by Anna Bloom
“I haven’t missed breakfast, have I?” I hope not, I’m starving after all that making out.
“Not at all… there’s a bit of a scene in the house… I’m hoping you can come and help.”
“Scene?”
Maybe the witch’s broomstick snapped.
“Yes, ma’am, with the new guest.”
Lewis!
Crap! I leap out of bed and Jennings swiftly hands me my dotty dressing gown.
I’m almost entirely sure that what I’m about to find isn’t going to be a great start to the day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The shouting meets my ears as I walk along the hallway. The house, so normally calm and tranquil, muted almost in its regal splendour, is being ripped apart with the morning cry of, “You can all go fuck yourselves. I don’t know why Elijah brought me here, but it fucking sucks.”
Yikes.
I kind of skid into the room, making more of an arrival than I’d want when wearing my spotty dressing gown, with my unbrushed hair, and blatantly bruised lips from kissing too much. Dark burning eyes land on me and I wince at the sheer hatred that flows from them.
“Hey.” I think it’s a strong opening line.
“What the fuck do you want?” Jeez, this guy. He’s young, his face marred with a sneer of scorn, and he’s also sporting an angry black eye.
“Wow, how did you get that shiner?” I ignore his question and go with one of my own. I grew up in a tattoo shop frequented by drunks—black eyes are something I know rather a lot about.
“Fucking pigs, heavy-handed bastards.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this line before either.
There’s a tut from the other side of the room followed by a grumbled, “Charming.” I turn and find the wicked witch standing there with a china cup and saucer poised in her hand.
“I’ll organise some ice,” I say to Lewis, AKA the boiling bundle of hatred trapped like a wild quarry the other side of the breakfast table.
“Don’t bother.”
I wave my hand like it’s no big deal parading around a national treasure of a house in my fluffy robe. “No bother, up to you if you use it.”
Tabitha is cowering at the end of the table and I turn to face her, giving her a warm smile and ignoring the teen with the rage. “All ready for today, Tabs?” I ask.
She nods, her head mechanical as it jerks up and down, but doesn’t say a word.
“Honestly, Jennifer,” the clear-cut tones of Connie Fairclough slice through the dining room. “Is our home to be a halfway house for delinquents now?”
I round on her and glare although it rolls off her like water off a well-oiled duck. “Not helping.”
“Well.” The wicked witch makes eye contact with me, her demeanour almost open. Clearly, I am no longer the worst thing under the roof at Bowsley. “This is ridiculous. I mean are we even safe in our beds?”
Lewis looks like he’s about to lob the teapot.
I walk towards Jennifer and Connie, who are both cowering and commenting from the safety of the other end of the ridiculously long dining room table. “Can you guys just try not to make a fuss?” I ask.
“Not make a fuss.” Jennifer fans herself. It’s probably the most ruffled I’ve seen her. Her normally serene face is showing cracks and lines I didn’t know existed. “That child is using the foulest language in my dining room.”
“Really, you’ve never heard foul language in the dining room before?”
I step closer ushering the women towards me. “Listen, Elijah wanted you to help this boy. It’s important to him, and he’s doing a good thing here.”
“Working for free?” Connie snaps.
For a moment I stare at her aghast. “You know what happened to Lewis’ mother? You know why he is so angry?”
Jennifer manages to look contrite. “Elijah really cares for this family?”
“Yes, because he’s a good man, and he wants to help people. Especially those who haven’t had the opportunity to be brought up somewhere like this.” I wave a hand at the expanse of excessive splendour which is the dining room alone.
“Can you calm him down? I really can’t have him shouting like that.”
“Who is going to hear? It’s just us here.”
“That’s not the point.”
Knowing I won’t win, I back away a little. “Do you want to see what we did yesterday? It’s going to look amazing.”
She dismisses me with a hand, her eyes still trained on Lewis. “Of course. I shall come along after Viviane and the Colonel have left after cribbage.”
