“Why would I visit there? There are hundreds of places I would like to see if I had the time. I have seen enough of Scotland to last a lifetime. If you’ve seen one green field, you’ve seen them all.”
“So you will never go back. I can’t imagine not being there. Everyone I love is there. Every good memory of my mum and Granny is there.”
“Luckily there is nothing left there I love.”
She turned to look out of the window again so he could not see the hurt in her eyes. “Yep, that’s lucky.”
The driver pulled up in front of the Burj Al Arab. Luxury cars lined the circle in front of the entrance. She had never seen so many Rolls-Royce cars in her life. Again Liam didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. He offered Sarah his hand and helped her out of the car himself. She strained her neck to look up to the top of the hotel. She had seen it many times in postcards, the sail-shaped building was synonymous with Dubai, but the photos had not captured the way the steel and glass glistened, reflecting the sun. It really was a beautiful building. There certainly wasn’t anything like it anywhere near Scotland. She wished she had brought her phone—the ladies at the office would be so excited to see the iconic building. They would be more excited to see Sarah in a ball gown, though. She lived in jeans and jumpers covered by a red duffel coat that had given a few too many years’ service.
“Ahmed. I will just be a few minutes. Please wait here,” Liam told the driver.
Sarah blinked. “What? Aren’t we going to this charity thing?”
Liam glanced at his watch and frowned. “I will see you in, but I need to take care of something—shouldn’t be more than an hour or so. I will be back long before it’s over. But if I am not Ahmed will take you home.”
“What? Ahmed will take me back to Scotland?” she said sarcastically.
“Sarah, I don’t have time for this.”
“Seriously? You drag me here and then don’t even have the decency to stay?” Sarah tapped her foot against the kerb.
“It’s a seven-star hotel. I am hardly leaving you high and dry. I know abandonment is part of your crazy, but suck it up.” Liam glanced down at his watch again. He exhaled loudly.
She gasped. “Did you just tell me to suck it up? Do you want me to hit you? Because I will break my no-physical-violence policy for you. You jackass.” Her hands fisted at her sides. He needed a good smack upside the head.
Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her through the sliding glass doors. “Don’t hit me. You will hurt your hand and I will feel bad about hurting you again. Just be a good girl and go in and eat your dinner. I will be back before the dancing starts.”
Be a good girl? Yep, Liam needed a good slap. Sarah was usually unfazed by the prospect of doing things alone. She actually preferred it, but she also preferred not being ordered about. “And where are you going that can’t wait?” she demanded.
Liam didn’t respond. He continued pushing/dragging her through the lobby, past a swimming-pool-size fountain. The pace they were walking meant she could not do her blister-preventing toe walk, so she had to endure the bite of leather into her heels with every step. She was going to need to hit him for that too. How difficult would it have been for him to check her shoe size?
At the end of the corridor two massive doors opened onto the circular ballroom. The two-storey room was big enough to hold football matches. A sea of tables lined the second level, each with an unobstructed view of the stage and dance floor below and the gold-painted dome ceiling above. She looked up to examine the crystal chandelier above her. The Emiratis really loved their chandeliers. Every time she thought she had seen the biggest one, Liam would take her some place grander.
Liam guided her past a group of servers and motioned to a seat at the table on the stage. There were at least a hundred tables, all of which were on the second floor, but their table was the one on the stage that everyone could see. Of course it was. She turned to Liam, her eyes wide. “Are you having a laugh?” It was like the bad dream where you turn up to school naked and everyone is staring and pointing. She wasn’t going to sit at the head table, especially not if Liam was weaselling his way out of it.
“Dinner and dancing. You’ll have a good time.”
“Will I?” she said incredulously. Her eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to the next. There were so many people, and every single one of them could see her. “Because from where I am standing, it looks a lot like my personal version of hell.”
“Since when are you self-conscious? You give training seminars. Tonight you just need to sit and have a meal, listen to a few speeches and dance a little.”
“At work I am prepared. I know what I am doing. You drop kicked me into this situation. It is totally different.”
He kissed the top of her head and then pulled out a chair for her. “It is OK to not always be in control. Sometimes it is fun.” He grinned. He had a way of making everything sound dirty.
“You know what else would be fun? Punching you in the face. You have a face I would never tire of hitting,” she seethed. Liam pushed her chair in, just as he would have done for a child. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he had pushed her in deliberately close so she could not escape.
“I thought you liked my face,” he said. He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead. “Lucky I have other parts of my body that you like,” he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing against her skin with every syllable. His breath was hot on her skin.
People were watching them now. Women and men all with their stares trained on the stage. Some women were dressed in ball gowns, while others wore long black abayas, some with their faces covered, but most wearing only hijab to cover their hair. The men’s dress was equally varied. Half of the men wore tuxedos, and the other half were dressed in more traditional garb, the pristine white dishdash and keffiyeh covering their heads. The one thing they had in common was they were all looking at her.
“I hate you, Liam McPherson,” she hissed through a broad smile, aware that people were watching every movement. “Why are we on the stage?”
“It’s my charity. I’m certain I mentioned that,” he called over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.
