Secrets and Tea at Rosie Lee's

by Jane Lacey-Crane

  ‘Are you still there, Abigail?’ I heard what sounded like a door closing.

  ‘I’m here.’ There was a long silence. I didn’t know what to say. Think, Abby, you need a reason for calling him in the middle of the night otherwise he’s going to think you’re a lunatic; my mind went blank.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Jack, I shouldn’t have called you… don’t know why I did really… Let’s blame it on the wine and leave it at that, shall we?’ Please say we can leave it at that.

  ‘Are you drunk-dialling me, Abigail? That doesn’t sound like the responsible woman I know. How much have you had to drink? Are you at home? Are you alone?’

  ‘Hold your horses, that’s too many questions all at once. I’m still at my mum’s and, yes, I’m alone.’ Although what that had to do with anything I didn’t know. ‘I am undoubtedly a little drunk. I apologise for my childish behaviour; I will let you get back to your grown-up life now, Mr Chance.’

  ‘Wait, hang on. Don’t go. I think we should talk, don’t you?’

  ‘I can’t, Jack, it’s too… difficult.’

  ‘We used to be able to talk about anything, Abigail. No one knew me better than you did.’

  ‘We’re not kids anymore.’

  ‘No, we’re certainly not kids anymore.’ The heat in his voice made my cheeks burn. ‘I think we proved that a few hours ago.’

  ‘That was a mistake, Jack. I was upset, that’s all.’ A flashback of the moment I slid onto Jack’s lap and he relieved me of my shirt popped into my mind.

  ‘It was more than that and you know it, but I’m not going to force you to say it out loud,’ he said softly. For a few seconds neither of us spoke; all I could hear was my own breathing.

  It was Jack who broke the silence. ‘What’s happening with your Mum’s funeral? Do you need any help with the arrangements?’ Although a bit taken aback by the sudden change of subject, I was relieved to be able to talk about something else.

  ‘Liz is helping me, it’s fine.’ I paused. ‘We have to bury my dad as well.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Your dad? You found him?’ He sounded as confused as I was.

  ‘He died in prison, a few days ago. That’s where he’s been all this time. The police came to tell us today, it’s complicated, too much to explain really…’ I didn’t get to finish the sentence.

  ‘Stay where you are. I’m coming to you,’ he said.

  ‘What? No, Jack, don’t be silly. I don’t need you to…’

  ‘Jack, what are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?’ I heard Lexie’s voice in the background. I wanted to cry. I’d been right: she’d been there with him the whole time. I felt so stupid.

  ‘I shouldn’t have called you, Jack. This was a mistake. I have to go now. Have a safe trip home.’

  ‘Abigail, wait, please, don’t—’

  I disconnected the call before he could finish.

  Chapter 15

  Please stop! I’m still in here, don’t do this to me!’ I’m trapped inside my glass box again. I’m being watched by a crowd of people who are all dressed in black. I’m at a funeral; my funeral. The people come to the glass and point and laugh, they’re talking but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I pound my fists on the inside of the glass but they just walk away. Now the box is being lowered back into a hole and I watch as the box slides down deeper and deeper until it reaches the bottom with a thump. Panic fills my throat, like bile; I can taste it. The mourners are peering over the edge of the pit.

  Help me, please.’ I scream but no one comes to help me. Then the handfuls of dirt begin falling on the lid of the box. Bang, bang, I pound my hands on the top, on the sides. I kick my legs out but I’m trapped and they just keep piling on the dirt. Why can’t they hear me? Bang, bang.

  *

  The sound of hammering on the front door woke me up. It took me a few minutes to work out where I was. I wasn’t trapped in a box being buried alive. I was lying on the sofa in my mum’s living room. The clock on the mantel told me it was almost two in the morning. I’d only been asleep for an hour or so but I felt as if I were waking up from a coma. My head was groggy, my mouth was bone dry and when I stood up my legs felt like jelly. I limped tentatively to the door, conscious that the banging was now making my head hurt. Why did they have to bang so loud?

