by SC Daiko
I’m sobbing loudly when Victoria’s nurse comes through the door. She gives me a sympathetic look. “We’re ready to take your wife to theatre, Mr Sokolov.”
I bend and kiss Victoria again. “Rest peacefully,” I tell her through my tears.
Another nurse comes into the room; between them, they wheel my wife away.
Letting out a wail of anguish, I bare my teeth, plant my legs wide and punch my fist into the wall behind the bed. The flesh is torn from my knuckles and the pain is excruciating. But it’s nothing like as bad as the agony ripping through my soul.
All the way home from the hospital, I think about what I’m going to tell my son. How do you explain death to a two-year-old, even a two-year-old as bright and articulate as Leo?
I park the car and stride up to Diana’s front door, Tom striding next to me and scanning the street for any signs of danger.
I lift my hand to the bell, but the door opens immediately.
Diana is standing there, her face stricken.
Before she can say anything, Leo appears and wraps his arms around my knees. He looks up at me. “Where’s Mama?”
I take his hand and lead him into the living room, where we can be by ourselves. I lift him onto my knee. “Mama won’t be coming home.” I clench my jaw.
He squirms and turns to stare at me, his eyes huge. “Why?”
“The doctors at the hospital couldn’t fix her.”
He frowns. “Why?”
I’m not thinking straight; I blurt out that a bad man hurt her so much she couldn’t be fixed.
“Like my teddy when all the stuffing came out?”
The analogy is like a punch in the gut. I nod, unable to trust myself to speak. If I did, I would scare him with a wail of pain.
The door opens, and Leo’s nanny Claire comes into the room. “I’ve packed our things,” she says in a false-bright tone. “Ready when you are.”
Leo wriggles from my hold. “Let’s go home, Daddy.” He tugs my hand, pulling me towards the hallway.
“We’d better say goodbye to Granny first.” I glance around. “Ah, there she is.”
Diana must have been waiting for us. She bends to kiss Leo before going to open the front door.
Leo runs ahead, safely shielded by Tom and Claire.
Diana places her hand on my arm. “I wish you’d leave my grandson here.”
I shake my head. “He belongs with me.”
“That’s all very well for you to say.” She keeps her voice low. “Now is not the time or the place, but there are things we need to discuss.”
“Of course. Why don’t you come over to the house after I’ve put Leo to bed this evening? We can talk without him overhearing our conversation. He’s been through enough.”
Diana huffs out a breath. “Alright. I’ll see you later.”
After Claire has fed Leo his favourite lunch of spaghetti with meatballs, which I hardly touch I’ve so lost my appetite, I cover my grazed knuckles with a bandage then snuggle with him on the sofa. His warm chubby body rests against mine while we watch Disney DVDs. I drop off for a short while, not having slept a wink last night, to be woken by him requesting a walk in the park. I have to refuse him, however; I’m almost certainly still a target. I make up the excuse of feeling too tired, which isn’t a lie.
Fuck, am I to spend the rest of my life looking behind my shoulder?
Will there be no end to this hell?
Later, Claire gives Leo his supper before going to her room at the top of the house. I bath him, dry him with a soft towel, and put on his diaper and pyjamas.
“Can you read me a bedtime story?” His little face is pinched with tiredness. “The one about the bear hunt?”
“Of course.” I lift him into his cot.
Leo reaches for the pacifier that’s tucked under his pillow and starts sucking sleepily.
I hear my voice droning on; I’m able to read aloud with one part of my brain and think my thoughts with the rest of it.
I draw my brows together and rub at my face. What a clusterfuck my life has become. Gleb and I started working for Papa after we graduated from Harvard Business School. He said he wanted a better life for us than the swamp of organized crime. Didn’t work out that way, though. Gleb’s fault. The reprisal, when it eventually came, was so fucking ruthless it led me to where I am today. Bereft of my parents, mourning my wife, doing everything I can to protect my son’s life.
