by Ashe Barker
The journey home through the small hours of a Yorkshire morning passes in companionable silence. It was after three when we left Fairlawns, it will be around four-thirty by the time we get home. This has been an eventful night, a night full of challenges and surprises. I feel good about what happened, what I did. What my dom made me do. But I can’t imagine wanting to repeat the adventure any time soon. I wonder if Ewan might though.
“Sir…?”
“Mmm, what is it, Faith?”
“Tonight was good. Better than good.”
“It was.” He keeps his attention on the road ahead. The M1 is virtually deserted at this time, but even so…
A few moments pass before Ewan breaks the silence. “It was good, but…?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
“Faith, just tell me.”
“Will you want to do it again? Share me with another dom, I mean?”
“Another dom? Or David?”
“Either, I suppose.”
“I would never have suggested that scene with a dom you didn’t already know and trust. I knew you’d already responded well to David, and I have absolute confidence in him.” He casts a quick look across at me. “You know I’ll never expose you to anything you don’t want. Pushing boundaries is one thing, scaring you shitless is another.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“Liar.”
“Okay. A little. But that’s good, isn’t it? Part of the experience.”
“Of course. And was it an experience you’d like to enjoy again?”
I hesitate. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Which is nervous sub code for no.”
I glance at him, apprehensive. “Are you angry?”
“Am I… fuck. I wanted you to try scening with two doms. I wanted you to trust me enough to give it a go. You did. It was fabulous. You were fucking amazing.”
“I… I see.”
“If you want to do it again, then fine. I’ll set it up. If not, no problem.” He looks in my direction, his expression serious. “Are we still good, love? No hard feelings, on reflection?”
I nod, my gesture emphatic. “Yes, fine. Absolutely fine. Sir.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“But, there’s one last thing I want to say. Need to say, I suppose.”
“Go on.”
“I was scared, worried, embarrassed, a whole lot of things, I suppose. At the beginning. I might have said no. When we got upstairs, in the private room, my courage failed me. I was going to say no, even though I had already agreed, downstairs in the bar. But there was a moment, a point when I knew it would be good. That it would be alright, and that I really wanted to go ahead.”
“You could have stopped any time. Always, you can call a halt.”
“I know that.”
He nods, smiles at me. “So, this moment…?”
“When you told me to call David sir. Then he told me that you were in charge, that I was to take instructions from you. That you were still my master.”
“I should have made that clear.”
“Maybe. But it is clear now. And as long as I know that, anything is okay with me. I trust you. I knew you’d take care of me. I trust David too, but with you it’s… more. Deeper. I know that you love me, and care about me. And you know I adore you. I’m your submissive, you’re my dom. So—anything you ask me, anything you tell me to do, I’ll do it.”
Ewan is silent. The only sound is that of the indicator signalling left as we join the M62 motorway, heading towards Bradford. I’ve said my piece, I have nothing more to add.
Ewan navigates the car from the slip road to re-join the main carriageway. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead once more. Maybe he has nothing to add either.
“I’ll never let you down. You have my word. I love you.” …or perhaps he does. I reach for him, lay my hand on his thigh, and give a soft squeeze. It’s enough.
Chapter Thirteen
“Babe, could you do me a favour?”
I roll over in bed, pressing my mobile against my ear as I do. I glance at the clock, the angular, glowing numbers flickering on my bedside table. Seven-thirty in the morning here in the UK, nine-thirty in Qatar. Ewan’s been up for hours already I gather, locked in meetings with the Qatar football hierarchy, the Qatari royal family, and a bunch of local planning authorities dealing with the details of God knows how many new stadia they want to construct over the coming decade. I’ve only just woken so my brain is less focused. All I know is, I miss him.
“Mmm, I daresay. What do you need? Any idea when you’ll be back?”
“A couple more weeks probably.”
“I miss you.” He’s been away for three weeks already. Twice daily phone calls and more or less continuous texting does not cut it. I want him here.
“I miss you too. Are you sure you can’t give yourself a few days off? I could book you a flight out here today.”
I close my eyes, considering his offer. It is tempting. Hot sun, even hotter sex. Sea, sand. Fabulous shopping. I sigh as reality reasserts itself
“Nice idea. But I’ve got orders to meet. Deadlines.”
“Pity. If you change your mind, the offer’s still open. So, this favour…”
“Right, what do you want me to do?”
“You remember I said Carrie’s brother wants to collect her stuff? From her old room?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, it seems he’s got a few days off work and can come up to Yorkshire this week. Otherwise it’ll be three months before he gets another chance. I’ve told him I’ll try to sort something out so he can get in my house.”
“You want me to let him in?”
“Could you?”
“I suppose. But are you sure? I mean, do you really want someone poking around in your house when you’re not there?”
“You’ll be there to keep an eye on him. But Mike’s a nice guy, there won’t be a problem. It won’t take that long. Just a couple of hours or so.”
“When does he want to be here?”
“Today. Or tomorrow. Up to you really.”
“Give him my number and tell him to get in touch. I’ll sort something out with him. It’s just the stuff from her room, right?”
