by Fox Brison
“That went well,” Jane said after first swallowing a large mouthful of her gin and tonic. She had started the evening on wine, but after a cautious sip she swiftly changed to a more recognisable tipple. I didn’t blame her because it tasted more like seven year old vinegar than seven year old Chablis. “I think I was being hit on by that redheaded woman, the one with the buzz cut. Do you think I could be a pussy princess?”
“W… what?” I stuttered and Hannah stared at her wide eyed.
“You know. Pussy princess. Lie back and think of England.” Jane explained. “Or maybe I’d be better as a molly dyke.”
“You mean pillow princess,” Hannah burst out laughing. “And what the hell is a molly dyke?”
“The passive one in the relationship,” Jane’s eyes were twinkling, she was blatantly enjoying the banter. So was I to be fair.
“I think you’d better have this conversation with your husband,” Hannah was aghast and amused in equal measure. “Seriously, Jane, where is this coming from?” Actually, I think the amused was ahead by a nose.
“The internet. I wanted to know some of the lingo but maybe it got lost in translation?”
“I’m one fifth impressed, one fifth shocked and three fifths terrified right now,” I said shaking my head. “Did you get anything from Jessie, Hannah?” I asked. Jessie had re-joined her friends and they were packing up to leave. “Are they heading to a club?”
“Yep, you want to join them, boss?” Hannah asked.
“God no, my clubbing days are long gone.”
“Nonsense, you’re never too old to go to clubbing, darling,” Jane said in a voice that said she’d inhaled five g and t’s and a packet of smoky bacon crisps in the short time we’d been there, “although maybe an early night wouldn’t go amiss. You look tired, your eyes are sagging.”
Jane’s comments didn’t offend me, firstly because she didn’t have a horrible bone in her body, and secondly because she was right. “It’s this case, it’s driving me nuts. So,” I returned to the previous discussion, “Jane, did you learn anything new?”
“Yes, I surely did. Eleanor Roosevelt was gay and Marlene Dietrich was bi… or fluid,” she appeared confused, “I’m still a little hazy on the difference between the two.”
“You’re not the only one, Jane,” Hannah said dryly.
“How about the case?” I asked.
“Oh, that? No.”
“Jessie Theodopilis is the least guarded person I’ve ever met,” Hannah cut in. “I just friended her on Facebook. That should give us a peek into the proverbial closet and we’ll see if there are any skeletons lurking.”
“By skeletons you mean the child’s father?” I raised my eyebrows in question.
“Yep. Who knows what impact he might have on any claim,” Hannah said solemnly. “What about you, Devon? Did you get anything out of Rachel?”
I wished I’d got her phone number, she looked incredible tonight. “She loves John Candy comedies and reading, hates Marmite but loves honey, which was why she was given the unfortunate nickname of pooh as a child. At least she hopes it was because of that.” I rambled a little disjointedly. I was suffering the nerves of a first date feedback situation.
Except it hadn’t been a first date.
Yet it felt remarkably similar, in my mind anyway. And I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if Rachel hadn’t received that phone call.
“Yes, I can see how that would help,” Hannah smirked. “Celeste, Rachel deserves to be the heir because she loves Planes, Trains and Automobiles.”
“I didn’t want to make her suspicious, alright?” I countered a little hotly.
“Easy there, tiger,” Hannah wrinkled her nose. “Who rattled your cage?”
I couldn’t tell her who was rattling my cage because I wasn’t sure there was anything to tell, and if there was something I wasn’t sure I wanted to share. Already I felt the familiar stirrings of attraction, stirrings I needed to ignore no matter how difficult it was proving. Rachel McTavers was a bright and engaging woman who in less than a week had managed to restore my faith in humanity, but she was a client and I didn’t want to be accused of collusion, or using my heart to make a decision more fit for my head.
She was also a single mum and I admired her fortitude. She must have been quite young when she had Ruth and raising a child alone, even with a support system like hers wasn’t easy.
