Broken White: The Complete Series (All 8 Books)

by Amy Cross

  "Who the hell is Bob?" I ask.

  "Bob's my friend," she replies. "I met him at the shop".

  "What shop?" I ask. "The naked old man shop?"

  "The grocer's, if you must know," she says, sounding a little annoyed. "Bob and I have been spending some time together. He's been a very good friend to me".

  "I can see that," I say, turning back to look at him. "Is he..." I pause, and then I look back over at my mother. "Are you..."

  "I believe the term," my mother says, her voice sounding a little tense and prim, "is friends with benefits. We make no pretense that we're in love or anything like that, dear, but we enjoy one another's company and I don't think there's anything wrong with that". She pauses for a moment. "How's school going? Are you nearly finished?"

  I nod, unable to form my thoughts into full sentences.

  "Well, that's good," she says, hurrying past me and grabbing the kettle, which she quickly fills. Typical. When in doubt, my mother always starts making a pot of tea. "You must let me know when your graduation ceremony's going to take place. I'd love to come".

  "Sure," I say, glancing suspiciously at Bob. He smiles at me, but it's an awkward moment.

  "So who'd like tea?" my mother asks.

  "Actually," Bob says, grabbing a newspaper from the bench and using it to cover his crotch while he makes his way to the door, "I think I'll go upstairs and get dressed".

  "Good idea," my mother says politely as he hurries away.

  I stand in silence and listen to the sound of Bob heading up to my mother's bedroom.

  "I would have told you about Bob," my mother says after a moment, as she puts tea bags into three cups, "but you haven't called for a while. I hope you understand that I'm in no way trying to replace your father, dear. Bob and I simply have an arrangement that suits us both, and we both understand our boundaries, so to speak". She smiles. "As you might be able to tell, I've been reading up on the modern terminology. It's all very exciting, really. I know I've always been something of a traditionalist, but I think there are some aspects of the modern world that make a lot more sense".

  "So you're..." I pause, still trying to get my head around the fact that my mother has a fuck-buddy. "I mean, you and he, you're..."

  "Yes, dear," she replies calmly. "We are".

  Silence.

  "What did you think?" she continues. "That you'd go back to Bristol and I'd just sit around here, gardening and knitting and going to the shops and waiting to die?"

  "I thought you'd get a hobby," I reply.

  "I did," she says with a smile.

  "I thought you'd travel!"

  "Oh, I shall," she says as the kettle finishes boiling. She starts carefully pouring hot water into the cups. "I'm going to Nice in France for two weeks next month. Bob's coming with me, actually. We thought about inviting you, but I assumed you'd be far too busy with your exciting life in Bristol". She slides a cup of tea over to me. "Are you okay, Elly? You look different". She pauses. "You look more grown-up. Isn't that weird? It's only been a month or so since you were here for your father's funeral, but you look like a proper adult. If you father could see you right now, he'd be so proud".

  "I think if Dad could see this situation right now," I reply, "he'd be pretty surprised".

  "I loved your father -" she starts to say.

  "This isn't about Dad," I say. Although there's a part of me that's got a strong, visceral reaction against the idea of my mother and this Bob guy, there's a more rational part of my mind that keeps reminding me that I've got no right to be angry at my mother for getting herself a boyfriend. I was so worried about her being alone and neglected, I didn't even think about the possibility that she might carve out a new life for herself. I should be pleased that she's got someone to spent time with, but I can't shake the feeling that this is so unlike her. It's almost as if I don't know my own mother anymore.

  "I did agonize over the whole thing for a while," she says. "I wondered what the neighbors would think, and I wondered what you'd think. I wondered what your father would think. But eventually I just thought that life's too short, so why not have fun?" She smiles, and it's clear that she's desperate for my approval. "Bob and I are friends, first and foremost. We understand exactly where we stand with each other. There are no mind games. There's no trickery. Everything's out in the open and clear. Isn't that a good thing, Elly? Can't you be happy for me?"

