You Don't Know Me

by Mandy Lee

  ‘And Boyd won’t hurt you again. I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘You can’t stop him, Dan.’

  ‘I can make sure you’re protected.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m stinking rich, remember? I can afford body guards. I’ll have you protected. And while I’m at it, I’ll look into ways of getting the bastard to back off.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that.’

  ‘I stirred up the hornet’s nest and I’ll sort it out. If I can’t protect the woman in my life, then what can I do?’

  I steel myself. It’s time to inform Mr Foster of the truth. No more holding back. He’ll just have to deal with it.

  ‘I’m not just the woman in your life,’ I whisper. ‘I’m the woman who loves you.’

  He takes in a deep breath and gazes into my eyes. I could stay here forever, lost in the swirls of blue.

  ‘I love you, Dan. And I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but …’

  A finger lands on my lips and I sink into silence. He shakes his head.

  ‘I want you to move in,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. I want you to move in. Here. Into this apartment.’

  ‘Dan, this is a bit quick.’

  ‘You’re not safe in Camden. This place is more secure. I’m not taking any chances.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘And it’s a permanent move. Just for the record. You get to devote all your time to painting and I get to fuck you whenever I like. As far as I can see, it’s a win-win situation.’

  ‘But you’ve never done this sort of thing before. What if …’

  ‘Bollocks to what if. Tomorrow, we go and get your stuff.’

  ‘But Lucy.’

  ‘She’ll be fine.’

  ‘But I need to talk to her about this. And I need to tell my family.’ I come to a halt. ‘Oh, shit, no,’ I gasp. Suddenly, out of the mess in my head, my brain has decided to remember something. ‘It’s my dad’s sixtieth tomorrow. He’s having a party. I’ve got to go. Shit. Lucy’s going. She’s taking Clive.’

  ‘I know. Clive told me. It’s a little strange, don’t you think?’

  I smile.

  ‘My mum wants to meet him. She’s known Lucy for years. She’s almost as interested in her love life as she is in mine.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Clive can drive the pair of you up there.’

  ‘What? No. You’ve got to come. Mum wants to meet you as well.’

  His face ices over.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He shrugs again.

  ‘I’ve got a few files to read through.’

  ‘Then do it on Sunday. Dan! This is the least you could do for me.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Don’t be an arse. If we’re about to live together, then I think you should meet my family. They know about you and they want to meet you. They’ll think it’s odd if you don’t turn up. They’ll think it’s rude.’

  He sighs now, deep in thought.

  ‘I’m not happy about this,’ I push on. ‘If this is a relationship, then we’ve got to share each other’s lives, and we’ve got to share properly. You’ve shown me where you come from. Now I want to show you where I come from. You’re just being selfish.’

  He bites his bottom lip. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Then change your mind. Because if you don’t, there’s no way I’m moving in.’

  He stares at me for a few moments. All manner of emotions flash through his eyes.

  ‘And besides,’ I add. ‘This is the perfect opportunity for you to make it up to my sister. You were awful to her last Sunday.’

  He reaches up and touches his forehead, closes his eyes and seems to swallow. Why the hell is this so difficult for him?

  ‘You’ve got to come, Dan. And you’ve got no bloody choice in the matter.’

  ‘Okay,’ he mutters at last. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I watch as the cluttered streets of North London give way to the suburbs, as the suburbs slowly unravel, leaving us with nothing more than a patchwork of fields. He drives on in silence, leaving the Satnav switched off, paying no attention to the signs that flash past us. It’s as if he’s on autopilot … as if he’s memorised the route. And all the time, the sky darkens while clouds rally in the air above us.

  ‘Do you think there’s going to be a storm?’ I ask, shifting about in my seat.

  ‘Yes.’

