Dalton nodded. Kay wasn’t Noah’s type. Too self-absorbed and not that bright. Dalton wasn’t so picky and he quite liked that combination. Easy to talk them into a fuck.
“Does Noah know Ash used his camera?” She gave him a sly look.
“His camera?” This could be even easier than he thought.
“It was on the terrace. Ash didn’t admit it, but I thought she was taking photos. I bet he doesn’t like people using his equipment. Maybe he won’t like her anymore.”
Manipulative little cow. Dalton smiled. She had a lot in common with him. “So when will Ash be in?”
Kay shrugged. “Dunno. I haven’t seen her today. She was out when I got up.”
Damn.
“If Noah likes her, why are you here and not him, and how did you know where we live?”
“A few phone calls. Wasn’t difficult. Noah mentioned Ash to me, but he needs a push. Is she going out with anyone?”
“No but she’s…shy.”
Why did he get the feeling that was a lie?“Then she’d be perfect for Noah. What can we do?” If he could make it seem as if this were all Kay’s idea to get the pair together, so much the better.
Kay shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Two ships that passed in the night.”
Dalton mentally groaned. Was she really that thick? “Would money persuade her to at least go on a few dates with him?”
Kay sucked her lip. “I doubt it.”
“Would it help persuade you to persuade her?”
Kay’s shoulders slumped. “I am a rotten friend, but yes.”
Join the club. And guess what? I’m a worse friend.
Dalton handed her a hundred pounds. “It’s only like paying you for an acting job.”
Kay smiled. “Yeah, it is.”
“How about we make sure they meet up by all of us turning up at the same place?” he suggested. “I’ve got passes for a private party tomorrow night at Ice and Fire.”
Kay’s eyes widened. “The place in Covent Garden?”
Dalton nodded.
“Ash doesn’t go to clubs.”
“Neither does Noah.” Not recently anyway.
Kay clapped her hands. “Then that’s perfect. We each drag them there. They don’t want to be there and they’ll leave with each other.”
Dalton smiled. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. He could see in Kay’s eyes she intended it to be her who left with Noah. Dalton didn’t care either way, so long as it got Noah out of his downward spiral.
“Tell them at the door you’re with the Dalton party but do it quietly. Don’t forget, you don’t know me.”
“Hey, I’m am actress.”
Shit, this is doomed.
* * * * *
Ash stepped off the bus and walked the last couple of hundred yards to the storage facility. She had her hand in her pocket, playing with the key, turning it over and over in her fingers. Once her identification had been checked, she was allowed through into the storage area and walked down aisle G.
Unit seventeen was the size of a small shed, about seven feet tall and four feet wide. Ash unfastened the padlock. She was the only one with a key, the only one who could get inside. Once the light was on, she closed herself in. If anyone had seen her and peeked into the unit, they’d wonder why she needed this amount of space to store so little, but Ash liked the privacy, the way she could sit and be alone with her things.
The first thing she always did was to take Teddy Robinson from his box and sit him on her knee. A lady at school had given him to her when she’d seen Ash staring at bric-a-brac brought in for a sale. Teddy had been tatty even then, but years of hugging him, years of hiding him had taken their toll. His ear was hardly attached, the stuffing was coming out of his back. Next time, she’d bring a needle and sew him up. He hid a treasure too, something Ash had found. A butterfly necklace. She’d never been able to wear it. It would have been taken off her, but she liked to play with and run her fingers over the shiny stones. Ash hadn’t looked at the necklace in years. She liked that Teddy had a secret too.
She lifted the photograph album down from the box and opened it on the first page.
“Look, Teddy. There I am. That’s me.”
A baby in a hospital crib, fingers curled to her mouth, fine, dark hair covering her scalp. Not a beautiful baby. Ugly, in fact, which might have been why there were no photos of anyone holding her. If she’d been pretty, would her life have turned out differently? Ash trailed her fingers around the edges of the pictures and then turned the page to see her parents pushing her in a buggy along a seaside promenade.
