Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  'You'd better ring Ron, tell him we can't make it,' Saskia said.

  'Maybe you could do dinner, and I could go out. We'll tell Alan you're not coming.'

  'Or maybe I could go out and you could do dinner.'

  'No way.'

  She turned her head. 'I'm not covering for you again. You still owe me from last week.'

  Verity was leaning over, looking into a mirror that rested on the chest of drawers and touching up her makeup. Then she stood back, straightened her collar and pushed out her breasts.

  'They're not going to get any bigger,' Saskia said.

  'He tells me a handful is enough.'

  'Good job.'

  Annoyed, Verity flung the hairbrush at Saskia. It landed on the edge of the adjacent bed, wobbled and dropped to the floor.

  'I still can't see what you see in Ron. It can't be his charming personality.'

  'He's nice when you get to know him.'

  'He's a bit sleazy . . . pays too many compliments, none of which are genuine.'

  She stiffened. 'How do you know? You don't know him.'

  'Stuff I've heard.'

  'Yes, well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear.'

  'It seems to me you're in love.'

  She turned away. 'Hardly.'

  'So what is it, his good looks?'

  Verity jolted. 'You're such a jealous bitch.'

  'He must have money then.'

  There was silence.

  Saskia bolted upright. 'I'm right, aren't I?'

  The bedroom door thrust open. She held up her hand to Camilla, stopping her mid-babble. 'He has money, doesn't he?'

  Verity still did not answer and kept her eyes averted. Saskia smirked and followed Camilla downstairs.

  Her head was in a spin. She needed a man, a real man, someone like Ron, someone with a bit of money. He wasn't a bad catch. He liked to spread himself about a bit, but who didn't? How much did he have? Did he have his own place? He was not bad to look at, not bright but not stupid either. It could be worse, far worse.

  She entered the kitchen.

  Her mother was removing her apron. 'There's a tin of pilchards in the cupboard, and carrots and potatoes in the vegetable rack. Don't use more than half of the potatoes, and a third of the carrots. I'll be eating out with your dad. If you need anything else there's bread in the cupboard.' She weaved past. 'Don't wait up.'

  Saskia sighed and opened the door to the vegetable rack. It was no surprise to see that it was nearly empty, and her heart sank. How could she feed seven hungry mouths with this? Darren and Phoebe did not understand their hunger pangs, and the older children complained endlessly. She reached for the potatoes and drifted back to her ponderings.

  Was it selfish to want to leave home? She scanned the room and the rickety cupboards and yellowing wallpaper. If she left there would be more for everyone else, she would be doing everyone a good turn, and she would be removing herself from a life of poverty and slavery. Perhaps the slavery was a little extreme, although she did do far more work around the house than Verity did, and come to think of it, often her mother too. How many times had she returned home to find her mother too drunk to cook? Saskia knew it was no wonder that she had no friends. Her life was too embarrassing to share.

  Frustrated, she dropped the potatoes into the cold water and started to scrub. Some of the dirt was so engrained it would not budge, and she was tempted to reach for a knife, but her mother's warning rang in her head. 'Don't throw away the peelings. It's still food and it's the most nutritious part.' Her insides tightened. It may be true, but if her mother didn't spend so much money on herself, they could afford to buy another bag.

  She took a knife, cut them into small pieces, and dropped them into a small pan.

  Darren appeared at the doorway. 'My tummy hurts.'

  'Go and play. It'll be a while yet.'

  He pressed his arm across his middle. 'I can't, I'm hungry.'

  'Quit moaning. It's the same for everyone. Now go.'

  She ushered him away and then shut the door, eliminating the screeches and the distractions, and continued to chop the carrots. Moments later, the door opened. She turned and scowled, but this time it was her mother, dressed up and ready to leave the house. Her annoyances pounded her veins. It should be her going out.

  'Where's Verity?' Jane asked.

  'Isn't she upstairs?'

  'No.'

  She reached for a pan, slamming it onto the worktop and causing the vibration to pass along her arm. 'The bitch! She'll have gone out.'

