Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

‘I’m sorry,’ she said weakly.

  Leanne gulped. This was getting bad. Panicking, she turned to Steven and spoke in a whisper. ‘I don’t like it. She’s going to push her.’

  ‘I’ll go up there. She might listen to me.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  He pecked her on the lips. ‘I will.’

  Having watched him race back to the track, she returned her attention back to Teresa and Queenie. They were together and tranquillity seemed to prevail; Queenie was humming to herself, and Teresa was staring across to the other side of the line, cracking her fingers.

  ‘Are we going to do this again?’ Queenie said.

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘And we’ll be like proper cousins.’

  ‘Proper cousins.’

  A faint rumble broke the silence. Panicking, Leanne looked for the train and then to the ledge. Teresa was smiling.

  ‘Please don’t do this,’ Leanne said.

  ‘I want you to be happy.’

  ‘And I will if you stop.’

  ‘No!’

  The tone, the hatred, made Leanne shudder. She held her arms to her body and searched the higher path for signs of Steven. Her skin was moist, her body throbbing and tense. She made a fist.

  Queenie had a bottle to her lips and Teresa was looking along the line displaying satisfaction. Her expressions were changing on a whim.

  The rumble was deepening, the train approaching.

  ‘Please,’ Leanne said, ‘let’s talk about this.’

  The vibrations grew louder. A train came into view. She glanced up. Teresa had shuffled backward, her arm and shoulder inches from Queenie’s back. There was movement in the trees.

  Leanne’s mouth dried, her heart throbbed in her throat. She glimpsed back at the train, and out of her eye corner saw a tangle of bodies. One came free. She screamed desperate and plaintive.

  Chapter 38

  The stickiness of Steven’s palm transferred to Leanne’s as they stared at Teresa in the hospital bed, strapped to a unit and in a coma. His distress was immense, so obvious in the way he dragged his legs, dipped his head and shoulders, and spoke breathy words. She could not provide comfort. It was, although a cliché, a waiting game.

  Every minute he could spare he spent at her bedside, reading books and magazines and sharing the day’s events. Whilst he forced a perky tone, determined to project a positive attitude, she could tell it was a huge effort.

  He pecked Teresa on her cheek, told her he would return and shuffled past Leanne and out of the ward.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ he muttered.

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘I should have got there sooner.’

  ‘We acted as soon as we knew what was going on. We did our best Steven.’

  ‘If I hadn’t grabbed Queenie’s arm, Teresa wouldn’t have slipped. I . . . I . . .’

  ‘Look at me. It wasn’t your fault.’

  He averted his gaze. In her gut, she knew he would have preferred to grab Teresa, but he was too good-hearted to say it aloud. Silently, she thanked him for his respect and prayed for a full and swift recovery.

  ‘How is she?’ Luke asked.

  They were in Leanne’s house; Luke and Imogen were side by side on the sofa, Steven was in one armchair, she was in another. Luke’s cheery expression was the opposite of Steven’s ashen skin tone and lacklustre movements, and it was a welcome change of mood.

  ‘No change,’ she said, ‘the doctors say it could be a while, if at all.’

  He nodded and started to speak, but an incoming call on his phone caused a brief interruption. As she offered Steven supportive words, Luke retrieved his phone, looked at the screen, and rejected the call. He turned to Imogen.

  ‘It was Sarah.’

  ‘What’s she want?’

  He looked sheepish. ‘I called her a few days ago. I thought we could catch up.’

  ‘Are you going to ring her back?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Too right. She used you. Forget her.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He laid the phone on his leg. It beeped. It was a message. ‘She wants to meet up . . . says it’s important.’

  Imogen glared. ‘I hope you’re going to say no.’

  He tapped in his answer, put it on the arm of the sofa, and smiled at Imogen. ‘I told her I’d made a mistake contacting her.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  There was a faint knock at the door. Leanne leaped to her feet and scurried through the hallway, and with her pulse racing thrust it open. The cool, damp air rushed towards her. She searched for eye contact. Queenie’s gaze never settled.

