London

by Patricia Evans Jordan

“Can you text me Moira’s number?”

  Bronwyn nodded, taking a deep breath before she dialed Ian. Jaq stepped out the door into the hall and called Moira.

  “Hello?” That accent was like a fingerprint. Jaq smiled in spite of herself.

  “Moira, this is Jaq Bailey.”

  “Jaq, is Bron all right?” There was instant panic in her voice that made sense now that Jaq knew what she’d seen.

  “She’s fine, she’s safe with me in my flat, but I need you to do something for me.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, “Anything.”

  “If Ian calls you tonight, for any reason, tell him that Bronwyn is staying the night with you. Can you do that?”

  “Done.”

  “Then let me know right away on this number.” Jaq paused, wondering how much she needed to say. “Whatever you do, don’t call Bronwyn until you hear from me again.”

  “Well, obviously,” she said with a sigh. “She’s at my house. Why would I do that?”

  Jaq smiled. “I’ll tell you as much as I can later, okay? You can call this number anytime.”

  Just as they were getting off the phone, there was a pause.

  “Jaq,” Moira said, “There’s more to Ian than meets the eye. I can’t pry details out of her. She won’t admit it, but he’s dangerous.”

  “I’m on it,” Jaq said. “I know what happened last time, and he’s never coming near her again.”

  “Thank fucking Christ,” she said. “It’s about time.”

  Jaq came back through the door of the flat just as Bronwyn was hanging up, her hand visibly shaking as she put the phone back down on the table. Jaq shook her head, held her finger to her lips, and picked it up, making sure it was disconnected before she spoke.

  “Okay,” she said, “What happened?”

  “I acted like everything was fine,” she said. “I told him Moira had a fight with James and I was staying over.”

  “Does he think James is still in the house?”

  “Yes, I said that specifically.”

  “Okay, I think we’re good for now. I let Moira know to cover for you if he calls.”

  “He won’t call her. He knows she thinks he’s a dickhead.” She smiled. “Her words.”

  “God, I like that girl more every day.”

  “I think the feeling is mutual. She tried to talk to me about you when I came back from the wedding, but I knew leaving Ian wasn’t an option.” She looked out the window. The night sky was dense and starless, like polished onyx. “It wasn’t safe; he would have come after you.” Bronwyn let out a long, slow breath and rested her forehead on Jaq’s chest.

  Jaq held her for a moment, her hand wrapped gently around the back of her head, then scooped Bronwyn off her feet and into her arms. “Time to sleep, baby.”

  Bronwyn felt suddenly exhausted, the kind of tired that makes your stomach ache, the kind that hits you in the gut and tells you there’s not enough safety or sleep in the entire world to make that feeling ever go away. She let Jaq undress her and pull the duvet up around them, the only light the full moon through the window casting a silvery path across their bodies.

  Chapter Ten

  Has he been back to the flat at all?”

  Bronwyn padded into the kitchen the next morning to find Jaq on the phone, showered and dressed in black jeans and a black and white striped turtleneck sweater. Her leather boots were unlaced at the top, and she’d perched on the back of the sofa.

  “Just a drive by? Did he make any of our vehicles?”

  Jaq smiled at her sleepily wandering around the kitchen and walked over to pour her a cup of coffee from a steaming French press on the counter, adding milk and brown sugar before she handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” Bronwyn whispered as Jaq pulled her in and kissed her forehead.

  Jaq listened for a moment, the phone still to her ear.

  “And do you need to hear that from her?”

  Jaq handed the phone to Bronwyn. “It’s Terry; he needs to ask you something.”

  Of course. Scotland Yard needed to speak to her about her drug-dealing fiancée before her first cup of coffee. In Jaq Bailey’s loft. Why the hell not?

  She put Jaq’s phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Bronwyn. I need your permission for something, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. How can I help?”

  “We’ve got surveillance outside your house, but we’d like to go in and set up some cameras in the stairwell and attic areas with your permission. I’m guessing he’ll show up eventually, and we’d like to have a record of what he does while he’s inside. We can pick him up at any point on suspicion, but we can’t hold him if we don’t have proof.”