  'Oh well. So long as one of you is here, I don't mind who it is.'

  'It's always me! This is so unfair.'

  'Quit moaning. Life sucks. Get used to it.'

  One door closed and the other creaked open. Phoebe was before her standing in her underwear and holding her skirt and top. 'This smells.'

  She snatched it from her sister, turned down the power on the gas hob, and stomped upstairs to the bathroom. It was a simple white bath set with no embellishments, a filthy linoleum floor, and a grubby towel resting on the rim of the bath. She placed the outfit into the sink and turned on the tap, but the hot water was running cold. She made a vivid exclamation before adding a tiny amount of soap flakes into the mix.

  The water was painful on her skin as she pummelled the cloth as rigorously as possible. She turned it over, worked the soap into the fabric, and stretched it, encouraging the dirt to release. Heavy footsteps pounded the stairs.

  'When's dinner?' Camilla said.

  'Soon. Go. I'm on to it.'

  'But when? We're hungry.'

  'Go! Now!'

  Her skinny form faded.

  Saskia's hands were red and puffy as she rinsed out the outfit with fresh water, squeezing away the residue of lingering soap. With the sodden outfit in her hands, she headed downstairs and into the chaotic cries of the children. Almost in unison, they voiced their dismay, each hungry, each impatient. It caused her to consider the meagre ration she was about to present, and even though Verity had done them all favour by going out, she was in no mood to thank her sister. Her thoughts were dark and she wanted revenge.

  Later that evening, having fed everyone, cleaned up, and put the youngsters to bed, Saskia flopped onto the sofa and listened to the beautiful sound of silence. However, before long her head rang with the imagined high-pitched screams and woeful cries of hunger, her brothers and sisters ever-present. She needed her own space, she needed someone like Ron to provide for her and take her away from her life of drudgery.

  The creaking sound of the outer door opened and a rush of cooling air wafted into her. She turned her head and looked at Verity, who was oozing happiness, her eyes glistening, her skin red, and her mouth curling unashamedly.

  'I've had the most fantastic evening,' she said. 'Ron likes me. I think this is it.'

  Saskia glared, wide-eyed. 'Aren't you going to say you're sorry? I've been slaving away all evening after those bloody kids.'

  'Chill! I'll do it next time.'

  'You never do!'

  Verity dropped onto the arm of the chair and then slithered down to the cushion. 'Stop your whingeing. I've got news.'

  'I've got a right to a life too.'

  'You sound like an old married woman.'

  She puffed out, folded her arms, and stared at the electric fire. That was exactly how she felt. She was only eighteen and had become a slave to housework. There was no way she would get married and have kids. However, the moment she thought it, she reconsidered. Marriage would be a wise thing to do, at least until she could pay for her own way in life.

  Her art folder hidden under her bed, containing some of her best sketches represented her dreams. She preferred to draw scenes of human life, the suffering of the unfortunate, the struggle through old age, and the energy and innocence of the young. One day, her perfectionism would pave the way to a successful future. She just needed a bit of luck.

  'Don't you want to know my news?' Verity said.

 
; She passed a blank stare.

  'Mum's pregnant again.'

  'How do you know?'

  'We were snogging beside The Black Swan when Mum and Dad appeared. She was telling him.'

  'How far on is she?'

  'Not far.' She grinned. 'She was saying she couldn't understand why she kept miscarrying.'

  'Did they see you?'

  She shook her head and grinned.

  'Have we got any herbs left?'

  'A bit of periwinkle, but probably not enough. I think we should go see Grandma.'

  'We'll do it tomorrow. Do you think she has any ideas what we're doing?' Saskia asked.

  'Grandma? I doubt she would care. She doesn't like Mum . . . thinks she's not good enough for Dad.'

  A tad of guilt emerged. 'Should we be doing this?'

  'We're doing everyone a favour. What she doesn't know won't harm her.'

  She rotated her ring. 'It's not really our decision.'