  ‘We’ve just been to see Teresa,’ Leanne said, guiding her into the room, ‘she’s still the same.’

  ‘I don’t remember much of what happened. I don’t understand why I was so out of it. Alcohol hasn’t affected me like that for years . . . if ever.’

  She bit her tongue. It sounded a weak excuse.

  ‘Why did you change your name to Queenie?’ Luke asked.

  ‘It was just a nickname. I didn’t change it officially or anything. I never felt like a Karen.’

  Queenie elaborated, explaining how they all chose their names based on personality or likes and dislikes. She said she had wanted something that symbolized a worshipped female. She had also wanted a new identity after some of the difficulties she had experienced at home, saying it would help her make a clean start.

  Not once, did Queenie look to Leanne. Whilst it wasn’t the reunion she had imagined, she wasn’t going to appear churlish and maintained an interested gaze.

  ‘We had an old photo of you,’ Luke said, ‘we thought you had red hair.’

  ‘I did once upon a time but I didn’t like it. It suited Rusty better. That’s where she got her name from. Most people knew her as Joanne or Jo. For me, she’ll always be Rusty.’

  ‘Why did you want rid of me,’ Leanne blurted.

  ‘It didn’t happen the way I intended.’

  ‘What did you intend?’

  She strode to an armchair, sat down, hands clenched, and carrying a pained expression glimpsed at Leanne. ‘You were four at the time . . .’

  There was a handwritten letter resting on the doormat. The writing was large and loopy with emphasised first characters, a recognisable style. It was from Fiona, and her blood rushed through her body and her hands moistened. Fearing its content, Queenie picked it up and glimpsed into the living room. Leanne was cross-legged on the floor absorbed in the television, her eyes like gobstoppers and her thumb in her mouth. She ripped open the envelope and scanned the text.

  Footsteps sounded. She folded it in two and slipped it into her pocket.

  ‘What’s that?’ Rusty said.

  ‘It’s from Fiona.’

  ‘So why the secrecy?’

  Queenie glimpsed at Leanne, who remained oblivious. ‘No secrecy.’

  ‘What’s she want?’

  ‘She’s found a bloke. He has two kids. She’s wondering how to tell Mum and Dad.’

  ‘She’s old enough to work that out for herself.’ Rusty looked at the cross-legged child. ‘On the other hand, maybe you should return.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting-’

  ‘Having a child around can be stifling. You have said so yourself.’

  Queenie hesitated, touched the letter with her finger and thought of her sister’s plight. Fiona was anxious, and willed her for advice, but also told her to stay away. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to return. It’ll be too difficult facing everyone.’

  ‘Well, I think you should. Is Fiona asking you to stay away?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘She’s no right. You should start thinking about yourself for a change. You’ve often said you could do with a change . . . and I was thinking of going back for a while anyway. Maybe it’s about time you tried to repair a few relationships.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You should stand up to Fiona.’


  ‘I don’t let her walk over me. If it appears that way, it’s because I have my own hidden agenda. Remember that.’

  Rusty raised the cigarette to her mouth. The smoke rose. ‘I thought you wanted to travel. How are you going to do that with a kid in tow?’

  Queenie was impassive.

  ‘And how many blokes have you had in the last four years? You could do so much more with yourself.’

  ‘I know I haven’t achieved a lot, but I do love her . . .’

  ‘It’ll be easier now than later. If your sister settles with this bloke, she’ll be happy to take Leanne in. It’s not as if you’re dumping her with a stranger.’

  ‘Do you think she’d do that?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘So you returned,’ Luke said.

  ‘Yes. Rusty too. She was out of work and had no other commitments. We were inseparable back then.’

  ‘But you didn’t seem too keen. Did Rusty persuade you?’

  ‘Maybe a little.’

  ‘And you planned on giving Leanne to Fiona.’

  Silence.

  ‘Being a parent is bound to have difficult times.’

  Queenie gave Luke a look that said she didn’t believe he understood. She was right too. How could anyone understand her motive? Being a parent wasn’t a choice. Once the responsibility was there, it remained. Leanne held back her tongue.

