by Bea Paige
“Yes,” he admits, pressing his thumb and finger against his closed eyelids.
Grasping his face in my hands, I search his face. “Tonight, Ivan. Come to me tonight.”
He breathes out slowly, tension releasing at the promise. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Anton watching us intently. I turn to him.
“You too.” He hasn’t come out of this unscathed and just because he appears to be handling the whole sorry state better than his best friends, doesn’t mean that he is.
Anton licks his lips, then smiles slowly. “Can I bring my sketchpad?”
“You can do whatever you want as long as you’re there.” Our eyes meet, and though it isn’t time for laughter and smiles, a glimmer of both are evident in his.
“Am I allowed to join the party?” Erik asks.
“That’s up to you, Erik. But tonight Ivan needs Domina, I need to be her and she will not submit to anyone, not even you,” I warn him. This is one line I won’t cross. If Ivan needs Domina, that’s what I’ll give him. Erik cannot expect my submission in this circumstance.
“I understand.”
Holding his hand out, I take it. “Ready?” I ask.
“As I’ll ever be,” he responds gravely.
The four of us leave the dining room and head to the parlour. Ivan and Anton enter first and when they stop abruptly before me, the sounds of their surprise filling the room, I get a sudden sick feeling in my stomach.
“You’re Emmie?” Ivan says.
“Fuck,” Anton mutters.
Squeezing between the two, Erik following behind me, I get a look at the woman who was once the girl that broke Erik’s heart.
It’s Love. The woman in the restaurant.
“You?” I whisper.
“Hello, Rose… Erik,” she says, her gaze flicking between us both.
Behind me Erik stiffens, his hand crushing my fingers as he tries to maintain control.
“How do you know her name?” Erik asks, thrown by her familiarity.
“Besides meeting once in the restaurant in Kirkwall, the whole island now knows. There are some things the islanders like to keep hidden,” she says grimly, looking at Erik. “And there are other things the gossip mongers spread like wildfire. I’m afraid you’re the talk of Kirkwall. You and Rose,” she explains, her cheeks flaming at his snort of derision.
“I see,” I respond, when Erik can’t or won’t. “Idle gossip can lead to so much damage. I should know, I was the talk of this village for a long time when I was a teenager.”
Emmie sighs, understanding flashing across her features. “Then we have that in common.” She looks down, her fingers splaying over her wet jeans. “I was caught in the storm. The weather here is much worse than I’ve seen back home and that’s saying something,” she rambles. She grits her teeth, her body shaking with cold.
My gaze roves over this woman, and even though we’ve already met, I try to imagine the girl she was when Erik fell in love with her. She’s attractive, still has a good figure, and seems to have a kindness in her eyes that doesn’t fit well with the girl Erik had once described. But so much can change in the intervening years. I’m not the girl I once was, and I doubt she is either.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she says eventually, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red under our scrutiny. “I know this must be hard, what with everything…” her voice trails off as she swallows.
Behind me Erik curses. I squeeze his hand in mine then reach for him with my free hand, pressing my palm against his thigh, hoping it’s enough to keep him grounded. He can’t lose it now.
“I know I’m the last person you ever wanted to see again, Erik. I’m sorry if this hurts you…”
“Don’t,” he snaps, his resolve to remain calm fraying. “It’s too late for that.”
“Erik, if you can’t do this, then you should leave,” Ivan remarks, not afraid to say what we’re all thinking.
“I’ll be fine,” he grinds out, his arm finding my waist as he pulls me back against him, using me as a shield between Emmie and the monster within him. I’ve faced it before and brought him back around. I can do it again.
“We appreciate you coming, but please excuse Erik if he finds it difficult to deal with this meeting… He’s been through a lot.” Anton says emphasising his point.
“I’m sorry for it,” she responds, offering up her own apology for the part she played in his downward spiral. No one acknowledges her apology. I’m aware that it isn’t fair to blame this woman for the mistakes of a child, but that’s easier said than done.
