by Helen Lowrie
Now daylight seeped in around the curtains and my eyes followed the cracks in the ceiling, still familiar from my childhood. My feelings unnerved and confused me and I had no idea how Kat felt. Did she still want me the way she had when she’d kissed me or did she now just see the small boy she once knew? She had made no physical contact with me since we’d left the hospital so I suspected the latter. We were sleeping in separate bedrooms like siblings and it was right that Kat should have her own space. But every night would now be torture for me, secretly wanting her and knowing she was so close by.
Kat’s bedroom door opened and I strained to hear as she quietly made her way barefoot into the bathroom across the landing. I wanted nothing more than to get up and go to her, see if she looked all mussed up from sleep and take her in my arms. But I couldn’t. I had a raging hard-on again. I’d have to wait until she was safely back in her own room.
Over breakfast Kat and I talked. I reiterated that she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, while a private part of me, the part that preferred an easy life, wondered if it was sensible having her to stay at all.
‘Maybe, once you’re feeling better, if you fancy it, you could explore the nursery?’ Kat just looked at me. ‘It’s up to you though – you’re free to do whatever you want.’
‘Thank you, but I can’t stay long.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’ll find me,’ she said, her un-bandaged hand clasped tightly around the mug of coffee I’d just poured. ‘As soon as Vic finds out I’ve gone, he’ll hunt me down. I have to go back to the hospital in two weeks for a checkup and then again in six weeks to get this taken off,’ she said, raising her plaster cast. ‘He could just have someone waiting for me there.’
Concerned she was burning herself, I had a fierce urge to reach across the table, gently loosen her fingers from the mug and take her hand in my own but I refrained, unsure of myself and of her. ‘Listen I’ve already thought about this. We can get your arm checked at the local hospital here – get your records transferred across. You don’t have to go back to London for that. Vic has no reason to suspect you’re with me – I’m just one of many customers at the cafe. On Thursday I’ll go to the market, as usual, and go into the cafe afterwards like I usually do and have breakfast.’ Kat stared at me. ‘I’ll ask after you in a casual way, as if I don’t know anything, and I’ll see how Cherry reacts – see if she says anything about Vic.’
‘And what if Vic’s there?’
I shrugged. ‘Then I’ll talk to him too. He can tie me to a chair and interrogate me for all I care – I won’t admit to knowing a thing.’ Kat scowled at me and her hands trembled. I desperately wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her tight but I no longer trusted my body enough to get close to her.
She swallowed heavily, her eyes still trained on mine. ‘What if he follows you?’
‘I’ll lose him.’
‘And when he does turn up here? Because he will, eventually.’
‘I’ll call the police, Kat; I’ll have him arrested for trespassing.’
‘You really think that’ll help? They’re on his side!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think Vic is an informer for the police.’
At this revelation a new, improved plan formed in my mind. I didn’t verbalise it – I didn’t want Kat to worry any more than she was already. Instead I vowed to protect her and keep her safe and I asked her to trust me, to try to relax and to enjoy her new home. Of course Kat was sceptical and stubborn and wouldn’t make me any promises. As she left the room, the defiant lift of her chin and the glint in her eyes sent blood rushing to my groin with desire and I stifled a groan, fervently hoping she would stay.
‘I reckon these hebes will be ready to go on sale next week,’ Lil said, lifting one up and tipping it so that I could see the fine white roots that were sprouting from the drainage holes in the bottom of the pot.
‘They look great,’ I agreed. ‘What sort of –’
An eruption of deep-throated male laughter stopped me mid-sentence and Lil and I turned in unison to where Frank Bridger was sat in his forklift with Kat stood beside him. His evident amusement at whatever Kat had just said was subsiding into a chuckle.
‘Well, well,’ Lil observed. ‘Anyone who can make our Frank laugh must be pretty special.’
I nodded, captivated by the sight of Kat smiling in the sunshine, but I didn’t reply. It was Lil’s gentle way of fishing for more information but all anyone needed to know for now was that Kat was a friend who was staying for a while.
