by Carys Jones
‘A place called Chez-Vous. I’ve not been for a while but it’s amazing, they really know their stuff.’
‘I’ll look into it,’ Isla continued to pretend to be interested.
Meegan came and clung to Isla’s leg like a limpet.
‘Tired!’ she declared, looking up at her mother with sad eyes. Isla knelt and picked Meegan up, the toddler immediately resting her little head upon her shoulder, her eyes heavy.
‘Are your boys tired out too?’ Isla asked.
‘Jude, sure. But Davis, he seems to run on infinite energy,’ Deena looked back at the SUV and smiled fondly.
‘I’ll let his father finish tiring him out when I get home!’ A buzzing sound began to emanate from Deena’s purse. Sighing, she delved in to it and moments later retrieved her pristinely white iPhone.
‘Speak of the devil,’ she observed, raising a perfectly shaped black eyebrow. With one stroke of a long nail she answered the call.
‘Hi, honey,’ Deena answered with a breezy tone but when she heard the voice on the other end of the line her face fell and Isla felt sick with guilt.
She watched as Deena clearly received a verbal ear bashing before she ended the call and looked flustered and upset.
‘Well he’s mad about something,’ she explained, flushing both with embarrassment and worry.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ Isla offered fake reassurance.
‘He just said I needed to get home immediately as we had to talk.’
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Isla suggested kindly but Deena looked beyond worried, she looked utterly terrified.
‘I’d best go!’ she backed away from Isla, distracted by the call. She climbed into her car and pulled away.
Meegan looked up to wave, as did Isla. But Deena didn’t wave back, her mind was clearly too consumed with worry about why her husband needed her home so promptly.
When the car was gone, Isla sighed heavily and let Meegan down, closing the front door behind them.
The kitchen suddenly felt unbearable cold. Isla sat down at the kitchen table and held her head in her hands.
She felt terrible for Deena, for what she had done. But it was too late now. Isla tried to suppress her overwhelming sense of guilt by focusing on Meegan. She tried to reassure herself that she’d done the right thing, that Samuel Fern was owed the truth, but she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding which left her fearing that she’d ruined everything.
*
Deena Fern tried not to think about the icy inflection in her husband’s voice as she drove home. She tried to stop her mind jumping to every possible conclusion for his cold disposition. Samuel Fern was both a powerful and complicated man. Deena was well versed in how to deal with him when a business transaction fell through, or when the stock market hadn’t performed as he’d anticipated.
Deena’s role was to be the dutiful wife and remind him of his other successes; of their wonderful home and beautiful sons. Her husband was the kind of man who would never be happy with what he had, would always be striving for more, so it was important that she was happy enough with their lot in life for both of them.
But what if, rather than being the solution to what aggrieved Samuel, she was actually the cause of it? The prospect sickened Deena and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
‘Mom, can we play in the pool when we get back?’ Jude asked from the back seat.
‘Mom!’ he called again when Deena failed to acknowledge him. Deena tried to rein her worries in so that she could focus on the present. Glancing in the mirror she saw Jude’s earnest young face looking at her, his small brow wrinkled in concern.
‘What is it, Jude?’ she asked, having not heard his initial question.
‘When we get home, can we play in the pool?’
‘Sure,’ Deena answered dismissively, knowing it would be best for her sons to be preoccupied whilst she dealt with Samuel.
‘Yay!’ Davis squealed with delight whilst Jude remained composed.
Upon arriving at her home, Deena did not need to speak into the microphone hidden amongst the rocks, instead the gates automatically parted for her and the black SUV glided into the vast driveway, sparkling in the bright sun like an exotic stone.
The boys were eager to get out and into the swimming pool. Jude waited patiently by Deena’s side as she wrestled Davis out of his car seat which wasn’t easy as he was intent on squirming and wriggling the entire time.
