‘But you prefer this one?’
‘Yeah.’
Chris crouched against the wall and threaded his fingers together. He was accustomed to this style of conversation – no eye contact, lack of interest, closed answers – it was how Rick communicated these days. ‘So what’s this room got that the others haven’t?’
‘A bed.’
‘Ah.’ Chris smiled. ‘Excellent choice then.’
‘Yeah.’ Rick slouched his way across the floor to the deal breaker. ‘It’s all right.’ He lay down, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. ‘For a British bed.’
Was that humour or a disparaging remark? It was difficult to know, but regardless of its intention, the comment was volunteered, and coming from Rick, that was a rare and remarkable thing. Chris wanted to capitalise on the moment – break the cycle of stilted, one-way dialogue. ‘Tommy tells me the containers are at the port already. Lorries should be here in the morning. Can you survive in the British bed until your American bunk arrives?’
‘Yeah.’
Back to the monosyllabic replies. Disappointed, Chris eased himself onto the carpet, scratched his index finger through the thick, blue pile, and decided on the next topic to not talk about. ‘Glad the agents managed to sort out some furnishings. Gets us through the night.’ No response. ‘It’s a big, old place to fill. Fancy helping me? We can buy online.’ Still nothing. ‘I took a gander around the gardens, earlier. It brought back some memories. Do you remember I told you about this place? I used to sneak into the woods when I was a lad. There was a way through from the beach. I wonder if it’s still there. Fancy a recce later?’
Although he wasn’t directly looking at his son, Chris was aware Rick was now propped up and staring at him. He wasn’t sure how to react. He wanted to engage, but his instinct told him to remain focused on the floor. God, he so wanted to look at his son.
‘Gander?’
The gruff, two-tone voice, finding its way to manhood, surprised Chris, and he laughed. He couldn’t help it. Hearing what he considered an English word spoken with a LA accent was funny. He brought himself up sharp though, when Rick slid back down the bed. ‘I’m sorry, son. You caught me off guard. It’s not a word I expect you to use.’
Rick grabbed the end of the duvet, and pulled it over his head. ‘Ditto,’ he said. Then after a slight pause, ‘We’ll look tomorrow. Yeah?’
Amazed, Chris gaped at the quilt-covered mass on the British bed. Rick had poked fun at him. As Chris replayed the words, a smile took command of his mouth. ‘Yeah. All right,’ he said, certain Rick would detect the pleasure in his voice. ‘Tomorrow.’
Chapter Four
The silence in the car between Victoria and Seth was familiar and comforting. It was a marker they had reached a truce, following a sixty-minute battle of wills, with Victoria requiring immediate action and Seth refusing to respond.
In between clothes packing, disposing of the kitchen perishables, and securing the apartment, Victoria had encouraged, bribed, cajoled and shouted at her son to get a move on. In return, Seth expressed his wish Victoria was dead, called her every animal within his range of knowledge, and shut himself in his room. Employing her shoulder as a battering ram, Victoria’s body took several hard knocks against the door before she gained access, where she discovered Seth had built a barricade of books.
She pulled up to a red light and checked on her son. He was safe in his child-seat, busy huffing his hot breath on the window, and fingering sketches in the mist. Victoria activated the climate control and switched on the sidelights. She hoped to reach Weymouth before dusk, but with the November rain greasing the roads, conditions were slow. She tapped the steering wheel. ‘Pops will be surprised to see you.’
In her rush to leave London, she’d not had time to call her father, and her mobile was languishing where she’d left it on the kitchen counter. Her ruckus with Seth had seen to that. ‘It’s funny not having my phone,’ she said. ‘But I quite like it. It’s liberating. It’s like the time my car broke down and the rescue mechanic put me on a hard tow. The only control I had was over the brake pedal. Of course, I had to trust he knew what he was doing, but once I got used to it …’ She heard herself and stopped. Her choice of topic was never going to entice a four-year-old into conversation. ‘What do you think Pops will say when he sees us?’
