by Helen Lowrie
Sighing in frustration, I fished out my wallet and deposited cash on the counter. ‘My offer still stands.’ I reached out to take her hand again but again she moved away. ‘Please think about it?’ She looked at me and her stoic mask of control slipped, exposing a silent tumult of hope and well-worn despair. ‘I’ll come back next week, and the week after that, and the week after that and I’ll keep coming back until you agree to come with me,’ I said softly.
Blinking back tears she turned away and disappeared into the larder without a word. I gazed after her for a moment, my head aching with worry and frustration, and then I walked out, putting one reluctant foot in front of another, and climbing into my van. My fingers clenched tightly around the steering wheel as I drove away, my teeth grinding.
Chapter Twenty-one
My fingers brushed my stomach as I put on my nightshirt and my skin tingled. It was incredible how sensitive my body had become since meeting James – and unnerving. I felt as though I was coming round from a heavy dose of anaesthetic, as if I’d been numb up until now and was just starting to sense things properly for the first time. Sounds, scents, colours, flavours, and touches all had more meaning, more relevance, more power to hurt me. Mostly I felt angry – exasperated with myself for allowing my usual common sense to be compromised and mad at James for strolling into my miserable existence, like Prince Charming himself, showing me what I was missing and then refusing to leave again. There was no way I was going anywhere with him. Why couldn’t he just bugger off back to his idyllic life in the country and leave me in peace?
But in the evenings, when I was alone and trying to sleep and there was nothing else to distract me, it was impossible to deny the effect he had on my body. Despite my frustration with him, I was finding myself hopelessly consumed with desire.
Until now I’d always been completely averse to anything even vaguely sexual, even as a teenager, perhaps unsurprisingly, given the abusive nature of my experience. Of course when I accepted Vic’s offer of marriage I knew I’d have to sleep with him – it was part of the deal – so I’d taught myself to tolerate him, to be numb, to hold my body still and let my mind escape somewhere else entirely while he did his thing. Fortunately for me, Vic had never found our couplings satisfactory; he complained about my lack of enthusiasm and repeatedly told me I was lazy and frigid until, eventually, he lost all interest completely. Thankfully for the past sixteen years, with Cherry’s help of course, I’d been comfortably celibate.
But now, since meeting James, it was as if some strange new sense of physical awareness, a hunger, had been switched on inside me. I’d tasted something new and exciting and now I craved more. My body ached for some kind of relief. As I climbed into bed, my mind and body flooded with teasing recollections – his mouth at my ear, his hands caressing my back, the hard heat of his erection straining against the damp ache between my legs. Closing my eyes, I lifted my nightshirt and let my fingers drift across my stomach, skating past my ugly scars, as I tried to imagine his hand in place of my own.
I started to visualise how James might look naked – all golden hair-sprinkled skin, firm rounded muscle and latent sexual power. Usually I couldn’t stand the thought of someone touching me but with James – his touch was so different – so welcome. I pinched my nipples with my right hand as my left sank down between my legs, all the while picturing his hands in place of mine. I was surprised at how moist I was, how good it felt and how carnal. It was so new to me – fantasising about someone, touching myself and turning myself on. Exhilarated I conjured up his mouth on my neck, my breasts, my thighs …
Abruptly the back door slammed shut downstairs and I scrambled up into a seated position, mortified at the thought of being caught. The clock read 21:52, far too early for my husband to be back but it must be Vic; no one in their right mind would be stupid enough to break into his cafe, surely? Barefoot I hurried quietly across the floorboards to the front door of the flat, carefully turned the latch and eased the door open a crack, listening all the while to the muted sounds of movement from below. There was a knock at the back door of the property and I heard the familiar sound of Vic cursing as he went to answer it.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he growled. ‘Someone might see you.’
‘You’d better hurry up and let me in then,’ replied a steady male voice I didn’t recognise.
Vic swore repeatedly as he ushered the guy in and closed the door behind him. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Relax, Vic, no one saw me.’
‘You’d better fucking hope not. You might’ve changed your clothes but folk round here can still smell a fucking pig a fucking mile away.’
