Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  'Do you think Saskia could have been reincarnated?' she asked.

  'It seems that way.'

  'I'll bet your phone has never stopped ringing. Business is going to be pouring in. Poor Megan . . . she's never going to hear the end of it.'

  'It may have its positive side. She's a talented artist, as Saskia was. She'll be able to sell her work now.'

  She acknowledged his comment and then her lips caressed the rim of the glass.

  'There's something I have to tell you,' he said, blood rushing to his skin.

  'Oh?'

  'It's not working for us. I can't be friends with you anymore. I . . . I need to move on, break all ties.'

  Her face was expressionless, unreadable.

  'It's for the best,' he continued.

  For a moment, he waited in the uncomfortable silence, but she did not respond, neither showing disappointment nor relief.

  'It's goodbye then,' he said, placing his glass on the table. 'I'm sorry if this is a shock.'

  He turned and walked away, stepping into the stimulating early evening air.

  The door closed.

  Sarah watched him leave. 'I'm sorry too,' she said under her breath.

  Her hand dropped to her belly. She searched for the little life that she could not abort.

  One Big Lie

  Chapter 1

  The old woman slouched on a chair with her head resting on her favourite worn-out velvet cushion, her hands clasped on her lap, and her legs parted. Her mouth was agape, displaying her yellowed broken teeth, her eyes flickered beneath her eyelids, and her crumpled skin sagged as it rested upon her shrunken face. In the air, there was a faint smell, the smell of death, and Leanne shuddered and tightened her arms across her grief-stricken body.

  Her heart was bulging and her breathing restricted, each intake of air more difficult than the last. A low-pitched moan escaped her lips. Another death was imminent, another loss of a loved one creeping ever closer. She eased herself onto the edge of the sofa, her hazy eyes resting on the old woman; yet she saw little, her mind too traumatised to take note.

  Janet was her grandmother, but to Leanne, she was her mother. Their relationship was special; Janet guided, comforted, and shared. They had laughed and cried together, sharing joy and anxiety, from the birth of Leanne’s son to the sudden death of her husband several weeks before. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek.

  Janet had to survive; Leanne did not believe she could not cope with another bereavement. Her gut twisted as panic crept up her body. She pressed her palm flat against her upper chest and felt the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage. She needed Janet now more than ever and prayed that her grandmother would find the energy and desire to fight for another day.

  The sound of footsteps dragged Leanne away from her ponderings, and she turned her head and looked to the doorway. Tyler, her son, leaned against the frame, his slender physique, soft creamy pink skin, and vivid blue eyes contrasting with the sight of her aged grandmother. Yet they were both beautiful, each signifying something different.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  Leanne eased herself from the sofa, exited the room, and headed to the kitchen. ‘Asleep. I don’t think it’s going to be long.’

  ‘There’s no chance she’ll recover.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t eat again this morning. I think her body has given up.’

  ‘Can’t we do anything?’

  She shook her head.

  Distraught, he dropped his head and traced a tile on the floor with the edge of his trainer.

  ‘She’s had a good life,’ she said, ‘we have to stay strong. She won’t want to see us upset.’

  His mouth clamped. Tearful, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away.

  ‘I wish there was something I could do to make it better.’

  He spun back to face her. ‘Why now? Why us? What have we done wrong?’

  She edged closer to him, resting her arm on his back. ‘You mustn’t think like that. Her time has come, as it does to us all eventually.’

  ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Death never is.’

  There was silence and their mutual grieving entwined.

  ‘I still miss Dad.’

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I do too.’

  He stomped across the kitchen to the fridge and reached for the orange juice. ‘He was selfish. He should never have gone to France. Didn’t he care?’

  ‘You know he did. He couldn’t have predicted his accident.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have gone if he’d loved us.’

  ‘Of course, he loved us. But he loved paragliding too. I could never have stopped him.’

  ‘You should have tried. He knew it was dangerous, especially in mountainous regions. He put his own pleasures before us.’

  ‘Tyler, you mustn’t think like that.’

  ‘Why? It’s true. He used to talk about the thrill of flying, yet at the same time, he wouldn’t let me have ago, at least not until I was bigger and stronger. He said it wasn’t safe.’ His voice increased in volume, his anguish deepening. ‘I’m sixteen . . . nearly as strong as he was. If he thought I could die, he must have realised he could too.’ His lip trembled and his grip on the glass tightened, whitening his knuckles. ‘I want him back.’

  Leanne reached across desperate to offer her sympathy, but her son pulled away, withdrawing from her touch. ‘I hurt too.’

  He threw back the rest of his drink, thrust the glass onto the table, and stomped away, his scrawny youthful body, so beautiful and pure, yet disguising such sorrow within. His life had been shattered and she was helpless to assist, unable to feel her way through her own burning heart.

  On the table were dirty mugs and dishes, a cereal container, a jar of jam, and the coffee jug. She glanced at the time: it was almost noon and time dragged. She wanted to sleep and unburden herself of her troubles and dream of happier times. Only six months ago, they had all celebrated her grandmother’s eighty-second birthday, and for one of the activities Janet had played golf on Tyler’s games console causing great hilarity. Phillip pushed her aside, insisting he could do better, but it wasn’t his thing; he was hopeless.

