“No. I was about to do a coffee run. If you’re staying I’ll get you one too.”
“Why, thank you.”
Cynthia sits back in her chair, rests her elbow on the chair arm and her chin on her hand. She contemplates him. “You know, I do believe we have much in common.”
He raises a cynical brow.
At that moment Geoff returns. He stops in the doorway, takes in the clash of eyes, and clears his throat.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says, with an edge to his voice.
Cynthia turns smoothly to her lover. “Of course not.”
Nate looks at Geoff and shrugs. His mouth turns down at the corners. His air of unflappable ease must be red rag to Geoff’s uptight bull.
“You made good time, darling,” continues Cynthia. “The traffic gods must be on your side.”
“Yeah.” Geoff relaxes slightly. “Tess settled straight back in, so I left her to it. Everything okay here?” He indicates Faith-in-the-bed.
Nate gives an abrupt nod.
“Fantastic.” Cynthia shoots Geoff a shining smile then stands, shouldering her handbag. “Faith and I have had some real quality time together while Nate took a shower.”
She looks down at Faith-in-the-bed and smiles, her face softening into a semblance of affection, but part of me feels as if she’s about to laugh. She smooths a hand over her once-best friend’s forehead. I rub at my own, trying to erase the echo.
Cynthia glances at Geoff. “I see you’ve brought in a photo album.”
“Tess brought it in. She thought it might help Faith wake up.”
“How gorgeous,” she says, and now her expression is definitely amused.
Geoff’s mouth tugs up in a half-smile. “I don’t think she’s worked out someone in a coma can’t actually sit up and look at photos, but I’m humouring her. The photos of her with Faith are probably helping her cope.”
Which is actually really nice of Geoff; he’s thinking of his daughter’s emotional needs, for once. But I’m thinking about my needs, too, and that album could be key.
I turn to Gran. “I’ve got an idea, Gran. Can you help me?”
“That depends, darling. What with?”
“I need to look through the photo album. Sylvia’s right: it’s full of my memories and, who knows, maybe looking at the photos will help me remember. Do you think you could use your energy to open it for me? Be my page turner?”
I see her expression and hastily add, “I’m not asking you to explain the photos, or even speak; just show them to me. Please?”
“Sorry, darling, I can’t. That counts as interference, which goes against the rules of Death and my parole agreement.”
“But you said . . .”
Gran casts a quick glance over her shoulder and I’m reminded that, for all her confidence and determination and bellbottomed pants, she does need to tread carefully. Very carefully.
“I’m a spectator,” she says, “nothing more. Sorry, darling.”
“Anyway,” says Geoff, “I’m not here long. I just stopped in to see if you want a lift, Cynth. I’m heading in to work.”
“Thanks.” She joins him.
“’Bye, then,” says Nate as they make for the door.
They don’t get far, though, because that’s when Sylvia arrives.
So many comings and goings this morning. I hope it’s not another omen.
“Oh.” Sylvia pulls up short in the doorway. “Goodness, I didn’t think it would be so busy. I’ll come back later.”
“No, no,” says Geoff, “don’t do that. We were just leaving.”
Nate steps forward and kisses Sylvia on the cheek. “Ma, I don’t know if you’ve ever met Faith’s husband?”
“No, I’ve not had the pleasure.” Sylvia holds out her hand to Geoff with a smile.
He shakes her hand. “Geoff Carson.”
“This is my mother,” says Nate, “Sylvia de Luciano.”
Sylvia holds Geoff’s hand a little longer than necessary, enclosing it in both of hers.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” she says, her eyes intent on his. “I’ve heard so much about you. Faith is like a daughter to me,” she adds, and is it just me or does that sound a weeny bit threatening?
Nate continues the introductions. “And this is Cynthia Barton-Wilde. Cynthia is one of Faith’s best—” he gives the word icy emphasis “—friends.”
Releasing Geoff’s hand, Sylvia turns her attention to Cynthia, smiling warmly. “Cynthia. Hello.”
“Hello, Mrs de Luciano.” Cynthia holds out her hand, her own smile rather more low-wattage.