  I wait for him to elaborate, to reassure me, but nothing comes. Instead, he goes back to staring at the road and I shift about in my seat some more, sensing a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I’m about to introduce my family to the new man in my life, to the man I’m about to live with, and on my dad’s sixtieth birthday of all days. The last thing I need right now is a flash of lightning or a thunder clap. But as much as it’s niggling at my thoughts, the possibility of a storm is the least of my worries. My biggest concern right now is the silent man who’s sitting next to me. I watch him furtively, trying to read the inner workings of his mind, but it’s next to impossible. The shutters have come down. Speaking in nothing more than clipped monotones, he’s simply blocked me out, and for the life of me, I can’t work out why. For the last hour or so, I’ve done my best to catch hold of a clue, but there’s been very little to go on. Nothing apart from a flicker in the eyes or a tremble in the fingers. At last, deciding that enough is enough, I touch him on the leg. He gives a start and turns briefly, faking a smile that leaves me in a mire of confusion.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I venture.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘But you’ve been quiet all morning.’

  And not just all morning, I’d like to add, but I’m not going to bring that up now. I won’t ask him why he changed last night, why he slipped off into his own little world for the best part of an hour. And I certainly won’t ask him why he took me back to his bedroom and made love to me with a new sense of urgency, as if it was our last night together.

  ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he says at last. ‘I’m alright. Don’t worry.’

  Don’t worry? If it wasn’t totally inappropriate, I’d laugh at that. How can I not worry? I’m about to throw Mr Mean and Hot and Moody into the midst of my mad family circle. He’s about to be bombarded with meaningless small talk and mauled by questions, and he hardly seems in the right frame of mind for it. As we push further into the countryside, I settle back into silence, occasionally glancing across at him while my brain picks its way through the things that might be on his mind. Perhaps he’s worrying over Boyd. Perhaps he’s nervous about seeing Sara again. Or maybe it’s just the idea of meeting my parents. I have no idea what’s eating him but whatever it is, it’s too late now to sort it out. The scenery is already far too familiar. Quaint villages. Country pubs. Houses decorated with Norfolk pebbles. We’re nearly there.

  Before long, we begin the descent into Limmingham. Down below us, the rooftops slide into view, and now I can clearly make out the mishmash of Victorian hotels and guest houses, the clutter of seaside shops and private homes, the squat, square tower of the church. And behind it all, shimmering darkly under the coming storm, the sea reaches up towards the horizon, nudging at the clouds. Feeling a shiver in my gut, I peer to the left, to where the newer housing estates spread themselves out along the coast, including the one where I grew up. Any minute now, we’ll be immersed in the chaos of my parents’ home, and suddenly I’m dreading it more than ever.

  An idea flips into my mind.

  ‘I’d like to show you something,’ I announce. ‘Before we go to Mum and Dad’s. Take a left just up ahead.’

  Without question, he follows my orders, turning the Mercedes into a narrow road that’s flanked by pine trees. Before long, we come to a dead end, pulling up in a deserted car park.

  ‘You’ll like this.’

  Unclipping my seatbelt, I push open the door and get out
, waiting for him to join me. It seems to take an age before he’s by my side. Gripping him by the hand, I lead him away from the car park, following a path between the pines until at last, we reach a patch of older woodland. It’s peaceful here. We’re surrounded by birch and oak, thick trunks and gnarled branches that twist and turn on themselves against the sky. Apart from the occasional birdsong and the dull rush of the sea, there’s no sound at all. Taking a seat on a log, I beckon for him to join me. He sits beside me, gazing round for a moment or two before the peace seems to take hold of him and he gathers his senses.

  ‘This is your painting,’ he whispers, glancing up through the branches. ‘These are your woods’

  ‘You’re right.’ I smile at him. ‘This was my sanctuary.’

  He smiles back at me, but it doesn’t warm my heart. There’s something desperate in those eyes, something distinctly unsettling. He takes an unsteady breath and in spite of his claims, I know he’s not fine at all. Perhaps I should distract him with a little local folklore.

  ‘It’s supposed to be haunted,’ I explain. ‘There was this boy who disappeared when I was little and you know what kids are like. They all said he was murdered, that his body was buried here. They all said he haunted these woods.’

  He stares up at the sky.

  ‘He became a ghost?’

  I laugh at the innocence of his question.

