Evelyn (Fallen Angel Series Book 3)

by Tracie Podger

  “Thank you so much for my watch, I love it,” I replied, showing him my wrist.

  He attended to his customer while I made him a coffee in the little kitchenette out back. I heard the tinkle of the doorbell and joined him behind his counter.

  “So grown up all ready, where has the time gone?” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  Laughing, I pulled the envelope from my bag.

  “I have a letter from my mother, I thought I might take a walk to the cemetery and read it there.”

  “Such a beautiful woman, your mother. Such a shame, too. You’re a lot like her, Evelyn. She had a kind nature,” he replied.

  We chatted for a little while before I gathered my things to leave. Kissing him on both cheeks I made my way to the church. It was a bright, sunny day and I was interrupted many times by people wanting to wish me a happy birthday. I thanked those that had sent a card, a gift, before finding myself standing at the steps of The Shrine of the Sacred Heart. Pushing open the door, I walked into the cool interior and a peacefulness came over me. I hadn’t been to church in a long while and I wondered why. I didn’t want to attend Mass but the calmness I felt made me miss the place. I stopped half way to genuflect, making the sign of the cross before placing my fingertips to my lips. I sat in the front pew, laced my fingers and bowed my head, resting my forehead on my hands. I prayed. For the first time in years, I prayed for my mother, my father, my family and for myself.

  I prayed for the selfish person I felt I had become. I wanted for nothing, whether the money that bought those things was from crime or not, I only had to ask and I was given. We had food on the table every day and the best shoes on our feet and yet this church spent one day a week offering free haircuts to the poor, free food to the hungry. I decided that I would volunteer. I wanted to start to give something back to the community that so obviously provided my lifestyle, whether they wanted to or not. My father was not a bad man, he would lend money to those who needed it and he provided a safe play area for the children of the apartment blocks he owned. But I wasn’t dumb; he would also put the fear of God into anyone who crossed him.

  My prayers over, I made my way to the little cemetery behind. I knew my father paid for a grounds man to tend to the forgotten headstones, to the grassed areas, and he had paid for benches to be placed for people to sit and mourn. Finding my mother’s grave, I ran my fingers over the words inscribed on the white, cool marble. I sat on the grass and with shaking hands I pulled the purple envelope from my bag. I stared at it for a while before gently sliding my finger under the flap and pulling out the letter.

  My darling girl,

  Today you become a woman and I am so sorry to have missed it. I wanted to live a long and healthy life, to be part of yours, to watch you grow, but it was not to be. It would be silly of me to ask you not to be sad, but find it in your heart to smile and remember the fun times we had. Like the time we had a water fight on that hot, summer day - your father was so mad at us! We were drenched and crying with laughter. Remember the day you held my hand when Joey came and your father was away? You were so strong, so grown up and you comforted me. Thank you for looking after my babies, although it is something I wish I could have done myself. As I write this, I picture your face, your beautiful brown eyes and long curly hair. You remind me of my mother, you have her kind nature. I would often come to your room when you slept, just to look at you, especially towards the end. I wanted to have the image of you sleeping so peacefully when I left you. I think you may have always known I was there; you would mumble in your sleep and reach out for me. I would take your hand and sing to you, waiting for you settle again.

  My dream for you, my darling, is that you live your life, your way. You will fall in love and I can only hope your kind, wonderful heart is never broken. I know your father loves you very much and I can imagine that life has not been easy this past year. He cried when you were born. We were so very poor and he was working so many jobs to make the money we needed, to provide for you. But on the day you were born, he held you in his arms like you were the greatest treasure. You wrapped your tiny hand around his finger and he called you bella. And you were, my darling. You were the most beautiful thing I had laid eyes on. I didn’t tell you enough how much I loved you, how much I treasured our time together, and I am so sorry for that.