  I opened the door, readying myself to give whoever was there a few choice words about courtesy, but I was stopped short by the sight of Jack standing on the doorstep, all wild-eyed and angry-looking.

  The only response I could muster was, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?’

  I turned away from the door and started to walk down the hallway to the kitchen.

  ‘I need a drink,’ I muttered.

  ‘I think you’ve probably had enough to drink, don’t you?’

  I wheeled round to face him. ‘What the fuck has it got to do with you? I meant I need a coffee, not more alcohol.’ I considered cracking open another bottle of wine just to spite him. Unfortunately, my stomach had other ideas, as the very thought of more wine made me feel as if I was about to throw up.

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ I asked, sweetly. Jack looked as if he wanted to throttle me; I could see a small muscle ticking in his cheek. He turned to close the front door and by the time he turned back he seemed to have composed himself enough to answer me.

  ‘No coffee, thanks, can’t stand the stuff. Can I have a cup of tea?’

  ‘That’s not very American of you. I thought all you Yanks loved coffee.’ I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil before pulling two mugs out of the cupboard. I threw a teabag into one of them and a spoonful of instant coffee into the other.

  ‘It’s the latent Englishman in me. Can’t beat a cup of builder’s tea and a digestive biscuit,’ said Jack as he came into the kitchen behind me.

  ‘You’re going to love me, then. Look what I just happen to have here.’ I pulled out a packet of digestives from the cupboard and put them on the kitchen table.

  ‘I love these things. There’s nothing better than a digestive for dunking into your tea.’ He’d lost all trace of his American accent as he uttered that last sentence; he was back to being the London boy I remembered.

  The kettle clicked off and I poured scalding water into the two mugs. I poured milk into my coffee and then started to take the teabag out of Jack’s mug.

  ‘Wait, wait. It’s only been in there for a few seconds, leave it alone for a bit.’ He came over and took the teaspoon out of my hand. ‘Your mum would be appalled at your tea-making efforts.’

  ‘I know. I can hear her now, telling me off for making it in the cup and not in a proper teapot. “That’s not how it’s done, Abigail, you’ve got to put the tea in and leave it to draw.”’ I never understood that use of the word ‘draw’ but all my family said it. I used to picture a plume of steam emanating from the spout of the teapot and making pictures on the kitchen tiles.

  ‘There, that’s more like it.’ Jack squeezed the teabag against the side of the mug and then dropped it into the bin. As he added milk I watched the tea turn from almost black to something resembling weather-worn terracotta.

  ‘Perfect. You can’t get proper tea like this in America. You can get the teabags but there’s something about the water, or the milk, I guess, makes it taste different.’ He blew across the top of the mug and then took a sip. An enormous grin slowly crawled across his face.

  ‘I’m gonna miss this when I go back, and these.’ He opened the biscuits and pulled out two. He dunked one into his mug and then took a bite. ‘Lexie hates it when I dunk.’

  The mention of her name reminded me of her voice on the other end of the phone. I didn’t want to talk about her.

  ‘Well, Lexie isn’t here, so your secret’s safe with me.’

&nbs
p; We both sipped our drinks in silence for a few minutes, the only sound Jack munching on his biscuits. I watched him as he carefully lowered each one into his tea and then whipped it into his mouth before it crumbled. His mouth was beautifully distracting. As he finished his last one he leant back in the chair and licked crumbs from his fingers. I felt my face heat as I watched those long fingers dip in and out of his mouth; that gorgeous mouth. Holy shit, what was I doing? I was so obsessed with staring at him that I didn’t realise he was staring at me. Quick, Abby, say something to distract him.

  ‘Careful with those, Mr Chance, we can’t have you developing middle-aged spread. I suspect Lexie wouldn’t approve,’ I said, trying to hide my embarrassment at having been caught perving at him.

  ‘Are you saying I’m getting fat?’ He stretched his shirt across his stomach and I got a preview of the muscular body underneath. God help me.

