Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Geoff’s warning rang through her head. It was not her fault that she had led a reasonable life. It was clear he had suffered in some way, but she had had her fair share of that too. Puffing out, she thought about the comfort and serenity of her empty house.

  After a few moments, Leanne decided it was too soon for new relationships and strained social interaction, and decided to leave. She opened the door, and whilst aware of a low mumble of voices coming from the hallway, one particular conversation caught her attention. She stood by the door, her pulse throbbing in her throat, and started to eavesdrop.

  Geoff and Steven were talking.

  ‘Leanne’s not right for you. Have you heard the rumours about her mother? She was a bit of a goer in her day. Do you want that again?’

  ‘Where have you heard that?’

  ‘Ted Moore for a start. From what I hear, he knew her pretty well.’

  ‘That’s nothing to do with Leanne.’

  ‘Are you willing to take that chance?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to . . .’

  With her body sapped of strength, Leanne leaned against the wall and listened to the conversation die away. Their budding relationship wasn’t worth the effort, and anyhow, it seemed that Steven had already made a decision based on a woman neither of them had known. Having drawn strength, she darted across and grabbed her coat, and announced she was leaving.

  ‘Hang on a minute, I’ll take you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll walk.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  She stepped away.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, rushing to her side.

  ‘No, I’m just tired.’

  He scampered into the next room, said something to Teresa, and met her at the outer door.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

  Outside, the air was freezing and it bit at her exposed skin, causing her to huddle her body. The wind whistled through the hedges and trees, and the stars and slither of moon twinkled in the sky. Within minutes, they arrived at her house.

  ‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, it was a bit strained with Geoff. It will get easier. Teresa likes you.’

  She opened the car door and stepped outside.

  ‘See you soon?’

  She passed him a sad stare, pressed closed the door and strode towards her house. After a few moments, he drove away.

  Leanne settled herself onto her mattress and removed all notions of Steven from her head. The exchange she had eavesdropped was disappointing, but it wasn’t earth shattering. He was a friend, a very recent friend at that, and held little value in her life. She decided that if he was to be so judgemental as to decide who she was based on rumours about her mother, then he wasn’t worth pursuing.

  Yet, it was frustrating. Others knew more about the woman who had given birth to her, than she. She should ask around and pretend local gossip was of interest. She should visit the café and talk to Mrs Prattler.

  Did she care enough to do that? The stress of knowing so little was starting to be a burden, and she thought of her previous life and her home, her real home. She may not have her family, but at least she was away from prying eyes and disparaging comments.

  Her breaths slowed and she willed herself to be at peace. She calmed her mind, removed everything extraneous from her head, and then, once she felt tranquil, she searched for the answers she needed. Geoff and Teresa knew something beyond their admissions - the sideways glances, the uncomfortable shuffles, and the nonsensical rambling, all clues.

  She drifted. She floated. She searched.

  Their fractious exchange was her guiding force.

  Chapter 12

  The room was silent, yet the sound of voices flooded Teresa’s ears. The aroma was different too, not familiar and not her own. Unfamiliar perfumes and aftershaves lingered in the air, combining with smoke. It seemed like an altogether different place, and she longed to restore the equilibrium and make it feel like home.

  She gathered the empty glasses onto a tray and carried them to the kitchen. There was barely a centimetre of space on the extensive worktops, with the remains of the finger food on separate plates and stacks of dirty crockery alongside. She started by placing the food waste into a bin-liner and putting the crockery into the dishwasher. Then she added the glasses. There were too many to go into one load, and she held some aside, lining them up on the marble surface.

  Her birthday party had been a success, despite being on a Sunday, and her mind wandered through the numerous conversations. Everyone had wished her well, most had been generous with gifts, and it generated a warm glow inside. She still had her friends, despite everything.

  Geoff staggered into the kitchen. The top part of his shirt was unbuttoned, his rounded stomach sagged over his jeans, and his hair, grey and wild, was in need of a cut. Her stomach churned. Where was the man she had fallen in love with, the man that cared about his appearance, the man that was kind and compassionate? Had her eyes deceived her? Had he always carried a disapproving, moody glint?

  ‘Can’t you leave this until the morning?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to do it now.’

  ‘What do you think will happen? Do you expect we’ll be infested with rats and mice?’

  ‘It won’t take me long. What do you care anyway?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  He pulled out a chair, slumped onto the wooden surface and puffed out. A stench of alcohol and smoke wafted towards her. She crinkled her nose and clamped shut her mouth.

  ‘You didn’t make enough food,’ he said, ‘I did warn you.’

  ‘There was plenty. Look at what’s left.’

  ‘The soggy sausage rolls and the dry ham sandwiches. Where on earth did you get that bread? What you were thinking?’

  ‘There was nothing wrong with them!’

  ‘There’s something wrong with you if you didn’t notice. They were bloody awful . . . embarrassing.’

  She turned away and started to place the food into a container for the fridge. ‘No one said anything to me.’

  ‘They were too bloody polite. That boyfriend of yours would have done if he wasn’t wrapped up in-’

  ‘Steven is not my boyfriend!’

