A Bleak December: Hanleigh's London (The Fate Series Book 4)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  That means it’s a me thing.

  I don’t know where to smile or frown at the realisation that I make her uncomfortable. I’m left scratching my head as I wonder if it is a good uncomfortable or a bad uncomfortable.

  I try my best to get on with my work while I wait for Clara and Ella to return. They left the office at around half three and I hadn’t anticipated that they would be gone for longer than an hour.

  Yet here I am sitting in my office waiting almost two hours later.

  It’s coming up for half five and I’m getting more anxious by the second. The office is slowly quietening down. This is my favourite time of day because all the noise of the day is gone and I can finally focus.

  I usually manage to get at least an hour or two worth of work done before heading home myself. I practically jump when I hear a knock at my door.

  “Come in.”

  Andrew opens the door, frowning with his arms crossed.

  “Where’s my wife?”

  I want to ask him how the fuck he expects me to know but that wouldn’t be appropriate and unlike Ella, I actually do have a filter.

  “Is she still not back?” I ask, although of course, I already know the answer because I’ve been waiting for her return too.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be here with you if she was,” he replies snarkily.

  “She went out for coffee with Ella Winthrope but that was almost two hours ago.”

  Andrew is pulling out his phone as he complains under his breath about his missing and heavily pregnant wife.

  “Princess,” he says into the handset, “where are you? I’m waiting for you.”

  He frowns momentarily before telling his wife that he will gather her stuff and meet her in the car park.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I tell him as he hangs up his phone.

  He nods his head before walking out of my office and across the way to Clara’s office, where he gathers her belongings.

  “Did Clara say how it went?” I ask hesitantly.

  He shakes his head.

  “Why? Is there a problem?”

  “Not sure. Ella was late this morning, but she didn’t seem happy.”

  “And you were worried?” He raises his eyebrow at me, questioningly.

  “Yes.”

  “Worried enough to get my pregnant wife caught up in all this?”

  I can’t tell if he is telling me off or laughing at me.

  “I just asked Clara to talk to her. I didn’t realise they’d be gone this long.”

  “Never tell a woman to talk to another woman…” His expression turned mocking. “That was your mistake, right there.”

  I’m surprised when we get to the carpark to spot Clara getting out of a car not too far away from the entrance to the carpark.

  “Bye bye, Thomas,” I hear Clara say before she shuts the door.

  Andrew is grumbling beside me, “who the hell is Thomas?”

  I chuckle quietly instead of explaining that Thomas is, in fact, a five-year-old boy.

  Hearing Thomas shouting my name, I stride towards the car that Clara has just exited. Thomas’s window is down and he’s practically hanging out of it as he waves me down.

  “Hi Thomas,” I say as I approach.

  I turn my head to try and catch a glimpse of Ella in the front seat.

  “Hi Ella.”

  “Tristan,” she responds.

  Her voice lacks the warmth that I’ve grown accustomed to and her use of my first name surprises me.

  “Is everything alright?” I ask her.

  “Everything is great,” she replies without hesitating.

  Even Thomas gives her a strange look.

  “No, it’s not,” Thomas says angrily. “Nothing is great. Today is a terrible day.”

  I want to ask why but I know that I’d be invading into their lives in a way that I have no right to do. Everything inside me wants to jump into the passenger seat and force her to drive away with me by her side.

  Perhaps we could even leave all her problems right here in this carpark.

  “See you tomorrow, Tristan.”

  “Don’t be late,” I tell her.

  “Is she often late for you too?” Thomas asks, causing his sister to huff.

  I mess up his hair and tell him to be good for his sister before turning away from the car.

  Chapter Seven – Ella

  We’re back at the hospital again. I swear I spend most of my time here. In fact, I literally split my time between here and work these days. Thomas insisted on checking on mum before he would go home and now that we’re here, it’s impossible to talk him into leaving.

  Mum’s condition hasn’t changed since this morning but mine definitely has.

  I’m on edge. Terrified.

  I expect the alarms to go off any second or for a nurse or doctor to come in and tell me she’s gone. They don’t but I’m not reassured, far from it.

  Thomas sits next to mum and tells her all about his day, but I keep my distance. I stand at the window watching the rain fall. It matches my mood perfectly.

  I tried calling my sister Tia almost ten times today but she’s yet to answer.

  Spoilt, pain in the arse.

  She’s an air hostess. She could be anywhere around the world right now, but the one place she isn’t is here with us.

  I pull out my phone again, this time planning on leaving a voicemail if she doesn’t answer.

  She needs to come home.

  Time has run out.

  The phone rings for the longest time but she doesn’t answer. I wait impatiently for her voicemail but it takes longer than I can take.

  I throw my phone down on the side in exasperation.

  Fuck sake!

  I drop my forehead to the cold window and let the tears that I’ve been holding in, drop silently in time with the rain outside. It isn’t until Thomas pulls at my humper that I realise I’ve been stood here for far too long.

