by Nancy Adams
Copyright
Rediscovering Love
Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Adams.
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Published by: Nancy Adams
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CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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CHAPTER ONE
Claire shuddered as the taxi pulled up outside her apartment. When she got out, she felt as bleak as the clouds that blocked out the sun on that dreary Brooklyn day. Having paid the fare through the window, she turned around, faced the apartment block and stood gazing up at it as the cab drove away behind her. With her eyes fixed to the building’s facade, her mind was gradually cast back to three-and-a-half months ago when she and Paul had first moved in.
Her feelings that day contrasted so strongly with what she felt now.
Then she had felt such optimism, such open joy, feeling herself enter the next chapter of a life built on plans. Now all she felt at the sight of the apartment block was trepidation. Back then, she had allowed herself to believe fully that she was destined to be with Paul for the rest of her life. They had held hands as they’d entered the apartment for the first time as tenants, and when they’d walked into the empty lounge, they’d embraced in its center, smiling and gazing into one another’s eyes, blissfully unaware that they were but three months from total doom. Then, her thoughts of Sam were dreadful pangs that struck her heart, threatening to sully her life with Paul. She had fought so long and so hard against those apparently deceitful machinations of her heart. She had sworn to herself that those feelings were folly and that Paul represented good sense against the reckless dream of Sam.
But how quickly all of that faded and crumbled when she was met with his eyes across that room. How quickly all her feelings for Paul melted away when Sam became reality rather than a mere dream. And how sure she was now that she had to tell Paul that it was likely that they would never see each other again.
And that hurt, too. It hurt that she was losing her best friend, her confidante. As much as her heart swore allegiance to Sam, Paul still had a place. He still meant something to her. She wasn’t so cold as to dismiss him all together. It hurt her a lot that she would never get to experience his kindness again, hear his lame jokes, watch a film on the sofa with him, talk about medicine for hours. There was so much that she felt she was losing by walking away from Paul. But her feelings for Sam—so strong and all-consuming—told her that she could never be happy with Paul while there was the shadow of Sam hanging over her.
Claire let out a sigh, took in a deep breath and stepped up the stone steps that led to the front door. Using her key, she entered the building and before long was leaving the elevator and stepping out onto her floor. When she gazed toward the end of the corridor, she sensed that it was smaller and more cramped than she remembered. Feeling slightly weak, her legs bowing underneath her, she made her way to the door of her apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. On getting there, she struggled to get her key into the lock her wrist was shaking so much, her whole body fixed in nervous despair. Eventually, she managed the task and opened the door.
When it swung open and she beheld the inside of her apartment, Claire gasped.
Everywhere she spotted mess or damage. Several pieces of furniture, some of it gifts from her mother, were lying around in pieces. It also looked like someone had emptied the trash all over the floor, and there were several stains on the walls where things had been thrown at it. Claire attempted to turn the lights on, but the only one that was still working was in the lounge, its shade busted and hanging from the bulb, the rest of the lights having all been smashed. The place appeared to be deserted and when she called Paul’s name out, she got no reply. So, frowning, she made her way into the bedroom.
The night before, she’d called Paul and arranged to meet up. He should have been there waiting for her and she hoped that he hadn’t childishly left the house to leave her stood up.
When she entered the bedroom, however, she found what she was looking for.
There on the bed, curled up in the fetal position and fully clothed, was Paul, his back to the door. He was fast asleep and Claire could make out his heavy snoring the moment she came inside the room. The curtains were partially open and a gloomy light shone on his unconscious body. There were no covers on him and the bedroom resembled the rest of the house in that it had sustained heavy damage. For a moment, Claire stood by the doorway watching him, feeling awful, the sight of him almost reducing her to tears.
“Paul,” she gently called out to him.
After several subsequent attempts to rouse him, he slowly turned over and opened his eyes. He remained on his side gazing at Claire for a moment, a look on his face as though he were unsure that it was actually her.
“You do remember we were supposed to meet today, don’t you?” she said to him once she had his attention.
At the sudden sound of her voice, he jumped back slightly and his eyes became wider, as if he hadn’t expected her to talk at all, but merely fade from his view.
“What time is it?” he asked in a groggy voice.