I’d spent all morning showing her around the nursery and introducing her to the staff. She’d showed genuine interest in everything and everyone and, despite seeming distinctly uncomfortable with any form of physical contact – handshakes included, she’d made friends easily. Frank was a case in point.
Originally a farmer by trade, Frank had been unhappy ever since his wife had died and his land had been repossessed back in the seventies. My parents had offered him a job when he needed one and he had been fiercely loyal to them in return; he was well into his retirement years and still worked a full five-day week. But he had never remarried and working for someone else had never sat comfortably with him. Keeping himself to himself, he avoided contact with the other staff and customers as far as possible and preferred to eat his lunch alone. Over the years Frank had grown stubborn and cantankerous. This was the first time I recalled hearing him laugh and I wondered what Kat had said to him.
‘She seems lovely,’ Lil said.
Aware that I was staring, I turned back to the hebe in Lil’s hands, avoiding the knowing look in her eyes. ‘Yes, she is. We’re going into town this afternoon to do some shopping. I don’t think it will be massively busy here and everyone seems to think they’ll manage without me but I’ll be on my mobile if anything crops up.’
‘Just go and enjoy yourselves.’ Lil grinned.
Chapter Twenty-five
Jamie jogged over to a pay-and-display machine to buy a ticket, while I stood next to his car and took some deep calming breaths. It wasn’t the dull throbbing pain in my arm that bothered me, or even the aching of my bruised ribs – I was used to feeling bruised and the painkillers took the edge off, making the discomfort relatively easy to endure. It was anticipation of the task ahead that had me feeling tense. Feigning nonchalance for prolonged stretches of time was hard work but I was determined to keep it up, to act normally for Jamie’s sake, despite the fear and dread I felt inside. Wildham, the local town he’d brought me to, was a tiny fraction of the size of London but with recognisable shops, amenities and features, all slightly smaller in scale. Thankfully it wasn’t as crowded as a typical Saturday at the market but the pavements were still nerve-wrackingly busy with shoppers, all in close proximity to one another and moving about unpredictably in all directions.
Jamie returned, his eyes searching my face. ‘OK?’
‘Yep.’
He leaned in through the door and placed a ticket on the dashboard before locking the car. ‘I thought we could try over there.’ He indicated a row of clothes shops beyond the car park.
I clutched my handbag tight. ‘Sounds good.’
The first two shops we entered we spent little time in. They were beautifully furnished and the staff were unexpectedly attentive, with welcoming smiles and polite offers of assistance. But it was exhausting repeatedly stepping out of people’s way and automatically cringing when they brushed by me accidentally and I was shocked and appalled at the eye-watering cost of things. How could one simple T-shirt cost nearly my entire rainy day fund? Admittedly it was many years since I’d ventured into a proper clothes shop and back then, when I was a teenager, it was purely out of curiosity since I didn’t have the money to pay for anything. Whenever my various foster carers had run out of hand-me-downs they had restocked my wardrobe in charity shops and I’d always done the same, though I wasn’t about to let Jamie know. But even the brand-new clothes sold on the market wer
e never as expensive as those displayed before me now. Each immaculate garment was available in a range of sizes and arranged within colour co-ordinated groups. They hung in perfect lines from shiny chrome rails, sat neatly folded and stacked on glass shelves, and adorned haughty-looking mannequins. A sense of panic built up inside me and I began to despair.
Thankfully the third shop Jamie took me into was some sort of discount store and, by carefully rooting about in bargain bins, I was able to find the items I wanted without sending him bankrupt.
As I shopped, Jamie stood back and watched me from afar, something I was grateful for. I’d worried he might try and help, or make suggestions, but he instinctively knew not to crowd me. Still I found it reassuring that he stayed within sight and kept his eyes on me, even when other people stopped to greet him and talk business.