‘Oh yeah? Can they smell a rat too?’ Vic didn’t reply but I could picture only too well the fury in his eyes, the ticking in his jaw, the bunching of his fists. ‘If you’d answered my messages I wouldn’t have had to come down here, Vic. You know how this works; you keep us informed and we don’t –’
‘Yeah, yeah and I was gonna meet you tomorrow as usual – in the usual place where no one fucking knows me; not here on my fucking door step!’
‘Tomorrow might be too late, Vic. We’ve got wind of a job going down, south of the river, a warehouse in Croydon; you know the job I mean don’t you?’
Vic hesitated. ‘Maybe, what of it?’
‘Hoping to get a piece of it for yourself were you?’
Vic sighed. ‘What do you wanna know?’
‘The usual – names, times, locations.’
‘You’d better come through.’
The two men moved into the cafe out of earshot and I quietly closed the door and tiptoed, obsessively carefully, back to bed. Lying in the cold sheets I ran the conversation over and over in my mind, barely able to believe it. But I knew what I’d heard and I knew what it meant. There was definitely no question of my leaving Vic now. He was even better connected than I’d feared and not just connected – protected – by the law.
Chapter Twenty-two
The moment I stepped inside the cafe, I knew something was wrong. The astringent smell of burnt food hung in the smoky air, untidy piles of used plates and cups occupied every table, and gangster rap music blared out of the radio. The woman behind the counter was not Rina. I recognised her as someone I’d met briefly once before – a customer at the cafe and acquaintance of Vic’s who was possibly a sex-worker. Her straw-like black hair was damp from the heat, she had a lipstick-orange mouth, purple talons for fingernails, and a faded string of hearts tattooed up one arm. I couldn’t recall her name but thought it might be something sugary like Candy.
‘I ain’t doing any more breakfasts so if you want anything more than coffee you’ll have to go elsewhere,’ she said, jabbing at the till in consternation. The kitchen was in complete disarray with food spilt on every surface and dirty crockery and utensils heaped in and around the sink.
‘Where’s Rina?’ I asked lightly, masking the worry that gnawed at my stomach.
She looked up at me, her eyes narrowing and her jaw flexing as she worked on a piece of gum, and tried to place me. ‘Who wants to know?’
I fought the urge to bite her head off; Rina wouldn’t want me to draw unnecessary attention to myself. As lightly as I could I said, ‘I’m just a regular. I deliver to the market, remember? We met a couple of months back.’
The cash register bleeped and she returned her attention to it. I thought she wasn’t going to tell me anything but then she muttered, ‘She had an accident – she’s in hospital. I’m just covering till she gets back.’
‘Oh. Is she OK?’ I forced a casual tone into my words. ‘Yeah, she’ll be fine. Clumsy that one – fell down the stairs.’
I struggled to remain calm as an image of Rina, lying in a heap on the floor, seared through my mind. There was nothing clumsy about Rina whatsoever – if she had fallen she’d been pushed. ‘Oh right, OK,’ I said through gritted teeth. So much for female solidarity – this woman’s nonchalance made my blood boil. Someone like her mu
st recognise signs of abuse surely? Was she in complete denial about what I suspected had been happening to Rina? Or just too afraid to intervene? I backed out of the door. ‘Well if you’re not doing breakfast I’ll just find somewhere else.’
She nodded absently as she continued her battle with the till and I tried not to run as I made my way back to the van, trembling with adrenalin. St Mary’s was the nearest hospital; I could be there in ten minutes if I was lucky with the traffic.
By the time I’d parked, discovered which ward she was on, found it, and begged the nurses to let me see her, it was almost noon. Rina looked fragile, curled up on the bed on her side like a child, with her eyes closed. She was on a large ward with several other women but the curtain drawn on one side of her bed gave some small measure of privacy. A fresh bruise was blooming on her forehead at the hairline, her left wrist was encased in a sleeve of white plaster and a clear plastic drip was feeding into her right hand. Any other damage was hidden from view.