‘If you kept still you’d be out sooner!’ she told him but he didn’t listen. Finally he was released and joined his brother on the ground, but rather than stand and wait with him Davis began toddling towards the house, desperate to jump in to the turquoise pool and feel the cool water all around him.
The housekeeper opened the front door and greeted the boys.
‘Hello, Master Davis, Master Jude,’ she smiled and nodded at them as they entered the marbled hallway, barely pausing on their frantic route to the swimming pool out back.
‘Hello, Mrs Fern,’ the housekeeper greeted her mistress last.
‘Hi, Jenny. The boys are really desperate to go swimming, do you mind getting them ready while I go speak with my husband?’
‘Certainly,’ Jenny nodded amicably and then began to follow after the boys, calling their names in an attempt to round them up. Jude immediately came when he was beckoned but Davis wouldn’t be quite so easy to catch.
Deena wanted to stay and help, she loved to play with the boys, especially when the sun was out and they were being well behaved. She’d even consider putting on her own bikini and joining them in the pool, though she certainly wouldn’t be getting her hair wet. But all that would have to wait. First she needed to speak with Samuel.
As it was still morning she knew he would be in the library, no doubt before a roaring fire. Lately, it took Samuel a long time to warm up and he spent half of his day freezing before open flames and the latter half feeling too warm and seeking solace within the shade. There seemed to be no happy medium for his body, he was either one extreme or the other and the doctors had failed to identify a treatment for him.
Creaking open the library door, Deena immediately felt the hot hair from the fire began to seep out and try to engulf her. She pushed it all the way, already feeling suffocated by the heat within the room.
‘Close the door!’ Samuel ordered sharply from his chair though he did not look up. Deena hesitated to shut the door, fearing she’d pass out from the heat if there wasn’t at least a minimal draught within the room.
‘The door!’ Samuel ordered again, motioning with his hand for her to shut up. Deena sighed and did as he asked, hoping that whatever he needed to discuss with her would be brief.
‘I don’t know how you can stand this heat!’ she declared, fanning herself furiously with her hand.
When her husband didn’t respond, Deena stiffened slightly and ceased batting her hand back and forth. She regarded his face, which appeared strangely older than it had that morning, as though extra lines had appeared. His expression was one of sorrowful anger, which appeared permanent, as though it had been etched in stone.
His eyes were distant and his brow furrowed, his thin mouth set in a hard line. It was an expression she was not unaccustomed to seeing but one she knew it was best to avoid. When he wore this face, her husband was at his most cruel.
‘You said you needed to talk to me,’ Deena began, trying to sound confident and forcing her voice to sound light and breezy, as though she had no trepidations about the conversation.
‘Yes, I do.’ Samuel’s voice was as hard as his face.
‘Well, here I am,’ Deena shrugged casually. ‘Talk.’
‘I had a visitor this morning,’ Samuel informed his wife.
‘Oh? Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter who. But they had some information for me.’
‘What sort of information?’ The intense stifling heat of the room made Deena began to feel sick and she leant against a nearby telephone table for su
pport.
‘Information which you had refused to give me. A truth which you have continued to deny me,’ Samuel continued, his eyes still concentrating on the fire and not on her.
‘What are you talking about?’ Deena scoffed though her heart was racing.
Samuel stood up. His movements were slow and deliberate, perhaps to add emphasis to them or perhaps because he was unable in his old age to move as quickly as he would like. He placed his palms upon the arms of the leather chair and forced himself to his feet, grimacing slightly from the exertion.
Once stood, he clicked his neck, a sound which unsettled Deena, and then he walked towards his young wife, still wearing the same stony expression. His eyes were now locked on hers, grey and empty, they revealed nothing about his thoughts.
Deena hesitated as he advanced towards her, suddenly feeling fearful. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape strategy or even a weapon but he was before her before she could act upon any thoughts.
There was a time when Samuel had stood taller than her, equal in height if she wore heeled shoes. But now he stooped slightly beneath her. As the years since his birth stacked up, he began to wilt beneath the weight of them.