“It’s three, like we said.”
“Really!? Wow!”
“What happened to the place? It looks like it’s been burgled.”
“No. I smashed it up,” he replied without hesitation. “I guess I was angry.”
At this last remark, he curled his lip into a sinister smile that Clai
re had never seen on his face before.
Ignoring it, she said, “You wanna come into the lounge?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Claire left the doorway and made her way to the lounge where she cleared herself a place to sit on the messy couch. While she sat there waiting for him, she looked around the room and felt like crying. Only two weeks ago she had sat in that same room and felt at home. Now it was hardly recognizable, and for all the warmth she’d felt back then, she felt nothing but a bitter cold now.
Soon Paul was stepping unsteadily into the room and clearing a place of his own at the other end of the sofa.
“So this is it then?” Paul said once he was sat.
“I thought we could talk first.”
“Ha! Really!? What about? How easy you found it to sweep five years away?”
“Please, Paul, don’t make this more difficult than it is.”
He almost jumped out of his seat with fury at this last comment, his face screwing up into an angered frown.
“Difficult!? You want this to be easy!? Well, fuck you, Claire Prior. You don’t get to choose how easy this is. You think it’s easy for me?”
“I’m sorry that’s not how I meant it, I just didn’t want this to be overly dramatic. I wanted to speak to you first. I mean”—she signaled the room with a nod of her head—“look at the place. I can’t just leave you like this. Living like this.”
“Oh! Wrecking the place was quite cathartic. I got a lot of negative energy out of me. It was better than going outside and hurting someone.”
“Hurting someone!? Listen to yourself, Paul. This isn’t you. You’re a really nice guy—”
“Nice guys get shit,” he interrupted. “Look at your father. He’s an asshole—I mean the worst type of asshole—and yet he has a prominent business, beautiful loving family. Then look at me. Mr. Nice and I get a girl who I dote on. Yet all that time she constantly spends looking over her shoulder at someone else. And look at that someone else—he cheats on his wife while she lies on her deathbed with a nineteen-year-old student who he gets pregnant. And guess what: he gets the girl!”
“It’s not as simple as you think.”
“I don’t know, I think it is.”
“What about the hospital?” Claire asked in an attempt to change the subject. “I had Annabel call someone up at St. Pancras and they said you’d been suspended for walking out five days ago during your shift.”
“Yeah,” Paul exclaimed, giving her a mocking frown. “I guess that’s another thing that I’m about to lose.”
“But why? You’re going to make a great doctor. You have your whole career ahead of you. Why throw it away just because we’re over? You’ll meet someone else.”
“Yeah, but she won’t be you,” he said sadly, his eyes shining with tears.
They both sat in silence for a moment, the tension so thick it almost choked Claire.
“I have to be truthful,” she said out loud, almost to herself. Then, turning sharply to Paul and looking him square in the eyes, she added, “And the truth is that I have always had strong feelings for Sam. I tried to bury those feelings, but I found it impossible. I have to admit it to myself and to you. I’m so sorry, Paul, that it’s come to this. If I had any power over how I feel, I wouldn’t have wished any of this on you. Please believe me when I tell you that I do have feelings for you. It’s just that they’re not strong enough. I’m sorry that this has all come so suddenly for you. You have to understand that I never set out to deceive you in any way.”
Every word that flew out of her mouth felt like the blade of a razor being run over his heart. Everything disappeared around him and all he sensed was her voice, his eyes fixed upon her lips as she spoke. With each subsequent cut to his heart, another drop of vicious fury was tipped into him and he instinctively began screwing up his fists, pressing the nails of his fingers into his palms to relieve the tension building inside of him.
“Get out,” he suddenly said with a scowl.
“What?” she let out, stopping her speech.
“Get the fuck out,” he repeated wrathfully.
“Paul, I wanted to talk—”
“And so did I the other night when you ran off. Just get the fuck out. Please, Claire. I don’t know if I can hold this in.”
For the first time since she’d known him, Claire was genuinely scared of Paul. His face had curled up into the most horrendous scowl. His eyes sparkled angrily in the dim light and were set on her, scoring into her with a furious death stare.
