by Toria Lyons
‘Aww, bless, he’s embarrassed by the fuss,’ commented Clare. ‘He seems a nice lad; didn’t he ask you out one time?’
Sarah nodded and hummed her affirmation. ‘A bit young for me, though, but maybe worth a go if he contacts me again.’
‘What do you mean, you would consider going out with him? Aren’t you with Tom?’ Clare was shocked. ‘He – but you’re not single.’
‘I …’ Sarah wasn’t able to justify her flippant comment and didn’t try to defend herself from the disapproving look Clare shot her. ‘I just still feel single sometimes.’
‘Sarah …’ Clare’s plaintive voice petered out.
‘I can’t say what’s wrong,’ admitted Sarah quietly. ‘There’s just something not right; it’s like we’re waiting for an axe to fall. He’s been taking me places. Later tonight, we’re going to that bar opening, but I don’t know what he wants from me.’
Clare didn’t respond; she just glanced worriedly at Sarah, and at Tom who was also standing nearby. His jaw was set and his attention seemed to be a little too fixed on the play in front of him.
Twenty minutes later, after some more tenacious work leading to a Park win, Adam was voted Man of the Match. The women went to clap the players off as they returned to the changing rooms. Adam paused by them, giving Sarah a gentle smile. ‘Thanks for your support.’
‘How are you doing? You’ve played well today – really well to get Man of the Match on your first full game,’ said Clare.
‘All thanks to Sarah; if she hadn’t introduced me to the coaching team, I’d probably still be playing social rugby.’ Adam laughed.
Sarah dismissed his compliment. ‘Nah, you’d have been snapped up anyway – you’re good enough.’
‘Thanks.’ They stood smiling at each other.
A discreet tug on her sleeve pulled Sarah away. ‘Tom’s watching,’ hissed Clare, ‘and he’s not looking too happy.’
Sarah felt a flash of guilt and said goodbye to Adam. They continued to acknowledge the other players, waiting until Tom eventually reappeared and the day carried on as usual.
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah leant casually against the glossy obsidian bar and watched Tom trying to talk to an acquaintance as glamorous women swirled around him. She smothered a dry laugh; he would never be left alone in a place like this.
For confidence, she was wearing the red silk dress from Lisbon. Not that it made much difference to the amount of attention she got; there were far more scantily dressed starlets there than she could shake a stick at. In comparison, she appeared quite demure, despite the back-baring halter neck of the dress.
In the three weeks since she’d been back, he’d taken her out every evening: to the theatre, to his favourite restaurants. They’d been photographed by paparazzi again and there had been a few pictures of the two of them published in well-known glossies. Marian had ensured that the columnists knew Sarah was Tom’s girlfriend, although there were still comments about his brief engagement to Natasha.
Regardless of this, Sarah still felt isolated from the world, from Tom. Every day and night she felt a little more of the ice around her heart melt but it somehow wasn’t enough. She didn’t know how to make the breakthrough and neither did Tom. She felt him watching her sometimes, frowning, unhappy at the lack of connection with her. They couldn’t seem to get back to the loving ease of the first days in Lisbon.
She couldn’t imagine why he’d thought this event was a good idea, apart from having their pictures taken on arrival by the pack of photographers. Some of them even knew Tom’s name and he calmly fielded any enquiries, his arm linked with Sarah’s. They’d entered the newly opened venue and had been handed glasses of champagne, staying together for some time before Sarah excused herself to go to the ladies’. She’d given up on returning to Tom’s arm in the packed room, so instead she stayed people-watching by the bar, where the dance music was marginally quieter. She observed a bling-clad older man strike out against an uninterested starlet and tried to quash another smirk.
‘So, who are you, then?’ asked a bemused male voice. ‘You’re obviously finding something entertaining here, which is more than I can say.’
Sarah glanced around to see a tall, dark, long-haired stranger slouching in the shadows of the bar. ‘Who, me? I’m a nobody,’ she answered, grimacing wryly.