Seth didn’t answer. The mist had cleared from his window and his attention was now on the contents of the glove box. Victoria clamped her mouth shut. Seth knew the rules. He shouldn’t have opened the compartment and he shouldn’t be raking through her personal items, but Victoria was tired of fighting. If she was serious about breaking the cycle, it had to come from her. Learn when to pick a battle.
As they continued to wait, a motorbike roared across their path, making both occupants jump.
‘Shit!’ Victoria covered her mouth and glanced at her son. Had he heard her swear? It was difficult to tell with his professional poker face. ‘Naughty motorcyclist, scaring me.’
The car behind blasted out three impatient beeps, shocking Victoria into action. With no concern for the lights, she rammed the gear stick into Drive and pulled away. It wasn’t until she’d crossed the junction, that she acknowledged her carelessness. If she’d run a red, both her and Seth would have been in pieces, scattered over the tarmac. That was the speed of change. Life turned on a penny. It brought home to Victoria how little respect for it she had shown.
‘You said shit.’
Victoria kept her eyes on the road. ‘Yes. I did.’
‘That’s a bad word.’
‘Yes.’
Victoria waited for the challenge, and it came as Seth shuffled to face her.
‘I get told off when I say bad words.’
Victoria nodded. ‘So do I.’ If eyes had lasers, Seth’s would be burning a hole in her ear right now. She brushed over it with the flat of her hand and smoothed down her curls; a fruitless act, as immediately, they reverted to their natural position. She wrapped her fingers around the wheel and locked out her arms in anticipation of a major eruption from Seth.
As the seconds passed and nothing came, she chanced a peek. He appeared to be studying her. Or assessing – she wasn’t sure, but it unnerved her to the point where she inspected his hands for missiles. Empty. It was his eyes causing the damage today.
‘Does Pops tell you off?’
The question was so unexpected and engaging, Victoria laughed. ‘Yes. And so does your Aunty Joo.’ She relaxed and her elbows dipped, as she looked forward to a rare exchange with her son.
Seth settled back in his seat. ‘You said shit.’
Victoria slumped, and her expectations went with her. No conversation. She was naïve to think Seth would act out of character.
‘I’m going to tell Pops you said shit.’
‘That’s enough.’ Desperate not to raise her voice, the words were hissed out, sounding more aggressive than assertive. She tried again. ‘No more swearing. It’s rude and I don’t like it.’
Seth kicked out at the glove box and threw himself further into his seat. ‘I don’t care.’ He folded his arms and turned away from Victoria. ‘I hate you.’
The brief insight into normality, the few seconds of how wonderful their life together could be, was wiped out by his three little words.
‘Well, you know what?’ Victoria said. ‘There are times when I don’t much like you.’ It was an unforgivable disclosure, but enough was enough. Nothing he said now would make her feel worse.
‘I know.’
Except that.
Victoria’s stomach whipped over, and the bullets of sorrow and regret she’d swallowed earlier, exploded. The pain machine-gunned through her gut, and she swerved off the road. She hit the engine’s stop button, slapped her hands on the steering wheel, and buried her face in her arms.
Her floodgates had opened, and a river of remorse, and a stream of sadness poured from her. An adulthood of repressed emotions screamed with relief at their sudden freedom, their piercing wails ricocheting around the car. Victoria’s ears throbbed, her eyes stung, and her ribs ached, but it was what she wanted. To reconnect with real life, she had to suffer, experience agony, and accept that she had made terrible mistakes.
Exhausted by the outpour, she fell silent and raised her head, expecting to find Seth glaring at her. He had his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap, and his lips sealed. He was humming. Victoria picked out the tune of Old MacDonald.
The song came to an abrupt halt when Seth opened his eyes. ‘I wish you were dead,’ he said.
Defeated by his detached air and direct words, and no longer capable of speech, Victoria stared at him. As with EweSpeak, the opportunity to create a most wonderful thing was hers, but with no capacity to nurture, her relationship with Seth had been destroyed.
