Rich Promise

by Ashe Barker

  “I don’t know. I didn’t speak to her. I can’t. She’s in jail.”

  “They have phones, even in prisons. If she’s still on remand, she’d be able to take a call.”

  I glance at him sharply. I hadn’t realized that. Never gave it a thought, in fact. Still, it doesn’t signify. I’ve no intention of contacting her. Sally MacDonald probably will, though, and I fully expect my mother to raise objections to me looking after Lucy and Maisie, just for the hell of it. She has no good reason to be awkward, but I wouldn’t put it past her. She only ever asked me to help out in the past to save her own skin. My heart sinks. After sentencing, there’ll be less she can do about it, surely, but right now, while she’s still theoretically innocent until proven guilty she probably does wield a lot of influence. They are her children, not mine. However little she deserves them.

  Dan takes my chin in his hand and tips my face up. He watches me, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m guessing the prospect of discussing this with your mother is not attractive to you. Tell me about her.”

  I shake my head, unable to speak. I never talk about my mother, except perhaps to Freya. But she knows all about the skeletons I keep hidden. Probably. I never actually came right out and told her, but she knows what my mother used to get up to, why she was in and out of prison. And Freya was my friend all the time I was constantly running away from home. Both she and Margaret will have managed to join up the dots I imagine.

  Dan tightens his fingers around my chin when I make to pull away. “Tell me, Summer. It’s clear you don’t get on. Why is that?”

  “Do you have to ask? Drugs? Illegal immigrants? Dumping her children to swan off to Spain?”

  “Right. But the first two you’ve only known about for two days. What’s this about Spain?”

  I briefly relate the story of my dash from a secure job in Bristol, a job with promise and prospects, to mop up after yet another of my mother’s escapades. Dan listens without interruption. When I fall silent again, he continues to stroke my chin pensively with the pad of his thumb. He holds my gaze, his expression cool, assessing, fitting the pieces together. Exposing the gaps.

  Eventually, he speaks again, “Why Bristol? Why were you there, living so far away? Why weren’t you staying with Freya? Or even living with your mother and sisters in Barrow? You say you love your family—well, your sisters—and I believe that. It’s obvious that you do. So why do you just up and disappear? The last time you rushed off to Bristol, you were running from me, yes?” He waits, and I close my eyes before nodding briefly.

  “Thought so. What were you running from the first time?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse to tell him—or to lie. That would be easier. I could attempt to fob him off with some tale about wanting to make my own way in the world, wanting to learn an honest profession, build a career. All of those have some truth in them, maybe just a sliver. But the great, awesome, all-encompassing reality is now staring me in the face. I open my mouth, and it’s out.

  “I ran away from home.”

  “I see. Why, Summer?”

  “I-I ran away a lot of times. To Margaret’s usually. She fostered me when I was a teenager, and I just kept on going back there. When I needed to escape. Freya was my friend, Margaret was like a mother to me.”

  “But you had a mother.”

  “No. I had a pimp.”

  His eyes widen, just a fraction, but he doesn’t speak. Still he doesn’t interrupt me. I haul in a long, ragged breath and carry on.

  “I was about fifteen when it started in earnest. She was tired, getting old. Her clients—is that the right word for them?”

  He frowns, doesn’t answer. Won’t allow me to digress.

  “Well, they wanted someone a bit fresher, I suppose, younger. And she saw no reason why I shouldn’t help out. And it wasn’t as if she expected me to go on the streets. Her clients came to our house. It was all safe enough, she said. Lots of people do it, the oldest profession, and all that…” My voice is breaking, I’ve never, ever said it all out loud like this before. Not even to Freya and Margaret.

  I chance a look at Dan, try to gauge how he’s taking all this. His expression gives nothing away. I take that as vaguely encouraging. At least he’s not looking at me with disgust. I press on, determined now to get it all out there. I’ve started, that was the worst part. It’s downhill from here.

  “I was sixteen before I actually, finally, agreed though. Our rent hadn’t been paid, the council were getting close to evicting us, or so I thought. So, I gave in. I felt I’d no choice. She can be very persuasive, my mother.”

