by Laura Read
‘I need to head to the club soon,’ Sean murmured, kissing the top of her head.
She turned to look at the clock on her bedside table and realised it was later than she’d thought.
‘I need to get some work done too...’ She trailed off, wondering why she cared about the accounts after all that had happened.
Sean brushed her arm aside and he rose from the bed.
‘Do you want to shower here?’ she asked, watching him put on his trousers.
‘No, I’ll go home and change.’ He headed into the hallway to fetch the rest of his clothes.
Their moment seemed over and Angela’s heart fluttered, wondering whether this had been a one-time tryst after all.
‘Are you working here?’ he asked, walking back into the room as he buttoned up his coat. He sat down on the bed and stared at her as she thought about her answer. Their conversation felt stilted and strange following such intimacy.
‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I might go to my parents’ house.’
They gazed at each other and silence filled the void between them.
Sean finally said, ‘Look... I’m leaving town after Vincent pays me. If you want to... you could come with me.’
Her faith restored in their love, she wondered whether he was brave or stupid to ask her to leave with him. They hardly knew each other; chemistry was their only bond. She wanted to say that of course she would go with him, but her mind screamed that she’d be foolish to accept his offer.
‘Where?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Wherever we want. I’ll try to get my son back, and after we could go anywhere we wanted.’
She could escape her past and start again; leave her family and their violence behind. She wanted to travel halfway around the world with Sean and lose herself in the safety of his arms.
Would she grow tired of his company though, and seek solitude or sex elsewhere like she had done previously? And would Sean prioritise his family and finding his son before their relationship and her own needs?
‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘I want to come with you, but my life’s always been here.’
‘You need to get out of here,’ he told her. ‘You hate this place. You don’t belong here.’
She felt torn. ‘I need to think about it.’
‘Okay... I don’t want to force you to come with me. But I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘I know,’ she snapped, getting out of bed to wrap herself in her kimono. She pulled the belt into a knot, a mixture of emotions playing across her face.
Sean pulled her towards him and kissed her softly. ‘Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Get some more sleep.’
She nodded and he kissed her once more before disappearing through the door into the outside world again. Her heart felt heavy and her mind raced.
Finding her cigarettes, she lit one up with a cheap plastic lighter and took a deep drag, happiness settling on her tongue. She picked up a glass of stale water to use as an ashtray and sat on the cold windowsill, trying to spot Sean walking down the street. Not able to see him, she watched a group of friends make their way through the thick snow. They laughed together as they strode down the street, scooping up white powder and flinging it at each other. They knew of comfort, friendship, being close to those they trusted; they had a sense of belonging.
She felt alone as the sun sank behind the buildings opposite and a blood-red sky loomed overhead. Her stump of a cigarette was her only companion, silky paper hot between her lips. She stubbed the butt out against the top of the glass, a trail of silver ashes sinking to the bottom of the water, then tipped the stub overboard and watched it float, trying not to drown, swimming above its insides of ashes.
She turned to look at the darkened room, at the unmade bed, scattered cushions and her clothes lying on the floor. Bored and fidgety, she tapped her heels against the wall under the window. Her apartment felt empty without Sean’s warmth, and she’d be alone the entire evening. Normally she was comfortable being alone, but now she grew restless, wanting closeness once more.
She poured a hot bath and submerged her body into its depths. Steam rose up to settle on the walls, streams of water trickling down the marble tiles. Time stood still and her pink skin wrinkled into patterns she couldn’t translate. Despite the comfort of the water, her mind travelled the world, full of ideas and possibilities and love. Her mind was already made up: she would escape from the traps of one world to explore the freedom of another.
Slipping on a dress, in her bedroom she appraised herself in the mirror. She had lost weight in the last few weeks but there was a fullness about her body, a new confidence brimming inside of her. Her wet hair dampened the neck of her dress as she applied her make-up, bright red lipstick cold against her lips. Drying her hair, she was transfixed by her reflection, wondering whether the person staring back at her had changed. She put on knee-length boots, a jumper and woollen coat, preparing for the outside, enveloping herself in a soft armour for protection against the elements.
After scraping the snow off her car, she settled inside and watched the ice on the windscreen melt while she warmed her hands. Then she drove carefully down the quiet streets, the town cold and dead, and wondered why she felt a sense of belonging here, in a place ruled by anonymity and guardedness. She wouldn’t miss the roads she drove down, the concrete shops and factories, the estates full of uncaring and selfish families, suburbs of middle-class nobodies.
She slid her key into the lock of her parents’ house and turned it softly; she didn’t want to draw attention to her presence yet. She stole across the marble hallway, her footsteps echoing around the building that never truly felt like her home. Placing her bags down, she listened for any signs that her parents were home, looking for scattered belongings or lights emanating from open doorways.
The surrounding rooms were dark, clinical, shapeless. They contained no warm smell of coffee brewing, bookcases brimming with aging books, or framed photographs fading in the sunlight. The mansion was masculine, heavy, an alpha male of moulded materials fashioned into grandiose forms, unadorned by femininity.
