Wicked Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  The room he leads me into is stunning. Intricately embroidered gold, silken drapes frame the six double height windows that span the far wall. Several sofas are scattered around the room, and imposing oil portraits hang on the vast expanse of wall. Dark colours saturate the paintings of sombre looking nobility in their finery, which aren’t helping with my general unease. But Cal was right, there is tea laid out and delicate cakes tiered on an elaborately carved antique sideboard. My tummy rumbles and my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment at the noise; it was loud.

  Cal chuckles. “Here let me go change Pip, while you grab something to stop that bloody racket.” He nods toward the display that wouldn’t look out of place in a Parisian patisserie. He tries to pull Pip’s little body, but a reflex grip reaction means I have to prise her chubby hands from around my neck. I get a swirling, hollow sensation when Cal eventually lifts her from me; a loss of body heat and more. Cal leaves the room, but I don’t make for the cakes right away. Instead I walk over to the window. This really is a beautiful spot. The gardens stretch away and blend seamlessly into the open fields, which disappear into the horizon. Not another building in sight; no roads I can distinguish. Complete solitude, and very peaceful. I look down at the highly polished floor, I didn’t hear the door open but I make out his voice. I can see my reflection in the floor, it’s so shiny and I can see the colour drain from my face.

  “Good evening, Artemis.” His face imperious, his jaw clenched as his cold eyes regard me. They look hard, like black granite, but I know they’re a deep blue. I know this because I have the same eyes. My father continues to slowly draw his gaze up my body, his lips thin with obvious displeasure at the picture before him. Two years and nothing has changed; the same look of distain and disappointment. No, it is more than that. It’s outright loathing. I disgust him. Well, the feeling is entirely mutual. He remains still, but I take an involuntary step back. No…just no. “I think you should take a seat. We have a great deal to sort out, and I have a dinner party to attend this evening.” His strides were full of purpose as he moves into the room. I take the opportunity to step behind the sofa as he is rounding it, and walk directly to the door. I have nothing to say to this man. I halt in my tracks as two huge men block the doorway. Each easily six foot ten and almost as wide as they are tall .Smartly dressed in stiff white trousers and liveried polo shirts, although the logo is a little too small to read without staring. Still, they make an extremely effective blockade. A small gap opens and a smaller wiry looking man passes between the two men. He is carrying a clip board and wearing a doctor’s white coat. His name tag says as much, but the clarifying occupation beneath his name stops my heart from beating and I grasp my chest at the sudden tightness.

  He holds his hand out for me to take. “Good evening, Artemis, I’m Doctor Smith, the consultant psychiatrist. I am here to evaluate you. Would you take a seat, please?” He motions to the sofa, where my father is now sitting. I can’t move. I want to leave but I’m paralysed by fear, making it impossible for my body to move.

  As calmly as I can, and still to this day, I’m impressed I managed to speak with such calm clarity.

  “Thank you, Dr. Smith, but that really won’t be necessary. My partner was just dropping off a package but I am leaving now. I don’t know what my father has told you, but we are estranged and I would like to leave now.” I smile but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Sadly, he returns a similar insincere expression.

  “I understand. This really won’t take long. It really is in your best interest to co-operate, Artemis. Estranged or not, you are still a minor, and I know your father and mother only have your best interests at heart.” He takes my elbow and leads me to take a seat, as I try to understand what is unfolding here. My parents both washed their hands of me two years ago, when I refused to have an abortion. Why are they here now? What could they possibly want? Where is Cal? Where is Pip? I swallow the dryness in my throat and thank the doctor when he passes me a glass of iced water. He doesn’t seem so bad. I just have to remain calm even as my heart is racing with uncertainty.

  “Where is Cal? I think he should be here–” Then I look over to the door. The two men mountains still guard it but it opens and my spirits lift for a moment, but dissipate just as quickly as my mother scuttles into the room and rushes to my father’s side. She won’t make eye contact with me, she won’t make a sound, and she won’t back me up–ever. My father interrupts.

