She’s surprised. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yeah,’ I continue, finding my rhythm. ‘It’s from Cymberline. It’s thought Shakespeare used the name Innogen, but it appeared in a folio edition as Imogen. It’s said to be a misprint.’ She’s staring at me. I’ve said too much. Revealed even more. ‘I like Shakespeare,’ I say, aware it sounds like an apology. ‘I’m a freak.’ My words crash out of my mouth.
Imogen’s chest rises, her eyes soften and she rests her face in her palms. ‘You’re not a freak.’
I dare to hold her gaze, willing her to say more about me. Anything. Because she makes me want to believe in her.
‘Griff told me you have an old head on young shoulders. I can see that. It’s in your eyes.’
She continues to look at me, and I have to remind myself to swallow and breathe and not to be an idiot.
‘I’m thirty-five,’ she says.
The breath I’ve remembered to take is knocked out. ‘Thirty-five?’ She’s over twice my age. I’ve shocked myself with that truth. She won’t be interested in me. I’d got this all wrong. I was still fizzling from the sexual lightning bolt that was Stephanie when I saw Imogen. I’ve transferred those feelings or something. I’ll have to google it later. Whatever it’s called, some strange shit’s happened in my head. ‘You don’t look it,’ I say, forcing a rapid recovery. I break the intense deadlock and experience an immediate loss. Jeez. My cheeks will be as red as my hair.
‘Thanks. Age really is just a number.’ Imogen reverts to her open flower position. ‘Do you often take care of Logan?’
‘If Mum’s tied up.’
‘What about your homework? Seeing your friends? Your boyfriend. What does he think about the time you spend here?’
It’s an interesting question, but I don’t read anything into it. It’s just women’s talk. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ There. Imogen can do with that what she will. ‘Or a girlfriend.’
Did I say that out loud? Good grief. That’s a first. What is it about Imogen that’s making me say these things? I’ve lost the ability to edit myself.
She dips forward and peers at me from under her brow. ‘What just steamrollered through your head?’
‘You saw that?’ Intriguing and perceptive. ‘I was considering how honest I should be.’
‘With me?’
I nod and she absorbs the moment and the air around her, drawing me closer.
‘How honest would you like to be?’
I want to tell her everything – how my dad hurt my mum, how I hurt myself, how I’m aching inside for something more than I have. Everything. It’s madness.
She’s left the sofa and is heading for my chair. She’s not taken her eyes off me once. I don’t know if she’s concerned or curious. She’s close now, sitting on the arm. I haven’t got a clue what’s going on. Not with her and not with me. I’m just going to stay still, and count three heartbeats before I answer any questions.
‘What’s ticking away in that pretty head?’
For a second her fingers brush my temple and I forgive her for substituting intelligent with pretty. One, two, three. I opt to change the subject. ‘Are you married?’
She laughs and then apologises. ‘Your question was a bit left field. No. I’m not married.’
‘And you and Griff are definitely not—’
She hushes me with a finger to my lips. It’s taking all my will power to keep my mouth closed.
‘I’m not married, I’m not having an affair and I’m not trying to bed Griff. I’m too selfish to share my life with another person.’ Imogen removes her finger and lays her head on mine. ‘But I do recognise a troubled soul when I see one.’ She squeezes me.
We spend a few minutes in silence, and I think about Imogen’s assumption that I possess a troubled soul.
I do. As a child I saw violence. I saw my father administer sex to my mother as punishment and I watched, helpless and powerless.
‘You and me are two of a kind. I can feel it.’ Imogen gives me another hug. ‘My experiences have shaped me. So have yours. We have stories to tell.’
‘I’ve never told mine,’ I say. ‘Not to anyone.’
I watch Logan’s chest, holding my breath until I’m sure he’s still taking his. Mum does this with Dylan. She stands over him when he’s sleeping and doesn’t leave until she’s satisfied he’s okay. I wonder if she does it with me, and the idea she might know about my scars panics me. Then I comfort myself with the knowledge I’m not a sound sleeper. I doubt Mum would get away with opening the door, let alone sitting on my bed.
