Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Brittany hesitated. ‘It’s unlikely.’

  ‘Well I’m going to be the first. I shouldn’t have come in today but I couldn’t cope being around Rob. He’s been a pain in the backside. He doesn’t like his job and wants to quit. Thing is, he’s never satisfied.’ She gulped, holding her throat.

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a lorry driver. It’s good money Brittany. If he’s quit, I’ll kill him.’

  ‘Do you think he will?’

  She shrugged. ‘We’ve enough on our plates without him doing that. You know I play badminton?’

  Brittany nodded.

  ‘Well, they’ve excluded me from the team. Can you believe it? I’m by far the best player there. I was furious when I heard. Instead, they’ve selected some kid. She might have the shots but she’s not as consistent as me. I can beat her any day of the week.’

  ‘Life sucks!’

  ‘Too right. Anyway, I quit the club. If they’re going to do that to me, they can all go to hell.’

  Brittany stood up, weaved around the desk, and selected a few books to return to the shelves. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

  ‘Of course it is. How could they do that to me? I’ve been a regular member there for years. They had no right. I deserve that spot. Did you know, last year I won over eighty percent of my matches. Nobody else has done that.’

  ‘Have you told them how you feel?’

  ‘They won’t listen. Rob’s no help either. He can’t see why it matters.’

  Brittany looked to the spine of the first book and sauntered across the library. Emma followed.

  ‘Are you joining another club?’ Brittany asked.

  ‘I’m through with badminton.’

  She slid a book between two others on the shelf. ‘You’ll miss it.’

  ‘No I won’t. I never want to see them again. I’m so angry.’

  ‘I understand you’re hurt, but it’s not that important.’

  Emma leaned against a pillar. ‘I’m sick of everything right now. I wish I could curl up and die. What kind of future is there for me? Fifty more years of hell, that’s what.’

  ‘Be grateful. You have your health and you have a wonderful daughter who’s healthy.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Hannah is being a pain in the arse as well. She’s only seven, but she acts like she’s sixty-seven. She knows exactly how to wind me up.’

  Emma continued to rant and Brittany continued to place the books into the shelves, periodically heading back for more. On her last return, she dodged an enthusiastic boy with a book in his hand, crying out for his mother.

  ‘I was listening to the radio the other day,’ Brittany said, ‘and there was a man in Scotland who was only thirty-eight and went to bed with a headache. When he woke up, he was blind. Can you believe it?’ She glanced at Emma. ‘His sight never returned. He had a tumour in his pituitary gland and it had haemorrhaged.’

  ‘Okay, so that’s rotten. But what are the chances of that happening to me? My problems are real. I’m not going to start worrying about something that’ll never happen.’

  ‘No, but maybe you should be a little more grateful for the things you have.’

  ‘I’m not being selfish.’

  Brittany could sense the anguish in Emma’s voice, but she kept her gaze averted and headed back for another pile of books.

  Emma trailed behind. ‘I bet your life’s pretty sweet, right?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because if it wasn’t, you’d understand what I’m going through.’

  ‘I do understand, and no, my life is not all good, but we’ve been put on this planet, like it or not, and I intend to make the most of it.’

  Sceptical, Emma’s eyes narrowed and her arms were folded. ‘I think that you must be some kind of angel.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Emma gave her a skewed smile and turned away. ‘Catch you later.’ She stepped away, but she didn’t get far before striding back. ‘There’s been a bloke watching you for the last twenty minutes. He’s near the shelves over there.’ She pointed towards the exit. ‘He’s hot for you. Nice butt too.’

  Brittany spun around, her heart quickening. She could not see anyone and headed along the aisle and round the back. No one was present. Puzzled, she gazed around the room. Emma had disappeared, and there was no sight of a man. Disheartened, she continued with her role.

  She hoped it was Jason, and thought of the text she sent thanking him for the drink and chat. He had replied swiftly, but there was no offer to meet and her hopes took a dive. A couple of days after that, she had tried again, ringing this time. There was no answer. If it had not been for Erin insisting she made a third attempt she would have given up.

  Recalling her failed efforts caused her heat to rise. She had been foolish, and looked desperate, and wished she had stopped at the first rejection. Yet, her heart had demanded they met; she was entirely infatuated. Her head spun with their conversation and of visions of his large round eyes and classically cut hairstyle. She wanted to be with him and yearned to feel her hammering heart pulsate against his firm physique.

  Quaking with expectation, Brittany decided to have one more look. She headed along the central aisle, glanced between the rows and towards the door, and peered towards the adjacent lifts and up the staircase. If it was Jason Emma had seen, it appeared he was long gone.

  Struggling to concentrate, she progressed through the remainder of the morning in a daze, and at twelve o’clock, took a welcome break. She headed to the lifts and to the café on the fourth floor. It was heaving with staff and visitors, but there was no one she was familiar with, so she decided she would sit alone. Aromas of freshly baked soup, meat dishes, and vegetables, filled her nostrils, and with her mouth watering, she grabbed a tray and joined the queue.

