by Jade West
“We’ll get the place spruced up,” he says. “I promise.”
I smile, say yet another thank you, and I even try to sound convincing.
It’s not that I’m not grateful, because I am. It’s not that I’m not aware how lucky I am that I ran into the road and into Nick’s path, because I’m very, very aware of that.
It’s because I know that when we leave this house, and all the tattered broken things in here, I’m never ever going to want to come back.
He digs out a box from the garage. It’s sad that one single box is going to be more than enough to contain the remnants of my life.
I’m relieved to find my college work intact above my wardrobe. I pack up my folders and text books, and place Ted on top, being careful with all his frayed pieces.
That’s just about everything I can save. Everything I want to.
Everything that matters.
Nick carries it out to the car. He loads my measly possessions into the back and smiles as I slip into the passenger seat and buckle myself in. He closes the front door and locks it, and I wait in the car as he calls at the neighbours on either side.
He says nothing about what they tell him, and I’ve never much liked the neighbours anyway, so I don’t ask.
I don’t want to know what happened here. I already know enough.
“I still think we should call the police,” he says as he reverses away from the house.
“No point,” I reply. “They won’t care anyway.”
“Of course they’ll care, Laine. They’re the police. It’s their job to care.”
“And this is a dead end street. There’s always crap going on around here. They’ll probably think it was a party I had myself while my mum was away. A party that got out of hand, and now I’m trying to cover my tracks before Mum gets back.”
“They won’t think that.”
“They will,” I insist, and he doesn’t argue. I guess he knows it too.
We head back towards Brighton, and the further away from Newhaven we get, the more relieved I feel. He parks up at a multi-storey in the middle of town, and I look at him curiously as he gestures I should follow him.
“You need things,” he explains as we head for the exit. “New clothes. Toiletries. A phone.”
“But I…” I grasp his wrist and he stops. “I can’t take all this from you. I just can’t.”
He sighs. “Laine, I’ve more than enough money. It’s nice to have someone to spend it on.”
I think of Jane. I think about all the people a man like Nick should have in his life. A wife maybe. Friends. Just… people.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say so, but his hands are on my shoulders before the words are out.
“Please, Laine. It’s my pleasure. Allow me to enjoy it.”
“Just a few bits…” I say. “Just to tide me over… and I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“No,” he says. “You won’t.”
He takes my hand, and his fingers are solid. He walks quickly, and I have to take two steps for every one of his. It makes me feel so alive, to be rushing along at Nick’s side. I let the sensation wash over me.
He leads me into the first clothes shop we see, one of the lovely little boutiques on the front. Everything looks expensive, really expensive, but he doesn’t seem to care. He heads for a section at the back, with loads of pretty pastel colours, and I’m pleased. It’s where I’d have headed myself.
I baulk at the price tags, tell him it’s all too much, but he won’t hear any of it. He’s gathering up clothes more quickly than I can look at them, pretty shades of pink, and bright whites, lovely purples and teals and pale blues. He’s chosen the smallest size on the rack, and he’s right.
“Choose whatever you want, Laine,” he says. “Anything you like.”
But he’s already chosen everything I like. I tell him so and he smiles.
“Great minds,” he says, and heads for the changing rooms. I follow him, a little lamb dancing along behind such a powerful man. Everyone is looking at us. At him.
The sales assistants are whispering. They beam as he shows them the collection, and then they chivvy me along to an empty cubicle at the back.
He waits for me, and I feel so self-conscious, trying on such beautiful clothes under harsh lighting. My skin looks pasty and pale, my eyes look tired and my hair looks wispy and fine. But the clothes. They look gorgeous.
I show him a tight pink cami over a pair of white jeans, and he likes them. He tells me so.
I try floaty dresses over tights, and he likes those more. I do a little twirl for him and he claps his hands, smiles at me.
He fetches me a fluffy white cardigan and it feels so soft against my skin.
He fetches me a winter duffle coat that makes me gasp when I see the price.
He fetches me a scarf, and a cute winter hat with a pom-pom. Boots, too, and a sparkly pink pair of flats that make me feel like a little princess.
And then he makes me take everything, and I can’t, I really can’t. It brings tears to my eyes.
“My pleasure, Laine. Mine,” he says, and I have no words for that. Nothing other than another thank you, and it always sounds so lame.
I’m still staring at the items in the basket when he piles more in. Nightdresses, and socks and packs of knickers. He hovers by the bras, and I realise he’s waiting for me to tell him my size. I feel my cheeks burn as I pick out the very smallest one they do.
“I don’t have… much… up top,” I say, and try to make light of it.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I laugh a little. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” he says. “It isn’t. You’re perfect the way you are, don’t you dare ever think otherwise.”
My tummy flutters.
He thinks I’m perfect.
And I know it’s probably just a figure of speech, know he’s probably just being nice, saying things to make me feel better, but I wish he wasn’t.
I wish he meant it.
