One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Donna Alam

  Chapter One

  ‘Habibti, who is this?’

  My shoulder warms under the weight of Kai’s hand, his thumb massaging the blade almost pointedly. Tucking the sheet tighter under my arms, I can feel myself shake, rage extinguished by a blanket of shock. Never in a hundred years, hell, in a millennium, could I have anticipated Shane turning up on my doorstep in Dubai. I hardly left a forwarding address.

  ‘Habib . . .’ Shane’s eyes are now saucer-wide. ‘You haven’t changed your name, have you? Gone whatsit . . . changed religion, ‘cos your mum’ll go spare!’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’ The tips of my fingers tremble as I hold them to my lips. ‘It means darling,’ I mumble robotically, my stomach beginning to feel sick.

  Instantly, Shane’s blue eyes go from saucers to slits. His whole posture changes as he straightens, bracing his hands on the sides of the doorframe. This is obviously for Kai’s benefit, not mine. For a moment, I’m grateful he’s behind me, because at least I can’t see his expression.

  ‘Mate,’ Shane drawls, his accent excessively pronounced. This isn’t the Shane I know, the man from Ascot, the enclave of Brisbane that’s as posh as it sounds. This is Shane, the dick head. The one who, in times gone by, liked nothing more than to cause trouble and brawl. For fun. ‘I dunno about ‘round here, but where I come from calling another bloke’s girl darlin’ gets your teeth smashed down the back of your throat.’

  Despite his posturing, I know he gets it. I’m dressed in a bed sheet and Kai is shoeless and wearing not much more. You don’t need a Ph.D. to work out we’ve been doing the naked dance. I’d imagine this is enough to point out that I’m no longer his girl. That and the fact that I mailed back his ring.

  Part of me—a big part—wants to gloat. Ask him how it feels, seeing the evidence of someone you professed to love doing someone else. It hurts, I know that well enough. And while it might be kinda satisfying to hear just how much it hurts, it might also go some way to explaining how he can look so bloody smug.

  ‘Have you knocked your head or something?’ I don’t give Kai time to answer, don’t want him involved.

  Grasping the edges of the door with the intention of slamming it closed, even if it is on his fingers, I end up stumbling over the sheet and being caught by two sets of hands. The hands struggle to right me, grabby and possessive, like housewives fighting over something in a department store bargain bin.

  ‘Get off! Leave me alone!’ With one hand, I push them away, the other still clasping the sheet at my chest.

  ‘You heard her, piss off!’

  This from Shane, puffing his chest like a gorilla in my midst, as he attempts to step over the threshold to a wall of Kai.

  As Kai straightens almost languidly, his demeanour is utterly unconcerned, but I can see the suppressed fury jumping in the pulse in his jaw. His movements seem to belie the way his weight-bearing shifts, preparing to protect me. Or maybe half preparing on a fight. It’s not an aggressive stance by any means, but he seems to grow larger, despite his already considerable height advantage over me and probably three inches over Shane. Not that it matters. Appearances can be deceptive. Shane may be a lot of things I don’t like, but he also happens to be very good with his fists from way back.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to make me? Take this outside?’ By Kai’s tone, anyone would think he was discussing stepping out for nothing more than a breath of air.

  I step between the posturing pair before words come to blows.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, Shane?’ My hair has fallen across my face and I shove it behind my ears.

  Eyes flinty, Shane’s attention slowly lowers to me. ‘I came here for you.’ He says this like it’s obvious, like he’s expecting me to just fall into his arms.

  ‘Seriously?’

  A hand finds a place on my hip, which I appear to have cocked in a moment of supreme attitude. Shame the effects are concealed by swaths of gazillion thread count Egyptian cotton.

  ‘Katie, you just up and left. The house is still full of your stuff and—’

  I can’t help it; this isn’t the response I would’ve envisioned, if I’d anticipated him turning up at all. With the tips of my fingers, I push him hard. The effect is less than satisfying.

  ‘So, what? You decided you needed to talk to me for logistical reasons? You couldn’t have just put it all into storage and sent the bill to my mum?’