‘You can’t be nobody, they wouldn’t have let you in.’ The guy dug his hands in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, pulling the ratty T-shirt tighter across his defined chest. He was built like an athlete but Sarah didn’t recognise him.
‘Sarah – I’m Sarah. I’m here with my boyfriend.’ She nodded in Tom’s general direction.
‘Is he safe on his own in here? And are you?’ The stranger didn’t look away to see who she meant, instead giving her a quick, full-body appraisal.
‘I hope so. Well, I hope he’s safe. That we’re both safe.’ Sarah didn’t know whether to take offence at his brief once-over. ‘And you might be?’
‘Richard. Richard Carling.’
‘Any relation?’ asked Sarah lightly.
‘To Will, the cleft-chinned, princess-dallying, gigantic-thighed wonder? Not that I’m aware of, or would ever admit to. Drink?’ He gestured towards her empty champagne flute.
Before she could respond, he’d called over a waitress, whispered in her ear, and a fresh bottle of champagne was magically produced. They moved slightly further into the shadows, out of the way of passers-by.
‘A toast to steering clear of the bloodsuckers,’ declared Richard.
Sarah joined him in lifting her glass. ‘Why are you even here if you really dislike it?’ she asked curiously.
‘My friend’s put money in and I promised to show my face. What about you?’
‘Didn’t I say earlier that my boyfriend brought me?’ Sarah wrinkled her brow.
‘I know that, but why would he bring you if it’s plainly not your type of thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Sarah. ‘We’re trying to repair our relationship after a – a hiccup, and he’s been taking me lots of places. I like a dance and a drink, but this is a bit … well, too much.’ The champagne had definitely loosened her tongue, she thought hazily. She probably shouldn’t be confiding this to a complete stranger.
They stayed talking for several minutes, discussing the safer topics: anything from the fashions worn by the clientele stumbling or sashaying past, to current affairs and sport, with Sarah mentioning the rugby. They swapped business cards, though, in the dim light, she couldn’t make out anything apart from his name.
‘Wish I could meet a girl like you; I’ve no idea where to find one.’ Richard topped up both of their glasses, emptying the bottle with a flourish.
‘Try your local rugby club,’ suggested Sarah. Her toes began tapping to the insistent beat and she glanced longingly at the dance floor.
Richard picked up straight away on her distraction. ‘You want to dance? Come on, let’s give it a go.’
Sarah caught glimpses of Tom above bobbing heads, but it didn’t look like he was searching for her. She followed Richard down a few stairs to the sparsely filled floor and relaxed into the rhythm. Her skirt swirled around her legs and she closed her eyes as the beats seeped into her bones.
It felt like only minutes had passed when Richard handed her a bottle of water. Sarah downed it in one, unexpectedly thirsty after the champagne and activity. She smiled her thanks at him and he started to smile back, only for it to die on his face as he looked over her shoulder.
Sarah felt an arm slip around her waist as she was turned towards a familiar body.
‘Hi, honey.’ She smiled at Tom but had to shout to make herself heard over the music. ‘This is Richard Carling. He’s been keeping me entertained.’
Tom’s expression remained serious and he gave Richard a steady stare before offering his hand. ‘Tom Murray.’
The men shook hands, the tension between them palpable.
Richard nodded
at Tom. ‘I’ll be off now. Good to meet you, Sarah.’ He mounted the stairs and disappeared into the heaving masses.
Sarah ignored the tension remaining and continued dancing. Slowly, Tom joined her and they danced together until Sarah started slowing with tiredness.
When Tom signalled “Home?”, she nodded.
‘Please, but let me pop to the ladies’ first.’
‘I’ll grab our coats,’ he shouted and kissed her on the lips. ‘And I’ll see you by the main door.’
Sarah nodded again and quickly headed for the sophisticated ladies’ room. Gasping in horror when she saw her perspiration-streaked make-up and hair, she spent precious moments freshening up. She needed to look presentable before walking through the bar past all the immaculate models. Finally happy, and fed up of the curious stares she was getting from the women who’d been hanging around Tom earlier, she departed for the main entrance.