She got up from the couch and left, almost running down the corridor toward the elevator. Waiting for the lift to arrive, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, as though she expected to see him marching toward her, that murderous look in his eyes. She was thankful that he wasn’t and when the elevator doors opened, she flung herself inside.
As it went down through the floors, Claire felt so wretchedly awful that she burst into tears, a thousand awful recriminations flooding her heart as she began chastising herself.
Look what you’ve done to him, she said to herself. Remember the happy-go-lucky guy you met all those years ago? Well, now look at him—he’s a wreck and you made him that way. You chewed him up and spat him out. You used him. You used him and then threw him in the trash like a piece of shit-smeared toilet paper. He looked so angry in there. Like he was going to kill me. He was seconds away from jumping across that couch and taking me by the throat and throttling me. I did that to him. I stripped him of his humanity. He’d put all his love, all his heart into me. He has nothing else. I’ve destroyed him.
The elevator doors opened onto the first floor and Claire burst out of them with her hand over her mouth, almost running to the front door. The moment she reached it, she thrust her arm out and pushed it open, emerging out onto the street in a panic, hurriedly skipping down the stone steps. When she was on the sidewalk, she stood for a moment, collecting her senses, her breathing heavy and her heart heavier.
Once she’d pulled herself together, she hailed a cab and got out of there, throwing her head into her hands the moment the taxi pulled away.
CHAPTER TWO
Jules was with Jose, painting the exterior of a large suburban home. As he worked away, his mobile telephone went off in his pocket. He placed his brush down and pulled it out to see. Squinting his eyes, he saw that it was David’s school. This filled him with immediate trepidation and he hoped that the boy was okay.
“Hello?” he said as he answered it.
“Mr. Lee?” came a female’s voice.
“Yes, this is he.”
“Mr. Lee, this is David’s teacher Mrs. Appleby.”
“He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Yes. David’s perfectly fine.”
“Oh! Thank God.”
“No. It’s not that, Mr. Lee. It’s the fact that your wife, Mrs. Lee, hasn’t come to pick up David yet. He’s sitting here with me now. I was hoping that everything is okay. I tried calling Mrs. Lee several times, but there’s no answer. Is there any family emergency I’m unaware of?”
“Not that I know of. She was supposed to pick him up.”
“Are you available to come by the kindergarten and pick him up yourself?”
“Of course. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay, Mr. Lee.”
Jules put the phone down and looked over at Jose, who had his headphones in listening to music.
“Kid,” Jules called out to him.
Jose turned to him and paused his stereo.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“I gotta go pick up David from his school.”
“How come?”
“Juliette didn’t come and get him.”
“She okay?”
“I’m gonna try to find out. Is it cool if you hang back here for a few hours and I’ll swing by once I figured this all out?”
“Sure. We were gonna stay another three hours anyway.”
“Thanks, kid.”
When he reached the school, Jules went to the reception and found Mrs. Appleby waiting there with a sad-looking David.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Jules said to the teacher as he came up to them.
“It’s okay, Mr. Lee. Is Mrs. Lee okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Papa, where’s Momma?” the boy said in a worried tone.
“I don’t know, Davey. But we’ll go see now.”
Jules turned back to the teacher and hurriedly thanked her, before he and David left in similar fashion.
As they walked to the pickup, David tugged at Jules’s arm and stopped him. Looking down at the boy, he felt his heart twinge when he saw David’s troubled little face.
“Pa, is Momma okay?”
“I really don’t know, Davey. But we’re gonna go home and find out.”
Having said this, he smiled down at David as reassuringly as he could, but the boy’s expression didn’t change.
“Come on, we’ll go see,” Jules added, and the two of them climbed into the pickup.
When they reached the trailer park, Jules immediately jumped out and opened up the door of the trailer, David wandering out of the truck behind him. The moment Jules was inside, he repeatedly called out Juliette’s name as he went from room to room, each one offering him nothing but the disappointment of an empty space. Once he’d checked all of the rooms, he called Juliette’s mobile. As he listened to the dial tone, he heard her phone ring in the lounge and his suspicions were confirmed: Juliette had left her phone at home. He left the trailer and went next door to Gwen’s.