I do believe I have just stepped back at least a hundred years in time. I shake my head, repressing the giggle bubbling up my throat, and turn for Lewis. “Shall we go and find a bacon sandwich?”
He looks like he wants to say no. He looks like he wants to fire every expletive under the sun towards me in an arsenal of hatred, but his stomach gurgles loudly and I grin. “Your stomach speaks for itself. Come on, let’s get out of here.” With a turn of my head, I motion to Tabitha. “Would you like a bacon sandwich, too?”
“I—I,” she stutters.
“That’s a yes. Come on, let’s go.”
I’m at the door when I hear Connie’s icy tone. “Tabitha, stay where you are. You will not get involved with this tiresome fuss making.”
My hand is on the door frame, but I turn to watch Tabitha. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and her body poised like she’s about to push her chair back. With Connie’s words her body sags and she slumps in her seat. My gaze flicks to Jennifer, but her eyes are dropped to the floor.
Instantly, I can see who runs this house, and it isn’t the baroness. I give Tabitha a small wave and point at the hallway for Lewis.
This house is unlike any place I’ve ever experienced, and this family is beyond fucked-up—and that’s coming from me, the woman with the most unconventional upbringing in existence. Lewis and I head for the kitchen, him silent, me thinking about Elijah—the man with the big heart and the prison of a family and home.
I want to set him free, but I don’t know how.
The kitchen is warm, cosy, and happy. Now I know why Elijah chose to drink in here alone. It’s an island of normality in a mansion of weirdness. Elaine the cook insists on cooking the bacon, even though I beg her to let me cook. So I set Lewis to buttering the bread which he is doing with so much gusto and pent-up anger, it’s slowly turning to small balls of dough and there might not be any left to put the bacon on.
I’m making tea and coffee for everyone. “You can come back here any time,” Elaine tells me as I hand her a mug of sweet tea. A proper mug mind you, not one of those poncy cup and saucer things they have going on in the dining room.
“I’m sure other people make you tea.” I smile and look around the kitchen. It’s just Elaine and Jennings here. There are cleaners and estate staff who come in as workers, but it’s only the two of them who live and breathe Bowsley Hall.
“Elijah does when he’s here.” Her gaze goes a little misty and she sighs.
“Elijah makes tea?” I try to imagine him bringing me a mug of tea while wearing one of his cut-to-perfection suits, but my mind can only paint me a picture of him standing in a suit handing over a cup of tea, next to a bed which I’m naked on… I’m losing the plot.
“He’s the main reason I have to order in so much sugar, that boy’s always had a sweet tooth.”
“Really?” I don’t know why, but I want to file away this piece of information. It’s not even interesting or exciting. Definitely not one for the spank bank; but I have an inordinate need to learn everything about Elijah Fairclough.
Things I’ve learned so far:
He hates his job.
He’s an amazing artist.
He’s an amazing kisser.
He drives sexy.
Oh, and he’s highly skilled at unexpected oral sex.
I’m not going to lie. I stir sugar into the tea and contemplate how
on earth I’m going to work through all of this today—with kids arriving for an art day, but also a highly-strung Lewis brewing about the place. My mind should be on plans for the day; for the rest of the week. It’s not. Elijah is filling my head, and I’m wondering why the night before he devoured me like a man starved for days, and yet last night we’d made out like teenagers and hands had stayed above clothes—most of the time.
That hot and cold thing he has going on is exhausting. It’s constant, but it’s not making me want to push him away. It’s making me want to delve deep and find out what’s under the many faces he hides behind.
“So, Lewis.” I pull myself from the complexities of Elijah’s personality and face the situation in hand. “You can join in with us today.” I shake my head. “It’s really boring though, so I doubt you’ll like it.”
His face drops, but I carry on.
“Yeah, everyone thought it was a drag yesterday. I’ll leave it up to you.”
