by Fiona Harper
Hadn’t she struggled with the idea that maybe there had only been enough fuel in their relationship for a whirlwind affair? But she’d tucked that thought into the back of her mind, ignored it. Alex wasn’t a playboy, for goodness’ sake! And he’d had a long marriage with Becky—probably would still be with her, but for Becky’s spectacular departure. So there was nothing wrong with the man she’d chosen.
She’d been sipping her Runaway Train through its straw, and she let it slide from her mouth.
What if Alex wasn’t the problem? Perhaps it was her? After all, she’d hardly ever had a long-term anything. Love had always come to her in fits and spurts. It wasn’t a constant thing. There were seasons in every relationship—hot and cold, up and down. People came in and out of focus during the course of a person’s life. That would explain boyfriends who had seemed fun for a while then lost their sparkle. Sometimes people faded away altogether—like her mother—or were a foggy presence in the background, like her father.
But she’d thought that when she got married it wouldn’t be like that, that everything would finally be fixed. A sudden dryness at the back of her eyes made her blink. She didn’t want Alex to fade away!
She’d also thought that when she found the right man she’d be able to retire from being the star of the show, the life and soul of the party. Because all that had just been an attempt to delay the inevitable—the moment when it was time for her to fade into the background, the moment when people looked away.
And she’d given up her attention-seeking ways when she’d met Alex because he’d looked. Really looked. Past the glitter and giggles. And he’d kept on looking. She’d said yes to his unspoken proposal because she’d thought she wouldn’t need all the razzle dazzle to stop him looking away.
Coreen was still talking, and Jennie realised she really wasn’t being a good friend. She tuned back in and listened properly.
‘I’ve even tried going out with other men!’ Coreen wailed.
‘To make him jealous?’ Alice said, shocked.
‘No…’ Coreen frowned. ‘I’ve done that before. It’s a terrible idea. I was just trying to distract myself, forget about him.’
Just trying to distract myself.
Jennie thought about Coreen’s words constantly on the train home and in the taxi from the station.
Hadn’t she used that word in reference to herself where Alex was concerned? A distraction. That was where the heart of it lay. Distractions were, by their very nature, temporary things. Perhaps her effectiveness had worn off now, maybe because Becky’s death had finally brought him closure. Maybe he didn’t need her in that way any more. Her insides started to ache.
The more she thought about it, the more she realised that Alex hadn’t stopped distracting himself. He was still using that as his coping mechanism, the same way he always had. He was working hard—too hard—and she had the feeling it was partly by choice. This time she was the thing he was running away from.
She wanted to cry, really wanted to cry. But she clamped her jaw shut and blinked furiously. She hadn’t promised Alex she’d be his temporary distraction. She’d promised him for ever. And that was what he was going to get.
Making people sit up and pay attention was her one true gift in life.
Not enough of a distraction for Alex Dangerfield? Well, she’d see about that.
One of Jennie’s mad inspirations gripped her as she closed the front door behind her and hung up her coat. She didn’t stop there; she kept going, unbuttoning her blouse and skirt, shimmying out of them and hanging them on a spare hook. The heels she kept on.
She could hear the muffled voice of a newscaster drifting from the living room as she walked to the open door. The television was on. Only the television, its flickering light making everything seem unreal and jerky. Alex was sitting on the sofa, totally absorbed in the football scores.
Not for long.
Jennie slid a hand up the door frame and draped herself fetchingly against it. Alex must have heard her breathy sigh because his head turned, almost automatically. And then his eyes widened. If she’d calculated it right, he was only three seconds away from drooling.
She walked towards him, seeing the fire ignite in his eyes, watching it sizzle brighter the closer she got.
She smiled and stopped in front of him.
She had his attention now. Oh, yes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LATE one night, with Alex dozing beside her, Jennie rolled onto her back, tucked her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling.
Her plan had backfired. Or worked too well. She wasn’t sure which.
Saucy lingerie and lots of quality time with Alex over the last few weeks hadn’t solved anything. Yes, he was there in the moment with her when they made love, but it was the only time it happened. It hadn’t bled into the rest of their lives.
To be honest, she wasn’t sure she could take much more of this.
At least her relationship with Mollie was going from strength to strength. Jennie smiled at the ceiling. She’d never imagined being with a child that wasn’t hers could bring such joy.
More than could be said for Mollie’s father.
Being there in bed, great as it was, just wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted all the things he’d promised—his heart, his soul, for eternity. She needed more. And you know what? She deserved more. She’d hung her ‘pampered princess’ crown up, never to be used again, that day she’d sat in the church and had chosen Alex. She’d finally grown up. She was trying very hard to be the sort of woman he needed. Why couldn’t he see that? Why was she still invisible?
He always had a good sense of what time it was. Even before he opened his eyes, Alex knew it was later than he normally rose. A stab of panic hit him. He was late. There were things he needed to be doing, places he needed to be going. But before his brain could relay the signal to his muscles to contract then propel him out of bed it supplied another fact: it was Sunday.
