Survival (Twisted Book 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “I don’t…I want children with you.”

  He turned his head so his face was so close, his warm breath tickled my lips, travelled over my cheeks and swept down my neck.

  I shivered, “It’s okay that you don’t want them with me. But we need to talk. Our honesty is the most important thing to me.”

  “I love you so much,” he smiled and shook his head. “Having kids isn’t a bad thing.”

  “It’s not?”

  He sat up against the headboard and I rested my head on his lap, shifting so I could look up at him.

  “No.”

  “But my parents. They – well, they…” I trailed off. I couldn’t say it.

  “You think I don’t want a family with you because of your parents?” I nodded. “You crazy, crazy woman. I haven’t even thought about that.”

  “You haven’t?”

  My nerves were slowly easing. I thought he’d written me off like all the others had. I could tell by that tender, cautious look in his eye that he hadn’t.

  “No. I've never been a parent either. I don’t know how it works. We’ll learn together.”

  “Okay,” My brain switched into rewind. “Wait, what?”

  “Let’s start a family.”

  My mouth fell open. I didn’t try to disguise my shock. My heart raced. My hands squeezed into fists as Thomas resumed his pattern on my stomach and then pressed his hand over my bellybutton.

  “Okay…Let’s start a family.”

  Every aspect, every area of my life had been a constant battle. I was expecting a fight; to have to give up every ounce of dignity I had to try and convince Thomas that I wouldn’t make an awful mother. I didn’t know what kind of mother I would make, but I knew I would fight for our family and love it with all my heart.

  Thomas, a father. Me, a mother. A little baby that needed patience and milk at ungodly hours. A toddler that would require more patience while it threw tantrums worse than any PMSing she-beast, but would give the best cuddles in the world.

  I didn’t know what kind of team we’d be, but we’d be one full of love, fight and goofball Kodak moments.

  ***

  Beth was nervous. She’d painted her nails just so she could pick it off and I was damn near growing a hernia trying to contain the urge to pry her hands apart.

  Why was she nervous? How much of a villain had she made herself out to be? Or did she actually play the victim? I guessed she was both; we both were. I could have tracked her down. I could have made more of an effort. I shut my friends out; maybe I did the same to Beth and made her feel like the bad guy. But it wouldn’t do either of us good dwelling on it – we were different people than we were back then. The past, no matter how much it still hurt, had to be archived and locked in that little box labelled ‘history’.

  To hell with it; we were going to enjoy her night.

  “Pick a band, any band,” I called from the lounge. Beth was in the kitchen preparing dinner and I was standing in front of Thomas’ dock. The day after his party, we’d taken forever transferring his horde of music CDs to his iPod.

  “Bon Jovi.”

  Good choice, sister. I hit shuffle on Bon Jovi and good ol’ Jon blasted through the speakers as I danced my way back to the kitchen. Thomas and I danced all the time. Like idiots, I might add. That much was clear when I saw the shock and shame on Beth’s face. Yes, I had about as much rhythm as a one-legged. Still, I danced; banging my head, playing my air guitar and singing, “It’s my life, it’s now or never!”

  Beth shook her head, but I saw her tapping her foot and chopping carrots to the beat as I jumped around the breakfast bar. My hair was a tangled mess as it swung from side to side.

  “Come on, Beth!”

  She looked over her shoulder as she began wiggling her hips and then she spun around and belted the chorus with me, throwing her tea towel in the air and jumping on the spot like she was on a pogo stick. The song finished and we threw our arms around each other. Music made everything better. Music or dancing. Dancing like an idiot. That might have been it…but the tension had gone and the nervousness had crawled back into the hole it had escaped from. And Beth still shook her butt as she went back to preparing vegetables.

  I turned around to find Thomas standing in the doorway with his arms, those arms, folded.

  “How long have you been there?”

  He pulled out his air guitar and bent backwards, throwing his head back as he played.

  “That long, huh?” I stepped into his arms and we danced together.

  “Long enough to record it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, those eyebrows, and pulled out his phone to record us.

  I kissed him on the cheek and we sang a few lines together.

  Thomas continued recording as I threw my hands in the air and danced next to Beth.

  “Put that thing away and go and shower.”

  He shoved his phone in his pocket, but instead of leaving the room he chased me around the island, caught me and threw me over his shoulder.

  “Shower time,” he shrugged as Beth laughed, then smacked my ass and carried me up the stairs.

  Dinner was ready when we got back downstairs and I gave Beth an apologetic look. We were used to not having to think about anyone else. She waved her hand in dismissal and handed us a glass of wine.

  “Thanks,” Thomas walked around the kitchen with his nose in the air. Exactly like Buster was doing at the same time. “What’s cooking?”

  “Roast pork,” Beth swatted him away. “And no, you can't taste it until it’s on your plate in front of you.”

  “She’s figured me out,” he threw his arm over her shoulders and sniffed some more.

