by TL Dyer
Craig nodded. ‘What time’s Dad home?’
Eliza didn’t answer right away, but stepped across the room, pale lemon dress hugging her figure, its skirt floating around her legs. She reached down to touch her hand to Craig’s face while she kissed the top of his head.
‘I’ll be back before then,’ she said.
Colour flooded Craig’s face, and he jerked his head away. But she was already leaving again, smiling at us both before closing the door with care behind her as if she’d interrupted something.
‘You’re so lucky,’ I said after she’d gone, to spare him his embarrassment.
He didn’t answer, but shuffled forward to drop his feet to the floor.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, staring at the carpet as his cheeks and neck glowed red. And like that, I could see how he was changing. We all were, but sometimes it didn’t seem so obvious as it was just then, his face broadening, the line of his jaw firm, Adam’s apple protruding in his throat. His voice had always been deep, as if he was older than his years and in contrast to the gentleness of his nature, but now it was as if he was finally growing into it.
When I failed to reply to his question, he turned to look at me. Like his mother had done a moment ago, I reached up to touch his face in the same spot she had, as if by doing so it might transfer some of her magic to me, or that I could imitate her natural tenderness. But he didn’t pull away from my hand as he had done his mother’s. Instead he looked at me curiously, as if he was wondering if he could find something there in my face if he searched for it hard enough. The answer to a question, maybe; the one that deep down he would have already known.
He stared so long at my lips that in the end I was the one to make the move. We kissed with closed eyes and closed mouths, and if nothing else, it was comforting just to be that close to someone I cared about.
That was the first time. We’d kiss lots after that, always in the same way and only when we were alone, not telling anyone, not even Lauren. She wouldn’t understand. Sometimes we’d lie next to one another on the bed or the floor, put an arm around each other or hold hands. But neither of us were kidding ourselves. It wasn’t ever going to be more than it was. A tenderness as innocent as that shown by his mother.
If I’d have only known then how it would end, I’d have told him how much he meant to me. It wouldn’t have made any difference. But at least I’d have told him, and he’d have known.
Chapter 18
It’s still light when I leave the station, but only just. The dark clouds that have dominated all afternoon are no less threatening now than they were earlier and, within the hour, time will probably be called on this day altogether in favour of an early night. I’m tapping out a text to Dad, telling him I’ll be home soon, when a playful knock at my elbow sends the phone out of my fingers and skittering over the damp concrete car park.
‘Oh shit. Sorry, mate,’ John Russell says, hurrying after it to scoop it up.
‘Bloody hell, John.’
He holds up a hand to placate me while brushing the screen down the thigh of his denims. ‘See? Fine. No harm done.’
‘Just as sodding well.’ I snatch it back from him to finish the message and hit send. ‘You great big wally.’
‘Who is it anyway?’ he asks, as we walk to our cars. ‘Or should I say, who’s the lucky fellow?’
He flutters his eyebrows as I glance at him sideways. ‘Can if you like. It’s my dad. I’m hoping he’ll keep Jake up until I get there.’
‘Fair one.’ He checks his watch. ‘I’ve missed the boat on that one. She’ll have already put him down by now. First opportunity she gets.’
She is Mel, Russell’s ex-girlfriend, who by all accounts, including Russell’s, isn’t the easiest person to get along with. But she is the mother of his child. Meaning, while there’s a chance she’ll take his three-year-old son away from him if he doesn’t do her bidding, he’ll suffer the humiliation and earache just to please her. Even if that means punching the wall when she’s not around. He hasn’t said that’s what he does, but it’s what I’d do. The man’s a saint. Underneath the permanently mischievous gleam in his eye and endless joking, I imagine there’s more going on than the rest of us will ever see.
‘Well, your Leo’s young yet,’ I say, as we reach our cars. ‘They still sleep a lot at that age, don’t they?’
He hits the key fob to unlock his Megane. ‘Suppose so. Though not enough for Mel, I suspect. Anyway, it’s my night to have him tomorrow.’ He grins but tips his chin towards the station. ‘If I get out on time, that is.’