  “He’s gone, Arti,” He stretches his hand as if to give me comfort, but I recoil from his touch. “We are all you have now.” If he is trying to sound remorseful, he fails miserably with the upturned cruel curve of his lips.

  “No! I don’t believe you. He wouldn’t abandon us.” I try and keep my voice even, but the panic seeps in and causes my voice to crack.

  “Us?” The doctor raises a brow.

  “Yes, us!” I snap. I know this is escalating out of my control, but I can’t stop it. “Pip–our baby. Cal would never abandon us.” I look at my father’s impassive face, my mother shifting closer to him as if she can get comfort from that soulless iceberg. The doctor scribbles something illegible on his pad. I stand abruptly and he drops his pen.

  “The baby you brought with you is now safely on his way to his parents. You need to understand the seriousness of what you have done.” The doctor’s words hit me like a freight train and I curl from the impact. My chest is tight, as I fight to draw in some air. God, the pain–unbearable pain tearing my insides to shreds.

  “What? What the fuck are you talking about? Pip is my baby! Cal is the father and I want to see them now!” The doctor has calmly stood and is unmoved by my hysterical screeching.

  “I told you she was delusional. I just worry what else she is capable of?” My father shakes his head solemnly, even dropping his forehead in his cupped hands in fake desperation. Oh my God, I have to get out of here.

  “All right, I think everyone should calm down” The doctor waves his hands in a soothing motion, encouraging me to take my seat again, but I am too strung out. I shake my head at his suggestion, but draw in a steadying breath. The doctor waits for me to look up. “Look, let me go and check something. I will be right back.” He offers me a kind smile and I actually feel my shoulders relax. He is going to sort out this…this… hideous misunderstanding. He leaves the room followed by the two guards.

  “He’s not coming back.” My father coolly informs me.

  “The doctor?” I ask, as laughs at my misunderstanding.

  “No, Arti, not the doctor. He is definitely coming back. Your no-good, waste-of-space, Euro-trash boyfriend. He is not coming back and neither is that bastard grandchild of mine.” His eyes are wide as I fly at him. Five foot six of slight build but utter rage pummelled him into the back of the sofa he was perched on. My fists are clenched and I take short, sharp jabs into his chest and stomach, just like my Euro-trash boyfriend taught me.

  “You can’t take my baby away from me!” I scream, pounding as hard as I can, spit flying from my mouth; my hair is loose and wild. I must look as crazy as I feel. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, fired by hatred and hurt.

  “I already have. You have no legal rights. You will be declared mentally incompetent. You are pretty much guaranteeing that with this behaviour.” His words stop me short, his face distorted with cruel amusement. He’s right, I am acting like a crazy person; rightly so but this is the last place I need to have my meltdown witnessed. I blow out the anger in a long held breath and unclench my fists. I pull back and focus on the man in front of me. He is a stranger. There is not a single thing I want from him…no that’s not right. I want him to leave me alone.

  “Just leave me alone…please. Just leave us alone.” I plead. I chance a wasted glance at my mother. “I don’t want anything from you. You never have to see me again…just let me go and give me back my baby.” My throat closes and I have to fight the lump that is lodged there.

  “If it were that simple I would, but you have my name and I
will not let my legacy end with this dirty little moment in our history.”

  “Always about the fucking name! Keep it; I want nothing to do with it. I just want my baby! You can’t just take her from me…there are laws!” My voice is rising again as I feel myself spiral out of control once more.

  “There are laws. You always were so bright, but I only need one parent to sign the adoption papers, since you are in no fit state to make the choice.” His vile smile chills me to my soul.

  “Cal would never do that.” Tears instantly wet my cheek. I am so out of my depth with the evil before me. I need Cal. I need Pip. I need my family.

