by Graham West
Blakely ignored the comment. He wasn’t in the mood for his foreman’s attempt to lighten the mood. Thomas shook his head. “Look, it’s not for me to judge,” he continued, “but I think you’re going to have your work cut out with that one.”
Blakely looked up as Larry Thomas disappeared, closing the door behind him. He reached for the phone and tapped the recall button on the screen.
Kim answered after three rings. “Hi, sweetheart. You like the picture?”
Blakely’s heart pounded. “You stupid girl!” he roared. “This is my business phone! You’ve got no fucking right meddling with it!” He paused to draw breath. “It’s over, Kim, and if you ever set foot in my room again, I’ll have you sacked. So make sure you’re gone by the time I get back tonight.”
There was silence.
“Do you understand?”
Blakely killed the call and threw the phone across the desk, taking a mouthful of warm water from a plastic cup Thomas had left on the table. She scared him, yet he could not resist her. He pictured her perfect body in his mind, the feel of her silk-like skin beneath his fingers, the smell of her as she clung to him, her nails clawing his back. But her silence was sinister. She wasn’t going to go without a fight.
***
The cloudless sky did nothing to lighten Blakely’s mood, and by the time he arrived back at The Lakeside, he’d already decided to give his evening meal a miss. Kim was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’d decided to give him some space, time to let off steam. He thought about a shower followed by a beer in the lounge. An early night wouldn’t do any harm, either.
He stopped at the door and listened. Silence. That had to be good. No TV. No running water. He slid the card through the electronic key pad and opened the door.
Kim was lying asleep on the bed.
Blakely stared at her. It wasn’t hatred he felt in that moment; nor was it love. It was fear—an instinctive fear that made him want to run. He turned to leave, but Kim had been waiting.
Her eyes flickered open. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said sweetly. “Are you still an angry bunny?”
His throat was dry, and his tongue felt as if it were glued to the roof of his mouth.
“You don’t look angry. You look worried, like you thought I was going to give in and walk away!”
Her confidence alarmed him. Yesterday, he had made her cry. Her vulnerability had warmed him. But today, he had told her to get out of his life, yet here she was.
“Get the hell out!” Blakely roared. “Or I’ll report you for breaking into my room!”
Kim gave him one of her girl-next-door smiles. “I’ll just say you invited me.”
Blakely’s fists clenched again. “Please yourself!” he retorted. “Penny will be reporting you, anyway. I reckon you’ll be looking for a new job by next week.”
Kim’s eyes darkened. “And you’ll be looking for a new wife.” She sighed, sitting up and allowing her gown to fall open, revealing her breasts. “Look, let’s just stop fighting. It’s getting us nowhere.”
Blakely threw his car keys on the dressing table. “I want you out!” he hissed. “So get some clothes on and go! I mean it!”
Kim rolled her eyes like a mother dealing with a petulant child. “Look, I’m sorry about the picture. I couldn’t resist. It made me feel kind of close to you. You know, intimate.”
“Intimate? That’s an understatement! Every time you call I get an eyeful of boobs!”
“I know. I’m sorry. It makes me look like a total slut, but I’m not. I love you. I’m in love with you. I keep telling you that! I was hoping you felt the same.”
Blakely slumped onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. Maybe she was just a vulnerable girl. Maybe this street-hooker act was all a front. “It’s just been a bit too frantic,” he said, softening his tone. “Maybe I thought I was in love—”
“It’s all been heavy, I know,” she replied. “You just need time.”
“You’re like a human tsunami! I didn’t have time!”
Kim closed her eyes, “If you don’t love me, then…” Her voice trailed off.
Blakely gazed down at the floor. “It’s moving too fast! We need to slow down.”
Kim reached out, rubbing his shoulder, and whispered, “Okay. How about we just date—go catch a movie and a meal a couple of times a week?”
Blakely stared at her. “You’d be happy with that?”
She shrugged. “Would you?”
“Well, it would be more, you know, civilised.”
“Civilised? Don’t you mean boring as hell?”
Blakely didn’t answer. Why was he going back on his word? He needed to get out—to get away from this woman while he had the chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save his marriage.
Kim was gazing at him, reading his mind. “Maybe I should go,” she said angrily. “Maybe you really do need time.”
Kim dressed quickly without another word and left, closing the door behind her. Suddenly the room was empty. But it wasn’t just the room. His whole world felt empty. He wanted his old life back. Blakely pulled out his phone and called Penny.
***
Jenny read the message on her mobile.
I’m at Dad’s. Let me know when you’ve torn up that letter x
She dropped back onto the couch and closed her eyes. Jake would be discussing Darren Pascoe with his father over a giant pizza and a beer. Why didn’t he get it? Maybe she should just burn the letter, but there was something inside that told her she couldn’t.