That didn’t change much. He still felt as if dogs were snapping at his heels, that he had to keep moving or something terrible would happen. And yet…
He could feel Jennie’s warmth beside him, even though they weren’t quite touching. Last night had been incredible. Maybe nothing dire would happen if he stayed in bed a few moments longer. His warm and sexy wife was lying right next to him, and being with her was the only time the hounds were silenced, that he felt right.
He slid closer to her, ran his hand up a bare thigh. She felt so soft. It felt so good to touch her. He became totally absorbed in the friction between his fingertips and her leg, the curve he was following.
Jennie grunted and slapped his hand away.
He smiled. By no stretch of the imagination could his wife be described as a ‘morning person’. But she might just change her mind, given the right incentive. He carried on where he’d left off.
She growled and turned over and away from him, and her mutter was muffled by half a pillow. ‘Cut it out, Alex!’
He shuffled over again and kissed the shoulder that was sticking out of the duvet. Jennie tensed, then sprang out of bed. ‘Alex! Take a hint, will you!’
She picked up her robe and shoved her arms into it. He didn’t tell her she had it on inside out. It wouldn’t go down well. He had a hunch something was up.
Who said men couldn’t be intuitive and sensitive?
He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘What’s wrong?’
Jennie’s fingers shook as she tied the sash of her robe into a ruthless knot. ‘I can’t live off your crumbs any more, Alex,’ she half-whispered, glancing briefly in the direction of Mollie’s bedroom.
Huh? What crumbs?
Alex blinked. ‘Live like what?’ he said slowly, refusing to look inside himself and find the answer to that question. Jennie gave him a look that only a disgruntled wife could give and only a thick-headed husband would ignore.
‘I love you,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly. ‘But you won’t le
t me in. You won’t let me love you… I feel like our relationship is dying.’ She paused and blinked slowly before looking across at him again. ‘Do you love me, Alex, really? Or am I just a commitment you feel you have to honour?’
He obviously took too long in answering that one because she re-tied her sash even tighter and stomped from the room.
He flopped back down on the bed and stared at nothing, a horrible sense of déjà vu crawling over him. This was how it had started with Becky. Incomprehensible outbursts. Cryptic accusations. His stomach clenched. Even though he knew Jennie was much stronger than Becky, much more resilient, he couldn’t ignore the dreadful voice whispering in his ear.
It’s starting all over again. You’ll lose her. You’ll lose everything.
Alex sat up ramrod straight, his hands braced against the mattress, then practically vaulted out of bed. There was something vital he’d forgotten to research for the case he was trying next week, something that might just be key for the prosecution of a nasty thug.
He dressed mechanically, his mind already having travelled ahead of him to his study downstairs. He didn’t feel the carpet beneath his feet, didn’t know how many buttons he’d done up or even what he’d put on. Mentally, he was running his fingers along his bookshelves, selecting tomes, flicking to indexes and collecting facts. Inside his head, everything was uncomplicated, hard facts in black and white, not wispy phantom-like emotions that couldn’t be grasped let alone comprehended. He liked the black and white.
And grey. Don’t forget the grey.
‘Daddy?’
Alex looked up from the paperwork strewn all over his study desk. ‘Yes, Mollie?’
She sidled into the room, looking freshly bathed and as cute as could be in her pink pyjamas, and held up a colourful book about a ballet-dancing mouse. He put his pen down and looked at her hopeful smile. ‘Not now, okay? Daddy’s busy.’
The smile stayed, but the hopeful quality drained away. ‘Please, Daddy?’
He didn’t want to send her away, didn’t want to pretend the stuff covering his desk was more important, but the thought of snuggling up on the sofa with her filled him with terror. Every time he tried to connect with Mollie the same fog descended upon him, deadening everything until he was blind and useless. He couldn’t do it any more. He couldn’t sit curled up with her, knowing he should be feeling things he didn’t, knowing he was letting her down.
She was too small to understand at the moment, but eventually she would sense the deadness, too, and he wanted to spare her that. It would be easier for her to think that he had no choice than to realise her father didn’t know how to love her.
Perhaps this was what happened in situations like theirs—when parent and child had been disconnected before birth and too much time had passed until they were reunited again. People always said bonding was important, that new mums needed to spend lots of time with their newborns after the birth. Perhaps there was a time limit. Maybe, if bonding didn’t occur within a certain time, it never would. The connection was severed.
But then why did Mollie not feel the same way?
It was all too confusing. And, until he could find a way to make it all work properly, it was better if he kept his distance—to protect Mollie, of course.
‘Not tonight,’ he said to his daughter, knowing he was about to lie. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’
She nodded sadly and left the room, leaving the door ajar. He got up to close it, to shut the guilt outside and keep it there, but before he reached it Jennie stepped inside.
‘She was really looking forward to reading that book with you,’ she said.
He backed away and sat down at his desk, made his face conform to something resembling disappointment. He used his hands to answer for him, indicating the papers hiding the surface of his desk.
Jennie looked as if she was going to say something but then changed her mind. Instead, she headed for the door. Alex breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t want to talk to Jennie about this; he felt awful enough as it was. And he feared whatever disease he had was spreading. Sometimes he looked at his amazing wife and he didn’t feel anything then, either.