  Those days had ended.

  Her face contorted and she squeezed free the lingering tears in her eyes and then moved the dirty items into the dishwasher. She had little enthusiasm for cleaning, wanting only to be consoled during her moment of misery, but she had no one else. Phillip, Janet, and Tyler were her life and they had moulded her into the person she was. To lose one person was bad enough, but to lose two in succession was unbearable. How could she comfort Tyler when she couldn’t deal with her own pain? How had Janet ever managed it? She had always been there, through good times and bad, always finding the right words and gestures.

  Her eyes misted with tears. She crept into the lounge.

  The sun peeked through the edge of the window, brightening a strip of the room and resting on her grandmother’s pallid cheeks. She had aged much during the last couple of weeks, and looked grey and lifeless and not the energetic woman she was used to seeing. Her clothes - a black cardigan, a white top, and a heavy mottled grey skirt - reflected her demeanour. Exhausted of life, it had bubbled, faded and tattered. She wore thick brown tights and comfortable moccasin-style slippers, her ankles were swollen and her legs shapeless. She looked old, very old.

  Janet’s wrinkled hand twitched. Leanne’s eyes darted to her face, waiting for her grandmother’s eyes to gain clarity, and then she forced a happy demeanour forward. ‘Had a nice nap?’

  It took a few moments for the reply to come. ‘I need water.’

  ‘Would you prefer a tea?’

  She shook her head and started to fidget, uncomfortable with her stagnant body. Leanne strode to her side, placed her arm under hers and lifted her upright, the strain showing on her face.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’ Leanne asked.

  ‘Yes.’

&nbs
p; ‘Just hang on, I’ll get you that water.’

  She whizzed into the kitchen, waited for the tepid water to cool, and filled a glass. A tap of hope emerged. She was still alive, at least for now. She should make the most of it.

  She passed her the half-filled glass. It shook in her hand, the water creeping towards the rim. Janet slurped at the side, and then still quivering, passed it back. Leanne rested it on the coffee table and then sat on the edge of the sofa, situated alongside the armchair.

  ‘You do a good job with that boy,’ Janet said.

  Their eyes locked.

  ‘He’s a good lad,’ she continued, ‘he’s still upset with Phillip for dying.’

  ‘You heard?’

  ‘He’s young, he’ll come through.’

  ‘I thought he was dealing with it, but he’s still angry.’

  ‘It’ll take a while.’

  ‘I don’t know what else to do.’

  Leanne waited for the response. Janet’s face glazed over and her eyes lacked focus. Had she heard? Pressing her for an answer was out of the question; she was far too frail for a deep conversation. Leanne had to learn to fend for herself. Soon she would have no choice.

  Janet lifted her gaze. ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I’m a bit tired . . . don’t feel too good. Pass me the water.’

  Leanne did just that. Her heart was pounding. She had so much to say and so little time. How long did she have left? Hours . . . days?

  ‘Tyler will look after you. He’s a good boy . . . takes after his dad.’ She gasped for air and her chest heaved. ‘Now about that, you know he wants more contact with his real father.’

  Leanne pressed together her lips.

  ‘I hope you’re going to let him.’

  ‘I’ve never stopped him.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve never encouraged him either.’

  She leapt from her chair, strode to the window, and folded her arms. ‘Darren has not shown any interest up until now. It’s a bit of a coincidence if you ask me.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard he seems genuinely interested in the lad.’

  ‘It’s going to end in tears.’

  ‘Not necessarily. It’s something Tyler’s going to do, whether you like it or not.’

  Her heart slumped. She had heard through friends that Darren had transformed over the last sixteen years and was now a father and husband, abandoning his reckless attitude and free spirit. More than likely, Darren would shower Tyler in gifts, giving him what he wanted. He would lure him away, introducing him to his family, a real family with brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles.

  Why would he want to return to her and her solitary existence?

  ‘You can’t stop him,’ Janet said, her voice croaky. ‘He’s the boy’s natural father. They should get to know each other.’

  ‘Phillip was his father. Tyler wants that gap filled. He’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.’

  Janet coughed and saliva dribbled down her chin. She lifted her arm and wiped away the moisture with her sleeve.

  ‘I’ll get you a tissue,’ Leanne said.

  Her grandmother’s laboured breathing pounded her ears as she hurried across the room to a box of tissues. Every second was valuable. Why couldn’t people live forever? How would she ever cope without her best friend, confidant, and mentor? Anguished, she scrunched her face, gasped for breath, and pain tightened her chest. She had to remain strong for both their sakes and passed her a quick glance.

  Janet was gazing with glassy eyes through the window.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’ Leanne asked.

  She frowned. ‘Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, about Tyler.’

  Leanne perched on the edge of the sofa next to her.

  ‘He loves you, and he’ll respect you more if you let him find out for himself what Darren’s like.’

  ‘He knows what he’s like. They’ve had a couple of conversations over the phone.’

  ‘Come on, you know that’s not what I mean. Blood’s thicker than water, remember that.’

  ‘Darren will never replace Phillip in his eyes.’