“Right. The furniture’s mine, but any of the things from the drawers, her clothes, books, CDs—all that stuff was Carrie’s and Mike’s welcome to take whatever he wants. There are some empty boxes in the attic that he can use if he doesn’t bring his own.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“I appreciate this, sweetheart. Really.”
“I expect you to demonstrate that appreciation when you get back. Several times. I will require a lot of convincing.”
He chuckles, the sound rich and sexy in my ear. My pussy dampens, the effect instantaneous. I groan and plant my feet on the bedroom carpet.
Time to get up. Coffee calls. And perhaps a cool shower.
* * *
Ewan’s right, Mike is a nice guy. He arrives bang on time, the boot of his Volvo full of empty boxes. He’s come prepared. I spot him turning in to Ewan’s driveway and go out to meet him.
“Hello. Mike?”
“Hi. You must be Faith.”
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry about Caroline. For your loss.”
“Same goes. Ed, was it? Your husband?”
“Yes. Ed.” I brace for the recriminations I expect him to heap, if not on me then on Ed. At one time I would have taken such remarks more personally. These days I see Ed’s behaviour for what it was—the catastrophic combination of too much testosterone and a powerful machine. Fatal.
“It was hard on you too. A tragedy. So, you and Ewan are friends then?”
“Yes. He’s been very kind.”
“And now you’re repaying the favour.” Hardly. This doesn’t touch the sides.
Mike continues. “I appreciate this, I really do. It w
ould have been awkward if I couldn’t get this sorted now.”
I lead the way to Ewan’s front door, my key at the ready. “You know which room was Caroline’s?”
“Yeah. At the back, right?”
I nod and stand aside as he passes me to cart the first of his boxes upstairs. I trail after him. “Ewan says to take as much time as you need, and to help yourself to any of Caroline’s belongings. Once you’re sure you’ve got all you want, he’ll dispose of the rest. Charity shop, probably.”
“It’s been good of him to wait so long. I kept meaning to come, but, it’s been difficult. Something of an emotional journey. She was my only sister.”
“I’m sorry. I realise how hard this is.”
He turns on the landing to smile at me, his expression sorrowful. There’s the suggestion of a glitter in his eyes. I’m reminded of my own tearful efforts to sort out and dispose of Ed’s clothing, a task I accomplished within weeks of his death. Helen helped. She did most of it, in fact. I was relieved when his side of the wardrobe was emptied, his drawers ready to be filled with my stuff. And now Ewan’s too. I suspect Mike will find this therapeutic, but no less painful for that.
“Do you need any help?”
He opens Caroline’s bedroom door and steps through. “No. I can manage. Will you be downstairs?”
“I’ll be next door, working. Give me a ring on my mobile when you’re ready to go.”
He offers me a watery smile as I stand, framed in the doorway. I nod and leave him to grieve in private.
* * *
“Hi. It’s Mike. I think I got everything.”
“Great. I’ll be right there.” I press the end call button and close down the file I was working on before making my way back next door.
I’m greeted by the sight of half a dozen boxes piled up in Ewan’s hallway. One is full of books, autobiographies and books on antiques for the most part, as far as I can see. Not my taste in reading, but clearly Caroline liked them. Another box is piled high with knick-knacks and other possessions, ornaments, her mobile phone, her iPad, a set of expensive-looking speakers, a collection of fancy wine glasses. There’s a small, velvet-covered box on the top, which I assume contains her jewellery.
Caroline’s CD collection is stacked in a third box, and spills over into a fourth. I knew her taste in music, I heard it often enough through the open windows when I was in my garden. She had a fondness for Bon Jovi, Nickelback, The Script, Kaiser Chiefs, and all those are represented here. The rest of Mike’s choices seem to be her clothes. By no means all of them, Ewan will need to make a trip to the Barnardo’s shop in the village, I expect. I daresay I’ll help him with that. If he wants me to.
“Did you get everything? Ewan won’t mind if you want to come back another time.”
“No, this is it. I left the rest upstairs. It’s all tidy.”
“Okay. Do you need a hand to load this lot into your car?”
“Thanks. You can take the clothes if you would. I’ll manage the books and other heavy stuff.”
Between us it doesn’t take long to stack the boxes in the huge rear of Mike’s Volvo. Mike has already let the rear seats down so there’s plenty of room. He could easily take more stuff if he wanted, but he does seem adamant that he has all he came for. The driver’s window glides down and he waves to me as he reverses out of the drive. I give him a final salute as he disappears along the road taking what’s left of Caroline with him.
The end of an era, and I can’t say I’m sorry.
I turn and go back into Ewan’s house. I wander upstairs, stopping at the door of what used to be Caroline’s room. It’s ajar, so I push gently and step inside.
Mike told the truth, he has left it tidy. The cosmetics are still on the dressing table, but now arranged in a neat row. It’s as though Mike picked them up, perhaps considered adding them to his collection, but thought better of it and replaced them.
I open the wardrobe door. Maybe half the clothes are gone. The bookcase against one wall is virtually empty, the dressing table cleared. I open the top drawer to find that empty. The second one too. I crouch to check the bottom drawer.