On her way out, a hand lightly touched her arm. ‘Are you leaving now?’ asked Richard.
‘Afraid so,’ confirmed Sarah apologetically. ‘It was lovely to meet you, though, and I owe you a drink. Thanks for keeping me company.’
‘It was a pleasure. Please be in touch if you need anything.’ Richard glanced up. ‘I’d better let you go now – Tom’s coming to claim you.’ He turned and disappeared back into the shadows.
Arms encircled her and a mouth set possessively over hers. Tom cradled her head and delved deep, his tongue twining with hers. Sarah murmured in pleasure, her whole body pressed up against him. She grabbed the lapels of his coat, ensuring he stayed put. The intimate kiss went on and on; minutes passed as the surroundings blurred. Eventually, they separated and Tom remained unspeaking as he helped her into her long coat. Sarah only then noticed the women from earlier plus a fair few men watching them.
Tom took her hand and led her out of the bar, to a waiting taxi and home. Sarah snuggled up to him, enjoying the feel of his firm, warm body against hers.
He made love to her that night, first in the shower and later so sweetly in their bed. He stared at her, kissed every inch of her as if he was committing her to memory. Despite her fatigue, her body responded like it was made for him and she coiled around him in satisfaction as his hands stroked her and their heartbeats slowed.
Sarah came awake slowly; she was gradually getting used to waking up in Tom’s penthouse, with rays from the wintry sun hitting the bed. On hearing her grumbling about the bright light in the mornings, he had offered to get heavier blinds, but Sarah had dismissed the idea, not wanting him to change anything for her. She’d also come to enjoy the extra light.
Clouds obscured the sun and the room darkened. The flat was strangely quiet: something else she’d had to get used to when she was working. Every night Tom held her close, but was often gone in the mornings; the dawn start meant he could finish earlier and be with her for more of the evening. His knee was still troubling him; he’d returned to training but hadn’t played. This was a Sunday, though; her head was slightly fuzzy from the night before but they usually spent the day together.
She heard a faint noise from one of the far, little-used rooms. It sounded like a faint thud, repeating every few seconds. Sarah spotted Tom’s keys on the table and realised he was still in the flat, that he hadn’t gone out. She followed the sound to the balcony, through the large dining room. The door was ajar a few inches and she pushed it open enough for her to slip through, out into the brisk morning air. Tom was sprawled on a patio chair, staring out at the grubby winter sky and muddy-coloured, fast-moving Thames.
‘You’re up?’ Tom had heard her coming up behind him. He was unshaven, dressed in old jeans and a sweater. His feet were bare, his toes faintly blue.
‘Yes. You OK?’
He laughed painfully. ‘As OK as I’ll ever be.’
She heard the thudding noise again, realised it came from a small, blue velvet box in his hand. He was opening and closing it rhythmically, turning it in his hand and flicking it open again. She caught a glimpse of a sparkling ring inside and gasped.
‘Don’t worry, I know that it’s not the right time – if there ever was a right time.’ He arched his arm back, went to throw the box into the river. She gasped again and his hand dropped before he let it go. ‘I’ll give it to charity instead. Let’s go for a walk. Be ready at the door in 15 minutes.’ His voice was lifeless.
Sarah had never seen him like this; he was always full of so much life, burning hot and bright. With concern, she quickly pulled on some warm clothes and grabbed her bag, then met Tom – by now fully dressed – at the door and followed him to his Audi. He drove automatically towards Harford Park’s ground, pulling the car into a bay in a nearby residential street. He got out, again not waiting for her, and walked to the gates, heading around the stand towards the training pitch. He stared at the stands where they’d made love, the clubhouse where they’d met again. He ran a hand along the barriers, part of the posts, and the vibrant red plastic of a seat.
Several times during their seemingly aimless wandering he went to speak, then took a breath but closed his mouth or sighed. A troubled Sarah walked by his side; it was the longest she’d ever been with him when he hadn’t tried to touch her, hold her, an arm around her shoulders or clasping her hand. She didn’t like the feeling of being on her own. She missed his warmth and vitality.
