Break it to Love

by Secret Narrative

  Later, catching up with Lizzie, holed up in the little box office, the girls shared gossip and a sandwich. Lizzie was getting back to normal and Summer was pleased that the new job had apparently taken Lizzie’s mind off Scott Worth.

  ‘We’ve sold loads of tickets for tonight,’ said Lizzie, ‘and this came for you.’ She handed Summer a fat, squashy parcel.

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know. Leighton gave it to me when I arrived, said he forgot to pass it over when you signed in this morning, something about you running late...’

  ‘Fuck, I wonder what it is?’ Summer ripped off the outer wrapping, spilling confetti over the foyer carpet. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘I’ll get the vacuum cleaner,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘It’s my scarf, and a note from the thief.’

  ‘See, I said he fancied you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Hmm,’ mumbled Summer, reading.

  ‘He wants to meet me on Saturday after the show, says he’s going to come to the performance, he’s written his mobile number, look...’

  Lizzie took the card. ‘Nice writing, and it smells delicious too, are you going to ring him?’

  ‘May as well, haven’t got anything else to do. I’m not even on the Smart radar and at least the intrigue about my thief has perked you up. You haven’t mentioned Scott for ages.’

  ‘No. I know.’

  Conjured up by Summer, Lizzie pictured Scott and allowed him to rest a while in her thoughts, heart fluttering heat into her veins, effervescence sparkled under her skin, driving desire deep into her. She let it twinkle a little, too tired to fight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Rustic and charming,’ muttered Scott, turning the key provided by the agent.

  The Cornish stone house stood solitary on a plot and faced the sea. Pushing open the door, Scott was surprised to see the hallway dominated by a staircase. To the left of the stairs a recess led into a room serving as a snug, complete with an Inglenook fireplace. Beyond that, he discovered a passageway serving a bathroom, the master bedroom and en-suite. Dumping his bags, he made his way upstairs to the living area.

  ‘Very impressive.’ Scott admired the exposed beams.

  The room’s windows had views at two aspects, the rear leading out onto a balcony, enclosed on three sides by glass, as protection from the worst of the elements while allowing the outside in. The grounds sloped towards the cliffs. Far from being without modern conveniences, the house had under-floor heating, a wood burner in the main living area and the Inglenook in the snug.

  ‘Hardly slumming it.’ He opened the well-stocked fridge. ‘Won’t starve either.’ He chose a beer, twisted off the cap and took a long drink. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was.

  A notebook with useful telephone numbers and other information lay on the table, along with keys to the storeroom.

  ‘Won’t be using that.’ Scott looked at the oven.

  The fragrance of Canadian oak filled the house. The whole place had a calm, tranquil atmosphere. The house had a magical, simplistic feel, protected from the elements, yet so within them. The smell, views and location made Scott feel as if he were at one with nature for the first time since leaving Australia.

  ‘Perfect.’ He sighed and took his beer out onto the deck to watch the evening recede. Later, he’d sleep, sleep and sleep, for England, Australia and the world, and then he’d sleep some more.

  Scott tried to recall what life was like before Lizzie, before London. He cast his mind back to his home in Western Australia; it seemed so far away, not just literally but metaphorically too. In every way it seemed as if his adopted home was the residence of another existence, which no longer belonged to him, as if someone else walked in his shoes or barefoot through his past. His inner eye closed the miles between the here and now and the then and there, and he hovered in thought over the sprawling white of his ranch-style home, a pale oasis amid a manicured, well-tended garden. His lifestyle provided a property with a vast footprint nestled in glorious grounds and hardly any distance from the spectacular surroundings of coastal Albany. He worked from home and rarely had to make the long drive to Perth, and as it was more than four hours by road, the firm sent a helicopter if it was necessary to go in at short notice. Overall, everything worked perfectly well using the web, his area of expertise. Perhaps that’s what had such an impact on him in London, the dank climate and conventional daily treadmill. Maybe all he needed was a long vacation and then home. But try as he may, Scott could not picture boarding the aircraft, which would create a permanent distance between him and Lizzie.