  ‘Yeah, fat and bald,’ I hurried on, ‘so make sure you marry Lexie before things get much worse. Nab her while you’re still at least reasonably attractive.’ I got up from the table and took my mug over to the sink. I tried to focus on washing up but then I felt him standing behind me, pressing his body against mine and placing his hands either side of me on the counter. I could feel his breath in my ear as he spoke, sending shivers down my neck and making my insides clench.

  ‘Why do you keep saying things like that? I told you, we’re just friends.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m sceptical.’

  ‘She’s never been to London. When I said I was coming here for business she asked if she could come with me, and I agreed. It was easier than having her pester me until I gave in. She can be quite persistent when she wants something.’

  ‘Yes, well, it all sounded very cosy at your end when we spoke on the phone earlier. How did she take you climbing off her and coming here to me?’

  ‘Is that what you think? That I’d sleep with her and then leave her in my bed to take a phone call from you? Is that the kind of man you think I am, Abigail?’

  I looked up at our reflection in the kitchen window in front of me. The handsome millionaire businessman and me.

  ‘I don’t know what kind of man you are, Jack. I don’t know you.’ I needed to get out of his arms, but I was hemmed in. I could feel his body pressed against mine.

  ‘Bullshit,’ he said, his voice low in my ear. He leaned closer and I felt as if I was sinking into him. For a moment, I was tempted to just stay there, to lean my head back against his shoulder and see what could happen next. But what would have been the point of that? I saw him watching my reflection in the window.

  ‘Thinking about how you can get away from me again?’

  I turned around to face him, hoping that would make him take a step back but it didn’t; he stood firm but released his grip on the countertop and placed his hands on my waist. We were practically nose to nose. His gaze was locked on mine. He was waiting for something from me, my permission to go further, but I didn’t give it; I couldn’t.

  ‘Let me go please, Jack.’

  He didn’t speak, just let his arms drop from my sides, and returned to his seat at the kitchen table. He took a sip of his tea before he eventually spoke.

  ‘Why do you keep insisting on pushing me away? You and I have a connection, you know it as well as I do, but you keep denying it and I can’t figure out why. Explain it to me, would you?’ He eyed me closely over the rim of his mug and waited for my response; I didn’t know what to tell him. How could I explain it to him when I didn’t really understand it myself?

  ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’

  I saw the telltale muscle in his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth.

  ‘Goddamn it, Abigail, no, I don’t want any more fucking tea.’

  ‘Then I think it’s time for you to go, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘Tell me about your father.’

  ‘You’re not going to leave until I do, are you?’

  ‘Nope.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Get it over with, Abby, tell him everything and then he can leave. I moved to sit across from him at the table.

  ‘I don’t know where to start. A police officer came here today. She had a box of Dad’s things, from his cell, she said. She was here yesterday too, with the prison chaplain. They told Mum about Dad dying and then they left.’

  ‘They couldn’t have known what would happen to her, Abigail – no one could.’

  ‘I know. I assumed it was the shock of getting the news that caused her collapse, but I was so wrong.’

  Jack looked puzzled.

  ‘She knew all along where he was. The box that the officer brought had letters in it she’d written, photos of all of us that she’d sent to him over the years. Baby pictures of Lucy, pictures of me and Matt.’

  ‘Jesus! This is… I mean… I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it. Surely someone must have said something to you, or Matt?’

  ‘Matt already knew,’ I said. ‘Mum told him years ago.’ I started pushing biscuit crumbs around the table top. I’d managed to scoop up quite a pile before Jack’s hands closed over mine and held them tight. His touch was warm and reassuring.

  ‘They shouldn’t have kept that from you. That wasn’t fair.’

  ‘I don’t think fair ever really came into it. Mum was trying to protect me from the truth about Dad and what he’d done. She wanted me to carry on loving him. She didn’t want to destroy what few memories I still had. In a weird way, I think I understand. I’ve done the same thing with Lucy. I’ve always tried to keep the worst of Martin’s behaviour away from her, to protect her.’