  'Who do you think would have to look after the baby? We would. Mum doesn't want another child, she just wants the financial benefits.'

  Her sister was right and her doubts faded. She thought of her hungry brothers and sisters and their scrawny bodies, grumbling stomachs, and washed out faces. Surely seven children were enough for anyone, rich or poor.

  Chapter 19

  With Megan’s left arm resting on the dining table and her right hand near her mouth, she stared through the gap in the patio doors and into the garden. She did not see the birds squawking and tussling for space at a feeder, nor the bees and butterflies hovering over flowers. Everything was a blur; she cared little for her surroundings and thought only of the confusion inside her head.

  Two lives in one body. The concept was mind-blowing and she clung to the fading hope that the memories were hers and experienced in a childhood she had chosen to forget. But she could not deny the truth. Her recollections, hidden in her subconscious, were of events that had occurred before her birth. How could that be?

  Perhaps she had made it up. Luke had said not, and told her that she had been in a deep trance and not in a position to do something that required conscious thought. He had also said that if she’d had scant recollections she would have answered his questions accordingly during the session. Puffing out, she was desperate for a logical answer. Even if Luke had been wrong and she had made it up, she would rather have guided the evidence to proving that she had witnessed the crime rather than experienced it in a past life.

  Her nonsensical thoughts swirled. She had gone over every possibility numerous times, searching for something that could explain what had happened, but she only managed to deepen her anxieties further. Her chest rose and fell with increasing frequency, and her body ached. By all accounts, Megan had been Saskia.

  It explained her desire to return to Rodley, it explained why she recognized certain people, and it explained her reason for going to Frank Fox's grave.

  She rubbed her fingers and tightened her jaw. Someone had murdered Saskia and she had avoided by the narrowest of margins the same ending. What was occurring, and for why? Was Verity her pursuer? Was the fact that Saskia had stolen Ron from her motive enough to kill?

  Chills enveloped her. She rubbed her arms and pressed them close to her body, searching for warmth and calm. Instead, she visualised a knife, blood, and death. Had she come face to face with the person who had attempted to kill her? With her head bowed, she stepped to the sofa for her cardigan and walked straight into Ben.

  He held her firm in his hands. 'Are you okay?'

  She wriggled free. 'Fine.'

  His gaze projected oppressive sympathy. She held her breath and clamped shut her mouth.

  'I can imagine how you feel,' he said. 'It must be terrifying having memories that belong to someone else, but I doubt you're alone. If reincarnation happens, we will all have had other lives.'

  'No one else remembers their other life.'

  'Saskia was killed for a reason. She must have come back to get revenge.'

  She stiffened. 'Do I look like I am out for revenge?'

  'Okay, so maybe not revenge, but something else.'

  'Reincarnation is nonsense.'

  'I can't believe you are still saying that.'

  'What else am I supposed to say? Saskia caused her mother's miscarriages. That's a horrible thing to do. I would never . . .'

  'That's not your fault.'

  'So tell me Ben, whose fault is it?'

  He reached out his hands and rested them on the sides of her arms. 'Now listen. What Saskia did has nothing to do with you.'

  Her jaw clenched.

  'I don't want to see you beating yourself up over this,' he continued. 'It will be over soon enough.'

  He drew closer. His stubble pressed onto her cheek and his arms were firm around her back. She felt safe and secure and her stiffness dissolved. At least she had someone to share this drama with, someone who cared.

  'Thanks for being there,' she said. ‘And I’m sorry for being snappy all the time.’

  'I will always be there for you, no matter what.'

  She looked at him sceptical and thought of Joshua and her secret admission of guilt. Was now the time to share it? Would he be so disgusted that he would flee? Acting in haste, she slipped free, making a weak excuse, and rushed upstairs and flopped onto the bed. When she could cope with his sudden departure, she would tell him everything, and not before.

  Her focus drifted to David’s voice in the next room. Since he was alone, she knew he must be speaking on his phone, and she did not know whom to. Regardless, his words were vulgar and her skin crawled.

