Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  She inhaled and exhaled, replenishing her lungs as the cool air tightened her skin.

  ‘It will do you good,’ Jason said.

  ‘It is invigorating.’

  ‘Let’s take a walk along the sands.’

  She unhooked her sandals as Jason stepped a little way along the beach and gazed at the vista. He could be just absorbing the scene, but she felt sure he was looking at the families; the children chasing balls and building sandcastles, the lovers snuggled together on a towel, and the family picnic next to the shelter of a tree. She strode towards him.

  The sand and was warm and soft, and the grit soothing. Sensing her arrival, he turned to face her and placed his arm around her back. Thrilled by his touch, she edged closer. His firm muscular body pressed against her side and his warm hand rested upon her shoulder. They were a perfect fit.

  They strolled on the beach chatting casually, arms linked. They only received cursory glances from the other visitors, but she felt her pride swell. She felt safe and part of something again, and wanted to cry out her pleasure.

  ‘Want an ice cream? Jason asked.

  ‘Yes, okay.’

  They headed to the ice cream van, and waited behind a youngster who was stretching on tiptoes to reach the opening.

  ‘My shout,’ she said, retrieving her purse.

  She gave him the cone and headed to a short wall that separated the beach from the promenade. Just as she bent to sit down an exuberant youth on a skateboard rode by and knocked her elbow. Her ice cream splattered down her top.

  She glared at the young man, leaned forward, and let the ice cream flop to the floor.

  ‘I’ll get you another,’ Jason said.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.’

  She scurried away. A little distance from the ice cream van was a toilet block. Grateful for an excuse to pay another visit, she headed inside, relieved herself of a painful dribble, and cleaned the stickiness from the cotton. Jason was waiting outside with a fresh ice cream.

  ‘You didn’t need to,’ she said, accepting the gift.

  ‘Of course I did.’ He glanced to her sodden top. ‘Don’t get cold.’

  She looked down. The fabric clung to her breasts and her nipples were prominent. Blushing, she buttoned her cardigan.

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. ‘I preferred it undone.’

  Brittany looked to her feet. Out of her eye corner, she could see he was grinning and his eyes never left her face. Then, with his free hand, he forced her to look at him, and pressed his succulent lips onto hers. Shivers ran along her spine and her heart hammered, quickening with every caress, every delicate stroke of his fingertips on the back of her neck, every tickle of his breath as he whispered sweet longings into her ear.

  By now, her ice cream was dripping onto her hand and forearm, and tilting at a dangerous angle. She reached it to her lips, but then, as Jason was still entwined, thrust it into his mouth. The creamy substance spread across his face.

  ‘I think you should lick it clean,’ he said.

  ‘Not likely.’ Instead, she raised the cone to her mouth, and whilst keeping her eyes locked with his, took a delicate lick. Jason was entranced.

  He pulled free, heat radiating from his body.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

  He shook his head, his eyes wide with pleasure.

  Brittany giggled. ‘Want a bite of the cone?’

  ‘Do you make all of your boyfriends feel this way?’

  ‘Just the sexy ones.’

  His pupils had dilated and his lips had loosened. He edged closer, waited for her to finish munching, and wrapped her in his arms.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter,’ he said, his voice husky.

  In a daze, they headed along the beach, searching for a quiet, secluded spot. Eventually, they climbed a few rocks, and dropped down the other side. It was the perfect site. There was a boulder to sit on and a tree obscuring the view from the beach.

  She sat down and encouraged Jason to sit beside her. As they kissed, her hands wandered across his torso, passing across his firm stomach and narrow hips. There was an unbridled urgency in her breathing and a yearning in her heart, and she wanted more. Her hand lingered at the top of his thigh, searching, craving.

  Jason pulled away. ‘We’d better stop while we can.’

  She looked to him, sorrowful, and rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s all happening a bit quick.’

  ‘Don’t you want to?’

  He looked to her with those big round eyes, and smiled. ‘I course I do. Almost too much. It’s just . . . I’m not sure of things right now.’

  Her lustful desires quashed. She straightened her back.

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t want to see you, I just can’t promise anything. It’s Ethan . . .’

  ‘I’d never get between the two of you.’

  ‘No, I know. It’s just that I can’t consider anyone else until he’s better. And I have to take into account his feelings. It’s not that long since his mum died.’

  Brittany’s abdomen tightened and her face creased. ‘It’s been a year.’

  ‘She was still his mum. My memories are his memories.’

  She leapt to her feet, and taking care not to slip, she stepped off the rocks and jumped onto the soft sand. There was a gentle rushing sound as the water extended towards her then eased back.

  ‘Brittany,’ Jason called. ‘I do like you. You should know that. I’m not saying I don’t want to see you, I just want to go a bit slower.’

  ‘So I’m going too fast?’

  ‘We have different priorities.’

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. There was sadness and compassion in his expression, and she felt forced to accept his explanation as genuine.

  ‘Please don’t take offence.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I understand why you’re in a hurry.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘And why’s that?’

