In Like Flynn

by Donna Alam

  ‘I reckon that was good enough for twins.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I turn my head to look at him rather than his reflection, his own eyes falling over my body as greedy as his hands earlier.

  ‘I think I fucked you so solidly, you’ll be good for twins. Twins at least.’

  I tilt my head to the side as I push up onto my toes to pat his cheek. ‘Aw. Did you little Flynnie miss the reproductive talk at school?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. I was probably a little too busy to make that class on account of fucking some chick behind the gym.’

  ‘Do you miss Australia?’ I find myself suddenly asking.

  ‘Sometimes. Family mostly, but I love living in London. Besides, I won’t be making plans to relocate until you’ve had our twins. You know, so I can steal them away back in the dead of night and move them to Sydney.’

  ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ I say as he takes my hand, and we turn to the stairs.

  ‘Nah. What would be the fun in that?’

  Paisley’s brows lift as Flynn and I enter the room together. She sends me a look that speaks volumes and causes my cheeks to heat instantly. We make our way to the makeshift bar because, twins or not—and it’s most likely to be not—this woman needs a drink. I’ve no idea how long we were gone, and I’m beginning to wonder who was outside the door, and who else, if anyone, heard. So I’ll just finish my G and T before facing anyone.

  ‘Some one ring an ambulance!’ Hillary comes rushing into the room, his red hair sticking up all over and red lipstick smeared over his face. My first instinct is that this must be some kind of prank. If someone has hired me a paramedic striper-gram to give me mouth to mouth, I’m going to junk punch someone. ‘Oh, thank goodness. Chas, come quick. Your Aunty Cam has taken ill.’

  I follow Hills out of the room, my heart beating against my ribcage. Cam can’t be ill. She still goes to the gym twice a week and does Callanetics, for goodness’ sake. Out through the kitchen, Hills steps out onto the patio and I immediately know what she was doing out here. Smoking. She used to have a twenty-a-day habit but swore last year she’d kicked that habit well and truly in the butt, pun intended.

  ‘Camilla! Camilla! Come on, lovely!’ Stephen—Avery’s—sequinned frock is all I can see. Then I see her legs between his, her body slumped in the chair.

  ‘Aunt Cam!’ I place my hand on her grey cheek and lightly tap. ‘Come on, darling. Open your eyes.’

  Please don’t die. Please don’t die.

  I feel like a fist is squeezing my heart as horror, sickness, and fear wash through me, making my head pound and my vision blurry.

  ‘We’re were just kissing—p’ My head snaps up. ‘No! Not me and her—me and Avery, when she sort of staggered into the chair, complaining of pains in her arms. The next thing, she slumped in her seat.’ Hills words are frantic, his hands clutching his arms as though cold

  ‘Stop shouting,’ Camilla murmurs, though doesn’t open her eyes. ‘I’m not dead yet.’

  ‘Thank Christ!’ I let out a breath. ‘You gave us all a fright.’

  ‘Gave you a fright? Darling, she says, her lashes fluttering heavily. ‘I think I’ve wet myself.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The upholstery will wash.’ I rub her arms, tentative relief showing in the form of the tears balancing on the rims of my eyes.

  ‘Bugger the upholstery,’ she says, suddenly clutching her chest. ‘This suit is Chanel!’

  ‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Flynn says, his hand a comforting weight on my back.

  ‘But she’s awake.’ Even as I say the words, I’m not exactly sure of their significance. know she’s not out of the woods yet. The pallor of her skin and the heat on her forehead is terrifying.

  Flynn steps around me, taking Camilla’s wrist between his fingertips. ‘She should have some aspirin,’ he asserts.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Cary,’ she says, speaking through laboured breath. ‘But I’d rather have a glass of brandy.’

  ‘I’ll get the aspirin,’ Paisley says, dashing off in the direction of the kitchen. In the commotion, I hadn’t even realised she was here.

  ‘We’ll save you a glass for after the paramedics have checked you over,’ Flynn asserts.

  ‘Her breathing.’ I turn my head towards Flynn, not letting go of her hand, and lower my voice to a whisper. ‘It sounds awful.’

