Time To Learn (Believe Book 3)

by Karen Ferry

  Ailith kicks at a small stone on the pavement, and I take her hand in mine before we cross the street.

  “But it’s so hot today.”

  Looking down at her bent head, I try to come up with something to take her mind off ice cream for now. It’s not easy, and she’s right—it is a warm day.

  “Let’s see if we can’t find a good book instead, Ailith. Gan-Gan did say we should treat ourselves to a little something, after all.”

  I squeeze her hand and offer her a wide smile when her sullen gaze meets mine.

  “Oh, okay,” she mumbles.

  I want to roll my eyes at her, but I don’t—that wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “Do you think Gan-Gan will be right this time, Mum?”

  “About what?” I ask her.

  “Do you think you’ll find a man?”

  Her question throws me completely, and I stop in my tracks. I squeeze her hand and wink at her.

  “Listen, sweetie, I’m not going to the shop to try to find a man, okay?” I laugh at the absurdity of the idea.

  She squints her eyes at me, and I bend down to kiss her on the nose.

  “I don’t want a man. I have you, and that’s enough for me.” I tuck a loose strand of her wild curls behind her ear and kiss her on the cheek.

  She shrugs.

  “I don’t know. I’d like to see you smile again, Mummy.” She heaves a big breath as she looks away, avoiding my eyes. “You never smile anymore.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest. “See?” I try to make my lips obey, but smiling without pretending isn’t easy for me. “I smile all the time.”

  She frowns at me before lifting her right hand, placing her index finger on the corner of my mouth.

  “Your eyes are always sad, though. I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

  My heart cracks when she starts to sniffle, and I pull her into my arms, hugging her fiercely.

  “Oh, sweetie…” I take a deep breath. “I’m not sad.” I try to mask the lie coating my words, and I think I succeed this time, because when she looks back at me, there aren’t any tears trickling down her cheeks.

  “You promise?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  I free my arms from around her small waist and lean back, blinking my own tears away.

  “I’m sorry for making you think that,” I apologise. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

  She sighs and nods, keeping quiet. Without another word, I stand, take her hand in mine again, and we start walking. As we draw nearer to the place that always makes me breathe a little easier, I mentally slap my cheek. I need to get a grip and stop wallowing in self-pity. The last thing I want is to have my eight-year-old daughter worry about me.

  That’s so messed up.

  Before we walk inside the bookshop, I tug her hand until she stops next to me. When she looks up at me, eyebrows raised in question, I tilt my head.

  “How about we go for a ride when we get home? I’m pretty sure Lady would like that.”

  When she beams up at me, a piece of my wounded heart mends a little. I take a deep breath, the foreign emotion unusual to me yet strangely familiar at the same time.

  “Yes! And will you ride Thunder this time?”

  My smile falters slightly. “I’m not sure he’s ready for that.”

  The grey gelding—our latest resident—isn’t exactly easy to be around and since he’s so difficult to handle, his anger and distrust in humans makes me particularly careful around him.

  Then again…maybe it’s time to start digging around inside me and find my old courage again.

  “He’s really not that bad, Mum,” Ailith tells me, no doubt trying to convince me she’s right as I open the door. “He just needs some TLC, that’s all.”

  I laugh quietly.

  “Like I said, we’ll see. But first, we need to find some great books that’ll keep us warm at night, okay?”

  “Mum,” Ailith giggles at me, “books can’t do that. It’s physically impossible.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, and I clutch a hand at my chest in mock horror.

  “Don’t say that, Ailith. You’ll hurt their hearts!”

  When her giggle turns into loud laughter, I can’t hold back my own relieved laugh, and as I watch the spring in her step as I hold the door open for her, a small beam of sunshine lights up in my soul.

  Yes. It’s time to move on for good.

  2

  Kristian

  What the fuck am I doing here?

  I walk slowly down the aisles at Waterstones behind my aunt, Lise, wondering how to come up with an excuse to head back to her house and sleep.

