Book One: Thirty Days, Book 1

by Bibi Paterson

  My body is still humming when Taylor picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he carries me through to the bathroom. He settles me on a low chair that I have never really taken note of before turning the taps on the spectacular bath. Steam immediately starts to fill the room as Taylor starts hunting through the cupboard under the sink. I can’t figure out what he is doing until he turns around in triumph, holding up a jar of bath salts.

  “I thought Nicola had bought some of these.” Taylor grins at me.

  “Are you not a bubble bath man, then?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me as I start to wonder how many other girls have had a bath with Taylor in that tub.

  “Nope, I have never used it. My sister uses it when she stays, but that’s it.” Taylor says matter-of-factly. I am secretly pleased that this is something new to Taylor as well. Taylor adds the salts to the running water, and a relaxing lavender aroma fills the air. I slowly pull my clothes off until I am standing beside Taylor completely naked.

  “You have the most luscious arse,” Taylor says softly, squeezing my butt cheek. I giggle and grab Taylor’s bum, giving it a squeeze before responding, “Nah, yours is better!”

  “Minx,” says Taylor in response. The bath is almost full, and Taylor tugs my hand to climb in first. I sink into the steaming, fragrant water until it is up to my neck, allowing room for Taylor to climb in behind me. He wraps his legs around mine and pulls me into his chest, taking a cloth and running hot water over my neck. I haven’t realised how stiff my neck muscles are until Taylor starts rubbing them with sure fingers. I groan in appreciation, and I can feel him smile into my hair as he continues to tease my muscles free from their knots.

  I am drowsy from Taylor’s attentions and the warm, relaxing water when Taylor finally pulls me up and out of the bath. Wrapped in only fluffy robes, we pad through to the lounge area, where we sink into the plush sofas and Taylor makes good on his promise to order in Thai. I flick through Taylor’s extensive movie collection, making suggestions here and there until we both agree on a light-hearted comedy.

  The rest of the evening is spent gorging ourselves on the most delicious duck in tamarind sauce, garlic broccoli, speciality rice and a number of side dishes, and laughing ourselves silly over the film. When the credits finally roll, my mind springs back to the fact that I will be meeting Taylor’s family tomorrow and my body automatically tenses. As if reading my mind, Taylor wraps his arms round my waist and, kissing the top of my head, he reassures me that everything will be fine. I nod into his chest, making a conscious effort to relax my frame, but I can’t help the niggle in the back of my mind telling me that I am not good enough.

  The Seventeenth

  I am standing in the beautiful orangery that is the focal point of Taylor’s grandmother’s house, feeling like a complete outsider. Granted, everyone has been perfectly charming, but I can feel the question marks in their eyes burning holes into my back.

  “Ignore them. They are a complete waste of space.” A charming voice startles me as a slim arm slips through mine. I turn my head to find myself staring into a pair of dark chocolate eyes so similar to Taylor’s that I can only conclude that they belong to his little sister.

  “Nicola?” I ask, the tremble in my voice evident. Taylor went off to get a drink five minutes ago, and I have been feeling exposed ever since. Just having Nicola by my side instantly relaxes me, and I offer her a grateful smile for rescuing me.

  “Yup, the baby sister. And you are Abby.” The last bit is not a question, but a statement. “I am so glad to finally meet you. Taylor has told me so much about you.” My curiosity is piqued at the excitement in Nicola’s voice. I look carefully at Nicola’s face, trying to read her intentions, but she seems so guileless that my heart warms to her instantly. “I can’t believe my brother left you alone with these sharks. Let’s go find him so I can tell him off.” She tugs my arm, and I find myself following with no hesitation.

  As we walk down the corridor that seems to lead to the kitchen, I take a couple of moments to study Taylor’s baby sister. I know she is only fifteen, but the expression in her eyes makes her seem so much older. I can’t imagine what it must have been like growing up with Richard, but from what Taylor has told me, I can only imagine that Nicola had to grow up fast, no matter how much Taylor tried to protect her. She is at least a couple of inches taller than I am, but her slim build is a contrast to Taylor’s solid frame, and I can see why he feels so protective of her.