Logan’s slipped to the side, and I’m worried he’ll wake up with a stiff neck. Reluctant as I am to be the one to pull away from the embrace, I need to make him comfortable. ‘I have to put a cushion under Logan’s head,’ I say, leaving the warmth of the chair. It’s like having the duvet ripped off in the morning. Cold, shocking, exposing.
‘You’re lovely with Logan,’ Imogen says, waiting for my return. ‘You don’t begrudge one second of your time with him. I wish I’d been like you.’
‘You do?’ My frown’s so deep I can see my eyebrow ring.
‘You understand how fleeting life is. How important it is to show you care. If I’d known at your age what you know …’ She sighs. ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to visit Logan on a regular basis? Maybe help out from time to time? Having another pair of hands will take the pressure off you and your mum, and who knows? Maybe we can encourage Griff to pop in more often. Which reminds me.’ She checks her watch. ‘Where is he?’
We both jump as a phone on the coffee table vibrates and pings.
‘We’ve conjured him up.’ Imogen stretches to reach the mobile. She puts it to her ear. ‘Griff. We’ve been wondering where you’ve got … When?’ Imogen’s face develops hard lines. ‘Is Honey okay?’ The lines lessen. ‘And you?’ She’s listening to Griff. ‘Sure. I’ll get there as soon as I can. No. Your dad’s fine. Tess is here. Don’t what? Don’t tell …Yep. Yep. Understood. And don’t worry about Honey. Sort yourself out.’
She leaves the chair, collects her handbag and rushes into the hall.
‘Is Griff okay?’ I ask, following.
‘He’s fine.’ She attempts a smile, but is preoccupied with putting on her coat. ‘I have to go. I have to collect Honey from the vet’s.’
‘The vet’s? What happened?’
‘She … she … ripped a claw out. It’s nothing. Really.’ Imogen’s opened the front door and is about to step onto the path. ‘Will you say bye to Logan for me? Fingers crossed I’ll see you again. It’s been nice. Look after yourself.’
She’s on her phone again, requesting a taxi, and walking up the road. She could have waited indoors.
I head back to the living room, wondering if I’ll see her again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Griff
‘You did everything you could, Mr Hendry. You’ve given Ozzy the best possible chance.’
They’d find out if that was true in the next few hours.
The gravel crunched beneath the Land Rover’s tyres. With the vet’s words ringing in his ears, Griff had no recollection of the journey to his cottage, only a sense of how empty the car was. And that he’d arrived. He had to be there for Dylan.
The vet was being kind. Griff knew the patter – he’d recited it a thousand times to Coastguard Rescue Officers distraught at losing a life; to fathers whose sons believed they could tame the sea; to mothers who took their eye off their child for one second. He’d said it to everyone whose desperate attempts to rescue, resuscitate and alter the inevitable outcome had been in vain. They needed to hear they’d done something right because at that moment, swamped with fear and guilt, they thought themselves the most wicked, the most selfish, and the most careless being on the planet. They deserved to know their final act was one of kindness and courage.
As the engine shut down, Griff waited for the familiar thump of Ozzy’s tail. Silence.
‘S
tupid fool,’ he muttered. How was the brain able to think one thing one moment and completely reverse it the next? He fastened his hands behind his neck, and winced as his shoulder jarred. It was nothing. An over-stretched muscle from where the dogs had yanked at their leads. He’d experienced worse at the gym.
What a banal thought.
His mind kept flitting between explicit visions of Ozzy, lying in the road motionless, half-hidden under a van, to the ordinary and everyday problems of gym injuries. ‘I should be concentrating on Ozzy,’ he said. ‘Working through what happened. Putting together a plan of action.’ He lowered his arms and glanced at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. He should have shaved this morning. ‘Man!’ He smacked his hands down on the steering wheel, this time ignoring the wrench of his shoulder. He had no time for trivialities. There was too much at stake.
As he opened the door, the arctic wind assaulted his face – fierce, unrelenting daggers stabbing at his eyes already sore from the horrendous rigours of the day. They stung, and they watered, but Griff fought to keep them open. Behind lay images of mud-caked spades, fresh, deep, dark holes, hand-made wooden crosses, and cold, small bodies wrapped in fleecy blankets. Commemorative rosebushes, shrubs of remembrance – a garden graveyard for his pets.