  Jason turned away, sheepish.

  ‘Because I’m dieing?’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m in a hurry because I like you,’ she said, ‘more fool me.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Flattered? What an idiot I am!’

  She stormed along the beach, desperate to get away. Did he feel sorry for her? Did he feel anything? Tears stung her eyes. She had been so convinced they had a connection, a shared yearning, yet it had all been an act.

  ‘Why won’t you believe I want to spend time with you?’ Jason called.

  She stopped and spun around. ‘Because you said I was desperate.’

  ‘No . . . I never said that. That’s not what I meant at all. Don’t spoil this.’

  ‘Me, spoil it! I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

  Jason shook his head, exasperated.

  She pounded the sand, forcing herself forwards and craving privacy, but her feet slipped and her efforts weakened, and Jason remained by her side. Accepting she was never going to outrun him, she slowed down, edging to his rear. He nullified her attempts, matching her pace.

  ‘Why don’t you trust me when I say I like you?’ Jason asked.

  ‘Actions speak louder than words.’

  ‘Is this to do with your mother cutting you off?’

  ‘What’s it to do with her?’

  ‘You can’t trust her, so you can’t trust anyone.’

  Her face crumpled.

  ‘Just because Michelle did what she did, didn’t mean she didn’t care,’ he said. ‘We can all act in ways that don’t seem to mesh.’

  ‘Leave her out of this.’

  ‘She is sorry.’

  Brittany glared and held her breath. ‘You’ve spoken to her?’

  He scurried forward, his head low.

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘It wasn’t planned. We happened to bump into each other.’

  ‘Why do I not believe you?’


  Silence.

  ‘Did she suggest you went out with me as well?’

  ‘No,’ he said a little too quickly.

  Brittany glared. How dare her mother interfere in her life, after everything she had done, all the hurt caused, all the crying over the unknown? And to side with Jason.

  ‘Do you report to her after every date?’ she asked, unable to disguise her bitterness.

  ‘We’ve only spoken a couple of times. I’ve told her I feel uncomfortable speaking about you, and she respects that.’

  ‘Really? I know her better than that. She’s using you for her own ends.’

  ‘No,’ Jason said, ‘she’s not. And she’s in danger, all because-’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it. At least now I know where I stand.’

  Disappointment was etched into his face. ‘I thought you were a compassionate person.’

  Brittany gawked. How could he say such a thing? So, she was meant to take the flack, tolerate his deviousness, and then say she was fine with it. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  ‘You don’t even want to listen to what I have to say,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought we had an understanding.’ He reached for her hand.’ I like you Brittany. I don’t want to it end like this.’

  She shook it free. ‘Save it for someone who cares! I’m dying remember. I don’t have time to waste on people I can’t trust.’

  Chapter 17

  Michelle pressed a cushion against her aching abdomen, and stared at the carpeted floor. Grit and dirt gathered, but she did not care, and listened to the silence, the painful sounds of life on the outside, life alone. At least in prison there were other inmates, someone to communicate with, other human beings. Here, she had nothing.

  Perhaps it was for the best; she had no one else to consider. She could carry out her plan to help Brittany without judgement and the strained glances, and without the heavy frowns and the disparaging looks. It was a positive, and she urged the pureness of the prison cell to vanish from her head.

  It refused to budge. Over the years, she had spent much time pondering her future. She had had dreams and hopes, plans and expectations. What had she now? A daughter? Friends? Job prospects? A husband? The reality squeezed her of breath.

  Her next-door neighbour was hollering. She glanced to the paper-thin walls and listened to the pounding of feet on the staircase, and the slamming of doors and the screaming cries of a girl. She had been part of family life. Once. She heaved a heavy sigh and dropped her head onto the back of the sofa.

  It seemed like a world away, another life, and she struggled to believe it had really happened. Once upon a time, she had lounged on the sofa with a bottle of wine and chocolates, doing so until the early hours; she had sung and danced to her favourite tracks on the radio; she had entertained family and friends on a regular basis. She had been the social butterfly, the fun-loving queen of the night.

  She reached for her gin and tonic and took a soul-searching gulp. Her future was dark. There would be no magical reunion with her daughter and there would be no singing career. She was a failure and deserved nothing. Her eyes drifted.

  Across the room was a step-by-step guide to creating a homemade will. She hobbled across to the sideboard, her bunion still painful, and flicked through the pages. It looked complicated but she told herself she should make an effort. She may not have much, but what she had should go to someone, Brittany. The government had already taken enough.

  She reached in the drawer for a pen and stared at the empty boxes, but it was impossible to generate enthusiasm, and she thrust is aside, slumped onto the sofa, and reached to a newspaper. Unenthusiastically, she flicked through the pages absorbing only the pictures and headlines before pausing at the deaths in the classified sections. Most people were in their sixties and seventies, a few in their eighties and nineties, and one woman had died aged thirty-two. It seemed too young to die, but as she thought of her own quest, she wondered if the woman’s death had been as clear-cut as assumed. When she died, the young woman may have been doing something she loved; the potential risk may have been worth taking.

