What Doesn't Kill You

by Laura E. James

  Victoria closed her eyes to it. Next week, she’d buy grapes.

  ‘That’s a nasty bruise.’ Juliette leaned closer to Victoria and inspected her forehead. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I walked straight into the new coat hooks. Stupid of me.’ Victoria focused on the sofa, where Seth was playing with his Nintendo DS, earphones in, oblivious to the world.

  Juliette stepped away. ‘You weren’t thinking of Chris Frampton, were you? He has a lot to answer for.’ She wiggled the white mouse on her desk and the small sheep cursor sparked the monitor into life. ‘Seventeen years and he still plagues you.’

  Victoria snorted. ‘I was thinking about Ben, actually.’ She directed her attention to her sister.

  ‘That low-life. I wouldn’t waste another minute on him.’ Juliette pulled out her leather chair and settled into it, smoothing down her navy suit. ‘He hasn’t concerned himself with you or Seth. I’m surprised you even talk about him, let alone show Seth photographs.’

  ‘Don’t you think a boy needs his father?’ It had crossed Victoria’s mind several times that having Ben in Seth’s life might moderate his behaviour. Seth’s. Not Ben’s. Although Ben would benefit from a shot of responsibility. She mirrored her sister, and assumed her position at her desk.

  ‘I’d rather raise a child alone than subject him to an uncaring parent,’ Juliette said.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You found the one decent man and married him.’ Victoria studied her amazing, bright and disciplined baby sister, whose ebony-black hair stayed where it should, whose clothes never creased and whose life overflowed with pleasure and wonderful moments of tenderness. Thank goodness she hadn’t suffered the humiliation and trauma of divorce. The tortured sister was Victoria’s role. ‘I’m glad you and Dan have each other,’ she said.

  ‘We may have been young, but Dan knew when he was onto a good thing.’ Juliette cocked an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, he signed a scrap of paper that said we’re stuck with each other until death us do part. Unlike Ben-No-Balls, Dan believes that means something.’

  Victoria placed her hands on the desk and forced out a breath. Juliette saw only black or white, and made no disguise of the fact she was disgusted with Ben.

  ‘I know Seth was a shock to you,’ Juliette continued, ‘but Ben agreed to look after him.’ She jumped up from her chair. ‘And I’ll tell you what angers me the most. He watched you go through a traumatic birth, demanded you breastfed even though the very thought made you sick, and said you should have tried harder to be a mother. Do you remember? Then the pathetic excuse for a man walked out on you.’ Juliette puffed out her cheeks and released a gust of air. ‘Don’t ever wonder if Seth would be better off with him in his life. It’s a godsend he never came back.’

  Clearly satisfied her point had hit home, Juliette resumed her seat and turned to her computer screen. ‘So. Is that why you were late today? The blow to the head?’

  ‘Yes.’ Reeling from the conversation and sudden change of topic, Victoria was in no condition to elaborate; it was neither the time nor the place. She allowed herself a moment to settle before switching to work mode. ‘How are our star clients doing?’

  As efficient as Victoria, Juliette tapped on the keyboard and, after a fleeting silence, gave a nod of appreciation.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your obsession, Chris Frampton. His flock’s grown substantially in the last twenty-four hours. There’s speculation he’s returned to the UK.’ She keyed in further information, and nodded again. ‘The board will be ecstatic.’

  Victoria rose from her chair and crossed to the coffee machine. ‘Money grabbers. I should never have agreed to one.’

  Juliette sighed. ‘Not this again. It was sound business practice.’

  ‘EweSpeak’s a private company.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it doesn’t legally require a board.’ Victoria poured two fresh coffees, returned to the desks and planted a hot mug in Juliette’s hand. ‘We could’ve developed the company ourselves.’

  ‘No, we couldn’t. It was turning in to Frankenstein’s monster.’ Juliette set aside her drink and clasped Victoria’s hands. ‘We needed an objective input. We needed legal and financial experts to advise. We needed an independent board to resolve our disputes.’

  Reluctantly, Victoria nodded. As close as she and Juliette were, their opinions were invariably at opposite ends of the spectrum, and the board had brought an end to EweSpeak family feuding.