Her stomach growled and she wondered when she had last eaten. Yesterday? A hangover gnarled her thoughts as she walked towards the kitchen in search of food, water and painkillers. Opening the kitchen door, light spilled out into the dimly-lit hallway and in the heart of the room her mother stood chopping vegetables.
Isabella smiled at her daughter and circled around the counter, rushing towards her daughter to embrace her. ‘How are you? I haven’t seen you in days,’ she said, pulling Angela into a seat opposite her. ‘How were the roads?’
‘Fine…’ Angela replied, throwing her damp woollen coat across the back of her chair. ‘Who cleared the snow?’
‘Arnie spent all afternoon out there before he left for the club... I’m not sure why he bothered going in. It’ll be a quiet night.’
Angela nodded, wondering whether Sean would be allowed home early. The kitchen was a felled forest of dark oak stretching for yards between stainless steel appliances and heavy white marble counters. Glass panes in oak cabinets displayed the finest crystal glasses, tall sloping vases and sets of antique tea sets.
‘You look better,’ Isabella told her. ‘Considering,’ she added.
Angela felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t visited or called in weeks and wondered how much her mother knew about recent events.
Isabella filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘Your father’s been worried about you... And the books.’
‘I feel better,’ Angela admitted.
Isabella went back to chopping onions. ‘I’ll make you some dinner. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.’
‘No,’ Angela confessed.
‘You’ll make yourself ill. You’re the same as your father. God knows where he’s disappeared to.’
‘Maybe the club?’
‘What happened there last night? Your father was so angry this morn
ing he wouldn’t speak to me.’
‘Didn’t Arnie tell you?’ Angela asked, knowing he would have done. She didn’t want to talk about the previous night. ‘It wasn’t a big deal. We’ve been after Damien for weeks and now he’s finally dead.’
‘Yes, Arnie said that he nearly killed you,’ Isabella exclaimed, looking at her daughter in exasperation.
Angela was silent, knowing her mother was fishing for details and probably knew exactly what had happened. She would pry further if she found out that Sean had shielded her, risking his life for hers.
Her mother continued, ‘Arnie also said that the detective pushed you out of the way, just in time…’
‘It wasn’t that dramatic,’ Angela lied.
‘Oh… At least that bastard’s dead now, after what he did to you.’ Angela looked away guiltily. Her mother continued, ‘I’m not sure exactly why Sean’s helping us, apart from the money...’
She looked at her daughter inquisitively, searching for the buried truth. Her eyes filled with concern at Angela’s silence. ‘Is there something going on between the two of you?’
Angela didn’t know how to respond: should she deny the accusation or admit the truth? ‘No…’ She trailed off, lost for words. She changed the subject. ‘Now that everything with Webster is over, I’ve been thinking that I might leave town for a bit. Go travelling or something.’
Isabella pursed her lips. She knew that Angela had been longing for independence for years. Would she want to leave town for good? Perhaps she could escape from under Leon’s thumb, something that she’d never been able to do. Yet her gut told her that something else was going on. She wondered whether Sean had asked Angela to leave town with him.
‘How long have you been seeing him?’ she asked.
‘Who?’
Isabella grimaced. ‘Sean. Do you trust him? He’s a cop!’
‘I’m not “seeing” him!’
The kettle began to whistle and Isabella took it off the boil, pouring out two cups of tea. Angela stood and walked over to the fridge to get the milk. ‘I knew you’d be like this,’ she said under her breath.
‘What am I supposed to say?’ her mother turned on her. ‘Why do you want to leave now? After Joe just died, and you nearly got yourself killed last night.’
‘I didn’t “nearly get myself killed”! Dad fucking teamed up with a psycho!’
Isabella ignored her daughter’s criticism of her husband. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and this cop?’
‘No!’
‘We always told you not to trust the police…’
‘For fuck’s sake! If you don’t trust him, then why is he working for us?’ Angela asked.
‘You should know by now not to trust anyone. Look what happened when your father trusted Damien.’
‘I know what happened!’
‘I’m only saying this because I care about you,’ Isabella told her. She stirred milk into the tea, the darkness of the drink lifted by the white liquid. Handing Angela a cup, she said, ‘I haven’t met Sean and I don’t know what he’s like. But you haven’t known him long and who knows what will happen in the future.’
Angela sat back resignedly on the chair and warmed her hands around her drink, trying to ignore her mother.
Isabella gazed forlornly at the young woman facing her. ‘I listened to my heart when I was your age, and I ran off and married your father. I love him dearly but I never thought that loving him would change me.’
Angela recognised the sacrifices her mother had made for her father but, despite her abuse at his hands, she was still in love with him. Angela knew then that she’d have to leave with Sean. Her heart demanded it and if she stayed here she would be trapped forever like her mother, losing her soul to her father and becoming the person he wanted her to be: a voiceless entity who obeyed his orders.
‘If you’ve already made up your mind,’ her mother said, ‘I can’t convince you to stay.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ Angela said suddenly.