  Was it possible that everything was going to be okay? Thomas and Beth got on like they’d known each other for longer than three days. If I didn’t have him, I wouldn’t even have let her in. She may never have found me; I’m sure whatever came up on Google that included my name had something to do with Thomas. It was kind of funny, that I believed in fate. Being with him showed me, without a doubt, that it existed. I’d found it. Fate personified in Thomas Radley.

  The doorbell rang and Buster barked and scurried to the door, ready to protect. Thomas and Beth stopped nodding their heads to the music and Beth looked at me.

  “It’s for you.”

  I turned the music down in the kitchen as we waited for her.

  “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

  I suddenly needed reassurance. It was really happening. We were about to introduce one world to another and if it ended badly, it would be painful. I’d already jumped on the pain train willingly once and got thrown off. I couldn’t do it again.

  “It’ll be okay,” he pulled me into him and my heart set racing for an entirely different reason. “You want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve got us.”

  He was right; of course he was. We could face anything if we faced it together.

  Beth stepped into the kitchen as we made our way out, and Jack was just behind her. He was exactly what I expected; light hair – Beth always liked guys with light hair. He was taller than Thomas with a chiselled jaw and light green eyes and as he smiled and held out his hand to Thomas and me, I knew he was The One for Beth.

  “Hi Jack,” I took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Thirty Nine

  It had taken years, but finally, things were looking brighter. Every cloud, right?

  Christmas Day, 2010.

  Thomas wrapped his arms around me, set his hands on my stomach and rested his head on my shoulder. Moving us both to the music, he inhaled the scent of the cooking soup and hummed in appreciation.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Bread,” I pointed to the cupboard by the stairs. “The bread is proofing.”

  He blew a raspberry on my neck and I shrieked and flicked soup everywhere. He got me every time. His laugh gave me butterflies as I turned and watched him walk away.

  We
were hosting Christmas. I never thought I’d see the day, and strangely, I wasn’t as tempted to run away as I thought I would be. I wasn’t praying for time machines or teleportation. I was ready for Christmas. I had everything organised and a man not afraid to use his hands in the kitchen. The past couple of weeks had been tough. Christmas was always a bittersweet time. I didn’t think there would ever be a Christmas where there wasn’t some degree of melancholy, but I tried to embrace it and stay calm. The mess made me antsy, and I’d started my period that morning. I had stopped taking the pill in October, but I guessed it took a while. I was trying to stay relaxed over that, too.

  Beth and Jack arrived first, with Christmas pudding and black forest gateaux; Fran and Martin arrived just ahead of Ava and Kevin and brought the stuffing – it was Fran’s mother’s recipe so she insisted on making it – and Ava and Kevin brought a bunch of flowers and a bottle of brandy.

  Tommy and Jake flew to Thomas like they always did and I was left with the dinner when he took the boys, and the men, upstairs to the games room. He had added a pinball machine and giant scalextric just for Christmas. I wasn’t alone for long; the women joined me in the kitchen and looked for things to do. Beth was the first one to pick up a broom and I sagged with relief.

  We decided to have dinner before opening gifts so we all sat at the table in the dining room and Thomas and I served up my carrot and coriander soup and his bread rolls.

  “Before we start,” Thomas stood and shushed the boys. “I just want to say thank you for coming. A lot has changed over the past few months and as a result, we have a family. Skye and Beth finally have the family they deserve, and we have been blessed with them.” He squeezed my shoulder and I held my breath to stop the emotion escaping. He raised his glass. “To family.”

  “To family.”

  He sat back down and the table erupted into laughter as the boys jumped into their soup and it afforded Thomas and I a while to let it sink in. Things really were looking better than they ever had.

  Merry Christmas, Oliver.

  Forty

  I guess I should have seen it. I should have read the signs…But I thought we were a happy family.

  Christmas Day, 2001.

  Beth and I helped Mum in the kitchen. She kind of just barked orders and sipped on Advocaat while we did as we were told. Oliver was watching TV, but that didn’t last long; Mum quickly pulled him into the kitchen to help.

  “I know you’re a man,” she snorted. “But don’t think you don’t have to pull your own weight around here.”

  “Where’s Dad?” He rolled his eyes and looked around the kitchen for something to do.

  Dad had disappeared not long after we opened our presents. He slipped away while Oliver and I were talking about the track lists on the back of our CDs and Beth was swooning over her Westlife calendar.

  “Do you see him here?” She popped another cube of ice in her drink and peered over my shoulder.

  “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter.”

  Dad came home just as we sat down to eat. It was usually his job to carve the turkey but Oliver had already done it.

  “Good job, son,” he ruffled his hair and sat at the other end of the table. “Looks good.”

  “We all chipped in,” Beth said, proud of our hard work. We worked well as a team.

  Oliver glared at Mum, then at Dad. I don’t know why it bothered him as much as it did. Dad always had to work. It had been that way for as long as I could remember.

  “Who made the gravy?”

  “Me.”

  “It’s good, Sunshine.”

  I smiled back when Dad smiled at me. He always called me Sunshine. He said when I was born, three minutes after Oliver, the sun peered out from behind the clouds and shone into the delivery room. He said that’s why they named me Skye.

  “I made it how you showed me.”