How many other kids had taken cars and gone joyriding? How many other kids had just dumped the vehicle on some wasteland and gone home to their parents? They had been lucky. No one died. No one got hurt. This had been an accident. Pascoe had lost control, and her mother and baby sister had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jenny hated the silence. No TV. No Jake. The voices in her head just got louder, and if she didn’t get herself out she’d end up screaming. Maybe a walk would help. A glass of wine at the inn. She could sit outside in the evening sun watching the mums and the dads eating and drinking while their kids played on the climbing frames. Maybe she would take the letter with her. Re-read it in the company of strangers. But she was tired. Too tired. And on top of that, it felt like Miley Cyrus was inside her head on that wrecking ball of hers. Headache? That didn’t even come close. Maybe later. Jenny closed her eyes and, within a few minutes, felt herself drifting.
She knew it was a dream. It had to be. The leaves were falling under the dappled autumn sunlight as she floated through the woodland. Was this how it felt when you passed over? When you left your body in the ground? Maybe death was something to be welcomed rather than feared. No pearly gates. No judgemental saint perusing a golden scroll as you waited patiently to discover if your name was on God’s guest list. She was free—completely free—and yes, floating. She stopped briefly to watch a squirrel scamper up a tree. Suddenly, the rodent seemed to sense her presence and stopped, listening. Waiting.
Why are you here? Who are you?
Was the squirrel really communicating? Was she reading its mind? Then Jenny heard a noise behind her. Footsteps. She turned, knowing in her heart who it was. Amelia stood, though not as close as the sound of her footsteps had led Jenny to believe. She smiled. You are troubled?
Jenny nodded.
Amelia’s voice echoed in her head. You are listening to others but you will find the answer in your own heart. Follow it. Follow your heart. I will be with you, always.
Jenny felt something in her hand. It was an envelope.
The paper can be destroyed but the words will remain with you forever.
Amelia was almost translucent, her skin as smooth as marble. You believed in me, and I believe in you. She took a step closer. You must not attempt to touch me. You must listen. The picture is incomplete. There is another—someone of whom you know nothing. But when the time comes… Amelia began to fade, along with the voice inside her head, and Jenny found herself floating onc
e more, towards the light at the edge of the woodland. Floating back into the world.
She woke suddenly with the scent of the woodland in her nostrils. What did Amelia mean? Why couldn’t she tell her more? She went to the kitchen and grabbed a fresh orange juice from the fridge, gulping down several mouthfuls. She snatched her keys from the kitchen table and climbed behind the wheel of her car. She needed someone to talk to. Someone with a wise head and a big heart.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sebastian Tint opened his front door, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. Jenny stood on his front step, feeling like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of a speeding car.
“Hi, Uncle Seb.”
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Good gracious! Hello, dear,” he said brightly. “Is your father not with you?”
Jenny shook her head. “I need to talk to you. You’re the only one who would understand.”
“Oh, I see…” Sebastian replied, the smile fading as he stood aside. Jenny stepped in only to be greeted by an excited dog. “Ricky!” she exclaimed, cradling the German shepherd’s giant head in her hands. “How are you, gorgeous boy?”
The old man grinned. “He certainly likes the ladies!” he said proudly.
Jenny relaxed. “Maybe you should have called him Romeo, then.” She giggled, following Sebastian into the lounge. Nothing in the room had changed that much. It was what might be described by some as organised chaos. The old typewriter sat untouched and desperately in need of a good dusting. An empty mug sat on the edge of a ring stained coffee table next to a couple of old copies of National Geographic and an empty glass which the old man used for his daily measure of brandy.
“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing towards the old easy chair. “Would you like a drink of something? Coffee? Tea?”
Jenny shook her head.
“I have some lemon juice if you would like a cold drink?”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
Sebastian lowered himself into his chair as Jenny watched him, wincing as if she felt the pain herself. “So what is it, Jenny? What’s going on?”
Jenny bit her lip, fighting back the tears. Her brother’s words seemed to have burned themselves across her heart. “I got a letter from Darren,” she said, her voice breaking.
Sebastian frowned. “Darren Pascoe? The boy who—”
“Killed my mother and Hanna. Yes.”
“And what did he want?”
Jenny looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap. She waited for a few seconds, composing herself before looking up. “He wants me to forgive him.”
Sebastian studied her for a moment. It was only seconds but felt like hours. “And can you? Can you forgive?”
Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s my brother.”
“But do you want to forgive?”
“I think so,” she replied. “But Jake would never accept Darren, and my father would disown me.”
“But the letter?” Sebastian continued. “Are you going to keep it?”
Jenny nodded. “I have to. Jake told me to rip it up.”
“I can understand why he might be angry.” Sebastian sighed. “And I can understand why you wouldn’t want to tell your father.”
Jenny guessed what was coming next. “But I have to. That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it?”
The old man nodded. “Do you have the letter with you?”
Jenny pulled an envelope out of back pocket of her denims and pushed it into Sebastian’s hands. “I’m scared to leave it in the house—in case Jake goes rooting.”
Sebastian pulled out the letter and began to read. Jenny watched him, studying him, trying to read the expression on his age ravaged face.
Sebastian had told Jenny of his days at the university, and she had loved hearing all about it. She wondered if this reminded him of that time, when his students went to him for advice. They would listen expectantly while Sebastian felt the weight of responsibility, knowing they would hang on his words. He became known by many of the staff as Papa Tint, and he was a father figure to several students, among whom were a couple of girls who developed an unhealthy reliance that bordered on obsession.
