“Okay, I’ll get on that straight after this,” I said, raising my cup.
Cecelia usually took in no more than three guests in three single bedrooms at a time. I supposed she did it more for the company than the money. I drained my cup and gathered up the cleaning materials before walking up the stairs. It often disgusted me the state some guests left their room. Cecelia was a lovely woman, way too trusting, and I sighed as I saw bed linen strewn across the floor, damp towels left on the bare mattress, and a dubious looking magazine poking out from under the pillow. I opened up a plastic trash bag and emptied the wastebasket. Using just my fingertips, I picked up the magazine and stared at the cover. Two naked women entwined stared back at me. I placed it in the trash bag.
I swept and washed the wooden floor, dusted down the furniture, and then made up the bed. I repeated the process with the other two rooms, thankful they weren’t in as much of a mess. Next on the list was the bathroom. I was always very particular, making sure to bleach down all surfaces, aware of how many strangers shared the room. I loved the smell once I’d finished. It reminded me of the one time my grandmother had taken me to the local swimming pool. The chlorine smell, that I knew would hang to my hair and clothes for hours after cleaning, gave me a sense of better times.
Cecelia was in the front yard talking to a neighbor, I assumed, when I headed for the utility room. I set the bed linens on to wash and decided I’d make a start in the kitchen. It was the most used room in the house and always took the longest to clean. Cecelia would normally help, but I’d noticed over the past few days she’d seemed more out of breath, less active. Beau had said she wasn’t well and I wondered what was wrong. I felt I had a good enough relationship with her to ask. I decided to make her a cup of tea, the first time I’d tackled tealeaves and a pot, but a break and a chat would be good.
I had the teapot on the table, the jug of milk, and her cup and saucer as she walked in.
“Tea?” I asked.
“Oh, that sounds like a lovely idea. The kitchen looks great, you should have waited, I would have helped.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Cecelia. Now sit, you don’t look as well as normal.”
She sat heavily, wincing as she did. “Cecelia, are you okay?”
“No, Charlotte. I’m not, really. Beau is in a panic about it all, but it’s just my heart. It doesn’t function as well as it should, I get breathless and lightheaded sometimes. Old age, Charlotte, don’t get old!” she said with a laugh.
“I don’t think I can stop that process, but I’ll try.”
She chuckled as she poured herself a cup of tea. I watched, waiting for the smile of approval I was hoping for. Once she’d poured her milk and had taken a sip, she closed her eyes and smiled.
“Perfect,” she said. It seemed silly, but just to be able to make her a cup of tea, exactly how she liked it, made me feel great.
“You remind me of my grandmother,” I said quietly.
“How?”
“She was kind, helped everyone anytime they needed her. I miss her.”
“I’m sure you do, darling. I bet she’s extremely proud of you, though.”
It was a comment that should have had me smiling, instead it brought tears to my eyes. Not from nostalgia, but I suspected I’d be the biggest disappointment to my grandmother if she could see me now. I was lying to people that cared for me, I was trying to do anything necessary to save my own ass, and I was hoping that would be at the expense of Damien.
Cecelia reached over and placed her hand on mine. “You know, we all do things maybe we’re not proud of, but it’s called surviving, and for that…what is your grandmother’s name?”
“Esther.”
“For that, Esther would be proud. Don’t believe otherwise.”
Whether Cecelia had some physic ability or her and Beau had been chatting. I wasn’t sure which; maybe paranoia was something I needed to add to my character that I should work on.
“What happens when you’re tired of just surviving?” I said, not expecting an answer.
“You start living, Charlotte. You set your own rules, you have dreams and goals, and you reach for them. What you’re doing right now is existing. There’s a big difference.”
I stared at her for a while. Like my grandmother, she was a wise woman. Existing is all I’d been doing for four years, ever since Damien had been appointed my guardian.
“Now, help me up, let’s take a look at those sofas I want for the den.”