Sylvia, unfazed, takes Cynthia’s hand in both of hers. “Please. Call me Sylvia. It’s far less stuffy. Besides, I haven’t been a missus for a very long time.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sylvia.” Cynthia concedes to the first name usage.
Sylvia holds Cynthia’s hand longer than etiquette allows, her eyes searching Cynthia’s. I guess this must be her thing; she uses her psychic skills to get a fix on people she meets.
“This woman is interesting,” murmurs Gran.
I smile. “Thought you’d say that.”
Sylvia’s intensity is a bit much for Cynthia, though. She gently reclaims her hand.
“Ma,” says Nate in a warning tone.
Cynthia backs up a step. Sylvia continues to study her. Cynthia shoots Sylvia a brittle smile and, with a self-conscious flick of her hair, turns to Geoff.
“Shall we go?” she murmurs, lightly touching a hand to his arm.
Sylvia blinks, glances Nate’s way.
He gives her a barely-perceptible shake of his head: not now.
What is her unspoken question? Is she querying Cynthia’s attitude towards her? Cynthia and Geoff’s relationship status? Something else?
I’ve read Sylvia’s thoughts before, so why can’t I do it now? I turn to Gran, open my mouth to ask the question, then close it again. Gran can’t help, Faith. Stop begging.
Sylvia’s eyes move past Nate and settle momentarily on me, just long enough for her to wink. She stops at Gran. Her gaze sharpens, and then she smiles.
“Yes,” says Gran, “this Sylvia woman is very interesting indeed. We must chat. And soon.”
Cynthia talks to Geoff in an undertone and Sylvia’s gaze snaps back to them, her expression unreadable.
I stifle a laugh. Her expression is Nate all over. But what’s equally ‘Nate’ is that she’s still in the doorway, barring the couple’s exit, so is perfectly positioned to see any interplays between them. It’s a fast lesson in family politics, for anyone who cares to watch.
Sylvia turns her gaze on Nate, regarding him with the same hawk-like stillness she’s just used on Geoff and Cynthia.
Nate’s mouth twists with wry amusement. He narrows his eyes at her.
“Ma.” His tone is mildly reprimanding. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”
He turns abruptly away before her eyes have a chance to lock on his. Clearly he has no intention of being subjected to his mother’s psychic analysis.
“Sorry to be rude,” says Geoff, “but work calls. Nice to meet you, Sylvia.”
He pauses, looks Nate’s way. “How are you managing to take so much time off work?”
Nate shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “Faith’s more important than work.”
“Absolutely. But one has to be pragmatic about these things.” Geoff shrugs. “I like to see food on my table each night.”
“No doubt.” Nate clears his throat. “Speaking of work, weren’t you leaving?”
For a moment nobody speaks.
Sylvia’s gaze flicks between Nate, Geoff and Cynthia.
Tight-jawed, Geoff finally answers. “Soon. First I need to do a little housekeeping.”
He gives Cynthia a significant glance and she nods. With a polite ‘Excuse me’ for Sylvia, she slips out of the room and away down the corridor.
Geoff eyeballs Nate. “We need to talk.”
Nate returns Geoff’s stare. It’s as if all their grievances have come down to this ultimate clash of the eyes.
Geoff’s gaze flicks briefly to Sylvia. “Alone,” he adds.
The clack of Cynthia’s stilettos fades and is gone.
Still lasering Geoff with his eyes, Nate speaks to Sylvia. “Ma, do you know where the kitchen is?”
“No.”
“Ask one of the nurses. Then go make yourself a hot drink. And a coffee for me, too.”
Sylvia advances a couple of steps. “Are you sure this is a—”
“Very. This won’t take long.” He folds his arms across his chest, which somehow increases his breadth and makes him look invincible.
Sylvia raises a hand towards Nate’s arm, then reconsiders and lowers it again.
“Black, Ma. No sugar.”
She nods and leaves the room, the fullness of her skirt swishing around her ankles.
Gran’s gaze flits between the men and the corridor. She hesitates. Looks my way. A pensive expression crosses her face.
At last she makes a decision.
