by Paige Toon
I jolt awake. It’s dark and for a moment I’m not sure where I am, then I remember I’m at Sonny’s, and at the same time I hear footsteps on the stairs.
‘Hello?’ I ask aloud.
‘Are you okay?’ Sonny whispers, and in the light from the street lamps down by the canal, I see him crouch at my side. ‘You were having a nightmare.’
‘Was I?’
‘You don’t remember?’ He sounds disturbed.
‘No. I’m fine. Go back to bed.’
For a long moment, he doesn’t move, but then he stands up, says ‘okay’ and heads downstairs.
I stare up at the shadowy ceiling, alarmed. What the hell did I say?
I’m too scared to go to sleep again afterwards, and my head continues to spin as the hours tick by.
When Sonny finally stirs at around seven, I’m lying in bed reading. I wonder if he’s always been an early riser.
I wait until he’s been to the bathroom and is at the coffee machine before venturing downstairs myself.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice betraying what little sleep I’ve had. I sound hoarse.
‘Hey,’ he says, coming over and standing right in front of me. I think he thought to hug me but he doesn’t follow through. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’
‘That was some dream.’
‘Was it?’ I ask with attempted amusement.
‘You were calling out your name. Like, screaming it, really.’
I screw up my nose. ‘Sorry about that. Did you get back to sleep okay?’
He frowns. ‘Yeah, but—’
‘How’s that coffee coming along?’ I interrupt, walking past him to the machine.
I hear him sigh, but he doesn’t push it. ‘I’ll bring it over to you.’
I go upstairs to hunt out my sunglasses because it’s bright as hell in here.
‘Oi,’ Sonny says when I return downstairs. ‘Don’t think you’re getting out of it.’
‘What? Oh no.’ My heart sinks when I realise he’s after another photo shoot.
‘This is the only thing that has inspired me in I can’t tell you how long. It would mean a lot to me.’
‘Pressure, much?’ I gripe, flopping down on the sofa.
‘Sorry.’ He smiles, passing me my coffee. ‘But I can’t take no for an answer.’
‘You are so pushy.’
He nods, still smiling. ‘I am.’
‘Are you going to bring your camera equipment back with you?’ I ask as he goes over to his desk where his camera is waiting.
‘Some of it. I’ve been thinking about what you said – about Imogen and Natalie. Rochelle’s birthday is coming up and—’
‘That’s a great idea!’ I say, so enthusiastically that I’ve cut off the end of his sentence.
‘I wondered if we could even do a photo shoot on the Cam in your canoe?’
‘Of course!’
Smiling, he lifts up his camera and nods at my sunglasses.
‘Urgh,’ I mutter, reluctantly taking them off. ‘I’m a mess. Shouldn’t I get dressed at the very least?’
‘No need: I’m doing close-ups.’
‘But I haven’t slept. There must be bags under my eyes the size of suitcases.’
‘You’re perfect.’
I narrow my eyes at him, knowing I’m anything but. ‘I can see why women throw themselves at you.’
He snorts and clicks off a shot.
‘They do, don’t they?’ I’m curious. ‘Do you ever see someone you simply have to have and won’t stop until you get them?’
‘That’s never happened,’ he replies, checking the display.
‘So it’s usually the other way around? And you can’t say no?’
He shrugs. ‘I guess.’
‘How many women have you slept with?’
‘Too many.’ He makes to lift the camera. ‘Look towards the window.’
I do as he instructs. ‘Don’t you miss it?’
‘Hmm?’ He clicks off another couple of shots.
‘Sex. Don’t you miss it?’
‘Weirdly, no,’ he replies in a low voice. ‘Bizarre, right?’
‘What do you think would happen if you still lived here? Do you think you’d fall back into your old lifestyle?’
‘Stop talking,’ he orders.
I shut my mouth, frustrated.