I cleared the table and then held her elbow as she stood from the chair. We walked out the back door and to one of the outbuildings. Thankfully, it was a little more orderly and cleaner than the one we’d been in before. In the corner were the two small sofas covered in white sheets. I made a pathway large enough, I hoped, to be able to push, or drag, one closer to the entrance.
“Oh, it’s on wheels,” I said, as it slid that effortlessly across the floor, I fell flat on my face.
It was nice to hear Cecelia laugh. I climbed to my knees to see her lift the white sheet.
“Wow, Cecelia!” Underneath was a plush purple velvet sofa. The back was dotted with silver studs, which I was sure would polish up nicely.
I ran my hand over the material, loving the feel and the way the fibers moved to give a slightly lighter shade.
“These must be nearly a hundred years old. I remember them in my mother’s boudoir, and I’m pretty sure she’d had them for years.”
“It’s in amazing condition.”
“I had them in a spare bedroom for years, but they seemed too nice to leave for some of the houseguests I seem to get now,” she laughed.
“I think they will look perfect in the den, and yes, it does seem a shame to waste them on guests,” I laughed with her.
I pushed the sofa, running from front to back to guide it through the back door and across the kitchen. But then we were stuck. I needed to lift the sofa to angle it through the kitchen door and into the hall. I didn’t want to climb over it, so ran around the side of the house and back in through the front door. With a little wiggling, huffing and puffing, and me telling Cecelia constantly to stop trying to help, I managed to get it in the den. We placed it under the large sash window and in the sunlight, the velvet looked even more opulent.
“I worry the sunlight might bleach out the color, Cecelia. Maybe we need to move this.”
Although there were shutters on each window in the house, sheer drapes as well, the sunlight would be a killer to that material bearing its age.
“I guess I could put these in the living room, guests don’t get to use that room. Then we can keep them just for us.”
The living room had a three-piece sofa in a cream floral print. Although not to my taste, I thought it would be more practical for the den.
“I think we need help to move that sofa, although I could probably get the chairs out myself.”
“Beau is away for work, maybe we could ask Rose?”
“How long does he stay away for?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Sometimes just a day or so, sometimes it can be weeks. He works for the government, all secret I imagine. I never know where he is, he can’t tell me.”
I didn’t respond but my mind was running overtime. The government?
“I’ll ask Rose when I do my shift later, but in the meantime, I’m sure I can move these chairs, and although it’s going to look odd, we’ll get the purple one in.”
It took another half-hour of scraped knuckles from handling furniture that only just made it through the doorway, and we had two floral chairs in one room, a purple sofa and a floral one in another.
“Phew!” I said, flopping down on the beautiful purple sofa. “I think we’ll leave the other one in the outbuilding until we can move that one,” I said, looking at where Cecelia had sat.
“These will look perfect in here,” she said, looking around.
The walls were covered in cream wallpaper that felt silky to the touch.
The dark wooden floor contrasted with the walls, making the room feel so much bigger. A large, ornately framed mirror hung from above the fireplace. I stood to look at it. Its bevelled glass was golden with age.
“That was my mother’s as well. She came from a very wealthy family, they had a home in Paris, as well as a winery in Bordeaux. The best French red wines come from Bordeaux, one from my family’s vineyard.”
“Do you still have family there?”
“Of course. My brother and his family run the estate now. I’ve traveled to France many times, not so much in the last couple of years, sadly.”
“You’re brother, as in Beau’s father?”
“Yes. Although he refuses to have any contact,” she sighed when she spoke.
“I didn’t realize Beau wasn’t born here.”
“No, he was born in Paris, his parents sent him here to live with me when he was very young. Unfortunately, that is the cause of the rift. I tried for years to have them reconcile, but the more I argued with him, the further he dug his heels in.”
“Is he an American citizen now?” I thought on his work for the government.