  ‘No, but Darren is alive, Phillip isn’t.’

  She folded her arms and scowled.

  ‘You were always stubborn,’ Janet said, ‘Tyler will never leave you, he loves you. It’s not a competition. Promise me you'll let him get to know him if that’s what he wants.’

  A tear slipped down her face. Soon, she would only have Tyler.

  ‘Promise,’ Janet insisted.

  ‘I promise.’

  Janet stretched out her hand and rested it on Leanne’s knee. Leanne took hold and squeezed, and her hand trembled.

  ‘No tears,’ Janet said, ‘we still have much to talk about.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘I’ll always be with you,’ she lifted her hand to her heart, ‘in here.’

  Leanne focused, urging her breathing to regulate, urging calmness to descend.

  ‘You will be happy again,’ she continued, ‘I promise you that. Soon you’ll find a new man. Don’t push him away, but remember family first. Make sure he finds a way to get on with Tyler.’

  ‘I would never do anything Tyler wasn’t happy with.’

  ‘No . . . no of course not. Family first. Don’t make the mistakes I’ve made.’

  ‘What mistakes?’

  Janet held a pensive gaze, staring into a space in the centre of the room.

  ‘Gran, what mistakes have you made?’

  ‘Mistakes?’ she shook her head. ‘Later. I need to rest . . . feel odd.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Family first. Never forget.’

  She crossed her ankles, folded her arms across her middle, and closed her eyes. Panic loomed. Would she awaken? She could sense it was important, but to what degree? Would she have a chance to explain what she meant?

  The hours crawled and Leanne struggled to function, neither finding enthusiasm for her favourite pastimes nor being able to perform everyday household chores. The house was growing ever dirtier, with stains on the kitchen surface, dirty crockery scattered throughout the house, and bits and pieces in out-of-place locations.

  She slumped onto a chair in the kitchen, her lethargy growing like a disease. She could sense her adrenaline pumping, encouraging occupation of a task, but the instance she started doing something her frustration surfaced and she flung down her tools and stomped away.

  The waiting was the worst. She knew that she could do nothing to help her grandmother get better, yet she still searched her mind for new ways. She had offered her easy to digest food cut into bite-sized pieces, as well as her favourite cuisine, but nothing generated interest. She was apathetic and obstinate, and unwilling to place anything into her mouth. Even the doctor had failed and Janet vomited back the medication.

  Damn it, Leanne thought as she rested her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands. Her heart was constantly pounding and reverberating across her body and making her feel sick and tired. She wanted it to be over, one way or another.

  If only Phillip were here, he would have known what to do. In the least, he would have placed a consoling arm around her body briefly removing her tension; instead, she was the one offering Tyler comfort, and it was sapping her of strength. Not that she minded, but it was draining, especially since he kept pushing aside her show of affection.

  She eased her arms downward, rested her head on the table, and closed her eyes. She needed to sleep, yearning to drift off to some far off land away from her troubles, and thought of her late husband. As expected, Phillip appeared inside her head, his soft boyish looks and long dark lashes distinct in her mind. He was telling her everything would be okay. She clung to his words, reached towards him, and imagined herself sinking into his body.

  Panicking, Leanne woke with a start and rushed into the lounge to see her grandmother: thankfully, she was gazing wist
fully out of the window and into the small rear garden.

  ‘Gran?’

  She turned her head. ‘Hello love.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’

  ‘No matter.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Leanne asked.

  ‘Tired.’

  ‘Do you want me to get you anything?’

  ‘No, come sit down.’

  She stepped across the room, trying not to focus on her greying complexion and tired eyes, and perched on the sofa and passed a warm glance.

  Sadness overwhelmed her. Janet’s fingers were trembling and her mouth was agape. Her lips were paler than normal and there was a look of absolute exhaustion in her eyes, neither seeming able to focus nor even attempting to. Her heart quickened. The end was nigh.

  ‘I’ve made mistakes, everyone suffered,’ Janet said.

  ‘What mistakes?’

  Silence

  Leanne rested her hand on her grandmother’s thigh. ‘Gran, what mistakes?’

  Janet lowered her head and her eyes flickered shut. Leanne’s pulse throbbed in her throat.

  ‘Gran?’

  ‘Family first, always.’

  ‘It is. We have been.’

  Her head dropped onto the cushion. Her breathing was taut and gritty. She steadied herself, fighting for the last drop of energy. ‘Karen . . . she’s alive.’

  Confusion mingled with panic. Leanne’s mother had died when she was young. Janet had told her so. How could it be?

  ‘Sorry . . . should have said.’

  Leanne leaned forward and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. I don’t understand. Where is she?’

  ‘Gone . . . sorry.’

  Janet’s eyes rolled and then her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Her head flopped to the side.

  Leanne shot up from her seat. ‘Gran!’

  A surge of pain ripped through her. It was over; Janet had died.

  Chapter 2

  Apprehensively, Leanne stepped into the chapel of rest with Tyler by her side and scanned the small group of people waiting in the lobby. Holding a sorrowful gaze, she nodded her appreciation at the others then waited near a double door clutching her handbag as though it provided her with strength.