Jamie stationed himself outside the entrance to the fitting rooms, leaning casually against a pillar and idly flicking through his phone, while I went to try on a few pairs of jeans. Hidden safely within the privacy of my own cubicle I removed my sling and awkwardly wrestled denim garments up and down my legs as quickly and modestly as I could manage – unlike the blonde in the cubicle next to me. Through a gap in the curtains I could see her parading about in front of the mirrors by the doorway, as if on a catwalk. She had clearly taken a shine to Jamie and with each change of outfit her clothes grew tighter and more revealing. Privately I was pleased that he ignored her completely. When I reappeared he seemed relieved and insisted on carrying everything to the till for me like a gentleman.
Finally, laden with bags and a frighteningly long till receipt, we exited the shop. I felt weirdly exhilarated and conspicuous – as if I was getting away with something naughty, or acting out a scene from a movie, but I tried not to let it show. At Jamie’s suggestion we stopped in a small coffee shop in the square for refreshments and sat at a table in the window gazing out. He told me a little about the town, pointing out the sweetshop he’d visited as a boy and the Rose and Crown – a pub he’d frequented as a teenager. His description of himself as a pimply seventeen-year-old trying to charm Wendy, the middle-aged landlady, into serving him beer made me smile.
It surprised me how quickly I’d got used to being around him – and frightened me how much I liked it. After all it couldn’t last could it? And it was hardly fair to pin all my hopes on Jamie just because a long time ago we’d known each other as kids. We didn’t really know each other, not really. I felt strangely compelled to trust him – all my instincts told me I could – and yet it was illogical to do so, stupid, reckless even. I never normally trusted anyone. It was a rule with me, one that had kept me alive until now. But something inside me wanted to believe in Jamie, to believe in the promises he made and the life he offered. I had never wanted anything so much. I had to try. I owed it to myself to attempt to relax and embrace this new life with Jamie, even if it couldn’t last.
So I sat in the busy coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by shopping, listening to him talk and calmly sipping tea – happy – normal. But still, every now and then, someone with bleached hair and a denim jacket would catch my eye and my blood would freeze.
Realistically it was unlikely that my husband had noticed my disappearance yet, let alone found me, but he’d been my keeper for so long, and his rules and threats were so ingrained in my mind, it was hard to believe that Vic wasn’t lurking around every corner.
Chapter Twenty-six
I thoroughly enjoyed treating Kat to a hot beverage in a cafe and having her sit beside me instead of serving me across a counter. We talked a bit about Wildham, the town outside the window that I had grown up in, and then discussed the layout and design of the establishment in which we sat – comparing it to our own plans for a cafe at the garden centre. I thought of it as our project – our exciting new coffee shop – because she was so much a part of it in my mind and yet I could not be sure that Kat would stick around long enough to see it finished. I hoped she would.
‘Are we going to get some food while we’re in town?’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Well, we ate the last of the pasta last night and your kitchen cupboards are almost bare so unless you intend to have cereal for dinner…’
‘Oh – we could just get a takeaway tonight and do an online shop for tomorrow,’ I trailed off at the look on Kat’s face – my throwaway suggestion seemed to floor her.
Back in the city I’d regularly eaten out and ordered takeaways; Jasmine didn’t cook and I only knew how to heat things up – ready prepared meals from the freezer, a tin can, or a microwaveable dish – bad habits I’d picked up from Dad. He had never been domestically minded; he couldn’t even be trusted not to let the kettle boil dry on the stove and used an electric one instead. For the last few years a lady who lived nearby had done all his food shopping for him, dropping it off at his door once a week. Similarly I’d always done my grocery shopping online and had it conveniently delivered to my doorstep. I took it for granted. The shocking realisation that Kat may not have had access to the World Wide Web, at all, made my mind boggle. But before I could decide how to ask without insulting her, she spoke.
‘It costs extra to shop online doesn’t it?’
‘You pay for delivery but it’s not much.’
‘Is the supermarket far from here? Is it out of our way?’
