As hard as it was to shake betrayal from his mind, Chris looked at his son, managed a glimmer of a smile, and shook his head. ‘He’s gone away for a few days. Something about catching up with old friends. Not sure when he’ll be back.’
So. There was his answer. He wouldn’t tell Rick the truth. Instead, he’d cast the second mould to his set of Russian doll lies.
They ventured onto the patio, locked the conservatory doors, and headed for the woodland, Chris concentrating on the path, to avoid facing further thoughts of Tommy and Lacey. He found the entrance to the beach with ease this time, and he ran down the bank onto the pebbles. The biting wind nipped at his cheeks and howled in his ears. He tugged his hat down. He’d forgotten how cold it was along the front. Rick followed.
‘Not far,’ Chris mouthed.
As they passed the Harbour Inn, they turned off the beach, walked through an alleyway, and came to a standstill outside the first of a terrace of three cottages.
‘Are we lost again?’ Rick asked.
Chris faced the road, and gave the area a quick once-over. ‘I could have sworn there was a restaurant here. I took—’ The cold air caught the back of his throat, and he coughed. The moment was long enough for him to change his story. There was no point bringing Vicky Paveley into the present. She needed to stay in his head, especially now he was reliving the last few moments he’d spent with her, naked, making no-holds-barred love in the sea. ‘I used to go there,’ he said, walking further along the pavement.
As he passed the end cottage, he heard a woman’s voice. It stopped him in his tracks. The tone, the inflection, and the rhythm of the words could have been spoken by Vicky. A shiver spiralled down his spine as he recalled who the building belonged to – old Mrs Paveley, Vicky’s nan.
The memory was a powerful thing.
‘I’m sorry, Seth. I promised you half an hour ago we’d see Olivia, didn’t I? I got caught up with sorting the kitchen. Come downstairs and we’ll go now.’
Chris reeled on the spot. The voice wasn’t in his head. It was behind the door of Vicky’s nan’s cottage. This was too weird. It was a coincidence, pure and simple. Old Mrs Paveley would have passed away years ago. Vicky was on his mind, that was all.
‘You okay, Dad?’ Rick proceeded in the direction of the craft shop. ‘You look spaced out.’
‘Yeah. I’m fine. I was wondering what happened to the restaurant.’ He knew his actions betrayed his words, as his eyes were fixed on the cottage door.
The door that was opening.
‘Seth! Are you coming?’
The familiar voice, matched with the unruly, copper hair, sent a chill through Chris. The woman sounded like Vicky, and bore a remarkable resemblance too. He had to be hallucinating; imprinting Vicky’s image on this poor, unsuspecting lady. He nodded in agreement with himself. Jet lag. He was suffering from jet lag.
When the woman stepped onto the pavement, two feet away from Chris, the rotation of the earth increased ten-fold. Unsteady, and with his head spinning, he collapsed against the wall of the cottage. When she turned to him, and recognition raced across her face, it was all Chris could do to stay upright.
The shock appeared to be all his.
‘Hello,’ the woman said. ‘It’s been a while.’
Chapter Ten
With Rick now at his side, Chris pushed away from the cold bricks, and straightened his clothes. Vicky Paveley was still not a part of his history he was willing to divulge. Whatever happened next, he had to provide his son with a rational explanation, and one that didn’t create too many questions. ‘Rick, this is an old friend of mine. We knew each other many years ago, before I moved to America.’ He removed his hat and shoved it in his pocket.
‘Like, an old girlfriend?’
‘Well …’
‘I’m Victoria Noble.’ Victoria extended a hand to Rick, who, to Chris’s surprise, returned the gesture. ‘We dated. Nothing serious.’ Victoria smiled. ‘You must be Rick. My son, Seth, is inside. I believe you’ve already met. Curly hair, asks a lot of questions.’
Rick nodded.
‘You know Vicky’s … Victoria’s son?’
Again, Rick nodded. Chris appeared to be the only one overwhelmed by the situation. Victoria was very much in control. She took up the story.
‘Seth found his way into the grounds of Hope Cove and the boys got chatting. Your son was very kind to him.’ She turned to Rick. ‘Seth’s not always the easiest of boys to get on with. Thank you.’