Anton approaches Emmie first and offers his hand to shake. She takes it gratefully, some of the tenseness leaving her as he asks her to take a seat. She wraps her arms around her chest, turning her body slightly to the open fire to get warm.
Ivan looks at me, searching my face, then his gaze falls on Erik. I know he’s trying to figure out whether Erik’s strong enough to face Emmie, and whatever the fuck she’s going to tell us.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “We’ve got this.” We need a united front and Erik needs to know we trust him.
Ivan nods. “Stay over there, just in case,” he says, motioning for us to stay put whilst he takes a seat next to Anton opposite Emmie.
She watches us all, trying to fathom what’s going on. I imagine she has a lot of questions, especially about the glass cage and the fact that Erik was imprisoned in it, even if that imprisonment was self-inflicted. Whether Erik chooses to tell her is up to him, because there’s no way any of us will.
“You said that you had something to say, something that was so important you needed to do so in person,” Ivan starts, leaning forward a little in his seat. His body language tells me that he’s just as interested in what she’s about to reveal as Erik. Admittedly, now I’ve got over my own insecurities, I am too.
“I do. I came here to help. Ms Hadley… your mother, Erik, she’s not a good person…” Her voice trails off at how obvious that statement is.
“No shit,” he rumbles.
Emmie shakes her head and draws in a breath then looks directly at me. “I want you to know that I’m not here to get between you and Erik. I love Tim. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone.” She pulls a face, wincing at that.
“There’s no chance you’ll be able to get between Rose and me, Emmie. I’m not the boy I once was.”
“I can see that,” she admits, a note of sadness in her voice. She pauses a moment as though deciding on what to say next. “I’ve spent years regretting my actions. I was a foolish child. A child that made a mistake. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about Layton, about what I did, about how I hurt you.” She looks at Erik almost pleadingly, but he remains tight-lipped and steadfast behind me. His only reaction a tightening of his arms around my waist.
“I wrote a letter to you, Erik…” she leans over, fetching an envelope from her handbag. It looks old, the envelope torn a little at the edges, darkened with age. She places it on the table in front of her. “When I leave, I’d like you to read it. I wrote it a few weeks after you’d left the island. I should’ve posted it. I should’ve done a lot of things. I hope you can forgive me someday for my cowardice.”
Her trembling fingers trail over the letter before she clasps them in her lap, looking directly at me.
“In the restaurant when I told you that secrets should stay that way for a reason, I had convinced myself that was preferable to the truth that could ruin lives. After all I’d kept my own secret for all these years. But the second I found out what Ms Hadley had tried to do, that she’d shot you, I knew I had to tell the truth no matter the cost. I owe Erik and Layton that much at least.”
“Go on,” Anton urges her, the rest of us unable to breathe, let alone able to prompt her to continue.
“I’d honestly thought you were a relative of hers, Rose,” she continues. “I felt for you and the loss you portrayed so readily. I realised quite quickly after everything that c
ame out about what happened in the outhouse that you’d lied too. Ms Hadley isn’t your aunt, is she? You were there for Erik all along.” Her eyes trail to his arms wrapped around me, and I nod.
“Did you know Erik was on the island?” I ask, tensing. Had she known that glass cage was for him? Had she turned a blind eye?
“No. I had no idea Erik had returned. Honestly, when Tim told me about the job, I didn’t like to think about what that glass room was for, and I certainly would never have dreamed she had it built for Erik. Why would I? I hadn’t seen or heard about Erik for years. As far as I was concerned, he was living his life somewhere far, far away from Kirkwall. Ms Hadley might’ve returned in the intervening years, but Erik never had.”
“Okay,” I respond, accepting her explanation. It might not be much, but somehow it makes me feel a little better about her as a person.
“As far as I was concerned you were there to find Ms Hadley, to heal a broken heart because you’d lost your father. That part about your father’s death might not have been true, but you had gone there to heal a broken heart, hadn’t you?” she says, smiling a little as she looks between us.
