The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Quinn began to stack the dirty plates in the dishwasher while Logan collected the cutlery and brought it over to the sink. Having finished, he leaned against the worktop and looked at Quinn like a dejected puppy.

  “Colin’s angry with me,” Logan finally said.

  “Yes, I gathered that. I saw him this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, new case.”

  Logan nodded. “He thinks I’m cheating on him.”

  “Are you?”

  Quinn expected Logan to deny the charge immediately, but instead he looked away, his gaze fixed on a colorful biscuit jar.

  “It didn’t mean anything. It was a one-off,” he finally said, turning to look at Quinn. She saw a flare of defiance in his eyes and was surprised by how much his admission upset her. A one-night stand was still cheating. She didn’t subscribe to this idea that something didn’t mean anything. Everything meant something, and if someone was up for a casual shag, they were obviously sending a message to their partner.

  “Are you sorry?” Quinn asked at last. Logan didn’t look all that remorseful.

  “I’m sorry I hurt Colin,” he replied.

  “But not that you have cheated on him?”

  “I never set out to do it. I went out with a couple of mates from work after my shift. We went to a pub, had a few drinks, other people joined us. There was this bloke…”

  Quinn remained silent. She loved Logan, but her heart ached for Colin. He was so good, so decent. She hated to see him hurt, and now she understood why he’d suddenly felt threatened by an attractive young man. She wasn’t sure if his new assistant was gay, but she supposed it didn’t really matter. He was young, good looking, and a potential temptation for Logan.

  “I love Colin. I really do,” Logan said, his expression pained. “But our life has become so—” He stopped talking, his gaze thoughtful as if he were searching for just the right word. “Quiet,” he said at last.

  “How do you mean?”

  “We’re like an old married couple that has an established routine. We hardly go out anymore. We rarely try new things. And the sex—”

  Quinn shut the dishwasher and fixed her gaze on Logan. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with this much honesty, not when she had to interact with Colin professionally, but she could hardly tell Logan not to share his troubles with her. He was her brother, and this was what she’d dreamed of all her life—a close relationship with a sibling.

  “The sex has become stale, you know? Predictable. Routine.”

  “That’s what often happens in long-term relationships,” Quinn replied.

  “I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’m only twenty-seven, and I haven’t been with anyone new in years, well, except for that bloke last Friday. Lord, I don’t even know his name. He was hot, though. Really hot.”

  “Logan—”

  “Are you ready yet, Uncle Logan?” Emma asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Go on,” Quinn said to Logan. There wasn’t much more she could say. Logan had to decide for himself whether he wanted to work things out with Colin or break things off. It sounded to Quinn as if Logan had already moved on, both mentally and physically. She followed Logan and Emma into the lounge, where Emma had already spread out her make-up palette and brushes. She stood back, studying Logan’s face, her head tilted to the side as if she were appraising a work of art.

  “I think you need a bold new look,” she said to Logan.

  Quinn thought Logan’s look was pretty bold already, what with the spiky hair, sleeve tattoos, and several piercings, but she was sure Emma had something very different in mind, and pink was going to feature prominently.

  “Make me beautiful,” Logan said. He closed his eyes and turned up his face, giving Emma free rein.

  “This is going to be fun,” she said.

  “Better you than me,” Gabe said to Logan as he lifted Alex off the floor and carried him upstairs for his bath. Quinn trailed behind him.

  “What’s going on with Logan?” Gabe asked quietly.

  “Colin threw him out.”

  “Why?”

  “Logan had a one-off.”

  “I see,” Gabe said. “Think they’ll get past it?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest, I feel for them both. Colin is so lovely, but he’s older than Logan and ready to settle down. Logan’s a bit wild, which is probably what attracted Colin to him in the first place, but it seems like Logan’s beginning to chafe at the restrictions of a committed relationship. Why must everything always be so complicated?” Quinn complained.