  ‘I felt tied down and wanted to live a bit. I’d had a run of bad luck. I’d been involved in a few skirmishes in the city with some women and I’d had a bust up with my boyfriend. It was all getting on top of me . . .’

  She stared. How could she even consider it an option?

  ‘. . . but I’m not sure I ever wanted to give you up,’ Queenie added.

  ‘Wasn’t that why you returned?’ Luke asked.

  ‘That’s what I’d said, but I don’t think I could have ever done it. Back then, my mouth would say things that my brain disagreed with. It’s not something I can explain.’

  ‘What happened when you arrived?’

  ‘I had hoped to be welcomed home but it turned out that Janet had caught wind of Fiona writing to me. I never told them where I was and Fiona hadn’t either. When I left, I’d been so pissed off with the continuous criticism, that I’d asked her not to say anything. I’d also been in regular contact with Patrick. When Janet found out, she was fuming. She was such a hypocrite. It was no different to what she’d done by walking out on her parents.’ Queenie searched for reassuring glances. ‘I told her as much.’

  Despite feeling vehemently defensive for Janet, Leanne held an impassive expression.

  ‘We argued for hours. In the end, I went one way and she went another. It was easy to avoid each other in a house that size. Later, I caught her privately studying something.’

  Janet was standing beside a chest and clutching a newspaper cutting. There were disappointment and dread in her eyes. Tiptoeing through the door, Queenie edged forwards and peered over her shoulder at the headline. A baby had been stolen from a hospital close to where she had been living. Janet spun around.

  ‘How could you?’ Janet asked.

  ‘You think I did that?’

  ‘I know you did. You lost your baby, didn’t you?’

  Queenie stomped out of the room.

  Janet followed. ‘For goodness sake, do you ever tell the truth?’ She thrust the cutting under Queenie’s nose. ‘It’s when Leanne was born and it’s the same hospital. I’m not stupid.’

  Her face swelled with anger. ‘How could you think such a thing?’

  ‘Because I know it’s true. I’ve seen it for myself.’

  ‘I would never do that!’

  ‘Just stop it! No more lies!’

  Queenie held a fracturing stare. Janet had been spying on her again, using her stupid physic powers. Why couldn’t she see it was a whole load of crap, just her imagination searching for a fitting image? Maybe one day she would learn that not all she saw was an accurate account of facts; maybe then, she would stop jumping to erroneous conclusions.

  ‘Why can’t you be more like Fiona?’

  ‘If I was, you still wouldn’t like me! It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s always wrong!’

  ‘Fiona is a decent human being, more than I can say for you.’ She paused, waited for a reaction. ‘I know what you did. You had a stillborn and so . . .’ Janet gasped for breath, ‘. . . and so you stole a baby.’

  Queenie clenched her jaw, held back the fury buzzing through her body. Fiona had told her about her baby’s death. How could she? After everything she had done for her.

  ‘Tell me, damn it! Tell me the truth!’

  Enraged, Queenie fled the house, tears burning the back of her eyes and her jaw clenching, and ran to the hayloft in the barn. Fiona was lying in the straw and reading, and Rusty was sat smoking, legs apart. Queenie climbed the ladder and kicked her sister. Her book hurled across the straw.

  ‘You told her about Lydia.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘She accused me of stealing Leanne!’

  Fiona looked up, self-satisfied. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘It’s not bloody interesting. I always get it in the neck for you. You bloody pious bitch.’

  ‘I have a reputation to uphold.’

  ‘I’m not doing this any longer!’

  ‘Tell them then, tell them everything. Who do you think they’ll believe?’

  Queenie glared, her adrenaline surging. She thrust out her leg and kicked Fiona in her side. Fiona yelped, raised herself to her feet and weaved around Queenie, looking for the ladder. She was standing near the edge and short distance from a drop to the concrete floor.

  ‘They will believe me! I’ll make them.’

  ‘They never have. Why should they change?’

  Regrettably, her sister was right, a realisation adding to her fury.