I sat down quietly on the chair beside the bed, unsure if she was asleep and unwilling to wake her if she was. But she opened her big beautiful eyes, and saw me and smiled and something expanded painfully in my chest. Reaching out I carefully took the slender fingers of her right hand in my own.
‘I’ll be OK,’ she said, her voice husky. I couldn’t speak but I shook my head at her calm acceptance – it wasn’t OK. ‘They’re just keeping me in as a precaution – make sure my kidney’s healthy. I can probably go home tomorrow.’
‘With Vic?’ I said, through the lump in my throat.’
‘No. He won’t come here.’
‘How do you know?’
She shrugged one shoulder, wincing slightly. ‘He never does.’
‘You can’t go back there,’ I said.
‘I have to.’ I clenched my teeth, furious with her for being so stubborn. ‘How’s Cherry doing?’
‘The woman with the tattoos? She’s fine.’ Rina raised a dubious eyebrow. ‘OK, the place is a mess but I’m sure she’ll manage.’
Rina sighed. ‘That woman will do just about anything to impress Vic.’ She looked weary and closed her eyes and my anger receded.
‘Rina,’ I breathed, leaning closer and kissing her hand. ‘What can I do? Tell me what you want me to do, please?’
‘Just talk to me,’ she said. ‘Tell me about your week. I like listening to you.’
A voice in the back of my head warned me that Rina was a lost cause – not my problem – that you couldn’t help someone who was not prepared to help themselves and I should turn around and walk away, leaving this mess behind. But I stayed all afternoon.
I began by telling her how the builders would be starting on the new extension in a month’s time – laying concrete foundations before going on to erect a timber frame. I described how Frank, Max and I had fenced off that part of the garden centre to keep customers safe. Then I spoke about how I’d joined the Wildham Warriors, the local rugby club, about our practice sessions and our preparations for match season in September. I even recounted how my fellow teammates had given me an initiation of sorts on Tuesday night:
‘They got me drunk at the White Bear and forced me to strip right down to my boxers.’
Rina’s mouth gaped open. ‘How did they force you to do that?’
I cringed. ‘Well, they didn’t actually physically force me – it’s like a dare; I had to do it or they wouldn’t have let me join the team.’
The look of incredulity was plain in Rina’s eyes as she struggled to keep a straight face. ‘So what happened next?’
‘Well once they’d confiscated my clothes, phone, wallet and keys they marched me outside and sent me home alone.’
‘What, barefoot? In your boxers?’
‘Yep.’
Every smile I raised felt like a victory of sorts and Rina was grinning at me now. ‘That must have been a bit chilly.’
‘It wasn’t too bad actually,’ I said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘It wasn’t a particularly cold night and I think the alcohol in my bloodstream helped keep me warm.’
She’d started to vibrate with barely restrained laughter. ‘Did anyone see you?’
‘Oh, only all the locals; every person at the pub; two neighbours walking their dog; and everyone who happened to be driving along the road that night. There was a lot of beeping.’ Rina was laughing out loud now, her face pressed into her pillow and her free hand clutching at the bed sheet. ‘You might think it’s funny but most of them are probably customers of mine – and now they’ve seen me in my underwear.’
‘Stop, please stop,’ Rina breathed, ‘it hurts my ribs.’
‘Sorry.’ I passed her a tissue and she wiped the tears from her eyes and blew her nose. Making Rina laugh was a definite upside to my teammates’ embarrassingly immature behaviour but I didn’t want to cause her pain.
‘Where did you sleep if they had your keys?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t as inebriated as they thought I was and I managed to find a spare key for the back door – didn’t even have to break in. It wasn’t a very imaginative initiation really.’
Rina shook her head, still smiling at me, and I wished I could keep her smiling for ever.
A file of her medical notes hung from the end of the bed with her full name, Mrs Katerina Leech, printed on the front. She had never told me that Rina was short for Katerina and I wondered why, since it was so pretty. Leech, on the other hand, was a fitting name for Rina’s husband but not nearly good enough for her. I was tempted to take a peek at her notes to reassure myself that she really was OK but, respectful of her privacy, I refrained.
