by Fiona Harper
‘He said it would hurt your business if word got out. I almost paid him. But then I…well, I just couldn’t. So now he’s going to go to the press and see what he can get off them. I’m so sorry. I should have stopped him.’ She looked up at him. ‘You can talk now. If you want.’
Too many sentences battled to be the first one out of his mouth. He took a large gulp of wine to sluice the words away. She looked firmly planted in her seat, but he could tell she was walking a tightrope.
‘It’s okay. I know what he’s like. He came to me first and I told him to get lost.’ He paused and watched as she crossed, then recrossed her legs. ‘I would be more upset if you had given in to him.’
‘But your clients! Won’t they disapprove?’
‘It’s possible, but it’s not as bad as Dad made it sound. He’s clever—a good enough con-artist to know you should always build a lie on a grain of truth. Yes, I was arrested at age fifteen for burglary. But I was very quickly released when, despite my protestations of guilt, they decided I was covering for someone else.’ He leaned back in the sofa and stretched one arm along the back. ‘What I don’t understand is why my father went to you at all.’
Finally, she took interest in her wine glass. When she could delay it no longer she spoke. ‘I think he was trying his luck at first. Then he realised there was some leverage to be had in the situation.’
‘But we aren’t even an item any more. Not officially,’ he said, rather too quickly. ‘I think we’re something. I’m just not sure what.’
At least she looked relieved at that. There was hope yet.
‘I think your father realised I still…’ Half of him wanted her to say it; the other was half terrified she would. ‘…care for you.’
They sat and sipped their wine, neither knowing what to say.
‘Serena?’
Her face flushed, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that her heart had to be thudding like his. He shifted along the sofa again. Now he was close enough to smell her perfume.
‘What if I told you I’ve missed you?’
He was coming closer. Her lips tingled in anticipation. Kissing him would be a really bad idea. It would only be harder to walk away again. But she couldn’t move—didn’t want to. Her hands reached up and cupped his face, making sure he closed the distance, leaving nothing to chance.
His lips were warm and soft and intoxicating. She responded with a hunger that had jump-started itself out of nowhere.
Just for a moment it didn’t matter that this was the worst idea in the world, that it would only make things messy and complicated. She needed him. Needed this. Needed his lips exploring hers, craved his touch. Inside she smiled, triumphant in the knowledge that he was just as trapped. The fact they were both cursed with this peculiar insanity only bonded them closer together.
This was her last chance. She might never have him in her arms again, yet her love for him was spiralling like a cyclone out of control. She couldn’t tell him how she felt, but she could show him. She would pour every ounce of her heart into this one kiss as her parting gift. Maybe somewhere, in the sections of his heart he had cordoned off, he would keep it, and one day know the treasure she had offered him.
So, as their lips continued to brush and tease, she explored the planes of his face with her fingers, ran her hands over his neck and chest, and tried to imprint every last contour in the nerve-endings so she would never forget.
He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, and dragged her even closer to him. Their arms and legs tangled, and she continued her memory map of him by adding the toned muscles of his shoulders and back to her collection.
Whatever she was doing, it was spurring him on to even greater levels of need. Every cell in her body burst into flame. To make love to him would be the sweetest madness. She was almost tempted to throw herself off the cliff. But the wreckage of the morning after would be unbearable, knowing she would not have him for ever. She would never survive to find anyone else. There would be no hope of mending her broken heart in a few years and moving on.
As his mouth left hers to paint tiny kisses all over her face, she thought her heart would burst with the bittersweet sensation.
Don’t punish me for this! I can go just a little bit crazy before self-preservation kicks in and I have to leave.
Then he stopped, so still she could feel his heart beating against her own ribcage.
She opened her eyes and focused on him. His pupils were so large they almost obliterated the brilliant blue of the irises. The expression he wore was—what? Surprise? No, guilt. He looked as if he’d just kicked a puppy. His tongue darted over his lip, tasting something. He suddenly looked ten years younger, confused and defensive.
‘You’re crying,’ he said.
She pressed the pads of her fingers to her cheek and discovered he was right.
Without realising it she had broken the spell. Part of her screamed that it was too soon, she wanted more, one more taste of him. But there would always be that hunger for one more. Perhaps it was better this way.
She unhooked her leg from over his and slid away from him, tucked herself back into the corner of the sofa. He let her go, sat up himself, and ran a hand to smooth his tousled hair. Her fingers ached to rake through it and mess it up again.
‘All this doesn’t change anything, does it?’ he said, his voice blank. ‘We still want different things out of life. You want your Mr Perfect to have your two point four kids with. I’m not him. I’m not even close.’
She could agree. She could straighten her hair, put on her coat, smile nicely and tell him it had all been a terrible mistake. Then months from now, if they met, they would kiss each other on the cheek and pretend it didn’t matter, pretend they hadn’t thrown away their chance of happiness.
She couldn’t do it. Tomorrow she might hide her head under the pillow and groan with mortification about what she was going to say, but tonight she didn’t care. She had to understand.