I exhale a long, slow breath. Leo has fallen asleep, his long dark eyelashes brushing his rounded cheeks. The pacifier has dropped out of his mouth, but I leave it there in case he needs it during the night. I bend and kiss his warm forehead, then tiptoe from the room.
Diana has already arrived when I go downstairs. Tom has let her into the sitting room and given her a cup of tea.
I need something stronger than tea. I pour myself a brandy from the decanter on the sideboard and sit in the armchair opposite her.
“I won’t beat about the bush.” She twists her hands in her lap. “I’d like you to let Leo live with me. He’ll be much better off.”
I grit my teeth. “I can take care of him.”
“What do you mean, you can take care of him?” Her voice rises. “You were unable to take care of my daughter. How can I expect you to take care of my grandson?” Her face has turned red. She’s like an older version of Victoria. Just the sight of her pangs in my gut.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m sorry for everything that has happened. What more can I say? You can rest assured I’ll do everything in my power to protect Leo.” I pause, take in a breath. “I won’t be able to do that if he lives with you. He’d be far more vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable to those mobsters?” she huffs. “I don’t understand how you endangered your family like that.”
“Listen, Diana.” I fix her in my gaze. “I was forced to take matters into my own hands. There was no alternative.”
I watch her as she digests the information.
“Was it worth it?” she asks eventually, shaking her head. “Was it worth losing Victoria?”
“Of course, it bloody wasn’t. I’d have given my own life for hers, believe me.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “Please don’t take Leo away from me. He’s all I have left.”
I reach across and squeeze her hand. “You can see him whenever you want. I won’t stop you.”
“Thank you.” Her smile wavers. “I suppose we should talk about Victoria’s funeral.”
I nod, and my stomach fucking churns.
Chapter Five
Catrin
Sweat drips down my face, plastering my hair to my forehead. I bend and pull at a wild blackberry bush, but it’s too deeply rooted. Ouch! I suck a thorn from my finger, the tangy taste of blood in my mouth.
The sudden sound of a door slamming, and Toby bounds towards the hedge, barking. I look up. Daniel has just stepped into his garden; he leans a large canvas against the side of his cottage before turning around and giving me one of his glowering looks.
I stare at him in return, then push myself to my feet. Except, my foot has caught in a trailing root and I fall flat on my face. A starburst of pain explodes in front of my eyes; I lie still, catching my breath.
“Are you alright?” a concerned voice asks.
I let out a gasp. Daniel has come to stand in front of me; he must have thrust his way through that damn gap in the laurel.
He scowls. “You’ve cut yourself.”
Wincing, I touch my cheek, then stare at my fingers. Blood. “Shit.”
“Do you have a first aid box?”
I’m the mother of a five-year old. Of course, I have a first aid box. I nod and stagger to my feet, embarrassed by the sudden sting of tears in my eyes.
He rubs a hand through his dark hair. “Well, lead the way then.”
We step into my kitchen. Thank God, it’s tidy for once… dishes loaded in the dishwasher, cereal packets in the cupboard. I reach for the box on the counter, about to open
it, but Daniel grabs it from me. “Sit down while I clean you up.”
With shaky legs, I do as he asks. He takes a wad of cotton wool and soaks it in disinfectant. I press my lips flat as he wipes my cheek. Carefully… like I might break. “It’s only a scratch,” he says gruffly, “you’ll live.”
His masculine scent is in my nostrils and my treacherous body starts to respond. I white-knuckle the chair.
Stop it, Cat. This man is not for you.
“Would you like a coffee?” I ask, to give myself something else on which to focus.
He glances at his watch. “Thank you, but I haven’t the time. There’s a painting I need to finish before picking Ben up from school.”
“Right.” I feel the blush. “Thanks again for being a good Samaritan.”
That scornful smile is back. In full force. “You’re welcome.”
I see him out, then open my laptop to search for Daniel Collins the artist.