  In his younger days, Scott was addicted to anything involving the ocean. At least in Cornwall, he could enjoy crashing surf, albeit at a distance. Too old for late autumn in the water, he felt his alienation; alien in Britain, alien in Albany, a displaced person, drifting from place to place, out of kilter with everyone and everything. His hedonistic lifestyle no longer appealed, lust now crushed into a shrivelled, crouching creature, sealed inside him, seeming dead and yet pulsing a small beat entreating release.

  Lizzie’s unique perfume appeared to seep into the house, almost overpowering the underlying woody fragrance and reached out to him like tentacles on the sea mist rolling forward. A shroud of longing settled, enveloping him, an inert, heavy sense of loss coated him; barely able to draw an inward breath without an accompanying shaft of pain.

  Placing his half-empty bottle onto the table, Scott moved out of the chill night air and closed the doors. He went downstairs to the master bedroom, opened the window a crack and before fatigue engulfed him, slumped onto the bed. Distant waves washed the shore, lulling sleep, comforted by the sound of the sea, he dreamed himself home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Getting used to his surroundings, he took solitary walks over cliffs and dunes. Kicked his heels across expanses of sand, and encountered few people, which was just as well because Scott’s tortuous imaginings only served to drive him to the brink of insanity. He felt as if he was losing his mind. The colours of his world had become indistinct as if an artist had taken up a palette of carefully chosen colour and mixed them together to create a dun, earthy sludge. Occasionally, the image of Cara Wallace hovered at his periphery, but her beauty moved him to nausea, and regret at his self-indulgence weighed him down. Finally, he gave in to the irresistible call of his laptop and logged on.

  ‘So much for solitude and simplicity.’ He cursed as hundreds of messages blinked. Scanning subject lines, moving from page to page swiftly, he disciplined himself. Ignoring his wild heartbeat, he returned to the start and moved down at a more leisurely pace. His heart made its way into his mouth, deleting as he went, ignoring a message from Cara Wallace with the subject line, Unprofessional, other work related notes and numerous messages from Sara and Phil Michaels. He opened a copied message from Charlie Green. Moving to the edge of his seat, words shot out of the screen as if they were gunshot and he realised he hadn’t dared breathe. ‘Oh fuck.’ Driven to sift through the Michaels’s messages, he selected one with the subject: Response Required.

  He read, ‘Scott, we have left a number of voicemails, texts and emails. If you read our notes and the disgusting email from Green, you will know why we are deeply concerned. Nevertheless, our annoyance is nothing compared to the state of Lizzie. She won’t confide in us fully, so we don’t know all that has happened but hope you will get in touch as soon as you receive this message.’

  Scott checked the date sent, and opened a few of the other messages sent by Sara and Phil. He absorbed the theme of anxiety for Lizzie. ‘No fucking signal.’ He paced the grounds until he found a spot where the phone worked and called Lizzie’s landline.

  ‘Hello.’ Sara’s voice pissed him off but he held his nerve. Isn’t it strange how people’s voices eventually match their faces, thoughts flickering, he allowed his brain to engage before speaking.

  ‘It’s Scott Worth.’ He sucked in air and waited. A heartbeat passed.

  ‘You got our messa
ges?’

  ‘No, to be honest I didn’t open your messages. I called as soon as I saw the copy of the email Green sent to you.’ A lie, but what the hell.

  ‘I see. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for quite a while.’

  ‘I’m sorry… I’m away.’

  ‘You’re in the UK?’

  ‘Yes. Cornwall.’

  ‘Cornwall? Work?’

  ‘No. I needed to get away.’

  ‘You needed to get away.’ Holding the phone at arm’s length, Scott cringed while Sara Michaels screeched a litany of frustration in a stream which sounded as if it were unpunctuated by breath, when, to his relief, he heard Phil take the phone.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Scott wished he hadn’t bothered.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Phil. ‘We don’t like this situation, and the email Green sent is foul, but, now we discover that Lizzie is infatuated with you or something. We don’t know what’s been going on, and although we’ve spoken to her, the issue is not clear. We’d like whatever it is resolved so that she’s on her way to being happy again. You need to sort it out, Scott, you and Lizzie need to talk. Sara agrees. No, Sara, let me finish. Sara and I agree that if you and Lizzie need to talk you should meet and discuss things face-to-face. Are you coming back to deal with this?’