  The food was adequate and fairly priced; the vegetables were crisp and tasty, the meat dishes tender, and the portions generous. She shuffled along the line following an elderly couple with smiley faces, and scanned the selection of food. There was lasagne, fish, baked potato, and soup. She opted for the chicken soup. It smelled gorgeous.

  She hadn’t been seated for long when someone at her rear spoke to her.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  She spun around, her heart thumping, the voice recognisable. It was Jason.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve found you. I was told you were up here. I was going to speak to you earlier but you seemed busy.’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Ethan’s taken a turn for the worse.’

  ‘Oh no. What’s happened?’

  Jason sat opposite and puffed out. ‘He was fine when he went to bed a few days ago, but by the morning he was out of it. I can’t believe how sudden it was.’

  ‘It can happen like that. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, well. It’s tough.’

  ‘How is he now?’

  ‘They’re trying different medications, but nothing seems to be helping.’ He rested his arms on the table, the distress carved into his faded pallor. ‘Can we talk about something else. I need to take my mind off it.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She reached into her soup with the spoon and thought about his little son’s plight. Poor Ethan. He was still so young. How much did he understand about his condition? A little knowledge could be dangerous; on the other hand, it may be a benefit. He may just think he was a little sick and have no knowledge of the long-term consequences. At twelve, that had been difficult to do.

  Suddenly, she was not so hungry and swirled the spoon around her dish and through the flavoursome liquid, feeling Jason’s agony. He was eating a sandwich, nibbling the edges and chewing in an unhurried manner, and his eyes were glassy. As though drawn by her stare, he looked up and forced a smile, and all of her sorrowful thoughts vanished.

  ‘I didn’t know you worked here?’ he said. ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes I do. I love working in the children’s section. It
’s very rewarding seeing their little faces light up with a story. It’s magical.’

  ‘For them too I should imagine.’

  ‘Yes. Did you find a book for Ethan?’

  ‘A couple. He gave me my instructions. He’s quite the reader.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m forever talking to parents about the effort it takes to get them reading. It’s unfortunate that it’s become such a visual world.’

  ‘Ethan did it quite naturally. He’s very excitable and struggled to concentrate on television.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘For some reason he has always found books more engrossing.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. I often tell parents to keep trying. Eventually the child will find something that’s absorbing.’

  ‘Good advice.’

  She sipped her soup. He was smiling, holding onto her every word. It was a wonderful sensation and their conversation was completely effortless. Gazing at him with a hopeless longing, she wanted it to last forever and willed him to ask her out. She could offer him advice regarding Ethan’s condition, sharing her own experiences; she could take his mind off his sick son.

  Yet he paid her no special attention.

  Could she have imagined he was interested in her? With Ethan ill, a relationship must be far from his mind and she felt sure he would prefer to wait. Perhaps she was being selfish to persist with her yearning, but she had to live too, and she should at least try to fulfil her desires. She rested her hand over the site of her kidney and pondered her options. Opportunities like this did not come around too often, and each day was precious. She could not let this slip.

  Jason did have a twinkle in his eye, and it was more pronounced when their gazes locked. She wasn’t imagining it; there was something there.

  ‘Maybe I could visit Ethan sometime. I used to find visitors perked me up.’

  He looked away. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded and smiled, and her pulse quickened. She stared at her soup.

  ‘What do you know about Dr O’Riordan?’ he asked.

  ‘Dr O’Riordan? He was my consultant.’

  ‘Is he trustworthy?’

  Brittany was puzzled. ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

  ‘There are rumours that he’s . . . he’s . . . don’t worry about it.’

  ‘What kind of rumours?’

  Jason rubbed his fingers along his watch, hesitating. He looked up. ‘That he uses underhand methods.’

  ‘With transplants?’

  ‘No. I was told he fiddles with the priority list.’

  ‘Why is that underhand? Isn’t that his decision?’

  ‘I . . . I suppose so. Did you have any problems with him?’

  ‘No, not at all. I always liked him.’

  Jason’s forehand scrunched.

  ‘I could ask someone to check it out if you like. If you’re worried.’

  ‘No,’ Jason said quickly. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to cause trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I’ve hired someone for a private matter, an investigator. He’d be able to check it out in no time.’

  Jason had a wild, frenetic look in his face, and it reminded her of last time in the hospital café, when they had been talking about living donors. She was wondering why it bothered him so much when he bolted to his feet.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he said, ‘please forget it.’

  Then he was gone, scurrying around the tables and stumbling over a carelessly placed bag.

  She hurried after him. ‘Wait!’

  He slowed down and glanced over his shoulder. His face was creased and there was a worried look in his eyes.

  ‘I won’t mention it if you don’t want me to,’ she said, breathless. ‘I’m sorry.’

  They stepped out of the cafeteria, away from the oppressive heat of the bodies and the constant drone of chatter, and marched towards the lift. He pressed the button.