‘I think you’re perfect for me.’
He pressed a finger against her lips. ‘Don’t.’
Her hand closed over his and she drew it into her lap.
‘I’m not perfect, Serena. I told you before. You see what you want to see.’
She shook her head. ‘No. At the beginning that was true. You fitted the picture of my identikit husband closely enough for me not to delve deeper—you were right about that then, but not now. Over the last few weeks I’ve seen the real you I’d only had a hint of before. The Jake who takes time to stick with an awkward kid that everyone else has written off. The Jake who takes care of his little sister and is always there for her. A Jake who is full of imagination, passion and patience.’ Her voice caught in her throat and came out husky. ‘The man who would have stopped at nothing a few minutes ago to defend my honour. The man who has captured my heart completely.’
Looking him in the eye right now was the bravest thing she had ever done.
‘I love you, Jake.’
He didn’t breathe out for a full ten seconds.
There. She’d done it. This was as low as she could go. The ground could go ahead and do its swallowing.
His voice was low and croaky. ‘And I…haven’t felt this way for a long time.’
Something inside her swelled. Maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as she’d thought. Then he continued, and her hopes came crashing down.
‘But I’m no good at long-term relationships. I’m a disaster waiting to happen.’
‘That’s the second time you’ve said something like that. Tell me about her, Jake?’
‘More wine first.’ He went to fetch the bottle from the kitchen, and when he reappeared she knew from his face it had just been an excuse so he could batten down the hatches, get his emotions firmly back under control. The way his jaw clenched told her he was having less success than he’d hoped.
Good.
He topped up both their glasses and sat down, keeping at least three feet between them.
‘Her name was Chantelle. Her family moved onto the estate when I was seventeen. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. It took me two years to pluck up the courage to ask her out. I was sure she’d say no—but she didn’t. A year later I asked her to marry me. I was sure she’d say no to that too, but she surprised me again. I couldn’t have been happier.’
Knives were carving great chunks out of Serena as she heard this, but she had to know.
‘So what happened?’
He refused to look back at her, and she watched his profile as he continued, brows heavy, holding his glass so tight between both hands she thought it might shatter.
‘As the wedding date drew closer I started to feel differently. My friends told me it was just the wedding jitters, but I knew it was more than that. Suddenly she seemed demanding and needy, but that wasn’t the case, really. She could feel me pulling away and she was scared. The closer we got to for ever, the worse it got.’
‘Please tell me you didn’t jilt her at the altar.’
‘No. We broke up two months before the wedding. I was twenty-one; she was nineteen. Everyone said we were just too young.’
He looked over at her, pain etched in his eyes.
‘I knew it was me. I couldn’t give her the support and love she deserved. In the end, she couldn’t take what she called my “emotional unavailability” any more, so she ended it.’
He drained his glass and sloshed more wine in to fill the space.
‘And the terrible thing was, as much as I loved her, I was royally relieved.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘It seems, much as I like to kid myself it’s not true, I’ve got some of the old man’s genes after all.’
‘And there hasn’t been anyone since?’
‘Well, I’ve dated, but all my energy has gone into the business. I’m happy with the way things are. I don’t want to change.’
Liar. The way he’d agonised over Chantelle told her he did care. He just pretended he didn’t because it was easier.
‘So that’s where I am now. Which leaves us wanting different things. I can’t promise you all my tomorrows.’
‘Couldn’t you promise me even one?’
‘Of course!’ He rammed his glass down on the table. ‘But it’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it? I can’t stop thinking about you, Serena. I think we could be good together. It could last for quite a while, if we give it a chance.’
Oh, goody!
Jake got up and walked to the window. Serena slouched against the arm of the sofa and stared at the wood grain on the highly polished coffee table.
His voice was so low she could barely hear it. ‘Move in with me.’
‘Pardon?’
Jake turned to face her. The scariest thing was that the expression on his face was totally serious.
‘Come and live with me, Serena. I want more than dinners and trips to the opera. I want to do the everyday things with you: watch TV together, cook a meal, tell each other how our days have been over dinner.’ He paused. ‘I want to share my life with you.’
‘For now.’
‘Yes, for now. It’s the best I can offer.’
It made her ache to see how hard he was trying. She knew this was a huge step for him, but the thought terrified her.
‘I can’t live with that level of uncertainty—knowing one day you might decide you’re tired of me and I’ll come home to find my stuff in boxes on the landing and the locks changed.’
Jake looked ready to hurl his glass across the room. ‘I would never do that to you.’
Serena scrunched up her face with her hands.
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to waste time on a relationship that’s not going to last. I would just feel like I was marking time until it all fell apart.’
‘Right now, I can’t ever imagine that happening.’
‘But you can’t promise it won’t.’
‘Even if I did, it might not change anything. Look at the divorce rate. There are no guarantees, even with a marriage licence.’