“So what do you think?” Jenny asked, clenching her hands so tightly that the bones in her fingers cracked loudly. Sebastian looked up. “It hardly matters what I think, dear,” he said softly. “Because if you can’t find forgiveness in your heart then your words will be empty and meaningless. But if you can, nothing else matters.”
Jenny looked down at her hands, avoiding eye contact with the old sage. Sometimes it were as if he could see into the depths of her soul. For years, she had believed Darren Pascoe had never cared. There had been no sign of remorse. No apology. Nothing. It had been Taylor who had greeted his sentence with the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete who had just won a gold medal. A term in prison was to him, a badge of honour, and Jenny had believed the two boys were soul mates, both having infected each other. But now this…this letter.
“It will take time,” Sebastian whispered, breaking her train of thought. “But this is between you and your brother. It’s not between you and your father or between you and Jake. It does not mean he has to be a part of your life, but the very act of forgiving another human being brings peace. It is like shedding light into all those dark corners of your heart where that bitterness and hatred lurks.”
Jenny looked up. They were the words she’d needed to hear. “Will you look after the letter for me? I don’t want it around the house.”
Sebastian smiled. “It will be here when you’re ready.” He placed the envelope on the coffee table. “Although I wouldn’t think this is something you’re going to forget that easily. Burning it would not change a thing.”
Jenny nodded. The old man was right. The words—Darren Pascoe’s words—tumbled around in her head. She had been comfortable living with the hatred in her heart, believing her half-brother to be a worthless villain, but now he had proven himself to be an eloquent young man, torn apart by guilt. She could tell herself that he was faking it, but Jenny knew that Darren had poured out his soul in that letter. Now it was all up to her.
Forgiving a killer? People did. She had seen them interviewed in those TV documentaries and remembered wondering how they could possibly find the strength in their hearts. She turned up the sound on the car radio as she drove home. It was loud. So loud she could no longer hear herself think. Darren’s words faded, drowned by the thumping beat that rattled the drinks can in its holder.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Blakely had left a message on Penny’s answer machine. Penny? Call me.
His marriage still mattered. He had a home and a woman who gave him a security he never believed he’d needed. Sure, the park had taken over his life, but The Lakeside Hotel was just somewhere to lay his head. Penny had threatened to bleed him dry, and she probably would, but that wasn’t worrying him too much at the moment. It was the feeling that he had been cut loose and, finding himself drifting, was looking back at the safe harbour of his marriage with fresh eyes.
Penny called back sounding tired. “What is it, Dennis?” she asked sleepily.
“I just wanted to talk. We need to.” He was relieved that she was too tired to be angry.
“Why? What about?”
“Penny, I still love you.”
Blakely could hear his wife’s steady breathing. “Just answer me one question, Dennis,” she said, composing herself. “Why did you do it? Why did you?”
The pain of guilt was like a weight in Blakely’s chest. “I don’t know,” he replied bleakly.
“Do you love her?”
“I have feelings, but I don’t know if it’s love—I mean real love.”
There was a pause. A sob, and then that voice, laden with a grief that made him wish he could reach down the phone. “Does she love you?”
“She says she does.”
There was silence. “Penny?”
“I’m still here.”
/> “Say something.”
“Dennis, I don’t know what to say. She’s an attractive woman. I understand why you were tempted. But why throw away your marriage? Why throw away us?”
Blakely could deal with rage far better than he could deal with reason. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice little more than a whisper. “Things just seemed a bit stale. I mean, we didn’t exactly set the bedroom alight, did we!”
Penny sighed. “Dennis, give it a year or so. Some young lad will start flirting with her and she will look at you and wonder what the hell she’s doing with a guy who’s so many years older. Maybe she won’t be so keen to have you rolling around on top of her. Then what will you do?”
“It’s only nine years,” Blakely corrected. But it hardly mattered. She was right. Kim insisted it wasn’t just about the sex, but it was her body and the pure physical abandonment that she brought to his bed—that was what he loved.
“Maybe we should meet up and talk properly.”
“About us? Is there an us?”
Blakely paused. “I’m confused, Pen. Just utterly confused.”
He slipped the phone into his top pocket and closed the PortaKabin door behind him, heading for the manor. He needed to get his head straight. The park was his project, and if he cocked this up, his father would be waiting with that long talon of a finger pointing right at him. He needed to get this sorted, and quickly, before his whole life fell apart.
***
Robert Adams was still wondering who was writing to his daughter. He’d thought about steaming it open, hanging over the boiling kettle, fighting with his conscience. Josie had caught him red-handed and snatched the envelope out of his hands. “I’ll drop it through their door now—then you won’t be tempted!”
Normally, he wouldn’t have even considered taking a look at his daughter’s mail, but this was handwritten. “What if it’s from Kayla?” he protested. “What if she’s shit-stirring?”
Josie had shot him a look. “You haven’t heard from the woman for over two years! If she wanted to worm her way into your life she wouldn’t do something so underhanded.”