My mind skips to Dan at home in Brighton. We’d been kids, and he’d been so timid; nothing like the tattooed beast he is now. Dan, I heard Eliza Johnson is getting a tattoo. It’s just as well you don’t have one. She’s going to make it look so girly.
A solid lump forms in my throat but I push around it and carry on talking to Lewis. “I reckon we can get you some jobs to do around here until Elijah has everything sorted in London.” I cock an eyebrow. “Unless you want to hang out in the library or something?”
There’s a flicker of a smile on Jennings’ face as he steps in. “I know Bernard in the garden would love some help. Do you know anything about roses? Or herbs?” He turns a little to Elaine and there’s a wave of comforting familiarity about the way they look at each other. “Didn’t you need the herb garden weeded?”
“Oh, Trevor, you are right,” she chimes in. Lewis is watching us with bewilderment. “You can do that can’t you, Lewis?”
He’s flabbergasted. “You want me to do what?”
Just as we are about to explain it all again, the kitchen door flies open and Tabitha whirls in. She leans against the closed door, her chest rising and falling. Lewis forgets what he was saying, and his words falter as he stares at her.
“You okay, Tabs?” I ask.
She straightens and smiles, moving away from the door. “Yes, what did I miss?”
I shrug, “Nothing much. We were giving Lewis some ideas to keep himself entertained for the day.”
“Oh,” she meets his anger filled gaze. “Aren’t you going to join us?”
His hands flap at his sides, the wind removed from the sails of his anger by the slender girl in front of him; her cheeks flushed, her hair wild and unkempt from her dash through the long hallways to the corridor.
I motion for the table. “Come, grab some bacon, Tabitha. I’m going to go and ring your brother.”
I perch on a stone bench in the formal garden, watching the intricacies of the patterned pathways, my phone in my hand, while I drag on my cigarette. I go to type a message—that’s how Elijah and I communicate, so it seems—but I know it will leave me unsatisfied in a completely inexplicable way. So instead I dial his yet un-rung number.
“Mr Fairclough’s line,” a saccharine voice sings down the line on the third ring.
What the hell? I called his mobile, didn’t I? That familiar burn of broken trust simmers under my skin, rushing along my veins.
“Hello,” the voice says again.
“I was ringing for Elijah,” I say, my tone coloured with hesitancy.
There’s a click of nails on a hard surface. “Mr Fairclough is in a meeting. May I take a message?”
I breathe an irrational lungful of air, shaking my head at my own stupidity.
“Could you tell him Miss Hitchin called?” I drag another toke on my smoke.
“The artist, right?” The voice on the other end picks up a little.
“Pardon?”
“Faith Hitchin, the artist?”
“Uh, yes. How do you know that?”
I shake my head and almost smack myself upside my head. Of course, she knows that. I’m sure Elijah might have mentioned his charity project at his huge stately home. “Never mind, can you tell him I called?”
“Oh, hold on, he’s coming through now. Please wait.”
Why, oh why, is my heart pounding? My palms slick with sweat and I have to grip my mobile tighter.
“Faith?” Oh God, my stomach dips as his voice comes across the line. I need to stamp this out right now. Like, right bloody now.
“Hi,”
There’s a shift on the other end of the phone, a faint crackle and movement. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I clip. “I just wanted to let you know Lewis is fine, but your mother and granbaronessy might not be talking to you anymore.”
There’s a pause. “I’ve seen a message already.”
“Yikes, that was quick.”
He snorts a dry laugh. “Anything else I can help you with?” He is distant, cold, and it pinches my insides.
Faith, don’t be a fool.
“No.”
“Listen,” his voice drops. “I don’t think I’ll get back for a few days.”
“Oh.” There isn’t much else to say.
“Will you manage?”
I’m not sure what he’s asking. Will I manage the teenagers I foolishly agreed to help on some summer art camp? Will I cope without seeing him for a few days when he’s managed to worm his way into my head?
Didn’t he say he wanted a date with me on Saturday? Weren’t we last night connecting on some level I never ever anticipated?