  ‘Do you know why I finally agreed?’ Victoria reclaimed her hands and reversed the hold. ‘Because you told me I was like Mum.’

  Juliette laughed. ‘Well, you are. You’re as stubborn as she was. And you believe your way is the only way. Which, by the way, it’s not.’

  Victoria grumbled as she released Juliette from her grasp. ‘I don’t force my religious views on others.’

  ‘Granted, Mum was a bit zealous, but she was doing what she thought best. The same as you. And really, if going to church and reading the Bible was the worst thing that happened to us, I’d say we’ve nothing to complain about, especially when you think of people whose worlds have shattered.’ Juliette pointed at her monitor. ‘Here’s a case in point. Your obsession.’

  An image of Chris Frampton planted itself in the fertile garden of Victoria’s mind. It was impossible to uproot. ‘I am not obsessed with Chris bloody Frampton.’ Preoccupied maybe. She dreamed of him often. Intimate, sad, confusing dreams. ‘I’m not even sure which country he’s in.’

  She was, though, well aware of the buzz created by the recent sale of his Los Angeles ranch, and of the whisper he was looking to come home. The news was everywhere, and the worst of it was the voracious media wolves were digging up harrowing images from two years back, when Chris was grieving for his wife and son. Thank goodness they were keeping the other twin out of the spotlight. Victoria had no desire to revisit the scenes.

  ‘Anyway, I’m interested in the future, not the past.’ She looked in her son’s direction. ‘Seth? Milk?’ No reaction. She raised her voice. ‘Seth? Would you like a glass of milk?’

  ‘No.’

  It became apparent Victoria’s despondency was more obvious than she’d intended, as Juliette scraped back her chair, kicked off her shoes and padded her way over to Seth. She removed his earphones.

  ‘Please and thank you can get you a long way, you know.’ She sat down, curled her legs up and pulled Seth to her.

  Victoria noted the lack of resistance on her son’s part. It wasn’t jealousy that passed through her. As with Cerys, she was thankful that Seth had means of finding comfort. No. She knew what it was; she’d experienced it before. It was rejection.

  ‘What’s making you grumpy, young man?’ Juliette’s gilded voice glided into Victoria’s thoughts. ‘Is there something else you’d rather be doing?’

  Seth snuggled into Juliette and sneered at Victoria. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I like this.’

  Was it possible for a four-year-old to understand manipulation? Seth used it with such devastating effect, it was difficult to think he didn’t. He was the one person Victoria should make sense of, but although they shared blood, their circuitry was very different.

  ‘I like it too, but both your mum and I have work to do. Shall I see what Uncle Dan is up to? I expect he’d like some help.’

  Seth nodded. ‘I like Uncle Dan. He doesn’t shout.’

  Once more, Seth glared at Victoria. She understood his implication.

  Juliette moved away from him. ‘Who dares yell at my nephew? I’ll tell them off.’ She stood and pushed her sleeves up. ‘It’s not those naughty nannies, is it?’

  Seth copied his aunt and raised himself off the sofa. Pointing a skinny finger at Victoria, he said, ‘She does.’

  Both the allegation and her bruise stung. With her eyes fixed on Seth, Victoria watched him wind his way behind Juliette and peer from her side. In a small, but steady voice, he said, ‘She shouts at me and I hate her.’

  Juliet
te coaxed him to stand before her. She knelt to his level and took his hands. ‘Now, young man, listen to me. Hate is a very strong feeling and saying that about your mummy is very unkind. It makes us both sad when you speak like that.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Victoria before returning to Seth. ‘All mummies shout from time to time. We can get just as grumpy as you, but we never stop loving you. I think you should say sorry and give your mum a big hug.’ She released him and stood tall. ‘Go on.’

  As Victoria expected, Seth remained silent and still. She held out her hands, but Seth was too young to see it for what it was – a mother reaching out for her son. As he backed away from the gesture, Victoria wilted. ‘Leave it, Joo. Call Dan and see if he can have him for the day.’