  As we step into the kitchen, I know immediately that we have interrupted something. Taylor is talking in harried tones to two people. When they turn around to see who has intruded, I immediately take in the similarities to both Taylor and Nicola and realise that these are Taylor’s parents. I have a momentary flash of insecurity, wondering whether Nicola has decided to feed me to the lions, but given the nails digging into the flesh of my arm, she is as surprised to see them as I am.

  I take a deep breath and make my way across the kitchen, holding my hand out to greet them. “Lovely to meet you, Mr and Mrs Hudson. I am Abby.”

  There is an uncomfortable moment of silence when I realise no one is coming forward to greet me in return. Instead, Taylor’s mother turns to face me full on and hisses “Bitch!” into my face. I am so surprised that, despite my mind screaming at me to turn and run away, I cannot move.

  Immediately Taylor is at my side, angling himself to shield me before roaring at his mother, “What the fuck, Mother?”

  “Don’t you use that language at me, Taylor Edward Hudson!” Mrs Hudson rounds on Taylor.

  “I’ll talk to you any way I want if you dare speak to Abby that way,” Taylor hisses in a low voice.

  “I’ll speak to that little whore however I want. She’s the reason that your brother spent a night in jail and is now out on bail with the police turning up at the house every five minutes. The neighbours are all talking…” she trails off.

  I realise I am shaking with dread, unsure of what to say. Instead, Taylor squeezes my hand and intercedes. “Mother, you know Richard has been charged with attacking Abby. I know you want to believe your precious son would never do anything like that, but as I have told you several times already, I had to pull him off myself.”

  “Well, I can’t see why he would attack her. I mean, look at her. He doesn’t even know her, from all accounts.”

  My blood starts to boil, and before I know it I burst out, “Exactly. I never even met your son before, and then he turns up on my doorstep and attacks me. Plus he then trashed my flat and destroyed pretty much everything I own, all because I am with Taylor.” I am breathing heavily after my speech.

  “The police said they can’t prove that he did it,” Mrs Hudson responds with a pout.

  “Well, that may be the case, but I can’t see who else it would have been. From what I know, your son is a sociopath and you seem completely blind to it.” The venom drips from my words as I realise that I will never be best friends with Taylor’s parents. I am not sure I even want that, given that they seem to be people who have religiously turned a blind eye to the abuse going on over the years in their own family. In my eyes they are as guilty as Richard himself.

  The tension in the room is thick, and my heart is beating a rapid tattoo. I am not a confrontational person, far from it, but in the moment I feel like all I want to do is pull the wool from Taylor’s parents’ eyes and expose Richard for the crazy whack job he really is.

  If I thought I could alter Mrs Hudson’s point of view, then I am sorely disappointed as she hisses back at me in response, “You know nothing about my family, Abigail! From what I can tell, you are a liar who is doing her best to infiltrate our family, probably to get hold of Taylor’s money. You are nothing but a gold-digging whore.”

  I can feel the rage building in Taylor as he stiffens in response to his mother’s words. Before Taylor has a chance to let rip, I hear a stern voice from the kitchen entrance. “Enough!” I turn to see Taylor’s grandmother holding herself regally
in the doorway.

  “Really, Gillian, I thought you would know better than to behave like this in my home. Abigail is an invited guest here, and you are making her feel most unwelcome. Shame on you.” Taylor’s grandmother’s voice remains low, her tone still friendly. But the steely look in her eyes belies the smile on her face and her relaxed stance.

  Taylor’s mother seems to shrink in his grandmother’s presence, and she takes a couple of steps backward. “Hello, Abigail. It is so lovely to meet you, my dear.” Taylor’s grandmother steps forward to introduce herself, and I feel myself starting to relax slightly.

  “Happy birthday, Mrs Hudson. It is lovely to meet you too,” I respond.

  “Pah, please call me Genevieve,” she says, and I hear the slight inflection of a French accent in her voice.

  “Um, okay, Mrs...Genevieve. I have a present for you.” I pull the gift bag out of my satchel and hand it across with a shy smile.