‘We’ll have to make sure you do, mate.’
He winks and wishes me a goodnight, and at the car park exit we part ways with a toot of the horn. He turns right and I pull forward to turn left. But just as I’m checking the road is clear, two heavy thumps hit the front passenger window and I slam my foot on the brake. The car jerks even though it was barely moving. Outside the window a figure of a man blocks what little light is left of the evening. Not a uniform. And a plain-clothed officer wouldn’t do anything so stupid. Instinct sends my heart into my mouth, but the adrenaline flooding my body has me recalling my training and preparing to take defensive action. My right foot is tense over the accelerator, and my fingers search for my phone in the side pocket even while my eyes are still on the person outside my window.
I hit the interior light on in the car. As I do, the figure bends to look in through the glass and I find myself staring eye to eye not with a stranger, but with Darren Isaacs. The thumps to the window were made with his fist.
*
‘I can’t stop here,’ I say, once he’s in the car. ‘I’ll have to go round the block.’
Darren doesn’t reply, but pulls the seat belt over him as I turn left at the traffic lights, then another left onto a residential street that runs parallel to, and in full view of, the main road. Bringing the car to a stop under a streetlight across from the City Royal, two things are on my mind. What’s he doing here? And how long will this take?
Leaving the engine running, I turn to face him. ‘You couldn’t have sent a text or called?’
He’s in his work clothes of shirt and tie, over which he wears a casual navy jacket, and he sits with one hand on each thigh, his aftershave and his presence filling the interior of the car. The orange glow from the streetlight gives his features a sickly pallor that makes it hard to read his expression, but either way I meet his gaze with my own. I won’t be cowed. This is my car, my place of work, and these were not my terms. Except the first words out of his mouth are not what I expect.
‘It’s great news, isn’t it?’ he says, taking no notice of the question I’ve asked, nor my irritation that I’m not hiding all that well. ‘The results. It’s wonderful news.’
He taps his fingers against his legs. It makes me think he’s nervous, but I’ve never seen Darren Isaacs nervous before. I’ve never seen him anything less than self-assured.
‘Nothing I wasn’t expecting,’ I stammer. ‘But Darren—’
‘I wasn’t expecting it.’ He cuts through my words, a smile breaking his usually cool facade, a glimmer softening the ruthlessness of his steel-blue eyes, though maybe that’s just the streetlight playing tricks. ‘I’ll be honest, Sacha, I didn’t trust you. You can understand that. But now that we’re sure, we can move forward. May I see a picture of him again?’
He speaks as if his turning up here isn’t unusual, as if we’ve arranged this meeting and this is the perfect time and place for it. I’m on the cusp of arguing that point, but I have two choices – challenge him and risk us getting off on the wrong foot, or keep my cool and a lid on this conversation so I can make it home to Jake without doing anything rash to further complicate the relationship he’ll need to foster with his dad.
I take my phone from the side pocket and find a decent picture to show him. Unlike when he looked at the last photograph, Darren smiles as he tilts it toward the light and then zooms in to get a closer look. H
e stares at it a long time. Long enough for the smile to fade, his forehead to crease. I turn away, watching in the window’s reflection as he swipes the back of his hand over his eyes. He sees Craig. Or maybe he’s just thinking of him. Much like I have been since I was at Ty Bryn a few weeks ago; waking in the middle of the night with his image in my mind, the feel of his warm palm in mine.
When Darren passes me the phone, he asks if I’ll send him the picture, and I do. He takes his own phone out to check it’s come through. Smiles again. ‘He’s really something, Sacha, isn’t he? Jake. My son.’ He shakes his head like he can’t quite believe it. ‘My boy.’
‘You remember what I said in my message, Darren, that Jake’s having a tough time just now.’
‘Yes,’ he says, placing the phone on his thigh with the picture still on the screen. ‘Tell me about that.’
In the near distance I hear sirens. I check the mirrors, but can’t see where they’re coming from.
‘Does he know about me yet?’ he adds.
‘I haven’t found the right time. There’s a lot going on.’
‘That’s what you said in your message.’