  ‘Do you think they’ll believe you if you say I took drugs. Or what about when I turned home drunk and you said I had a stomach bug.’ A smug look rose to Fiona’s face. ‘Oh, and don’t forget the times you went to the library and I was humping some bloke.’

  ‘You bloody callous bitch!’ Queenie thrust her arms into her.

  Fiona stumbled backward, regained control, and looked nervously down the drop. They tussled. There was a flurry of accusations, hair pulling, punching, and kicking.

  Amidst the squabble, Teresa arrived with a little girl, and Queenie and Fiona paused for breath. The moment the child saw the hayloft she ran to the ladder, climbed onto the straw, and bounced gleefully. Almost instantly, the bickering restarted.

  ‘Tell them the truth!’ Queenie screamed.

  ‘Why should I when I have you to take the flack?’

  ‘You bloody coward!’

  ‘I’m not a coward,’ she said smugly, ‘I think I’m clever.’

  Queenie thrust her arms into her. ‘Take Leanne!’

  Silence.

  ‘I need space. I don’t love her and you owe me!’

  Fiona’s tone was stiff. ‘I owe you nothing! Anyway, you shouldn’t have come. I told you to stay away.’

  ‘You wanted me here. You’re forever asking my advice. It’s all you ever do. You can’t last two seconds without me!’

  ‘And I asked you to stay away. Just leave and take her with you, and don’t ever come back!’

  ‘You selfish bitch!’ Queenie surged forward, her eyes bulging, her muscles pounding with blood, craving a fight. Yet all the while Fiona remained motionless and calm, as though nothing could harm her. It compounded Queenie’s relentless rage.

  Luke, Imogen, Leanne and Steven, all stared at Queenie, waiting for her to continue. She sat in silence, searching her lap with watery eyes. Her lips quivered, her face drowned in sorrow.

  ‘Please go on,’ Leanne said.

  Queenie looked up and for a second they connected. The pain, the years of grieving, the perpetual self-punishment was carved into her aging skin.

  ‘I pushed her . . . she fell to the concre
te floor.’

  Silence.

  She jumped to her feet. ‘There, I’ve said it.’

  Leanne forced forward her compassion. Her mother may have admitted she didn’t love her, but it was small in comparison to what had happened, and not a time for childish comments. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘I knew what I was doing.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt her.’

  ‘You don’t have a clue. Janet said she saw me do it. She said I was evil . . . had seen it in my eyes since the day I was born.’

  ‘I can see you’ve never forgiven yourself.’

  Queenie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not a saint. I refused to accept what I’d done and told myself it was Rusty’s fault. She was there, right between us. It was easy. She knew how I’d always covered for Fiona, so she had been just as angry as I had. However, when I accused her a few days later, she was livid. I didn’t see her for years.’

  Leanne offered her a sympathetic and understanding glance.

  ‘But not everything was my fault.’ Queenie’s eyes flitted. ‘She was the one smoking, not me. It went up in seconds, just seconds. That poor little girl . . .’

  Leanne reached out her hand, resting it on her back. ‘Please come and sit back down.’

  Queenie trailed behind, dropped onto the armchair, and her chest rose and fell. Leanne tried not to look, but the pain and self-torture she emitted were too strong to dismiss, and a swelling ache developed within.

  For a while, everyone sat in a painful silence. Then Queenie gathered her strength. ‘I couldn’t face anyone after the fire so I ran, but I stayed close by, desperate for news on Fiona, Teresa, and her little girl.’ She turned to Leanne. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘It was just too difficult. Anyway, after a few weeks, I saw Trevor Parry. Did you know he shot the Coombs’?’

  Leanne nodded.

  ‘Do you also know that Teresa’s daughter was his?’

  ‘Luke worked it out.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t. I knew him, although not well. He’d been away for a few weeks working and didn’t know about the fire or that she had been his kid. I told him what happened and that Teresa was due out of the hospital. His face went funny and he started to walk away. I called after him, but it was as if he’d lost all his senses and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t think anything of it until late one night I was wandering through the village and I heard voices. He was walking with Teresa. He had a gun. I started to panic. They were heading out of the village.’