  I nod, suddenly feeling envious of such perfect simplicity. My relationship with Mark, by contrast, seems so complicated and twisted.

  "I'm sure you'll like Bob once you get to know him," she continues. "He can never replace your father, of course, and he wouldn't dare to try. He's a very intelligent and sensitive man. I mean, you don't think I'd take up with a monster, do you?"

  I shake my head. She certainly wouldn't 'take up' with a monster, but I think I might have done precisely that.

  "How long are you in London for?" she asks. "Perhaps we could all go out to dinner together? Bob and I go to the local Italian every Friday. It's a silly little habit, really, but we do it anyway. Would you like to come with us? We can go another night if it's more convenient".

  "No," I say, trying not to panic. "To be honest, this was just a flying visit. I just popped by because I felt guilty for not coming sooner".

  "You mustn't feel guilty for having your own life, dear," she replies. "I understand. You're an intelligent young woman, and you're just starting out in the world on your own. I'm proud of you, and your father would be proud of you as well. There'd be something wrong if you just hung around here all day, keeping me company. We've both got our own lives to live and there's no need for us to be in one another's pockets all the time. As long as we have a catch-up occasionally, and as long as we're there for one another if we're needed, I should think that's enough for you".

  Taking a deep breath, I realize that this whole thing has been a mistake. "Listen," I say, making my way over to the door, "I should have called ahead. This was all a bit last-minute and unorganized, so why don't we take a rain-check and I'll give you a call soon and we can do things properly? Like, a proper dinner, that kind of thing? I should get going".

  "Nonsense," she replies, looking a little upset. "Your bed's still made, you can -"

  "Next time," I say, hurrying through to the hallway just as Bob comes downstairs. Thankfully, he's fully dressed this time, although he still looks kind of embarrassed.

  "Are you off?" he asks, checking his watch.

  "It was nice to meet you," I reply, fumbling with the door before I finally get it open and step out into the driveway. "I'll call," I say, turning back to see Bob and my worried-looking mother watching me from the bottom of the stairs. "I'll come and we'll have dinner properly," I continue. "If I don't get back before you go to France, though, have a nice time". With that, I pull the door shut and hurry along the driveway.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I look at the house and suddenly it doesn't feel like home anymore. I've spent so long with Mark, I've somehow allowed my old family life to fall away. My mother seems like a slightly different person, while I'm worried that I've also lost Jess. I feel totally alone, and the worst thing is that it's my fault. I always used to feel bored and unexciting, and my relationship with Mark seemed to offer me a way out of a rut; now, however, I find myself feeling strangely nostalgic for the boring old days when everything was straightforward, and -

  Not looking where I'm going, I walk straight into the side of a parked car. Almost falling to the ground, it takes me a moment to regather my wits, by which time I realize that this is a familiar car. It's Mark's, and he's sitting in the driver's seat, keeping the engine running.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask.

  "I came to fetch you," he replies. "After you left, I spoke to Mr. White, and we agreed that things have been allowed to linger for too long. It's time to get the game moving again, so we're going to bring your first session forward. If you're still interested, that is".

  "Stil
l interested?"

  "The game," he says. "I'm going to take you to him right now, but only if you want to continue. If you want to forget the whole thing, Elly, I can drive away and you can go back to your own life. I've always been clear about that. You can step away at any time".

  I pause, trying to decide what to do. When I first started seeing Mark, the whole thing seemed exciting and fun. The game, meanwhile, was kind of overwhelming, but over time it became a kind of abstract thing. I've been nervously anticipating the day when I have to go and see Mr. White, but now that the moment has arrived, I'm a little scared. Then again, maybe scared is good. Maybe this is exactly what I need. Besides, I feel like this is my chance to really prove myself, and to show that I'm not some terrified little idiot.

