by Dawson, H A
‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to. I do understand.’
As though magnetised, she reached to the book. Yet she was not quite able to touch it, not quite able to explain herself. Plaintively, she looked to Steven then started to the door.
He escorted her outside. His words, his offer of friendship, floated in the air.
Her eyes misted with tears, and her inability to love again squeezing her of breath.
Chapter 16
The door slammed shut, echoing in Queenie’s ears as she advanced to the kitchen. Her anxieties were rising, her blood fizzing, and her mind swirling and incoherent. Needing a barricade, a subtle opt-out from her ponderings, she cracked open a can of lager, lit a cigarette, and sat at the kitchen table.
The refreshing liquid descended her throat, soothing both mentally and physically. It was a familiar place, an instant albeit temporary solution, and it dampened down her agitations and eased her tremors. Her life was a mess, her woes never ending and preventing her from moving forward, and she longed for an end.
A couple of weeks previous her son, Kyle, had pushed her aside. All she had wanted to do was to spend time with her young granddaughter and offer advice, but he had not been receptive to her suggestions and had told her to leave. His final words and the piercing screams from his stuck-up girlfriend reverberated through her ears. She called her an interfering bitch, snatched the baby from her arms, and criticised her efforts with Kyle, reminding her of the faults as a mother.
It was lies. Granted, Kyle's had not had the best childhood but it had not been her fault. His father abandoned her, she had been evicted from her flat, and she had no income. Then there was the incident when she drank too much and Kyle had wandered out of the house. He had come to no harm, so why was everyone in such a panic? Why had everyone made her feel sick to the stomach?
Her network of support had been lacking. She had no family to turn to, and her friends claimed to be too busy, their own lives taking priority. She had no choice but to take the occasional chance, but never, not ever, would she have deliberately put her child in danger.
Kyle and his stuck-up girlfriend should have been more appreciative of her offer of assistance; they did not have a clue as to how lucky they were. It was their first child, and Queenie could see they were struggling. They had no idea about feeding routines and sleeping patterns, and no idea when to let her play and when she should rest. Then there was the discipline; rushing to a crying child so instantaneously was asking for trouble in the long term. Why couldn’t they see that? They were pig-headed and ungrateful. She would have loved to be in their position; she had had no one willing to help her. No one at all.
She reached into her pocket for her phone and checked for messages, hoping for an apology. The screen was blank and her heart sank, and Kyle’s vindictive words tightened its stranglehold. Part of her wanted to withdraw some of her comments and behaviour and offer a silent show of support to the new parents; another part of her reminded her that she had spoken and acted out of love and that she had no need to do so. She had been trying to help and had not wanted them to suffer. She had no other motive.
Puffs of smoke extended towards the ceiling in rings. Was it too much to ask to be loved in return, just occasionally? Was she such a horrible person? She had been marked from day one, and the punishment, the life she had been given was slowly, insidiously erasing all hope. Her mind drifted back to Leanne.
She was in so many ways the spitting image of Janet. She was well educated, had a high moral standing, and a tidy, almost too perfect, appearance. She could hear Janet in her voice - the pronunciation of certain words and the shrill edge depicting her irritation – yet she was not nearly as assertive, and Queenie wondered how the two could ever get on.
As soon as the thought entered her head, she realised the answer. Leanne was the perfect granddaughter, the good girl, the second chance, and no doubt obedient and hardworking. She was nothing like Karen. There never could be a relationship there.
Janet had carved Leanne into shape, and in doing so had severed any link to Karen. She would have told her of her friend’s atrocious behaviour; she would have lied unashamedly; she would have painted the most heinous image.
Karen was better off out of it. She was not the evil person depicted. She was misunderstood, a soft-centre in a hard shell and she had been driven away.
Footsteps sounded. Queenie looked through the doorway and up the staircase and saw a fleeting glimpse of red hair moving towards her.
The chair scraped on the floor and Rusty sat down.
‘I’ve just been speaking to Leanne,’ Queenie said.
‘What does she know?’
‘Not a lot. I reckon she thought highly of Janet.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing. How could I?’
‘Maybe you should.’
‘It’s not the time, and anyhow, I reckon Janet’s brainwashed her. She has the same attitude and stinks of money.’
Rusty gazed vacantly.
‘It’s been thirty years,’ she continued, ‘it’s too late to make amends. If you think anything else you’re bloody naïve.’
She withdrew a cigarette from the packet and leaned across to Queenie to light it. Smoke filled the room, forming in a hanging cloud above their heads.
‘It brought it all back,’ Queenie said, ‘how that woman treated us all. She had it coming, the bloody hypocrite.’
‘But she didn’t suffer in the end, did she? Not really.’
The remnants in the lager slipped down Queenie’s throat, and for a moment, as she held the cool object in her hand images of the house, its massive structure and exquisite furniture, caused her envy to grow.