The company she could deal with, but her son …
A bitter taste of rising bile coated the back of her tongue, the muscles in her jaws tensed, and her breathing quickened. Losing control frightened her, but with her barriers down and reserves spent, she offered no resistance. Before today, she would have denied herself this ultimate form of release.
Racing to exit the car, she flung open the door, scrambled onto the grass and willingly went with the moment. Within seconds, the poison was expelled from her body.
She wished her conscience had the facility to do the same.
Once her muscles stopped trembling, she returned to the car, took a bottle of water from the side pocket and refreshed her mouth.
Seth scowled at her. ‘I want Pops.’
‘So do I.’ Crushed and spent, Victoria climbed into her seat and shut the door. ‘I’m sorry. I was angry and upset. I didn’t mean what I said.’ She risked a light touch to the back of Seth’s neck, but he pulled away.
‘I did,’ he said.
Victoria started the engine, planted both hands on the steering wheel, and concentrated on the road. If she thought about Seth for too long, she would cry again, and this time, she might not stop.
Chapter Five
Victoria stopped the car outside a small bungalow raised a few feet from road level. The digital dashboard read six o’clock, but it seemed much later. Shattered and drained, she was relieved they had reached Weymouth; the emotional strain had taken its toll and she was ready for sleep. Seth had already succumbed. She took a moment to study him. He was curled on his side with his knees drawn up to his stomach, and he was using his hands for a pillow. He was untroubled and peaceful. That expression didn’t exist in daylight hours.
Although Victoria was reluctant to rouse him, she released his seat belt. ‘Seth,’ she called softly. ‘We’re at Pops’ house. It’s time to wake up.’
Under the orange streetlight, he yawned and stretched, his skinny body quivering with tension. Hostility blazed from his eyes.
‘I don’t want you here,’ he said, his voice steady, his intent clear. ‘This is mine and Pops’. You don’t come here.’
‘Of course I do, you’ve forgotten, that’s all.’ As Victoria spoke, her hair bobbed forward and concealed her face. For once she was grateful for her wayward whorls, as they veiled the heat of guilt burning her cheeks. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s surprise your granddad.’
At full stretch and on tiptoes, Seth held down the button to the bell and Victoria retreated from the front door. They’d arrived unannounced and she had no idea how her father would react. The small pane of obscured glass at the top of the door went from black to yellow, as an interior light illuminated the building. ‘He’s home,’ she said. ‘You can take your finger off the bell.’
‘It’s not yours,’ said Seth, swapping hands.
‘Hold your horses. I’m coming.’
Hearing her father’s familiar tones settled Victoria’s nerves, and when the door opened, Frank’s huge grin expressed his delight at seeing his daughter and grandson.
‘Well, goodness me. Who’s this, then?’ He saluted Victoria, and then extended his arms to Seth. ‘Come and give your Pops your tightest hug.’
Seth threw himself at Frank as Victoria looked on. The chemistry between them was palpable, and their acceptance of one another enviable. Victoria didn’t want it any other way; she just wanted some of it for herself.
‘Are you coming in, love?’ Frank held out his hand and gestured for Victoria to take it. He pulled her in. ‘Your timing’s impeccable. There’s a pot of tea on the table.’
Victoria closed the door, and followed her dad and son into the kitchen. She surveyed the room and frowned. She didn’t recall granite worktops. Or white walls. ‘Have you redecorated?’
Frank laughed. ‘Two years ago.’
‘Has it been that long since my last visit?’ She squirmed, and avoided eye contact with Seth, who was standing by Frank’s side. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. Of course I’d love to see more of you, but I know you’re busy.’ He ruffled Seth’s hair. ‘I’ve seen lots of this little fella, though. And his cousins.’
Seth skipped across the brick-red Marley tiles, and stopped in front of the fridge.
‘May I see what’s inside please, Pops?’
‘Yes, you may. But first you must go to the toilet and wash your hands. Okay?’ He smiled at Seth.
Victoria grimaced as she waited for the tantrum.