  "Sure," I say, walking around the car and climbing inside. There's a voice in the back of my head, screaming at me and asking me why the hell I'm going with him; there's another voice, though, telling me that I need to prove to myself that I'm able to deal with anything Mark and Mr. White throw at me. I need to take charge and play the game, instead of running away. "I'm ready," I say, trying to sound confident. "Take me to him".

  "How's your mother?" he asks.

  "She's fine," I reply as the car pulls away. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and bring up Jess's number. I figure I should at least make sure she's okay, but I get put straight through to voice-mail. Deciding against leaving a message, I hang up. I mean, what the hell could I say to her over the phone?

  "Jess?" Mark asks as we make our way through the dark streets.

  "I think she just needs some time," I say.

  "I'm sure she'll be fine," he replies, with a kind of empty tone to his voice that makes it pretty obvious how little he cares. To him, Jess is just some girl who got naked and then had a panic attack.

  The rest of the journey takes place in silence. I sit and stare out the window as London flashes past. There's a part of me that's dreading the moment when we arrive at Mr. White's place, but there's another part of me that desperately wants to throw myself into whatever he's got waiting for me. I guess maybe Jess was right when she said that I've got a self-destructive streak. After all, any sane person would have bailed on this relationship with Mark a long time ago, but here I am, sitting in his car and allowing him to drive me to meet Mr. White. I see the whole thing as a challenge. After years of being fairly meek and unassuming, I'm going to show myself that I can survive in a darker, more dangerous lifestyle. And the truth, the sad, unavoidable truth, is that by the time the car pulls up outside a large, dark building on an unremarkable street of Georgian townhouses, I'm feeling incredibly turned on.

  "We're here," Mark says, switching off the engine.

  I nod.

  "I won't be coming inside with you," he adds after a moment. "This is something you have to do on your own".

  I turn to him.

  "I'll pick you up when it's over".

  "How long will it take?" I ask.

  "That's for Mr. White to decide. And you, of course. Remember, Elly, you can walk away at any moment. No-one'll try to stop you. The whole point of the game is that it's voluntary, but..." He pauses. "This is where the game gets serious. This is where you're going to feel yourself really being pushed beyond your limits. Very few people get to this stage, but the number who've ever progressed past Mr. White... Well, they can be counted on the fingers of one hand".

  "I'll be fine," I say, getting out of the car.

  "Are you sure?" he asks, and for a moment it's almost as if he's worried about me.

  I nod.

  Once his car has driven away, I turn and look at the building. The door is hanging open, revealing a darkened hallway. Pushing all doubts and fears out of my mind, I walk up the steps and go inside.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  There are three wooden steps leading up from the yard's muddy floor to the main part of the scaffold. Each step wobbles slightly, but finally I reach the platform. Above me, the noose hangs innocently down, waiting for my neck to be placed in its maw. It's clearly an old noose, and I can't help wondering how many other people have died in its clutches.

  "Do you wish to offer a confession, my child?" asks a priest, standing to one side with a Bible clutched in his hands.

  "I have nothing to confess," I reply, still trying to think of a way to escape.

  "May God have mercy on your soul nonetheless," the priest continues. "We are all his children, and it is unto him for judgment that we shall all return".

  "Do you have any last words, Mr. Pope?" asks one of the guards, as the hangman climbs up onto a stool and double-checks the noose.

  I shake my head. Damn it, I'm trying to come up with a plan, but my mind has gone completely blank. This has never, ever happened to me before; even when I'm in mortal danger, I'm usually able to keep my thoughts spinning until finally, usually at the very last moment, I come up with an answer. This time, however, my wits have deserted me completely, and all I can do is stare like an idiot at the noose.

  "Might as well get on with it, then," the guard mutters, and I'm shoved forward. Looking down at the stool, I realize that I've got about sixty seconds, perhaps even less, to work out how to get away.

  "Up," the guard says firmly.

  I should fight back. I should try to force my way free through brute force, but in some strange way I feel totally calm. Instead of fighting, I step up compliantly onto the stool, and I stand completely still as the hangman places the noose around my neck and tightens it. As he moves back, I feel the stool wobble slightly, and suddenly I realize that this is it: the ritual is complete, and all I can do now is wait for the stool to be kicked away.