  ‘Don’t speak about me as though I can’t hear, dear. If it sounds awful, you should try experiencing it.’ With a pained wince, she tightens her grip on her chest.

  This is so awful. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Help will be here soon.’ Flynn wraps his arm around my back, his solid presence a reassurance I’ll be eternally grateful for.

  ‘Here, aspirin.’ Paisley thrusts it into the hand of Flynn, the obvious authority amongst our motley crew. The pornographer, the makeup assistant, the drag queen. Moments later, Keir arrives outside with a blanket in his hand as Flynn instructs that Camilla should chew, not swallow, as she send him a withering look.

  ‘The last time I tasted something so awful,’ she mumbles, her expression one of person trying to swallow chalk, ‘was when you were twelve, and you persuaded me to buy you lunch in that awful Scottish hamburger chain.’

  ‘Stop talking now,’ Flynn says kindly.

  ‘I do like a commanding man.’ Though she’s full of complaints and pluck, I suddenly realise it’s an act for my benefit.

  I being to cry, great silent tears falling down my cheeks, my chest feeling like it hasn’t the space to accommodate the thunder of my heart.

  Paramedics arrive, and Camilla is assessed, blood pressure and heart rhythm, before being hooked up to preventative medication and oxygen and God only knows what, before being loaded into an ambulance.

  ‘I’ll follow you,’ Flynn says, as I become part of the entourage on the way out of the door.

  ‘No, you’ve been drinking,’ I reply.

  ‘Barely,’ he protests.

  ‘I don’t want to worry about you having an accident tonight, please.’

  ‘I’ll follow,’ says Paisley.

  ‘Flynn and I will sort it out here,’ adds Keir. ‘Don’t worry about anything.’

  Truthfully, the house could burn down for all I care. So long as I get to keep Camilla for a few more years, I bargain with God.

  Flynn kisses me once, fiercely, turning me in the direction of the open door. ‘I’ll be here when you get back. Go.’

  So I follow the complaints of ‘It had better be the Chelsea and Westminster hospital we’re going to,’ out the door.

  Chapter 28

  CHASTITY

  ‘GERD?’ I stare at the youth dressed in green scrubs, not fully convinced he’s a qualified doctor despite what his name tag reads. Dr. Child, of all things. It almost makes me want to look to see if he has baby teeth.

  ‘Yes, gastroesophageal reflux disease. The symptoms can mimic a heart attack, as seen with your grandmother.’

  ‘Aunt,’ I correct, feeling the tension draining from my body, the news, despite the words “disease” going off like a bomb of relief and confetti. Until I’m hit by another concern. ‘But her blood pressure was ridiculous.’ My gaze flicks to Paisley as though inviting her to back me up.

  ‘Yes, one eighty-five over one-ten, I think,’ Paisley supplies, her hand tightening on mine reassuringly. ‘She was crying and so uncomfortable, the poor dear, and complaining of pains in her chest and her head by the time I got here.’

  ‘Yes, how can a gastro . . . whatever kind of disease cause headaches?’ What if there’s been a misdiagnosis?

  Dr Kindergarten’s expression turns censorious, his finger sliding across the electronic tablet he holds in his hand. Okay, so we’re painting ourselves as overwrought females in this scene.

  ‘I see she was given trinitroglycerin,’ he says, ‘as a preventative. It can cause severe headaches—a common side effect of the drug. But I can assure you we’re quite certain Ms. Wolf is not having a hea
rt attack.’ He goes on to discuss further investigations and possible treatments, telling me she’ll be kept in overnight. Then, with a curt nod, he swings on the toe of his squeaky running shoes—running shoes?—and leaves.

  ‘Oh, God.’ I grip Paisley’s hand tighter. ‘That’s . . . that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.

  I get a few minutes with Cam before she’s moved onto a ward. I hope for the sake of the nursing staff that it’s a private room on a side ward and nowhere near geriatrics.

  With a quick goodbye and a promise to return in the morning, Paisley and I find ourselves in an almost silent hall, the smell of disinfectant and old building stretching the length of the long corridor.

  ‘I’ll take you home.’ She reaches into her bag pulling out both her car keys and phone, flipping the latter open to check for messages.

  ‘No. It’s late and you’ve done enough. I’ll get a cab.’