As the minutes clock up, I go from feeling ill at ease to finding it strangely electrifying being his subject. It’s intense, under his scrutiny, but I can’t say I don’t like it. He’s extraordinarily focused and attentive, and when his face is not hidden by a camera, his fixed concentration is mesmerising.
‘Christ, Hannah,’ he murmurs, sounding awed as he studies the shots he’s taken. ‘Your eyes are insane.’
A shiver runs down my spine and I clear my throat, trying to sound unaffected.
‘Does your sister cut your hair?’ I remember him saying one of his sisters is a hairdresser and I’ve been wondering this as I’ve watched him. It always looks roughly the same sexy length – even when he was at his lowest point, it never seemed to get too long.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, his brow furrowing. ‘Harriet.’
‘Are the two of you close?’
He shrugs. ‘Sometimes she treats me like her fourth child.’ He shrugs again. ‘Do you have any siblings?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I reply bluntly. ‘What’s your other sister called again?’
‘Jackie.’
‘How much older is she?’
‘Nine years older. Harriet is twelve.’
‘Bet they loved having a baby brother. Did they dress you up and pretend you were a doll?’
He smirks. ‘Jackie did. Harriet was practically a teenager when I was born.’
‘So you cramped her style?’
He nods. ‘She was always shouting at me.’
‘Maybe she’s making up for it now by looking out for you.’ She set him up with Evelyn, after all.
He looks down. ‘Maybe.’
A thought occurs to me. ‘Did they have many boyfriends when you were growing up?’ I’m wondering if he learned his promiscuous behaviour from his teenage sisters, if not from his strait-laced parents.
‘Not really,’ he replies, but the oddest expression passes over his face. He robotically stands up and crosses the room to his workstation.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask with confusion, watching him put his camera down.
‘Yeah, fine,’ he replies in a strange-sounding voice, his back still to me.
‘Did I say something?’ I get to my feet, concerned.
‘No, not at all.’ He spins around to hold his hand up, intending to halt my progress. ‘Listen, I’ve got this meeting at ten. Are you going to visit Nina at the shop?’
‘I told her I’d drop in.’ I’ve come to a standstill in the middle of the room, but I’m still trying to make sense of his behaviour.
‘We should leave for the airport at six-ish, but we could do something this afternoon?’ He’s back to normal, or at least trying to seem as such.
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks again for this,’ he adds, reaching behind himself to tap the top of his desk. He’s aiming for a casual gesture, but there’s something off about it, something off about him.
‘Sonny,’ I say worriedly, continuing towards him.
His expression grows wary and then he turns around and rests his hands on his desk.
‘Did something happen when—’
‘Don’t!’ he cuts me off before I can speak. ‘Change the subject,’ he commands. ‘You’re good at that.’ He turns and glares at me. ‘What, you think I don’t notice? Even a simple question about whether you have any siblings shuts you down.’
I swallow and fight the impulse to walk away, but the urge to get to the bottom of what’s going on with him is stronger.
‘Have you confided in Evelyn?’ I ask tentatively.
He doesn’t move, but his jaw has clenched, there’s a tic above his lef
t eyebrow and his body is rigid with tension. He reaches for his camera, unscrewing the lens. His hands are shaking.
Nina’s words from yesterday are ringing around my head: ‘I wonder what happened to him to make him behave like that.’
What was it I said that set him off? His sisters . . . No, his sisters’ boyfriends.
And then understanding comes crashing down around me.
‘Did someone hurt you?’ I ask in a tiny, appalled voice.
He slams his camera down on the desk, causing me to leap back. His hands are scrunched into fists and he looks like he wants to punch something, murder someone, hit out, hurt.
My head tells me to keep my distance, but my heart pushes me forward.
‘It’s okay,’ I whisper, bringing my hands up to cup his furious face. ‘It’s okay.’
His eyes meet mine and a jolt ricochets through me at the sight of his pain. He looks lost, overwhelmed, and his whole body is trembling. He raises his hands and for a moment I think he’s going to fling me away from him.