  “Big Sister Ella, we need to go home now,” he tells me in his best imitation of an adult.

  I nod my head and take his outstretched hand.

  I’m letting this little boy down. I’m supposed to be the adult here.

  “Let’s go home,” I whisper.

  Hours later, Thomas is safely tucked up in bed, the laundry is done and I can finally sit down but I’m restless. I’m on my feet, anxiously treading into the carpet, as I pace the room.

  My phone is to my ear as I try yet again to reach Tia.

  I finally leave a voicemail but I’m disappointed with myself that I can’t keep my emotions under control. Instead, I snap down the line telling my sister to hurry the fuck home.

  I almost drop my phone when it suddenly rings in my hand. I imagine it might be my sister so I answer it quickly.

  “I’m sorry. I was overly harsh.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  Again, I almost drop my phone. That’s a man’s voice, not the girly voice of my baby sister. I glance at the caller ID.

  Fuck, it’s my boss. Why is he calling me so late?

  “Sorry, Tristan. I thought you were someone else.”

  He doesn’t respond immediately but when his response comes it completely takes me by surprise.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “How… how do you know where I live?” I can’t help but wonder aloud.

  “HR. I abused my position as your boss,” he says it completely lacking the same he should feel. “I’m worried about you, so I’m coming to check on you.”

  “That’s not necessary, Tristan.”

  “I think it is.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t believe you until I see it for myself. I’m outside.”

  I walk with the phone to my ear to the front door.

  When I open it, he’s stood there waiting for me with his own phone pressed to his ear.

  “Hi,” he says as he
lowers the phone and pushes his way past me.

  “Hi.”

  “Thomas is asleep?” he asks quietly.

  I nod my head, unsure how else to respond. It’s weird having Tristan Riggens in my house. He’s too big. His shoulders are so broad and strong, and he’s ridiculously tall. He completely takes over my hallway.

  I lead him through to the living room.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because I’m worried about you.”

  “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re just putting a brave face on it.”

  His eyes are dark with an emotion I can’t place. He can’t know about my mum. I told Clara that I didn’t want anyone knowing. She’d promised but I’d be remiss if I actually believed I had her loyalty.

  “Clara told you?” I can barely bring myself to ask.

  “No,” he shakes his head, “I asked but she refused to answer. She just said you have a lot on your plate.”

  That’s one way of looking at it, I think to myself.

  “Since you’re here, do you want something to drink?”

  “Tea would be great.” He nods sheepishly as he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He follows me through to the kitchen. “Sorry for barging in like this.”

  “It’s okay. I guess.”

  “I’m just worried. I want to help.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Of course, I can. Just tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”

  He’s looking down at me hopefully.

  I turn away from him. I don’t want to face him when I destroy that hope. Instead, I fill the kettle and wait for it to boil as I say, “I need a Christmas miracle.”

  He doesn’t respond but then I don’t know why I expect him to. Even if he was a magic genie, I don’t think he’d be able to grant this wish, even if he was Father Christmas he wouldn’t be able to leave his present under my Christmas tree.

  I’m surprised when I feel him behind me.

  He’s so close I can feel the warmth radiating off his chest. I want to fall back into that heat but I’m scared that if I do, not only will everything between the two of us get complicated, but I will also lose myself in the grief that is threatening to overpower me.

  That’s not an option I can face.

  I have to be strong for Thomas and Tia when she finally comes home.

  “I’m sorry,” I hear his voice gruff in my ear. “Let me, at least, be here for you.”

  “Why?” I whisper hoarsely.

  “Because I need to be.”

  His words are surprisingly selfish, but I don’t know if I can refuse him. I desperately want someone to tell me that I’m doing okay. I want someone to treat me like the grown-up I used to think I was instead of the failure I feel I’ve become.

  Chapter Eight – Tristan

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to be.”

  I’m massively overstepping, completely breaking down the boundaries that should be between us, but I don’t care.

  The moment Clara’s face dropped after I asked what was wrong with Ella, I’d already made my mind up. I’d tried to stop myself. I’d tried to hold myself back. But I still ended up here. I don’t regret it now that I’m here.

  I might still not know what is wrong, but I know that this is exactly where I need to be.

  My arms tighten around her waist as I pull her closer to me. I need to give her what comfort I can. It’s selfish but I don’t care. The tension in her bones drops away as she backs into my chest.

  When the kettle is boiled, she goes to lift her arm to make the tea, but I take her hand in mine instead.

  “Let me make it,” I whisper. “You sit.”

  I pull her around and force her to sit at the breakfast bar.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiles shyly up at me.

  “Just rest. There’s no need to thank me.”

  She’s pensively looking out the window when I turn back to her with the tea, I’m a bit at a loss how to start a conversation with her now that we’re here. I still can’t believe that I’m sat here, sat in her kitchen with her.