  ‘No, he’s too good for you. Without me, you’d be nothing and on the streets where I found you. No one else would have you after what you did, you should be grateful.’

  She slammed the fridge door to, felt the vibrations pass along her arm. ‘That’s right, keep on telling me. I’ve such a poor memory, if you miss a day, I might actually get over it and move on.’

  ‘Not likely. Have you forgotten how we suffered? How I suffered?’

  She stomped across the room, reached for another container, and pushed more food inside. ‘Just let it go! Do you think I need telling, over and over again, what a bad person I was?’

  ‘It’s not made any difference, though, has it?’ he retorted.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘What the hell were you thinking by inviting her here?’

  ‘I had no choice. Steven asked me.’

  ‘Course you did! It’s your party, your house!’

  ‘Don’t you think it would look a little bit suspicious if I said no? And you didn’t help by having a go at her like that. She’s not stupid. It’s not going to take long for her to put two and two together.’

  He was silent and rotated an empty glass between his fingers.

  ‘If I can tolerate seeing her, I don’t see why you can’t,’ Teresa said.

  ‘After what happened? Bloody hell Teresa, that family-’

  ‘Stop it! Just stop it!’

  Silence.

  ‘I care,’ he said in a calmer voice, ‘remember, I was there. I saw what it did to you. The endless crying, the way you tortured yourself, the anorexia. Churning up the past is not a good idea.’

  She noticed the deep compassion in his eyes and remembered his soothing and protecting demeanour. ‘You’re probably right.’
/>
  ‘Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘You want something out of this, right?’

  She nodded feebly.

  ‘Well if you think you can cope, maybe you should be friends with her. I have a plan.’

  He strolled away, walking into the main lounge, leaving her to drop onto the chair and contemplate the situation. Her heart was aching, her head swirling with painful reminders. Instinctively, she reached to the burn scar on her face and stroked the lumpy surface, and her body tightened. Then, she shut her eyes and imagined squashing her small daughter against her breast and her emotions tumbled.

  They were less vivid than they had once been, and no longer squeezed her of breath. Weeks after the event, as calm returned, she had had a conversation with Geoff, her beloved husband, and they had agreed to make a new start. Everything had to change, all reminders of whom she had been, had to go, and they left the area. It was a plan and one they thought would work. Regrettably, Geoff struggled to adhere to it, and he insisted they returned. Apparently, or so he said, work and friends called.

  With sadness in her eyes, she looked along the corridor imagining the place her husband was resting. Could they survive more upset in their relationship? What if she said no to contact with Leanne? Would he insist? It was going to be a difficult few weeks. If only Janet had sold the Honeysuckle Cottage . . .

  Chapter 13

  Leanne wiped away the condensation from the window with a cloth and pressed her head closer to the glass, straining to see across the field through the drizzly rain. The branches on the trees at the end of the garden were thrashing against each other, and the yellowing leaves were struggling to hang on.

  Perhaps Steven would not pass by today. If he did, he was braver than she, or perhaps more foolhardy. Even Tansy would struggle to gain anything from the excursion. Battling the wind and bitter rain could not be delightful, not in anyone’s mind.

  The path to the village, as far as she could see, was empty. She wiped the glass with a cloth, removing her condensed breaths from her view, and scanned further away. There were no lonely figures and no wandering dogs, and her disappointments swelled. She had been hasty in her decision to rush away from Steven, and she needed to apologise.

  Days had passed since the party and Leanne regularly looked across the field, longing for a glimpse. He had told her he walked by at midday and that he always took a circuitous route incorporating her house. Rarely did he go elsewhere during the week; he was a man of routine. So where was he? Had Andrea returned and disrupted his plans? Was he ill?

  Stepping away from the window, she reprimanded herself for her behaviour. She had made it clear she was not interested in Steven and pushed him aside with a moody silence. He had made his decision also, deciding to label her as cheap because of her mother’s apparent behaviour. His silence, his choosing not to defend her to Geoff, was the only answer she had needed. She should not be wasting her time on such a man. She turned away.

  Moments later, unable to resist, Leanne looked back through the window across the field. There was a figure in the distance and there was a dog. She edged closer and held her breath so as not to mist the glass. It was definitely Steven, his loose gait and his strong slender body so familiar.

  Her heart throbbed. She longed to draw his attention and even considered racing outside and jumping up and down. But then it dawned. Steven was walking a different path; he had chosen to avoid her.

  A small voice inside her head told her to remove herself from the window, but it was as though something magnetised her to the spot. Her legs locked and her eyes unblinking. His head turned. Her pulse quickened. Had he seen her?

  Ashamed of her behaviour, she stepped back. He continued until a tree obscured her view. She urged him to reappear, prayed for him to take a direct route towards her house. It was not to be. Steven disappeared out of sight.

  Leanne returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, her senses alert, still hoping for his padded footsteps or dulcet tones to break the silence. She could not get him out of her head, could not stop herself from hoping, wishing.

