“Let me just get tomorrow out of the way. There are things between Paul and me, things I can’t tell you, but give me a break here. I’ve just lost my aunt; I was fucked up enough before that. I have a lot on at the moment without…”
“If you are about to say, ‘without worrying about me,’ don’t. I haven’t asked you to do that. I’m just trying to fit in here.”
I didn’t want to snap at him, and I was mindful that he had just lost his aunt, but he infuriated me sometimes.
“Fine. I won’t. Just one thing, stay away from Paul, please?”
I nodded, although I knew that I wouldn’t. I mean, how could I? He was still sorting out my house and there was the matter of Philip.
I left Beau on the doorstep and walked up to my apartment. I was more confused than ever. Maybe I’d pull back a little from Paul, I didn’t expect to see or hear from him for a few days anyway.
Rose and Kieran called for me on the morning of the funeral. I felt a little uncomfortable in my dress and shoes and held on to the hem as I climbed into the back of their car. Although we chatted, the closer we got to Cecelia’s house, the quieter we became. I hadn’t realized how nervous I’d be, how much my hands would shake as we exited the car and walked toward the house. Mourners were gathering in the backyard, returning there after the service. Beau, or someone, had erected a large tent and I, along with many I imagined, was grateful for that. The wind blowing off the farmland was chilly and gray clouds were rolling in.
The yard was filled with people of all ages, however I was drawn to an older man accompanied by a woman, who continually looked over to Beau. He didn’t acknowledge them at all and it didn’t take a genius to realize they were his parents. The similarity was remarkable. I also understood why he’d been so on edge. Not only had he lost his aunt, the woman who brought him up, he was in the same environment as parents he’d fallen out with.
“They haven’t spoken in over fifteen years,” I heard. Turning, I came face-to-face with Paul.
“Oh, I don’t really know anything about that,” I lied.
I was surprised he was there, if he’d fallen out with Beau, what had his relationship been with Cecelia?
“Did you come with Rose?”
“I did, she’s just getting us a drink, and Kieran is chatting to someone.”
“I think we’re moving off soon. I saw the cars arrive just now. Do you want to ride with me?”
“Ah, there you are. We’re ready to go,” Kieran said, approaching me.
I turned to Paul. “Thank you, but I have a ride.”
Paul nodded at Kieran, but I noticed that Kieran kept his face neutral. He didn’t smile at all. Kieran took my arm, like the gentleman that he was, and led me from the house. Outside a black limousine stood beside another. I swallowed down the lump that had jumped to my throat at the sight of a light wooden coffin. A single array of white lilies lay on the top. Black suited men stood with hands clasped in front of them and heads bowed as we filed past. Beau stood at the second car, dressed in a black suit, a white shirt, and black tie. He glanced over to me and gave a ghost of a smile. He nodded to Kieran but was then distracted. His parents joined him, without speaking he opened the rear door and they all climbed in.
We followed the procession to the cemetery. We made our way into a room and slid across a wooden bench toward the back. I sat with my head bowed throughout the service. Kieran handed me a small booklet and I flicked through. It contained an order of service, a couple of hymns, and a photograph of Cecelia on the back. That photograph brought tears to my eyes again. I thought fondly of her, her belief and trust in me, and her kindness.
I hadn’t heard a word being said until a familiar low tone hit my ears. I looked up to see Beau standing at the lectern. He thanked everyone for being there and celebrating Cecelia’s life. He spoke of his childhood with her, her family back in France, her parents, even. He talked about how gracious and kind she had been. While he spoke he scanned the room, coming to rest on me.
“Cecelia’s purpose in life was to help others, something instilled in her from childhood and living in France through the war. She offered her house as a place of refuge for those in need but had decided to cut back on that when she fell ill. However, Charlotte Kenny arrived and breathed some life back, not only into the house, but to my aunt as well. For a little while, for the last few weeks of her life, Cecelia had someone to care for. She’d been given that last opportunity to live the role she believed she was destined for. So I thank Charlotte for that.”
I let a tear roll down my cheek. No one turned to look at me; I doubted anyone other than Paul knew who Charlotte Kenny was. I dared not look at Rose and Kieran. I wasn’t sure whether to curse or thank Beau for revealing my real name. I sat rigid and held my breath until I felt a gentle squeeze on my hand, and I looked down to see a hand wrinkled with age and hard work. I raised my head and saw Rose smile at me. She had unshed tears pooling in her eyes.
“We know,” she whispered. I closed my eyes and sighed.
“I’m sorry, I’ll explain.”
“No need.”
I turned back to watch Beau lay a single white rose on the coffin before taking his seat again. A hymn was sung before the mourners started to file past the coffin, and the service was over. Cecelia was to be cremated, and according to Rose, a private scattering of ashes was to be arranged in a few weeks’ time.
We stood outside while people paid their respects to Beau and his parents. He stood slightly apart and held himself rigid. He looked uneasy, uncomfortable, desperate to wrench that tie from his neck and leave. I watched him fiddle with the knot, loosen it slightly. Although he wore a suit well, it didn’t seem it was his natural attire. I walked over to him.