  “Because human nature is complicated. A happy ending is never guaranteed.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is. We’ll have a happy ending though, won’t we, Gabe?” Quinn asked. She recoiled at the desperation in her voice, but she needed reassurance. Everyone around her seemed to be having an existential crisis. What if Gabe grew tired of her? He was surrounded by beautiful, young female students who made no secret that they found him attractive. She trusted Gabe, always had, but trust was such a fragile thing that could be so easily broken. She should know; she’d trusted Luke, and he’d been playing away behind her back for longer than she cared to imagine.

  Gabe turned to face her, Alex still on his hip. “Quinn, every relationship is unique, so you can’t compare anyone else’s experience to your own, but what every relationship has in common is that it needs work to thrive and endure. I’m prepared to put in the work, and I know you are too. That gives us the best possible chance of a happy ending,” he said, smiling into her eyes.

  Quinn rested her head on Gabe’s shoulder. It would have been a tender moment had Alex not grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked as hard as he could.

  “Ma-ma,” he said. “Ma-ma.”

  Quinn’s heart swelled with joy. “That is the first time he’s called me Mama,” she gushed. “Darling, say it again.”

  “Bah!”

  “Take what you can get,” Gabe said, laughing. “I’ve yet to have the pleasure.”

  “Da-da,” Alex promptly said.

  “Where is Dada?” Gabe asked, testing him.

  Alex pointed a chubby finger at Gabe. “Dada.”

  Quinn grinned from ear to ear. “He’s actually starting to talk.”

  “According to the childrearing manuals, ten months is about the time babies start saying words consciously,” Gabe said. He sounded like an academic, but the smile on his face was anything but scholarly. “I love being a dad,” he said, and gave Quinn a meaningful look.

  “I’ll see you later,” she replied and left the bathroom. She had told Gabe she was on the pill, and he’d accepted her decision, but there were times when she felt as if she were betraying him by preventing another pregnancy. She wanted another baby as well, but she simply wasn’t ready. Alex wasn’t even a year old yet. What was the bleeding rush? She needed time, and she wished Gabe would simply give it to her without making her feel guilty.

  Quinn went down the corridor to prepare the spare bedroom. She moved Logan’s knapsack off the bed and put on fresh linens. He came in just as she was fluffing the pillows.

  “Wow, thank you. I’m sorry to put you out.”

  “You’re not putting me out, but I hope you’ll wash your face before you go to bed.” Logan was wearing electric blue eyeshadow, and his lips were a sparkling pink. Bronzer shimmered on his cheeks, and there were tiny purple bows in his hair. “You’re a sight.”

  “I think Emma was determined to use every single color in her palette. Will this goo even come off?” Logan asked as he touched his lips. “It feels disgusting.”

  “Yes, it’s made specially for children, so there’s nothing harmful in there.”

  “Right.” Logan sat on the bed. Despite his colorful appearance, he looked awfully sad. “I miss Colin.”

  “So, call him.”

  “And say what?”

  “Tell him you’re sorry,” Quinn suggested.

  “I’m not, th
ough, am I?” Logan argued. “I need to figure out what I want before I mess him about any more than I already have. I love him too much to toy with him.”

  Quinn nodded. There was a certain logic in Logan’s reasoning. “Logan, have you heard from Jo?”

  “No, and I’m not expecting to,” He replied as he kicked off his boots. “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about her until you just asked me.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  Logan shrugged. “I have enough to deal with. Jude’s rehabilitation is costing more than I expected.”

  “Let me contribute.”

  “No! Jude is not your responsibility. You have a family to look after.”

  “Then let me give you a loan. You can pay me back whenever you’re ready. With interest, if it makes you feel better.”

  Logan shook his head. “Look, Jude’s been in the rehab center for several months now. I can’t afford to keep him in there forever. He has to want to get clean. If he doesn’t, no amount of time at a posh facility will cure him of the desire to get high. I think I’m going to have him discharged.”

