Tears of Ink (Tears of ... Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  My legs wobble as I see the shape on the bed. It’s half the size I remember. The man lying under the thin duvet is a wasted remnant of the person I know. One eye cracks open.

  “Figured you’d turn up soon.”

  I snort and sit on the edge of the bed. “Well, I’m not rushing here because you are about to cark it. It’s not a mercy visit.”

  He smiles but keeps his eyes shut, sighing a little. I grab his hand and will myself not to cry. “Did you decide about Bowsley?” he asks.

  Even sick, he still remembers every detail about my life. He’s always acted like I’m his daughter, as I’ve always acted like he’s my favourite blood relative, even though there is no blood between us. Just a shit load of love.

  “No.”

  My mind darts to lying scumbag Gerard and then even quicker to Elijah Fairclough in his immaculate black suit, cut to cling to his broad muscles.

  “Do it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the dying wish of an old man.”

  “Bollocks.”

  He grins again, eyes still closed. His hand grabs mine and squeezes tight.

  “Do it. Then come back and marry Dan. He loves you.”

  “I am not marrying Dan.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s like my brother,” I stutter over the word. “And I can’t break my rules for anyone, especially not your son.”

  Sometimes I think what it would be like to sink into Dan’s familiar embrace. What would it be like to give myself to someone who knows me so well? Is that what Abi and Adam have every night? Comforting familiarity that encompasses every inch of them?

  How could I ever tell Dan that I could only love him once? That I would never feel anything. That his touch, his kiss would mean nothing, because deep within me, I don’t know how to turn on the emotions and sensations I shut off many, many years ago.

  “You’re a crazy old man, you know that?”

  I settle on the bed and tell him about Bowsley, what they want me to do.

  “You see, I’m not a teacher. I don’t even have a degree. How can they expect someone to do that?”

  Al has his eyes open now; a distant gaze is settled on my face. The skin around his eyes is sunken, and he looks out at me from dark hollows. “They must have seen your work to know it would fit in with their plans.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know where. Most of it is covered in dust in my studio.”

  His fingers grab mine. “You know the degree and your escape to London will all be for nothing if you never share the things you make.”

  “But I’m not qualified to teach.”

  “Was I qualified to teach you? The first time you brushed the pens over Dan’s skin, were you qualified?”

  “Well, no, but you were watching me like a hawk.”

  “Rubbish. You just did it.”

  “It’s different.”

  “How? Just show these kids what it’s like to create. That’s all they need; to see if the fire to create is within them and if it is, to set it free.”

  I watch him for a moment before chuckling. “You are such a poetic old man.”

  He chuckles but soon starts coughing and wheezing.

  “Has Dad been to see you?” The question tastes bitter.

  He stops coughing. “Yes.” There’s a pause that speaks louder than any words. “I will never forgive him for what he did.”

  His eyes shut, and I know I’ve exhausted him with my talk of stately homes and luxurious conservatories. I lean over and kiss his dry cheek.

  “I’ll be back,” I whisper. Don’t cry, Faith. Don’t let him know this could be it.

  It’s hard though. I can’t walk away.

  Dan opens the door and a loud sob rumbles from my chest. I fall into his arms, wetting the stretch of his shirt with my tears. His hand palms my hair, and I breathe in the scent of his soap and wax.

  “It’s okay.”

  I look into his face. I must look hideous, but I don’t care. “Nothing is okay.”

  His lips brush a kiss on the tip of my nose, and for the billionth time I wish I wasn’t so fucked up, so I could take what was offered right in front of me.

  I never will.

  But in that moment of untangling myself from his arms I decide my own future.

  It’s time to move on. Time to get away from people who hurt me. The summer will give me space to breathe.

  “Call me.” I rush my words and then I run down the stairs so fast I almost slip on the carpet.

  Abi and I walk to the station in silence and hug goodbye.

  Then I’m on the train. Breathing, crying, mourning my friend who’s being stolen from me.

  I grab my phone and look at it for the first time all day.

