by Annie Dyer
“Does he have a family now?”
“No.”
There’s no elaboration. My father sits up, colour returning to his cheeks.
“What are your plans today?”
“I have a migraine coming, so probably little.”
“A storm’s on its way then. You’re still the barometer girl.”
I nod and stand up, making my way to the door. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Aye, lass. I’m as okay as I’ve always been.”
I walk away and step into the light outside the room.
Days slip by when they have no structure to cling to. Usually, I have at least two appointments. People to visit or places to be seen, or to be seen at. Then there are dinners and events and openings and plays. A day with nothing to fill it apart from a migraine is a rarity and by the end of it, I will feel as if I’ve wasted time.
I need air and exercise so I dress in jeans and t-shirt and wander outside towards the gardens. It’s June, so they’re in full bloom, rows of hollyhocks and dahlias, lavender and heathers. Bees swill and butterflies dance. They don’t care who I am.
I pass through the gardens towards the maze, still kept neat and passable by Leonard. It’s a place I rarely come to now, maybe passing between the hedged walls just half a dozen times since Ben left. He’s ingrained in every leaf and every flower, even now. We spent summers in here, chasing, sitting, talking.
Kissing.
I wander through, the bright light teasing my head. Light isn’t an irritant with my migraines, it just seems brighter. I yawn, another symptom and sip the water I’ve brought. Really I want to hide in my room with a book I’ve pilfered from my mother and pretend the world doesn’t exist, but the oak tree in the centre is calling me.
The maze was structured around it, a centre point. Really there should’ve been something more significant, a statue or a plaque; something to commemorate the trek through the pathways and defeating the trickery they posed. But instead there was an oak tree, tall and wide and thick, its bark wrinkled and distorted with age.
Leonard had said he thought the maze was designed by an Englishman, given that the oak was a symbol of the South. I chose to think it was coincidence, preferring to keep the political world away from my fairy tale.
Nothing has changed when I reach the centre. The bench is still there, the tree still standing and in full leaf. Foxgloves and hollyhocks grow where they choose and heather, white heather, crawls over what was once a rockery but has been left to tend itself.
“I knew I’d find you here first.”
I turn quick enough to tweak a muscle in my neck and almost stumble, the voice older but instantly making me react, sharper now than ever before.
“Ben.”
He’s blonder and bigger and wider. His jaw and cheekbones are sharper and he has fair stubble grazing his face.
“Your Ladyship.” No smirk softens the title. He’s serious.
“I never asked you to call me that, so don’t start now.”
“Is that an order?”
We’re facing each other. Two bulls about to charge. I don’t know whether to run towards him and jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist and feel his heat and hardness against me, or run towards him and hit him with my fists, a two-year-old having a tantrum.
Instead I stare, just like he does. Assessing.
“Why did you apply for the job?”
“I wanted to be near my father. He’s not getting any younger.” His answer is quick. Truth or carefully planned?
“That’s good of you.”
“And I needed a job. You needed a keeper.”
“I need security to ensure I’m safe. Not a babysitter. Listen to what Micky tells you. He knows how to let me have some freedom, keep me sane.”
“Like when you were in Cuba?”
His eyes are glinting the same way they did when he pulled my hair and his expression gloats.
“Exactly.” I don’t rise. He knows something about Cuba. I don’t need to panic and demand he tells me.
“So my job includes paying off anyone who takes photos of your tits in a one-night stand so they don’t sell them too?”
Fuck.
“Did you have a good look at how my tits looked?” It shouldn’t be like this. No after so long. We should be too different people, mature, grown up. Not the same as we were when we were kids with added innuendo.
Ben laughs. “No. Your tits don’t interest me.”
They used to.
“And there were no photos. But Micky told me about Cuba. You can’t be doing shit like that, Princess.”
I turn away and walk. I know my place. I know where my limit lies and I know what my future should hold. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dictate the path I take to get there.
“If you’re going to lecture me about safety and security, you’re working with the wrong person.”
“I’m not working with you; I’m working for you.” He hasn’t followed me. “It’s my job to keep you safe and there’s a fuck ton of people who’d like to see you raped, maimed or dead.”
The oak has ribbons tied around it, libations from a nature lover. I study the faded colours and wonder who tied them there and what they wished for.
“I’ve heard it all before. Especially between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. Cuba was me being sedate. It was a one-night stand.”
I look at him and see his face is now carved from the darkest of stone.
“He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t speak English. I wore a wig and had a dark fake tan on. Took me four days to scrub it off. His grip wasn’t quite tight enough to pull the wig off when he was fucking me from behind.”
“You should tip the company that makes the stuff.” He gives no reaction.
I mute mine.
“You never kept in touch.” The distance between us is a galaxy.
“It wasn’t my place.”
“You never told me how to keep in touch. I would’ve. I worried.”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t my problem. You’re a princess. I’m a commoner. We weren’t kids anymore.”