  “Of course.”

  “The bad news is I’m not sure when it will be safe for you to go back to the house. Is there anything you need?”

  “There’s a new pair of black boots in a box beside my bed. Would you mind having someone collect them for me?”

  “I’ll do it personally.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bronwyn saw Jaq smile from the kitchen.

  Bronwyn paused before she handed the phone back. “There’s one more thing you might want to know?”

  “Of course, even something small may make all the difference.”

  “If you’re putting cameras in the house you may want to make sure you get a good view of the bay window in the kitchen. Ian’s phone doesn’t work well anywhere but there, so that’s where he stands if he’s sending a text.”

  “Cheers, that’s brilliant. Will do.”

  After she hung up, she walked over to where Jaq was sitting on the kitchen counter and leaned into her, holding her eyes. She kissed her, the memory of dancing in Blackpool warm and soft between them. Bronwyn pulled back slowly and touched her forehead to Jaq’s.

  “Thank you for giving me back my boots.”

  ****

  After she’d showered and dressed, she walked back into the great room of the loft. Jaq was on the sofa, typing on her laptop, and didn’t seem surprised when Bronwyn took it away and sat across her lap.

  “There is zero chance I’m going to be able to concentrate with you in the house,” Jaq said, her hands already under Bronwyn’s sweater, kissing her neck, the soft drape of Bronwyn’s hair falling against her face. “But I like it.”

  “You can tell your boss it’s all my fault.”

  “That might work,” Jaq said, cupping Bronwyn’s ass with her hands. “I don’t think he’d blame me.”

  “Do you have to go to work today?”

  “No, it’s Sunday, and Terry said the AV guys are all over the house today. I’m meeting him at the office early tomorrow morning.”

  “Well,” Bronwyn said, “If you don’t have anything to do later, do you think you could help me with something?”

  “I’m all yours,” Jaq said, bringing Bronwyn’s hand to her mouth and kissing her palm so softly Bronwyn had to close her eyes to feel it. “Providing we can eat something first, I’m starving.”

  “Perfect,” Bronwyn said. “I have to make one phone call, then we can go.”

  ****

  By the time they’d finished eating, it was early afternoon, and a cold pewter mist hung in the air that was steadily turning to rain. Jaq took her jacket off and held it for Bronwyn to slip into, then took her hand as Bronwyn led her down High Street.

  “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “That’s none of your business, nosy.”

  Bronwyn smiled and twisted her hair into a quick bun as they walked. Her hair was wavy on the best of days, but at the first hint of moisture in the air, it defiantly twisted into curls that were currently refusing to be captured and coaxed into a bun. She slowed as they approached Selfridges, and they ducked inside just as it began to rain in earnest. Jaq ran a hand through her hair and followed her to the escalator.

  It was hard not to think about the possibility of actually getting to be with Bronwyn. Jaq assumed she wa
sn’t going back to Ian, but they hadn’t talked about it yet. Being with her would mean telling her mother about their relationship and coming out as queer, and even if she didn’t realize it yet, Jaq knew from experience that it would change every aspect of her life. Or maybe she did realize it. Either way, it didn’t matter. Jaq knew she was already in too deep to rescue herself.

  Bronwyn led her into an upstairs dressing area with plush couches, beautiful cherry furniture, and mirrors facing every direction. An impeccably dressed man with light blonde hair and a quick smile hugged Bronwyn as soon as they walked in.

  “Jaq, this is my friend Andrew. He helped me choose the suit I wore for the wedding.”

  He quickly looked Jaq up and down and then glanced back at Bronwyn with one eyebrow arched. “Wow. I did not see this coming.”

  Bronwyn laughed, and he quickly extended his hand to Jaq.

  “Please excuse my rudeness, Jaq; it’s lovely to meet you. Bronwyn is one of my favorite people in the world.”