  "There's two ways you can die," the guard says, staring up at me. "If you're lucky, your neck'll snap as soon as you drop. That's a quick and fairly painless way out. If you're unlucky, Mr. Pope, your neck won't snap and you'll end up suffocating as the rope draws tighter and tighter. Sometimes, me and the lads take pity on the ones who are suffocating and we grab their legs and yank them down, hoping to break the neck that way. We won't be doing that with you, though. If your neck doesn't break, we'll just let you hang there until you're dead".

  "I know which one I'm hoping for," one of the other guards says.

  "Saw this guy once," the first guard continues, "and one of his eyes literally popped out of his head. Fucking disgusting, but there you go. Sure you've got no final words, Mr. Pope?"

  "Get on with it," I say. "I just -" Suddenly I spot a figure standing on the other side of the yard. For a moment, I can't quite process the image, but finally I realize that it's a woman. Not just any woman, either... it's Henrietta! Dressed in her usual red dress, she has clearly come from beyond the grave to witness the moment of my death. As I stare at her, my heart is filled with such joy, and I'm overcome by the absolute certain knowledge that even after my mortal body has been destroyed, my soul will be with the woman I love.

  Smiling, I keep my eyes fixed on Henrietta's ghost as the hangman steps forward and kicks the stool out from under me. The last thing I feel is the noose snapping tight around my neck, and the last thing I see is Henrietta staring back at me.

  Book Four:

  Torn

  Elly

  Today

  Sitting on the sofa, naked except for a thin dressing gown, I stare straight ahead. The room is dark; so dark, in fact, that I can barely see the glass of water that sits on the coffee table.

  "You're very quiet," Mr. White calls through from the kitchen. "Are you okay, Elly?"

  "Yeah," I say, smiling weakly. The truth is, I am alright. I mean, I'm nervous. I'm definitely definitely nervous, but at the same time I'm kind of excited. The thought of having sex with Mr. White, who's about two decades older than me and totally not my type, should be one that fills me with dread, but I'm looking forward to the opportunity to prove myself. Sure, the sex itself is unlikely to be particularly good, but once it's over I'll be able to look at myself in the
mirror and see the face of someone with sexual experience.

  "So tell me," he says, coming through and standing by the sofa. "Why are you here?"

  "Mark drove me," I reply.

  "Please use his proper name".

  "Mr. Blue drove me".

  "But why did you agree?"

  "I want to be here".

  "Really?" He waits for me to reply. "No offense, Elly, but you look like you'd rather be anywhere else. You look terrified".

  "I'm not terrified," I say. "I'm nervous, that's all. I mean..." I pause, trying to work out what I'm really feeling.

  "What do you think is going to happen tonight?" he asks.

  I shrug.

  "You must have an idea".

  "We're going to..." I take a deep breath. "I mean, we're going to... You're going to push me beyond my comfort zone. That's part of the game, isn't it?"

  "Correct".

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "So what exactly do you think this is going to entail?" he continues.

  "I have no idea".

  "Come on, Elly," he replies, smiling, "you're a smart girl, you must have some ideas. Or are you just afraid to say them out loud?"

  "Mark used a whip on me," I say. "Once". I pause. "I guess you're going to do stuff like that".

  "And how do you feel about that?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but then I take a moment to work out what I really, really think. The truth is, deep down, I'm kind of excited by the prospect of going into the unknown. Until a month or so ago, I was always seen by my friends as this safe, vanilla girl who's probably recoil at anything more kinky than the missionary position. At university, I was always hanging around with Jess, and while she had a reputation for being sexually daring, I was always viewed as the quiet, boring girl in the corner. I hated that perception of me, and now I'm going to shatter it forever.

  "Do you understand the game?" he asks.

  "Not really".

  "Has Mark explained it to you?"