  The party last night at the tattoo shop wasn’t my best idea, but I can’t deny it was fun.

  If only the banging in my head and the churning in my gut would cease.

  Who knew Scottish lassies could party like that? As memories of the night rush through my mind, I try to suppress a groan. The two minxes I met last night really did a number on me.

  “Stop groaning, boy,” Lise scolds me as she scans the cookbooks.

  “I’m not,” I laugh, but then I cringe as the sound of my voice sets off another wave of nausea.

  “Oh, but yes, you are. It’s annoying, and rude, so please try to behave yourself.”

  I grimace and put a hand on the shelf to my left. I twist my body, trying to be careful as I rest my head back, my eyes squinting when the harsh light from the lamps in the ceiling hits them.

  “I don’t understand why you had to drag me out of bed at this godforsaken hour,” I mumble.

  Her outstretched hand falters as she turns her head, gaping at me.

  “‘Godforsaken hour’? Honey, it’s noon. It’s hardly the crack of dawn.”

  I run a hand through my longish hair and rub my eyes.

  “In my line of work, it is.”

  I know I sound like a petulant child, but I don’t care. All I care about is getting some sleep.

  “You’ve been partying way too hard since you arrived last month.”

  The disapproval in Lise’s voice annoys me, but only because I know she’s right.

  I hate that she’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop.

  Despite my best efforts to forget what—or, more to the point, who—drove me to Glasgow in the first place, my bloody heart hasn’t ceased hurting like hell. It doesn’t matter how much pussy I’ve buried my cock inside—all those women haven’t helped lessen my heartache. But I’m a man, so I’ll keep doing my best and try to forget the curly-haired, blue-eyed, tattooed reason that I’m in so much pain.

  “Maybe you should slow down a bit, Kristian.”

  The concern in Lise’s voice brings me back from my past, and I give her a crooked smile. Popping out the dimples works every time, and when her frown disappears, her lips twitching with amusement, it only confirms it. She’s not mad at me anymore. But how can she be? My smile is practically the same as hers and Mum’s—it’s uncanny how much the three of us look alike. She’s not that old she can’t remember that she probably used to work those dimples the same way like I do now.

  “Hey, I’m young,” I smirk at her. “I’m meant to sow my wild oats.”

  Snorting, she shakes her head, her blonde hair brushing her jaw.

  “You might be young, but that doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to be irresponsible,” she scolds me as she places the book back on the shelf. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful, please.”

  Hearing the finality in her voice, I nod slowly.

  “Yeah, I promise.”

  “Good.”

  She doesn’t really have to tell me that. We both know only too well how much one thoughtless act in the past can have the biggest impact on your life in the future.

  I clear my throat and straighten my back.

  “Listen, I’m going to take a look around, see if I can find a book with lots of murder and mayhem for myself. Text me when you’re ready to go?”

  Lise smiles at
me and nods.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I give her a chin lift and put my hands in my pockets. The air-conditioning in the shop soothes the clammy sweat on my back, and I’m glad I’m only wearing a loose T-shirt and khaki shorts today. I didn’t think the Scottish summer would be as hot as it’s turned out to be, but I can’t deny it’s a relief from the crappy weather I left in Denmark.

  I meander about in the shop, not really planning to find a book like I told Lise. I just wanted to get away from her probing eyes. It’s not like I don’t enjoy a good thriller, I do, but books are so far from my mind today. Once we’re back in her house, I plan on heading straight to bed again.

  My mobile vibrating in my pocket causes me to stop in the Children’s Books section, and I pull it out and look at the screen. The name shining back at me doesn’t ring a bell, and I don’t remember asking for any bird’s number lately.

  Kristy: Hey, sexy. Thanks for last night. Are you up for some more fun today?