‘It’s not changed, still as beautiful.’
‘The house?’
She nodded. ‘I went last week. Leanne saw me.’ She dropped the empty can into a bin by the side of the table and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the cupboard. ‘She’s gotten friendly with Teresa. I just saw them in the village.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No.’
‘She’ll say something for sure.’
She held a determined gaze. ‘Then why hasn’t she already? She has her motives too, remember?’
‘I can hardly forget.’
‘I don’t like it. She’s up to something. We should keep them apart.’
‘What you thinking?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused, pensive. ‘We should go see Leanne again, find out what’s going on.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it.’
‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea. Maybe we should keep our heads down.’
Queenie flung her an irritated stare, and then swept back the brandy. ‘Unless . . .’
‘Go on.’
She rotated the glass between her fingers. ‘She’s been seeing a bloke called Steven George. Any idea who he is?’
‘I can find out.’
She grinned. ‘Good. Now, about Teresa.’
‘We should make sure she keeps her mouth shut.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
Queenie carried the bottle and glass into the next room and sank into a chair. She should be happy having a sense of purpose and something to distract her from her troubles with her son. Yet she still reached into her pocket for her phone and gazed at the blank screen. Her ponderings were dark and she relived each moment of sorrow, from those in the distant past to the ones experienced recently. Everyone hated her, but more than that, she hated herself.
Her baby granddaughter had been a turning point. It had turned into another missed opportunity.
Thank goodness for the bottle.
Chapter 17
A delicate clunking sound echoed through Luke’s ears as he watched Susie knock her glass against her plate. Her face was pleasing - unblemished and with a healthy pink glow - and her hair rested in a neat bob o
n her shoulders. He followed the curve of her chin and looked down to her neckline, tracing the freckles and the slight discolouration. She smelled delicious, just as she had when his hands had explored her form.
It had been a swift encounter, and he sensed, as was the case for him, that the joining fulfilled only lustful needs. Yet, the moment stayed with him. He visualised her naked body; her beautiful rounded breasts bobbing as she swayed, her slender hips making perfect handles, and her firm legs, long, soft and supple.
His body tingled and his chest tightened, the thoughts thrilling. She caught his eye. Hurriedly, he shut his mouth, stopping his gawping and averted his eyes.
‘Did you see that programme on wife-swapping last night?’ she asked.
He shook his head, his expression blank.
‘Would you ever be up for that?’
His irritations rose. Did he have to answer such a question? ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Me neither. I reckon they slept together, don’t you?’
He remained impassive.
‘Did you see the woman with the big red hair? She couldn’t have been more obvious with that mini skirt and plunging lace top.’
Susie gave her full analysis, describing personality traits, contestant integration, and appearances, and even though her voice was animated, he struggled to remain attentive. After what seemed like an age, she paused for breath.
‘I don’t find reality shows appealing,’ he said.
‘Then you’re missing out. It’s fascinating watching what people get up to behind closed doors.’
‘Live and let live, I say.’
‘You should try it. It’s hilarious viewing. Some of the people are so desperate to get noticed that they would do anything.’
‘Just for fifteen minutes of fame?’
She seemed to be scrutinising him, looking beyond his eyes searching for his thoughts.
‘I can think of better ways,’ he continued.
‘I hear you’re quite famous around these parts.’
‘It’s not the same. I’m just doing a job.’
‘Even so, it must have its perks.’
‘I can’t think of any.’
‘You must have been invited to places, met famous people.’
He leaned back into his chair. ‘Not that I recall.’
‘You’ve been on the television.’
‘I only met the presenters. They’re just normal people . . . like you and me.’
Susie was gazing out of the window, looking towards the shoppers and office workers sauntering by. She was easily impressed and not at all like Imogen . . . or was she?
Imogen cared about her appearance and she chattered about meaningless reality shows, but somehow it was different. For some reason he found her behaviour appealing rather than repelling. It showed her zest for life and displayed her innocence, a beautiful asset. It also made her seem more feminine; it was a wonderful contrast to her quick wit and sharp personality. The same behaviour made Susie appear dull.
‘I’m going to have to get back to work,’ he said, ‘Imogen will be wondering where I am.’
‘It’s fantastic that she’s moving in with Mark, don’t you think?’
‘It’s not for me to comment.’
‘They are great together. It’s been a long time coming.’
‘I’m not sure they are that well suited.’
When Susie’s head jerked, he regretted his comment and his shame surfaced.
‘Why do you say that?’ she urged.
‘It’s just a feeling.’
He made a swift decision to leave and weaved around the tables progressing to the exit. Imogen was not as bubbly with Mark as she was with him; there wasn’t the teasing or the lively banter. Something was missing and their relationship seemed strained. However, voicing his opinion would be unproductive and he bit back his words. He only wanted her to be happy and had no reason to wish her ill.