  Genevieve responds with a warm look, taking the bag and peering inside. “What a beautiful box,” she exclaims, pulling it out to look at it more closely.

  “Um, I made you some truffles. They are inside,” I say, suddenly nervous about giving this handsome lady a handmade gift. What if she doesn’t like them?

  “What a thoughtful gift,” Genevieve says before taking my arm and guiding me out of the kitchen, away from the situation. I let out a sigh of relief, despite being separated from Taylor, feeling instantly at ease in her presence.

  “Please ignore the little witch that is my daughter-in-law. She sank her claws into my son Henry too many years ago, and I am afraid all that is not right with that family stems from her.” She looks at me with a knowing smile, and I instantly know that she is aware of the situation with Richard.

  A sad look crosses her face as she continues, “I tried to talk to Henry many times about…the issues… but he won’t hear anything I say. At least I got Taylor out of the house when he was eighteen, and I am biding my time now with Nicola.”

  I am not sure why she is opening up to me like this. I am sure this is a not a family secret that people would want to admit to. In a low voice I respond, “Taylor has explained things to me. It was hard for him to open up, but I am grateful he did. I don’t think I could have understood Richard’s attack otherwise.”

  “My poor boy,” Genevieve continues. “He never lets anyone close, too afraid of Richard after Hannah, so you must be very special to him. He has never brought anyone to meet me before.” My heart aches for Taylor, but I feel a secret pleasure at being the first person to be introduced to Genevieve, even under these circumstances. The ghost of Hannah does seem to loom large at times over our relationship, and I wouldn’t be truthful if I didn’t say it worried me. A little of the green-eyed monster definitely lurks in my subconscious.

  I look around and realise that Genevieve has led me back through to the orangery, where, by some unspoken communication, Taylor and his sister are waiting for me. “Well, Abigail, I must leave you here to continue… circulating. It has been so lovely to meet you, and once again thank you so much for your thoughtful gift.” She says this loud enough to turn a couple of heads, including those of Taylor’s parents, who are staring daggers in my direction.

  I give Genevieve a wide smile as Taylor pulls me into his arms and wraps them around me protectively. Turning to Taylor, Genevieve gives him a wink before saying, “Look after this one, Taylor. She is special.”

  “I know, Grandmother. I will do anything to protect her.” Taylor responds in a low voice, the sincerity rumbling through his chest. Genevieve turns back to the rest of her guests, and he asks me if I am okay.

  “Your grandmother is lovely, Taylor. An amazing woman,” I respond warmly, so pleased to have had the opportunity to meet her.

  “That she is,” he says quietly.

  The rest of the afternoon flies by as I get to know Nicola better and am introduced to a number of cousins, aunts and uncles whose names I forget almost instantly. Like Genevieve, they are all very welcoming, and I am grateful that there is none of the hostility that I experienced with Taylor’s parents. Richard’s absence has been noted, and a few people question his whereabouts, but I am simply grateful that he is not there. The idea of seeing him again makes my skin crawl.

  The party is winding down, and I excuse myself to use the toilet before we leave. As I make my way to the guest cloakroom, I take in the beautiful surroundings that is Genevieve’s home. Although completely different in personality from Nonna’s, I get the same sense of calm and comfort that I always used to get when I visited her flat. The walls are covered in pictures of family, including more recent ones of Taylor and Nicola in some exotic destination, which I can only suppose is from one of his sourcing trips to South America. There are also pictures of Richard, though those are few and far between, and each shows him with that awful sarcastic smile that gives me chills.

  I see where Taylor gets his taste in bathrooms from when I finally enter; whilst completely in keeping with the Victorian essence of the house, the cloakroom is large and opulently decked out with even a sit-down vanity complete with essentials for freshening up, touching up any make-up disaster. Hmm, this is certainly worlds apart from the life I grew up in, but I guess, for all the advantages that having money gives, it still didn’t protect Taylor and Nicola growing up.