  Victoria retreated behind her desk and tapped her monitor. The virtual world was beckoning; the world that didn’t throw apples, and where hurtful words were deleted. If life had an undo button, she’d hit it right now. Start again. Never fall in love, never fall for a man’s lies, and never fall pregnant. She flinched. She didn’t mean that. She wanted Seth in her life, but she didn’t know how to make it – them – work. ‘There must be a way,’ she said, quietly. Maybe the Internet had more up-to-date information than when she last looked.

  As she viewed the screen, Chris Frampton’s face loomed large, his dark, floppy fringe sheltering the top of his doleful, brown eyes. Next to him was his stunning American wife, Lacey. It was a clever move including her in his publicity shots; he was such a private man, any glimpse into his personal life created a whirlwind of interest.

  Nowadays, it was his manager, Tommy Stone, who was forever by his side.

  Victoria rested her elbow on her desk and her cheek on her fist. The picture of Chris was taken shortly before the death of his wife and son. Following that, he became a recluse. He stopped filming, removed himself from the public eye, and was rumoured to be separated from his surviving son. If that was true, it was tragic.

  But what a life Chris had led. A Portland boy born and bred making it big as a Hollywood action hero.

  It suited Victoria that he’d hooked up with Lacey all those years ago. It allowed her to forget her past. Their past.

  And it was forgotten until she developed EweSpeak and her youthful team of go-getters acquired Chris as one of their first clients. From that point, Victoria struggled to avoid hearing about him. A number of years ago, she received some sensitive information she’d been compelled to buy in order to bury it. The secrets she held had the potential to finish his career. Now, they would infect open wounds. Thank God she would never need to see him in the flesh again.

  His bronzed, toned flesh.

  She outlined his lips with her cursor. Chris had always been handsome. He was beautiful. And daring. He was the one man who’d shown Victoria what it was to let go and live.

  And the first to betray her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Victoria was attempting to create the impression she was engrossed in her work. From the moment Dan collected Seth, she’d buried her head in buff-coloured files, raising it once to study her monitor. At that moment, she realised Juliette was watching her.

  ‘I’m all right, Joo, honestly.’ That was a lie. She was preoccupied with thoughts of Chris Frampton returning home, considering ways to stop EweSpeak’s Board of Directors from travelling a destructive path, and despairing over her non-existent relationship with her son. She grimaced. ‘Apart from the blinding headache.’

  She thrust herself away from the desk and rubbed the back of her neck. Her life was too cluttered for her to make informed decisions, and too many demands were being made of her, emotionally and physically. Something had to give. ‘I could do without this stupid business with the board.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll go ahead?’

  Victoria huffed. ‘Of course they will. They’re motivated by money. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep their bank accounts full and their fat backsides comfortable.’

  ‘But they have a duty of loyalty, and their report states the move will secure the future of EweSpeak—’

  ‘It only secures their position, Juliette. Let’s face facts. We made bad choices, electing certain members to the board. We were blinded by their past successes. They’re cut-throat businessmen with reputations to uphold.’ Victoria swung her chair round and gaped at her sister. ‘I’ll bet a year’s salary there’ll be redundancies.’

  ‘But if charging clients to join will increase profits—’

  Victoria cut her off again. ‘Did you miss the bit where they proposed paying celebrities for exclusive bleats? It’s ridiculous. It won’t work. People will opt out. Our followers enjoy the personal contact, the chance to hold a discussion with like-minded souls, maybe even exchange a bleat with their idol. If it’s sensationalism they want, they’ll buy a glossy magazine, or worse, they’ll flock to our competitors. They won’t subscribe to our network.’ She shook her head. ‘It has disaster written all over it.’

  ‘I don’t see it. The board’s acting in the company’s best interest. We have to make money. And it’s not just their pockets they’re lining, is it?’ Juliette waved a hand in the direction of the window. ‘I don’t hear you complaining about the flashy, two-seater sports car you’ve parked in our private garage.’

  Victoria reached for the remote on her desk, and switched on the TV. ‘I need a break.’ She stood, gave her arms a stretch, and walked across to the sofa, collapsing into it, irascible and frustrated. Surely Juliette wasn’t voting with the board? Victoria cast her eyes to the large screen, scoured through the programme guide, and settled on a news channel.