  Gerard Steers: Faith, talk to me, what did you decide?

  I’ll tell you what I decided you cheating bastard.

  Faith Hitchin: I’m not finishing my degree. Do not contact me again.

  Next, I open my Messenger Inbox. There’s a message from Eli Jones. My heart pounds a little, but I try to shut it down.

  Eli Jones: I’m not engaged.

  I hesitate. Why’s he even telling me? What does it even matter? But then I remember I was the one who’d asked the question in some weird uncontrollable blurt of words.

  Faith Hitchin: Don’t care.

  Eli Jones: That’s good.

  That’s good? What does that mean?

  Faith Hitchin: Why are you Eli Jones on Facebook?

  There is a pause and I wonder where he’s gone. Our conversations are random.

  Eli Jones: Have you seen my other profile?

  What’s he talking about? I click out of Messenger and search for Elijah Fairclough on Facebook. There he is—with five thousand friends. I have to double check I’ve read the figure properly.

  Faith Hitchin: I see.

  Eli Jones: Have you decided about Bowsley?

  I stare out the window at the dark sky and darker trees.

  Faith Hitchin: Yes. Can we talk tomorrow?

  Eli Jones: Ominous.

  Faith Hitchin: Don’t be a baby.

  Eli Jones: What time tomorrow?

  Faith Hitchin: ten am?

  Better to get it over and done with. I put my phone in my hobo bag as the train glides into London Victoria. I’m home—for now. But my home is changing, moving, like it always does. I’m tired and I want to sleep, so I swallow the expense and take a taxi home, not even bothering to wash or change before I crash onto my bed.

  I can only wait to see what tomorrow brings and where I’ll be going next.

  Chapter Eleven

  At nine am, I’m twitching. I can’t seem to calm myself down. Elijah will be here, with those blue eyes—here in my apartment.

  I hate the way I’m reacting to the prospect of seeing him. I can’t stop sweating and have been walking around with tissues wedged under my armpits—this damn heat is going to be the end of me.

  Why did he tell me he wasn’t engaged? It’s no skin off my nose either way. I’m pulling down the swathes of blue material I’ve hung in my apartment, too, when someone raps a knock against the front door of the apartment.

  “Go away, Gerard,” I holler. “I’m not interested in your shit.”

  There’s another knock and I groan. “Faith? It’s Elijah?”

  What the hell? This isn’t ten o’clock.

  “Hold on.” In horror I sweep a glance around. It looks like pigs live here.

  “Faith.” Another knock. “Faith.” Another knock.

  Okay, so that’s damn annoying.

  It’s easy to reach the door; the apartment has the same cubic square feet as a hamster cage. “Sorry.” I begin unlatching the locks. My fingers are fumbling. I wish they wouldn’t.

  I pull on the handle and as I do, I can’t help wondering which version of Elijah will be standing on the other side. Is it going to be the man in sliders with the easy smile, or will it be the awkward guy in the expensive suit?


  The door opens, and I smile. Actually, he’s somewhere in between.

  And hell does he look hot.

  His jeans are faded and fit just fine. His legs are long, and doesn’t the denim know just how to fit perfectly around his thighs. A navy T-shirt stretches across his chest. I couldn’t comment on the curve and definition of his chest… because I’m not looking.

  Who the hell am I kidding? I’m looking.

  He’s wearing a Quiksilver baseball cap.

  And I do believe this is the finest he’s looked yet.

  “Come in.” I open the door wider. “You’re early. I’ve only just got up.” I turn and stare with a sinking stomach into the stinking pit that is my home.

  “Uh, Faith.”

  “Yeah?”

  He points an index finger at my armpits.

  Holy fuck! I’m a sweaty mess anyway, now I’m hanging with Hades in hell.

  I remove the crumpled shreds of tissue from under my arms and turn to him sheepishly. “I actually have nothing to say about that.”

  He laughs. It’s the most wondrous chuckle I’ve ever heard. “Truthfully, you are something else.”