  ‘You should go finish your lunch,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  His hands slumped into his jeans pockets and for a moment stood in an uneasy silence. Words evaded her. She glimpsed at him, concerned, and waited and hoped for an explanation.

  After a few moments, he spoke. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. It’s Ethan.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Jason frowned. ‘You don’t have to be so nice to me.’

  Brittany grinned. ‘Why not?’

  He raised his hand, shielding his embarrassment.

  ‘I understand how tough it is for you. It must be different viewing kidney failure from the other side.’

  ‘Have your parents ever talked to you about it?’

  Her body tightened. She looked to him, willed him to withdraw his question. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry, I forgot.’

  She shuffled her feet.

  ‘I take it you didn’t know about your mum’s parole,’ Jason said.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Have you seen her since?’

  Brittany swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘No. She’s the reason I’ve hired Luke Adams. There are things I need to find out.’

  ‘What was she inside for?’

  The lift door opened and she stepped inside, her heart hammering. She had said too much and wanted to retract her words. She looked to him, tormented.

  ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. We all have secrets.’

  Her response evaded her. If she started talking, she feared she would not be able to stop, and her desperation would take control. She clamped shut her mouth and urged the lift to move faster.

  ‘Just try not to think too badly of her,’ he said.

  ‘Has someone said something?’

  ‘I . . .’ his gaze flitted. ‘. . . I’m just thinking how I’d feel, if I was in her position.’

  ‘So no one in renal has been talking.’

  ‘No, definitely not.’

  The lift jolted to a standstill. They stepped outside and loitered near the entrance of the children’s library.

  He wedged his hands into his pockets and edged closer. ‘This has not gone too well, has it?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Of course. I wanted to see you again.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Brittany wanted to ask him out, but her courage evaded her. She waited, hopeful.

  ‘Could we do it again sometimes?’ Jason asked.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Great,’ Jason said, his eyes alight. ‘I’ll text . . . promise.’

  He strode through a barrier, heading towards the exit, and turned his head. He shot her a smile.

  Her lips curled and her eyes danced. At last, they were going on a date.

  Chapter 8

  Angela Canning listened to the wailing sounds of grief emanating from the room above and her heart tightened. There were the frequent heavy breaths and the pained cries, which grew louder, more agonising. There was a piercing screech and a loud thud, as though a pillow or cushion had been hurled across the room. There was silence.

  She stared at the ceiling, silently counting and waiting for the wailing to restart. It did not. She imagined her daughter’s red scrunched face and taut muscles. She would be curled on the bed clutching her favourite bear; her face would be drenched, the pillow too. She would beat the mattress until she was squeezed of energy, she would wait for sleep to take her to a place of tranquillity.

  Angela hoped that the time had arrived.

  Satisfied that her grief-stricken daughter was in a better place, she reached to the plastic bag on the floor. It was time to do something with Tim’s belongings, the ones that had been with him on that fatal day. Inside, there was a watch, a postal receipt, his mobile phone, and his wallet. She flicked open the wallet, retrieved the money, and fingered through the
cards. She would have to cancel them all, but since her energies were lacking, she decided she would do it later.

  Next, she reached for his watch and held it in her palm. The brand was rotary, and it had a leather strap and an easy to read silver dial, but there was a hairline crack across the face. Dazed, she held it to her middle and remembered the day she had gifted it, sixteen years ago.

  It had been Tim’s birthday and life had been perfect. They had just discovered her pregnancy, so as a celebration they decided to take a weekend break to Spain. They giggled like school-kids, shared intimate moments just out of view of the public, and scampered through the market town as though they had been injected with a burst of energy. Neither thought they could be as happy.

  During one intimate moment, Tim had smoothed his hand across her face and placed tender butterfly kisses upon her cheeks.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he had said.

  Angela smiled.

  ‘You have such a soft skin. Just like our baby’s going to have.’

  ‘It feels surreal.’

  ‘Believe it baby-face.’

  Still clutching the watch, Angela breathed a heavy sigh. The rock inside would not lift; there was so much more they could have done together. If only . . .

  Forcing aside her ponderings, she strode to a drawer, placed the watch within, and returned to the armchair. Then she reached for his mobile phone and scanned the messages. After a few moments, she removed the sim-card, carried it to the kitchen, and reached for a pair of scissors. The pounding of footsteps alerted her to Alex’s arrival.

  ‘What you doing?’

  Angela cut the card in half. ‘It’s your father’s phone card.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  Alex’s sweet face was swollen and red, and her eyes were wild.

  ‘Of course I do. He doesn’t have a use for it now.’

  ‘I hate you. It’s all your fault.’

  ‘Alex . . .’

  Her feet pounded the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed. The wailing restarted.

  This time, Angela decided to follow. She placed the bits of plastic in the pedal bin and headed to Alex’s room.

  She knocked on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Please Alex.’