“I wanted to go on the sand, but they didn’t let me.”
They were feeding each other ice-cream and laughing. Ash wasn’t smiling. There were a few photos where she had a smile on her face, but not many.
Ash looked more closely at her father, Tim. Tall with dark hair, his equally dark eyes seemed to stare straight back at her. There was something in them, a secret, some arrogant superiority perhaps, but Ash couldn’t see evil, though her father had been undoubtedly bad to the bone and beyond. Her mother, Denise, small with dark hair, was a woman in love. Besotted, bedazzled, bewitched by the man at her side, she had no time for a baby, no patience for a toddler, even less interest in an older child except as a means to an end. And evil was infectious.
The photos stopped when Ash was nine, the pages blank beyond that point. There had been pictures taken later, but they hadn’t survived Ash’s years in care. She put the album back and picked up a book. Volume One of A Natural History of the World. Locked in her room for hour after hour, she’d taught herself to read and write using this book, and she refused to leave it behind when the police finally came many years too late.
Ash turned to a random page. “Listen to this, Teddy. Duck quacks don’t echo. Ohh, I’d forgotten this one. The Argentine lake duck has the longest penis of any bird species in the world.” She smiled. “The bird is seventeen inches and so is its penis.”
She put the book back and lifted out a gray, metal box.
“All my letters, Teddy. Shall we read one?”
In it were twenty-two letters all to the same person. One a year from the time she learned to write and none delivered. At the age of five, Ash had slaved over that first letter and slid it behind the gas fire, figuring it was the nearest place to the chimney. When Christmas day came and the present she asked for wasn’t there, she knew she must have been too bad for Santa to visit. When no one watched, she took the letter back.
By age seven, she’d stopped believing but she still wrote to Santa, and a couple of years later her Christmas wish was finally granted. She asked not to be Jane North anymore. She wanted to be another little girl with a different home and different parents. Except, Ash came to realize, wishes might be granted in ways neither expected nor wanted.
Ash opened the letters one by one and read aloud her childhood dreams. She hadn’t been a greedy child. One toy per letter, even if there had been more she’d wanted. Roller skates, paint-by-numbers, a kite. She never told any of those who cared for her what she wanted for Christmas. She just wrote her letter and kept it safe. She smiled on Christmas day and politely said thank you for her gift, courtesy of the authorities, but she never played or used what she was given because she didn’t deserve it. Ash angrily rubbed a tear from her cheek. She’d been cheated out of her childhood, cheated of a normal life by shitty parents and a shitty care system.
This was the only place she allowed herself to cry and wallow in self-pity, where no one could see or hear her. Only Teddy because he was the best friend she’d ever had.
* * * * *
Noah headed south until he couldn’t go any farther without driving into the sea. He parked the car in a windswept lot and walked out onto the cliffs at Beachy Head. Following a worn track in the grass, he made his way along the clifftop, hands in his pockets, head down. He just wanted a place to think. His head swam with noise and pictures.
He’d tried his hard
est not to think about what had happened seven months ago that had turned his life to shit. Maybe it was time he did think about it. Noah found a hollow in the grass at the edge of the cliff and settled into it, out of the wind with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. Ahead of him, the English Channel glittered under the afternoon sun. To the east stretched the beaches and town of Eastbourne, and beyond lay Pevensey Bay and Hastings. Looking west over the undulating chalk downs he could see the outline of the Isle of Wight. On a clear day like this, the view was astonishing.
Noah reclined in comfort on springy turf in the middle of the Seven Sisters, the peaks of the brilliantly white chalk cliffs. They all had names as did the dips between each brow. He vaguely remembered they weren’t very inspiring—Brass Point and Flagstaff Bottom. He’d have preferred to be slouching on Bella’s Backside or contemplating Chloe’s Cleft. A few crumbling feet away was a more or less sheer drop of five hundred and thirty feet.