  It was a mistake.

  Wherever her eyes fell – the TV, online, mobile applications – Chris’s then thirty-five-year-old haunted face appeared, vacant, pale and broken. There was no escape from the dated footage of him being jostled out of the way of bloodthirsty, aggressive photographers or being hustled into his ranch house by burly security men. Victoria had seen the images thirty, maybe forty times in the last couple of years. Every piece of technology in her office was broadcasting his grief all over again, and each time his name was typed, bleated, or beamed across the Internet, and for every second his tormented features were on public display, Victoria was on trial. Her technology, the company, the brand she had developed and grown was helping prolong his terror. To see this beautiful man reduced to a floorshow for the cheap seats made her sick to the stomach.

  She jumped at a touch to her arm.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Juliette took the remote from Victoria, switched off the TV, and sat down. ‘I’m sorry I called him your obsession. This must be hard for you.’

  Victoria shrugged. Although she understood Juliette’s concern, she didn’t appreciate intrusion, and sharing, as her sister called it, was not Victoria’s way. There’d been far too much of that already. A small shudder ran through her. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said, hoping a few words, regardless of content, would appease Juliette.

  ‘Well, his whereabouts has caused quite a stir. He’s the number one name in everyone’s bleats. He’s all over EweSpeak.’

  ‘He’s trending?’ It was what Victoria expected, but not what she wanted to hear. Pulling her knees up, she fastened them with her arms, laid her head on them, and closed her eyes.

  ‘In all honesty, I’d be asking questions if it didn’t trend,’ Juliette said. ‘It was a devastating story of epic proportions. Anything Chris does now will be measured against how he’s survived his loss. EweSpeak is doing exactly what we’ve asked of it.’

  Victoria’s eyes burst open, and she threw up her head, as she felt raging heat radiate her cheeks. ‘No. It’s not. I didn’t set out to wreck people’s lives.’

  The atmosphere in the third floor office was so thick and hot, even Victoria’s slim frame struggled to draw a clean breath. She kicked out her legs, pushed herself up from the sofa, and opened a nearby window, taking the cold November air deep into her lungs. ‘I can’t do this to him. Not again. I�
�m not heartless.’

  ‘I’ve been telling you that for years.’ Juliette returned to her computer and tapped the keyboard. ‘But you must remember, Chris willingly took centre stage. He was renowned for his ambition. We offered him a media platform, and he grabbed it with both hands.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Juliette.’ Victoria reeled round as her sister resumed her seat. ‘He was pursuing his dream.’

  ‘Yes. He was. He was an unknown, jobbing English actor scraping a living together in America. Now look at him.’ Juliette switched the monitor round. ‘He’s won two Taurus World Stunt Awards, goes drinking with Jason Statham, and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.’ She picked up her mobile, wielding it in the air. ‘The world first learned of Chris Frampton, actor, right here, on EweSpeak. Have you seen how many are in his flock?’

  Victoria prepared to speak, but Juliette held up her hand, indicating quiet. Victoria obliged.

  ‘And how did he gain support when he was lobbying the Academy to introduce a Best Stunt Oscar? By bleating to over three million fans, on our social network. Three million.’

  ‘It’s not all been one way. EweSpeak’s benefited from his celebrity.’

  ‘I agree. He’s an excellent investment. Financially, I mean.’

  Victoria snorted. ‘But not emotionally? Thanks.’ She turned, yanked the window shut, and then leaned her back against the cold glass. ‘I’d just turned eighteen when he and I got together. What did I know about relationships?’ That excuse would hold no water with Juliette – she was eighteen when she met Dan. Nineteen when she had her first baby. Victoria changed tack before her sister objected. ‘I’d not met anyone like him. He was exciting. Impulsive. Willing to try anything. So different from me. I was …’ She thought for a moment, wanting to use the word with the most impact. ‘I was inspired by him.’

  ‘You loved him, Victoria. Say it.’

  Victoria sealed her lips shut, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and glowered at the floor.