  Michelle’s plan to help Brittany was not risky. She had a clear view of her path, and unlike the plan she had had for Scott Cole, this time she would succeed. There was no room for failure.

  Her fears niggled. Doubting her own ability and needing a reminder of what drive her on, she reached to a box under the sideboard and poured the contents across the table. There were newspaper clippings, school certificates, and photos, lots of them; there were school essays and drawings; there were brownie badges and crafted items.

  Everything either related to Brittany, or was a gift from her. She breathed a heavy sigh and picked up the brooch. It was clunky and lurid, and the gold paint had flaked away. She held it close to her heart. Brittany had only been five, and with the assistance of her father had used her spending money to buy it from a car boot stall. Tears had welled in Michelle’s eyes as she had knelt down to accept the carefully wrapped gift, absorbing the pride and joy inscribed in her daughter’s face. It could have been yesterday.

  Back then her heart had engorged with love, but it did not last. Something must have happened to cause her maternal instincts to decrease; yet what it was remained a mystery. Brittany had been the perfect child, a fighter, a chatterbox, and a ray of light. It had not been her fault. It had been no one else’s fault.

  Michelle’s face creased. She removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and prayed that a necessary strength would see her through the coming days. Brittany must thrive. It was her only desire.

  Brittany rapped on the door, her anger and disappointment swelling, her body pulsating. It creaked open, and the instant recognition dawned, Michelle’s solemn expression spread into joy.

  ‘How dare you interfere in my life!’ Brittany yelled.

  Michelle gawked.

  ‘Who do you think you are telling Jason what to do? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? You selfish-’

  ‘Now hang on a minute. It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘So tell me . . . you were doing me a favour.’

  Michelle held an impassive gaze and stood motionless, one hand upon the door, one by her side.

  ‘I’m right aren’t I? Always been the Good Samaritan. Too weak and pathetic to do anything for yourself, so you get someone else to do your dirty work.’

  ‘I might not have been much of a mother for you, but I’ve always had your best interests at heart. Always.’

  ‘Like when you killed Scott? Or when you refused to speak to me from prison? Do you have any idea what it was like losing you?’ Tears welled and her chest heaved. ‘I needed my mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So that fixes everything?’

  Michelle looked to the floor.

  ‘What you mean is that it takes away some of your own guilt. It does nothing for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. You’ve no idea how much I hate seeing you like this.’

  ‘Like I’m going to believe that. You only ever think about yourself.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Michelle’s face scrunched. ‘Let me show you something. Then you’ll realise how much I care.’

  ‘And see more of your lies.’

  ‘I’ve never lied to you.’

  ‘But you’ve never told me the truth either.’

  ‘Please Brittany, let’s talk inside.’

  Brittany hesitated and then followed Michelle, who was limping and using the walls and doors for support, to the living room. Her eyes were drawn to the numerous photos and possessions, scattered across the table and sofa, and her heart skipped a beat.

  ‘If I didn’t care, why would I still have these?’ Michelle asked, pointing.

  Silence.

  ‘Remember this drawing,’ Michelle said, lifting a picture of a boat. ‘You always wanted to live at the sea.’

  Brittany clasped her hands and droppe
d to the armchair. Her mother was right. They used to dream about travelling the oceans, and stopping off at Africa to see the elephants and Madagascar to see the lemurs. They would visit New York and sail to Florida, and they would swim in the warm Caribbean seas. Her mother would sing on the cruise ships, and her father would be a waiter. It had all been planned, but then she got sick and they were lost forever.

  Her body tightened. ‘You always have to rub it in, don’t you?’

  ‘Rub what in?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault you had to give up your dreams. I didn’t plan to get sick.’

  ‘I’ve never blamed you.’

  ‘So why show me it Mum? Why?’

  Michelle sank to the sofa, holding it between her fingertips.

  ‘You could have shown me the one of the house, or our family.’ Brittany flicked through the memorabilia. ‘Or what about this cookery certificate, or this brownie badge? But no, it had to be the one thing that related to your broken dreams.’

  ‘Brittany, please.’

  ‘I get it now. It was payback. I ruined your life, so you had to ruin mine.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

  ‘Really? You can’t tell me that there wasn’t a time when you blamed me. You probably even spoke to Dad about it . . . had a good whinge about me.’

  ‘No.’ Michelle stood up. ‘We never did that. Not once. I gave up my singing career because I wanted to. All the rest was a pipedream. I don’t ever want you to think I blame you. I love you Brittany. I always have. I was trying to protect you.’

  Brittany bit her lip as tears stung her eyes. She fought to hold them back, unwilling to allow her mother to witness her searing pain. It was one-sided, an embarrassment. ‘I don’t want you in my life anymore. I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done.’ She stood up and stepped into the hallway. ‘And stay away from Jason.’

  ‘He’s good for you. I can see you’re right for each other.’