  ‘Of course not.’ I shake my head and smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘My dad told me the truth. He didn’t get on with his family. He just went to live somewhere else. Nothing quite so dramatic.’

  He nods. ‘Real life’s never that interesting. Just seedy and painful and …’ He drifts off again without finishing his sentence.

  I reach out and touch him lightly on the arm. He flinches.

  ‘Dan?’ He seems so young, so vulnerable. It’s exactly the look I drew at work. ‘Are you really okay?’

  ‘Like I said …’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I’m fine.’ He stares ahead, into the shadows. ‘I don’t want you to think I don’t want to meet your family. It’s not that at all.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  He breathes in deeply and stands up. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he kicks at a pile of twigs and then turns slowly, fixing his eyes on me. His lips part and for a few short seconds I’m certain he’s about to tell me something. But the moment disappears as quickly as it arrived. He turns away, his next words almost lost beneath the sound of the leaves rustling in a sudden breeze.

  ‘What I feel about you won’t change.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly what I say. Whatever happens between us, it won’t change.’

  I stand and take his hand in mine.

  ‘It’s the same for me,’ I reassure him. ‘Now come on. They’ll be expecting us.’

  ***

  I direct him back along the roads into Limmingham, through the narrow, winding streets of the town centre and out into the suburbs. It’s not long before we pull up outside my parents’ home. He cuts the engine and stares out of the window, his attention fixed on the row of nondescript, semi-detached houses at the opposite side of the road. Deciding it’s best to make a move, I get out and wait, checking the sky above us, noting that the air is heavy now, brooding with the promise of thunder. The slam of a car door jolts me back into the world and I find him standing on the pavement, still gazing down the road, transfixed. Approaching him slowly, I take his hand one more time, and this time I can really feel it. He is shaking.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’ He takes his hand out of mine. ‘Please don’t fuss.’

  ‘But you’re shaking. Why are you shaking?’

  ‘Just nervous.’ He forces a smile. ‘Nervous about meeting Mr and Mrs Scotton. Nervous about making a good impression.’

  ‘You’ll knock them for six.’

  I shrug my shoulders and walk up the drive, making for the side door, knowing it’s never locked during the day. Glancing back to make sure Dan is with me, I open the door and the smell of food hits me immediately. And so does the sight of my mum. Dressed in her usual neat pair of slacks and floral print blouse, she’s standing at the counter. She turns, nods and then goes back to faffing about with a packet of cocktail sausages.

  ‘Oh, Maya! You’re here.’ She pours the sausages into a bowl.

  ‘I told you I would be.’

  ‘I’m all in a tizz. I haven’t even got time to put these on sticks.’

  ‘Do you want any help?’

  ‘No.’ She wafts a hand about dramatically before moving on to rearranging a huge plate of mini pizzas. ‘Maybe later. We’ve got more people coming over tonight. Auntie Barbara, Uncle Brian, Sharon and Gary …’ She reels off the names of half a dozen other relatives I haven’t seen in years. ‘But it’s just us for now. Your dad’s in the living room with Sara and the kids.’ She motions towards the living room door. ‘Geoff’s not coming. She’s chucked him out. And a bloody good job too. That man’s a lazy arse.’ She tugs at a packet of tomatoes. It explodes, ejecting tiny red balls all over the counter. ‘And Lucy’s here,’ she sighs, gathering the tomatoes back together and scooping them into a dish. ‘She’s brought a lovely young man with her.’

  ‘There you go,’ I reassure Dan, giving him a nudge. ‘Your reinforcements have arrived.’

  He stares at me for a moment, then nods.

  ‘Oooooh,’ Mum purrs. Catching sight of Dan, she spins round on her heels. ‘Hello, you.’ Wiping her hands on her apron, she shuffles forwards. ‘You must be Daniel.’

  ‘Dan.’ He coughs uncomfortably. Taking her hand in his, he lands a quick kiss on the back of it. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Scotton.’

  Mum cocks her head to one side and examines his face.