  As a diversion, she reached to the newspaper, a local freebie, and spread it across the table and scanned the adverts and reports. There was an article on a charity fundraiser, one on a spate of missing cats, and another on the continuing struggle of out-of-town shops and businesses. She flicked over the sheet, the dry texture removing moisture from her fingertips, and stared at a two-page spread on the local hospital.

  The article spoke of the imminent renovation and refurbishment, and there were multiple photographs, both of the inside and the outside of the building. Mesmerised, Leanne stared at the hospital front. She had been there before, many times, visiting someone as a little girl. She had to visit.

  There was a steady flow of traffic passing through the town centre but not enough to cause unnecessary disruption or frustration. With the radio set on a low volume and her eyes alert to any imminent danger, she ambled her way through traffic lights, around roundabouts and through a level crossing, following signs to the hospital.

  The thrill of the sight of the entrance and the car park caused ripples to cross Leanne’s body. She eased the car into a vacant space, paid the parking fees, and stepped through the blustery air. Her hair danced and her skin tightened. She raised her collar, placed her left hand into her pocket, and headed to the entrance. There she paused.

  Gazing back towards the block of cars, her memories dominated. She had trotted alongside her grandparents, Janet’s firm grip dragging her along. There had been strained conversations - bickering, deep anxieties and anguished cries – and she had dared not speak. Silence had been the preferred option, that and private tears.

  Leanne entered the hospital and inhaled the sterile odour. The decor was clean but nondescript and plain; the walls were white, the floors a smooth grey, and the furniture basic. There was nothing pleasant to look at, no colours, no inspirational paintings, no comfortable chairs; everything was either scratched or marked. Through the intervening years, since her last visit, nothing had changed. It was unsurprising that there had been a decision to refurbish.

  After weaving through the hospital, she found herself in a small waiting area near an intensive care ward and sat down on a plastic hard-backed chair, her back to a row of windows. There was no one else around, bar a nurse at the end of the corridor, and she re-familiarised herself with a place she believed she once knew well.

  Before her was a closed door, and up above, stretching along the length near the ceiling was a narrow window. She had traced it many times with her mind, noted the fine crack in the frame and the lumpy wall surface to one side, and she drifted back through time.

  As a little girl, she had looked to this door, focusing upon the handle, and strained her ears to listen to the sounds of her grandparents nearing the exit, her face tight and her body rigid. More than anything, she had wanted to feel the comfort of their touch, yet she had also feared their sorrowful faces from emerging. Why, she could not say.

  The answers remained elusive, and after hanging around for several more minutes, she decided to leave and headed to the cafeteria, a vast rectangular structure crammed full of tables and chairs, many occupied, some littered with used crockery. She purchased a coffee and weaved around tables to what she believed had once been a familiar spot near a pillar.

  Images of Roy and Janet continued to perturb her, their bodies tightening with fear, their expressions agonizing. She had dared not speak, and sat in the chair, her legs dangling and immobile, and her arms resting on the table. There, she sought out moments of comfort with strained glances. Her torment had gone unnoticed.

  She had a vague a memory of Janet informing her of a death, or perhaps it was an instinct. Either way, she had a firm belief that the person in intensive care had passed away. She remembered her grandparents’ pallid cheeks, grief-stricken and washed out, and recalled their tears. Their bodies had been together, their shared agony
thickening the air.

  Had they mentioned Karen was the one that had died? She believed they had, a consideration causing her confusion to intensify.

  It seemed real, but it could not be true, not since her mother had not died. Searching for answers, reflecting on what Luke had shared, she took tentative sips of the hot coffee and enjoyed the comfort of the warm vapours pass to her stomach. Janet had been an evacuee, choosing to stay with the Coombs’ rather than returning to London, and later married and continued to live in Honeysuckle Cottage. The Coombs, having had no children of their own, left all their assets to Janet, but their lives reached a tragic and sudden end, shot dead for no apparent reason.

  Trevor Parry was not a name familiar to Leanne, and Luke had found it difficult to make a connection also. It seemed as though it had been a random attack, yet, as Luke pointed out, if that had been true, there would have been no reason for Janet to refuse the inheritance. Leanne’s mother, Karen Jefferson, must be the missing link.

  As a child, Leanne had created a person in her mind that fit the role of mother. She had a rounded figure, dark brown flowing hair, a pleasant face with even skin tones, and an infectious smile. She would have been hard-working with a quiet personality. She would have always been there, whatever happened, whatever stress befell them.

  Leanne was unsure if the description was fiction or if it had come from Janet and Roy, but she was sure of the tense atmosphere that always surrounded discussions about Karen. Usually, they brushed aside her questions, their excuse being it hurt to talk about such a tragic loss. So gradually, over the years, her interrogation stopped. It did not matter. Janet filled the gap - she was everything a mother should be – and she was happy to let it rest.

  Where were the photos? Where was the evidence that Karen even existed? Leanne’s body and mind ached with disappointment, mostly aimed at herself for never asking questions and never pursuing the baffling and unfathomable, but also at Janet and Roy for keeping the truth a secret. It was acceptable if it had been to protect her during childhood, but they should have said something to her when she matured. To wait until the last moment was cowardly and disrespectful.