A warm thought invaded his mind. Except, of course, after Mollie had gone to bed, and he and Jennie got to spend some adult time together. Those times in bed with Jennie were islands of sensation that he was becoming more and more dependent on. At least when he was with her in bed he knew he hadn’t turned to stone.
‘Are you going to be much longer?’ Jennie asked, eyeing his desk suspiciously.
He nodded, but then he got up, walked over to her and snatched a sweet, drugging kiss. ‘I’ll be finished before bedtime, I promise,’ he said, a hint of wickedness creeping into his tone.
Weeks ago, Jennie would have laughed her sweet, husky laugh and persuaded him she was ready to go upstairs right now, but this evening she just nodded and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Alex wandered back to his desk and sat down. He put his elbows on the desk, creasing a page of notes, and rested his chin on his fists. He had the horrible feeling things might be even worse than he’d thought.
What if this thing he had—this anaesthesia—was catching? He didn’t want to believe that his vibrant, beautiful wife might fade away as he had, all the light seeping out of her, but he couldn’t ignore that things were different between them. Something must have happened, and he tried hard not to think that it was his fault, that he had infected her, too.
Almost another week went by before Jennie finally cracked. It was Saturday, and Alex was at his chambers—again. Instead of trying to talk to her about what was going on between them, he’d decided to make himself so busy that he always had a good excuse to stay late at work or disappear into his study when she looked as if she might be about to get deeper than How was your day? or What do you want for dinner?
She knew he was struggling, and she was trying to be patient, but it had been a month since the DNA test results had come back and Alex was as distant and as…absent…as ever. She was at the end of her rope. So she was going to pack a bag and when Alex got home this evening she would tell him she was going to spend a few days in her flat up in town. She needed to give herself some breathing space, give herself time to think. Give Alex some time to think, too. Maybe he’d work out if he really wanted her around or not. When he’d decided, he could come and get her.
She listlessly pulled a small case out of the cupboard, heaved it onto the bed and started opening drawers and piling stuff into it. Glittery stuff, sparkly stuff. Party stuff. While she was in London she was going to go out and have a good time. At least, that was what she told herself as she haphazardly filled the case. Better than admitting she was just going to sit in her old flat and cry.
The case was three-quarters full when she heard a noise behind her. She whipped around, clutching a shoe to her chest. Mollie had been playing in her room, but now she was standing in the doorway, her face a picture of horror.
‘Wh-what you…doing?’ Her lips trembled and her face was pale.
Jennie’s mouth moved. She didn’t want to tell Mollie. Tears started to run down the little girl’s face, and then she ran to Jennie, threw her arms round her middle and squeezed her breathlessly tight.
‘Don’t go!’ she sobbed into Jennie’s chest. ‘Don’t want you to.’
She was practically hysterical now. Jennie flung the shoe away and hugged Mollie just as hard back, then bent over and kissed Mollie’s head. ‘Shh. Don’t cry.’ But it was no use. Mollie was in full flood, didn’t seem to be able to control herself. Jennie’s throat felt swollen and tight when she spoke. ‘Shh. I’m not going anywhere, darling. I promise I’m going to stay right here with you.’
Mollie gulped and pulled away just enough to lean back and look up at her. ‘B-but you…’ her face crumpled ‘…p-packing.’
Pain hit Jennie square in the chest. Mollie’s pain, not her own. This poor little girl had had too many empty spaces where love shoul
d have been in her life. Jennie didn’t have the heart to add herself to that number. Alex might not need her any more, but Mollie did. She wasn’t going to let her own selfish little tantrum upset the fragile equilibrium they’d established.
She tried to peel herself away from Mollie, but Mollie just starting screaming and clutching at her even harder. The noise went straight through Jennie’s ears and into her heart. She gave in, hugged Mollie, kissed Mollie, until she calmed down. When she relaxed her grip a little, Jennie lifted Mollie’s face so they were looking at each other. Trust me, she told Mollie with her eyes, then she moved away slowly.
The little girl looked as if she was about to panic again, so Jennie acted quickly. She picked up her case, dumped the entire contents on the floor and threw the case back inside the cupboard. When she’d finished, she ran to Mollie. They clung to each other so hard that standing became difficult, so they crumpled onto the floor rather than let go, and Mollie ended up sitting across Jennie’s folded legs.
Jennie held her tight and stroked her hair, something she remembered her own mother doing when she’d been a little girl.
She felt this…this…fierce sense of protectiveness towards her stepdaughter, and it scared her. She felt as if she would rip anybody limb from limb who wanted to hurt her, and she wished she could just open her heart and pour the contents inside Mollie, so desperate was she for her to know how much she was loved. Jennie’s eyes were sticky and her nose threatened to drip. She hadn’t even been aware she’d been crying, too.
Eventually the crushing desperation lifted and they relaxed against each other, just breathing.
Was this what mothers felt like? It was nothing like the warm, cosy feeling she’d thought it would be. It was overpowering. Overwhelming. And very, very scary to love something this much. The sort of thing you might be tempted to run away from if it all got too intense.