Chris raised his hands. ‘You knew we were here, then?’ That made sense of Vicky’s … Victoria’s cool reception. ‘Question. When did you become Victoria?’
‘When I grew up. The Noble bit happened when I married.’
Victoria Noble. There was a familiarity to the name Chris couldn’t put his finger on. Victoria Noble. Nope. Whatever it was, it had gone. Perhaps Rick had mentioned it in passing.
‘So, married with children.’ Chris cursed himself for producing such a pathetic statement, but what else could he say? I’ve been thinking about our last night together. I remember what it was like to hold you. Kiss you. Love you.
It was irrelevant now. Their lives had moved on. They’d both found love with other people. Good, honest love. Well, until Tommy’s outburst, Chris believed his marriage to Lacey to have been good and honest.
He pressed a palm to his forehead. There wasn’t enough room in there for simultaneous thoughts of Vicky and Lacey.
‘Divorced, with a son,’ Victoria said. ‘My husband left when Seth was a baby.’
Chris noted the clipped words, and the bitterness with which they were spoken. He formed the distinct impression he was expected to apologise, but for what, he didn’t know. ‘How are your mum and dad? And sister?’ Really? Small talk? He ran his hands over his head, and clasped his fingers together. ‘Sorry.’ There. He’d apologised. It wasn’t for the right reason, but it loosened the air around him. He glanced at Rick, who was watching the scene intently. ‘Perhaps the four of us could meet at the Harbour Inn for lunch tomorrow? The boys could play baseball on the beach, and we could … talk.’
What was he doing? Seeing Victoria had turned him into a teenager. He felt clumsy and awkward; a little shy, even. How did this woman still have the power to do that to him? Get a grip, Frampton.
‘Seth’s not five yet. I think baseball’s a little ambitious. And Dad and Juliette are fine, thanks.’ She paused. ‘I lost my mother a few years ago. Stroke.’ She looked back into the cottage, before continuing. ‘And to save you asking, my nan died when I was nineteen.’ She produced a lame smile and cast her eyes to the pavement. ‘Lunch and a chat would be … interesting, but I can’t do tomorrow.’
Ah. The brush-off. Well, he had just stamped his size eleven boots all over Victoria’s memories. Maybe it was best if they avoided one another. Neither Chris nor Vicky were the people of their teens, despite the ease with which he could recall their time together. ‘I’m sorry about your mum. And your nan. I expect there’s plenty I don’t know. Lunch another time?’ He watched as Victoria pushed a stray curl behind her ear, and then heard her huff as it bobbed out again. He smiled. That hair had once danced the entire length of his body.
‘I have to go to London for a meeting, but if it goes well, I’ll be back the next day. We could arrange something after that.’
Victoria’s response nudged the glorious image from Chris’s head. ‘If you’re sure? That would be great.’ Not such a bad idea, after all. ‘You should drop in at the castle.’
‘Dad? Can we go now?’
Rick’s question and an accompanying shove brought Chris sharply back to the necessities of everyday life. ‘You hungry?’
‘Er. Yeah.’
‘Is that Rick?’ Seth’s voice floated onto the street from within the dim cottage. ‘I want to see Rick.�
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His tumbling footsteps ended in an almighty crash that sent debris and dust blasting through the open door.
‘Stay here!’ In an instant Chris was in the building, surrounded by fallen plaster and thin strips of wood, with freezing water biting at his ankles. As he stumbled and staggered his way through the rubble, his mind blinded his eyes to the bleak interior of the house.
Deceived by the devastation, and confused by the chaos, he was searching for his son and wife. He set his hands on his crown and consciously slowed his breathing, drawing air deep into his lungs. He choked and gagged as the smell of burning flesh hit the back of his throat. He recognised the stench immediately. Instinctively, he fingered the scar above his brow. ‘One blast too many,’ Lacey had said to him, the night he’d earned that particular badge. Tommy’s touch to his arm startled him and returned him to the harsh reality strewn all around. Chris scanned the area. ‘Where’s Rick?’ he said. ‘He was standing right there.’ Chris pointed to the entrance of the arena, and waved away the paramedic fussing around him. ‘Where is he?’ He struggled to his feet and leaned on Tommy.