‘No, not at all; we can stop in on our way back if you prefer?’
‘OK, good, if you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. But you don’t have to cook y’know.’
‘We have to eat.’
‘Yes, but we can go out for dinner – or order in.’
She shook her head. ‘I’d rather cook. What sort of things do you like?’
‘I like most things.’
‘But?’
‘I’ve been a vegetarian since university.’
Kat’s eyebrows rose in alarm, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘Vegetarian! You never said!’
‘Well, I –’
‘All those times you came into the cafe and I cooked smelly meat right under your nose. I’m so sorry, Jamie.’ She hid her face in her hands.
I laughed and reached out, prying her hands away and enjoying the fleeting feel of her fingers in mine. ‘Don’t be silly; it’s fine; it never bothered me. I’m not particularly strict or fussy.’
‘You still should have said something,’ she admonished with a scowl and I couldn’t stop smiling. ‘Vegetarian,’ she mused, ‘how about vegetable lasagne, mushroom risotto, pasta salad, saag aloo?’
My mouth watered in anticipation. ‘That all sounds amazing, Kat.’
‘It won’t be anything fancy – they’re just recipes I’ve picked up from TV and magazines.’
‘I’m sure anything you cook will be delicious.’ She didn’t look convinced but she was all business as she set about compiling a shopping list.
While Kat shopped, I steered the trolley up and down the supermarket aisles behind her. I hadn’t set foot inside a supermarket since I was a student on a last minute, late night beer run. Today it was chock-full of the bad-tempered and the harassed: those on a mission and armed with lists, re-usable bags and family-sized trolleys. But, weirdly, I found I enjoyed following Kat around; it brought back vivid memories of doing the same thing for my mother. She was the last person who had cooked for me with any regularity and she had shopped for real ingredients too. Unfortunately she was never a very successful cook – she tended to burn things – but she tried hard and that had meant everything to me at the time.
Kat was a sight to behold. She glided quickly and efficiently along the aisles, her eyes scanning the shelves as she swerved smoothly around the other customers, without appearing hasty, causing offence, or breaking her long, graceful stride. Her lips moved silently in concentration as she crouched to compare big-name brands against those on the lowest shelves before swiftly rising again in a lithe motion, a budget alternative held aloft in one hand.
; Though mesmerised by Kat, I kept a subtle but constant eye out for anyone looking suspicious. I only had a vague description of Vic to go on but anyone who took more notice of Kat than they should drew my attention. Just a few hours ago, while she was choosing a pair of pyjamas in a clothes shop so that she wouldn’t have to keep wearing mine, I’d caught a guy staring at her. I could tell he was just a stranger, charmed by her beauty rather than a threat, but I was still relieved when he caught my protective glare and slunk away looking sheepish.
As Kat carefully deposited an armful of items into the trolley she clocked the extra little luxuries I’d slipped in while her back was turned: a selection of Danish pastries, a packet of smoked salmon, a boxed Camembert for baking, fresh strawberries, four bottles of wine (two red and two white), a tub of ice cream and a large box of chocolates. The sneakiness of my actions made me feel good – like a kid again. I wanted to spoil Kat; to treat her to everything she might have missed; to make it up to her. I had only refrained from adding lobster, champagne and caviar because I was worried she might take it the wrong way. But she made no comment.
‘I’ve finished. Is there anything else you want?’ she said, her face unreadable.
‘No, I’m good; let’s go to the checkout.’
As we stood in the queue, Kat’s gaze snagged on a women’s magazine in the rack beside us.
‘Get that if you want it.’
‘No thanks.’ A fleeting look of discomfort crossed her face as she turned away. Reaching over I added the magazine to our trolley. ‘I don’t want it!’ Kat’s indignant eyes met mine.
‘I know but I want to have a look at it myself – maybe it’ll give me a better understanding of women.’ As she shook her head, her eyes softened and her mouth edged into a reluctant smile, which made me want to hug her. I was debating doing just that when a loud voice interrupted.