  You are a very special woman, Evelyn, and I will always love you. Don’t mourn for me, don’t sit by my grave and grieve for me, there is nothing there. I’ll always be with you, a part of you. It’s time to move on with your life, Evelyn, to reach for your dreams, achieve your goals whatever they may be. You would have given stability for the past year to Maria and Joey, now let someone else take some of that burden from your shoulders, take in a housekeeper. I know this because I know you, my darling. I know that you would have taken over the family, their care, but it’s your time now. Start to live the life you’ve dreamt of.

  Happy birthday, my bella. Mamma xxx

  I hadn’t noticed I was crying until a salty tear landed on the paper I was holding in my hand, slightly smudging the words. I wiped it as best I could and folded the pages, placing them back in their envelope. I laid my head on the grassy mound of earth under my mother’s headstone and closed my eyes, doing as she had asked, remembering.

  ****

  For the rest of the day I was on autopilot. I made the evening meal, I bathed Joey and put him to bed; Maria never strayed from her room. I then sat with my father.

  “Papa, I want to get a housekeeper in, someone to help with Joey and look after the house. I want to work, papa, to get a job.”

  “Evelyn, I don’t know...”

  I cut him off. “It’s in my letter. Mamma doesn’t want this for me and as much as I love looking after you all, I need to do something for myself.”

  He had no argument to that. We sat for a little while before he nodded his head.

  “I’ll start to look for someone tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry. I left all this to you and it was wrong of me,” he added.

  Taking my book, I headed off to bed. Stripping off my clothes, I pulled a plain T-shirt over my head and climbed under the sheets. The day had been very emotional; it wasn’t long before tiredness crept over me, and my eyelids closed. I was woken by a noise, the sound of someone bumping into a door.

  “Shit,” I heard.

  I climbed out of bed and listened. I could hear someone in the bathroom. It wasn’t my father and there was only one other man who had keys to the house. He cursed again and I heard a loud intake of breath as I gently opened my door and crept to the bathroom. I saw him at the sink, the cold water running over his hands, and I watched as he raised his head to face the mirror above. He saw my reflection; he didn’t speak, just watched me. I took in the cut to his cheek and the splatters of blood on his neck as I walked towards him. The water ran red as he washed the blood from his hands. Silently I took a cloth, placed it under the cold water and raised it to his face, holding it over the wound. He turned to face me, his eyes closed as he sighed. He took a step forwards and rested his forehead against mine. One of his arms snaked around my waist and his hand gripped the back of my T-shirt. It was as if he was hanging on, needing me to support him. As he moved his hand up my back, he dragged the T-shirt with him. Moving his head, he found my neck and as he pulled me closer, his lips kissed just under my ear and across my jaw bone before they found mine.

  I dropped the cloth I had been holding and placed both arms around his neck, my fingers gripping the hair at the nape. My heart was pounding as I opened my lips and welcomed his tongue. As his kiss got deeper, more urgent, he walked me backwards until I was pressed against the wall, his hard body crushed against mine. One hand held my face, his thumb running over my cheek as his tongue probed. I couldn’t stop it, a small moan escaped my lips and this stilled him. He moved his head away and I watched a trickle of blood run down his cheek from the wound that had reopened.

  “Fuck,” he said before stepping a
way from me.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  He balled his fists and paced the bathroom.

  “Rocco?” I whispered.

  He held his hand up, as if to silence me and I was taken aback by this. I moved towards him but as I did, so he moved away. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to kiss me, perhaps he hadn’t liked it as much as I had. I was mortified that I had made a fool of myself. My first proper kiss and it had ended this way. I felt the tears prick at my eyes, the salty sting as they threatened to fall. I would not cry in front of him, I couldn’t. I made to move back through the door but as I did, he raised his arm, blocking the way.

  “Let me pass, Rocco,” I said.

  “Ev, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I am so sorry.”

  I swallowed the lump that had caused my throat to constrict and nodded. Ducking under his arm I fled to my room. I fell onto my bed and buried my face in the pillow. The tears that were so desperate to fall started to slide down my cheeks. I sobbed as quietly as I could. My chest hurt as the sobs erupted from me, the pain of the past year pouring out. I didn’t hear the door open, I just felt the dip in the mattress as he sat beside me. He gathered me in his arms and I cried into his chest. His hand stroked my back, soothing me and he whispered words I couldn’t quite make out, into my hair. Exhaustion took over and as much as I tried to fight it, sleep won.