‘He’s all right,’ Tommy said, his voice cracking. ‘A few splinters, cuts and grazes, but he’ll be okay. He’s on his way to hospital.’ Tommy glared at the paramedic, who took the hint and backed off.
‘Where’s Todd?’ Chris said. ‘Where’s Lacey?’
In one swift movement, Tommy threw his arms around Chris and clutched him to his body, his mouth pressing on his ear. ‘She’s in the arena,’ he said. ‘Lacey and Todd. They’re both in there. Todd was riding your bike. And something really bad happened.’
The words fell on Chris like coins from a fruit machine, and suddenly he understood. The explosion, the rancid stink of singed skin, the acrid taste of smoky fuel on his tongue. Todd had crashed, and somehow both he and Lacey were caught up in the deafening chaos. ‘I have to get them out, Tommy. I have to save them.’
At the entrance to the mechanic’s pit, Tommy braced himself and rammed the door to the stunt arena. It flew open, releasing a ball of heat, which forced the men to retreat. ‘You all right?’ Tommy asked.
Chris gave no reply. He was concentrating on not retching. The smell was stronger here; nasty, suffocating. He held his hand over his nose and took shallow breaths. The sound of Tommy gagging almost sent him over. ‘I can’t see anything,’ Chris said, his eyes straining through the dirty orange haze, but as they adjusted to the peculiar light, he edged forward, able to identify the wraithlike outlines of people working on the scene. The further he ventured, the easier it became to zone in on the pockets of activity.
Neither man spoke; Chris was shocked into silence by the wreckage at his feet and by the extent of the carnage sprawled across the arena floor. There were a handful of small fires left unattended while the crew fought to gain control of a larger blaze in the centre, a bewildering number of police were shouting orders to one another, sealing off the main entrance with tape, and the blinding flashes of cameras were cutting through the fetid fog.
Chris kept his eyes level, drawn to the two men in all-in-ones making their way to the fractured and smouldering test ramp. They stopped next to a smoking crater guarded by a firefighter. Chris crept closer, unnoticed and unchallenged. From his peripheral vision, he saw the scorched ground. Was it his imagination, or could he feel the earth’s heat on the soles of his bare feet? He jumped as Tommy’s grasp tightened and pulled him back. Undeterred, he shrugged him off and advanced another foot. He needed to know what the two men in coveralls found so fascinating. They were examining the area beyond the crater. With stinging eyes, Chris tried to make sense of the blur of red and white. ‘What is it?’ he shouted to Tommy. ‘Can you see?’
His mistake punched him in the gut, as he realised his question should have asked who, and not what. ‘Lacey? Todd?’ His foot knocked against something soft. Something wet. He refused to look down, scared of what he would see. He’d dealt with explosions as a stuntman, riding through fragments of skin and bone, and kicking away burning limbs, but this was not a film set, and the remains underfoot were not prosthetics.
‘Seth!’ A woman’s voice sliced through the mist, providing Chris with a view to the real world. He wiped his sticky palms down the length of his thighs, and concentrated on clearing his mind. Flashbacks weren’t memories. Flashbacks were man-eating monsters that swallowed him whole and regurgitated him at the entrance of his practice arena, and, over and over again, forced him to relive the moment when he discovered the lifeless, shattered bodies of Lacey and Todd. It was as traumatic as the day it happened, only now he’d learned to manage the aftermath. Except the blinding headaches. He endured those.
He loosened his coat, hitched his sleeves to his elbows, and shook the tension from his arms. ‘Focus, Frampton. Remember why you’re here.’
Another yell from outside prompted him to move. Vicky’s boy was in there, and he needed to get him out. ‘Seth! Where are you? Shit.’ Find the boy. Save the boy. Chris coughed as the dust attacked his throat. The choking would be a hundred times worse for his boy; a thousand for Lacey.
‘You said shit.’
Seth’s voice wrenched Chris away from the brink of another hallucination, and lifted him to the no-man’s-land between fantasy and reality. Purgatory.