‘Okay.’ Seth trotted into the hallway and out of sight.
The shift in his behaviour was astonishing.
‘Are you all right, love? You look stunned.’
Victoria blinked. ‘I am. Does Seth always do as you ask?’
Frank opened a cupboard, retrieved a cup and saucer, and put them next to a set already on the table. ‘Mostly. Do you still take milk?’
Victoria nodded. ‘He knows his way around here.’
‘It’s important he feels at home.’ Frank chuckled. ‘He’s very like you.’ He poured the tea and passed Victoria hers.
‘He is?’
‘Oh, yes. He doesn’t take kindly to change.’
‘How is that like me?’ Victoria was adaptable – she had to be with technology developing at a breakneck speed.
‘There’s an inflexibility about you. Your last school report said so.’ Frank winked.
‘Dad! That was seventeen years ago.’
He sipped his tea. ‘You objected to your mother dusting your room because she moved your books. And you sulked if you missed a meal. As for the bathroom timetable—’
Victoria held up her hand and smiled. ‘I get the point. I prefer order to chaos.’
‘And Seth’s the same.’
Based on the evidence she’d already witnessed, despite its brevity, Victoria had to agree with her father’s evaluation.
‘It’s not rocket science,’ he said. ‘Children like to know where they stand. Now, you both must be hungry.’
After something to eat, and once Seth was in bed, the two adults settled in the living room.
‘I’m sorry to pitch up unannounced, Dad.’
‘No apologies needed. The spare bedroom was already made up, and I can dig out the blow-up mattress for you. It’s still got a bit of life in it.’ Frank reached a hand across the divide of his armchair and the sofa in which Victoria was sitting. ‘You and Seth are always welcome. This is your home.’
She smiled at her father. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not true. This is your place. I’ve never lived here.’
‘You know what I mean. I’d have the rooms packed with the lot of you if I could. Do you think we might do Christmas here this year?’
A little squashed, but it was a distinct possibility. ‘I guess so,’
Victoria said. ‘I haven’t any immediate plans to leave.’ She saw the surprise hop onto her father’s face. ‘Hasn’t Juliette called?’
‘No. Has something happened?’
Lots of things had happened to Victoria – the business was sucking the life out of her, life was sucking the life out of her, and her son had declared war on her. Not wanting to spoil the evening, she shrugged. ‘Fancied a change.’
‘What about Seth’s playgroup?’
‘It’s not compulsory. A few weeks out of the system won’t hurt him.’
Her father looked doubtful. ‘He won’t be happy if you upset his routine. Perhaps you could take him to one here.’
‘Maybe.’ Victoria sunk into the sofa and closed her eyes. She was beyond tired. ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’
‘No plan, Victoria. You always have a plan.’
She heard the surprise in her father’s voice. He was right. Her whole life was spent making lists, drawing systems diagrams, and sketching out her next five years. Always the planner, always a plan. Right up until that morning, she’d had a plan. Then, she’d gone freestyle. She opened her eyes. ‘I’m trying something new. Juliette gets by on winging it.’
‘You know what your mother would have said to that?’
Victoria tutted. ‘You are not Juliette.’
Her father nodded. ‘Well, that’s right, love. Juliette relies on her instinct. You use logic.’
Victoria propped herself up. ‘We’re talking about Seth missing a few weeks of the Christmas term.’
‘You’ll miss his nativity.’
‘I’m an atheist, Dad.’
‘Mum brought you up to believe in God.’
‘No. She brought me up to believe that she believed in God. I never did.’
‘Still,’ he said, ‘it’s Seth’s first one.’ Her dad had a tiny smile playing on his lips. ‘Can we at least upgrade you to agnostic? For Iris’s sake?’
‘Dad. That doesn’t work on me. Mum’s dead. End of. There’s no afterlife, or spirits, or angels, thank God.’ Victoria’s speech came to an abrupt halt as she swallowed down her last words and reacted to her father’s obvious amusement. ‘It’s a saying.’
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