He does the opposite.
It all happens too fast and I’m so taken aback that for a moment I barely register what’s going on. His hands have knocked mine away from his face and he’s taken hold of my face instead. He brings our lips together – pulling me up towards him and closing his mouth over mine – and for a moment, I’m powerless to do anything other than kiss him back. Shockwaves pulse through my entire body as his tongue frantically collides with mine. I’m barely aware of him walking me backwards until I hit the wall and then I feel him pressing against me through the thin fabric of my pyjama bottoms – and he is so turned on.
And oh, so am I . . .
But then a thought crashes into my head: If we have sex, I’ll lose him.
And I’m not ready to lose him.
With every ounce of the willpower I retain, I force my hands between our locked bodies.
He stumbles backwards as I push him away. His blue eyes are almost black and his lips are swollen, his chest heaving.
But his skin is ashen and his expression haunted.
I feel dazed and confused and for a moment nothing makes sense.
I wanted it. I still want sex with him. I don’t understand how or why I stopped it.
Because I promised him that I would? No, that doesn’t feel important right now.
Something occurs to me.
‘Do you use sex as a distraction technique?’ I ask breathlessly, trying to focus.
He winces and steps backwards, breaking eye contact.
‘Please don’t walk away,’ I beg.
He roughly drags his hand through his hair and stares at the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Please talk to me.’
He shakes his head. ‘I need to get ready for this meeting.’
‘Sonny,’ I whisper. ‘Does sex help you to forget?’
He hesitates, his gaze still cast on the floor. It’s a long while before he says anything and when he does, he speaks so quietly that I strain to hear him. ‘I’m not entirely sure what I remember.’
‘Come and sit down?’ I ask softly, stepping forward to tentatively take his arm.
He allows himself to be led to the sofa, where he sits hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.
I rub his back, patiently waiting for him to speak.
‘Harriet was working at a hairdresser in town,’ he says and it’s hard to remember to breathe, I’m so on edge. ‘I was about ten. She was still living at home.’ Every word is laboured, every sentence broken by seconds of silence. ‘She was seeing this guy.’ He clears his throat. ‘He was a few years older than her, but he had a lot of time for me. He used to want me to join them occasionally – at the park, café, once we even went to the zoo. My parents would get all gooey-eyed about how good he was with kids.’
I nestle closer, my heart contracting at the bitterness in his voice.
‘He and I once played a staring game where we weren’t allowed to blink,’ he continues. ‘I’d forgotten, but it came back to me when we were on the canoe.’ His eyes flick to me and away again, and I remember our five minutes coming to an end. I had assumed it was something in my expression that had shocked him, not a recollection of his own.
‘Harriet wasn’t around – we were at the park so maybe she’d gone to the café – and after he won, he told me that he liked me. He told me that he liked me even more than Harriet.’ He shudders. ‘I felt guilty and bad for her, but I was also kind of thrilled.’
He looks sickened suddenly. Then he bolts to his feet and rushes towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
I stay where I am, my heart breaking.
Chapter 24
Sonny refused to pick up where we’d left off when he finally emerged from the bathroom looking freshly showered, but shattered.
‘I can’t talk about this now, Hannah,’ he warned, putting his hand up to keep me at bay. ‘I’ve got to go to this meeting.’
I’d hoped he’d cancel it, but he made it clear that the idea was out of the question.
Later, he texted to say that his meeting was overrunning and he couldn’t meet up after all.
I went to see Nina and somehow managed to stay upbeat so I wouldn’t risk giving his secret away.
When he finally returned home, he could barely look at me.
‘I can’t talk about this now,’ he kept saying as he packed up his things, fending off my concern.
I tried to respect that, but the tension on the return journey was horrendous.
‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ he mumbled when the taxi pulled up outside the cottage.
I wasn’t due to collect Bertie until the following day.
‘I would never do that!’ I hiss-whispered, hating that he’d even consider I might betray his confidence.
