Unbound (The Braille Club #2)

by J. A. Kerr

  Ford clung to the hope she might relent to his offer to take her out, but she never did. The closest he got was a kiss at the end of the Christmas party. They were both drunk, and she had pushed him back roughly, her eyes furious. But just for a second she kissed him back. Ford felt raw passion flair in both of them although she never referred to the incident again.

  He and Esme finished their apprenticeships with distinction. Several weeks later he was utterly crushed when she announced she was leaving, not only her job, but the country. She was off to Denmark and her last week with him was bittersweet. Letting down some of her defences, she told him she never dreamed of marriage and babies. Instead, she wanted to travel, build things of importance, and make money. Money seemed very important to her. She didn’t have any, and as she met his eyes, he saw depths of hunger that only poverty can provoke. She was intoxicating, intriguing, but in the end she left him.

  Her leaving party had been torture. He’d sat as far away from her as possible, miserable and wretched. He could barely stand to look at her. She was so beautiful with her long hair loose and curling over her shoulders. He had never seen her in a dress and her feminine curves made him blush to the roots of his hair. Esme’s face, always pretty, looked striking with makeup. She was elegant and full of poise with not a grease mark in sight. It was getting late as she worked around the room saying her goodbyes but he didn’t want to hang around any longer and slipped on his jacket. When he turned round she was there.

  “So were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

  He turned towards this new Esme, suddenly furious. “Show’s not over yet, Esme, don’t let me keep you,” he spat.

  She recoiled from his anger, her face clouding. “Don’t be silly, Ford. I want to say goodbye properly.”

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. This time it was Ford that shoved her away roughly, eyes blazing as he turned and stalked out. It was only later in the taxi that he put his head in his hands. He didn’t need her or her friendship, but with the feel of her lips still fresh on his, he was beginning to regret leaving. He wasn’t angry she kissed him; he was angry she’d not responded when he kissed her back. Like all unrequited love it was intense and full of despair. Ford understood he was no looker; his growing pubescent body was thin as a rail. His mates teased him, saying, “We’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil.” His thick red hair, which he despised, had a habit of standing on end in all directions, so he wore it in a buzz cut, which made him look hard and aggressive. Acne scars covered his face, and he was prone to flare ups. The smeared, cheap glasses he wore because he kept breaking them hid his dark brown eyes. By contrast, Esme was beautiful, and she’d made her feelings towards him clear. She’d given him a kiss, intending to make him feel better but instead made things worse.

  Ford’s face felt hot. His memories of Esme were always painful, and it did not improve his mood. She’d hurt him, one of the few people who had, and it still stung. People found out quickly if you pushed against Crawford Monroe he not only pushed back, but hurt you in the process, and not just theoretically either. It was why he had gotten expelled. He would not be pushed around. Not by his parents, not by school bullies calling him ‘ginger’ and ‘specky,’ not by anyone.

  He worked hard and played harder. Based in Holland, his speciality was oil and gas. He was just as surprised as anyone to discover he was a natural linguist. It would become an invaluable asset to him. He travelled around the globe, going where the next emergency took him. His consultancy fees were colossal, but desperate companies would pay him anything he demanded to fix the mechanical breakdowns that restored their oil or gas supply.

  He worked for all the major players performing his engineering miracles. His stillness calmed those around him. People often made bad decisions while under pressure but Ford was not among them. His silence was an unusual skill that enabled him to listen and assess. This lack of reaction unnerved most of the companies he worked with. They assumed he had somehow misinterpreted the sense of urgency they required, but his solutions were always deadly accurate. He was a lethal weapon and his company CEM Engineering was at the forefront of emerging concepts.

  He picked up the phone to call this Guy Walker. If he was in London working, he could be home in an hour. Nothing made him smile like home. He loved his city—it was vibrant and fast paced, with that ever present hint of danger that made every native give Mother Glasgow the respect she deserved. She took no prisoners, but her warmth and humour was world renowned and it’s what he craved most after long periods away.

  He looked at his mobile, the one word text from his friend Mikey direct and to the point.

  Boozer?

  His friends met every Friday night in the West End of Glasgow at 5:30. The numbers ebbed and flowed, but there was always a hardcore group of around four to five. He received the same text from Mikey every week at 5:00. No matter where he was in the world, it arrived without fail and every time he would experience a sharp stab of homesickness.

  He didn’t miss his parents or his brother, although he loved them, or his childhood home, but he missed his mates. Their company was like an old pair of slippers, the only place he felt comfortable and finally himself. Crawford was left at the office and Ford slipped into the pub and the banter, with a welcome grin from his mates and a punch on the arm.

  But those times were getting fewer and fewer. His company had expanded and encompassed many additional services: crisis consultancy, oil spill containment, and advanced cleaning solutions. At 33 he had made serious money and still loved the thrill of the challenge. He’d jump on a plane at all hours. Arriving in dangerous locations often meant putting his own safety on the line, but there was one thing missing in his life. He punched in the number and when connected, asked for Guy Walker.