  ‘No way.’ She looks up from the screen, her expression firm. ‘I mean it. There’s no way you’re getting a cab after tonight.’ Her kindness forces the tears I’ve been holding back to stream down my cheeks. ‘Oh, honey,’ she says, wrapping her arms around me. ‘Don’t cry. It’s your birthday.’

  She’s right; midnight has come and gone long ago. I am officially thirty years old and I feel at least ninety years older than that.

  ‘I can’t lose her.’ My voice is watery and sort of warbling. ‘What will I do without her when she’s gone?’

  ‘That’s a worry for another day. Camilla has acid reflux, she’s not dying anytime soon.’ I sort of snort through my tears. ‘She’ll be so mortified tomorrow and probably insist on a second opinion from Harley Street. Or need to convalesce in Barbados.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. Do you think she needs a companion?’ Paisley jokes. ‘I might be available.’

  Pulling my shoulders back, I use the tips of my fingers to wipe the tears from my face. ‘God, what must I look like?’ I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the darkened window, my soft curls have begun to frizz and I’m currently sporting panda eyes again.

  ‘We look fabulous.’ She makes the sort of clicking motion with her fingers that would stand her in good stead on a drag show stage.

  ‘Speak for yourself. I look like a five-dollar whore.’

  ‘I’d pay you at least double that,’ a familiar voice says.

  My heart then beats with a mixture of pleasure and surprise as Flynn takes me into his arms.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to take you home. No need to look so worried. I haven’t brought my bike.’

  ‘Donor cycle,’ Paisley mutters. ‘You’ll end up in here one day, if you’re not careful.’

  ‘I reckon,’ he replies., ‘but hopefully it’ll be on the maternity ward.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asks, letting the question hang in the air as her gaze flicks between us.

  In a flash of panic, I open my mouth, overly effusive words just tumbling out. ‘You say some of the most ridiculous things, Flynn. Random, ridiculous things!’

  A look of something resembling hurt flits across his expression, but before I’ve had time to process or examine this, Keir arrives.

  ‘Is this some kind of a meeting?’ he asks. So we all make our way to the elevators.

  Keir and Paisley head to the carpark while Flynn and I call a cab. By some unspoken agreement that I’m grateful for, it’s seems Flynn is coming home with me.

  It’s almost three in the morning when the cab pulls into my street, the tire sounds as they rumble along the road a strange sort of comfort. Flynn pays the cabbie as I shuffle along the garden path and before I can reach the door, he’s taken the keys out of my hand.

  Once inside, he silently wraps me in his arms. My cheek pressed into the hardness of his chest.

  ‘Come on.’ His words are both a rumble through his chest and a burst of warm air on my neck. ‘Let’s get you upstairs.

  I let him lead me, grateful that he seems to understand that I don’t have the brain capacity for speaking. He makes a beeline for my bathroom, flicking on the shower before coming to the doorway, curling his fingers in a sort of come hither motion.

  ‘It’s almost three thirty and I have to be up in the morning.’ My protest is as half-hearted as I feel. Perched on the edge of my mattress, I peel off the torture devices some women would call shoes. Flynn seems unmoved, smiling indulgently at me, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. ‘I really am too tired,’ I repeat.

  ‘Come on, babe. Let me wash your day off,’ he says, still holding out his hand. ‘I promise I’ll behave.’

  ‘I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word,’ I mumble even as I shuffle across the room.

  ‘She’s gonna be okay,’ he promises, his mouth pressing a small kiss to my hairline. Until I tilt my chin, offering him my mouth instead. It’s a tender kiss, yet one that still leaves us breathless. Wordless. Both of which I’m thankful for.

  I shiver as he pulls on the zip of my dress, the heat of his body so compelling behind. But I don’t turn. As he pushes the lace from my shoulders, I’m conscious of the tiny catch in his breath as he loosens my bra.

  ‘Nice undies,’ he says softly. Noi-ce.

  ‘I can’t believe I went to the hospital bare arsed.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Kinda, anyway.’

  I chuckle at his candour as I press my hand against the wall to step from the pool of my clothes. It’s refreshing to know I’ll get nothing but honesty from Flynn.

  ‘I wore really pretty lingerie tonight.’