  “Well, we have that in common then,” Jaq said, smiling and shaking his hand.

  Bronwyn smiled and shrugged off Jaq’s jacket, which Andrew took and hung up behind the counter.

  “This is very smart, Bronwyn, I’m impressed,” he said, straightening the collar. “Beautiful fabric.”

  “It’s Jaq’s. Which is kind of the reason we’re here.” She paused. “I think…”

  Jaq and Andrew both looked at Bronwyn and tipped their heads in the same direction, waiting for her to go on. She hesitated, suddenly not sure if Andrew would laugh or think this was a ridiculous idea, and she’d also realized too late that she didn’t have any idea how to describe what she needed. In the absence of any other option, she decided just to say it.

  “…I think I’m sick of my mother’s taste in clothes.”

  Andrew took that in for a moment, then brought his hand to his chest and looked to the ceiling. “Thank baby Jesus,” he said. “I’ve literally been waiting years for you to say that.”

  Over the next couple of hours, Andrew collected clothes he thought Bronwyn might like, then sat on the couch with Jaq to watch her try them on. The two of them had surprisingly similar taste and gently steered Bronwyn toward pieces that she would have never thought to try on if she was alone. Almost everything had to be altered to fit her body, but gradually she’d collected a pile of more masculine pieces like wool trousers, jackets, and dress shirts that she loved, mixed with a few softer elements she liked, like a black cashmere cardigan. When she stepped out of the dressing room in it, Jaq and Andrew both instantly insisted she go down two sizes, then refused to budge on the issue, despite her hesitation.

  “Bronwyn Charles,” Andrew said, getting up from the couch and standing behind her in the mirror. “You’ve been hiding that gorgeous body for too many years. Stop it.”

  “Well said,” Jaq called over from the couch.

  Maybe he’s right, she thought, seeing herself the way he did for the first time as she looked in the mirror. Until she’d worn the suit Andrew chose for the wedding, it had been years since she’d even thought about her clothes. She’d forgotten how it felt to wear something she loved.

  ****

  By the time they’d left Selfridges, the gray afternoon was turning violet at the edges. Buses and people crowded the streets, vying for space, and Jaq led her quickly into a waiting taxi, climbing in behind her and shutting the door. The driver glanced at Jaq through the rearview mirror.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “Thirty-three Greycoat Street, please.”

  He nodded and took off into a jumbled maze of careening rush hour traffic. Jaq put her hand on Bronwyn’s thigh and spoke into her ear, her voice low.

  “I thought it might be smart to lessen the chances of Ian seeing us together. The other option was just not to touch you, but it seems I can’t manage that.”

  Bronwyn covered Jaq’s hand with her own and moved it higher on her leg. Jaq took a breath and held her eyes, fingertips stroking Bronwyn’s inner thigh.

  “Be careful, Bella. Sometimes you get what you ask for.”

  She slid her hand around the back of Bronwyn’s head and pulled her closer. She kissed her, then tipped her chin up and held it there with her thumb as she kissed slowly down the side of her neck, finally pulling away with a soft bite on Bronwyn’s lower lip.

  When Bronwyn caught her breath, she remembered to borrow Jaq’s phone, and by the time they arrived at Jaq’s loft, she’d ordered everything she needed to make dinner from Marks & Spencer’s grocery delivery, and scheduled it to arrive at the door within the hour. Jaq looked at the screen when she handed it back, then looked again.

  “You’re going to cook?”

  Bronwyn nodded and followed her out of the cab. “I thought I might. Is that okay?”

  “I’ve just never really had girls in my flat who…did that.” She winked at Bronwyn as she punched the code into the front door and held it open for her to go in. “I’m afraid to get used to it.”

  Bronwyn laughed and took her hand, standing on tiptoe to kiss her in the lift. “I like cooking for you. I always wondered if I’d ever get to do it.”

  The door opened, and they rounded the corner into Jaq’s corridor. Jaq pulled her back suddenly and stepped in front of her.

  “Stay here, Bella.”

  “Why?”