When I don’t answer she continues.
“Only problem is, Ms Hadley has a way of breaking hearts, shattering dreams, destroying lives, actually, and I sent you right into danger. I won’t forgive myself for that. Not now, not ever. I’d stupidly thought that perhaps I’d got it wrong, that perhaps she wasn’t the woman I’d thought she was. The other islanders seemed to accept her and despite knowing I still lived on Kirkwall she never sought me out. I tried to warn you, Rose…” she says, realising how lame that sounds.
“Emmie, you’ve beaten around the bush long enough. Just say what you’ve come here to say and put us all out of our misery,” Erik snaps, losing his ability to remain cool.
Her eyes flick to his, the blue depths brimming with tears of regret and shame. “I should’ve told you everything years ago. I should’ve sent that letter. I’m sorry I didn’t. Perhaps your life would’ve turned out differently, perhaps Rose would never have gotten shot.”
“Emmie...!” Erik warns, making her flinch. He’s trembling now with the effort of holding himself together. Both Anton and Ivan shift uncomfortably in their seats, ready to stop Erik should he lose himself to one of his episodes.
“I believe your real mum was murdered, Erik,” Emmie rushes out.
Behind me Erik grunts, letting me go. I turn to face him as his body goes slack and he stumbles into my arms.
“Erik!” I shout, barely able to keep him upright.
Ivan rushes to my side, helping to prop him up. His expression crumples with pain, his face a deathly white. “It’s fucking true, it’s fucking true, Rose,” he mumbles.
I slide my arm around him, ignoring the shooting pain in my knee and pull him into my arms as Ivan helps to prop him up, just as pale and in shock as Erik is. Anton is the only one of the three who’s able to maintain a level of emotional control. We look at each other, knowing that we can’t hide from the truth a moment longer. Before today our theories had just been supposition, the four of us making assumptions based on the small snippets of information we’d gathered. Having an outsider confirm our suspicions makes it all too real and a thousand times harder to swallow. We’re all reeling. This is going to change everything.
It takes a good ten minutes before Erik is capable of speaking. When he does, he addresses Emmie directly. “Tell me what you know, and don’t leave a damn thing out.”
She nods her head, clasps her hands together and takes us back to that summer of 1998.
Chapter 13
Emmie – Kirkwall, Late Summer 1998
I return to the dilapidated cottage two weeks after Erik left with every intention of taking a knife to my wrists and slicing into the delicate flesh.
Death is my only choice now.
Because I can’t live with what I’ve done. Layton is in a coma fighting for his life and it’s all my fault. If I tell Erik about his mother and what’s she’s capable of then she’ll tell my parents everything. The truth would kill them.
So, in keeping Erik’s secret, I keep my own.
Clasping the penknife, I head towards the bedroom and shove open the door, it creaks under the pressure, paint flaking off in strips. This is where Erik and I came to have sex. It had been his first time. He’d been so gentle, so loving. He had loved me that night. The first boy who ever had, unlike all the rest.
The rest… I laugh out loud. The sound of my voice hysterical now. Tears stream down my face in bitterness and self-hate.
Ms Hadley is right. I am the local whore.
I sleep around. When you don’t get any attention at home, when your parents are too busy mourning the older brother they adored above all else, you seek attention elsewhere. Peter had died in a boating accident three years ago. My big brother lost to the ocean.
His body was never found, and my parents lost themselves right along with him.
Sitting on the mattress, I pull out the letter I wrote to Erik earlier.
My feeble apology is blurred behind the tears which fall freely now no one is watching.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Laying down on the mattress I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the wracking sobs of my sorrow and guilt. The last few weeks’ events playing out in my head.
Ms Hadley somehow found out about what I did, and with that knowledge has prevented me from ever telling Erik about the hand she played in this whole sorry tale.
If I were a better person, I’d send the letter. But I can’t. My parents can never know what I did.
The life I took.