I reached for his hand to reassure him, but he gave me a cursory squeeze and disengaged himself.
That was four days ago. Since then, Sonny Denton has consumed most of my waking thoughts – and plenty of my sleeping ones too. I have no idea how I’ve managed to function at work.
I texted him on Tuesday to ask how he was and he waited until that afternoon to reply, Fine. I’m with the kids.
Rochelle has agreed to him taking over the childminder’s afternoon school run, looking after the girls from Tuesday through Thursday until she gets back from work.
Don’t forget to book in your canoe photo shoot, I messaged back, trying to keep things light.
I won’t, he replied.
On Wednesday morning, I bumped into Matilda coming into work and she asked if I was up for another Stranger Things session that evening. I absolutely was, but later that afternoon, she popped her head around the door of Umeko’s to let me know that Sonny couldn’t make it. She offered to still have me over, but I opted to postpone.
Trying to find a balance between hounding him and being supportive, I waited until Thursday to text him again, and once more he replied that he was fine.
A minute later, he sent me another text: Seeing Evelyn tomorrow.
That’s good! I enthused.
He didn’t respond.
Now it’s Friday and I’ve arrived home from work to find a bike locked up out the back – I think it’s his, although I don’t really remember what it looks like, only that it’s blue.
I know I need to let him be – if he wants to see me, he’ll call for me afterwards – but keeping my distance is hard.
I sit at the kitchen table and stare out the window, but as ten minutes turns into twenty, my resolve crumbles.
‘I can’t do this.’ I get up and impulsively hunt out June’s old gardening gloves from under the kitchen sink. I’ll be more in his face if I’m out the back, so I’ll go out the front and consider it a compromise. At least he has the option of cycling straight past me if he wants.
It’s another half an hour before Evelyn’s door opens and the sound of her gen
tle farewell carries on the breeze.
When I hear Sonny’s footsteps heading around the back, followed by a pause as he unlocks his bike, and then the crunch of his wheels on gravel, my heart feels as heavy as a rock. I’m on my knees in front of the rose bushes, fighting the urge to flag him down, but he appears around the side of the building and clocks me anyway.
Bertie’s tail thumps against the ground, but she doesn’t go to the effort of standing.
‘Hey,’ he says, coming to a slow stop.
‘Hi.’ I smile at him.
His face is blotchy, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses, he can’t hold my gaze. I suspect if he were to remove the shades, his eyes would be horribly bloodshot.
‘Have you got to head straight off?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘Okay.’
He puts his foot back on his pedal and launches himself out onto the street.
As I watch him leave, I’m hit with an overwhelming urge to cry.
‘Hannah.’
I turn to see a stout female figure in a sky-blue tunic and matching pants standing at the side of the cottage. Evelyn.
‘Hello,’ I reply in a husky voice, trying to contain my tears. My trembling lips give me away.
‘How about a cup of tea?’ she asks softly, her hazel eyes warm and kind as she nods at my front door. ‘I haven’t caught up with you in a while.’
I want to say no, but I’m too weak to resist so I nod and get unsteadily to my feet.
She begins with pleasantries, asking after Charles and how I’m enjoying my summer, but she soon gets to her reason for coming.
‘I’m in a bit of a difficult position,’ she says in her soothing, motherly fashion. ‘You and Sonny are both patients of mine.’
He’s told her what happened in Amsterdam, then. She won’t have forgotten me flagging her down to ask about him, either.
‘I haven’t seen you in a long time.’ I don’t mean to sound as defensive as I have.
‘No, but I still have a duty of care towards you.’ She regards me with compassion and for a moment I’m back in the past, open and exposed with nowhere to run or hide.
‘I was hoping to speak to you, to find out how you’re feeling.’
‘I . . .’ My voice trails off. ‘I’m worried about him.’
She nods, encouraging me to go on.
‘I’ve come to care about him,’ I admit. ‘We’re friends.’