  “Just don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  As she walked toward the door of her loft, Bronwyn realized what Jaq had seen. A sealed cardboard box was in front of her door, and Jaq slowed as she approached it. Bronwyn started to walk towards her.

  Jaq didn’t turn around or take her eyes off the box. “Stop, Bella. Let me check this out before you come closer.”

  Bronwyn stopped as Jaq looked more closely at it then pulled her phone out of her pocket. She dialed and held it to her ear, eyes still on the box.

  “Terry, did you have someone deliver Bronwyn’s boots to my door?”

  She listened for just a moment, then motioned Bronwyn down the hall. “Great, no worries, I just wanted to make sure it was you.”

  She clicked the phone off and picked up the boots, holding the door open for Bronwyn.

  “Next time I tell you not to move, Bella,” she winked at Bronwyn and pulled her close, “Don’t move.”

  “I’ll consider it, Detective Bailey,” Bronwyn said, “But don’t hold your breath.”

  As soon as she took her coat off and hung it by the door, Bronwyn heard her phone ringing. Jaq went to the coffee table and picked it up. “It’s him.”

  Bronwyn took it and set it down, clicking the answer button and turning it on speakerphone. Ian started talking before she’d had the chance to say hello.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Shopping, why?”

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t take my phone with me.”

  The silence on the line then made it clear he didn’t believe her. “You know I hate that. What’s wrong with you?”

  Bronwyn sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Sorry.”

  There was a long silence before Ian spoke again. “When are you getting home tonight?” The irritation in his voice was barely controlled.

  “I think I’m staying another night with Moira.”

  “No, you’re not. She’s an adult. She can solve her problems with her husband.”

  “Ian, I don’t have to be here, I want to.” Bronwyn shook her head. “She’s my best friend.”

  “Fine, but then you’re coming home.”

  Bronwyn looked at Jaq but didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ian said, then hung up the phone.

  Bronwyn sat back on the couch and dropped her face into her hands. “Shit. I’ve been trying not to think about the fact I have to go home to him eventually.”

  “Bella, you don’t have to do anything. I can’t believe he speaks to you that way.”


  Jaq clicked off the phone and looked over at Bronwyn. There was nothing to say. It was her choice, and she wasn’t going to be another person telling her what to do.

  “Don’t worry. It’s been a long time since he’s been violent and he’s been a lot more irritated than this since. I just don’t want to see him.”

  “Come here, baby.” Jaq pulled her into her arms and kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to see him. We can get him out of there and try to make the case with what we have.”

  “No,” Bronwyn said. “I want to do it.” She looked up at Jaq. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  Jaq smiled in spite of herself and kissed her. “I’ve never doubted that for a second.”

  This time Jaq’s phone rang and Bronwyn jumped. Jaq picked it up and answered, then set it down on the coffee table and clicked it onto speakerphone mid-sentence.

  “…that asshat called me three times in the last five minutes, so I finally answered. He’s in fine form tonight.”

  “Moira, so that you know, I put you on speakerphone and Bronwyn is sitting here with me.”

  “Great, she needs to know what a prick he is.” She paused to take a quick breath. “He said if Bronwyn didn’t come home by tomorrow night he was coming over here to get her. Can you believe that? How old does he think you are, twelve?”

  “What did you tell him?” Jaq asked, trying not to smile.

  “What do you think I told him? I called him a bell-end and told him to fucking try it.”

  Jaq looked quizzically at Bronwyn while Moira paused for breath.

  “It’s Scouse for ‘dickhead,’” she whispered. “She likes to stay with the classics.”

  Bronwyn leaned back toward the phone. “If you see him, will you call us right away?”

  “You won’t have to,” Jaq interjected. “We’ve had an undercover car parked two houses down from yours since yesterday. He’ll call it in before Ian even gets to the door.”

  “I figured as much when I saw someone devouring a bacon buttie and staring at my front door at six this morning. He can stay. He’s cute.”

  Jaq laughed. “Not much gets past you, does it?”