Jennifer thought of Will giving tattoos to female customers and felt a small pang of jealousy. ‘Work away.’
Her heart began to flutter as she pulled off the t-shirt, revealing her white lacy bra underneath. In the flickering light of the television Will’s face was one of concentration.
‘Um, where do you want me to start?’ Will said, the warmth of his hand sending tingles through her skin as he touched her side.
‘Here,’ Jennifer pointed above her bra strap, until she realised she would have to undo her bra for him to get underneath. Swallowing hard, she grabbed a pillow and pulled it towards her. Resting her chest in the softness, she slightly reached around and allowed the straps to fall off her shoulders. ‘There you go, free access.’
‘OK, just lean on the pillow slightly on your side, that’s right, it will be worth it, I promise.’
It was already worth it. Every time Will touched her skin was soothing, and instead of being nervous, she felt entranced by the warmth of his hands. His honeyed voice removed any traces of anxiety from her contact with the Raven earlier in the day.
‘Now stay still, this may tickle but you mustn’t move or you’ll ruin it.’
Gentle fingertips touched her skin, as they planned the pen strokes to come. Jennifer felt her breathing deepen as he brushed past the side of her breast and moved downwards. Swirls, pen strokes light and hard worked efficiently, as she stared at the wall, resisting the urge to bring her hand back and touch the man examining her body with such intensity. As Will moved closer for the tinier strokes of his pen, Jennifer could feel the heat of his body, and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations of touch alone. She raised her hand to caress him and he reprimanded her instantly, lost in his creation.
‘Don’t move an inch,’ he said, dominating the moment.
‘You’re very serious,’ she giggled, biting her lip as the pen tickled her skin.
‘Shh, I’m concentrating.’
Dropping her hand, she felt like a living piece of art, as he worked, creating goose bumps, blowing the ink dry before dotting her skin with coloured pens. The pen dipped before reaching the curve of her hip, and quickened as it reached the end. Will’s breathing had also deepened, and as he reached her hip, he coughed to clear his throat. ‘Do you want me to stop here?’
‘No,’ Jennifer said, her voice husky. ‘Where I showed you, hang on.’ Taking another deep breath as she dropped the pillow from her breasts, she slipped off the tracksuit bottoms with her underwear. Lying back down, she allowed him to finish his creation. But the artist paused, and as Jennifer looked from the corner of her eye, she could see the tremble in his hand.
‘You’re killing me, Jennifer,’ he murmured.
She turned to face him, the cool breeze of the night on her naked body. She could almost feel Will’s heart pound against her as she pulled him towards her. There was no point in trying to fight it any more, and as Will’s lips found hers, she wrapped her limbs around his. His tongue flickered and he pulled away, his eyes unsure, questioning. Face flushed, Jennifer could barely find her voice to whisper, ‘It’s OK.’
Afterwards they lay in silence until Jennifer spoke, her face resting on Will’s chest. ‘I hope I didn’t spoil the picture for you.’
Will stroked her tousled hair. ‘I think you’ll like it.’
Jennifer grabbed a sheet as she rose from the bed and walked to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she gasped. Looking at the intricacies of the black roses climbing up the length of her body. The jagged leaves were bowed with dewy blood red drops. Tiny yellow stars twinkled around the vine snaking up her side and it was there, in the detail of the drawing, that she saw his love.
Overwhelmed, she could hardly breathe. ‘It’s beautiful. I wish it was permanent.’
‘Sorry we didn’t get to finish it,’ he grinned, clasping his hands behind his head.
‘Where’s your tattoo? Or was it all a ploy?’
‘No ploy, I guess you’re going to have to look for it.’
It was then that she saw the words, in the inner creases of his elbows. ‘Heart’ was underlined in the creases of his inner left arm, and underneath it, the word ‘mind’ and on his right, ‘courage’ underlined over the word ‘fear’ tattooed underneath.
