by Grace Lowrie
‘Wow,’ said Sebastian, briefly clutching my hand. ‘It’s wonderful, thank you.’ His eyes were bright, his voice strained and I knew he was moved.
‘How did you …?’ Celeste turned to me smiling, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘I … It was a photo I took a long time ago – It was really bad quality but I asked an artist to reproduce it in oils.’ I was bowled over by the strength of their reaction.
‘It’s perfect …’ Celeste breathed, turning back to the painting and sinking to her knees.
‘You’re so thoughtful, Natasha,’ Sebastian said quietly, standing and moving closer to get a better look.
‘I couldn’t think of anything else to get you,’ I shrugged nonchalantly in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but the twins didn’t seem to hear me.
‘Look, Seb,’ said Celeste, rising and slipping an arm around Sebastian’s waist. ‘Do you remember that dress Mum used to wear? She always looked so pretty in it, don’t you think? I’d forgotten about that dress,’ she added, leaning against her brother with a sigh. Sebastian nodded, squeezing Celeste’s shoulder comfortingly as they gazed at the image of their parents as they once were.
Chapter Thirty-five
To my surprise it started to snow as I left work. Stepping out onto the pavement I felt a childish sense of delight – I couldn’t resist holding out my hand and letting the cold, fluffy flakes land on my palm. A couple of nearby kids did the same thing, blinking up into the sky in wonder, while the rest of London rushed on by. The weather seemed timely and appropriate since Celeste and I had spent most of the weekend adorning the house with festive decorations and I was now on my way to a Christmas party. It was Wednesday evening, the second Wednesday in December, and I was on my way to meet Sebastian and Celeste in a bar where DW&P were hosting festive drinks and nibbles. As the snowflakes began to collect in my hair I realised I didn’t have a hat or an umbrella with me. But I didn’t care, I relished the chance to stretch my legs after a day cooped up in the office dealing with paperwork.
I smiled to myself as I set off; the magical discovery that Sebastian Walker loved me still warmed me from head to toe every time I thought of it. Of course neither one of us knew what, if anything, we should do about it; we were loath to sneak about behind Celeste’s back and anyway Sebastian had been away at a conference in Madrid for the best part of a week, but the knowledge alone meant everything to me.
Nevertheless, as I walked I began to get the uneasy, prickly sensation that I was being watched again. I’d been getting it regularly and I was starting to wonder if it was born of my own paranoia; my guilt over sharing the twins; my fear of getting caught and losing them both. I didn’t dwell on it most of the time, but maybe this was how the stress was manifesting itself.
As I stopped to cross the road I glanced behind me and scanned the various pedestrians; commuters, tourists, Christmas shoppers, and a guy selling roasted sweet chestnuts from a cart. The mouth-watering smell made my stomach rumble. But no familiar faces, no one eyeing me strangely or looking suspicious.
The lights changed and I crossed the road. I had on occasion seen Clive out and about around town but I found it hard to believe that he was actually following me – and I certainly didn’t find him threatening in any way, despite Sebastian and Celeste’s concerns.
The wind started to pick up, swelling and gusting, driving the snow sideways in great icy bursts that almost burned my skin. The pavement cleared dramatically as people ducked into shops and offices to shelter. The bar I was heading for was only around the next corner but I paused in a bus stop to escape the worst of the wind. A man shrouded under a large black umbrella promptly joined me in the small space – he wore a long, smart, wool coat but his shoes looked shabby, like they could do with a polish. As he sighed heavily and shook out his umbrella I glanced sideways and realised it was Dan Stanton standing beside me. I remembered with shame that the last time I’d seen him I’d ditched him on the dance floor, and now he was almost certainly on his way to the same Christmas party as me.
‘Hello, Dan!’ I greeted him with enthusiasm to assuage my own guilt.
‘Tasha! Hello! What a surprise! What are you doing here on a night like this?’
His breath smelled strongly of whiskey and I fought the urge to grimace. ‘I’m going to the DW&P Christmas party, same as you I imagine?’