  “Are you sure he’s ready to come home?”

  “He’ll have to be,” Logan replied. “Mum agrees with me.”

  “Does she ever ask about Jo?” Quinn asked, wondering if Jo and Sylvia had got past their mutual wariness.

  “Not anymore. She knows better. Let her go, Quinn.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean that Jo knows we are here. If she wants a relationship with us, all she has to do is pick up the phone. She’s been MIA for weeks. Maybe she’ll ring us when she gets back, and maybe she won’t. Either way, the ball’s in her court. Stop blaming yourself for whatever happened.”

  “I’m not blaming myself.”

  “Aren’t you? You think Jo took off because of something you said or did. She would have left anyway. That’s her nature.”

  “And what’s my nature?” Quinn asked, wondering how Logan perceived her.

  “Your nature is to wish for more. You crave emotional intimacy more than most people, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but that leaves you vulnerable to being hurt.”

  Logan stood and wrapped Quinn in a warm embrace. “I love you, Quinn, and I’m so glad to know you. No matter what happens, you’ll always be my sister, the one sibling who hasn’t let me down.”

  Quinn held Logan close. “It’ll be all right, Logan. You’ll see. No matter what you decide to do, it will be for the best. Things usually are.”

  Logan nodded against her cheek. “I know. It just takes time to come out on the other side and see the situation with more clarity.” He pulled away and laughed bitterly. “I’d better wash up. Half your face looks like a fairy threw up on it.”

  “That could be said for your whole face,” Quinn replied. “Let me get you a towel.”

  She returned with the towel, then went downstairs to speak to Emma. It was time for her to go to bed. Emma was on the sofa, organizing her make-up box. She looked up and grimaced.

  “I know, I know, it’s time for bed. I’m coming,” she drawled. She’d picked that up from Seth.

  “Em, is everything all right between you and Maya?”

  “Yeah, everything is grand. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll get ready for bed myself,” she said and walked toward the stairs, dismissing Quinn as if she were already a teenager.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not a baby. I’m almost six.”

  “All right. Call me if you want me to read you a story.”

  Emma didn’t reply, but the tension in her little shoulders suggested that she wasn’t as indifferent to whatever had happened with Maya as she liked to pretend.

  Well, this has been a weird day, Quinn thought as she trudged up the stairs. If it wasn’t for Alex’s sweet surprise, she’d say it had been a bloody awful day.

  Thankfully, the night that followed was uneventful, and Quinn got up bright and early, ready to make breakfast for the troops. She reached for the cafetière and poured Gabe a cup of coffee when he walked into the kitchen.

  “Alex is still asleep,” Gabe said, his surprise evident. Alex was usually up by six, ready to have his breakfast and watch his favorite children’s program while Gabe and Emma got ready for school and work. “Have you checked on him?”

  “Sleeping peacefully,” Quinn replied. “Maybe his routine is changing. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Gabe nodded. “Not being woken till seven is quickly becoming a cherished dream of mine.”

  “Mine too. Remember when we slept in on the weekends?” Quinn asked wistfully.

  “And then stayed in bed for another hour or two,” Gabe replied with a seductive smile. “And then Emma came, and just like that—” He never got a chance to finish the sentence.

  “Came where?” Emma asked as she sauntered into the kitchen, disheveled from sleep. She wore a pink terrycloth dressing gown Phoebe had bought for her, and pajamas with unicorns on them. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Can I have a fried egg for breakfast?”

  “No soldiers?” Gabe asked, amazed. Emma’s favorite breakfast was a boiled egg with strips of toast to dip into the yolk.

  “Soldiers are for babies,” Emma replied. “I want sausages too.”

  “All right,” Quinn replied. “Why don’t you go ask Uncle Logan if he’d like some breakfast.”

  “He’s gone,” Emma said as she settled herself at the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t hear him leave,” Quinn said, turning to look at Gabe.