Nothing.
Not one word.
How weird!
The next afternoon I’m working out in the garden once more, fighting a losing battle against the weeds. Bent double, I yank at the damn plants, puffing out breaths and sweating buckets.
Toby starts barking and a voice booms across the garden. “Would you like a hand?”
Daniel is standing on my side of the hedge. I stare at him openly. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.” His lips curl.
“In that case, thanks.” My throat tightens. “Josh, my husband, I mean my late husband, used to do all the heavy gardening back in Manchester.” An image comes into my mind of him digging the flower beds before planting summer bulbs. I turn my head away from Daniel, swallowing the lump in my throat. Tomorrow will be the third anniversary of Josh’s passing. It will be a poignant day.
Daniel grabs the garden fork and sets to work, his muscular arms pushing the prongs into the earth. “Need to get those roots out, or they’ll just grow back.”
He works quickly while I pull up the smaller weeds, but in silence; it seems small talk isn’t his thing. Eventually, I feel an ache in my back, signalling the need for a break. “How about a coffee?” I ask like I did yesterday.
He shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I should get back to my painting.”
“I’m sure it can wait a couple of minutes.” Nervous knots swirl in my stomach. I can’t help myself; I want to find out more about him.
The hint of a smile gleams in his eyes. “Okay, but not coffee. I’d prefer water.” He laughs low in his throat; it’s as if he’s mocking himself.
We remove our mucky boots and leave them by the kitchen door. I fill two glasses from the jug in the fridge and hand one to him.
He drinks it down.
“There’s mud on your cheek,” he says, out of the blue. “Good thing that cut has scabbed over.”
I must look a complete mess, covered in dirt and sweat. It doesn’t matter; I don’t care what I look like. I mean, I’m not interested in Daniel Collins. He’s a brute. I grab a cloth from the sink and rub at my face.
“Here, allow me.” He reaches for the cloth and I let him take it.
Let him hold my chin.
Let him gently wipe away the mud.
I breathe in his masculine scent again and fight the urge to trace my fingers through his wild beard. I lower my head, my eyes avoiding his. Then I pull away and take the cloth from him. “Tell me about your paintings.” I decide to come right out with it. “I looked you up online but couldn’t find anything.”
His brows pull together in a frown. “Spying on me, were you?”
My fingers fly to my chest. “Of course, not. I was just curious.”
“You know what they say about curiosity?” His eyes are cold, hard and flinty. “It killed the cat. You don’t want to know anything about me, Cat with a capital C. I’m toxic.”
I fold my arms. “I feel sorry for Ben, having a dad like you.” The words are out of my mouth before I realise what I’m saying. I clap my hand to my lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s none of my business.”
Without warning, he leans into me. “It is none of your fucking business, but I’ll tell you this. I sell my work anonymously. For reasons you don’t need to know. Get that, Welsh woman? Now butt out of my life.”
I stare him in the eye, my body tensing. “I didn’t ask you to come around here today. I’m grateful for your help, don’t get me wrong. But you didn’t have to.”
“No. I didn’t. It was a mistake.” His voice is a growl.
Without a backward glance, he spins on his heel, picks his boots up off the floor, and storms out of my kitchen.
Brute!
Later, after putting Becca to bed, I pour myself a glass of wine. We went to Aldridge House to have tea with Eleri and her kids after school. She was excited about recording another album. Hard to believe she’s the same shy girl I used to know in high school. Gabe and Luke brought her out of herself and gave her the confidence to pursue a singing career. She’s quite a celebrity these days; she’s released three albums already and has topped the charts with all of them. She keeps a low profile, though, except when she’s on tour.
I didn’t tell her about Daniel’s rudeness, didn’t let on I’d had anything to do with him. What would be the point? I’m not going to slip up on that front again. He’s a freaking monster. If he so much as shows his face around here I won’t relent; I’ll tell him to damn well sod off.