  “He already has. What do you think he was dropping off?” He laughs and all I see is a haze of red mist. My hands clamp high around his neck, where they squeeze, grip, and twist the air from the bastard’s lungs. Flexing and clenching, my nails dig into the wrinkled skin on his strong neck. Even as his hands fly to grab my wrists, I can see the panic in his eyes.

  “I am going to do it. I am going to squeeze the last breath from your bastard body. I hate you…I fucking hate you,” I promise him.

  “Do you mind, doctor? I can see that she’s settled, but I would like a private moment with my daughter before we leave her in your capable hands. You are certain she can hear everything, yes?” My father glances over his shoulder at the nodding doctor, and with two strides he’s by my side. Waves of nausea churn in my stomach.

  “Of course, I understand, and yes she can hear everything. Come, Lady d’Aubeney, let me escort you to the guest lounge. We are no ordinary private hospital for patients with behaviour problems, you know.” He chuckles and leads my mother by her arm. “I believe the bar will be open now and they do a wonderful strawberry mojito.” I would gag and punch something, if I could, but mostly, looking into my father’s eyes, I would kill, if I could. The door closes and my father leans into make sure I can hear his low whisper.

  “Oh yes, you can definitely hear me, can’t you, Arti? Good because I want you to hear this.” He draws in a breath and my chest rises in unison–involuntary as it may be. I hate that I breathe the same air as him. “Fifty thousand pounds, in case you were wondering. That was the price I paid that piece of shit you loved. Fifty thousand pounds for your own daughter. Just thought you should know because I can see the hatred in your eyes; but know this, you can hate me all you want but at least I didn’t sell my own child. He didn’t even negotiate. He never loved you. I told you that back then and I have the proof now. He just wanted your money. I am sorry for one thing though…had I known how little it would have cost, I would have done this two years ago. Had you committed, aborted your child, and paid off that scum. This has been most inconvenient, Arti, but never underestimate the lengths I will go to, to protect the family name.” He draws his finger up my cheek and wipes the residue of tears with his handkerchief before he discards it in the bin. He looks at his watch and huffs. “And now I am going to be late for dinner. I’ll never get your damn mother out of that bar,” he jokes. He jokes and walks away. He has destroyed my life, ripped my family apart, and has left me in a million, shattered pieces, numb and desolate.

  Today

  I NEVER GET tired of this view. I know my technical home lies three hundred miles east of here in the garden of England with Dad, or in my London apartment, but this is most definitely my spiritual home. I can say that with a good deal of certainty as I have spent almost the entire last twelve months travelling to some of the most heavenly places on the planet. But I am done roving, or hiding, as both my father and Bethany believe. Maybe that was true in the first few months. I know I upset Bethany with my long absence. Christ, Daniel called me enough to reiterate the point that I was upsetting his wife and it was a good job I was on the other side of the world, because he was more than ready to kick my arse, if I didn’t sort something out. I did sort something because as much as I didn’t want to share what I was going through, I really didn’t want her to worry, especially after what she had endured, and in her condition. I left the day after their wedding, but I really only went off the grid for a few weeks before we started to make regular Skype calls. It stopped the tirade from Daniel and it was good to see her so happy and alive–no thanks to me.

  I shake my head at the dark spiralling thoughts, halting them before they do their worst. I pull the car to a stop on the brow of the hill over-looking the harbour. This is what I needed. I don’t know why I didn’t come here first. It’s where I healed after mum died. This is not the same, I know, but it was close. I really felt something…I don’t know if it was love but I was willing to go with it because it sure as shit felt real. Bethany had told me it was so…well at least tried to. But after everything happened the way it did, how can I possibly know the truth? How will I ever be able to trust myself to know the difference? I won’t. That was my epiphany whilst travelling. I have shit judgement, but it doesn’t matter because I am not going there again–ever. Returning home, going back to my playground, I am happy to start again and more than glad to erase the possibility that I was ever in love. I have a whole new perspective–well not entirely new. I lived this way long for before Kit, and I’ll do it again. Simply put, I love women; I just won’t let myself love a woman.