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I hang up, frustrated at the prickle of tears tingling the back of my eyes. No. I won’t be weak.
This is what happens when I let people in. They end up letting me down.
Well, more fool me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
My mood is foul. I’ve snapped at everyone, until in the end I left Tabitha to clean up with the group this afternoon. So, I’ve put on some leggings, a running bra, and my trainers. I may as well run around this estate while I’m here.
I run for nearly forty-five minutes. The formal gardens give way to what must be a deer park lined with a deep and tall brick wall.
I let him in.
I didn’t want to. But I did.
Stupid, weak Faith Hitchin.
This isn’t how I do things, not anymore. Relationships, physical gratification, they are on my terms—no one else’s. Yet, I was foolish enough to believe him when he said he wanted to set me free. I thought he wanted to unbind the shackles I keep myself tightly locked in.
When will I learn?
Trust costs.
When I get back, I evade the main house. I don’t want to see Tabitha, to have to explain that her brother put me in a foul mood all because he talked to me like a stranger.
I knew he was going to be like that. He told me he would in no uncertain terms.
So why does it sting?
I slide on some skinny jeans and a vest top which I place an oversized loose knitted V-neck over. It does nothing to hide my tattoos but I don’t want to hide them. I want to wear them as my armour.
Deep under the surface of my skin is the familiar need, the ache, the itch that can never be scratched, to lose myself in unfamiliar hands, attachment free: no thoughts, no feelings, no pain, just how I like it.
The village is small, only two pubs to choose from: the one I took Tabitha to, and the other that doesn’t look like the kind of place Elijah will be known by name behind the bar. I slip out of Bowsley’s gates and make my way down the leafy green, shady, and narrow lanes.
The pub is just like I want. There are no hushed gatherings of middle-aged couples sipping wine, and the jukebox is blaring loud intoxicating tunes. I ask for a double vodka on ice and then sit in a corner seat, happy to just let the world go by. Well the world that is The Angel pub.
My one double vodka turns into
four and my blood starts to run warm. I’m at the bar chatting to the girl serving; she’s thinking of getting ink and wants to know what I think. After watching her for the last half an hour I’m sketching on a sheet of paper she pulled from under the bar.
There’s a guy to the right. His dark eyes are on my skin and from under them I force all thoughts of Elijah from my mind. I shouldn’t have let him in—now I’m going to force him out.
It’s just sex. Just once. Then move on.
“What about this?” I turn it to the girl with the blonde hair behind the bar. She’s delicate but with a no-shit edge. She admired my roses, so I’ve gone for a flowery theme.
She stares at my sketch. “Jesus, did you just draw that right now with a biro?” She pulls the lilies closer. I grin and nod.
“Lilies are beautiful, but they are a bitch when they stain your clothes.”
“What’s that?” She lifts the paper and peers closer.
“It’s a bee, buried deep but ready to sting if needed.”
It’s how I feel. Dangerous.
“This is amazing. Do you mind if I get it done?” She stares at it so close, her nose is almost touching the paper. “I’m Vanessa, by the way.”
“Faith.” I offer my hand. “Of course, you can. It’s yours. You’ll have to find the right person though, you need a delicate touch.”
She pours me another double—not that I need it. “Would you do it?”
I shake my head and sip my drink, sensing the weight of the guy on the next bar stool weigh down on my skin. “No, I don’t have my stuff with me.”
“Couldn’t you get it?” Vanessa laughs nervously. “Sorry, I’m being pushy, but I’m getting a good vibe from you.”
“I can’t get my kit.” I shake my head firmly. I could get my kit, but I don’t want to. Those days are long behind me.
I down my drink and slip off my stool. “I’ve got to get back. I’ve another busy day tomorrow.” All I can hope, I think to myself, is that I’m in a better mood. My eyes slide to the side and see the guy make a move to leave too. If I can just erase Elijah from my head, I know it will help. I just need to forget.