  “What happened?” His voice is soft, very low. There’s a warmth in his eyes, a sympathy I didn’t dare hope for.

  “I waited in her bedroom, and she sent the man up. I never saw him, well, only his lower legs. I looked at the floor, then kept my eyes shut the entire time. I lay still, just did as he told me, didn’t struggle, or make any sound. I don’t think, looking back, I was much of a bargain really. He didn’t complain, though, just paid up. My mother was pleased, said I’d done well and she was proud of me. I wasn’t. I hated myself, hated her, hated all the men she ever sent up the stairs to me.”

  Tears are streaming again, flowing unchecked down my face. Neither one of us makes any attempt to stem them. I look up at Dan, hoping for something, anything. Any sort of signal that he could forgive this. It comes in the form of a kiss. A light, chaste kiss, on my forehead. He smiles at me, a sweet, tender smile. I see nothing of blame or anger, or the special sort of loathing I reserve for this dark corner of my past.

  “How long did this continue for?”

  “A couple of years, on and off. I’d run away whenever I could, stay at Margaret’s for a while, until my mother managed to threaten or blackmail me into going back. Usually it’d be something to do with Lucy and Maisie. They were missing me, one of them was ill. It always worked. I was such a mug. I knew what would happen, what always happened. It only finally stopped when Freya won her money and bought the apartment in Kendal and I moved in there with her. Even then, though, my mother kept getting in touch, ringing me, texting, showing up at the door. If I wasn’t prepared to do my bit, as she saw it, she wanted handouts, wanted Freya to pay her debts off, slip her a few hundred quid. Freya probably would, as well, but I never let her. In the end, I went to Bristol to stop all of that. I figured if I wasn’t there, if I left the area completely, she’d stop pestering Freya. And me.”

  “But you came back.”

  “I had a phone call. My mother, naturally. She said Lucy and Maisie were about to be taken into care if I didn’t come home and help out. Looking back, I think it might have been better for them if I’d stayed away. But I didn’t. I always go back.”

  “Well, that’s lucky for me, I suppose. I’d never have come across you again if you’d stayed in Bristol.” His lopsided smile is beautiful to me. A small shoot of optimism starts to unfurl, to spread its tendrils around my tense body. He doesn’t regret getting involved with me, doesn’t seem to intend to reject me. I’ve yet to hear a shred of disapproval from him, though it must be there, somewhere. How could he not?

  “What are you going to do now?” I whisper my question, and hold my breath as he contemplates my tear-stained face

  “Well, sweetheart, I reckon we’ve a busy afternoon still ahead of us. I owe you a punishment spanking—I’ve lost count of how many lies you’ve told me over the time we’ve been together, though, so I don’t think the quirt will be much use to us. My hand, I think, unless you’re still too sore, in which case I’d be happy to leave it until another time. Then I’ll fuck you, because I think you need that. And I definitely do. Then we need to talk to Nathan, get matters sorted for the social worker’s inspection on Friday. How does that sound?

  “It sounds wonderful. And I’m not that sore any more so even the spanking…” Especially the spanking.

  “Glad to hear it. But?” His head is tilted to one side as he waits for me
to elaborate.

  “But what?” I’m not sure what he’s after now.

  “Something’s still on your mind. What is it?”

  “It’s just… Well, I mean…I had no idea you’d be so…relaxed about this. Don’t you mind? That I was a prostitute?”

  His face hardens. “Yes, I mind. I mind that you were a scared child, made to do something you hated because you had no choice. If I could get my hands on any of the bastards who took advantage of your vulnerability, I think it’s safe to say I’d tear a few heads off. Or better still, their dicks. I mind that your early sexual experiences were so horrendous, but at least I better understand why you were so shaken by what happened at the club. A lot of things make sense now.”

  I stare at him, remembering vividly the utter bewilderment I felt that night. “You shocked me. Really stunned me. I’d had orgasms before, occasionally, but they were hard work and never with anyone else there. That evening I spent with you, you just made me feel…out of control. My body wasn’t my own anymore. I was terrified, confused. I needed time to think. So I ran away to hide again—like I always do.”