  “Where’s your dog?” I ask suddenly.

  “Erm…”

  Her eyes are darting around the room as if looking for a clue as to how she can make this lie work. She must think I’m ridiculously gullible.

  “It’s okay. I know you don’t have a dog.”

  Her face is a bright crimson as she blows on her tea.

  “You know?”

  “I can tell when you’re lying?”

  “You can tell? Is it that obvious?”

  “I can’t speak for your colleagues but yes, I’ve always known.”

  “You have? Shit.” She looks crestfallen. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “It’s okay.” I shake off the uneasy feeling I get whenever she looks upset. “Just tell me why.”

  “I… It’s better to lie than tell the truth.”

  “Not this time, it’s not.”

  She doesn’t answer me though and I’m caught between frustration at her refusal to answer my question and sadness at the wretched look in her eyes as if her entire world is being ripped apart.

  “Just tell me, Winthrope. It can’t be that difficult to tell me.”

  “It’s not about it being difficult to tell you.”

  Her eyes are begging me not to press the matter.

  “It’s more a question of what happens afterwards.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll break if I tell you.”

  She looks so sincere, but I can’t believe her words. What could possibly break her? She’s quirky and fun but she’s not weak.

  “Just tell me. If you break, I’ll gather all the pieces and I’ll put you back together.”

  “Promise?”

  She looks more innocent right now than I’ve ever seen her. I need her to trust me. I want her to believe in me.

  “Promise.”

  I wait for her to answer. She’s still hesitant so I take her hand in my own.

  “I’m right here.”

  I give her hand a squeeze.

  “My mum is dying and I can’t save her.”

  Her voice breaks as she tells me and I’m on my feet in seconds, walking around the table so I can wrap her in my arms.

  She tries to pull back.

  Now I understand.

  She’s been trying to be strong for her family, too scared that if she were to let anyone else see her pain that she’d break and no longer be able to hold them together.

  I refuse to let her pull away.

  My arms draw around her until her face is pressed against my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear.

  I feel her shoulders shake as she starts to cry in my embrace.

  After several moments, I bend my knees so that I can lift her into my arms and carry her through into the living room where I lower her onto the sofa, wrapping a blanket around her. I sit on the edge of the sofa next to her and take her hand in mine.

  “I’m right here. It’s okay if you cry. It’s okay if you break. It’s okay if you let yourself feel all of this. I’m right here with you.”

  Chapter Nine – Ella

  He’s saying all the words I should want to hear but all I can hear in my mind are the words the doctor said, it’s time.

  I need to be strong but instead of coping the way I know I need to, I’m allowing myself to shatter to tiny pieces. If I allow myself to do this, how am I going to take Thomas to school tomorrow or bring my sister home or plan the funeral? How am I supposed to do all the things I need to do if I let myself… I can’t do this.

  “Tristan, I can’t.”

  “You can,” he tells me gently. “I’m staying right here with you. I’ll make sure you are strong enough to do everything but right now you really don’t need to be strong at all. Tell me, what do you need to do now?”

  He doesn’t gi
ve me time to think of an answer.

  “All you need to do right now is look after yourself. You’ve been so busy worrying about everyone else, you’ve completely forgotten about yourself. Will you let me look after you?”

  I don’t know how to respond. I can’t stop the tears falling down my cheeks and the words I think I probably should say are caught on my tongue. I do the only thing I can and nod my head.

  Sitting up slightly, I rest on the back of my elbows so I can see him better through my tears.

  “Just rest,” he tells me as he cups my face in his hand.

  I push up so that I can pull him into a hug. I need to be in his arms and when I’m there, I finally feel safe.

  “Thank you,” I whisper when I can finally get the words out of my mouth.

  It’s hilarious that my usually a train wreck of a mouth has suddenly gone quiet.

  “You’re definitely going above and beyond your duty of care as my boss,” I try to joke.

  “Never mind that.” He chuckles as he picks me up so he can sit down before resting my head in his lap, playing with my hair.

  The feeling of his hand against my scalp is so relaxing, I struggle to keep my eyes open.

  “Tell me which of your reasons for being late were true.”

  I get the feeling he already knows the answer so I don’t really know why he’s asking.

  “I thought you could tell when I was lying?”

  “I can. I just want you to tell me the truth.”

  “Not a single excuse I gave was true.”

  I’m ashamed to admit it.

  “Not one?”

  “No. Sorry, I shouldn’t have lied.”

  A tear rolls down my face and he catches it with the pad of his thumb.

  “Don’t apologise. You weren’t ready to tell me the truth. Just promise me, now that I know the truth, you won’t lie to me again.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Then close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep here.”

  “Why not?”

  He gives me the biggest smile imaginable.

  “I can’t use you as my pillow.”

  “Sure, you can. I’m perfectly happy being your pillow.”