‘Wow, that’s quite profound. I never knew you had so many hidden depths, Mr Dunston,’ Jennifer said, tracing the words with her finger. She felt strengthened by their developing relationship, and any reservations were long forgotten. Sliding under the duvet, she wrapped her arms around him, absorbing his strength and falling into the best sleep she’d had all year.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bert
* * *
Bert had come home from school to find mother asleep in bed. His senses dictated that napping was just another means of avoidance. He gobbled down the cold sausage sandwich on the table along with a glass of milk. The cupboard hinges whined in indignation as he gingerly searched for food. There was little point, because homemade pies or cakes were only baked for good boys like Callum. But Callum wasn’t here any more and Bert was not a good boy. Kicking off his worn leather shoes, he strode to his room. With the promise of a full moon, he needed to get some sleep, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get up to visit the woods later on.
His eyes lit on the package on his bed. He ran his fingers over the smooth brown paper, slowly picking at the Sellotape with his bitten-down nails. It wasn’t his birthday, and even if it was, that day had been dedicated to Callum. Mother’s candles had burned brightly next to the framed photo on the dresser, and nothing was allowed to interfere with her mourning.
He dragged the heavy box from the top of the bed and sat on the floor with it between his legs. It was postmarked and addressed to his mother. But it must have been for him otherwise she wouldn’t have left it there. Chewing the corner of his lip, he tore back another strip of paper, enjoying the tingly feeling of receiving a gift of his very own. He hardly noticed his mother’s slim frame leaning against the door as he eagerly cast away the packaging. The gift was mail order by the look of it, and it was no coincidence it had arrived the week his father left for a fishing trip to the coast. He spent more and more time away from home now, and mother had a suspicion he was getting comfort elsewhere. At least, that’s what Bert heard her say when she mumbled to herself during the day. After Callum died, her singing was replaced by the hum of prayer. When the pain and anger became too much, she ditched prayer and began talking to herself. Sometimes she became so animated in her conversations she would stamp her feet against the wooden floor, or hammer her fists on the table as she ate. Any attempt to interrupt her would be met with clenched fists and a steely glare.
She had been a lot kinder to him since he lied about communicating with Callum. Bert surmised that such contact may have been possible, but there was no way he was going to try. He had not wanted to hear from his brother when he was alive, much less after he had sent him to his death.
Bert unwrapped the globular-shaped package first. At first he thought it was a world globe, but as he tore off the rest of the paper, he revealed a glass ball on a black plastic plinth. It was hard and heavy, and he looked at his mother quizzically. She nodded at him to open the other packages. The second was a flat wooden board, all letters and numbers, with a small wooden plinth on a roller ball. He had heard about ouija boards at school, but the ones the kids spoke about were homemade, nothing as sophisticated as this. Smiling, he opened the third and last package. It was small, square, and heavy in his palm. Ripping open the paper he stared at the red velvet pouch, and after a cursory glance at his mother, eased the gold strings open to reveal a strange-looking deck of cards.
‘They’re tarot cards,’ she said, smiling. The expression looked alien on her face, and lasted only a second before falling back into her customary anxious frown. ‘They’re all for you, Bert, so you can talk to Callum. But only when your father’s not around. Do you think it will help you speak t
o him?’
Bert shrugged. He didn’t feel like being kind to her today. But then he caught the edge of a doubtful thought and sprang from the floor to hug her.
‘Don’t be sad, mummy, I’ll speak to him tonight, I promise.’
Grace nodded unconvincingly, as she tried to extricate herself from his hug. ‘In that case I’ll leave you to it. I’m going back to bed.’
The house was eerily quiet in the absence of mother’s singing. In the olden days, she would be doing something productive, baking, painting, or chatting with father. Now the house was as bleak as the light behind her eyes, and Bert could barely stand it. The barbed thoughts, the pity of his school classmates … if it weren’t for his ally the raven, he would have felt very alone.