Even though Ruth seemed great and everything, she was a complication I didn’t need or want. Kids were never part of my life plan. Amanda hadn’t wanted them either, calling them a drag and a money pit. She was quite honest in that respect, incredibly selfish, but honest. I hated thinking about Amanda and honesty in the same breath, mainly because she had a very loose handle on what the word truly meant.
Oh and fidelity too.
She had an even shakier grasp of that word.
Chapter 14
Rachel
Saturday 10th December, 2016
“I can’t believe I let you leave the pub without this,” Devon said as she kissed me, softly at first. I moaned into her lips.
“We can’t, Devon, not here.” Here was the café. I was locking up for the night when she arrived, her hair wet from the snow that was steadily falling outside making the streets look crisp and clean.
“Rachel,” she exhaled my name, “I can’t wait any longer, I have to taste you… now!” She lifted me onto the table and I gripped her waist with my legs. I pulled her close and she repeatedly thrust her hips into me. God if she didn’t deliver now, I think I’d die. Her tongue forced its way into my mouth, working in rhythm with her hand that had worked its way inside my jeans and was now rubbing my clitoris. The strokes became longer and I drew her fingers deeper inside me. “Oh yes,” I moaned and felt a tightness in my core. No. I wouldn’t embarrass myself by having an orgasm within a minute of her touching me. “Please, Devon, I need you…”
She gazed into my eyes and opened her mouth. “Rachel I’m going to make you beep, beep, beeeep, you’re going to be begging me to beep, beep beeeep…”
What the hell?
I sat bolt upright. Where’s the fire? My head swivelled sharply left then right, then left again before I flopped back down onto my pillows.
Fuck.
It was only a dream, yet it had felt so real. I lowered my hand beneath my sleep shorts.
Oh. My. God.
I’d located the fire.
***
“Why did he cut off his ear?” Ruth was staring at a picture painted by Vincent van Gogh. She had a curious little frown on her face, the mirror image of mine whenever I thought about Ms Hottie.
I just couldn’t work her out and it was driving me mad.
“No-one really knows, sweetie. Some people think he was ill.”
“Like he had a sore tummy?”
“No, like he had a sore head.”
“He should have taken some paracetamol, Mummy.”
“Maybe he lived in the jungle,” I said. “There weren’t any there.”
“Why not?” Ruth was giggling before I even delivered the punchline, it was one of our favourite jokes.
“’Cos the parrots et ‘em all!”
“I’ve never heard that one before.”
I recognised the cut glass voice and groaned. It was Saturday, my day off, and even though she had every right to be wherever she wanted, it annoyed me that Devon was here.
Where I was.
On my day off.
Especially as I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head at the moment, no matter how hard I tried. I blushed when the dream that I’d awakened to that morning invaded my mind as soon as I set eyes on her. Correction. As soon as I heard her voice. Maybe Jessie was right and it had been too long, but my lack of female companionship, in or out of the bedroom, had never been an issue.
Until now.
“It’s my Mummy’s favourite joke,” Ruth explained. She knew not to talk to strangers, but she clearly recognised Devon from the café.
“It’s a good one,” Devon chuckled, “I must try to remember it. I’m not very good at jokes, I tend to mix the start of one joke with the conclusion of another, so it ends up making no sense whatsoever. However, there is one I never mess up. Why do the French eat snails?” Devon waited a beat and Ruth waited with bated breath. “Because… because they don’t like fast food.” I chuckle groaned, but Ruth howled and Devon had that look again, the one I could really fall in love with.
Bugger, this was now officially scary. That’s the second time in two days.
“I’m not following you, honest,” Devon started as Ruth wandered off to inspect another painting, “it’s just after we talked about our favourite art styles last night I was overcome with the urge to visit.”
