Page 134 of Pretty Mess

“He couldn’t look much worse than when I saw him.”

Over the last few weeks, my worry for Tyler has compounded the misery of life without Mac. Tyler kept his promise and has texted every night, but neither Cath nor I have seen him. It’s been hard not to feel terrified that he’s been gambling, rackingup more debts, or if he’s been taken by the men who’ve been terrorizing him for money he owes.

Now, this news from Cath feels like a lifeline. I tap my fingers on the counter, distantly noticing the ding of a car entering the petrol station forecourt.

“What did he say?” I ask.

“Not much. It’s difficult to talk in those places. We can’t seem to remember how to talk to each other lately, anyway. There’s only one thing wecantalk about. Plus, there were lots of people around. It was like a nice prison.”

“Well, hopefully, we’ve staved off the particular delight of real prison.”For now, is my unspoken comment but I know she hears it.

“They seem to know what they’re talking about, and I should think so. It’s seriously posh, Wes.”

Tyler’s gone into rehab at a place that specialises in addiction. He rang me yesterday afternoon to tell me he’d got a place there, but I’d been working and I couldn’t take him. So Cath had agreed to go with him.

“So, he’s settled in, then?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish I could have gone with you.”

“Maybe it’s better that you didn’t, Wes.”

“What do you mean?”

“He tries to be better for you. He’s not so bothered about showing me his weaker side. If you’d been there, he wouldn’t have focused on what he needed to do.”

“What’s the place like?”

“I’ll send you a picture.”

My phone beeps a second later, and I fumble to open the picture. It shows a big building in what looks like the middle of nowhere, which actually turns out to be near Brighton. It’s a tall, white-painted mansion in front of a lonely stretch of windsweptbeach. She’s right. It’s seriously posh. Maybetooposh. Alarm bells ring.

“How is it that he’s there, Cath?”

“What do you mean?”

“Places like this…” I run my tongue over my teeth as I gaze at the picture. “I don’t know. Something feels hinky. People like us don’t get chances at places like that.”

“Tyler said they have to take on a quota of free cases, and he just struck it lucky.”

But my brother and I don’t ever get lucky. That’s my worry.

“Stop worrying,” Cath chides me.

“I’ll try. So, how long is he in there?”

“Three months.”

“Jesus. And we’re not getting a bill for this?”

“Apparently not.”

“Because I’ve got money, but I’m not sure how much a place like this costs.” My voice is threaded with panic, because my life is, once again, teetering on the precipice of disaster.

“Wes,relax. Take a breath. You’re winding yourself up again.”

I do as she says, feeling a little calmer. “So, when can we visit?”