“I’d better go.” She looks at the men. “If I stay and listen to this I’ll want to intervene.”
She merges through the wall. I’m not surprised when she follows Sylvia, but I send a silent reminder to her. Stay out of trouble, Gran.
Her response comes back with lightning speed. Don’t you worry about me.
Meanwhile, Nate is eyeballing Geoff. “What’s this all about?”
“Go home, Sutherland,” says Geoff. “Faith doesn’t need you.”
“The hell she doesn’t.”
“She hasn’t needed you for seven years. Hasn’t needed you, hasn’t wanted you.”
Nate’s expression darkens. “What exactly are you trying to say, Carson?”
“I’m saying she married me, not you. Me. So why are you still hanging around? Are you a masochist, or are you just plain stupid?”
Nate gives him a withering look.
“Seven years I’ve put up with you sniffing around in my marriage, Sutherland, but enough is enough. Find another woman to obsess over. Faith’s too polite to say it but I’m not. Leave. Us. Alone.” He shakes his head. “Christ, is it any wonder we’ve had relationship problems? I barely got a moment’s peace with my wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
My breath hitches. What? Hope, a beautiful, solitary ember, flickers and flames in my heart.
Geoff’s eyes narrow. His fist slowly clenches and unclenches at his side. “The only Ex around here is you. We may be having problems but Faith is still my wife.” His eyes sweep over Nate. “And you can’t stand it.”
“You know what I can’t stand?” Nate stabs a finger Geoff’s way. “I can’t stand the fact that some men think it’s okay to screw around—” stab “—on their wife. Faith’s no fool. She knows.” Stab. “And she deserves better.”
He looks Geoff up and down, lip curling with contempt. “Better than a slimeball like you.”
“What? You mean she deserves you?” Geoff barks a laugh. “You left her without even a goodbye. And, surprise surprise, she moved on. But you just can’t accept that, can you? It’s been eating away at you for years, and you’re doing whatever it takes to get payback.”
My heart slows. Nate wants payback from . . . me?
Nate’s brows draw close. For a moment he looks disconcerted.
“That’s right.” Geoff’s expression turns smug. “I’m on to you, pal. You’re a stalker, and a psychological blackmailer, and you’re so good your victim doesn’t even know you’re doing it. But I do.”
My heart slows. No. This is Nate he’s talking about; my childhood bestie, my first lover, the man who makes me want to live. Nate wouldn’t abuse me like that. It’s ridiculous.
I look at Nate’s face and suddenly realise that what I’ve been interpreting as determination might in fact be something more egotistical. Disbelief morphs into apprehension.
“I know what you’ve done,” continues Geoff, and his words gouge holes in my heart. “I know what you’re planning and I’m telling you I am not going to let it happen. You’ll have to kill me first.”
A wintery chill creeps through me; feet, legs, hips, gut . . . It can’t be true.
Nate is my murderer?
Lungs, heart, head . . .
Nate’s eyebrows shoot up. For a moment he looks genuinely startled, perhaps by Geoff’s directness. Then his lips curve up.
“Don’t tempt me.” Nate chuckles, and the sound has a sinister edge to it. “Actually, cancel that. Go ahead. Tempt me, because killing you would solve several problems I have right now.”
This must be a dream. A terrible, senseless dream. My head swims. Please let it just be a dream.
But already I’m joining the dots, questioning things that seemed innocent before. Moments of unexpected anger towards Faith-in-the-bed. Late-night visits when only a skeleton staff would be on. Flirting with the nurses to get them on side. Keeping Mum close so he’d hear the latest updates.
But—why bring in Brady? Deliberately involving a detective was a risky move.
A pulse hammers in my head. Actually, that was Mum’s idea. If Nate hadn’t followed up on it, Mum would’ve wondered why.
I swallow. Shocking as it is to cast him as the bad guy, it’s an easy fit.
Too easy.
Nate walks over to Faith-in-the-bed and, challenging Geoff with his eyes, brings a slow, deliberate hand to her head.
“I mean it,” warns Geoff, hands balled at his sides.
“So do I,” says Nate, cold and calculating and in total control.