“Great minds think alike,” I said, but I was struggling with her closed off personality switching from warm and fuzzy to cold and dismissive at the drop of a hat. Hmm, warm and fuzzy? Perhaps polite interest might be a better description. “I love the National Gallery. No matter how many times I visit, I always manage to unearth a hidden gem.” We continued walking and stopping intermittently at things that caught our eye.
“Did I tell you why I love art so much?” she asked as we both paused behind Ruth who was looking at a Gainsborough and I shook my head. “I find it soothing. I’m absolutely awful at it though. When I was at school I was so bad my teacher gave me colouring in homework.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking.
“I’m not good at it either,” Ruth said. “Mum says I’m too impatient”
“That’s my problem too!” Devon agreed.
I took Ruth’s hand and smiled. “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Devon.” I was being a little rude, but I really didn’t know this woman and in truth I was a little scared of what might happen if I did get to know her better.
Either I wasn’t good at giving hints or Devon wasn’t good at taking them, because she followed us.
“We’re going to see paintings ‘bout Australia,” Ruth let go of my hand and took Devon’s. Devon stared at her like she was an alien from the planet Mars.
“Ruth let go of Ms… erm… Devon’s hand. I’m sure she doesn’t want a strange child hanging off of her.”
“Williams.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name. It’s Williams. Devon I mean. Devon Williams. But Ruth can call me Devon. If tha… tha… that’s acceptable?” She was flustered and I wasn’t sure if it was because my daughter had just accosted her or if there was another reason behind it.
“Do you want to come with us Ms Devon? To see Australia? Mum said it’s like being there, if you just use your imagination, you can go anywhere you want to go.”
“I’d love to come with you, Ruth, but I don’t have much imagination I’m afraid.”
Ruth looked at her as if she hung the moon - and the stars for good measure. “Me either.” She scowled. “I don’t have a lot of friends at school ‘cos I’m clever, and I can’t draw and I’m no good at running or skippy ropes. They laugh at me.”
“My brothers and the kids at school t…teased me because of my stutter and my eyes. It’s not much fun, is it?”
Ruth shook her head, then did an adorable double take. “Your eyes?” she elongated the eyes part of the question, utterly bewildered. “But why? They’re really pretty, aren’t they Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetie, they are,” I agreed easily.
“I’m afraid, Ruth, you and your mum are the exceptions to the rule, most people don’t care for them. But guess what? Children only tease because they’re jealous or don’t understand things themselves. Sometimes they’re just plain scared. Thankfully, most of them grow out of this habit pretty quickly and the others? You wouldn’t want them as friends anyway.” They stopped to look at a painting, both their heads tipping at an angle. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything cuter and I chuckled at the two of them. “I bet you’ll soon find you have lots of friends at school. And do you know why?” Devon continued talking after a few seconds of art appreciation. Again Ruth shook her head. “It will be because you are so smart.”
I pretended to look at a Caravaggio, though I was listening intently to Ruth and Devon’s interaction. Ruth had never mentioned any trouble at school, probably because she knew I’d march down there and give the little bastards who were making my baby sad an expletive ridden piece of my mind.
Devon’s handling of the situation was a hundred times better than anything I could have managed. Watching Ruth’s face light up after hearing her explanation brought tears to my eyes. I think I’d just been afforded a glimpse of the real Devon Williams, and now I wanted a panoramic view. I was starting to understand this strange women who visited random pubs and greasy spoon cafés, both of which were clearly out of her comfort zone. To protect herself she kept people at arm’s length with a frosty personality whilst I used my daughter as a shield.
“Are you and your brothers close now?” I asked.
“No, not really, although my eldest brother Adam was extremely close to my fiancée.” I raised my eyebrows in shock and Devon nodded her head. We were both using code and sign to protect Ruth’s innocence, but she wasn’t taking much notice of what we were saying, she’d run off to inspect a Botticelli more closely. “It was one of the reasons I left the family firm, but not the biggest one.”