  ****

  I woke the following morning with a heavy heart and puffy eyes. I was totally confused by what had happened the previous evening. Rocco had kissed me like he meant it, like he wanted to rip that T-shirt from my body and I had wanted it just as much. But then he acted like he regretted it, but came to my room to comfort me. My head was spinning, my stomach was in knots, my lips were bruised and slightly swollen. I placed my fingers to them, feeling where he had been, trying to conjure up the taste, the smell of him. I climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom before anyone rose. Stripping off my T-shirt I saw his bloodied hand print where he gripped it. I wondered where he had gone; had he left the house or decided to sleep in his old room? The room directly opposite where I now stood, naked. I shook my head to rid myself of the thought before stepping under the warm jets of the shower. The glass cubicle quickly misted as the steam rose, spilling out over the enclosure. I poured gel onto my hands, rubbed them together to create foam before running them over my stomach, my breasts and across my shoulders. I felt a tightening in my stomach, an ache between my legs. I squeezed my thighs together, while my nipples hardened under my touch. My breath quickened. I had done this before, especially over the past year when I’d woken, sweating and breathless from yet another dream of Rocco.

  My hand gently smoothed over my stomach, through the damp tangle of hair until my fingers touched that place I wished his would. My swollen clitoris throbbed at my touch, sending little sparks of current through me, making my skin tingle. Goose bumps raced across my body causing me to shiver. My breath caught in my throat as the pressure inside me grew. Although I had masturbated before, I had never made myself come. I would always stop, feeling guilty and dirty, but not this time. This time I wanted to feel my body give in, I wanted to imagine it was his hands doing this to me, his fingers pinching my nipple, rubbing and teasing. I wanted him.

  I was at the point of letting go when I turned my head slightly and caught sight of a figure inside the bathroom, watching me. I clamped both hands to my mouth to stifle my scream. I knew instantly who it was, I would recognise him anywhere. I made no attempt to cover myself, I didn’t think he would be able to see through the misted screen but he would have known, by my movements, what I was doing. I let the water wash the soap from my body and then asked him to pass me a towel.

  I opened the cubicle door slightly to reach for the fluffy white towel he held out. Taking it, I wrapped it tightly around my chest before stepping out. I wouldn’t look embarrassed, I wouldn’t look anywhere other than straight at him. As I walked past, he stopped me, he held my arm, the fingers of his other hand smoothing away a strand of dripping hair from my face.

  “Soon,” he whispered.

  ****

  I kept myself busy for the next week, one day volunteering at the church. I was no hairdresser but I seemed to have made an improvement to one old gentleman whose hair was knotted from lack of care. At the end of a long day and while sweeping up, Father Carmelo handed me a cup of coffee.

  “Sit, Evelyn, you must be exhausted,” he said.

  “Thank you, Father, it’s been a long but enjoyable day.”

  “Your father is a very generous man. We wouldn’t be able to do this, were it not for his donations. I wish we would see more of him though.”

  “I’ll mention it to him, he seems to be so busy nowadays.”

  “Well, pass on my regards and now get yourself off home. I’ll see you next week?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  Placing my coffee cup on a table, I collected my coat and bag and headed off home. Our new housekeeper had started that week, someone recommended by Jonathan and I was pleased that it gave me the time to spend the day at the church. I hadn’t seen Rocco at all. I’d asked after him, trying to sound casual and was told that he was away, on business. I didn’t want to think about what kind of business.

  ****

  “Go and see this man, Evelyn, he’s looking for someone, for his office,” my father announced one morning.

  He pushed a piece of paper across the kitchen table with a name and address. A local company with offices I had walked past many times.

  “You didn’t ask him to take me on, did you papa?” I asked.