I pick out some bras, just plain white with a bit of lace. It’s what I usually wear, and I regret my decision for a moment, worried I’ve made a bad impression, that I should’ve chosen something more sexy, more… grown up.
“Anything else you want, Laine? Anything at all?”
I shake my head, manage a smile. “I think you’ve just about covered it. So many things… so many beautiful things…”
He seems so pleased.
I can’t bear to watch as he pays. I stare at my pumps instead, anywhere but at the total balance as he hands over his card.
He carries the bags, and asks me if we should carry on shopping. He’s worried, he says, worried that I won’t have enough clothes for the time being.
He has no idea that he’s already bought me more than I ever had in my wardrobe at home.
I tell him no, I tell him thank you, I tell him that he’s already done more for me than I can ever repay, and he settles on toiletries, leads me around the beauty shop until I’ve placed everything I need in a trolley.
I hope he’s forgotten about a phone, but he hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t.
It’s the first time I really dig my heels in.
“Please,” I say. “It’s too much!”
“You have to have a phone, Laine,” he insists. “How will I be able to contact you otherwise? How will I know you’re safe?”
If I’m safe.
I shrug. “I’ll borrow Kelly Anne’s, if I need to.”
“Wrong answer,” he says, and marches me straight inside the shop.
The phone he chooses is ridiculously superior to the one stolen from me. It makes me cry stupid tears again, and I feel so overwhelmed, my belly full of this churning something. I can’t straighten it out.
“You can’t…” I say, and he takes my hand, squeezes it tight until I look at him.
“Do you like the phone, Laine?”
“The phone is amazing…”
“Then it’s yours,
my treat.”
“But I…”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Laine, I want you to listen to me, can you do that?”
I nod. I could listen to him forever.
“Sometimes in life you have to let people take care of you. Sometimes you have to accept that people want to help, want to be there for you. Not people like Kelly Anne, who care only for themselves and their own selfish pursuits, people who want to treat you nicely. You deserve to be treated nicely, Laine. I don’t think you really know what it’s like to be cared for, not properly.”
“My mum, she…” I’m ready with the excuses again, but he silences me with a sigh.
“I want to take care of you, Laine. Will you let me?”
Those flutters in my tummy again. I don’t know what to say. I stare at him open-mouthed.
“If this is all too much, if you really don’t want me to be there for you, you only have to say. I’ll book you into a hotel while the work is being done on your house. You can take the clothes, and the toiletries, and the phone, and I’ll drop you there and make sure I keep my distance. You won’t ever have to see me again, not if you don’t want to. I can just be the kind stranger who helped you when you needed a friend. If that’s what you want.” He squeezes my hand again. “You only have to say the word.”
I stare. Mute. This terrible panic in my heart, a feeling of dread at the thought of him dropping me at a hotel and walking away.
“Laine?” he prompts, and I find the words.
“No!” I say, and my cheeks are burning. “Please. That’s not what I want. I want to stay with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I slam my mouth closed, searing with embarrassment, but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t seem to care at all.
“Phew,” he says, and pretends to wipe the sweat from his brow. “You had me worried for a second there.”
His eyes are kind and bright, and I see him afresh, all over again. He really is perfect. The most perfect man I’ve ever met.
“I had to check,” he says. “I had to make sure I wasn’t railroading you into something you didn’t want.”
“You’re not,” I tell him, and I just come right out and say it. “I can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe you’re real. Things like this… they don’t really happen… not for me…”
“Oh, it’s real,” he says, and his eyes twinkle. “Now, let’s go and pay for that phone.”
I don’t argue with him this time.
Chapter Six
Nick
The phone is in Laine’s lap as we drive back to mine, her fingers tracing the edges as though she’s trying to convince herself its real. She keeps looking my way. Fleeting little glances that melt my heart.
“Have you lived alone a long time?” she asks as we pull in through the gates.
I nod. “A while.”
“Do you get lonely?”
“Not anymore.” I meet her eyes as I park up on the gravel.
“I get lonely,” she says. “Got lonely.”
“Your mum goes away often?”
“All the time.”
I ask her the question I’ve been putting off. The one that defies all my sensibilities.
“Do you have anyone, Laine? A boyfriend or someone special…”
She shakes her head and I feel a stupid rush of relief.
“Do you?”
“No,” I say.
She nods.
We take her bags in from the car, and I come back for the box of her old belongings.
The new phone is quickly forgotten as she turns her attention back to Ted. She tries to push his stuffing back into his broken body, and once again I feel the strange weight of responsibility.
I like it. I like that feeling a lot.
I dig out a needle and thread from my utility drawer, and she hands him over without question and perches herself on the arm of the sofa as I get to work. Her eyes don’t stray from my fingers as I attach a tatty old leg back at the tear. My stitches are small and careful, making sure I line up the seams just so.