“Thank you, for your kind words,” I said.
“I meant what I said. I hadn’t seen her so alive for a long time. Although she hadn’t known you long, she loved you.”
“Oh, I’m not sure…”
“She told me that you reminded her of herself at the same age. She saw something in you, something good, and she didn’t care that you were in trouble. She gave me hell for forcing you to move into the apartment,” he chuckled a little.
“Well, you sort of did,” I said, with a smile.
He gently shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t get much right, Charlotte, but where you’re concerned…”
He didn’t finish his sentence before he was interrupted. He scowled at his mother, who had asked for his attention, cutting him off mid-sentence and completely ignoring me. She had harsh features, cold blue eyes, and a wrinkled mouth that seemed to be in a permanent scowl.
“I was talking,” he said, grabbing my arm as I was about to walk away.
She answered him in French to which he replied. I hadn’t heard French spoken before so had no idea if the language was animated or they were arguing. Regardless, I placed my hand on Beau’s and gently released it from my arm.
“I’ll speak to you later,” I said, talking over his mother.
His mother reached out to touch his arm, maybe to guide him away from me. He pulled it back, trying hard not to make a scene. I decided it was best to walk away in case my presence aggravated the situation.
I joined Rose and Kieran at the car and we headed back to Cecelia’s.
“Do you mind if I go home? I have a headache coming and I’m not great in social situations,” I said.
“Do you need me to walk with you?” Kieran asked.
“No, please, I’m okay. I just find these kinds of things a little unsettling.”
In truth, I was anxious not to cause trouble, I didn’t want to be in the middle of Paul and Beau, and the whole day just brought back memories of my grandmother. I wanted to get out of the dress, throw on a sloppy t-shirt and jeans, and curl up in my chair.
Before Kieran could insist on walking me home, I gave him a kiss to the cheek, hugged Rose, and left.
I had been home for a few hours when I heard a knock on the apartment
door. At first I froze and listened.
“Charlotte?” Beau called out.
I breathed a sigh of relief and rose to open the door. He stood there, swaying slightly from foot to foot and holding a half drunk bottle of liquor in his hand. His hair was disheveled, his tie missing, and the top two buttons on his shirt undone. He raised the bottle high.
“Have a drink with me?” Although he wasn’t slurring, his accent was heavier.
“Have you maybe had enough already?” I asked, opening the door wide.
“Nope,” Beau said, as he sat on the sofa.
I put the coffee maker on, just in case, and watched him unscrew the cap and sip from the bottle. Inside my stomach roiled, it was a sight I’d seen many times, and it didn’t conjure up great memories.
“Tough day, huh?” I said.
“Yep. Made worse by the presence of my parents.”
“I saw, I’m sorry for you.”
“Don’t be. I don’t do sorry, or pity, or any of that fucking shit.” He took another, longer swig.
I poured two coffees and placed one beside him on the coffee table.
“Just in case you fancy something different,” I said, as I curled into the chair.
He let his head rest against the back of the sofa, and his eyes closed. The bottle of liquor dangled from one hand, and I hoped he wasn’t about to pass out and drop it everywhere.
“They hate everything about me,” he said, quietly.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Oh, yes. She tells me enough times.” Without opening his eyes, he took a long drink and I began to worry he’d end up with alcohol poisoning.
“Why don’t you have some coffee and tell me about it?”
He laughed, just the once, and not in amusement. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“I do, Beau.” I wanted to add that it might give me some insight as to why he was often an ass, not that his parents not liking him was an excuse, though.
He fell silent for a little while, and I wondered if he had, indeed, passed out. I slipped forward in the chair, waiting to catch the bottle if he let go.
“I killed my brother,” he whispered.
He didn’t say anything else but I saw his body relax and his fingers lose their grip on the bottle. I reached forward and took the bottle from him. I waited for a moment, wanting to see if he’d miss the feel of the glass in his hand, but he didn’t stir. I walked to the sink and poured the contents down the drain. I didn’t want hard liquor in my home.
I watched him for a while, his jaw fell open, and his breathing deepened. I gently pulled off his shoes and placed a pillow under his feet, resting them on the coffee table. I could have slid his legs onto the sofa but I didn’t want to wake him. I was an expert at maneuvering drunks, I’d done it enough with Damien and not disturbed him, but I thought Beau was more emotionally exhausted than drunk. To one side of him was my grandmother’s quilt. I’d last used it to snuggle under and read. I draped it over him and headed to the bathroom.
After a quick splash of water to my face, I cleaned my teeth and headed to bed. Before I opened my bedroom door, I turned off the main light, leaving just a small sidelight on in case he woke. I didn’t want him stumbling around in the dark if he was disorientated.
It must have been an hour or so later, I wasn’t fully asleep but enough to be startled by a dip on the edge of the bed. I opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the lack of light.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hoping he had sobered up a little.
“I was a twin. I don’t know the technical term but I took all the nutrients, all the goodness while in the womb. My brother died but my mother had to carry us both until it was safe for a C-section. She had one dead baby in her stomach, and one alive. I imagine that was brutal for her. But she hated me for it.”