‘But at least those people start out knowing they want the same thing, Jake. I want a family—a real family—children and dogs and a house that’s always a little bit messy.’ She looked round the room at the spotless furnishings. Not a coffee ring or a speck of dust in sight. ‘I don’t want to live in a slick city apartment while my biological clock ticks away my chance of all that. You don’t want children, do you?’
He shook his head.
‘That’s a deal-breaker for me, Jake. I desperately want a family, and if we’re just living together and “seeing how it goes” it’s not enough. Children deserve a mum and a dad who are going to be there for them. You of all people should know about that.’
Jake was very quiet, just looking at her. The pained expression on his face told her this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting her. She thought he was going to say something, but the words never came. Probably because there was nothing to say. No way past this. No future for them.
She bowed her head and let the tears that had welled up fall into her lap. Jake was across the room in a second, hauling her into his arms, kissing her neck and face. It took all the effort she had to wrench herself away from him.
She dug her hands into the corners of her eyes and scrubbed away the tears. ‘No, Jake. It’s no use. We’d always be pulling in opposite directions.’
‘In other words, I’m a waste of your time.’
Good. Anger was good. If he kept kissing her like that she’d forget why she had to be strong. And if she wanted babies she needed to be strong. She was going to give them all the stability and comfort she never had.
Now she understood. She knew Jake was not the man to give that to her. He was afraid, too scared of being like his no-good father to give love a real chance. Hedging his bets, as he wanted to, wasn’t real love. It was like riding a bike with stabilisers for ever because you were too petrified you wouldn’t whiz down the path like the other kids.
She got up, put on her coat and started buttoning it up.
‘I think you’re right. We are wasting each other’s time. Tragic, but true.’
Her disobedient fingers finally managed the last button.
‘What are you going to do about your father?’
He walked back over to the French doors and stared out the glass. ‘I don’t know. I expect I’ll talk to the police. He can’t go around demanding money from people like that. It’s time I stopped pretending he didn’t exist and dealt with him.’
She walked over to him and kissed his shoulder. He wasn’t going to turn around from looking out of the window. She knew that.
‘Goodbye, Jake. I’ll never forget you.’
Serena’s key twisted in the lock and she pushed the door open.
Silence.
No lights were on. She fumbled for the switch in the hall and dropped her handbag on the floor.
‘Dad?’
Maggie had gone to St Albans to visit her son, but someone should be here. Dad should be here. She shrugged off her coat and left it in a heap on the floor, then ran down to the kitchen. A tap dripped in the dark. The kettle was cold.
She took the stairs two at a time and raced to his bedroom, her heart hammering.
Empty.
That was when she really started to panic. She slumped onto the bed and picked up one of his discarded shirts and hugged it.
What was it with the men in her life?
She ran back out onto the landing and into every room, turning the lights on as she went. Soon the whole house was ablaze, with chandeliers and spotlights alike.
Finally she trudged down the stairs and sank down, her bottom on the last step.
Dad could be anywhere when he was on a drinking spree. She might not see him for days. There were no tears left to cry. She’d used up her supply on the way home from Jake’s. The taxi driver must have thought she was a nutcase! Dad was her only point of stability now, a
nd a pretty shaky one at that.
Anger flooded through her. She’d had such hopes for her father when he’d come home. If he self-destructed this time, she knew there would be no coming back. In her gut, she knew it had been his last chance.
Eventually, her abandoned coat annoyed her enough for her to go and pick it up and sling it over a chair. She threw off her boots and padded down the corridor to the kitchen in her stockinged feet.
As she reached the bottom of the narrow staircase that led to the basement kitchen, she stopped. Something was out of place. A glow of orange light spilled from under a door at the bottom of the stairs. A doorway so little used in recent years she’d almost forgotten it was there.
Gingerly, she pushed the door with her fingertips and it swung open. Their basement was huge. The kitchen occupied the back part that led to the garden, but more than half the area was taken up with her dad’s recording studio. She pushed open a second sound-proofed door and stopped in her tracks.
Her father was sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, guitar perched on his knee. Every now and then he stopped playing and scribbled something in a notebook balanced on the edge of the baby grand.
He was writing again?
He hadn’t written a song in years.
Now the tears came, hot and fast. She should have had more faith, should have believed a little harder.
Dad didn’t even see her. He was facing away from her and a pair of headphones covered his ears. She dragged her hands across her face to wipe away the tears. She could see from his three-quarter profile that he was smiling.
A tiny laugh gurgled up her throat and came out as a hiccup. Then she crept back the way she had come, her shoeless feet making no sound on the rich carpet.
CHAPTER NINE
THERE was no way to sit on the metal bench to make it comfortable, especially after forty minutes. Jake traced one of the holes punched in the seat with the tip of his finger. The dark blue paint was flaking off and he picked at a bit.
The girl behind the desk humphed. He pulled his finger away and gave her an apologetic smile. There wasn’t any hint of a thaw. Normally, in the face of such indifference, he’d use the name on the lady’s name badge and schmooze a little. Only she wasn’t wearing a badge, and he didn’t think Oi, you! would go down very well.