  Frowning, I delete the text. I don’t even remember her face that clearly—but she had one fucking sexy mouth on her—but if she managed to find my phone and put her contact info in it after I crashed, I’m running as far away in the opposite direction as possible.

  I’m being an arsehole, but I don’t go back for seconds. Not anymore.

  As I put the phone back in my pocket, a child’s loud voice makes me look up.

  “Mum, please? I need this. Pleeeeease?”

  Standing not that far away from me is a young girl and a woman. I can’t help but smile when I see the little one—she can’t be more than eight or nine years old—standing with her legs firmly planted on the floor, her fisted hands on her waist. The girl’s face is turned up, tilted slightly to the side, and I smile when I notice the way she’s batting her blue eyes at her mother.

  Someone wants to get her way. Cheeky.

  “Ailith, you can’t have both, okay? You have to choose.”

  My attention is grabbed by the woman in front of the child, and despite my hangover, I grin when I see her stance mirroring her daughter’s, only her right hand is clutching a couple of books. While I can’t see her face because her back is to me, I can’t help but take in her long, wavy, dark-brown hair that falls to the middle of her back. She’s wearing a short denim jacket and a white skirt with blue flowers that flares out at her waist, stopping at her knees. She’s not very tall—I doubt her head would even come up to my shoulders—and the word delicate comes immediately to mind.

  “But Mum, I really need them. You can take the money from my allowance, okay?”

  “No, Ailith Margaret.” The frustration in the woman’s voice is clear, and since this is the most fun I’ve had in a couple of weeks, I don’t want to risk missing the outcome of their tiff. I walk slowly towards the couple, trying to be subtle about the fact that I’m eavesdropping, and I pull down a random book from the shelf to my right. I open it and look down, trying to appear as if I’m reading, but when my eyes land on the woman’s right calf and notice a long, reddish nasty-looking scar, I frown, puzzled.

  “Why not?” The child’s petulant voice catches my attention again, and I wonder if I should do the polite thing and leave the couple alone.

  “Because we can’t afford it!” the woman shouts, and I freeze up.

  Ouch.

  “But, Mum…”

  I turn my head just as the woman bends down in front of her daughter. She puts the books on the floor before cradling the child’s face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry I shouted at you, sweetie.” Her voice cracks on the endearment, and I know I should definitely turn around instead of still lurking like I am, but I can’t. I need to hear the rest.

  I take another step closer, wanting to see the face of the woman. When I see her upturned profile, I have to suppress a gasp at the long scar that starts at her eyebrow, all down her cheek only to end at the tip of her lips.

  “But you know how it is, yeah?” I narrow my eyes as the woman’s lips quiver. “So please…please just stop.”

  I can’t stay where I am, and as I clear my throat, I take a step closer to the couple.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” I ask, trying to form a friendly smile.

  The woman’s head jerks as she turns her face and looks up at me. She blinks, and I do my best to ignore her damp eyes.

  Taking my wallet from my back pocket, I jerk my chin at the books on the floor. “What books do you want?” I ask the girl.

  “Look…” the mother starts, only she’s interrupted by her daughter.

  “Black Beauty, Harry Potter & The Philosopher’s Stone, and The Wind in The Willows.” She picks up the books and walks towards me. I raise my eyes and crouch down next to her.

  “Oh, wow,” I murmur. “Great choices.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too, but Mummy will only let me have two of them,” she sighs. I look at her mother whose mouth is turned down in an unhappy frown, and I wink at her.

  “Well, you should always listen to your mummy.” I turn my eyes to the girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Ailith.” She holds the books close to her chest as she gives me a tentative smile.

  I purse my lips. “A beautiful name.” Hesitating, I look back at her mother, frowning when I notice that she’s standing up now, her feet planted firmly on the floor. My eyes flicker down to her fists, clenched tightly by her side. I wonder what that’s all about.

  My mind screams at me to let the couple be. To just go away and forget about them. To find Lise and go home.