‘You know you shouldn’t be moving about so much in the morning,’ she berated him, though her voice was small and lacked any conviction.
‘Did you remember to take your tablets this morning?’ she added, wanting to show him how much she still cared about him, what a good, loving wife she could be.
‘I will only ask you once more,’ he told her, his voice as hard and cold as the look in his eyes. ‘And God help you if you lie to me.’
‘Sam, I don’t know—’
‘Who is Davis’ father?’ Samuel delivered the question with a fierce force and it stuck in Deena’s chest like a spear, causing her to catch her breath and struggle to speak.
‘Answer me.’ He ordered her, not as a husband to his wife but as a farmer to a slave. There was no respect in his voice, no love, only anger and a desire to be obeyed.
‘Sam,’ Deena opened her mouth and it remained that way as she shook her head. Panic began to well up inside her. She wanted to lie; she needed to lie to protect Davis. She briefly thought of him outside in the pool, playing happily with his brother. She couldn’t allow his world to shatter. But who had been to see her husband? Who had turned the blade of suspicion within them to the point where it could carry out a killing blow?
‘If you won’t tell me, then how about I tell you?’ Samuel suggested.
‘Please…’ Deena began to weep, wishing he would show her some compassion, some love for knowing she deserved none. She had deceived him in the worst possible way. She would accept any punishment he sent her way, but she couldn’t face seeing her son suffer. It would be too unbearable, too obscene.
‘I know about Brandon White.’ Samuel looked away from Deena as he said this and seemed to become even smaller, as though he was sinking in on himself. He reached out for a nearby chair and placed a hand upon it to steady himself. Deena noticed how the skin on his hand had become so paper thin that she could clearly see the web of veins within it. She reached out to support him but he pushed her away with force, reminding her that despite his feeble appearance he retained some of his previous strength. Enough, at least, to hold her at bay.
‘Will you at least admit it?’ Samuel asked, still not looking at her. ‘Don’t you think you’ve lied to me long enough?’
It was Deena’s turn to shrivel and wilt and the air around her suddenly lost its heat and she shivered. She moved past Samuel and sat upon the leather couch which was opposite the chair he had previously been occupying. She crossed her legs beneath her and placed her hands together in her lap. She appeared less like an elegant wife and more like a timid school girl preparing to receive a punishment.
‘Sit down, please,’ she pleaded with her husband. Despite the tension she found herself worrying about his lack of strength. He needed to rest. She’d already taken Davis from him, she refused to be responsible for any detriment to his health.
Samuel grunted in disapproval but obeyed anyway. He walked over and took his seat on his chair, gratefully absorbing the warmth of the nearby fire.
‘Please, Deena, the truth,’ he asked, finally able to look at her. His expression no longer seemed set in stone, if anything, it seemed to have melted by the fire to reveal a sad old face, the line of his mouth dipping in despair at the ends.
Deena had always been so fearful of his reaction to discovering who Davis’ real father was that she never considered how her past indiscretions would have hurt him. She had gone along with the world, who considered the irrepressible Samuel Fern to be made of steel. He was seen as a shrewd and ruthless businessman who would always come out on top. She had been blind to the truth, a truth which she had seen each and every day since they wed. He was just a man, and now an old man. Though he had a steely demeanour he was not made of it. His thin skin and weakening bones could feel pain as easily as the next person.
‘I’m sorry,’ Deena spluttered, not knowing what else to say. ‘I was young and I was a fool.’ She was almost sobbing, working hard to get her words out between the heaving bursts of tears.
‘So you admit it?’ Samuel asked, wanting clarity. ‘You admit that Brandon White is Davis’ father?’
Deena sighed, not wanting to say the words and give them the credibility Samuel desired but knowing she had no choice. Her hands trembled in her lap, unable to wipe away the tears which gushed down her cheeks in a torrent and fell upon her shoulders.