  Scott took a deep breath. ‘I appreciate this, Phil, but if Lizzie will see me, I’d like her to come here to Cornwall, away from town. How is she? Is she okay?’

  ‘No, she isn’t, she thinks you have deserted her. You fucked off, with no explanation at all.’

  ‘I’ll put everything right, Phil. I’m sorry it had to be this way and on the phone. Green said that he and Lizzie were dating and she wasn’t interested in me. Maybe I should have left her alone in the first place.’

  ‘Bit late for that, Scott, you should have thought of the consequences before you seduced her.’

  ‘Hurmph.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Sorry, Phil, can we talk face to face after I’ve spoken properly to Lizzie?’

  ‘She isn’t here; she’s at the theatre. She’s been working there. She needed a distraction for one thing. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her we’ve spoken, after that it’s up to you. If she wants to hear from you, I’ll suggest she calls you, and if she can’t manage that, the least she will do, is text you. I can tell you this though, Scott. One, she may not ever contact you again, I don’t know, she’s very hurt. Two, if she does and you ever, ever put her through this kind of pain again, you’ll have me and Sara to deal with. Is that clear?’

  ‘Crystal,’ replied Scott, but Phil had hung up.

  oOo

  ‘Summer, oh my God, Scott called. Summer… are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I was thinking. What did he say?’

  ‘I don’t know everything, Sara was seriously pissed off, but Phil wasn’t too bad. Scott is in Cornwall, he wanted to ring me but said he’d wait to hear from me first… you know, in case I don’t want to speak to him.’

  ‘You do though, don’t you? Want to speak to him, I mean? You already know what I think. I think you should hear him out, you never gave him a chance.’

  ‘I know. You told me before, so I know that. I do want to speak to him, but I don’t know whether to text him or call. He told Phil that the signal is bad where he’s staying. What if he doesn’t get my message?’

  ‘If he is waiting to hear from you, he’ll make sure he’s somewhere with a signal.’

  ‘Hmm, so… which? Text? Phone?’

  ‘Text is easier, isn’t it?’

  ‘Text then. Oh, my God, what’ll I say?’

  ‘Just say something like, “Hello, it’s Lizzie, can we talk?” Just keep it simple, don’t mess about, Lizzie. Let him know you’re prepared to hear him out. You are ready to listen to what he has to say, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I want to speak to him.’

  ‘Okay, do it then.’

  ‘I’ll ring you later and let you know what happens.’

  ‘Ring me as soon as you hear.’

  ‘Okay, bye.’

  Lizzie spent the next couple of hours dithering; her emotions were all over the place and had been since the first moment she set eyes on him. She didn’t even know what was right any longer. Everything seemed wrong, offbeat. Without Scott, her life seemed to have paused, and she needed a re-start, preferably with him in it. Steeling herself, she sent a text, allowing the small seed of hope that had planted itself inside her to germinate.

  oOo

  ‘Shall I go? I’m not sure, we talked. It was lovely to hear his voice, but I was so nervous I felt sick, and he was all weird too, but he sent this.’ Lizzie recited the text to Summer.

  There’s a berth booked in your name for tomorrow on the Paddington to Cornwall sleeper. Lizzie, I really want you to come down. Boarding starts at ten thirty pm., you’ll arrive in Hayle at about half past seven, and I’ll meet you at the station. Lizzie, I miss you. I need you. Please say you’ll come.

  ‘Go, Lizzie,’ sighed Summer. ‘If Sara is twitchy I’ll talk to her, she trusts me, but go, you’ll always regret it if you don’t. Tell him you’ll go, and make sure you invite me to the wedding.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  Checking his phone a million times, Scott tried to block panic. Laid bare, his bones exposed, plucked clean as a carcass by carrion crow, his heart placed at her feet, she only need walk over it to crucify him, or rescue him by picking it up.

  ‘Fuck, I’m a mess.’ He stalked around the cottage, looking out past the gardens and across the dunes to the dark cyan, almost teal sea, thundering in the near distance.

  Scott read her message through half-closed eyes, squinting at the screen myopically, dreading bad news, yet cautiously optimistic.