  ‘Where d’you think I got the address?’ Unmoved, quite literally, he folds self-satisfied arms, his next words hitting like a smug accusation. ‘Like you knew she would.’

  My blood begins to boil.

  ‘What the fuck, Shane!’

  My hands are in the air an instant before they’re needed to grab the sheet as it almost falls. But I’m not sure who’s most shocked by my temper: him or me. Even after I found him sprawled over a half-clad stripper, I never raised my voice once. Now I’m yelling and pushing him, and honestly, I think this is more to do with my disappointment of Kai.

  ‘Habibti, go and dress.’

  The concealed reason for my ire places his hand on my shoulder once more, turning me from the door. The very essence of distaste washes across his face as he eyes Shane over my head.

  ‘Not on my account, mate. I’ve seen it before. Might even have some pictures somewhere.’ Shane ends this statement with a smile three parts sneer, the absolute shit. ‘And who the fuck are you?’

  Our awkward party of three watches Kai’s finger as it glides across my bare collarbone, drawing down the small distance between bone and breast. His finger comes to rest at the edge of the sheet, where he rubs it between forefinger and thumb. I’ve barely the opportunity to suppress the resulting shiver when Kai opens his mouth and spoils the effect, his tone derisive—a cut-glass contemptuous drawl.

  ‘Do I really need to spell it out? If you were any closer, you’d undoubtedly smell me on her skin.’

  I’m aware my mouth is open, probably flapping like a landed fish, instantly reminded of the conversation that forced me to open the door wearing this bloody sheet in the first place.

  ‘You . . . you . . . just . . . stay out of this,’ I grate out, anger shimmering across my skin as I try to pull away as his arm bands across me, locking me in.

  ‘I get it.’ My head snaps back at Shane’s at his contrite tone. He slides a hand roughly through his dark-blond hair, his gaze now on his shoes as they worry the edge of the welcome mat. Ironic, or what? ‘He’s a revenge fuck. Didn’t take you long though, babe.’

  If I’m a fish out of water then he’s a bottom feeder. A crud-sucking leech.

  ‘How the fuck dare you! You screwed a stripper! In our new home!’

  Tears prick like glass in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I dash them away with the back of my hand, determined not to sob, to not be that girl. To not give him the satisfaction.

  ‘I’m so sorry—I got caught up in it all, it was a huge mistake!’ Excuses continue to fall from his mouth as he holds out placating hands. ‘I am so so very sorry, babe. I was an arsehole—I get that. I told myself what happens on a buck’s night—’

  ‘Stained my sofa!’ I yell, feeling like this is an important point to make, for some reason. Maybe I’m mourning the loss of my corner suite as well. ‘And your buck’s night was the week before, you prick.’

  With this, at least, he has the sense to look contrite. ‘I know. That’s what I was trying to say. I panicked, got cold feet. Screwed up! The thought of only ever being with you . . .’ Horror swims through his eyes as he pleads again. ‘Katie, I need you to give me a second chance. I’m sorry—’

  ‘Sorry you got caught, more like.
Just . . . just leave.’ I clench my fists by my sides, determined not to lash out further, despite my right fist tingling with the desire to meet his square chin.

  ‘What happened to for better or for worse?’

  And I laugh. One hand on my chest. A deep laugh that sounds like it’s been dragged from the depths of my toes.

  Really? I don’t remember him being that dumb.

  ‘We didn’t get that far before you got caught with your dick hanging out. Guess who caught the worse end of that?’

  I don’t want to hear his bullshit, don’t want to relive the whole ordeal, that’s why I left. Poor Kate cheated on by her fiancé. Poor Kate couldn’t keep her man.

  Shane smiles back at me, uncertainly. Or it could be wind. Looks painful enough.

  ‘But, babe—’

  I hold up a hand, the other reaching for the door handle. ‘Don’t. I mean it; you’ve got nothing I want to hear.’

  ‘—I came all this way for you. For us.’ His tone is so sorrowful, his words would convince most. But then again he’s proved himself to be a pretty adept liar in the past. Fool that I am.

  ‘On your way to that conference? Gee, I feel so special.’ Maybe he thinks I’ve forgotten he’s due in the UK this week for work. He hasn’t flown all this way to see me. He’s just stopped off on the way.