‘My timing couldn’t have been worse.’
‘What timing? You mean telling me?’
The flash of blue lights catches my eye in the wing mirror, their pulse urgent but familiar and quickly moving out of view to disappear. A problem for my colleagues to deal with, not mine; nothing I can do from here.
‘I mean it was a bad time to bring this up,’ I say, when I turn back.
‘Yes. I agree with you about that. Six years ago would have been better.’
I drop my gaze to my lap and immediately wish I hadn’t. It’s a defensive gesture in a conversation I would prefer to retain some authority of. But I can’t argue his point. He’s right.
‘Perhaps then you wouldn’t be fretting over how to tell him now,’ he adds, his tone neutral, though with just an underlying trace of the injustice he’s entitled to. He’s been wronged. I wronged him. And now I’ll need to make amends.
‘I will tell him, Darren. I can promise you that. It’s just that he’s fragile right now, and I want to be sure that I get it right. Not frighten him or unnerve him.’
‘That’s unavoidable by this point, Sacha. You put the plaster there, now you have to tear it off. Why is he fragile?’
My gut reaction is to be evasive. But if Darren is to come into our lives, Jake’s life, then sooner or later he’ll have to know these things about us. Everything about us. Pushing away resistance, I explain about my father’s move to Scotland and how much of an impact that will have on Jake who’s grown up with his granddad, rarely going a day without seeing him. I also tell him Jake’s upset that something will happen to his grampy, that he fears his death and losing him for good. I stop short of mentioning the hemophobia. One thing at a time.
While I’ve been speaking, Darren hasn’t taken his eyes from me. He hangs on my every word, which is no different to how he’s always been. A silent observer, then a gatherer of his thoughts before he speaks. It was this keen way of listening that I used to find unusual, and interpreted as someone who was careful, considered, and capable, someone who would know what to do in any situation. When I was younger, it was reassuring. Now though, for reasons I can’t fathom, it’s unsettling.
‘He’s young,’ he says at last, looking at the phone, which he prods to activate the screen. Jake smiles up at him. ‘And boys, in my experience, are sensitive. More so than girls.’ His eyes are vivid and bright when they come back up, even in the darkening car. ‘But he’ll learn. It’s what toughens them up. They need these experiences. Every difficulty is an opportunity to grow, Sacha. Just as this new challenge is an opportunity for me to grow. Despite how slow it was in coming.’
I ignore the barb, considering instead what kind of growth Craig’s drug addiction and death might have offered this man. But I don’t say it. I don’t want him labelling Jake as his second chance, which is what I feel he’d do.
‘He deserves to know the truth now, Sacha. No more deceit.’ Darren drops the phone into his jacket pocket and zips it up. ‘However, I’m not unreasonable. I understand how difficult you’ve made things. So for Jake’s sake, I’ll give you time to prepare him.’
He opens the car door and gets out, this visit ending as abruptly as it had begun. I should say something. Except all I want is for him to be gone, this conversation over. But just before he closes the door, he peers back in.
‘Don’t leave it too long. You’ve already kept us both waiting long enough.’
The moment he’s away from the car and walking back towards town, I put the car in gear and move from the kerb. I think about stopping a little further down the road to text Dad and tell him I’ve been delayed, but I just want to be home with Jake, whether he’s asleep or not. My hands shake where they grip the steering wheel, my legs tremble, and I wonder what it is that bothers me so much. I was the one who went to Darren to reveal the truth. And I was the one who lied to him to begin with. And, further back still, I was the one to initiate the wrongdoing. The sin, some would call it. All of that was me, my choices, my moves. So I should expect nothing more than his anger now, his blunt and bitter mistrust.
In the rear-view mirror I glimpse Darren Isaac’s outline, his dark jacket, broad shoulders and even broader stride, and I realise it’s not his opinion of me that unnerves me. It’s that, though I haven’t sought it from him this time, he’s just taken control.
Chapter 19
‘How do I look?’