‘I’ll miss you more,’ Isabella whispered, tears tracing her cheeks. She took a deep breath and wiped the tears away. ‘Look, why don’t you go and get started on the books? That’ll make your father happy. I’ll bring you some dinner. You probably have a lot of work to catch up on.’
‘I can eat with you,’ Angela said.
‘I’ll come and fetch you when it’s done then,’ Isabella agreed.
Angela got to her feet and made her way into the hallway to collect her bags. It felt as if she was saying goodbye to her mother, and was betraying her by abandoning the family.
Isabella watched her daughter disappear from view and gently closed the door when she heard Angela’s footsteps fade. She picked up her phone and dialled Vincent’s number.
‘I need you to look into someone for me,’ she told him when he answered. ‘I know you’ve already vetted him, but I want you to look further into that detective’s background… Why?... I’m listening to my heart.’
12
Escape
Purple and silver vines wrapped around their limbs, soft patterned material draped across their bodies in the mid-morning sun. Time crept onwards but they were immune to its powers, ageless souls embracing the present. The days they had spent together seemed like a lifetime lost in each other’s company, the nights warm and comfortable despite the cold frost lining the sill of the old bedroom window.
Sleep had curled into the corners of their tired eyes, gracing their eyelashes. Half-packed suitcases lay open in one corner of the bedroom, an assortment of interlaced coloured cloth lazily thrown inside. The cases promised a journey into lands and a future unknown, where certainty and control were forgotten concepts and self-discovery was crucial.
Sean ran his fingertips lightly down her arm. ‘Why did you save me that night?’ he asked.
Angela frowned at his question, wondering why he was asking her now. ‘Probably the same reason you saved me. I had to...’
There was no single motive for her driving to the farm that night, but instead a multitude of reasons: she had changed after her brother died; she felt guilty about Dominic; she wanted to challenge her father and Vincent, and do what she believed to be right for once.
‘So it was a feeling?’
She turned to stare at him. ‘Just a feeling,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘I just wondered...’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Do you ever think about getting revenge?’
‘No,’ he said, surprised. ‘I know why Vincent did what he did.’
She placed her head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, wondering whether she’d contemplate vengeance if she was Sean. The thought crossed her mind after Vincent betrayed her, but she hadn’t been able to hate him for what he’d done to her either.
Sean sat up and stretched, his freckled back scarred and marked with red creases from where he’d been lying. Angela reached out to trace his spine with her fingers, glad he didn’t ask her in return whether she’d considered getting revenge.
‘I think Vincent’s paying me tonight,’ he said, turning to see her reaction.
‘So we might leave tomorrow?’
‘We might leave tomorrow.’ He smiled and leant down to kiss her. ‘I’m going to shower,’ he told her, getting up and walking towards the bathroom.
Angela’s arm fell back against the cotton sheets, rumpled where Sean’s body had lain. She watched him close the bathroom door and pulled herself into a sitting position, reaching for her cigarettes on the bedside table.
The familiar taste of smoke danced across her tongue, comforting her, and she leant her head back against the headboard. Tomorrow she hoped that her fears and doubts about leaving would disappear. She’d escape to a world where she no longer felt worried for her and Sean’s safety.
Her phone rang, vibrating on silent, lying on the table next to her lighter. She debated answering or ignoring the call.
‘Hi, Vincent,’ she finally answer
ed.
‘Finally, you pick up your phone!’ he said angrily.
‘I was asleep,’ she said, immediately defending herself.
‘Are you with Sean?’
‘That’s none of your fucking –’
‘I just found out that he’s not a cop,’ Vincent told her bluntly.
Angela’s world reeled. ‘What do you mean he’s not a cop?’
‘There used to be a detective called Sean McBride, but he died months ago.’
‘Well... what if he’s using the dead guy’s name as an alias?’
‘He might be. But he also said that the cops were looking at us for killing Dominic, and that’s a lie too. We’ve never been listed as suspects. He didn’t even plant that evidence for us: the police were looking for Webster because they received an anonymous tip off that he’d killed Dominic. Sean’s been playing us all along.’
‘That makes no sense,’ she said, looking towards the bathroom and hearing the shower switch on. She whispered, ‘Why would he pretend to be a cop?’
‘He’s after our fucking money! I told you to stay away from him. We don’t know who the fuck he is or what he wants!’
‘Jesus...’
‘Where are you right now?’ Vincent asked.
‘At home.’
‘He’s there, isn’t he?’
She sighed. ‘Yes.’
‘Make sure he stays there. I’m driving over now.’
He hung up and Angela let the phone drop to her side, thinking she might be sick. How could she have let Sean lie to her? Why had she trusted him, told him all of her secrets when he’d revealed none of his, perhaps not even his real name? She had let herself become vulnerable, trusted him and let him inside of her, believed they were in love, and he’d been lying to her the whole time.
She stubbed out her cigarette into his half-empty glass of water and glanced at his clothes draped over the chair. She got up and delved into his pockets, coming away empty-handed. Next she searched his coat for scraps of paper, business cards, anything that might give her a clue as to the identity of the stranger she’d been sleeping with.