“Now he is, of course. Anyway, how about I make us some lunch?”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
Cecelia was a master at the art of making soup. Each day I was there, I’d be presented with a large bowl of various flavors. That day, it was squash with chunks of bread torn off a loaf that had recently come out of the oven.
“I’ll get fat at this rate,” I said, spooning soup into my mouth.
“You could do with a little weight on.”
“I’ve always been skinny, I guess I’m one of the fortunate ones who can eat anything and not put on weight. It was awful when I was young and in school. I was called all sorts of names, accused of having an eating disorder at one point.”
“You have a high metabolism, I assume,” she said.
I shrugged my shoulders. There had been a time I’d looked awful, not that I thought myself beautiful anyway. My hip bones had jutted out, ribs could be counted, and my collarbones made me look like I was starving myself.
“I can never find clothes that fit well, hence the jeans and t-shirts,” I said with a laugh.
“Every woman should have a wardrobe of pretty dresses, handbags, and shoes.”
“I don’t own any of those.” I raised my leg to show off a battered sneaker.
I finished off my lunch and with a kiss to both cheeks, as was Cecelia’s custom, I left to prepare for my late shift. I needed to shower off the cleaning chemicals and dust before I started at the diner.
“Afternoon,” I called out when I pushed through the diner door. A couple of customers greeted me in return.
I grabbed my apron and poked my head over the counter into the kitchen.
“Kieran, I’m here.”
“Girl, am I glad to see you. Rose is unwell, you’re on your own, do you think you’ll cope?”
Tuesday evenings were pretty quiet normally. “Of course I can. What specials do we have on?”
Once I’d written the specials on my pad, I checked on the few customers already seated and cleaned up used tables.
It was a quiet evening, which I was thankful for in one way, however it did mean tips were low. Once the last customer had left and I locked up, I helped Kieran clean down the kitchen. He’d bagged up some leftover meals for me to put in my freezer. I didn’t remember the last time I’d had to do a food shop.
“What’s wrong with Rose? I hope it’s nothing too serious,” I said.
“I don’t know, to be honest. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent nagging the old woman to go see the doctor. She’s had a terrible head for days.”
“She never said, I could have covered more.”
“She never tells anyone anything,” he huffed as he spoke.
“You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?”
“Been best friends since we were toddlers. Shame we never managed to get it on,” he laughed, and then coughed and patted his chest.
“You don’t sound too good yourself.”
He waved his arm, as if to dismiss my comment. “I’m old, that’s all.”
“You’re as strong as an ox, you are.”
He gave me a smile, flexed his biceps a little and puffed out his chest.
“Kieran, I need to get to Whiteling, it’s about eighty miles or so from here. Do you know of a bus service that could take me?”
I knew I wasn’t being honest; I was being a little manipulative. I already knew there was no bus service.
“I doubt there’s any public transport going that way. I can always drive you, if you can wait a couple of days.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You can, and I’ve offered.”
“Who will cover here?” Kieran seemed to work seven days a week.
“Got a young guy called Jack coming in tomorrow, take the pressure off me a little. If it’s okay with you, we’ll go one afternoon.”
“That would be amazing, thank you. I can pay for the gas.”
“Get away with you, girl. Now, let’s get out of here.”
Kieran walked me to the corner of my block and stood and watched until I’d unlocked the front door. I waved before closing and locking it. A bulb was out in the hallway and I climbed the narrow stairs in the dark. I made a mental note to fix it the following day.
After my third shower that day, I climbed into bed and picked up my book. It reminded me of the one left at Beau’s. I think I’d probably only managed a couple of pages before I fell asleep.
The cell ringing woke me. For a moment I lay still, totally confused as to what the sound was and where it was coming from. No one had ever called me before. I threw back the bedcovers and ran to the living room. The cell was sitting on the kitchen counter. Just as my hand reached for it, it stopped ringing. I cursed but scrolled to contacts to see who had called me. It was an unknown number.