What have I done to you? she wondered.
They left the club and continued walking around the streets. Dark clouds had begun to gather, threatening a downpour.
He finally turned to face her. ‘I can’t take this any more.’
‘Take what?’ Sarah shivered as the wind picked up.
‘That you don’t know says more to me than anything. I thought I’d come on too strong, been too demanding, so I’ve tried to romance you. I’ve realised now there’s nothing I can do. You never took me seriously when I told you I loved you until, in Lisbon, I finally thought I’d got through. Then it all went wrong. I’ve tried to undo the damage but you’re still holding back, going through the motions. I don’t know what more I can do to make you want to be with me. You just don’t seem to need me like I need you.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –’
Tom shook his head. ‘I overheard you and Clare; you were still actually thinking of going out with Adam, even after all this. You still think of yourself as single. Last night I wanted you by my side but you were happy to be talking to anyone else.’
Sarah stood frozen to the spot. She couldn’t deny anything.
He hunched his shoulders. ‘So I’m going to give you the final week by yourself. If you truly want to be with me, and not just go through the motions, contact me before the last day. Otherwise, you won’t see me again. Not at Harford. Not anywhere. Next Monday, I’ll return to Scotland. Lindsay can do all the work for me down here, she’s more than capable. Your belongings will be returned to your flat tonight.’
Tom stopped to take a breath, the anguish clear in his eyes. ‘Goodbye, Sarah.’
That said, his face set like stone as he turned and walked away from her, his whitened, clenched fists the only outward sign of his emotions.
No!
Somewhere inside Sarah, below the insulating layer of ice encasing and protecting her heart, she could feel herself screaming in pain, screaming to run after him. Her head shouted at her heart, insisting it would never last, that he would meet someone else and she couldn’t risk her heart, couldn’t risk ever being hurt so much. Without her, he would meet someone else to love, to hold. He needed someone more attractive than her, someone absolutely stunning.
The yards between them quickly increased as she stood there, undecided.
No, please don’t go, she wanted to shout after him. Don’t leave me. I love you so much.
Finally, she felt the ice crack and her feelings clamour forth. For a moment, Sarah reeled, stunned; then she began to chase after him, walking, then running. She had to catch him. He was nearly gone, his figure disappearing in
to the distance.
As she picked up speed, the strap from her swinging bag caught on an overhanging bush and she tripped, sprawling forward on the pavement. A shock ran through her, the physical pain mixing with the emotion, and she began frantically sobbing for breath, tears burning in her eyes. Sarah clambered to her feet to follow him again but cried as her twisted ankle gave way.
Tom rounded a corner and vanished from sight, not looking back, not even the once.
No!
Every part of her was screaming in pain: her grazed knees and hands, her throbbing ankle, but, most of all, her heart. She ripped open her bag to find her phone. She’d call him, get him back, tell him she loved him. Her shaking hands located the device and she pulled it out. It slipped through her bloody palms and went flying into the air, smashing down on the floor. She fell to her knees again, scrambling to fit the bits together, but it wouldn’t work.
No!
Finally, she collapsed on the pavement, not caring about the dirt. The storm broke and it began to rain, splattering down on her, large globules of water smashing and mixing with the salty tears on her face.
Sarah sat in her flat and wondered how she could make things right. She’d made it home with the aid of a sympathetic passer-by and a helpful taxi driver, and was now on the sofa with a slowly defrosting bag of peas moulded around her ankle joint. Her mobile phone was on the table next to her; somehow, she’d got it working again after drying it out and putting it back together with bandaged hands. She fiddled with it, switching it on, looking at his number, her hand hovering over the call button, even pressing it, but cancelling before it connected.
She couldn’t call him yet; she didn’t know how to approach him, how to admit she’d been wrong about his interest in her all along. He had initially said that the attraction would burn out, but all his behaviour since had been completely contrary to that. He’d proved again and again how much he wanted her and she’d dismissed and hurt him.