Eliza steps into the lounge. She wears a forest-green dress that clings to her waist and hips and flares to just above her knees. The V of the neck is low enough to show a curve of cleavage, but not too much to be overtly flirtatious. A simple gold chain and locket rests on her chest, and her blonde hair falls in wide curls around her shoulders. On her feet, three-inch black heels accentuate her calf muscles, and she projects a dominating presence I’ve never felt from her before. Or perhaps it’s just that she demands to be looked at.
‘Well?’ she says, holding the skirt in each hand and swishing it one way then the other.
‘Beautiful,’ a voice answers from behind her before any one of the three of us can respond. Darren appears around the doorway in a pressed white shirt and black trousers, with bow tie and waistcoat to match. He’s clean-shaven, eyes vivid but darkening as they roam over his wife from head to toe with a scrutiny that has Lauren tutting and Craig looking away. Not me though, I can’t take my eyes off them. I haven’t seen Darren this attentive before, and I wonder if he’s forgotten we’re even in the room. He cups his hand under her elbow and hurries her out of the door before they’re late.
‘See you later, kids,’ she calls over his shoulder, while Darren glances back and warns us to behave.
I tell them to have a good time, but they don’t hear me over the sound of Eliza’s heels stuttering down the hallway. I picture how their night will go, the music, the dancing, the food, and Eliza the most stunning woman there, the one all the other guests will be looking at. Darren will stand beside her, overflowing with pride. Everyone envying them. The perfect couple.
‘Thank fuck.’ Lauren jumps up from the armchair, where she’s been waiting for them to leave for the last half an hour.
‘Laur, what are you doing?’ Craig asks wearily from the opposite chair as Lauren head down, arse up, roots about in a cabinet in the corner of the room. When she resurfaces, she’s clutching a bottle of scotch and shaking it with glee. But her brother looks less enthusiastic.
‘Oh, come on, misery. He won’t even notice, he’s got dozens of them. Once a sodding year, that’s how often they go out.’
As she returns to the cabinet for glasses, Craig glances over to where I’m sitting on the sofa. I shrug one shoulder and smile.
‘Sod it,’ he says, getting up and crossing the room. ‘I’ll get the tunes. Why should they be the ones to have all the fun?’
‘Atta boy,�
�� his sister echoes, turning from the cabinet with two glasses filled to the brim, one of which she hands to me. ‘Get that down your neck, Sach. And let’s liven this crummy dive up.’
Not wanting to admit that at fifteen I haven’t drunk more than lager, cider, and a glass of Mam’s sweet fizzy wine, I take the scotch from Lauren and copy her by downing several mouthfuls in one go. It takes only seconds for the burn to tear up my throat. I gasp, then cough and splutter while Lauren laughs, bringing the bottle over to refill my glass again.
‘Christ, Laur, go easy,’ Craig says, returning with his LPs and record player. ‘Sach, you don’t have to drink it.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, lifting the glass to eye level, peering through a burnt orange lens to the fireplace on which Eliza’s miniature porcelain ornaments are lined up. A basket of roses, a tub of mixed flowers, the young boy with the straw hat and the sunflower between his lips. Heat spreads outward from my chest until it finds a comfortable resting place where it sits and stays. Lauren kicks off her sandals and dangles her feet over the arm of the chair, while Craig stretches out on the floor with a drink to his side as he plays DJ for us. I take another mouthful of the scotch and sink into the sofa cushion with a deep sense of satisfaction that I’m here in my favourite place. Right then I feel as much a part of the Isaacs as I ever have. And it’s glorious.
*
The mantelpiece is bare, barring a thin layer of dust. The sofa and two armchairs have gone, replaced by one large, white, leather corner settee that fills half the room. Maybe the carpet is the same, I don’t remember, but a wood-effect TV stand and giant flatscreen is in place of the walnut drinks cabinet. I wonder if it’s furniture Darren and Eliza both changed over time, or whether he chose them after she left him. Selling the house was perhaps too great an ordeal, but getting rid of everything in it and bringing in something new may have been enough of a change for him. Not for me it wouldn’t, I think, feeling a strange emptiness about the house as it is now, an eerie echo of what it once was.