  But, for some odd reason, I’m rooted to the spot, my headache and churning stomach forgotten.

  I take a deep breath and look closely at Ailith as I open my wallet.

  “Listen, young lady, if you promise me to get your mum an ice cream, I’ll buy one of the books for you.”

  “What?” the woman gasps, but I ignore her as I hand a ten pound note to Ailith. Her mouth pops open and as she nods, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen spreads across her lips. Chuckling, I give her the money. “We have a deal, I believe. Enjoy your books, Ailith.”

  Wanting to get away, I stand up and nod briskly at the woman.

  “Have a good day,” I mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed, and leave them alone.

  “Wait!”

  I ignore the woman’s soft cry following me, and continue to walk faster as I head to the main entrance. As I text Lise to tell her I’m going home, the woman’s tearful eyes haunt me. I shouldn’t have meddled. I should’ve ignored them.

  Why the fuck didn’t I just leave them alone?

  The sun hits my eyes when I leave the bookshop, and I pull out my sunglasses from my back pocket. Shit, I feel like how I imagine a vampire would if they were real—achy, sick, and in a crappy mood due to lack of sleep.

  She’s trouble. The words pop into my head, surprising me, but then I scoff. I’ll never see that woman, or her daughter, again. No reason to think I will.

  Shortly after, I open the small gate in front of Lise’s house and walk down the couple of steps to the basement that I’m borrowing from her while I’m here. As I unlock my door and open it, I force the morning’s events out of my head.

  But as I lay down on my bed and yawn, I can’t help but hope that Ailith will like her books. And that she did like I told her to do—took her mum out to get an ice cream. The woman looked as if she could do with a bit of sweet to brighten her day.

  3

  Laura

  What the heck just happened?

  We’re back in my Beetle—it only took me three attempts to start it this time—heading home to the farm, and Ailith is chattering a mile a minute about her new books. I don’t really pay attention to her. I’m more worried about whether I was wrong to accept the strange young man’s money, but he didn’t exactly give me a chance to decline. He’d left the bookshop faster than I could say, Bob’s your uncle.

  I regret that I didn’t manage to thank him properly, tho
ugh. It was a very kind gesture he made, and it put a smile on my girl’s face.

  “Mummy, do you think we’ll see him again?”

  Ailith’s question breaks me away from my thoughts.

  “Who?” I glance at her.

  “That man from the shop?” She smiles secretively at me, making me suspicious.

  I shrug and turn my head back to the road in front of me.

  “I doubt it.”

  “He was really nice,” she says, her voice soft. “But he spoke funny.”

  I laugh at her.

  “I don’t think he was Scottish, but I liked his accent,” I explain.

  “Yeah, so did I. I hope we’ll meet him again. Maybe we can go to Glasgow again next week?”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  “I doubt we’ll find him. Glasgow is such a big city, after all.”

  I reach out my hand to her, squeezing it gently when she takes it at once.

  “Thank you for the ice cream,” I smile at her.

  She beams at me. “You’re welcome, Mummy.” She looks back at the road when I do, the bag with her books inside placed neatly on her lap. “Mummy?” she asks me when I release her hand.

  “Mmm?” I put the indicator on and look over my shoulder to check for any cars before I turn down the long, gravelled road that’ll take us to the farm.

  “He looked nice, didn’t he?”

  Her question throws me, and a strange mix of gratefulness mingled with trepidation, when I picture the man from the shop, fills my insides. His eyes were bloodshot, and the stubble on his face looked days old. But his clothes were clean, nice, and I wouldn’t have been a living, breathing woman if the small flip in my tummy didn’t alert me to the pure appreciation of his muscled biceps flexing against his soft-looking T-shirt. The ink on his arms was quite impressive—especially the wolf’s head on his left hand—and his light brown hair that just teased his shoulders looked soft to the touch.

  “Mummy?”

  I jerk when I realise it’s taking me a lot longer to answer than it should.