Just like he was when he installed the webcam. The blood slows in my veins. He didn’t install the webcam to ensure Faith-in-the-bed’s safety; he wanted to see when she would be alone.
Nate looks down at Faith-in-the-bed and, expression softening, runs his hand down Faith-in-the-bed’s face with a lover’s caress. The echo of his touch, even as it alarms me, has me trembling with instant, hopeless need.
And I’ve never hated myself more.
Chapter Thirty-Six
For long seconds Geoff and Nate glower at each other. Geoff’s fists are bunched; Nate’s arms hang loosely by his side. Geoff’s expression is one of red-blotched fury; Nate’s is coiled-spring calm. Killer calm. How could I not have noticed that about him?
“Everything all right with you two?”
Geoff swings around, as do I.
It’s Detective Brady, leaning against the doorjamb. I sigh with relief. At least while he’s here I’m safe.
Nate’s gaze remains locked on Geoff. “Never better.”
Geoff humpfs. Eyes hard, he points a warning finger at Nate. “I’m watching you.”
I’m watching Nate, too, and seriously, Geoff needs to walk away before this gets really nasty. He’s said his piece; any more and he’s likely to bear the brunt of Nate’s wrath. I need him in one piece so he can keep me safe.
“Back off, Geoff,” I murmur.
And maybe he hears because he does. But as he passes Brady on his way out, he makes a point of saying, “I hope you’re watching him, too.”
Geoff’s footsteps fade.
Brady’s eyes sear Nate’s. Nate doesn’t flinch.
There’s a wary tension between the men I’ve never felt before. Both men’s faces are cold and hard, and any last hopes I’d nursed of Nate’s innocence are dashed when I see the look in Brady’s eyes.
I turn away with a gulping sob.
The seconds stretch out.
Finally Nate speaks. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
Nate pauses to study Brady’s face, then folds his arms. “Fucksake, John. I thought you knew me better than that.”
“So did I.”
Nate’s lips tighten. “Think I’ll take a walk.”
“I’ll join you.”
“Don’t bother.” Nate grabs his leather jacket, shrugs it on, and strides out past Brady into the corridor.
I watch him leave—my lover, my killer, my life—and my heart shatters.
What now?
I can’t even imagine a ‘now’ that doesn’t include him. Yet only a week ago I had no recollection of him. Oh, to be so blissfully unaware.
Brady follows Nate into the corridor.
“Faith?” Gran’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
She’s back. I turn her way.
My head feels cotton-wool-fuzzy. I’m such a fool. Nothing’s ever as it seems—not even Gran. All this time she must’ve known about Nate. I mean, how could she not? She’s dead. She knows what’s going to happen.
Gran looks at me. Looks more closely. Dismay crosses her face. “Oh, Faith. My darling girl.”
She holds her arms open and I walk into them, sobbing openly, not even registering that I can feel her hug, let alone questioning it.
“Why, Gran, why? Why did you encourage me to like him?” I pull out of her hug and search her eyes. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Gran draws breath to speak, pauses, then releases her breath without saying anything. She glances awkwardly at the corner and, oh joy, there’s Creepy Guy again.
Great. Just what a girl needs: an audience while she has a breakdown.
I round on him. “What? You’re just going to sit there watching? Aren’t you going to clap? Tell us bravo, great show? You just feed on people’s misery.”
I dash my tears away, anger giving me the strength I so desperately need. “I may have fallen for the wrong man—twice—but just because he’s a bad person doesn’t make me a bad person. I’m not. I’m a loyal friend and a loving daughter and a great mum.”
He doesn’t respond, just watches me; like an entomologist watching a god-damn ant.
“What more do you want?” I gesture with my arms, getting really riled now. “Quit stalking me. Find someone else to hassle. And while you’re at it, tell God his Death Council sucks.”
He shifts his gaze from me to Gran. Nods once, then surprises me by disappearing.
I take a shaky breath.
Gran raises an eyebrow. “Telling God off? Those Osbourne genes are going to land you in hot water one day.”
We stare at each other.
The Trouble With Dying Page 26