  ‘No, I came early,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘Rearranged the whole thing. I needed to see you, Katie. We need to talk.’

  I spin back on my heel. ‘That was the whole point of me leaving. I never wanted to set eyes on you again.’

  ‘Babe, you don’t mean that.’ His hand reaches out and before I know it’s happened, I find myself behind Kai, his fingers tight on my wrist as he tucks me close.

  ‘You heard her. She’d like you to fuck off.’

  His voice is murderously low, the muscles of his bare back, coiled and tense, shift like a current under my hand.

  ‘What you gonna do about it, pretty boy?’

  I’d give Shane points for bravado if he wasn’t seriously pissing me off.

  ‘Leave it.’ I wrap my hands around Kai’s curled arm and try to tug him away. It’s like trying to move marble.

  Cold fingers of anxiety raise the hairs on my neck because, Kai may be the taller of the two, may look like he can take care of himself, but Shane is dangerous. Does boxing for fitness. Grew up tough.

  ‘Please, Kai. It doesn’t matter.’

  His hand touches my cheek, his eyes warm on mine. ‘Sweetheart, it absolutely does.’

  Shane’s head recoils. Kai’s fist retracts—I didn’t even see his arm move until its retreat. I might squeal a little as he lunges out into the hall, both of their bodies bumping off walls and doors in an all-out brawl.

  ‘Stop! Stop it, for God’s sakes!’ I’m yelling, standing in the hallway, the welcome mat like needles beneath my bare feet. ‘You’re acting like yobs!’ Kai’s forearm pins Shane against the wall by the neck, causing splotches of pink and purple to burst across his skin. ‘Stop, Kai, please!’

  My yelling seems to pierce his intent, eyes still flashing viciously as they cut to my face, seeming to search for some kind of sign or recognition. Of what, I couldn’t say. After an endless moment of staring, his head turns, dark eyes now pinning his captive against the wall.

  ‘If she wants to see you, she will call. You will not approach her again, is that understood?’

  ‘You her fucking keeper?’

  Shane’s sneer doesn’t last long as the arm rams against his neck once more, the back of his head thumping the solid wall, a wheezing grunt forced from his chest.

  ‘I said. Do. You. Understand?’

  ‘Come back inside, Kai, please.’ My voice is softer now, anger ebbing away and replaced once more by utter shock.

  ‘Come near her again and I promise you’ll learn what it is to be really hurt.’

  With one last burst of pressure, he moves his arm, leaving Shane bent double, gasping and rubbing his neck.

  ‘Please, Katie. I’m staying at the airport hotel,’ he wheezes, the back of his hand touching a raw spot on his lip. ‘I love you.’

  ‘You had no right to come here,’ I answer. ‘Not anymore.’

  Kai’s bare feet are in my line of sight as I step in through the front door, closing it quietly behind. He doesn’t make any attempt to come closer as I raise my hurt and humiliated eyes.

  ‘Well, you wanted to know what brought me to Dubai.’

  His head moves just once in acknowledgment before he turns away. Standing at the window, he stares out at the pale-coloured buildings beyond. ‘I’ve known about him, about your relationship, for some time.’

  Stunned, all I can manage is a breathless sort of, ‘How?’

  His answer is a shrug tinged with irritation, like an invisible coat a size too small.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I had to know more about you.’ Without seeing him move, his large hands are on my bare shoulders. ‘Do you think I really just want to be your friend? I had to know who you are!’

  Teeth clenched, his jaw flexes as he shakes me, just once, the ends of his anger and adrenalin, pouring like quicksilver down my spine.

  ‘I don’t know what you want!’ I cry, struggling to shake free of his grip, angry at him, angry at myself for my reactions. And through it all, through the anger rolling across me in waves, from the fire in his eyes to the fingers tight at my arms, I want him. Want to wrap my hands around the back of his neck, drag him to the floor. Devour and be devoured.