It had to be a mistake. Only Beau knew the number, I doubted Cecelia would have called me, and if she had, her name would have shown. I couldn’t, not that I would have, call the number back as it was unlisted. Instead I left the cell on the counter and switched on the coffee maker. I decided that I might as well get up, despite it being an hour earlier than I normally would have.
It was as I walked back to the bedroom the cell rang again. That time I pressed answer in time.
“Hello?”
The sound was muffled although I could hear a voice.
“Hello? I can’t hear you,” I said.
“Charlotte?”
I could barely hear, let alone recognize the voice, and suspected that was to do with a poor reception.
“It’s Charlotte, can you hear me okay?”
The call disconnected. I doubted it was Beau and that only left Cecelia; maybe she had called from her landline. I ran to the bedroom and dragged on the previous days clothes. Grabbing my keys and the cell, I ran from the apartment and didn’t stop running until I was at her front door. For the first time since I’d been in town, the door was locked. I bashed my fists against the wood, placed my ear to it to see if I could hear her. I called out her name, I didn’t get any response. I ran around the side of the house and wrenched on the back door handle. It was also locked. At that point I knew something terrible had happened. I cupped my hands around my face and peered through the glass. The kitchen didn’t look to be disturbed.
To the side of the back door was a plant pot. I picked it up, initially hoping I might see a spare key, there was nothing, but while it was in my hands I knew what I had to do. I threw it at the glass panel in the door. Although the glass shattered, it stayed in place. Using the heel of my hand, I bashed the glass over and over until it eventually gave in. I wiped my bloodied hand on the front of my t-shirt and then reached through to open the door from the inside.
“Cecelia,” I called out.
I ran through the kitchen, and looked in the living room, it was
a mess. Furniture had been upended. I checked the den to see the same before rushing up the stairs. I hesitated at Cecelia’s bedroom; my hand shook as I reached out to turn the handle. I pulled the cell from my pocket ready to call Beau.
“Oh, God, what have you done?”
Cecelia was lying on her bed motionless, her face was pale, so very pale. Sitting on the edge with a shit-eating grin was Damien. He waved Cecelia’s cell in the air. I guessed that was where he’d obtained my number.
“Hello, Harlot. Think I wouldn’t find you?”
“What the fuck have you done to her?”
I rushed to the side of the bed at the same time as he stood. He grabbed me around my waist, but all I could see was Cecelia. I fought him hard, scraping at his skin on the back of his hands until he moved one enough for me to spin in his arms. I kicked out but I was too close. I clawed at his face, tried to punch him. He pushed me away and then punched me straight in the face. I could feel blood run from my nose. I flew at him.
Everything was a blur. I punched, kicked, bit, scratched; I even grabbed his balls at one point. He shouted, winced, slapped my face hard but I didn’t care. I felt nothing but rage until he grabbed me by the throat. He walked me backward, tightening his grip with every step. I grabbed at his hands, trying to pull them away. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs were screaming at me to gain a breath; my heart was racing so hard it hurt. Small black dots floated in my vision until there was nothing to see.
I could hear voices but they sounded so far away. I tried to open my eyes but they felt stuck together. I ached, all over. It felt like every bone in my body was protesting at being beaten. I was also cold and not sure why. It took me a moment, and a feel of my hand to realize I had no jeans on, no panties. Although I was numb, I cried knowing exactly what had happened to me.
I pried one eyelid open, it was dark where I was, but I could see slivers of light. It stunk of piss and shit, to the point that I started to gag. My throat was raw and the bile that rose aggravated that soreness. I heaved, as I did I placed my hand down on something wet, squishy, and foul smelling. I knew then where I was. On the trailer park was a communal, outdoor bathroom. Not that I ever used it, as it was never cleaned. I crawled toward the slivers of light. The bathroom was wooden, the daylight filtered in through the gaps between the crudely nailed together panels. Damien was outside with another man.
Harlot Page 11