‘Oh, of course,’ he smiled unconvincingly. ‘With Walker, right?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Too late I recalled Dan’s snide comments about Sebastian.
‘Don’t you have an umbrella?’
‘No, I didn’t know it was going to snow,’ I said with a laugh at my own lack of preparation. I always used to check the weather before going anywhere. When had I become so laissez-faire?
‘Good job I’m here then – you can share mine the rest of the way.’
‘Oh, thank you, but there’s no need – it’s not far and I’m already wet.’ Thankfully the wind was easing.
‘Nonsense,’ he said opening his brolly with the press of a button. ‘Take my arm.’
I did as he said, not wishing to offend but breathing through my mouth rather than my nose. He clamped my hand tightly against his side and we set off down the street. Just before the corner Dan ducked into a side alley, taking me with him.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, startled.
‘Oh this is the side entrance, don’t worry, I know where I’m going.’ Dan smiled at me and I followed.
We came to a door which had the name of the building written above it in small, faded letters and I relaxed, mentally chiding myself for being so jumpy – this was the right building after all.
‘The bar’s on the top floor but there’s a service lift through here which will be much quicker than the main one,’ Dan said by way of explanation.
He held the door open for me and I stepped into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. It smelled musty and damp, the walls were peeling, and the lino was sticky beneath my boots. Apprehension crawled through me again as Dan ushered me forwards, collapsing the umbrella, and closing the door behind us.
There were doors to the left and right and at the end of the corridor I could just make out a service lift in the gloom, but it didn’t look like it had been used for years. Dan was right behind me, his breath moist and sour on the back of my neck.
‘Are you sure that lift is safe?’ I said, trying to remain calm. ‘It might be better to use the main one after all?’ I stopped and turned to face Dan, who was standing very close.
Suddenly he kissed me roughly on the mouth and I stumbled backwards, shocked.
‘Don’t! What are you doing?’
‘C’mon, Tash … you’ve been teasing me for months.’
‘What? No, I –’ Dan lunged forwards, grabbed me and pushed me back against the wall so hard that my head rebounded with a crack, momentarily stunning me. He leaned into me, his weight crushing the air from my lungs, his foul breath making my stomach heave.
‘Don’t fight it, Tash, you know you want me.’ He went to kiss me again and anger surged through me.
‘Get off!’ I shoved hard at him with all my weight, catching him off balance and sending him toppling back against the opposite wall. But as I scrambled to get away he swooped after me, grasping my arm and punching me hard in the face with his fist. It felt like my whole head exploded – my teeth rattled and I bit my tongue hard. My legs gave way with the shock of the pain and I crumpled to the floor clutching my face in my hands. This wasn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Not to me. This wasn’t real …
Dan hauled me to my feet.
‘No!’ I cried indistinctly, my lips and tongue swollen, my cheek throbbing. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘I’ve seen the way Walker looks at you,’ Dan snarled at me.
Suddenly there was an almighty crash and Dan was thrown forwards on top of me, his weight pushing me sideways so that I was driven uncomfortably to the floor.
‘Stanton
, you piece of shit,’ a dangerously low voice bellowed as Dan’s weight was abruptly lifted from me. This was closely followed by loud, violent, smacking sounds that instinctively made me flinch, but there was no extra pain to accompany the blows. I couldn’t understand what was going on. I had blood in my eyes. I knew I should try to move, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t persuade my legs to work. Can I hear sirens? Are they for me? A welcome darkness was creeping up on me, drawing me down.
‘Stop! Seb! Don’t kill him!’ A high pitched voice shrieked, it almost sounded like Celeste except it was distorted, anguished … far away … like everything else. I tried to open my eyes to make sense of what was happening but I couldn’t even do that, everything hurt so much that I gave up. The encroaching dark was calling to me – seductively pain-free and peaceful … I let it advance, embrace me, shroud me … I let go and slipped away.