  As I leave the cloakroom, my hackles immediately rise, and I look around nervously, my gut telling me something is wrong. A figure steps out of a shadowy doorway, and I immediately recognise Richard. I take a gulp of air and watch him warily as he approaches, the dark air that seems to permanently surround him filtering up through my nose.

  My mind screams for me to run, but instead I start edging my way back to the party slowly, hoping he doesn’t notice the movement. The malevolent smile on his face chills me to the core, and I find myself shaking with nerves as he picks up speed, trapping me between his arms. He starts speaking in a very low voice, and I struggle to hear what he is saying.

  “You little bitch. Because of you I spent a night in jail,” Richard hisses into my face.

  All at once my terror dissipates, and instead, some of the anger that I felt earlier towards Taylor’s parents starts building again. “And that is my problem, how?” I say, leaning forward to stare into Richard’s face defiantly. “Maybe if you hadn’t, I don’t know, attacked me and destroyed my flat, then we wouldn’t be here now,” I say, poking my finger into his chest.

  “I don’t know what you think gives you the right to behave like this, but I am not scared of you.” And I realise in that moment I am not actually scared anymore. “You are a bully, plain and simple!” My voice has risen, attracting a couple of looks from passers-bye. Richard immediately drops his arms and takes a step back, folding them across his chest. “Maybe if you behaved like a normal human being, instead of the psycho you seem to be, I wouldn’t need to lay charges against you.” With that I turn and walk defiantly away.

  The adrenaline that kicked in during the confrontation starts to subside, and I find myself walking on rubbery legs. I can’t seem to find Taylor. He is not where I left him in the living room, so I make my way back down the hallway to the kitchen, where I find him engaged in another heated argument with his parents. He spots me as soon as I enter the room and, with a glare at his parents, declares, “I have had enough of this crap. Come on, Abby. Let’s go.” With that he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room.

  I can sense the anger in Taylor, and I know that now is not the time to either argue or tell him about my run-in with Richard. We make our way out, stopping only to say brief goodbyes to Genevieve and Nicola, and are driving off within minutes, tyres spraying gravel in our wake.

  The tension in the car is palpable, and as much as I want to ask Taylor about his argument with his parents, the anger radiating off him stops me. The drive back to London is silent, and each time I go to interrupt Taylor’s brooding, I find myself shutting my mouth without saying a word. Only when we finall
y drive into the garage at the apartment does Taylor finally relax a little, offering me a sad smile. In my gut I know something is wrong, but I am simply too afraid to ask a question I don’t want to know the answer to.

  The ride up in the elevator is short, and when we step into the apartment lobby, I turn to Taylor expectantly, hoping for an explanation. Instead, he mumbles at me that he has some work to do, avoiding my eyes, and that he’ll see me in a couple of hours before stalking down to his office. I watch him go, the feeling of unease swelling in my abdomen.

  At a loose end I find myself hauling out the mixer in an effort to calm my nerves. I whip up batches of cookies and cupcakes, and when finally Taylor reappears, I am kneading bread, pretending that it is Richard’s face. Juvenile, I know, but immensely satisfying. He offers up that same sad smile, and once again I find myself chickening out, the questions solidifying as a silent lump in my throat.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask Taylor, simply to break the silence. He nods at me before going to the fridge and pulling out some chicken breasts.

  “Hot chicken salad good for you?” Taylor asks.

  “Sure,” I respond, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. Taylor flicks on some music, which I immediately recognise as the album Mimosa by Fun Lovin’ Criminals. The soothing sounds fill up the silence and help to dissipate some of the tension. I dig through the fridge, pulling out things to throw in the salad while Taylor browns off the chicken. All the while I am hyper-aware of his every move.

  When everything is ready, Taylor loads up our plates and hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar. I grab a couple of the bread rolls I baked earlier and add them to the plates. I can’t think of what to say, so I find myself humming along to the music just for something to do. The second our plates are clear, Taylor drops his fork with a clatter, grimaces and then stalks back to his office, leaving me staring at his back, wondering what the hell I have done to make him so mad. Surely if this was just about the argument with his parents, he would have talked to me about it by now?