  “No, no, he mentioned a job, I mentioned you, that’s all.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him but I folded the paper and put it in my pocket anyway. I really wanted to work, to get out of the house and earn my own money. A little later in the day I found myself standing outside the offices of Richmond Inc. Pushing open the door I walked in to an empty reception area. A phone was ringing with no one to answer it, and the breeze I had caused when opening the door had made papers fall from the desk. I looked around, uncertain of where to go before picking up the papers and shuffling them into a pile.

  “Can I help you?” I heard.

  Turning, I found myself facing an older man with grey hair and with a harassed look about him.

  “I’m Evelyn, my father, Guiseppe...” Before I could finish, he cut in.

  “Ah, yes. Evelyn, come in, come in. Can you start now? As you can see, I appear to be very short staffed.” He waved his arm at the empty desk, the phone still ringing.

  “Well, I guess so, but what exactly do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “You can get the phone for starters,” he replied as he rushed off.

  I lifted the receiver before I had even managed to find my way around the desk or remove my coat.

  “Richmond Inc., how may I help?” I asked.

  The caller wanted to speak to a Mr. Philips. I had no idea who Mr. Philips was. I explained that Mr. Philips was away from the office and asked if I could take a message. Replacing the handset I looked around. I found a pen, some paper and wrote the message down. And then I tidied the desk. From the layer of dust it was clear no one had sat here for a while. I found unopened post, some dating back weeks and it took me a good hour to sort the paperwork into date order. The gentleman I had met when I first arrived rushed back into the reception area, slapping his forehead with his hand.

  “Evelyn, I’m sorry, I forgot about you. Let me introduce myself and show you around.”

  Mr. Philips led me through a door into a hallway. He pointed out the restrooms, his office and the entrance to a large storeroom. All the while he explained that Richmond Inc. were importers, mainly foodstuff from Italy. He proudly announced that I had probably eaten in the many restaurants that he supplied. He wanted someone for general office duties, to answer the phone and deal with the mail. I could do that and so I settled back at my desk, pleased that I had my first job.

&nbs
p; The day flew by and at five o’clock I covered the typewriter I had used and gathered my bag and coat. I made my way to Mr Philips office to let him know I was leaving. He was on his telephone but smiled and waved his hand. I set off for home with a spring in my step.

  “Papa,” I called out as I entered the house.

  I heard voices coming from the kitchen and making my way through, I stopped, abruptly, in the doorway. Rocco had his back to me. I hadn’t seen him in over a week, the memory of the last time burnt into my mind.

  “Evelyn, come in, tell us about your day,” my father said.

  I shrugged off my coat and sat at the table. Rocco poured a cup of coffee and as he passed it to me, his hand brushed against mine. A spark of electricity shot through me, and my stomach clenched. As I sat opposite my father, recounting my day, I caught sight of him, studying me, out of the corner of my eye. He sat with his elbows on the table, fingers laced together with his chin resting on them while he watched me. I cursed myself for starting to blush.

  “So, Jonathan has a girlfriend?’ he asked my father.

  This was news to me and I sat and listened to them chat, thankful that I could take the time to watch him instead of the other way round. I could have listened for hours to his voice, the lilt of his accent. I was mesmerised by his soft lips, watching the way they formed words, and was reminded of the ferocity of them when he had kissed me. Every now and again he would catch me staring at him and he would give me a small smile. My father seemed to be oblivious to the tension in the room, to the quick glances he would throw my way and I wondered what his reaction would be to know his daughter was in love. Would he be pleased to know it was Rocco that I was in love with? Somehow I knew the answer would be no.

  Later that evening I sat in the garden room. This had been my mother’s favourite room in the house, the reason they had moved here she had told me. One wall was glass and on a balmy evening it was nice to sit with the doors open and allow the smells of the garden to float in. I had curled up on the sofa and opened a book, wanting to get lost in the romance I was reading. I would substitute the name of the hero for Rocco and picture myself in his strong arms, being swept away to a beautiful destination, to be made love to and to live happily ever after. I was so engrossed in this fantasy that I hadn’t heard my father call me.