  “I wish I’d realized. I’d never have let you out of my sight if I’d had the slightest idea what was happening in your head. As your Dom, it was my responsibility to make sure you were okay afterwards. I let you down so badly and I apologize.”

  Now he’s stunned me again. “You? You’re apologizing to me? I don’t understand.”

  He frames my face with his hands, drops a light kiss on my lips. “I should have taken better care of you. I will in future. And speaking of which, are you sure you’re ready for your spanking?”

  I smile, happy to proceed. “I am, Sir. But, I wonder, could we maybe go to my flat? Or even upstairs to your room here? I know it’s not my call. it’s a punishment and that means I don’t get to choose. But I’m feeling a bit…fragile right now. Privacy would be nice. I’d be able to relax. Would you mind, this once?”

  He grins at me, his smile warm, sexy. My pussy dampens instantly.

  “I think we both know this is no punishment. I’ve no desire to hurt you, not really. Or at least not in a bad way. Relaxed sounds good to me. Your place then?”

  He stand, holds out his hand. I take it and we head for the door. He leaves the quirt on the table.

  Chapter Nine

  Two hours later we stroll back across the graveled courtyard to let ourselves in through the kitchen door at Black Combe. My bottom is sore, pleasantly so this time, and prettily pink, according to Dan. This time he used his hand then turned up the tempo just a bit more with his belt. He alternated the spanking with a generous helping of finger-fucking, both my pussy and my arse benefiting from his careful attentions. Then, when I finally begged him to let me rest, he laid me on my bed, spread my legs and tongue-fucked me until I came again—and again. Only then did he finally slide his cock deep inside me, making love to me so sweetly, so slow and easily, I wept all over again. He kissed away my tears, murmuring wonderful things into my ear. He whispered to me of love, of being beautiful, of being his. I clung on, determined never to let him go.

  “Are you sure this is going to be all right?” Despite my earlier confidence, and Dan’s assurances, now that the moment to face Nathan has arrived, I’m terrified. He takes my hand, squeezes it.

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  So I do. Eva pulls up just as we get to the door, so we all three walk in together. Grace and Rosie are still at the cinema. Nathan must have heard us come in because he saunters into the kitchen a few seconds after we do. He eyes the pair of us, his expression inscrutable. I don’t doubt he’ll be relating the whole thing to Eva later but for now, he treats us as though this is a normal social call.

  “Tea?” He kisses Eva before picking up the kettle. He carries it to the sink and fills it up while the rest of us make ourselves comfortable at the table. Well, fairly comfortable, in my case.

  “Are you okay, Summer?” Eva seems concerned, peering at me under her eyebrows. “You look tired.”

  “Yes, it’s been a long day.”

  I shift in my seat as she glances at the clock. Six-fifteen. She opens her mouth, clearly of the view that the day is not especially long, not just yet. She’s about to probe further, but Dan forestalls her.

  “Summer and I have something to discuss with you. With both of you really, so it’s good you’re here too, Eva.”

  Summer and I. As in ‘we’. That gives me a warm glow somewhere down deep. I glance at Dan, who winks.

  “Oh?” Eva leans back in her chair clearly intrigued, while Nathan lounges against the worktop waiting for the kettle to boil.

  They both regard us silently, waiting for enlightenment. My mouth goes dry. It was hard talking to Dan, but this is almost as difficult. Then suddenly, it’s all out of my hands.

  “Would you like me to explain?” Dan offers to take the problem away from me. All I need do is sit and listen, chipping in as needed. Or as I feel like it. I relax under his warm smile, and not for the first time today.

  “Yes please.” I’m happy to leave it to him.

  I sit in near silence, sipping my tea occasionally as Dan explains the situation with Maisie and Lucy. He doesn’t sugar coat the parts about my mother’s alleged offenses, but he doesn’t go into any detail about the events of my teenage years. I never asked him to keep that a secret—I wouldn’t have dared to—but there was no need. I might talk to Eva and to Ashley about what happened back then. I probably will, in time. Freya definitely. But for now, it’s just between me and Dan, and I’m satisfied with that.