Bert sat on the floor until his bottom went numb. The crystal ball was cheap rubbish, and he wiped away his fingerprints before returning it to the box. Mother would send the presents back when the whim suited her anyway. He didn’t like the ouija board. The second he placed the plinth on the wood he knew it was a doorway into something too dark for him to handle. What if his brother started talking to him through it? What if Callum said that he was going to hell for making him fall from that tree? His mother told him about hell once, a long time ago, when she used to go to church, but Bert’s harsh life lessons demonstrated that the darkness of hell was not reserved for the afterlife. It was with him every minute of every day.
He turned his attention back to the cards, feeling a tingle shoot up his finger as he touched the deck. It brought with it a hint of the power lying behind the shop-coated smell. A flutter of excitement rose, as he clumsily thumbed the pictures. Death, temperance, and judgment, the meaning of each card whispered softly into his senses. Bert smiled as he brought them to his nose, inhaling their power. The empty feeling he had been carrying evaporated as he basked in their potency.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The itch. The damned itch! Jennifer squirmed as she raked her skin with long yellow nails, leaving ragged blood-seeped tracks in their wake. She looked down at her shaking hands, scaly and withered, gasping as they touched her bristled face.
‘No,’ she said, ‘get away from me, no!’
A light flickered on and Jennifer recoiled from the hand on her shoulder.
‘Hey, hey, it’s me, Will. You’re dreaming.’
She blinked, looking left to right. ‘Mmm? Where am I?’
Will murmured softly. ‘Shhh, it’s OK, it’s just a bad dream.’
Jennifer mumbled something incoherent before lying back down. Slowly her heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm as she surrendered to sleep.
Will pressed his lips against her forehead before turning to face the wall.
Easing herself into the warmth of his back, Jennifer snaked her hand around his waist, and he drew it up into the groove of his chest, drawing her close to banish the nightmares.
[#]
‘You’re late, I didn’t think you were coming,’ Amy said, pulling open the door. Her usual weekly visit had been delayed by a late afternoon lie-in at Will’s, and a shared shower after dinner. Jennifer grinned sheepishly as she followed her sister inside, hopping on one of the barstools next to the compact breakfast bar. The sense of betrayal diminished since her father’s visit, and a night spent with Will had eased the loneliness nesting in her heart. Her sister seemed buoyant, which suggested it had gone well. Nevertheless, Jennifer was not going to mention her father unless Amy brought him up first.
Six sterilised baby bottles were lined up in a row next to an open tin of milk powder, and Amy completed the routine of mixing, shaking and storing the feeds before wiping down the counter and making two cups of tea. Jennifer watched with admiration as Amy worked, cleaning the kitchen, listening to the baby monitor, and telling Joshua to go to bed. She thought of their own childhood; when they were free to do what they wanted until the pubs closed. Then their father came home stinking of beer, and Jennifer would creep down in her nightie to lock the front door behind him. On a good night, he’d be lying comatose on the sofa, and Jennifer would prise the empty beer can from his grasp before covering him with a blanket. On a bad night, he’d bring back company. Narrow-eyed drunks who would raid her food supplies and leer as she darted back upstairs and locked her bedroom door.
Jennifer pulled herself away from the past and drew her attention back to her sister. Her home was full of comforting things, a smaller version of their aunt Laura’s, the woman who saved them from a life in care. Wicker love hearts hanging from cupboard handles, wall art advocating love, life, and laughter, knitted tea cosies shaped like owls, with the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the oven. It transported her sister to a better place, a time of love and security. Jennifer thought of her bleached black and white home and wondered what it said about her.
Soon the pair of them were chatting about the kids, family life, and a censored version of life in the police force. Jennifer laughed as Joshua ran up the stairs in his Spider-Man pyjamas, expending his limitless amounts of energy before bed.
‘I got his test results back today,’ Amy said, lightly stirring the tea before pushing it across the marble counter.
Jennifer took the cup, patterned with purple and yellow splodges. She had a similar one, which looked so out of place in her sterile kitchen cupboard – a gift from Joshua after one of his nursery craft sessions. Her eyes flickered over the fridge door, adorned with colourful magnets holding up his various paintings and star-emblazoned awards. There was nothing wrong with her beloved nephew, but in a world obsessed with labels he would be pressured to shed his identity and conform.