  The mention of Martin’s name made Jack’s eyes darken.

  ‘The other night, outside the café, you told me that Martin had hit you.’

  ‘Do we have to go over all that again?’ I rubbed between my eyebrows, trying to ease the thumping in my head. ‘I really don’t want to talk about my disastrous romantic past.’

  ‘It’s just hard for me to hear shit like that,’ said Jack.

  ‘It was even harder for me when he gave me a black eye and a suspected broken cheekbone. But I can see how difficult just hearing about it could be for you,’ I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Jack looked embarrassed. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to sound patronising. Forgive me.’

  ‘Forget it. I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.’

  ‘You weren’t. I had no right to say that.’ We stood in awkward silence for a moment until Jack finally spoke. ‘I just can’t reconcile the girl I knew with the girl that ended up with the likes of him.’

  I shook my head, sadly. ‘Yeah, well, what can I say? The girl you knew disappeared a long time ago.’

  ‘Not to me. I still see her, every time I look at you. She’s still there.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea but it’s not true. It’s like what you said the other night, about how you were expecting all the shops to look the same as when you left. In your mind, nothing’s changed here. But in reality, everything is different. You, me, everything. It’s just the way things are now.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘But it is. Face it, Jack. You left, and as far as I can see you got yourself a pretty fantastic life. But I stayed and ended up with a different life. It’s not exactly the stuff of fairy tales but I’ve done all right. Martin Church notwithstanding. And don’t give me that look.’

  ‘What look?’

  ‘Like I’m some pathetic little girl that you need to feel sorry for. It’s irritating.’

  He held up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to irritate you.’

  ‘Well, you did,’ I snapped. ‘It’s ancient history, over and done with, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. All right?’

  Jack nodded but he wasn’t quite finished with this topic. ‘Just so you know, though, if I ever see Martin again, I will kill him.’

  I st
arted to laugh but stopped when I realised he was serious.

  ‘Don’t say stuff like that, Jack. I don’t like it. It would make you no better than him and we both know that’s not who you are.’

  ‘So now you’re saying you do know me after all? You are a mass of contradictions, Abigail.’

  ‘All part of the wonder that is me,’ I said, smiling, attempting to lighten the mood. Thankfully he took my cue to move the conversation on to a new topic.

  ‘What’s going to happen now? With your dad, I mean?’

  ‘Matt and I have two funerals to organise, I suppose. What else can we do?’

  ‘I’m really sorry about your mum.’

  His comment brought me up short – for a moment I’d forgotten all about it. That sounded awful but it was true. Thoughts of Dad, Martin and my train-wreck of a life had momentarily pushed Mum out of my head. But Jack’s words of sympathy brought her loss to the front of my mind and a wave of grief rushed in to fill the void, like sea water flooding a rock pool. My eyes filled with tears and I couldn’t stop them from falling. In an instant Jack was out of his chair and standing in front of me.

  ‘Please don’t cry, my beautiful girl. I’m here.’

  His gorgeous face was so full of concern and affection. Reaching out, I touched his cheek. He pressed his face into my hand and then kissed my palm ever so gently.

  ‘Please just let me in, Abigail. I want to be here for you.’

  His heartfelt plea tipped me over the edge and I couldn’t fight it any more. Slowly I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips; this was all the encouragement he needed. He took my face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears on my cheeks, and he lowered his mouth to mine. He returned my kiss gently at first but gradually the kiss deepened. His mouth devoured mine, as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and I returned his fervour. I wanted more, so I slid my hands under his shirt to feel his hard body. I was rewarded with a low growl from him as he tore his mouth away from mine. We were both breathing heavily; Jack’s eyes were dark and full of intent. Swiftly he lifted me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist, as he walked us backwards and we slammed into the kitchen wall. I could feel the full force of his body pressed against mine and he trailed kisses down my neck as I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and held him tightly. It felt so good, so right, as if I’d just been waiting for him to come back to me.