‘Brandon White is Davis’ real father,’ she whispered the words and waited for the ensuing sound of wood snapping and concrete falling as her world would surely begin to crash around her.
Samuel squeezed his eyes shut as he absorbed the words, feeling their acrid sting as they entered his worms and burnt their way down to his heart.
Deena watched him with frantic eyes. It amazed her to see how he suddenly didn’t seem like an old man. His expression, when he looked at her, was one of boyish bewilderment. The resentment which usually sat behind his eyes was gone, replaced by confused hurt.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Deena whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She had anticipated an angry rebuttal on her husband’s part. She’d expected him to lash out, to label her a whore and an unfit mother before perhaps even delivering a physical blow. But instead Samuel just looked small and hurt.
‘Was I not good to you?’ he finally asked her. There was no malice in his tone, only pain. His voice trembled as he spoke, as did his hands. He struggled to keep them still within his lap.
‘You were so good to me! Too good!’ Deena declared passionately.
‘Did I not give you everything you desired?’
‘Samuel, you gave me the world,’ Deena’s tears fell more silently now, like a constant stream upon her cheeks.
‘Why would you do this to me?’ he looked up at her with wide, vulnerable eyes and Deena wanted to scratch her own eyes out. She felt utterly wretched for what she had done. The shame clung to her skin like a vile coat, engulfing her in a putrid cloth of regret.
‘I was young and stupid,’ Deena admitted, wishing she had a more meaningful response to give him, something which made her sound less like the vacuous gold-digger she had once been.
‘He was fun and charismatic and he…’ she faltered on the final part of her admission. The age gap had always remained an unspoken issue between them. Deena was accepting of the fact that he needed the assistance of Viagra but after a while it made her feel less and less desired, knowing her husband needed to take a drug before he could make love to her. Brandon White was young and, when they were together, he was insatiable. He made her feel wanted. All the lavish gifts in the world could not compensate for that and both she and Samuel had always known that. It had been the constant elephant which hung around in the room with them.
‘He wanted me,’ Deena managed to conclude, not wishing to be any mor
e vulgar on the subject than she had to be.
Samuel nodded to himself and looked back at the fire. In the reflected light of the flames she could see the soft residue of tears collecting in his eyes. Deena almost choked as a brick suddenly formed in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her husband cry.
‘Were you sad when he died?’ Samuel continued to watch the fire, his hands still trembling.
‘I thought it was a sad situation,’ Deena began. ‘But I was not sad about it personally.’ She had cried perpetually for three days after he died, insisting to Samuel that she was suffering with PMT.
‘I’m glad he’s dead,’ Samuel coughed. ‘I know that is a terrible thing to say but, were he not already in the ground, I’d be visiting him now to drive a blade in to his chest myself.’
Samuel’s hands ceased trembling for a moment as they formed angry fists.
‘You have every right to be angry.’ Deena whispered to him. ‘But, please, find it in your heart to still love Davis. You mean everything to him.’ She began to sob again at the thought of her family being torn apart. It was more than she could bear.
Samuel watched her with sad, tired eyes. His boyish demeanour had faded away and his usual gravitas had returned. He straightened in his chair and clicked his neck. The tears which had formed within his eyes had been dried by the warmth of the fire before they even had chance to fall.
‘Davis is my son,’ he told her gently.
Deena looked up at him, her eyes open with shock. She held her breath, not daring to even inhale.
‘Davis will always be my son,’ Samuel continued and Deena exhaled, her whole body trembling with relief.
‘Do you…do you mean that?’ she could barely speak, the brick of emotion once more lodging itself within her throat.
‘Davis’ paternal father is dead so he poses no threat to us. I will continue to raise the boy as my own.’
‘Samuel!’ Deena was lost for words. She’d never known that her husband could be capable of such compassion and humility, which made her betrayal even more unbearable.