And if he further developed that picture he exposed images of his mum, and her small body swathed in cumbersome, blue blankets, cannulas the size of barrel taps plunged into the backs of her child-sized hands, and the rasping heave of her chest as she gasped her final breath.
Beyond that was a panoramic view of the crematorium, with its vibrant flowers and evergreen wreaths, and a girl in a navy dress and black patent shoes, her too-blue eyes clouded with grief and hostility, staring back.
He’d seen it all earlier, when he’d dared to close his eyes.
Having wiped the wet from his cheek, he inhaled the fresh, biting air, and knocked on the front door. He was greeted with, ‘Why didn’t you use your key?’ as the door opened, followed by, ‘Tess is helping your father today, that’s why I’m still here.’
Unable to speak, Griff looked beyond Evie. He had nothing prepared. His instinct had driven him home. He was there to take care of Dylan, but he needed to see his family, hold them, and feel their strength; know for himself they were safe.
‘Griff? Are you okay?’ Evie opened the door to its fullest extent. ‘You’re as white as the woodwork. Talk to me.’
‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘There’s been an accident.’ The words were out. They were dry and husky, but they were out.
‘Tess?’ Evie’s green eyes were wild with terror. ‘Please, not Tess. She was on her bike.’ Evie made a grab for her keys. ‘She went to Logan’s. I shouldn’t have let her go.’
Griff intercepted, taking the keys from Evie and returning them to the phone table. ‘It’s not Tess.’
Before he had chance to draw breath, Evie said, ‘No. Not Logan?’
Without further hesitation, his hand was seized and, as Evie reversed onto the bottom step, Griff was drawn into the hall, the door closing behind. His head was guided into the soft, sweet spot between Evie’s neck and shoulder.
It was a spot he’d visited many times, delivering shivers of delight to Evie, but today it provided him with comfort and security. It was familiar and safe. No secrets lurked there, and no shocks pounced from the hollows. That was Evie all over. Honest and true. There wasn’t a deceitful bone in her body, every inch of which, at this moment, was conveying how much she loved and cared for Griff.
Whatever it was that had driven the wedge between them, it wasn’t her love for another man any more than she’d fallen out of love with Griff.
His head was clutched tighter as Evie’s breath quickened, accompanying the heavy thump of her heart. ‘Oh, Griff, I’m so sorry. Logan—’
‘It’s not my dad.’ Griff swapped places with Evie. The open toddler gate clanked against the wall as he dropped to the bottom step. He wrapped his arms around his knees, linked his hands together and said, ‘It’s Ozzy.’
He watched as dismay followed the immediate relief Evie displayed. Her body was hunched and sunken, but within a beat she was in front of Griff, her cool hands holding his head, her feline eyes hunting his for answers.
Griff cast his gaze to the floor. ‘He was hit by a van. He has head trauma. Fractures.’ He stopped, desperate to cling to any chance of Ozzy surviving. If Griff didn’t vocalise it, it wouldn’t happen.
Removing her hands, Evie knelt on the hall floor, swaddled Griff in her arms and cuddled her face into his neck. ‘What’s going to happen to him?’
‘I … The vet … He …’ Unable to set the words free, Griff turned his cheek to meet Evie’s, the corner of his mouth finding hers.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, her lips feathering his skin. ‘It’s okay.’
Sheltered from harm and seeking solace from the devastating storms of the day, Griff took refuge in Evie’s caresses. She was there for him, providing the protection he needed, and offering the love he so desperately wanted.
Unfurling from his embryonic state, and lifting Evie to her feet, they stumbled and climbed their way to the top of the stairs, kisses sustaining them until they reached the top. As they neared the bedroom, Evie held up a hand, and broke away. Griff’s heart plummeted to his stomach.
‘One minute,’ Evie said, disappearing into Dylan’s room.
Catching his breath, Griff pulled his shirt straight and wandered into the master bedroom. It was as he remembered – a private space for him and Evie – and he was relieved to see his absence hadn’t led her to remove every last trace of his being. It meant she wanted him there. If he could hold onto that, he could get through the day.