Play it cool, Chris told himself. Swallow the tears, gag the scream. Hold back the vomit. This is now.
With his conscious sight returning to the hall, he spotted the tiny black silhouette of a boy standing on the stairs. With a cry of relief, he splashed across to him, gathered him in his arms, and carried him to safety, seconds before another horrendous crash shook the building.
And the people outside.
‘Everyone okay?’ Chris hugged Seth’s small body close to him. ‘Are you all right, buddy?’ A muffled yes prompted Chris to relax his hold. The boy’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was grey, but apart from that he appeared unscathed. Chris set him on the ground and fluffed the dust from his mane. ‘I thought the fright had turned your hair white.’
He looked at Victoria, who was standing silent and still, her arm around Rick’s shoulder. The blood had drained from both people; Rick with a fevered complexion, and Victoria, the colour of pearl.
Chris crouched down and took Seth’s hands. ‘I think your mum could use a hug.’ He directed him towards Victoria, but the boy clung to his fingers. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe.’ For a small lad, he had a vice-like grip. Chris turned his head to speak with Victoria. ‘I don’t think anything fell on him, but you should check him over.’
‘Chris needs to see to his own son, Seth.’ Victoria stepped away from Rick. ‘And I need to know you’re all right.’ She invited her son to stand with her, but it took further words of encouragement from Chris before the reluctant child relinquished his hold, and went to his mother.
As Chris pulled Rick to him, he saw the tears welling in his eyes. ‘Oh, man. It’s okay. I’m okay.’
‘All I could think about … Mom … Todd. You … ’ With his words strangled by emotion, Rick leaned into Chris, and buried his face in his chest.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Chris wrapped his arms around his son, and kissed the top of his head. ‘I couldn’t leave Seth in there. You understand, don’t you?’ Saving one boy’s life in no way made up for losing Lacey and Todd, and it did nothing to ease the guilt Chris lived with, blaming himself for their deaths, but he couldn’t stand by and watch another person lose someone they love. ‘I wasn’t in danger. I promise.’
Rick lifted his head. ‘You’re all I’ve got, Dad.’
Victoria, placing a hesitant hand on Seth, took a deep, trembling breath. What the Framptons had lost was beyond anything she’d experienced. She was saddened by the death of her nan and mother, but hard work had seen her through the difficult first few months. It was apparent time had healed very
little for Rick.
‘I’m sorry about your house,’ said Chris, Rick still clinging to him. ‘The ceiling’s down. You can’t live there. It’s a bomb site.’
Victoria released a half laugh. ‘Thanks for breaking it to me gently.’ She tipped her head in Rick’s direction. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Give your son an extra big hug, and tell him you’ll be there for him.’
If Seth allowed it, she’d do it in an instant. A hug, a kiss, and words of reassurance seemed the perfect things to give right now.
Sod permission. She was going to do it.
She leaned over the top of Seth, and embraced him right around his tiny frame. ‘You poor boy. You must have been terrified. I’m so glad you’re safe, and I’m so glad I have you.’ She waited for him to resist, expecting him to scream, or punch his way out. What she didn’t expect was his quivering body retreating into hers. And she hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming sorrow his vulnerability elicited from her.
He was probably in shock, and his move to safety instinctive, but for the second time in his life, he’d turned to Victoria for comfort and protection. ‘I want to be here for you, Seth. Be the person you need me to be. A mum you can love.’ She spoke quietly, ensuring their conversation was private. Time alone would tell if he understood.
‘Goodness me! What on earth has happened here? Is everyone all right?’ Olivia darted from the doorway of the craft centre, bent down in front of Seth, and brushed her fingers along his cheek. ‘Well, there are no tears, but your clothes are filthy.’ She looked to Victoria. ‘Everything okay?’
‘We’re a little shaken.’ Victoria pointed to the cottage. ‘The ceiling collapsed. I was out here, but Seth was on the stairs.’ As the enormity of the situation hit home, her words and emotions tumbled out. ‘He could have been killed. I could have lost him, and all because I have this stupid bee in my bonnet about going back to basics. This place needs to be demolished. Knocked down. Every trace wiped out. It’s a death trap.’
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