Chapter Thirty-six
I gradually, reluctantly, surfaced from sleep; my head thumping, my mind foggy, my limbs heavy. As I started to become more aware of my surroundings I realised that someone was holding my hand, their fingers papery and warm. I struggled to open my eyes, surprised at the aching sensation it caused and then I saw her; my mum, watching me, her face drawn, eyes hollow.
‘Welcome back,’ she said, quickly withdrawing her hand from mine. I tried to smile but it hurt and a movement on the other side of me distracted my attention. It was a nurse – she leaned over me, smiling reassuringly, heavy foundation gathered in the creases around her eyes.
‘Hello, Tasha, can you hear me? You’re in the hospital,’ she said as if addressing a deaf person, all the while flashing a light in my eyes.
‘Yes,’ I croaked, my mouth dry swollen and sore.
‘Good, just relax and I’ll get the doctor to come and take a look at you,’ she said before disappearing out of view.
Terrifying flashes of Dan Stanton flickered viciously through my mind and I instinctively pushed them away, focusing instead on the room around me. I couldn’t move my head but from what I could see I was in a private hospital room, white walls, pale green furnishings, crisp white sheets. But there was no beeping heart monitor, no scary looking equipment, just a drip in my hand, so I tried to relax.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ I mumbled to Mum.
‘You’re fine,’ she said.
‘But what happened?’ Before she could reply a doctor swept into the room – she was middle-aged with a neat bob and glasses.
‘Hello, Tasha, I’m Doctor Riley. Can you remember what happened?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She nodded. ‘That’s normal – you’ll probably experience flashbacks as your memory starts to return.’
Dr Riley quickly and efficiently carried out a succession of tests, asking me questions, and gently prodding me so that I could tell her when it hurt. Eventually she seemed satisfied and scribbled some notes down on a chart.
‘Most of the damage was to your head and face. It’s mainly superficial cuts and bruises but you also suffered a bad concussion. We kept you sedated while the worst of the swelling subsided but I can’t find any signs of permanent damage. We’ll keep you in for a few more days under observation. I’m not expecting any further complications, but you must rest as much as possible.’
‘OK,’ I mumbled trying to absorb everything. ‘Can I have some water?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but just small sips to start with. I’ll come and see you again tomorrow.’ With that she swept back out of the room while the nurse poured some water into a plastic cup and added a straw. Before handing it to me she pressed a button and the top part of my body was slowly pushed up into a seated position. I took a few grateful sips, the cool water soothing my mouth as the nurse left the room.
I noticed the curtains drawn against the night, a picture of a garden on the far wall, and a vase full of flowers, before my attention returned to my mum. She looked old and tired and uncomfortable.
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ I said, repeating her words back to her.
‘Yes,’ she said wearily reaching for her handbag.
‘So how long have I been out?’ I asked gently.
‘Two days – it’s Friday evening.’
‘Wow. How bad do I look?’ She paused, unusually hesitant, with a cigarette and lighter in hand. I started to raise my fingers to my face.
‘Don’t touch!’ she said sharply. ‘You’re swollen and bruised, that’s all – a whole rainbow of colours.’
I nodded, thoughtfully, relieved. ‘Tell me what happened, Mum, please.’
She sighed and fiddled with her lighter, impatient to get outside and light up. ‘What do you remember?’
‘Dan Stanton. He … he attacked me. I was trapped and I thought … I thought he was going to … Oh God, did he?’ A wave of nausea threatened to make me heave.
‘No,’ Mum said. ‘Sebastian stopped him.’
‘Sebastian?’
Mum explained with irritation that Clive, the strange fellow from the museum, saw that I was in trouble and went to Sebastian and Celeste for help. At first Sebastian had thought Clive was there to harass me and tried to escort him off the premises, but fortunately Clive had made him understand. He’d followed Clive to the rear of the building to find me, while Celeste phoned the police.
‘Sebastian beat him pretty badly,’ Mum said. ‘He’s in intensive care and Sebastian’s in a lot of trouble.’
‘He was just protecting me.’
‘Yes and he can afford a good lawyer – I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
I nodded wearily, relieved.