  “Crawford,” began Guy, delight clearly evident in his voice, “or would you prefer Ford?” There was a silence that neither man rushed to fill. Ford had stiffened immediately, his defensives rattled.

  “We have a mutual acquaintance,” said Guy smoothly.

  “Ahhh,” said Ford as he settled down to listen.

  “Danny Shields,” said Guy.

  Ford did not react as his friend’s face swam before his eyes. He liked Danny. He was a keeper, but still he did not speak.

  “Ford, I’ve heard good things about your work, but what we need here is very different and somewhat challenging.”

  “How so?” Ford enquired.

  “It’s something you must see for yourself, plus we will insist on the signing of a confidentiality agreement.”

  Ford was thinking, processing the words. “I’m a busy man, Mr. Walker. I’m afraid I’ll need more details.”

  “I understand. I will send the proposals via email. You can ring me when you’ve absorbed them.”

  “Good, I look forward to it. Goodbye, Mr. Walker.” Both men hung up simultaneously, smiling.

  Ford had been dating his girlfriend Monique for some time and he’d grown fond of her. He definitely had a type; she was petite, brunette, with pretty eyes and an exquisite face. She told him red hair was hot and sexy, citing Michael Fassbender and Benedict Cumberbatch. He’d laughed, pulling her towards him.

  “Flattery will get you into trouble,” he remarked, then silenced her mouth with a kiss. Ford was unusual; he was completely comfortable in his skin. Surviving his ugly duckling stage, he now embraced who he was, glad his earlier days were behind him.

  Guy Walker’s call had unsettled him. He’d had offers before—Shell and BP amongst others, but he liked being his own boss. It suited his nature, he liked calling the shots. He looked at his diary. It was busy, but nothing his crew, all handpicked and highly specialised, couldn’t handle. He’d wait and see what arrived in his email. Curious, he scrolled through his contacts until he located Danny. He sent him a text.

  Ford: Guy Walker?

  As he waited for Danny’s reply, his thoughts returned to Esme. Shortly after her departure,
he’d received an email from her at work. It had brooded in his inbox for two weeks as he tried to ignore it. Just the sight of her name brought memories; the flash of her rare smile, the way she flicked her hair out of her way in annoyance, her face with its smattering of freckles, focused and solemn.

  Her eyes were sharp with intelligence; eyes that not only held your gaze, but challenged it. He’d hovered over the mail, fingers itching to open it, but he was still hurting, still angry. After another week he’d given in and they had stayed in touch ever since, tracking each other’s careers over the ensuing years. They were even friends on Facebook. Ford detested social media, but it had its uses. His mobile buzzed, and he looked at the screen.

  Danny: Good, ex-copper knows my bro, why?

  He quickly sent a reply.

  Ford: Wants work done, just checking he’s legit.

  The reply was quick.

  Danny: Aye.

  Chapter 12

  The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The central functionality of the sensory suit had improved, allowing patrons a host of options. The connection to the Braille chair, for example, is adjustable from light to strong, depending on what the patron decides will be the most effective. The tracery pulse within the suit is now controllable; from slow to fast and intermittent. The patron must choose his approach wisely; their trial and error period is still only 15 minutes long.

  London 2014

  Siena

  Siena lay awake unable to sleep, tense and unhappy; withholding the DNA results and her impending testimony were taking their toll. She could sense the net closing in. Benedict asked her repeatedly if she was okay. God, she loved him, wanted nothing more than to share her thoughts and worries, but would he feel the same when she did? Her mind continued to churn until the familiar cry of the twins came as a relief. Slipping from the bed, she entered the nursery. She stared at the faces of the twins, for once asleep. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Turning dejectedly, she padded down to the kitchen. She sat in the darkness and let the tears come. Since she got that letter, she just couldn’t stop them, and then his warm arms were around her, strong and loving, making her sob even harder.

  “It will be over soon, I promise. Then he can’t hurt us anymore,” whispered Benedict fiercely as he rocked her.

  Siena said nothing as she watched the dawn arrive. Her parents would soon arrive to care for the twins as they had done every day since the trial began. She leant against Benedict and drew strength from him. Mentally she needed to pull herself together and conserve her energy to face that monster in court. She couldn’t bear to look at Nick knowing what he did—just being in the same room made her skin crawl. On the one occasion their gaze met, his calculated stare frightened her; like he was still in control. Nick was up to something, she knew that look—he was probably trying to scare her. Well, he excelled at that. No amount of makeup could disguise the dark shadows under her eyes and her clothes hung loose with the weight she had lost. She was so tired; she just wanted it to be over.

  Siena eventually spoke to her lawyer. Philippa told her there was an unconfirmed rumour the DNA results were out although her firm had received nothing. Had Siena received anything in the post? She told Siena her source was normally reliable, but wanted to check with her first before she contacted the DNA company directly.

  “No,” she lied. Philippa sighed and said she would look into it.

  The courtroom was quiet. Standing centre stage, Nick’s QC held the jury spellbound as he built up the suspense. Siena saw Philippa frown and lean forward. He distributed Exhibit C to the jurors, asking them not to open the paperwork until instructed to do so. His voice was clear and powerful as he gave a full and technical background into the reliability of DNA testing.