This is where Mike has stored the stuff he left behind. He’s left a copy of the National Trust Handbook from 2013, a pile of magazines, a rolled-up poster sporting a picture of the Grand Canyon. I wonder if Caroline ever went there.
I lift the magazines to find a small stack of birthday cards underneath. I recall Caroline had a birthday about six weeks before her death; perhaps these were her last cards. I wonder if Mike even knew they were here—surely he’d have wanted these. These are personal.
I lift the cards out and spread them on the bed.
For a wonderful daughter.
To my sister, on her birthday.
Happy birthday to a dear friend.
For the One I Love, on her special day.
I stare at the collection in front of me, my stomach churning. The One I Love? I know messages on cards are cheesy, not heartfelt. People just make do with whatever they can find on the newsagents’ rack. But Ewan told me, on more than one occasion, that he did not love Caroline. So why, then, was he sending her a card just weeks before she died, saying that he did?
My fingers tremble as I pick the card up, the black front embossed with a metallic red heart. It certainly looks the part. Lover-like. Affectionate. Sexy. I open it to read the message scrawled inside. The familiar handwriting leaps off the inner page, screaming at me.
For my dearest, beloved Caro, on your birthday.
I love you, and I can’t wait until we can be together for good.
Yours always.
E
I drop the card, my heart lurching. I cover my mouth with my hand, the gesture instinctive, my disbelief absolute. No. It can’t be. No!
No, no, no!
Not Ewan’s handwriting.
This card came from Ed.
My Ed. My husband, Ed.
How? Why? When?
I stand, pace the room blindly, my hands in my hair as I attempt to make sense of this.
Ed? Ed?
Was this some sort of joke? Some meaningless flirtation? Wishful thinking on Ed’s part? Surely, it must have been. He fancied Caroline, I knew that. He made no secret of it. But to send her a card? And why did she keep it? She must have hidden it. Why?
Did this mean something to her as well? Were they…?
No, impossible. I’m not buying that. There has to be some other explanation. There must be.
I whirl and run from the room, narrowly avoid pitching headfirst down the stairs in my mad rush to escape. At the front door I stop, turn on my heel, and march back upstairs. I grab Ed’s card from the bed, leave the rest scattered there. I march out, slamming the door behind me.
Back in my kitchen I prop the card on the table and stare at it. My initial shock receding, I sift back through my recollections of Caroline and Ed, both separately and together. Did I ever see…? Were there any clues? Am I reading more into a silly birthday card than there really was?
Ed worked from home. I was out at work all day back then, commuting to Leeds and back. Conveniently out of the way. Caroline worked part-time as a driving instructor. Most of her pupils wanted lessons at weekends or in the evenings so she was often here all day too. They had no shortage of opportunity. But even so.
I wish Ewan were here. He’d know what to do, what to think. He’d be able to make sense of this.
Or would he? Why should he find sense where there is none?
And now they’re gone, both of them long gone. No one to ask. No way to know.
Do I want to know?
Yes! I have to. Need to.
An hour later I’m still glaring at that lump of black paper. How can something so trivial, so unimportant, so fleeting, carry such significance? Damning evidence, that on its own means nothing. Tells me nothing. And everything. There must have been more. Some clue, some… some something left
behind.
If only I’d known, suspected. I could have searched her room. If there had been any sign, any residual trace of Ed left behind there, I could have found it. But even if there was, Mike probably has it now; he took her personal possessions. I toy with the notion of phoning him, asking him to come back so I can check through his boxes, his memories of his only sister. Or maybe I could go to his hotel—he mentioned he’s staying at the Holiday Inn in Bradford.
I dismiss that notion. What would I say? That I believe his sister might have been screwing my husband, and could I just rifle through her things to find some way to prove it?
Hardly.
That just leaves…
I dial Ewan’s number, hoping that he won’t be tied up in a meeting, or in a dead zone somewhere. The connection takes half a minute to navigate the stratosphere and finally reach him. I hear the dial tone, and close my eyes.
Please be there. Please answer.
“Hi, darling. All go okay with Mike?”
“Ewan? Sir?”
“Faith? Are you alright? You sound upset.”
“Can you talk? I mean, I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
“Of course I can talk. What’s wrong? Is it something to do with Mike?”
“Yes. No. I found something. In Caroline’s room.”
“Yeah? What? What did you find?”
“Birthday cards.”
“I see. Cards. Cards she was going to send?” His voice is level, enquiring. It’s easy for him.
“No. Her cards, from her birthday. Just before she died.”
“Right. Okay. It was her twenty-eighth birthday a couple of months earlier. I missed it because I was away.”
“Did you send her a card?” I think I probably know the answer to that already, but I ask anyway. I trust Ewan, and I’ve already seen the evidence of Ed’s deceit with my own eyes, but still I need to hear him dispel any last shred of doubt that might remain.
“Of course.”
“What did it say on it?”
“How the fuck should I remember? It’s over a year ago now. Anyway, you won’t have found that. It was an e-card. Unless she printed it off, I suppose, though I don’t see why she would.”
