Page 167 of The Man Upstairs

“The truth? She must be as delusional as you are.”

“Ask her. She’s right there.” I gestured to the floor below.

“I don’t need to ask her, and I don’t need you to sing my brother’s praises. He needs therapy, and he needs us. If you really believe yourtruth, and you love him, then tell him to come back to us, and leave him alone. Live your life. You’ll be glad you did when you’re older.”

He eased past me, walking away, and this time I didn’t dash forward to stop him. His words had struck a chord. Hypocritical.

“Since you’re judging him for being somanipulative, why are you being so manipulative yourself?”

He turned back to me.

“Mebeing manipulative? Please. I’m looking out for you, and for him.”

“You’re being manipulative, making him choose, and trying to make me choose for him.”

“Believe that if you want.” He shook his head again. “Poor girl. I feel sorry for you, I really do.”

I had to choke back my own tears, trying to stay calm.

“If you feel so sorry for me, then please listen to what I have to say. Knock on my mum’s door and speak to her, and call some of the girlsJulianpreyed on. Please, give him that. Give him a fair trial before you sentence him.”

Michael carried on walking.

“Please!” I called after him. “Please, just speak to them! Any of them! Even Madeline!”

I followed him far enough down to watch him march past Mum’s door, and that broke me. I collapsed down onto the stairs, putting my hands over my face as the tears fell. I’d tried. I’d truly tried.

It was through streaming sobs that I saw him pause at the end of the corridor, long enough to stare back at me, and he was weighing me up. I could feel it. Sense it. Even through the tears.

“Please!” I managed to whimper. “Please give him a fair trial. Please!”

Julian’s brother didn’t answer my final request, he just walked away. I knew he’d be crying all the way downstairs.

I heard the bottom door slam closed behind him, and got myself together enough to hold back the tears as I raced upstairs. I opened the door to our apartment, and found Julian on the chesterfield with his head in his hands. I flew to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as tightly as I could. My mouth was by his ear, my words so choked up I could hardly speak.

“Go with him,” I said. “Go with him, Julian, and go now. They’re waiting for you. He’s still out there… you can go home!”

But my boyfriend took my face in his hands, despite his tears. He shook his head before pressing his forehead to mine.

“Youare my home now, Rosie,” he said. “And I’m not leaving you.”

“You can go!” I cried. “Julian! You can go!”

“Tell me this,” he said, his eyes right on mine. “Would you have ever left me to go back downstairs? Back to your mother? Would you have left me behind and walked away?”

“No,” I said. “Never.”

“And the same is true in reverse. I won’t leave you behind and walk away. Not for anything. I just pray that one day they’ll get the chance to see how much I love you for themselves, just as your mother did.”

I held him and cried with him, and loved the way he loved me, just as I loved him.

And I prayed with everything I had – with my heart and soul – that they would get the chance to see it.

Julian, my saviour, the man upstairs who’d saved my life from nothing, deserved his family.

Just as they deserved him.

Nobody turnedup in the weeks after that. No Grace or Ryan, or Katreya. Michael didn’t come back, and there were no calls. Nothing but silence from Oxford as I finished up my exams.