‘They’ve been very pushy, the Walkers – wanting to see you. They’re paying for all this.’ Mum indicated the private room with a disparaged wave of her hand.
‘They’re good friends,’ I said, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to engulf me. ‘Are they here? I’d like to see them.’
‘No, the doctor said you have to rest. You’ll probably see them tomorrow. Just get some sleep,’ she said.
I couldn’t have stayed awake even if I’d wanted to.
I surfaced several times during the night as nurses came and went, but the next time I woke properly, sunlight was pouring in through the window, my headache had receded, Mum had gone and Celeste was sat beside me instead, smiling anxiously.
‘Celeste,’ I rasped, smiling crookedly, as well as I could.
‘Oh, darling!’ Tears spilled down her face, plopping onto her jacket while she fumbled about for a tissue.
‘Stop crying – you’re making a mess,’ I said sharply.
Celeste looked at me in surprise before realising I was joking and grinning with relief. ‘I am, aren’t I, I’m sorry,’ she said dabbing her eyes and noisily blowing her nose. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No thanks, I’m OK.’ I reached out and took her hand and she squeezed it tightly.
‘You look tired,’ I observed.
‘I was worried.’
‘I’m OK now.’
‘Good,’ she said sniffing.
‘Thank you for all this … for looking after me.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing! I wish I could do more.’
‘Where’s Sebastian?’
Celeste paused briefly before replying. ‘He’s just outside.’
‘Why? Is he OK?’
‘Yes he’s fine, his right hand is pretty banged up, but he says it doesn’t hurt.’
‘Can I see him? I need to thank him.’
‘Tasha, I … I don’t think he’s ready yet.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It upset him, seeing you like that, upset both of us.’ Celeste took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed. ‘He thought you were dead and it shook him up.’
‘But I’m fine! Tell him I’m fine.’
‘I have, Tasha. He won’t leave the hospital but he won’t come in and see you either; I’ve tried!’ Celeste sighed heavily. ‘Like I said, he’s shaken up – just give him a bit of time.’
I searche
d Celeste’s face. I could tell she was worried about him. ‘OK,’ I said. I didn’t want to add to her worries.
Celeste told me about the food in the canteen, the weather, her Christmas shopping … and I just listened, soothed by her soft, melodious voice.
I woke during the night, unsure what had woken me. I lay on my side with my eyes still closed, listening for the sound of rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum as nurses moved about the room, but I didn’t hear it. Instead I heard slow, steady breathing and I sensed there was someone sitting in the chair beside my bed. I opened my eyes and looked, but the room was dimly lit and the chair was in complete shadow. There was only one person I knew who chose to sit in the dark.
‘Sebastian?’ I whispered. There was a pause and I held my breath.
‘Hey,’ he muttered, his familiar low voice stirring my heart.
‘Come closer, please,’ I whispered stretching out my fingers.
Reluctantly he leaned forward, his head down and took my hand in his left. Delicious warmth coursed up my arm and spread through my body to the tips of my toes. He softly kissed my palm, his thick stubble tickling my skin.
‘Are you growing a beard?’ I whispered with a giggle.
He lifted his head to look at me and I was shocked by his haggard appearance. He looked like he hadn’t slept or washed or eaten for days. When Celeste had said he wouldn’t leave the hospital, I thought she’d been exaggerating. Worry lines crossed his skin, his jaw was taut, his eyes edgy and despondent.
‘Sebastian! You’re not looking after yourself!’ I admonished. He still didn’t say anything, just stared at me and after a while I realised he was scrutinising my bruises – my impressive black eye, multi-coloured jaw, and spilt lip.
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I said distinctly. ‘Thanks to you.’
Sebastian shook his head slowly.
‘Yes,’ I emphasized. ‘Thank you so much for what you did.’
‘It was my fault,’ Sebastian murmured.
‘No.’
‘Yes. He went after you to get at me – he said as much.’
‘I don’t care it’s still not your fault; you rescued me,’ I added.