  ‘And I went and spoiled it all by being a caveman.’ His knuckles ghost the swell of my bottom. Despite the warmth of the room, I shiver.

  ‘I quite like that side of you,’ I admit, wanting to match his honesty. ‘And I can always wear them another time.’

  ‘I reckon it’s true what they say. If a woman wears matching undies, you’re getting lucky because she planned it so.’

  ‘So my underwear forced your hand, or sent you telepathic messages?’

  ‘This issue is, I just can’t keep my hands off you.’

  My heart does a little leap—the way he looks at me and the things he says? Flynn’s brand of adoration is certainly heady.

  The steam swirls around us as I turn to face him and watch as he strips from his own clothing without fanfare or words, providing me with the opportunity to just appreciate the sight of him. The pop of muscles at his biceps, and the coarse hair on his chest. The strong lines of this thighs, and the ridiculous V that leads to places I won’t be visiting tonight.

  Flynn steps into the shower pulling me in behind him, allowing the heat of the water to bite at my skin in the most delicious of ways. My muscles unlock and relax in the heat and steam, the last vestiges of tension disappearing as Flynn smooths a scented soapy sponge over my skin.

  ‘Head back,’ he murmurs, his finger under my chin. I was right to allow him to coax me into the shower, I think, as his long fingers massage shampoo into my hair. Eyes closed, I just allow myself to revel in his care.

  Then later, I dissolve in a different kind of pleasure as I slip naked and clean between my sheets.

  Flynn is solid presence behind me and though it’s dark and it’s mostly quiet, the early birds have already begun to chirp.

  ‘Don’t forget to set your alarm.’

  ‘I can’t find my phone.’ His deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the room, his fingers trailing light circles across my arm.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll turn up.’

  He makes a noise of inconsequence, pressing his lips to my head. ‘Whatever you need tomorrow, I’m there. At your disposal.’

  ‘You’ve done enough today.’ I sigh heavily remembering the chaos that awaits me in the morning, or rather later today.

  ‘I’m a pretty decent PA,’ he says. ‘Just ask Keir. I’ve taken the day off. Best case scenario, you might have need of a handsome tea boy.’

  ‘
But where would I find one at this hour?’ His chest rumbles against mine. ‘I was so scared,’ I whisper in the dark.

  ‘I know, babe. But she’s gonna be all right.’

  ‘But she won’t be here forever and that scares me so much. The number of people I love isn’t large, but the people who love me is smaller still.’

  ‘Shush.’ He can’t fail to have heard the watery quality of my words as he pulls me closer, his arms holding me tight, his hand splayed on my belly as though to remind me of his promises. ‘You are loved,’ he whispers fiercely.

  Tears dampen my pillow as I place my hand over his arm.

  ‘Flynn Phillips, I love you, too.’

  Chapter 29

  FLYNN

  I am having the best fucking day.

  She loves me. Last night, in the darkened room she’d whispered the words, then turned in my arms to press her sincerity against my lips.

  The woman I love? She loves me, too.

  I woke stupidly early feeling about as happy as a dog with two dicks. Just that happy. Flat on my back, Chastity lay splayed across my chest, her thigh over mine and her foot pushed between my legs. I wasn’t exactly comfortable, physically at least, though it improved once I’d pushed her mad hair out of my face. I think part of the problem is my morning stubble attracts those golden curls like Velcro.

  ‘I must look a sight,’ she’d mumbled, stifling a yawn.

  ‘You look like a ninety-year old penis, babe.’

  It might not have been the most sensible response, as far as responses go, but at least it had gotten her attention. She’d pushed up onto her palm, almost crushing my diaphragm in the process.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I set off laughing and it took me more than a few minutes to compose myself.

  ‘You’re not much of a morning person, are you, babe?’ I ran my hand down her bare back trying to keep my eyes on hers. A hard task, I can tell you, with those cherry ripe nipples in my face.

  ‘If you don’t stop dicking around and answer my question,’ she’d said, her warm chocolate eyes shooting me daggers. ‘You won’t be a morning person either.’ As quick as a flash, her hand shot out to grab my dick. ‘I’ll make it so this won’t work and wear your balls as earrings.’