“It was hardly…
“My fault? I know. Oh, don’t think I’m affected by what happened before I was born. I don’t harbor any guilt for that, I mean, for fuck’s sake, I could hardly have controlled that, could I?” His voice rose slightly in anger and I wondered if he truly believed that.
“She hated me the minute I was born. I don’t recall a time she ever hugged me. I had a nanny in France, and as soon as she could, she shipped me out here.”
“What about your father?”
“Too fucking weak to stand up to her. Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”
I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to know, but I was grateful for that snippet of his life.
“And before you go thinking that’s my excuse for being an ass, it isn’t. I don’t try to be, I guess I have plenty of other issues to make killing my brother pale into insignificance.”
“Beau, it’s been a long day for you. I imagine you’re exhausted. Why don’t you lay down?”
Without saying another word, he lay on his back at the edge of the bed. I shuffled to the other side and pulled back the duvet.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’ll take the sofa.”
“Lay with me, Charlotte. I won’t touch you, I just need some company tonight.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand, but I was uncomfortable with Beau in my bed. I had to remind myself that he’d had a real shitty day, past year, even. I lay back down keeping a distance between us.
I listened to him breathe an even rhythm, deep breaths in with slow exhales. The sound was therapeutic; it was as if he’d learned a technique to calm himself. Beside him, my heart was racing, which confused me. I wasn’t sexually attracted to Beau; in fact I doubted I’d ever be sexually attracted to anyone. But there was something that had me wanting to reach over, to just place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating. Whether it was a connection that ran deeper than I understood, or desire to comfort him, I wasn’t sure. He didn’t deserve anything from me, yet something pulled me toward him.
He was gone the following morning and I was grateful for that. I didn’t want the awkwardness of waking up beside him. I threw back the duvet and climbed from the bed. I took a shower, and with a towel wrapped around me, walked to the kitchen. I smiled when I saw the coffee maker already on and the black nectar waiting to be poured. I grabbed a cup and took it back to the bedroom with me.
I dressed in jeans and Beau’s sweatshirt, pulled on my sneakers and decided on a walk. The apartment felt a little stuffy that morning. The chill in the air reminded me I needed some warmer clothes. But the briskness of my walk soon warmed me. I headed for the small park and sat on a bench for a little while. Listening to the screams of delight from children that played ball and ran around had me smiling.
“I miss those days,” I heard. I startled before recognizing Paul’s voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I was taking a walk,” he added.
“That’s okay, I was miles away.”
“May I?” He indicated toward the bench. I could hardly say no.
Paul sat beside me. He wore jeans and a sweater with a leather jacket pulled tight around him. He crossed his sneaker-clad feet and stretched out his legs. Although he’d worn casual clothes when we met at the diner, he seemed a completely different person out of ‘lawyer’ mode.
“I come here sometimes to remind myself that I’m still a father.”
“You must miss her terribly.”
“I do. Every day I talk to her, as if she’s still here. I mean, she’s an adult but she’ll always be my little girl. I just wish I could see her. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of her. A few days ago, there was a blonde woman across the park, I ran over calling out her name but it wasn’t her.”
My heart squeezed at the sadness in his voice.
“It must be so hard. I don’t really know what to say.”
He smiled at me. “There’s nothing to say. I just have to keep hoping Beau will let me in, share whatever information he has. One day I’ll find her, I know that.”
“Do you know why she ran?” I couldn’t recall a time where he’d menti
oned she was pregnant.
“No, I think there were problems with her and Beau. She never told me, but I think she was scared of him.”
“Oh, he said he came home from work one day and she was gone.”
“Then that may confirm it, might it? I mean, if she wasn’t scared of him, why wait until he wasn’t around before she ran?”
It did make sense, but although Beau could be a dick, I wasn’t sure there was anything to feel scared about.
“Did he share the message with you?”
“Snippets. I’d love to be able to see it all. There could be something I might be able to decipher.”
“Maybe I can get a copy for you?”
He turned to me and tears pooled in his eyes. For some reason, and I wasn’t sure why, to see a man emotional made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to deal with that.
“That would be amazing, Charlotte. I would forever be grateful if you could.”
He picked up one of my hands and held it between his two. “You don’t know how wonderful you are, do you?”
“I…” I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate of me. It’s her birthday today, I’m overemotional,” he said, letting go of my hand.
Maybe that was partly why Beau wanted to lose himself in a bottle of liquor the previous evening.
“How old would she be?”
“Twenty-seven. I remember the day she was born.” He smiled at the memory. “I ought to go, leave you in peace. I’m having a chat with Frank, the detective at Whiteling, tomorrow. I think I have a way to get you off the hook where the DNA is concerned.”
I didn’t know I was ‘on the hook.’ Paul had told me evidence had been found in the shower but not what or that it was connected to me.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to have this all ‘go away’ for you, Charlotte, you know that, don’t you?” he said.
“I do, and I’m thankful. I’m not sure how I can repay you, though.”
Harlot Page 16