“You didn’t!” Sarah shouted after him, not caring who heard. He most certainly had not mentioned it, and he bloody well knew it.
Chapter Nine
Liam nodded to Sayid as he entered the police station. “What happened?”
Sayid nodded his dark head in return. “They phoned me because the pilot said he was not fit to fly.”
Liam shook his head and sighed. They were almost home free. Miraculously, the UAE had dropped the charges, or more to the point Liam had paid handsomely to make them go away. Sam had been granted a visa to go to the US for a year’s stint in rehab. Sarah was finally going to get a break from Sam. But the bloody pilot wouldn’t fly Sam because he was having some withdrawal symptoms. “Did you remind the pilot that I pay his salary?” Liam had seen people detox before; it wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t fucking fatal. Sam could sweat and shit himself just as easily on a flight as he could in a cell.
Sayid nodded. “Yes, sir, but Mr Ashton is bleeding and appears to be in a fair bit of pain.”
“Then give him a plaster and a paracetamol and put him on the plane.” Liam would pay for a doctor to hand deliver him to the treatment facility in Arizona if that was what it took to get Sam out of their lives.
Sayid leaned in and whispered, “The pilot thinks Mr Ashton won’t survive the trip.”
Liam’s head snapped up. A sudden cold descended into his core. He shook his head. “Christ, how bad is he? Let me see him.” He clenched his fists until the colour drained from his knuckles. “I need to see Sam,” he said between clenched teeth. Heroin withdrawal was painful but not fatal. Sam must have been abusing more than just opiates. He had not thought of the possibility Sam could be detoxing from other drugs as well. He should have listened to Sarah; detoxing people was what she did for a living.
> A guard led Liam to Sam’s cell. Sam cowered in the corner. His breath was ragged and from the corner of his mouth a stream of blood poured, covering the concrete floor around his head with a scarlet pool. “Jesus, what happened?”
Sayid answered. “They think he had a seizure. He must have hit his head against the floor. When they found him he was unconscious.”
“Call an ambulance. Open this up and get me some gloves.”
The guard did not move.
“Gloves now!” Liam shouted. He was not going to go into the cell without precaution—Sam had been an IV drug user for over a decade—but he wasn’t going to stand and watch him bleed out on a holding-cell floor.
After a minute the guard produced a pair of thick blue gloves. “I will phone a doctor.”
Liam shook his head at the guard. “No, you will phone an ambulance. He doesn’t have time to wait for a doctor.” He snapped the second glove into place. Why had they not taken him to a doctor sooner? This wasn’t straightforward heroin withdrawal. Liam knew what that looked like, and this wasn’t it.
“It’s OK, mate,” Liam said softly. He leaned down beside Sam to assess the damage. No bloody wonder the pilot would not let him on board. His face was ashen; the only colour to him was the blood caked to his skin. Sam looked at Liam and then his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “It’s going to be OK, pal,” Liam said again, stroking Sam’s matted hair. He turned to the guard and shouted, “Phone them now!”
Liam held Sam’s head in his lap until the paramedics arrived. If Liam had not already figured out the situation was serious, he would have when he saw the look shared between the two medics. One man administered oxygen, while the other started an IV. Within minutes they had loaded Sam into the back of the ambulance.
The guard stepped onto the back of the truck but Liam stopped him.
“No, I’ll ride with him,” Liam said. Neither of the guards or the paramedics objected; something in his tone must have told them it was not an argument they were likely to win. “Meet us there,” Liam told Sayid. His lawyer was certainly earning his retainer tonight.
Liam let out a puff of air. This wasn’t how he’d seen the night going. He looked down at Sam. Sam’s eyes flickered open, tried to focus and then closed again. He doubted this was how Sam had seen his life going. He remembered what Sarah had said about Sam. Sam was his first friend, other than Sarah. Sam had been the one who made sure Liam was accepted when he moved to the estate, ready to beat the shit out of any kid who bothered him, and only half of that was because Sam was always up for a good fight. The real reason was because right from the start Sam and Liam were like brothers. It was Sam who he’d called when his mum died. Sam had been there for him, taken two buses to the Royal Infirmary so he could sit with Liam. He hadn’t said a word, knowing Liam could not talk about it. Shit, he still couldn’t talk about it. And Sam understood that.
Sam groaned as the paramedic tightened the strap around his hips. Before Liam could think about it he reached for Sam’s hand. “Don’t worry, mate. You are going to be fine.”
This wasn’t Liam’s first ride in an ambulance with an addict, but he hoped for Sarah’s sake it ended differently this time.
And for Sam’s sake.
He gave Sam’s hand the gentlest squeeze. Liam couldn’t understand the strange pressure in his chest or why his throat ached. It wasn’t as if he gave a shit about Sam any more. But… This couldn’t be the way Sam wanted his life to turn out. He once had had aspirations. He’d wanted to join the military and get as far from Niddrie as the Royal Marines would take him. But then he’d started drinking and before long harder things had followed. And then he was gone. The Sam he knew had died.
Sarah would say Sam was still the same guy he always was, but she would think that. Someone had to be in the ground before she stopped pulling for them.