  “Me neither,” Gabe said.

  Quinn reached for her mobile, which was charging on the worktop, but pulled her hand away without picking it up. Logan had been right in what he’d said to her last night. She got too involved. He’d probably left early because he needed space, and she’d be respectful enough to give it to him. If he wanted to talk to her, he’d ring.

  Chapter 8

  May 1955

  London, England

  Helen studied David over the rim of her cup. She hadn’t paid him much attention while Dr. Waterson had been dressing his wound or when she’d changed his bandage, but now that she had nothing else to distract her, she could observe him at her leisure. His hair, which at first, she had taken to be brown, had coppery highlights that shimmered in the afternoon sun that shone through the window behind him, and his eyes, which she had thought were brown as well, were hazel with flecks of gold. His nose was a bit too long, and his face too thin. He was a man that needed feeding up, as her mother would say—looking after. There was an aura of neglect about him. His cuffs were slightly frayed, his trousers a little wrinkled. But, on the whole, he was attractive and pleasant to be with. He was quick to smile and easy to talk to.

  “How long have you worked at the London?” he asked as he reached for a fish-paste sandwich.

  “Since 1945. I lied about my age to get the job,” she admitted. “I think they knew I was only sixteen, but they were desperate for help since many volunteers had left after the war, and no one who was willing to work was turned away. I started out rolling bandages and taking out the bedpans,” she reminisced. “I didn’t mind. It made me feel useful and needed.”

  “What about your family?”

  “I’m an only child. My father died in forty-nine. Lung cancer. Both my parents had siblings, but they died young. My mother’s brother, also named David, died at the Somme, and my father’s sister Ellen died of influenza the year I was born. I’m named after her. So, it’s just my mother and me these days.”

  “Are you and your mother close?”

  Helen thought about that for a moment. She really wanted to say that they were, but the truth was they’d never really seen eye to eye. They loved each other and had clung to each other during the terror-filled days of the war, but they’d never really understood each other, and probably never would.

  “We get on,” Helen said. “What about you? What of your family?”

  “I have none,” Davi
d replied. “I grew up in an orphanage. My mother left me there when I was an infant. She did provide the orphanage with my name but didn’t leave her own. I suppose it was a way for her to find me, if she wanted to, but also a way to prevent me from looking for her. Can’t say I ever wanted to. Life at the orphanage wasn’t too bad,” he said with a wistful smile. “I didn’t have a family, but I had dozens of friends. We still see each other, those of us who survived the war,” he added.

  “And you work on a construction site?” Helen asked.

  “I’m a foreman at a shipbuilding plant. I’ve only recently been promoted to the position. I worked there before I joined up in 1940, but times were hard after the war ended—too many returning men, not enough jobs. I had to take any job I could find. I worked as a day laborer for several years, then there was finally an opening at the plant, and the floor supervisor contacted me, since he knew I wanted to return. It’s a good job,” he added, his eyes becoming anxious. “It’s not like being a doctor or a solicitor, but it pays the bills.”

  Helen wanted to reassure him that she hadn’t meant to sound disdainful. There was no shame in working at a plant, especially if David held a managerial position. Work was work. She’d never felt ashamed of washing bedpans or changing soiled linens. It was better than sitting idly at home, reading countless books about other people’s lives and listening to her mother reminisce about happier days.

  “It sounds like a very good job, indeed,” she said. “We both work with our hands. To be honest, I much prefer what I do to sitting behind a desk, typing someone’s correspondence eight hours a day. I can’t think of anything more boring,” Helen added with a chuckle. “I’d actually considered doing a secretarial course before settling on nursing. My mother thought it was more genteel, better suited to a well-bred young lady.”

  “That type of thinking sounds positively Edwardian,” David joked.

  “My mother was born at the onset of the century, so her formative years took place during the Edwardian era. I’m afraid she still holds on to the beliefs of that time. I, on the other hand, want to embrace everything modern.”