I take a sip from my glass. My eyes grow heavy, and I swallow more wine. I remember when Josh and I first got together after a school hiking expedition. I’d sprained my ankle and he literally carried me down the mountain. It made me change my perception of him; he became everything to me. We applied to go to the same university, so we could be together; we were married soon after graduation. Becca came along almost immediately, and we planned on having at least two more kids.
Except, fate shattered all our dreams. Terminal Leukaemia, they said, when they finally figured out what was wrong with him. A genetic mutation in the cancer cells made the disease so aggressive it was too late for a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. I lost him within weeks. I knuckle the tears from my eyes, remembering that night like it was yesterday. I watched him take his last breath lying on the bed we’d moved downstairs. It nearly killed me. I’d held his hand, committing his beautiful but gaunt face to memory. I sip more wine now, the salt from my tears mingling with the taste. I miss him so much. Will he come to me tonight in my dreams? It’s like he does that to help me get over his loss.
I knock back the last of the wine in my glass, put it in the dishwasher, and, with heavy steps, go upstairs to bed.
Josh holding me in my dream feels so real. He runs his warm tongue up my breasts, swathing it around my nipples before lapping at them hungrily. I thread my fingers through his hair and writhe my body. “Yes, oh yes, like that.”
I squirm down the bed and take him in my mouth, sucking hard and fast. He’s so deep in my throat that I gag. I swallow his cum and kiss the skin on his abs, loving the taste and smell of him. He’s hard for me again, and I straddle him. I ease myself onto him, slowly; I’m so wet that I take him into me easily. We rock together, our eyes locked, until we come in a mutual explosion of such pleasure it jolts me wide awake.
My pussy is still quivering, and I touch myself between my legs. I don’t always dream about Josh fucking me, though. Mostly we’re just hanging out. He comes to me from beyond this world, I think. Once, he told me he wanted me to find love again. That he wouldn’t mind if I did. But I’d told him I wasn’t ready.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to take me to him again. The night is hot, and my bedroom window is open. A sudden shrill scream echoes in the air, followed by the sound of a child crying.
Oh, my God, Becca.
I jump out of bed and race to her room, but she’s fast asleep, curled on her side with her Paddington teddy in her arms. Toby looks up at me and wags his tail.
I return to my room and listen. It’s Ben. Sobbing as if his heart will break. Jesus, what has that brute done to him? I grab my dressing gown and go downstairs. Not even giving myself a second to question my actions, I sprint out of the cottage and down the garden path. There’s a full moon and I can see clearly. The laurel leaves part as I push my way through the hedge. I suck in a quick breath, then run up to Daniel’s front door.
Chapter Six
Daniel
Ben sobs against my chest as I hold him close. Another of his godawful nightmares… I thought he was getting over them. “Hush, son. Daddy’s here.” I kiss his damp forehead. “Close your eyes, go back to sleep. You’re safe...”
Loud banging reverberates from the front door. Fuck, who can that be at this time of the night. Still holding Ben, I go downstairs and peer through the peephole. Jesus, what the hell is that Welsh woman doing out there?
I open, sliding my gaze over her small frame. Her dressing gown has fallen open to reveal a tee-shirt barely covering the tops of her shapely thighs. I drink in the sight of them, then look away. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard Ben screaming. I was worried.”
I want to grab her by the shoulders and march her back down the garden path. Instead, I glare at her, my emotions in danger of spinning out of control.
Desire.
Guilt.
Anger.
Confusion.
Ben lifts his head from where it’s nestled into my neck. Tears stream down his little face, but he smiles through them at Cat.
I stand back, and she steps into my front room. She shuts the door behind her. “What’s wrong, poppet?” She extends her hands to him.
“He’s had a nightmare.” I plant my feet apart.
Ben wriggles in my arms, and I set him down on the floor. He looks up at the Welsh woman, his lower lip trembling.