‘What did they come up with?’
Amy shrugged. ‘He’s perfectly healthy. No ADHD, no autism, nothing. Just a busy boy with an overactive imagination.’
‘Good,’ Jennifer said, trying hard not to interfere. Her sister began to ramble on about her recent membership to the Women’s Institute, and Jennifer’s thoughts drifted to Will as she stared dreamily into her cup of tea.
‘You seem different tonight, sis, any news?’ Amy said, delivering the words with a knowing smile.
Jennifer shrugged innocently. ‘No, same old, same old, lots of work, you know how it is.’
Amy leaned forward, her chin resting on the palm of her hand. ‘So you’ve not been shagging anyone? It’s just that you stink of sex.’
Jennifer’s eyes widened at the accusation. ‘Amy! What sort of a thing is that to say?’
‘The sort of thing you say when your sister’s been holding out. Now spill. I know you’ve been seeing someone.’
‘I’ve not …’
Amy chuckled, sliding her mobile phone across the counter and pressing the button to display a text. ‘Then why did you send this text an hour before you got here?’
Jennifer flushed as her eyes crept over the text. See you later sexy xxx. Amy was her last phone contact, so the text must have been sent to her instead of Will. Seconds passed, and Jennifer’s mouth gaped open with very little coming out. There was no point in trying to wriggle out of it; Amy could read her like a book.
‘It’s early days, I wasn’t going to say anything yet.’
Amy wagged her finger. ‘I’m your sister, you shouldn’t be holding out on me. It’s the guy that stayed over when you were in hospital, isn’t it?’
Jennifer nodded. ‘We’ve only just got together this weekend. It’s a bit awkward with work so we weren’t going to let on just yet.’
‘Hmm,’ Amy said, raising her cup to finish her tea. ‘He’s a bit scruffy, but you like them rough and ready, don’t you?’
Jennifer was about to leap to Will’s defence, when her sister tittered from behind her cup. ‘Relax, I’m only joking. You have got it bad, haven’t you?’
Jennifer’s dimples came into life as she beamed a smile. Talking about boyfriends with her sister gave her a warm glow inside. ‘He’s lovely. He comes from a very close family.’
‘Does he know about our band of misfits?�
�� Amy said.
Jennifer’s smile faltered, but not long enough for Amy to notice. ‘Yep, and he still wants to know me. Who’d believe it?’
‘Well I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for farting,’ Amy grinned.
Jennifer swallowed the last of her tea, the tang of unstirred sugar hitting the back of her throat. She felt more like a mother to her sister, and sex wasn’t something she was comfortable discussing with her.
‘I’d best be off. Mind if I say goodnight to Josh before I go?’
‘He’ll go mad if you don’t. Can you get him to brush his teeth while you’re up there? He’s going through a defiant stage, it takes forever to get him to bed.’
Jennifer convinced Josh that if he brushed his teeth he’d get more money from the tooth fairy when they fell out. It seemed a perfectly plausible explanation to the four-year-old child, and five minutes later, he was tucked up under his Spider-Man duvet. Jennifer was not one to push the subject of Josh’s psychic powers. She would have been just as happy if they disappeared overnight, like a passing phase. But the wordless thoughts that passed between them seemed too powerful to simply dissipate. His energy was bright and happy, and she felt a pang of guilt as she chatted to her favourite little boy, hoping she had not inadvertently brought danger to his door. Thoughts of her father streamed back into her consciousness, and she itched to ask about their meeting. But she had dealt with enough domestic incidents in the police to vow she would never use a child as a pawn, and the last thing she wanted was to involve him in her and Amy’s dispute. She had barely closed his bedroom door when his footsteps thumped across the carpet and the light switch clicked on. Poking her head around, she caught him jumping into bed.
‘Everything all right, sweetie? Are you scared to sleep with the light off?’
‘Nope,’ Josh said, sitting up as he pulled a comic from under his pillow. ‘I’m reading.’ He flipped the pages of the comic book with the same stance as his father reading the Financial Times.
Time To Die Page 15