The view was fabulous, but it wasn’t the only reason Beachy Head was famous. People came here to step off the earth—the most popular place to commit suicide in the UK. Noah looked out to the horizon. Did they choose this spot because a place of such monumental beauty was the last thing they wanted to see? Was a failure to be stirred by such a view the final proof that life was not worth living? Or simply that a single step could have only one conclusion? If anyone fell from that height, it was irrelevant whether the tide was in or out.
Noah remembered his excitement when he’d landed the commission as a war photographer for the charity All Our Heroes. Now he felt guilty for that joy, for the champagne he’d opened, for that moment when he’d punched the air and yelled, “Yessss.” Noah had told himself he wasn’t an adrenaline junkie. He wouldn’t be the sort of guy who’d race around looking for trouble just so he could be the first to shove his camera in the face of traumatized people. He’d have respect for the tragedy of their lives, and he’d record their suffering purely to make others appreciate the truth about war. And he’d done that.
Hadn’t he?
He’d taken pictures he knew would never be published. Some he couldn’t even show his editor, but he’d still taken them because he’d felt if he didn’t immortalize the moment, it was denying the truth that such things happen, denying a voice to those who had no other way to call out. Only Noah hadn’t realized how they’d linger in his mind, how a single image could morph into a looping mental video clip where he’d stood and watched people dying, where he’d been made to stand and made to— Oh God. His throat was so tight, he could hardly breathe.
That fucking job. To think he’d courted it, wooed it, loved it. Now he wanted a divorce, only the other side wouldn’t agree. Those images were imprinted in his brain forever, ’til he slid the rest of the way into madness or tipped himself over the edge of this cliff. His heart hammered in his chest. Eleven months in a war zone had changed his view of humanity and of himself. He hadn’t truly known what fear was, nor anger. He did now. The bottom line was that he was a coward. He hadn’t been able to hack it and he was angry with himself, with everyone. No matter what the fucking newspaper said, he’d come home a failure.
So why was he here today? To think? To put an end to thinking? Did I make the right choice? That was the question that needed an answer, and Noah was no nearer to it now than he had been seven months ago. Psychiatry was a waste of time. Despite the pleas of the doctor, Noah had stopped going and tried a different treatment, but visits to the Jenson Street Dom didn’t make him feel better.
Maybe there was no answer. Maybe it was easier to tackle a different question. Is there more pain in my life than pleasure? Because once that was the case, what was the point continuing? The waitress with the big eyes and easy smile came into his mind. Ash. An ordinary girl with a simple life. She could have taken away his hurt for a while but she’d said, “No.”
Noah exhaled. Hardly fair to make this about her when it was all about him. He heard the sound of laughter and saw a little kid running along the clifftop, well ahead of his parents. They were chasing him, yelling for him to stop, but the boy was laughing, thought it was a game. Noah pushed himself upright. The kid wasn’t looking down and hadn’t seen the dip in the grass, the edge of the cliff. Sensing what was about to happen, Noah leapt forward, threw himself out of the hollow, and as he grabbed the boy’s shirt, they both fell over the edge.
Everything happened so fast, Noah had no time to think about what he was doing. Instinct had taken over. He clutched the kid tighter, tried to grab something with his other hand as they slithered over the rock, and jammed his fist in a crack. They were jerked to a halt and Noah’s head collided with the cliff face. Fuck it, that hurt. He could hear screaming. Oh Christ, that’s not me, is it? Something wet trickled from his forehead and he guessed it was blood.
“Alex, don’t let go, don’t let go,” shouted a woman. “Keep still.”
The wriggling kid froze, and Noah tightened his grip, managing to wrap his fingers more securely around the boy’s arm. He could feel the kid shaking, or maybe that was him. Noah had his feet resting on something but it didn’t feel like much. He lifted his head from the chalk and looked up. Two terrified faces stared down. Too far away to reach the kid.
“We’re calling for help,” a guy said. “Just hang on. Please.”
Noah wasn’t sure that was an option. The rock he clung to didn’t feel secure and his arm ached from supporting the boy’s weight. On his own, he might have managed to scramble up. He looked down, trying not to focus past the small face staring up at him. Shit, the sea is a long way down. Tide was in. As if that made a difference.