The nurses came and went, carrying out various checks, proffering pain relief and casting disapproving looks in my direction. From time to time they urged me to go home and let Rina rest but Rina was adamant that she wanted me to stay. When I asked her if there was anything she needed, whether I could bring her anything, she seemed surprised by the question, as if it had never occurred to her.
Come three o’clock they had disconnected Rina’s IV but she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.
‘I must go,’ I murmured, ‘but I can come back first thing in the morning.’ She gazed at me, her eyes begging me to stay. ‘Try not to worry. Everything’s going to be fine. He can’t get to you here. I’ve told the nurses I’m your brother and I’ve asked them not to let him in. I’ve given them my mobile number and they’ve agreed to call me if Vic turns up.’ I leaned in and kissed her temple, briefly savouring the softness of her hair. ‘Now you must sleep.’
‘I won’t be able to.’
‘I think you will if you try.’
She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable and I desperately wanted to hold her close to me. ‘Here, let me try something,’ I said, getting to my feet and releasing her hand. ‘This used to work for me when I was little and I couldn’t sleep. Just stay as you are.’ I moved around to the other side of the bed. ‘I’m going to spell out words on your back; see if you can understand them.’
Rina went very still as I perched sideways on the edge of the bed and began gently tracing letters on her back with my finger. I spelt out Y-O-U and when I paused she whispered the word. Satisfied that she had the hang of the game I continued to lightly scribe the rest of my sentence
A-R-E S-A-F-E W-I-T-H…
As I started on the last word her shoulders began to shake.
‘Rina?’ She turned to me, great big tears rolling down her face and soaking into the pillow. ‘What is it?’
She stared at me, eyes wide. ‘Jamie?’
I gaped at her, stunned, as the world shifted and pieces of my life dropped, firmly, unexpectedly, into place. ‘Kitkat?’
Chapter Twenty-three
He stared at me in shock, my childhood nickname whispered from his lips like a secret password temporarily transporting us back into the past we once shared. He touched his fingertips to my damp cheek as if checking that I was real.
‘I’ve been looking for yo
u everywhere,’ he said in wonder.
‘Have you? Why?’
‘You were like a sister to me – you didn’t think I’d forgotten you?’
His words made me cry harder. It was as if a dam had burst inside me; years of suppressed misery, disappointment and regret forcing its way up into my throat and choking me with every sob.
‘Oh God, don’t cry, please don’t cry,’ he implored as he cradled my face with one hand and squeezed my fingers with the other. I fought to regain control of myself, aware that I was upsetting him and causing a scene. The ward sister suddenly appeared, sweeping aside the curtain, fist on hip.
‘What’s going on? You shouldn’t still be here,’ she hissed at James – Jamie, my Jamie. ‘Visiting hours are over. Go home. She needs rest.’
Taking some deep steadying breaths, I wiped my eyes and nodded reassuringly at Jamie and he released me and straightened up, reluctant to leave. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he said gravely, his eyes still wide. I nodded and smiled tightly as I held my emotion in. The nurse was waiting, watching us impatiently. He turned to leave and just as he was about to disappear out of sight he turned back to me. ‘Kat, I’m never leaving you behind again.’
‘Out, out, out,’ the sister barked, chasing him off. My face crumpled as I allowed my tears to take over once more.
I was calmer by the morning. I still felt tired, emotional and sore but I was able to think more clearly. I knew from the nurses that Jamie had arrived early but that he was being kept from seeing me until I’d been discharged. I was thrilled to have him back in my life, of course I was; I’d missed him for so long. But the way I felt about Jamie, the little lost boy I once knew, was so entirely different to the way I felt about the strapping great man James that I was having trouble getting my head around the fact they were the same person. Jamie had always been family, like a sibling to me, and now I felt unnerved, almost guilty, that I found him unbearably sexy. And how did he feel about me now? He’d said he wouldn’t let me go back to Vic – as if it was simple. But it wasn’t.