  She tried to blank him out. When he spoke salaciously about a woman with yellow-blonde hair and a trim body, she darted into his room.

  He glimpsed at her, ended the call, and lowered the lid of his laptop. He was leering and proud.

  Afraid of his actions, she stomped towards him and reached to his computer. He resisted and squeezed her wrist.

  'Let me go!' she yelled.

  His eyes wandered down the length of her body, resting on her once-bruised thigh. 'Are you sure you want me to do that?'

  'Let me go you creep!'

  Surprisingly, he did. She was even more amazed when he allowed her to reach open the lid of the laptop.

  On the screen was an image of her wearing only her underwear. Horrified, she pressed her hand to her mouth. 'Where did you get this from?' she screeched.

  'I have more. Want to see?'

  She could see an array of small images on the left of the screen, scantily clad and in suggestive positions, and it caused her stomach to roll. How had she not noticed him taking them? It was a horrifying invasion of privacy. 'W-where did you get these?'

  He smirked. ‘Like them?'

  'Delete them. Now!'

  'No way. I’ll have hours of pleasure looking at these. And I know someone else who will do too.'

  She had heard enough and stomped to the door. 'I'm sure Ben would like to know about this.'

  He smirked. 'I'm sure he would like to know about Joshua too.'

  She rushed into her room, slammed the door and fell onto the bed. Her heart was hammering and she struggled to breathe. She squeezed shut her eyes, but the darkness did nothing to soothe her torment and she craved Ben's understanding.

  The first time Megan told Ben of David's antics, he refused to accept it and hid any feelings he may have had by speaking of his disappointment towards her. How he could have treated her as appallingly as he had was beyond comprehension. It was understandable that he may have wanted to protect his son, but not to the extent of calling his lover and so-called life-partner a liar.

  With her torment tensing her body, she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, and at the rippled white paint and lemon light-shade. Then her eyes dropped down to the wardrobe and units, and onto the curtains and radiator. This should be a new start, away from Ben and David. Why had everything gone wrong?

  Out of her eye-corner, she noticed the
loving gaze of her son set in a small frame. Was this her punishment? Not only had her carelessness led to Joshua’s death, but also, she was responsible for the death of an innocent man who had only wanted to steal a car. Then, and assuming the reincarnation to be true, she was to blame for Saskia’s mother’s miscarriages. She was evil and her soul tarnished. Releasing a wailing cry, she pummelled the pillow.

  'Megan?'

  Her eyes ripped open. Ben was leaning over, reaching to her hand and expressing a deep compassion.

  She leaped from the bed. 'When this is over, we're finished.'

  'Why? What's wrong?'

  'It's not what I want. I'm . . . I'm evil.'

  She ran down the staircase, banging her weight onto each step.

  'Megan . . . what’s brought this on?'

  She wanted to run, escape into oblivion, but a piece of card resting on the floor just below the letterbox caught her eye. She reached down and picked it up.

  'What's that?' he asked.

  It was a suggestion to leave, or rather a plea, a demand, and it left her in no doubt that she was in danger.

  'It's nothing,' she replied, hiding it from view.

  She kept hold and fled to the privacy of the bathroom. There, she sank to the floor

  Desperate for a break from what had become a tormented existence, Megan relented to Larry's suggestion and decided to meet him to use the art exhibition tickets he had given her. She had considered going with Ben, but she associated him with the continuing troubles, regardless of whether he was being supportive or panicking about her safety, and wanted a few hours of freedom from her thoughts. In addition, despite a piercing cry from inside, she sensed that their relationship was nearing its end, a result of the painful secret that David was bound to share. Consequently, she needed to get used to a solitary existence.

  Making a place for herself in Ben and David’s lives was always going to be difficult. At the start of their relationship, she had done her best to appease David, but she had been inexperienced in such matters and wondered if she had handled the situation appropriately. Maybe she should have been more willing to share Ben and involve David in conversations or even suggest they go out as a group. In actuality, she had wanted her lover to herself and had pushed him aside. Now she paid the price.