They stepped into the brisk autumn air, sauntering back through the town centre towards their respective workplaces when a plaintive cry caught their attention. A child had slipped into the fountain and lay face down in the water. He raced towards them, elbowing past distracted pedestrians, and reached over the edge for the youngster. The toddler was soaking and his face red and contorted.
He handed the child to a frantic woman.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ she screamed at the boy.
The woman gripped her son’s shoulders, searching for his explanation. It did nothing to ease the child’s fears, and his small body convulsed with sobs.
‘You should get him inside, keep him warm,’ Luke said, ‘I have an office just around the corner-’
‘No, thanks. I have somewhere to go.’
‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble.’
‘Yes, and thank you.’
The woman checked the boy’s state and continued to reprimand him.
Taking his opportunity, Luke crouched down and reached for his hand. As the boy started to focus, his wailing eased.
‘Are you going to put on a brave face until you can get out of these wet clothes?’
The boy nodded.
‘Good man. No more tears?’
Snivelling, he shook his head.
He reached out to the boy’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, my brave little warrior.’
A smile slipped to the child’s face.
Luke stood up, said goodbye to the woman and headed away with Susie.
‘You were fantastic,’ she said, ‘such a natural with kids!’
A feeling of discomfort swelled inside.
‘Someone’s going to be lucky having you.’
He chewed on his lip and stared at the ground, his mind attempting to focus on the rhythmical sound of his footsteps. He hadn’t wanted a reminder of his ex-girlfriend’s abortion. She had never confided in him, nor had she cared about his opinion.
He should have expected her to act as he had as their relationship had developed into one of convenience, at least for Sarah. He knew she did not love him – she had said as much – and she believed he felt the same. However, for him it was different. He was in love and not in the right mindset to decline the opportunity to share an intimate evening. He had also convinced himself that she might change her mind given time. It was a sad point of reflection.
He had spotted Sarah at the abortion clinic. She told him the baby was not his and ordered him to leave. Devastated, and without any other option, he did as requested. Days later, when Sarah relented to his plea for a meeting, she admitted that she had lied. The baby had been his, after all.
That was when the relationship ended. Despite his deep feelings of love, her actions proved she could never feel anything for him. Therefore, hoping for a change of heart was futile. The final meeting in the bar, and him telling her they could never see each other again, not even on a friendly basis, was one of the hardest moments in his life. Yet he knew it had been the right decision. Imogen had encouraged him and supported him. She had given him the impetus to make a new start in life.
‘Thanks for lunch,’ Susie said, reaching across and giving him a hug and kiss. ‘I hope we can do it again sometime.’
‘That would be nice.’
Watching her leave, he decided that she was not such bad company after all. She was also likely to treat him better than Sarah had done - a positive consideration all things considered. In addition, being with her was better than being single.
‘Wow! You’ve lipstick on your collar. You’ve been out with Susie.’ Imogen said.
Swiftly, Luke glanced down to his neckline and looked to the offending mark. Feeling his skin warm, he raised his hand to his neck and soothed his itchy skin, avoiding her broad smile and twinkling eyes. Her effervescence was infectious, his sense of achievement, growing.
‘Come on . . . details.’
‘We just had a light bite. Nothing special.’
‘Where at?’
‘Austin’s, on Patterson Road.’
‘Cool. What did you have?’
He frowned. ‘What’s it matter?’
‘Of course, it matters.’
He paused. She wasn’t going to let it drop, so he may as well relent. ‘Tuna sandwich.’
‘And Susie?’
‘I can’t remember.’
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. Her cleavage was visible, her breasts pressing against the soft fabric. ‘Come on, you can do better than that.’
‘It was just lunch, nothing important.’
Her curves delighted and excited.
‘Do you like her?’ she asked.
‘She’s okay.’
‘Okay? That’s all you have to say.’
His eyes narrowed, his thoughts swirling.
‘She likes you . . . says you’re good in bed!’
‘What?’
She giggled. ‘You’ve gone red!’
He bolted to his feet and rushed to a cabinet at the far side of the room.
‘She’s my best friend,’ she continued, ‘we tell each other everything.’
Crouching down, he searched for a binder inside the hollow.
‘I don’t know why it bothers you so much. It’s not as though you’ve not told me about your sexual exploits before.’
‘This is different.’
‘So, you do like her.’
‘No, I . . .’
How could he tell her it was all about the sex when he even struggled to admit it to himself? He had changed. Sarah had made sure of that.
He forced a confident demeanour to surface. ‘I like her, but I can’t see it going anywhere. It’s too soon.’
‘Sarah?’
‘It’ll be a while before I feel able to trust anyone again.’
‘You can’t cocoon yourself forever.’
It was what he wanted. A long-term relationship was out of the question.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’ he asked, desperate to avert the attention.
Her expression melted and her eyes became dreamy. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she said in a virtual whisper, ‘better than I could imagine. It’s great not having to worry about going home at the end of the evening.’