As he smoothed his hand over Evie’s side of the bed, he heard her pad into the room. He sat down and waited for her to approach.
‘Dylan’s sleeping,’ she said, pushing the door to. ‘With his thumb in. Little mite’s had a busy day.’ When she reached Griff, she stepped between his knees, put one hand on his shoulder and stroked her other through his hair. ‘It suits you longer,’ she said, brushing her lips against his ear. ‘I like this new look.’
He could not only hear her voice, but feel it too, as the licks and curls of Evie’s words trickled their way through his nerves. Every action had a reaction and when she stooped to kiss him, he could hold back no longer.
From being clothed at the end of the bed to lying naked on top of the duvet was a matter of seconds, not minutes. A frantic disrobing followed a deep, drawing kiss from Evie, which as always, had started with the intent in her eyes. The passion and desire they projected were as much a turn on to Griff as the kiss itself.
With the day’s ordeals melting in the scorching heat, Griff’s focus was on Evie. No longer leaving her to lead the way, he rolled her onto her back, kissed the welcoming pillows of her thighs, and passed his hands over her hips. Her frame was more defined than Griff remembered. It was evident that in the few weeks they’d been apart she’d not eaten properly. Promising to reel in the concern later, he cast the thought adrift and concentrated on becoming acquainted with her new form.
His fingers navigated the curve of her waist, rode the gentle ripples of her stomach, and skimmed the surface of her skin, coming to rest an inch away from her breasts. Her response was to anchor his head in her hands and tousle his hair. With his tongue tasting and teasing his way over her form, Griff charted a course to Evie’s mouth, his body settling in the wake, their hips connecting and adopting a gentle rhythm.
Hot breath billowed on his chest as he entered her.
She was warm, soft, and accepting.
Locked inside, he was free.
‘Hey.’
Griff’s reward for opening his tired eyes was to see Evie sitting next to him, with Dylan in her arms, both content, both looking at him.
‘We’ve brought you a cup of tea.’ Evie gestured towards a mug on the bedside table.
‘And bitkits.’ Dylan wav
ed a Digestive under Griff’s nose.
‘You might find that one a bit soggy.’ Evie smiled as she swept Griff’s fringe over. ‘I didn’t know your plans, so I thought we ought to wake you. And Dylan’s desperate to give you a hug.’
Hauling himself into a seated position, Griff patted the space beside him. ‘What time is it?’
Dylan scrambled away from Evie, climbed under the duvet, and snuggled up to Griff.
‘No crumbs in my bed, young man.’ Evie stretched across the bed, pulled out a tissue from under her pillow and laid it across Dylan’s lap. ‘Crumbs go here, okay?’
‘’Kay.’ Dylan offered the remains of his damp snack to Griff, who pretended to take a huge bite. ‘Daddy!’ The scream was accompanied with a giggle, which stopped the instant Griff feigned another bite. ‘Mine,’ Dylan said, crushing the semicircle against his small mouth.
The fallout was tremendous considering how wet the biscuit was.
Evie’s face was a picture. ‘That’s your fault,’ she said, poking Griff in the ribs. ‘You can clean the bits out.’
He scrunched up the tissue, set it aside and kissed Dylan on the top of his head. ‘I’ll sort it later.’ For now he wanted to enjoy the ordinariness of the situation. Novelty was overrated. And exhausting. All he needed to create the best possible version of normality was for Tess to sneak into her bedroom, avoiding the floorboard Griff couldn’t get in to repair, and for Ozzy to …
Ozzy.
‘What time did you say it is?’ Griff turned the clock radio towards him. ‘It’s gone seven.’ Handing Dylan to Evie, Griff whipped back the cover, bundled together his clothes from the end of the bed, and dressed with alacrity. ‘I’ve got to get back to the vets. I have to see Ozzy.’
Leaving Evie and Dylan standing in the bedroom, Griff raced downstairs, yanked open the front door and got behind the wheel of the Land Rover. ‘Stupid, stupid idiot,’ he muttered, twisting the key in the ignition.
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