“Okay, Alex?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Noah wanted to laugh. Not appropriate.
“You think you could find somewhere to hold on or somewhere to put your feet. Once you have your footing, don’t let go of me, right? I don’t want to fall.”
Forget that it was Noah holding on to him, the kid didn’t need to know Noah was equally petrified, his heart racing fast enough to burst. The sound of rock crumbling had him firm his hold. There were panicked whispers from overhead, whimpers from below, but the pressure on his shoulder eased as the kid let the rock take some of his weight. Noah looked down. Little feet were pressed into a small crack.
“Good boy. Now don’t move until I’ve thought what to do.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?
“Don’t do anything,” the guy shouted. “The coastguard’s on the way.”
Noah looked down at Alex. “You think you can scramble up to me? There’s a ridge here you can stand on. I won’t let you go. I promise.”
He could hear the muffled discussion above his head, more voices had joined those of the parents, and he knew they wanted him to keep still, but the rock that kept him and the kid from falling could crumble any moment. Noah pulled on the kid’s arm as the boy climbed until they were face-to-face.
“Good job, kid. What’s your dad’s name?”
“Will. My mum’s Jen.”
“Will?” Noah called. “How about you lean over? If there are a couple of strong guys who can hold your ankles, you could reach down for Alex. I’ll put him on my shoulders. Think you can get him?”
“Yes, but—”
“Time’s important here,” Noah said, and hoped the man got the message. “I’ll keep a good hold on his foot, I swear.”
Alex’s father leaned over the cliff edge.
“Dad,” Alex gulped.
“You’re going to be fine,” his father said. “You can climb this easily, but take care, do it slowly. Make sure the rock’s not going to shift before you trust it, okay?”
Noah moved his grip to the back of Alex’s pants and as he climbed, Noah shifted his hold south.
“Feet on my shoulders,” Noah said, and held one ankle as the boy did as he was told. “Now grab your dad.”
“I can’t…” Will gasped.
“Wait.” Noah pushed himself up, straining agai
nst the weight on his shoulders and jammed his foot into another crack.
“Got him,” Will yelled, and Noah released the boy’s ankle.
When he heard the cheers on the clifftop, Noah sighed with relief.
Will’s face appeared again overhead. “You need to wait.”
Fuck that. Noah found a new place for his foot and tested the ledge. When he pressed all his weight onto it and it held, he groaned and shifted his hand from the place it was wedged. Inch by inch, with a dry mouth and churning stomach, Noah crawled up the crumbling chalk. Strong arms reached to haul him over the grassy lip onto the clifftop, and he let them take his weight. Noah rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and exhaled.
When he opened his eyes again, there was quite a crowd gathered. They applauded and Noah bristled.
He stood and brushed himself down. Alex was in his mother’s arms and she was sobbing. When Will stepped forward and hugged Noah, he fought not to pull away.
“When I saw you both go over the edge, I thought…” Will shuddered. “Alex, come here.” The boy walked over, head down. “What do you have to say?”
“Please. Sorry. Thank you,” Alex mumbled.
Noah stuck his hands in his pockets. “Nothing to be sorry for. You tripped. It was an accident.” He didn’t want the kid haunted by what might have happened.
“Thank you,” Will said, and his wife came up behind him.
Noah nodded. He turned and made his way back to the car park.
“You’re bleeding. You ought to get that seen to,” Will shouted.
“I’m fine,” Noah called, and speeded up.
One thing this brush with death had made him realize. He didn’t want to die.
Chapter Six
Noah woke when the door of the flat slammed. He lifted his head to glance at the clock. Ten thirty. All his good intentions to make a fresh start by getting up early, to look for a job and go to the gym had, as usual, faded to mist during the night. It was easier to stay in bed and wank himself to oblivion. The bedroom door flew open and Noah dragged his hand off his cock.
An Ordinary Girl Page 6