“Wow, you can sew,” she says, and I feel the gentle wash of relief as my work holds up to scrutiny. “You really can fix him,” she says. “I knew you would. I knew it.”
Her faith is like golden honey. Her smile is from the heart.
I fix Ted’s legs, and his arms follow easily enough. I take a breath before I line up his head, and his glassy eyes stare up at me as I stitch him up so carefully.
“Good as new,” I say as I hand him over.
“Better than new.” She hugs him tight. “He’s very grateful.” She giggles. “And so am I.”
I gather up the remnants of cotton and slip the needle back through the reel, and her eyes are on me. Her expression is one of reverence, and it thrills me. Her smile is adoring.
She leans in before I get to my feet, and her soft lips touch my cheek.
“Thank you.”
I fight the urge to pull her close and hold her. Fight the urge to feel her little body against mine.
“You’re very welcome, Laine.” I pat the bear’s head. “And so is Ted.” I gesture to the stairs. “I think we’d better get him settled in to his new home. He’s had a long day.”
“Home,” she repeats, and it’s barely more than a breath. “I think he’s going to like it here…”
Her smile is so bright. The most beautiful smile in the world. “…I think we both are.”
Laine
“You have a choice,” he says as we get to the landing, and there’s something heavy in his tone. Something that gives me nervous flutters. “About where you sleep.”
My heart thumps at the thought of sleeping with him. In his room. In his bed.
But that’s not what he means.
I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“I thought Jane’s room would help you relax,” he says. “But there is another room if you would prefer. A guest room.”
He opens the door at the end of the landing.
I step on through and it’s nice in there. Nice and airy and all creams and whites. Nice and grown up.
And boring.
I get a horrible lurch in my belly at the thought of saying goodbye to Jane’s beautiful room.
“And it’s a choice?” I ask.
He nods.
“Jane’s room,” I say quickly. “I’d like to stay there please.”
He smiles, and I see something pass across his features.
I wonder if I’ve made the wrong call. If I should have gone for the grown up room.
Maybe now he’ll see me as a little girl who needs looking after, and part of me wants that. Part of me wants to be his little girl.
But another part doesn’t.
Another part wants other things. Things that make me tingle.
Tingle down there.
We carry my things through to Jane’s room, and he opens the wardrobe. It’s empty.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “This room is yours, for as long as you want it.”
I wonder again about Jane. Surely she visits? How will she feel to turn up at home and find some strange girl in her bed?
I don’t want to ask, and I don’t, just smile and start unpacking my new clothes, hanging them up so neatly on the hangers.
He stays while I do it, sits himself down on the bed and places Ted on my pillow.
“My bedroom is the one on the left,” he says. “Just next door.”
“Just through the wall.”
“Yes.”
I smile at him. “That’s nice to know.”
I place all my new underwear in the drawer, and put my college books on the bookshelf, and the room is beginning to feel a little bit more like mine.
I want to stay here all afternoon, forever, but Nick has other plans.
He cooks dinner while I sit at the table and tell him about my college studies. We eat at the dining table and he makes me eat all my carrots like a good
girl.
“You need your vitamins,” he tells me.
I help him load up the dishwasher and I ask him about his job.
He’s an accountant, a partner in his firm. He says he’s always liked numbers. He likes the order and the control. Likes the logic of it. Likes being able to make things add up.
He tells me he works Monday through Friday in an office in town, but that he’ll be able to drop me at college and pick me up again.
I tell him I’ll be able to walk, that his house isn’t too far away from Brighton College, not really, but he insists.
I get those tingles again at the thought of him dropping me at the college gates and giving me a kiss goodbye.
“I’ll make you a packed lunch,” he says. “You’ll have to let me know what you like in your sandwiches.”
Nobody’s ever made me sandwiches before.
I tell him so and he looks sad. It’s that pity thing again, like Kelly Anne’s mum, and I don’t like it. I don’t want a man like Nick to pity me. I want him to see I’m a woman, a proper woman, even if I don’t want to be one. Even if I want to be the little girl who draws him DaDDy pictures and has a packed lunch.
“I can look after myself,” I say. “I’m an adult now.”
“You don’t need to look after yourself. Not anymore, Laine.”
“Still,” I say. “I can.”
“I’m sure you can.”
But he doesn’t look sure. He doesn’t look sure at all.
He checks his watch and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up, just enough to see the flat ridge of his stomach, and I remember him in the shower.
I remember how good it felt to watch him jerking off.
“Bed time,” he says. “Early start in the morning.”
He gets me a glass of water to take upstairs, and I follow up right behind him. All I can think about is that hard muscle under his shirt, and how it would feel against my skin. How it would feel to touch him. My cheeks warm at the thought.
I grab one of my new nightdresses and he gives me a towel. I wash myself in the same shower he used, and it gives me such a rush to put my fingers between my legs and rub myself in the same spot I watched him come.
It makes me come too. A shuddery one that makes me gasp and press a hand to the tiles for balance.