  And he doesn’t even know me yet.

  “That’s me. One of a kind.” I brazen it out and walk towards the tiny kitchenette. “Would you like a coffee?” I should attempt some civility in the moment.

  “Here.”

  I look at his hands for the first time—that’s how wondrous the T-shirt is—I haven’t even noticed he’s holding two Costa coffee mugs in a cardboard holder in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

  He smiles, his lips lifting on the left, a small dimple appearing. “I decided to play a little game of guess the coffee.”

  He’s got one big mug wedged in the holder and one espresso. His eyes narrow as he runs them over me, sweeping across my skin. Resting on my chest.

  Holy fuck. I haven’t put a bra on yet. A vest—no bra. It’s too hot for a damn bra.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I fold my arms and glare. “Stop looking at my chest.”

  “Sorry, it’s just kind of there.” He shakes his head a little and I march away into the small bedroom. I dig out a sports bra and somehow manage to get it over my sticky skin. I walk back out yanking my vest back over my head.

  He’s watching. There’s no hiding it.

  “And coffee?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.

  He blinks a little, obviously refocusing. “Here. I went for a short and strong espresso for you.”

  How did he know?

  “Are you a specialist in coffee habits?” I smile a little and hold out my hand for the small cardboard cup.

  “It was a guess.”

  I smile and meet his gaze. Jeez, he’s good to look at. Those eyes… honestly, I can’t believe he’s been walking blinking them at people. How does anyone have a conversation with him without drooling?

  “It’s perfect, thank you.”

  I take a sip, pleased to be hit by a strong sweet after-note. “And the sugar?”

  “Another guess. Figured it would soften that hardened edge of yours.”

  “Whatever.” I wave my hand to where there’s a small cramped sofa under the window. The sash is up, letting in the hum of London from below.

  His eyes flick over the place. “This is nice. Must cost a pretty penny though?” He sits on the sofa and makes it look even smaller, stretching his legs in front of him.

  This flat is officially too small for him.

  I swallow nervously. I’m not often nervous, but I am right now. The future is a myriad of crossroads in front of me and this is the defining moment.

  He carries on oblivious to my tongue tie. “I can see why you have the studio, too. There isn’t much space in here.”

  I nod and glance about my flat. I love this place and I’d never give it up, not even for somewhere I could create at home. “The studio is from the university; they have a few of them. Somehow, I managed to get one.” I cringe as a moment of realisation hits me. Gerard ‘I’m-so-married’ Steers wangled it for me. It had nothing to do with my skill, and more to do the with the fact I’d made it very clear early on I was going to sleep with him.

  I guess he must have been disappointed I only put out once. That’s an expensive shag.

  “This place is mine,” I add.

  He doesn’t ask how I can afford a prime piece of real estate in an expensive part of London. Instead he takes a sip of his coffee and I watch his lips cling to the plastic lip. I reckon he’s a great kisser.

  Faith. For God’s sake…

  “Here, I grabbed a few pastries, too.” He thrusts the bag at me, a small smile sliding across his face. “I got the impression this could be bad news, and I’d need all the pain au chocolat’s I could find.”

  My stomach rumbles as I take the bag. I didn’t eat last night when I got back as it was too late, and I’d only managed a snack at Abi’s; which means my last full meal was two days ago. It’s not like I can’t afford groceries, I just can’t be bothered to go and get them. Mundane jobs like shopping and laundry don’t register with me. Or putting on a bra, that kind of thing.

  “Faith, it’s really hot in here. You can’t possibly breathe in here, surely?” Elijah turns for the windows, but then frowns when he finds they are all open.

  “You kinda get used to it,” I reply with an offhanded wave of my fingers.

  He shakes his head and I’m mesmerised by the flash of his eyes as they twinkle at me.

  “Either we go out and drink our coffee somewhere shady, preferably with air con, or you’re going to need to find some more tissue paper for me to use under my own armpits.”