  The sun is high and with the tide out, the beach is dark with crammed tourists making the most of the unpredictable English weather. This is a little gem of a fishing town and it’s where I feel most at peace, where I have the most fun. I close my eyes and let waves of calmness wash and saturate me, a deep sense of belonging filling my soul. Yep, this is where I need to be. I crack the door open and walk to the edge. The flimsy, rusted railing is the only barrier to the sheer hundred foot drop of cragged rock into the sea below. Warm salty air rushes into my lungs when I draw in a deep satisfying breath. I feel the first surge of joyful energy permeate every single cell in my body. I may have chosen to lock my heart up for good, but that leaves all my other organs ready to play. This is going to be a great summer.

  The main seafront road to my place is closed, and I had to abandon my car on the outskirts of town. I will pick it up later when the heaving masses have ebbed. I grab my rucksack from the back seat, and make my way to the harbour front. The town has an entirely different feel in the summer as a whole population of people descend to take their holidays. It’s heaving but buoyant with tourists, primed to have a good time. It’s very much a family destination but recently, with the opening of a few trendy bars and eateries, it attracts a fair number of young single travellers. That coupled with the influx of transient tourists looking for seasonal employment, I know I won’t be lonely for long. I make my way to my bar, deciding to check in before I head home. I am only a silent partner, but I was thinking about picking up a few shifts behind the bar. Put my new cocktail making skills to good use and as I push my way through the lunchtime crowd, I can see my timing couldn’t be more welcome.

  “Hallelujah! He answered my call.” Buddy, the bar manager, looks up from drawing two pints, and uncapping a bottle of sparkling water. He doesn’t look flustered. He is pretty much unflappable, which is why I was happy to invest with him when he wanted to set this place up. But he is getting slammed with the sheer volume of orders. I work my way behind the bar and throw my bag into the open store cupboard.

  “Who’s next?” I look over the bar to the next customer just catching Buddy’s killer smile, which at the moment is filled with obvious relief at my opportune arrival. We work seamlessly together; a fluid, easy cohesion unaffected by my lengthy absence. We don’t have time to talk until it is nearly four in the afternoon and there’s finally a break in service. “Wanna tell me why you have no staff? Let me guess…you fucked the wrong waitress and now they have all left?” I take a well-earned slug of my ice cold cider and raise a teasing brow.

  “Not likely. Happily married, remember? Besides that’s your job, as I recall; although, you never manage to piss any of them off. How do you do that, by the way?” He wipes down the bar before he starts to
empty the drip trays–always working.

  “Trade secret.” I smile to myself at the truth of that statement. It might be a very distant memory, but strong enough to imprint on my five-year-old self and last a lifetime. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and where would I find another hard-working bar manager to keep my pension pot healthy.” He barks out a short laugh.

  “Yeah right, like you need to be planning for your pension. Besides, I know exactly how you stay friends…’You don’t shit where you eat’. You do everything but fuck these girls and they love you for it.” He moves along the bar, still cleaning.

  I laugh out. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Hey, I’m not gonna mess with a rule that works for me. Don’t ask me why, but making some girl fall apart and scream my name any which way I can is fine. But the minute I stick my dick in, it complicates things. So no, I won’t fuck anyone local, but this town triples its population during the summer, so passing trade is fair game and this summer it is game-on.” Buddy grins and shakes his head. I step back and take a look around the place. I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I was here. It hasn’t changed but it looks good. We tend to change the theme and decor every two years to keep it fresh, but we still do a once over maintenance paint in the winter. Buddy is very handy at any odd job, so nothing ever looks too old or tatty. Unless that’s the theme we’re going for. But he has changed the back wall. I had chosen some graffiti-style, large scale paintings to hang above each of the six alcoves. I saw them in a small gallery off Portobello Road. They were eye catching and brighten the place with an urban twist. Very different from the usual display of artists in the competing restaurants and bars.