  He nodded slowly as he pursed his lips; a sign that he was impressed, and we all bowed our heads for him to say grace.

  Mum didn’t say much over dinner. She didn’t say anything, actually; she just ate her dinner and sipped her drink, only speaking to ask for more vegetables while we talked with Dad, discussing taking a holiday when Beth came home from university in the spring.

  Dad didn’t pour brandy over the Christmas pudding when it was time for dessert. I think he had noticed, like we had, that Mum had had too much. He cut the pudding and slid the custard across the table with our bowls. He dug his spoon into his pudding and paused before pulling his phone out of his pocket, looking at the screen and frowning, perplexed.

  “Work,” he shrugged, shoving his chair back and standing from the table. “I’ll be back.”

  He kissed us all on the top of the head and as the door opened and closed, silence fell over the table. Mum poured another drink and stared at Dad’s empty seat.

  Forty One

  Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

  January, 2010.

  Thomas insisted we leave the house for the day. We took Buster for a relaxing walk round the lake and dropped him off home before we went for lunch at our usual Sunday spot; a beautiful riverside restaurant not far from home.

  “How are you feeling?” He asked, filling our glasses with iced water.

  “Good. I feel good.”

  “No change?”

  He held his hand out palm-up and I placed my hand on top.

  “I don’t think so. We can check in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m excited.”

  I smiled. I could see it in his eyes; he wanted it as much as I did and I wanted a baby more than anything. What had I been worried about? We had a long road ahead of us but, for once, the unknown was not scary, but exciting.

  “So am I,” I confessed with confidence. “But if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” he kissed the inside of my wrist and leaned over to kiss my lips. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t. I just don’t want us to be disappointed if it takes a while.”

  “Baby, we’ve got a lot of life left. I’d wait forever for this.”

  “Me, too.”

  My phone rang as the waiter arrived. I excused myself from the table and left Thomas to order for me as I stepped out onto the terrace.

  “Hi, Nina,” I sighed. “What’s wrong now?”

  She had already called three times since we’d been out. Thomas didn’t like it; he made that clear. I didn’t like it either. It was Sunday. Sunday was our day.

  “I don’t like the cover. It hasn’t been edited properly.”

  “They’re being printed tomorrow Nina. We’ve run out of time.”

  “There’s always enough time.”

  I knew there wasn’t and she knew there wasn’t, but as usual she wanted her own way.

  “I like the cover. So did you when you finalised it,” I reassured her. “It’s bold, it’s eye-catching and the model is beautiful. You’re worrying about nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” She let out a loud breath.

  “I’m sure. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s okay. I have to go, Thomas is waiting. The magazine is going to sell, maybe even better than usual.”

  “You’re right,” she sighed and I felt the energy change as she composed herself. “Now, go and give that handsome man of yours a kiss from me.”

  I laughed. “Goodbye, Nina.”

  I hung up the phone and headed back inside. I watched Thomas from the door as he played with the flower petals of the centrepiece. He was my man. Self-assured, confident and hot-as-hell; funny, adorable and an animal. I finally believed I deserved everything he gave me. I strode over to him, my heels clicking on the floor. That drew his eyes to find me just as I stopped at the table and bent to kiss him. It caught him by surprise; it surprised me how much I needed to kiss him in that moment, not caring who saw us. I slipped my hand into the back of his hair, my other hand re
sted on the table and I kissed Thomas like it was the first time.

  “What was that for?” He asked with a champion smile when I freed him and sat back in my chair.

  “Nina sent a kiss. I thought I better make it a good one.”

  “Oh, you did,” he winked. “Nina can call more often if she sends kisses like that.”

  “Cheeky.” I grinned.

  “You know it,” he said with a slight head shake.

  I shook my head and we sat in silence, the hustle and bustle of Sunday lunch disappearing.

  ***

  “Babe, I don’t think we need that many vegetables.”

  Thomas had decided to join me for the weekly grocery shop. He usually stayed at home and worked while I wandered around the supermarket with my earphones in, but he drove us there and was throwing enough vegetables in the trolley to feed an army of rabbits.

  “We need to be eating healthily.”

  God, I loved him. I would never get bored of telling myself, and him, that. I loved that he took care of me. He had stopped drinking with me; wine with dinner had been replaced with homemade strawberry and basil water from Fran, or lemonade Thomas had made when we got home from work. Fatty foods and dinners at our favourite Italian restaurant had been replaced with grilled meat and vegetables. Our lifestyle had changed while we prepared for our baby and I had never felt healthier. I had never been happier.

  “We are,” I stopped him, wrapped my arms around his waist and tipped my head back for a kiss. He obliged and I smiled as I let him go and began going through what he’d put in the shopping trolley. “If we need more, we’ll come and get it but if we buy all this now, we’ll have to throw most of it away.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “It’s okay,” I bumped my hip into his. “You’re a man.”

  “You’re playing the gender card?”

  “I sure am. Women are better shoppers. It’s in our genes.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, drawing attention from other shoppers, “I’ll remember that next time I walk past Victoria’s Secret.”