  Neither Eva nor Nathan seem unduly concerned at the prospect of the coming influx of teenagers to disrupt their peaceful haven. I suppose, what with me, their own two children, the constant trafficking between here and Greystones, it’s no longer such an idyllic country retreat in any case. And perhaps neither one of them is exactly the peaceful type.

  “So, permanent then? You’re expecting your mother to get sent down for a while?” Nathan frowns, thoughtful, but in problem-solving mode rather than objecting.

  I nod, twisting my hands in my lap. It’s a nervous habit, but marginally less embarrassing than getting up to straighten the cutlery drawer might be. Despite everything that’s been happening over the last few days, I’m managing not to regress to that. Dan reaches for me under the table, covers my hands with his and squeezes lightly. Encouraged, I look up, meet Nathan’s eyes.

  “I understand she’s pleading Guilty—to the drugs offenses and to being an accessory to the illegal immigrants trade. According to Sally MacDonald, she can expect a sentence of between five and seven years.”

  Nathan whistles. “That seems heavy. I’m assuming then this isn’t the first time…”

  I hold his gaze, conscious of Dan beside me. “To the best of my knowledge, it’s the first time she’s been convicted on either of these offenses. But, she has a lot of previous convictions—for theft and for soliciting.” I pause, wait for his face to shift, for the judging to start.

  “Must have been difficult, growing up there.” Nathan lifts one dark eyebrow, evidently expecting an answer.

  Dan’s eyebrows are expressive, but Nathan’s I note now, are equally so. A family trait perhaps, though clearly a learned one.

  “Yes, at times it was. I’ve been worried about Lucy and Maisie.” My expression is, I suspect, slightly challenging, a note of belligerence creeping in. I’m not sure why. Nothing so far has hinted at blame or disapproval. Well, not of me.

  “I can imagine. Right. When’s all this happening then?” Nathan’s expression shifts, all business now.

  “The social worker wants to visit the girls’ new home before approving the move,” Dan takes up the story again. “This Friday, in fact. Will that be a problem?”

  Now it’s Eva who butts in, “I wouldn’t have thought so. Do you know what time they’ll be here, Summer?”

  “In the afternoon. Four o’clock.”

  She nods, equally bus
iness-like. She and Nathan are perfectly matched. “Right. Rosie should be back from school by then. She can say hello. In fact, you could bring your two across here for tea, if you like. Give you and Ms MacDonald a chance to talk privately if you need to. I’ll ask Grace to do some baking. Chocolate brownies should do the trick.”

  “Trick?” I’m at a loss. The conversation has shifted from my mother’s rap sheet to chocolate brownies in a couple of sentences.

  “Yes. We need to charm them. And Ms MacDonald. Homely’s what we’ll be going for. Lived in. Home baking and the smell of coffee.”

  “We’re not trying to sell the place,” Nathan interrupts dryly, but seems to have no serious objection to the planned charm offensive. Sounds like chocolate brownies are part of the strategy.

  “We’ll also need to check out schools. Did you say Lucy has special needs? What sort of school is she at now?” Nathan gets up to refill the kettle, glancing back at us over his shoulder.

  “They’re both in year seven, I think, at secondary school. Maisie’s eleven, so that’s the right year for her. Lucy’s repeated several years in primary school because it takes her longer to learn.”

  “I see. Well, Rosie doesn’t go to secondary school for a couple of years yet, but we’ve been checking out what’s around. The place down near Keighley gets decent results. You need to give them a ring tomorrow, see if they’ve got spare places in year seven.”

  I stare at him, a bit stunned. “Locally? For Rosie? I’d assumed…well, just thought she’d go to a private school.” It never occurred to me that my sisters and Nathan Darke’s little princess might end up at the same school.

  “Well, it could come to that. We’ll see. But Plan A is to send her to the same school as her friends from the village. She ought to do okay. Eva can help her, if need be. We’ll start a homework club and with luck, they’ll all come out with something to show for their efforts.”

  And so, it’s settled. Dan’s done a fine job of negotiating on my behalf, not that it was to be a particularly hard sell in the end. Now we just have to convince Sally MacDonald. And hope my mother doesn’t find some reason to rock the boat.