  I scowl and flush a burning red, from my chest to the top of my head.

  “There’s a park behind, if you fancy a walk?” I suggest, still clutching the bag of goodies. This is odd. Here’s this man: gorgeous and refined, standing in my tiny flat, like he can just about fit in it, and I can’t stop looking at him.

  He’s beautiful.

  I could become obsessed.

  That familiar tingle of longing cruises its way into my consciousness.

  I can imagine us hot and sweaty, skin slipping and sliding, hands wandering, limbs tangling.

  I bite my lip and consider my options.

  But then he might be my boss for the summer, and I don’t break my one-time-only rule for anyone. If I allowed my usual obsessive nature to take over, it could ruin everything.

  “Sure.” He holds his hand in an ‘after you’ gesture to the door, but then stops. “Wait, Faith. Shall we just do the business talk now, get it over and done with?”

  “Why are you so nervous?” I frown at him. “Even if I say no to your project, there are many people who wouldn’t. It’s not reliant on me.”

  He gazes at me, his eyes drawing me in. Deep, vibrant blue pools, perfect for diving into and letting go of all restraint. “That’s true.”

  I know he’s only agreeing with me, but his words have a sting to their edge.

  “But I want you to do it,” he continues. As his lips curve into a smile, I’m sure he’s aware of every thought I’m having.

  “Why?”

  “I told you at Bowsley, I have a good vibe.”

  “About the project?” I ask.

  “About you.”

  Fuck. I get really hot. A sudden rush of sweat simultaneously bursts from every pore on my skin.

  His words.

  I shove my hands in the pockets of my shorts because I’m scared what they are going to do. I want to slide them over his body, run them through his hair, pull at his clothes and tug them from his skin.

  And those things you shouldn’t do with your boss. Not ever.

  “I’ll do it.”

  The relief that flickers across his expression takes me by surprise and I giggle nervously. “I just hope you aren’t disappointed.”

  He shrugs and for a second, I get a glimpse of the awkward man in the suit I met in The
Ritz. This man is complicated: so many sides, so many puzzles.

  It’s not good. It’s makes him all the more intriguing. All the more dangerous. All the more suitable to become the subject of my latest obsession.

  “But I have something I need to tell you.” A pinch of nerves squeezes my stomach.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m dropping out of my degree.”

  There it is. The bombshell.

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  His eyes narrow into slits.

  “You’d rather not say?”

  “Does that affect you wanting to hire me for the project?”

  There’s a pause, and my heart pounds painfully.

  “No.” He gives a small shake of his head. “Faith, come let’s go find the park and then you can tell me all about it.”

  “Don’t you have work to get to? It’s a Monday—or does stuff not happen on a Monday?”

  I grin at him and he smiles back. Damn, those eyes are going to melt my panties.

  “Stuff is later. Now, I have time for the park.”

  I grab my keys and we make our way out into the hot and sticky July heat. It’s no better outside than in. I don’t know what he does, but if ‘stuff’, whatever that is, means he has time to go to the park with me so I can stare at his beautiful face, then I am all for it.

  “You look nice in your cap.”

  Apparently, I’m now just opening my mouth and shit is coming out of it. He stops my brain from working in a coherent fashion.

  “Oh, why, thank you.” He grins and takes a sip of his now cold coffee. We are under a tree at the local park. It’s nice. A bit too nice. “Sometimes it’s easier this way.”

  I’ve just bitten into a bit of croissant, but it doesn’t stop me asking, “What do you mean?” He grins at me and chuckles.

  “Sorry.” I wipe the flakes of pastry I’ve sprayed everywhere—truthfully, it’s a good opportunity to touch his arm. It’s smooth, warm and firm.

  “It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, but I lean a little closer, watching under the peak of the subject of our conversation.

  “Do you get recognised? Are we about to be papped?”

  He rolls his eyes, which makes me snort a laugh. The man in the suit right now is far away, and long forgotten. “No, it’s just I’d rather people didn’t always know what I’m doing.”