“There’s a bigger one? Like what? Was it a firm of serial killers?” I held my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Devon, I didn’t mean to be facetious. It’s really none of my business.”
She waved off my concern. “Don’t worry, no, not serial killers, or rather not in the traditional sense. We killed people’s hopes and dreams. It wasn’t the most ethical of companies, let’s just put it that way. And working there was destroying my soul. I didn’t like who I’d become,” she paled. “I apologise, I shouldn’t be bothering you with all this.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re,” she paused, clearly trying to choose her words carefully, “well, you have enough on your plate, plus you don’t know me.”
“That’s probably why,” I smiled and she looked confused. “Sometimes it’s easier to share your feelings with a stranger rather than with a friend or family member.”
“I’dliketobeyourfriend,” she blurted out in such a rush it took me a moment to decipher what she’d actually said.
“I don’t think I’m going to have much choice in the matter,” I nodded at Ruth who had returned and taken her hand again. Devon seemed surprised to see it there. “My daughter has decided she likes you, so that’s that.” I was seeing a whole new side to Devon, a side I liked. A side I really liked. She hadn’t once insulted me, nor did she flinch when Ruth impulsively took hold of her hand. She had patiently answered every one of my daughter’s questions, even when some of them, to a casual observer, may have been considered childish.
Because, well, you know, she is a child.
And this side of Ms Hottie?
It scared the bejeezus out of me.
***
Two hours as an art aficionado at the National Gallery had to suffice as Ruth grew a little weary, but once outside the fresh winter air soon revived her - it was either that or the promise of a banana milkshake. The three of us spent another half hour wandering around Trafalgar Square. Ruth made a show of guiding Devon around the statues and Nelson’s column, telling her all about the admiral and his death.
She was a bit morbid sometimes.
“I was wondering,” Devon was wringing her handkerchief, “if you and Ruth didn’t have any plans for the rest of the afternoon, whether you would accompany me to see the Christmas lights and maybe the Christmas market in Hyde Park?”
I smiled softly. “Sounds like fun, although the way you’re strangling your hankie, I’m thinking you don’t particularly care for sparkly coloured lights in the shape of stars and trees.”
“Oh, no, sorry. Nervous habit, I didn’t want to seem presumptuous. You’ve alread
y given me a wonderful few hours and I don’t want to encroach on your time with Ruth.”
Please encroach. I’m begging you to encroach. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you encroached all the freakin’ way. That was what was running through my mind, but all I said was, “We’d love to spend the rest of the day with you.”
***
There’s something special about Christmas seen through the eyes of a child. I was still jaded about the whole supernatural being bringing presents and dropping down chimneys. However, watching my daughter’s eyes light up with joy at the simple pleasures the season brings snapped me out of my Ebenezer Scrooge moment. The Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square, the twinkling decorations in shop windows and the bright lights hanging over our heads as we walked down Regent’s street, raised squeals of joy that were impossible to fake.
It brought a smile to both mine and Devon’s faces.
I think when you become an adult certain realities kick in; you have no Father Christmas to bring you a present for being good, most people will spend an absolute fortune they don’t have on gifts no-one really needs and as for goodwill?
Bah humbug.
There is little enough benevolence throughout the year, and you’d think in the season when you should be most thankful there would be an abundance. But still people ignored the lonely and the elderly, the hungry and poor, the displaced and the war ravaged.
The homeless...
Chapter 15
Devon
Saturday 10th December, 2016
“Is there something wrong with your coffee?” I asked as I watched Rachel’s face fall.
“No, sorry, I was just thinking about something.”
“Want to share? Maybe I can help for a change instead of exhibiting my foot in mouth prowess for the hundredth time.” I was trying to make her smile, but whatever was troubling her was serious because a cute little frown developed instead. Rachel was biting her bottom lip and I wanted to smooth those worry lines from her forehead, to say something that would make everything better, to see her eyes twinkle with mirth instead of pain.