  ‘Audrey,’ she whispers. ‘Call me Audrey. You have lovely blue eyes.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Well, he does, Maya.’ She scowls at me. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, you’re going to have to marry this one.’ She’s pointing at him now, waving a manicured hand around in the air. ‘You’ll have gorgeous children.’

  ‘Mum!’

  The ghost of a smile flickers across his face.

  ‘Well,’ Mum sighs. ‘You’d better take Daniel through to meet the birthday boy. Go on.’ She ushers us towards the door.

  Glad to escape the unwanted attention, I lead the way into the living room. With the three piece suite crammed into one end, and the dining table at the other, it’s a small room at the best of times. But today, it’s overflowing with bodies. Seemingly oblivious to our arrival, my dad is busy arranging plates of food on the dining table while over in the corner, Sara’s flumped into an armchair. Spread out on the floor in front of her, her two young sons are playing with a massive collection of toy cars.

  ‘That’s Ethan,’ I inform Dan. ‘He’s six. And Damian’s four.’

  He nods silently.

  ‘You made it!’ Lucy smiles from the sofa where she’s currently draped all over Clive.

  ‘You okay?’ Clive asks, raising an eyebrow at Dan.

  ‘Of course.’

  And why has he just asked that? Before I can ponder over it any more, I’m pounced on by my dad.

  ‘Maya.’ He slaps his big hands on my cheeks, pulling my head forwards and planting a soggy kiss on my forehead. ‘Thank God you’re here. Are we going to get pissed?’

  ‘Not today, Dad.’

  ‘Your sister’s already on her third glass.’

  He nods towards Sara who raises her glass and takes a mouthful of wine, staring over the rim at Dan, a frown on her forehead.

  ‘And this must be Daniel.’ He clasps the new arrival’s hand, shaking it furiously while he sinks into silence.

  ‘It’s good to meet you, Mr Scotton,’ Dan smiles.

  Letting go of his hand and remaining silent, my dad smiles back. A hint of curiosity flits across his eyes.

  ‘I never forget a face,’ he mutters.

  And in that i
nstant, I sense it: a barrier of mistrust descends between the two men in my life, leaving confusion on one side and an ice-cold layer of reserve on the other.

  ‘Dad?’

  He snaps himself out of his reverie, glancing around the room.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Dan?’

  ‘Water please,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Bloody hell. What’s that all about? We could have put you up for the night. We could have had a session.’

  He slaps Dan on the back and scuttles away into the kitchen, returning quickly with a tumbler of tap water and a huge glass of wine for me.

  ‘I said no, Dad,’ I complain.

  ‘And it’s my sixtieth birthday. I say yes. Get it down you.’

  He thrusts the glasses at us, and we accept them, standing awkwardly for a moment or two, listening to the sounds of toy cars being smashed together.

  ‘So, what do you do for a living, Dan?’ Dad asks. ‘Maya’s told us nothing.’

  ‘Construction.’

  ‘You’re a builder?’

  ‘Not exactly. I run a construction company.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Mum calls out from the kitchen. ‘We want a new conservatory. Do you do conservatories?’

  ‘Not really, Mrs Scotton.’

  ‘That’s a shame. And are you rich?’ she asks, stumbling through the doorway, brandishing a plate of sandwiches.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Dan interrupts with a shrug. ‘I suppose you could say I’m financially stable.’

  ‘Well, that’s it then.’ Mum slides the plate onto the table, turns and claps her hands together. ‘You’re definitely going to marry my daughter.’

  I let my head fall. This really is too much for anyone to bear.

  ‘Mum, please just stop it. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Well, sometimes you just know,’ she insists. ‘When I met your dad, I knew straight away. There he was, selling ice creams down at the beach front, and I took one look at him and I said to my friend, that’s the one. That’s the love of my life. It was the same for him. He asked me to marry him a month later. Is that how it was for you, Daniel?’

  He smiles uncomfortably. There’s something endearing about seeing him like this, ripped out of his natural environment where he’s in control of everything, marooned in the middle of the normal world, with my parents.