I say nothing and instead watch him, waiting for a crease in his frozen features to tell me if this is his truth.
Nothing occurs.
“We’re meeting as a team in a couple of days. You’ll be briefed then on the current threats and strategies for upcoming visits.” My hand rests on the trunk of the tree, feeling its roughness, the braille that tells its story.
He nods.
“I’ll see you then.”
As he walks away I fight the urge to run after him, like the one time when we argued and he stormed off.
“Ben.”
He stops. Doesn’t turn.
“Why did you come here? To the maze?”
Silence. Not even a jackdaw caws.
“Same reason you did. To see what ghosts need exorcising.”
I let him go, watching his back, his ass, his height. When he’s gone, something lingers. A darkness, inky blue darkness that wraps around me, spiralling.
My back is scraped by the bark as I slump down against the tree, my head starting to thump. I close my eyes, resting my head against the trunk, hearing the nearby buzz of bees and the whisper of leaves.
And I don’t feel alone.
Sixteen years of this maze feeling empty and now I don’t feel alone.
Maybe it’s the ghosts.
Thirteen Years Earlier
“Lennox is annoying me.”
“That’s what big brothers are for. That and beating up boys who ask you out.”
Our arms are touching. It’s cool for summer, even for Scotland, and I forgot to bring a jacket. Ben’s wearing a T-shirt as usual but I don’t think he even knows what cold feels like; even in winter he’ll go without a coat, sticking to hoodies with some band’s logo on them.
I lean my head on his shoulder, just. He’s grown a ton these last few months and my head barely reaches his shoulder now. We’
re sitting against part of the old wall near the oak in the centre of the maze. It’s become our spot; no one else bothers with the maze, let alone the centre of it.
“There are no boys asking me out so he can cool the whole big brother mode. Besides, he’s not supposed to hit on my friends.” Ben smells of the same musk he’s always done. I don’t think it’s a cologne, I think it’s him. When I’m away at school, I remember the smell and it makes me miss him even more.
He chuckles. “This about Elise?”
“As usual.” I groan and wrap my arm around his. He stiffens. He’s been doing that lately, since I came home for the holidays. “Please tell me you’ve never done anything with her.”
“I’ve never done anything with Elise.”
“Are you lying?”
He laughs. “Do you want me to be?”
I try not to make the huffing sound that’s habit when I’m pissed off. “No. I want you to keep your hands off that skank.”
“That skank who’s your best friend?”
His arm has relaxed now; in fact, his whole body has.
“I don’t know why I’m friends with her.”
He moves his arm from mine and slides it round my shoulder, straightening his legs. He’s wearing thin sweats that cling to muscles I’ve never seen so defined. Ben is nothing like the boy who pulled my hair four years ago. He’s nearly nineteen now, his first year at university completed and he’s back with his father for the summer.
He’s not a boy any more.
“Because she makes you feel normal.” He pulls me closer to him and I feel his heat.
My stomach flip flops over and I wonder if he’ll ever kiss me. I’ve been kissed before: dark rooms where there have been dares, kisses with boys who will have titles one day because their fathers are dukes and viscounts and lords, but never wanted any of them to kiss me like I want Ben.
And I shouldn’t want Ben, because he’s my friend and he’s older. My mother taught me that older boys expected more, that they wouldn’t just be content with holding hands and taking a kiss, but then neither were boys my own age and I was a prize.
“I’m not sure Elise makes anyone feel normal.”
“She treats you normally.”
“She’s trying to sleep with my brother.” I roll my eyes and fight the bile that burns. Lennox doesn’t have the same rules as me. Girls won’t kiss and tell because they want more and if they do, he won’t be back. He charms them, and they fall in love with the boy who will one day be a king but he doesn’t need to charm Elise. She’s been under his spell since she was twelve, or has he been under hers?
“She’s breaking the girl-code then.” He’s amused, I can tell by the lilt of his voice.
“I’ll break her face if she hurts him.”
Now Ben laughs. “What if he hurts her.”
“I’ll electrocute his penis.”
He laughs again and pulls me closer to him, wrapping his other arm around me. I’m conscious of the curves I don’t have, although there are more than I had at Easter when I last saw him.
“I should defend your brother from threats like that.”
“No,” I speak into his chest, the soft fabric of his T-shirt against my face. I like being this close to him. “You’re meant to defend me.”
His fingers trail up my back, over my bra strap where they stop.
“Always. I’ll always defend you.”
I shift, move and look up at him, stare into blue eyes. Neither of us say anything because we’re both frozen. I hear my heart thudding in my ears and I wonder if his is the same or whether it’s just me, being young and foolish.
My lips part. They’re inches from his and I’m wondering how they’ll feel against his. My kisses have been limited, nothing more than stolen moments with boys I've known for years, boys who are safe and fumbling and children.
Not like Ben.
I’m scared because we’ve never been like this before, not with this haze of something almost tangible sitting between us.