  I don’t know, Scott, Sara is furious; she hates the lies and deception. She doesn’t want me to come. She’s scared you’ll hurt me again, plus, she thinks you’re way too old for me. If I come, it will have to be with her blessing and if she won’t give it, I can’t see you. When Mum and Dad died, Sarah, Phil and Anton were all I had. She’s never let me down and I don’t want to disappoint her, she’s like a mother to me. I hope you understand…but I do miss you.

  Christ, Lizzie, I’m begging you. Every time I think of you, a small, nuclear device appears to go off in my heart. I have so much I want to say right now, I have to see you; we have to be face-to-face. He pressed to send and tossed his phone out of sight, unable to bear the wait for her reply. ‘Fuck Sara Michaels, stupid cow.’ Scott cursed his way to the fridge and drank himself into a stupor.

  23:30: Friday. Paddington.

  The sleeper to Cornwall waits at Platform One at Paddington Station, under Isambard Kingdom Brunel's arched roof, which dates from 1854, but the girl with mad purple hair and the waif-like creature don’t notice their surroundings.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, Lizzie, if you don’t give him a chance to explain, you’ll never know. Do you want to go through your whole life wondering? And if he is ‘the one’, you need to find out now, not in fifteen years’ time when you are married to second best with three kids and a millstone mortgage.’

  ‘Thanks, Summer, I know. But I’m so nervous, and what if he’s just using me? What if Charlie Green is right, was right or even a teeny bit right?’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that. Green is a … well, we both know what he is, I won’t say it here.’ Summer eyed the other passengers milling nearby.

  ‘Are you both travelling?’ An attendant paused.

  ‘No,’ they replied in unison.

  ‘We’re about to depart.’

  ‘Okay, I’m off,’ said Summer, giving Lizzie a hug and a kiss. ‘Text me, I’m only at the end of the phone if you need me. Don’t worry about anything else. If Sara has a wobble, I’ll be there. You just go and sort this mess out.’

  ‘Thanks, Summer,’ said Lizzie, her voice in keeping with her shrinking
frame.

  ‘And eat some Cornish ice cream for fuck’s sake, fatten you up a bit,’ said Summer, stepping away from the door.

  23:30: Friday. Hayle, Cornwall.

  Lizzie sent a text to let him know she was coming, but a snake of doubt slithered and Scott paced the cottage, finally deciding to light a fire. He didn’t want to drink too much; he would have to drive to the station early. He pulled a blanket over his clothes and dozed, images of Lizzie in his dreams. He allowed his thoughts to transport him into a fantasy world; she had wriggled into his soul like a small creature. She was part of him now, and without her, his life would be an existence, not a joy. She had the power to annihilate and he was going to let her wield it, but he’d give himself a fighting chance, he’d beg, if necessary, on his knees until he had convinced her that they belonged together. He imagined Lizzie, naked, spread in a perfect star on her back on the rug in front of the fire, logs blazing in the hearth, the aroma of burning wood scenting the air around them, her body glowing in the flickering light, her caramel skin melty with moisture. ‘Scott, oh Scott, I want you, please fuck me, fill me now, I’ve waited so long for you.’ On his knees between her legs, Scott holds his erect penis. ‘Oh God, Lizzie, I don’t know how long I’ll last, you blow my mind, you look so delicious.’ His dreaming self softly strokes her velvety lips, gleaming with evidence of her need, their mutual lust reflected in the moisture of their tissues, and he prepares to slide in. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she assists entry, rising up a little to meet him. He bends his head and locks his mouth onto hers. In spite of their joining; his kiss is chaste at first, pecking tiny flutters over her lips, face, eyelids, nose, wanting to savour every tiny little nibble of her. Her lips part and she invites him in to drink of her, their deep, lustful kisses in perfect harmony with the gentle undulation of their hips.

  Moving together, Scott knows that he will ask Lizzie to marry him, and he will not hear no for an answer. He must have her, will have her, he will stop at nothing to convince her to let him own her, forever. ‘Until I die,’ he mutters, his erect cock aching but denying ejaculation. ‘I will never fuck another woman as long as I live. End of.’ The torture of desire haunts him in the small hours, in the isolated cottage, along with the flame of hope that the object of his fantasy is on her way, in person.