeping Dianella's messages out of the sight didn't keep them out of mind, and after a few hours it started to feel like I was waiting around to open an unwanted present. I retrieved the phone just before dinner. Henry came up to me. He didn't judge. I have continued to show him each text as it arrives, and doing so has helped a lot. It feels easier to let go of Dianella's words when I am not the only one holding on to them.

Now I am alone for pretty much the first time today. I fancied an after-dinner mooch around the garden to further clear my head, and I told Henry I would follow him upstairs soon. I have my coat and scarf ready, and I have a torch on my …

Wait. Where's my phone?

I turn back down the hallway, away from the door to the garden that I had just been about to open, and I retrace my footsteps. Before I can look for my phone in the loo, I see it lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of my pocket.

Naturally, there was yet another text waiting for me, but this time, I smiled; it was the idiot friend, Taylor, with a joke, "Baby! When can you call me? I miss you so much, Regina." Taylor has been my long-life friend, and we dated a few times, but it never clicked. Ever since, we have been best friends, well; not best friends, but good friends.

Taylor, now you're texting me?

I take the phone and head straight outside, now craving the fresh air even more. I've always loved the outdoors, no matter the weather or time of the day. I get that from my dad. It's one of the few things we have in common, and I am still grateful to this day that he always found the time to take me to a local park and horses anytime I wanted to go. With a slight pang, I think of how he would happily sit on the swings with me in the middle of the blizzard.

Now I see a bench near the house, and I cut across the dark, quiet garden to sit down. A nearby tree has been strung with solar-powered fairy lights, so there is some gentle golden light filtering down to me. It is a primarily cold night, and the stars are out. I am wrapped up inside my black jacket and giant wooly scarf; I have found some more peace.

But I don't feel peaceful.

Not quite.

Maybe I've been fooling myself all day. It can't be that lovely and joyful if I have had to tell myself repeatedly how lovely and joyful it is. Dianella's texts have been bothering me, but nevermind Taylor's text. Of course, they have. And I still feel a bit guilty for sharing them with Henry. Especially after reading that article, he showed me earlier.

It was when we went upstairs to retrieve my phone from the drawer. He had been nothing but supportive, saying that it was totally my choice how I dealt with everything, and that he was right here with me if and when I wanted to read the latest messages. It turned out there was only one.

You do realize you're not good enough to play hard to get?

I felt it like a spear through the heart.

"Why is she so horrible to me?" I asked myself out loud.

Henry crossed our room three long strides and wrapped his arms round me. I sank into the embrace, exhausted. He held tight. Only once I pull away, several long moments later, he did reach for his own phone. He guided me gently to sit down with him on the chaise longue.

"There's something I want to show you," he said softly. "It's an article I found earlier. You don't have to look at it if you're not ready."

I was confused when I saw the title. Fifteen Signs of Emotional …

I stopped reading there. The next word was horrible. It was not a word I would ever use. Not to describe my relationship with Dianella. Not at all.

And yet I felt numb when I saw it. Ice cold.

"Would it be okay if I read some of it to you?" Henry asked.

I turned my back to him.

"There's no pressure," he said, inching away to give me more space instead of closing in. "But I do think it could be good for you to hear some of this. Even if some of the specifics don't resonate … even if some of the language isn't quite right for you. It could still be worth a look? Maybe I could just read the first point? See how you feel?"

I wanted to say no. I knew I should say no, but I felt a strange pull towards the article. It was a similar sensation to wanting to put your hand on a hot stove. I found myself nodding.

Henry spoke slowly and clearly, but it still needed to be easier to follow what he was saying. I only picked out a few keywords and phrases. "Belittling." "Putting down." "Undermining self-esteem." Those all sounded very loud, even though Henry's voice was not. They burned my skin, and I felt the same ice-cold feeling again. Freezer burns. Was it a shame? Or anger?

Recognition?

I nodded again when he finished the first point, so he kept going. I felt colder and colder, and the words felt louder and louder, and I was starting to understand too many of them, complete sentences and paragraphs. The shame and the anger and the recognition made me feel sick because they were not feelings I was supposed to feel, not right now, not about this, because even if some of this stuff resonated with me, it was just a fluke, just the odd detail, and the rest was too much, too dramatic, too …

I stopped him suddenly at number eight.

He put the phone away without a moment's hesitation. He held my hand. I'm not sure how long for, but it was at least long enough for me to stop shaking. I only realized that was happening once it started to wear off. I stopped feeling quite so cold as well.

Eventually Henry squeezed my hand and said, "Would you like to have dinner up here tonight? We can say I'm not feeling well."

I thought about it. I was comfortable where I was, settled on the firm cushions of the chaise longue, but I was also removed from the festivity's downstairs.

I stood up. "No," I said as firmly as I could. "I want to be downstairs. I want to keep having a nice evening."

"Okay," Henry agreed, "let's go down and sit by the fire, then. We'll warm you up a bit."

Now I sit outside in the cold, alone, staring at my phone. The screen is black. A black rectangle. Yet I can still feel the presence of Dianella's messages as if they are three-dimensional, all those declarations of love and hate and love again.

I can also feel Henry's article with me somehow. I think that's why I feel so guilty: because I keep thinking about it. I feel it settling into my mind. It is all getting muddled up with Dianella's messages. One of the sections that sunk in the most was all about the mixed signals and emotional extremes. Apparently, those patterns are deliberate, designed to confuse and destabilize. The only solution is to remove yourself from it all. Otherwise, you'll keep being drawn back in. Almost everyone is drawn back in. It never ended. I hover my finger over the button for a moment. And then I do it again.

I block her.

Twenty minutes later, I am still trying not to overthink about what I just did. If I do, I'll undo it. I'll feel bad. I'll think that I've betrayed Dianella when really all I've done is put a stop to betraying myself. I want to be free to enjoy my Christmas. There is too much happiness and comfort for me here at the manor to let Dianella keep dragging me into the messy past.

I look up at the sky above me. The moon is quite round tonight, maybe a week or so away from being full. The stars are twinkling, just as they always are, whether we can see them or not. They have their fixed point in the sky. They are entirely unchanged by my actions, which is a thought I find far more comforting than any silly poetic ideas I could have about their beauty. To me, the stars are just balls of gas. Pretty, twinkly balls of gas.

A fresh wind blows all around me, rustling the evergreen trees. Behind me, the house is solid and reassuring. In front of me, there are signs of life from the bungalow on the other side of the mansion, as a golden glow out and a figure walks back and forth past the window. The world is still turning, and I am still part of it, even sitting here alone. I feel connected yet tethered to nothing. I feel light and free and once again aware of all the loveliness life has to offer.

I want to do more than sit here and watch, though. I want to step further than simply allowing myself to be carried along by the lovely things happening around me. It is time for me to make good things happen for myself. By myself. I think blocking Dianella has been a good start, even if it is an undercurrent of guilt is attempting to rise within me. I think that instead of backing down now, I need to continue to take control and do good things for myself.

There could be no better end to a day I have fought so hard to make lovely.