I’m not sure how long I lie on the mattress, the letter clutched in one hand, the knife in the other. Eventually I hold the blade up, watching as the moonlight glints off the sharp edge. Outside a wind whips up across the shore, the cold slipping through the broken windowpanes and gaps in the floorboards. The sound is a bitter reminder of the mistakes I made and the decision that has destroyed three young lives, mine included.
Four if you include my unborn child.
A year ago today, I aborted the baby that belonged to Layton and me.
Sixteen and pregnant. I couldn’t keep it. I didn’t want it; the responsibility, my parents’ disgust and disappointment. They would have disowned me, and I would’ve had even less than I do now. So, I did the only thing I could. I got rid of the baby.
And somehow, she knew.
“Tell anyone what Erik did and we tell your parents about the child you murdered,” Ms Hadley had spat. Her words tearing me open. I’d felt ashamed because she saw me as a whore, a harlot. I felt desperately sad because I didn’t want the baby. I would’ve had an abortion even if I had my parent’s support to bring the baby up. That’s the cold, hard truth. It was a mistake and I have to live with the consequences.
“As far as you’re concerned Erik did what he did in self-defence. Understand?” Mr Sachov had insisted.
But Erik hadn’t beaten Layton to near death in self-defence, he did it out of jealousy and pain. Of course, that’s not what Mr Sachov had told the police. Maybe he’d bought them like he’d bought my silence, a sweetener to soften the blow. Ten thousand pounds to buy my silence, and a threat to reveal the truth to make sure I’d never ever speak of what really happened between the three of us that night.
I’d taken the money, but I haven’t kept it. That too is lost to the ocean.
Turning on my side, I run my hand across the mattress. I’d brought Layton here too. He and I have been friends since we were kids. We fell into a relationship last year, two equally fucked-up kids finding solace and comfort in each other’s arms. It was short lived. I found out I was pregnant when he left for a job on the mainland.
I aborted our baby. He never knew. No one did.
Or least that’s what I’d thought.
But somehow Ms Hadley found out. She threatened me even before the night Erik beat Layton up. She war
ned me off her son. Arrogant, stupid, a foolish girl in love, I’d ignored her.
I shouldn’t have, because now look at me. Look at us.
Layton is in a fucking coma.
Erik’s heart is broken, his life changed forever. I’ll never forget the look on his face after he finally stopped hitting Layton. He felt the monster within his heart as much as I saw it beneath the blood smeared across his knuckles and cheeks. That beautiful, kind, loyal boy turned into something dark and hateful because of me, because of her.
Now look at us, look at me. Ready to end my life for the part I played in it all.
The sad thing is, I did care about Erik. So much. But his mother had made it difficult for me to believe in his words of promise and love. She’d told me that I was just a fling, a dirty slut he only wanted to lose his virginity to. She drip-fed me the poison of her words, and with low self-esteem and an already pretty fucking poor image of myself, I’d begun to believe them. That was even before she threatened to reveal my abortion. We were doomed from the start.
When Layton had returned to Kirkwall a week before Erik was due to leave, it was all too easy to return to his arms. It was wrong. I regret it. But in my fucked-up head I sought out the only comfort I believed was available to a girl like me. A slut. A whore. A girl who aborted her baby returning to the arms of its father. Another boy she’d once believed could love her but who would only abandon her too. I should’ve admitted the truth to my parents, to Erik, to Layton. If I hadn’t been such a coward, none of this would’ve happened.
I was stupid, foolish, hateful, cruel.
So fucking cruel.
“I’m sorry, Erik. I’m sorry, Layton,” I wail unable to keep my guilt in a moment longer.
Sitting up, I fold the letter I wrote to Erik and tuck it in my pocket. Then hold the knife over my wrist, lowering it to the delicate skin. Pressing my eyes shut, I feel the sharp sting of pain as the blade cuts into my skin, but the sudden sound of voices stills my hand.
“You should’ve destroyed them years ago, Clara. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”