  His fingers tighten like the teeth of a trap. In an instant, his mouth is on mine; hard and unforgiving, demanding a response. Eyes screwed shut, I desperately want to meet him, fight him with both tooth and nail, but I don’t. Battling to keep my mouth soft to his hard touch, my hands lie limp at my sides, determined not to participate. Determined not to reach out.

  He pulls away, and I blink, half expecting him to push me further, half hoping he’ll push me up against the door. Instead, he steps away and grabs his jacket, slung carelessly last night on the chair. The air is cold as he pushes past me. Pulling open the door, he steps through it without looking at me once.

  Chapter Two

  Today is destined to be a very bad day. I know this as I stare at the ceiling, my body tense and aching, and it isn’t even dawn yet. If I were poetic, I suppose I could say my sheets are tangled with memories, the shapes of us lingering there. In reality, nights of tossing and turning will make your bed an uncomfortable mess. I’ve barely left it this whole weekend, preferring to lie here torturing myself, replaying it all in my head: the bombshell that pretty much detonated our relationship. His carelessness. Our differences. How can something that means so much to me, mean so little to him?

  So, my bed is a mess, my head is fucked-up, and my body feels like a slinky toy a dog chewed up.

  And still, I revel in my misery, a sadistic kind of wallowing, in a bed that smells of Kai. Of his cologne. Of sex.

  If I had any self-respect, I’d change the sheets. Maybe stop hugging his shirt.

  His watch lies on the nightstand, shoes discarded on the bedroom floor. In a pique of anger, I use my heel to viciously kick one under the bed.

  I’d half expected him to call yesterday, maybe using his watch as an excuse, so I’d showered and slipped on a pretty sundress. Practised my indifferent face just, you know, in case. Crushing self-sabotage. I’d crawled back into bed in my dress, a Saturday evening alone, fuelled by self-pity and sponsored by copious amounts of fermented grape juice. The kind that Kai probably wouldn’t even classify as wine. My liver aches as a consequence.

  Dragging my legs from the twisted sheets, I force myself into movement and totter into the kitchen on sustenance starved limbs. After coffee—black—the milk, like my relationship, has soured, I shower in some pretence of normality and shove on some clothes before calling a cab.

  If anyone at work asks why I’m so early, I’ll tell them I peed the bed.

  You see, I
need to leave early, before Rashid arrives to take me to work. Or not as the case may be. I don’t know where I stand in terms of Kai, and more frighteningly, I don’t feel ready to find out. So I tell myself I need to leave before Rashid arrives, ignoring the fact that I lack the composure to find out that he won’t.

  My overnight bag sits on the floor next to my desk and at the front of the class. I’ve decided to spend the night with Niamh. I plan to tell her about my unexpected visit from Shane, watch her rant and rage as she supplies me with comfort. And probably more wine. Preventing me from thinking about Kai. Hopefully. Somehow I need to move on, make peace with it all. I kicked him out. Wanted him gone. I’m pretty sure this is what’s called the end, despite how this makes me feel now.

  A morning spent in the classroom leaves me feeling like I’ve been wading through mud, then lunchtime approaches and with it my weekly playground duty. The prospect doesn’t much improve my mood. I leave the classroom with a bottle of ice-cold water in my hand, despite Sadia’s dubious protestations that cold water makes people ill. Give me anything other than ice-cold water in this heat and I’ll bring back liquid hot enough to brew tea. I refuse to drink room-temperature water and I don’t care if it does give me a sore throat.

  The heat is oppressive, and my thoughts borderline obsessive, as I stand wilting in the shade. I try very hard to focus on the job at hand—I’m in charge of children for God’s sakes—but images of that night continually flood my mind. Kai’s cool response to Shane at the doorstep, the humiliation I’d wanted to hide. His eyes, hot with disgust, as he’d held Shane by the throat. None of it makes me feel positive. I feel weak. Foolish. And more than a little bit shit. And I told him to leave, which is the icing on the cake. I’m such a fucking idiot.

  Like a murder of crows, my fellow teachers huddle at the end of the quad, their black abayaat billowing in the hot breeze. I imagine their cawing. Talking about Kai, about me, about our “dalliance”. In fact, I’d put money on their doing so if gambling wasn’t illegal here in the UAE.