He sighed. Liam gave up too easily and Sarah held on too long—one of the many reasons they didn’t work together.
The ambulance pulled into the loading bay at Rashid Hospital Trauma Centre. Liam stood back and watched as an army of doctors descended on Sam.
Liam took off the rubber gloves he had on and tossed them in a bin of medical waste. He found a seat and sat down and closed his eyes. His head hurt. He rubbed slowly at his temples and said a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. Sam needed to be OK.
Liam had wished Sam dead on more than one occasion but seeing Sam broken and battered, he hadn’t felt the satisfaction he thought he should feel. He just felt…empty, sad maybe. Christ, he even felt regret—no idea where that was coming from because Liam regretted nothing.
He pulled out his phone. He dialled Sarah’s number but he stopped. He couldn’t tell her—well, he could, and then stand back and watch her swoop in and do her Sarah thing, totally forget herself and make Sam her sole focus. She had three days left in Dubai, and there wasn’t anything she could do to help Sam anyway. Liam slid the phone back into his pocket.
Liam nodded to Sayid when he entered the waiting room. Sayid handed him a cup of coffee. “Cheers,” Liam said. He took the polystyrene cup he was offered. It was bitter, but it was hot and gave him the jolt he needed.
“Any news?” Sayid asked.
Liam shook his head. Sayid took the seat across from him. He looked as weary as Liam felt.
Two hours passed before a junior doctor came to find them. They shook hands before the doctor explained the situation. Sam had bashed his head during a grand mal seizure. He had a concussion, but more concerning was the abnormal ECG and the acute pancreatitis caused by alcohol-withdrawal syndrome.
Liam ran a hand through his hair. Of course Sam had been drinking. Why had he not considered that? Alcohol had been his first vice. Christ, it had been Liam’s as well. Like every other chavy kid in Scotland they had discovered Buckfast by the time they were twelve. And while Liam could take it or leave it, Sam had been hooked from the first swig. Almost as if he couldn’t control it.
“So he is going to be OK?” Liam asked.
The doctor nodded. “He should make a full recovery.”
“How long until he can fly?” Liam asked.
The doctor shook his head. “I wouldn’t suggest flying any time soon.”
“For what—a day? A week? A month? How long are we talking?” Liam pressed.
“I can’t say. We need to get him stabilised before we can even consider moving him.”
Liam ran a hand through his hair. Sam had to start his programme. He was a mess but he couldn’t stay in hospital in Dubai any longer. What the hell was Liam going to do with him? Christ, he was starting to sound like Sarah. Since when was Sam his problem? But fuck if he didn’t feel responsible for him now.
As if Sayid was reading his mind, he said, “I could still get him a place at Al Amal Treatment Centre.”
They had already discussed that option and Liam had told Sayid under no circumstances would Sam be staying in Dubai. Liam had worked too hard to leave Scotland to let his problems follow him here.
But there was no other choice. Turned out you could only run so far before your problems found you.
Liam let out a long stream of air. “OK.”
Chapter Ten
Sarah smiled at her dance partner, mostly because it was polite, but also because she hoped the act of smiling would release endorphins and dull the stabbing pain in her feet. Damn her weakness for shiny things. She should have worn the flip-flops she bought at the mall; they were classy enough to pass off as black-tie attire, if she squinted really hard. No, she should have told Liam where to stick it and stayed at home with her Arabic-speaking soap opera. She really needed to find out the name of it so she could watch it on the Internet when she got home. It was one thing she would miss about Dubai, that and room service on the terrace. And naked swimming. So there were a few things she would miss, but Liam was not one of them. The constant up and down of emotion was exhausting. She had to accept that she would probably always be physically attracte
d to him, even if her feelings for him were gone. Maybe that made her shallow, but she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it too much. He was physically perfect. But emotionally he was more flawed than she could handle.
“What first drew you to a career working with fallen women?” François asked.
Sarah bit back a laugh. Apparently prostitutes were still referred to as fallen women in France, or François had been transported from Victorian England. She had made the mistake of answering honestly when he asked her what she did for a living. She had paid the price by answering dozens of questions about sex work and drug abuse. She might have been flattered that someone had such a keen interest in addiction and poverty issues, had that someone not been drunk, and clearly titillated by every gory detail.
“I sort of fell into it.” She skirted the question, having no desire to get into her life story. Besides, Liam wouldn’t appreciate it, and he would actually have to see this guy again. “But what I really want to know is where you source your materials for your cardboard. I find the whole production process fascinating.” Sarah’s new life goal instantly became to never utter a more boring sentence. She was impressed she managed to say it with a straight face.
François’ mouth started moving, but everything that came out was just noise. Her feet were beyond sore and her seat on the stage was looking more and more appealing. Everyone in the country was welcome to stare at her, if she could have a wee seat. “Sorry,” Sarah said, when she couldn’t take it any longer. “Would you mind terribly if I sat this one out? My dogs are barking.”
François’ eyebrow arched up in question.
She lifted the hem of her skirt to point to her shoes. “My feet are sore,” she explained.
“Yes, of course.” He smiled.
Twice in a Lifetime (Carina) Page 12