I take the plunge and bring my lips to his. A simple kiss, soft, slow. Gentle. He doesn’t move away or move me away, instead his hands slip to my waist and he holds me.
It’s me who moves back, ending it. I look into his eyes, needing to read them and see dilated black pools of pupils and a fierceness I’ve seen before but never understood. One of his hands leaves my waist and travels to my hair at the back of my neck, threading his fingers through it.
Then he pulls me to him and kisses me. This time it’s not so soft or simple. This time it’s more, demanding and asking. His tongue parts my lips and this is nothing like the kisses I’ve had in hidden rooms. I feel an ache between my legs, feel wetness accumulating. My hands rest on his shoulders and I’m now straddling him, aware of how close the heat between my legs is to his sweatpants.
We stop kissing, breathe and then start again and I shift closer, feeling what I think is his hard-on against my stomach. Nothing scares me; I’m the girl who jumps into lakes from the top of cliffs and calls out the bitches at school when they go that bit too far. But this is out of my league and I’m scared I’ll do something wrong because this is Ben and he’s been my friend for so long.
He slows the kiss, his hands feeling up and down my sides, pausing at the side of my breasts as if he wants to touch but isn’t sure he should or can and I’m not sure either because no one’s done that before.
I realise I’m pressing my centre closer to him, needing pressure and friction. I’m no stranger to self-induced orgasms: I’ve read too many of my mother’s romances and caught sight of Lennox’s browsing history, but I’ve never felt this need.
He stops the kiss. Holds me firm.
“Steady.”
I feel my face heat up. Embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
Ben shakes his head. “Don’t be. But we need to stop.”
Did I do something wrong? I curse myself for not being like Elise, experienced and confident.
He kisses me again and I can tell he’s trying to make it less intense but his hands are on my back and my butt, his fingers part underneath my waistband and I want him to touch me more.
I thought about this when I’ve been in bed, imagined what he’d feel like under his T-shirts and sweats and jeans. I wonder if he’s thought about me and I hope so.
“Blair.” My name is an apology from his lips. “Fuck.”
I can feel him throbbing against me. I move my hips.
His lids lower, his hands move over my breasts. Finally.
“No one will come here.” I know my nipples are hard. My bra is lace and unpadded, pretty.
“I know. But you’re sixteen and…”
He’s going to say princess.
“And what…”
“You’re my friend.”
“Maybe with benefits…” I toy with the bottom of his T-shirt and place my hands under it, feeling his hard stomach, the ridges of muscle. My hand grazes the top of his dick, by accident as I don’t really know what to do.
He winces.
“Sorry…”
There’s a head shake. “No. I’m just really turned on.” He puts his hands on my hips and pretty much lifts me off him, bringing us both to standing.
I glance down and see what his sweatpants can’t hide and then look up to see Ben staring at the sky.
“Fuck, Blair. I have no idea what to do here.”
“And you think I do? I’ve never…” I gesture towards his dick. “I’ve only ever kissed before. And not like that.”
His grin is dirty and proud and reminds me of the day he pulled my hair. “Do you want to forget this happened?”
“No.” Absolutely not. “I’d like a repeat.”
He nods. “Me too.” Then the grin has gone and he’s serious. “Are you here tomorrow?”
“Yes, but I’m still here now.” The ache between my legs is still there too.
His hands are frozen on me. “We can’t go back to just friends if we ever do this.”
“Always.”
And I know he means it.
Chapter Four
Warm air wafts in from an open window and Micky undoes his top button, discards his tie, sighs and goes to the glass pane, looking out. He hates being inside on days like this when it’s too warm and he hates shirts, unless he’s stripping one off another man. With his teeth.
My chief of security has a range of kinks that I’ve become aware of over the years: bondage, flogging, threesomes, a little heated wax here and there. I would never have discovered them if it had been up to him, but being taught observance and intrigue had given me a mind that was too enquiring.
The places he frequented were where people would attend wearing masks; having a name wasn’t an option and although I recognised voices occasionally, I never considered whose they were.
I was a voyeur. Still am. To watch and imagine it being me in those places, to live inside my head while I become the person bent over a bench or taking a man in my mouth and one in my cunt.
We made a point, Micky and I, to never be in the same room. If one of us was there, the other left, but I’d caught glimpses of him over the years,
It was our secret.
One of them.
“How long’s this fucking thing going to take?” He drops the tie onto the floor. Patience is not one of his virtues unless he’s stalking a potential threat. “Ben should be up to speed by now. This is a fucking pointless waste of time.”
“You got someone waiting in your room or something?” I mutter under my breath even though it’s only us in the room. I can hear others outside, sounds of laughter, joviality. Ben’s voice.
“No.” He shrugs and I feel his pain. He doesn’t want to be handing this over. He doesn’t want to be away from the front line. Leaving me.
“Once you’ve recovered…”
He laughs. “Blair, this is a life changer.”
“It’s a life changer either way. You have it, you’re fucked for a bit. You don’t have it, you’re fucked for good.”