  Philippa shot out of her chair. “Objection, Your Honour. It appears the defence is in possession of information we are not privy to.”

  Nick’s QC feigned a look of shock while a smile dressed his lips. “Your Honour, do you expect us to believe that my learned friend does not have these results in her possession?”

  “Your Honour, may I approach the bench?” said Philippa urgently.

  “Your Honour, I believe this to be a stalling tactic,” the defence blustered.

  Siena watched the proceedings as fear clutched at her heart. She watched Benedict’s look of anger turn to anxiety. The court was adjourned for the day, following the judge’s ruling. Benedict took her arm as they followed Philippa. As soon as they were clear of the court, Philippa made a phone call while Siena and Benedict waited nervously.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Benedict fumed, pacing up and down. “How did Waters get the results before we did?”

  Siena tried to speak, but a sob escaped instead.

  “Siena,” said Benedict, rushing to her side. “It’s going to be all right,” he soothed. Siena saw Philippa approach and tensed at her grave expression.

  “Siena, Benedict, I’m so sorry you were subjected to that. I left instructions last night with my office to contact the company handling the tests. I’ll call them for an update. Let’s grab a coffee.”

  “Can’t I contact the firm directly and force them to tell me?” said Benedict, losing patience.

  Philippa shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. Please let my office handle this.” Benedict looked mutinous but had no choice but to accept what she said. Siena offered to get the coffee from a shop nearby and Philippa flashed her a grateful smile. They arrived and took a seat in Philippa’s office. The waiting was torturous as they sipped their coffee; all attempts at small talk abandoned when at last Philippa’s mobile rang. She took the call, turning her back and walking just out of earshot. Siena could see the strain on Benedict’s face as his grip on her hand tightened.

  Philippa ended the call. “They’re faxing the results now.”

  A knock and the tension in the room tightened. A young boy appeared with a sheet of paper in his hand.

  “Josh, could you please give it to my clients?” Josh handed Benedict the fax. “I’ll give you some privacy,” said Philippa.

  Siena began to cry again as Benedict gripped the piece of paper. A subdued Philippa re-entered the room with a copy of the same results.

  “This does change things, I’m afraid.” She looked at the shocked faces in front of her. “Go home, I’ll brief you in the morning,” she said kindly.

  ***

  Benedict

  They were silent on the journey home, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. As soon as the lawyers had called saying there was a complication with the DNA results, he’d felt uneasy. Siena’s panic attack…had she received the paperwork that day? Is that what she was hiding? The company confirmed they had posted the results. He felt Philippa was embarrassed he didn’t know already. She assured him again a copy had been posted to his address and then everything clicked into place. It would explain her behaviour…but the company had made a mess of getting the results out to Philippa. His heart thudded painfully; he now knew what a complication with the DNA results actually meant.

  Siena’s parents had handed over care of the twins to Grace for the afternoon. She was surprised to see them back so early, but one look at their faces had her hastily exiting their home. There had always been a chance Nick Waters could be the twins’ father, but he had dismissed it, the thought repellent. He felt his whole world had stopped spinning as he hurried to his front door to see Grace out. He moved quickly through the house to the kitchen and stopped when he saw Siena.

  She looked utterly broken as she sat slumped on the chair, her shocked eyes staring into space. He stood behind her, his hand touching her face as she turned to look at him, eyes filled with anguish as she handed him a crumpled piece of paper. Benedict took it and began to read, his mind and heart racing. Then there was a loud roar in his ears as a devastating array of emotions passed through him until it was Siena holding him.

  Chapter 13

  The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Braille chair
now came in many guises…depending on zone choices. For example, there was the saddle chair for the most advanced assignees. With no support for their upper body, while their lower body was so intimately challenged, keeping their bell silent was the ultimate test.

  London 2014

  Ford

  Ford sat opposite Benedict and Guy as he looked at the objects in front of him. He filled the room with his presence, his 6’4” frame barely accommodated by the chair he sat on. Studying the men in front of him, he could detect nothing from their demeanours. He was happy to sign a number of confidentiality agreements—he understood people must protect their inventions, but he was speechless when he saw what they were.

  “Let’s start with the hood, shall we?” said Guy. “I want members to have the best sound experience, like headphones—wireless, of course—is this possible?”

  Ford lifted the hood and examined it. He turned it inside out and eventually put it down before answering. “Look, I’m not sure I’m the right guy to be asking…this all seems very—” He struggled to find the right word. “Specialised,” he finished.

  “In your opinion, is it possible or not?” asked Benedict as direct as ever.

  “Well yes, I suppose it’s possible,” Ford conceded.

  “We want a flexible cuff to replace this.” Guy handed him the bindings with the bells. “In fact, we want two versions. One cuff set with just the bells and the other with motion sensors. Both must have automatic locking and unlocking functions. Is that possible?”

  Ford, uncomfortable now, nodded, wondering what had possessed him to attend this meeting. He stopped at the open chair in front of him and examined the machinery stored beneath the seat and frowned.