by Helen Lowrie
‘James! I thought that was you!’ I turned to find Rosalie Saunders, a girl I’d been to school with, standing beside me. She had a big toothy grin on her face and a trolley loaded with groceries and small children.
‘Rose! How are you?’ I said, limply returning her over-enthusiastic hug and wishing it was Kat’s.
‘Wonderful! We’re properly settled in Richmond now and Andrew has just been made vice-president of his firm so things couldn’t be better!’
‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘That’s great.’
‘We’re just up here visiting Granny and Grandpa aren’t we?’ she said, addressing her offspring. There was a baby asleep in a carrier in the front of the trolley, a chubby toddler in a pink dress strapped in next to her, and a small boy with chocolate around his mouth standing in the back, surrounded by bumper packs of nappies and baby wipes. Rosalie spat into a tissue and wiped at the boy’s face before turning back to me.
‘What about you? I heard about your Dad, I am so sorry.’ Stepping too close she scrutinised me, presumably searching for signs of grief.
‘Yeah, thank you, but I’m OK.’ I took half a step back.
‘But are you just visiting or – Mum said you might be back for good? That you’d taken over the garden centre?’ She sounded incredulous, her expression the same picture of confused concern that I’d seen on the faces of the friends I’d left behind in London.
‘Yes, that’s right. Just fancied a change. Rose, this is Kat,’ I said, turning to where Kat had started unloading goods onto the conveyor belt. ‘Kat, this is Rosalie – we went to the same school.’
Rose took in Kat with a dismissive glance, guffawed and hit me on the arm. ‘It’s a bit more than that!’ she exclaimed, before turning to address Kat. ‘James and I were high school sweethearts. You can ask anyone around here. Everyone thought we’d end up married – until I cruelly broke his heart, that is. I think I must be the one that got away,’ she added in a stage whisper.
‘Oh right, well, it’s lovely to meet you,’ Kat said smiling. ‘But just so you know Jamie was sleeping in my bed before you even met him.’
Rosalie laughed abruptly in surprise, unaware of the joke, while Kat calmly carried on unloading our shopping without further elaboration. The rush of affection I felt for Kat in that moment almost winded me, as I fought to keep the grin off my face.
‘Good to see you again, Rosalie,’ I said, turning to help Kat with our groceries.
‘Yes,’ Rosalie said, distracted. ‘Take care, James.’ Eyeing Kat uneasily over her shoulder, she wheeled her children away.
‘Sorry,’ Kat said as she thumped down cans of tinned tomatoes.
‘Don’t be. I never liked her half as much as she thought I did.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
In the shadows, on the threshold of Jamie’s bedroom, I hesitated, listening intently to his slow measured breaths. I had to be sure he was asleep before I ventured closer to his bed.
I’d been here five days – five days in Jamie’s world – and it was everything I’d imagined and more. I didn’t want to leave.
I loved working down on the nursery, tucked safely away from public view with the sun, wind and rain on my face and storybook hills and trees in every direction. Or in the polytunnels with Lil working the dark, rich compost between my fingers, learning to cultivate and nurture living plants and witnessing their growth and development day by day. My plaster cast was an annoyance I could have done without – restricting me to the lighter work – but at least my wrist didn’t hurt too much and by occasionally slipping off the sling I could still use the fingers of that hand. It wasn’t the only thing that had taken a little getting used to – there was the dizzyingly vast expanse of open space and sky; the strange, sweet stench of manure when the wind blew in a certain direction; the way my skin began to tingle and burn after less than half an hour in the sun; not to mention the assortment of peculiar-looking, but apparently harmless, insects that I’d encountered. But I relished each new day.
And then there were the evenings Jamie and I spent alone together in the cottage, just talking and eating, reading books or watching TV. I savoured every new detail I learned about him – his borderline addiction to geeky science-fiction series, the lamer the better; or the way he consciously wore mismatched socks in memory of his mum, who used to pair them incorrectly by mistake; or the fact that he was slightly short-sighted. Jamie wore disposable contact lenses during the day but, in the evenings, when his eyes grew tired, he would swap them for a nerdy pair of black-rimmed spectacles. Rather than making him look more grown up and serious, they somehow highlighted his boyishness and only contributed to his inadvertent sex appeal. Life with Jamie was unexpectedly easy to settle into and yet, at the end of each day, no matter how weary I felt and as comfortable as my bed was, I was incapable of sleeping there.
I wasn’t afraid of the dark the way Jamie used to be. It was the silence – the eerie absence of sound. There was no chronic wheezing to signify Vic’s slumber, no traffic noise, no rumble of trains, no buzzing street lights, no TVs blaring, no stray music, no people talking too loud, no babies crying, no dogs barking, no alarms going off … The hush pressed in on me, surging up into my ears until it almost hurt.
And when I did sleep I invariably dreamt of Vic. His familiar words grating through my head on repeat until his voice became my own, ‘You fucking well wind me up, you know that? You and your smart mouth – I should just kick you out, see how you like that – no one else’d take you on, that’s for sure. I mean, what have you got to offer anyone? You’re useless; spoiled goods, for fuck’s sake! You’re so lucky I married you, so fucking lucky – I didn’t have to, wish I hadn’t. I felt sorry for you, you ungrateful cow. And what do I get in return? Nothing, that’s what! Fucking nothing! I should teach you a fucking lesson.’
On my first night in the cottage panic had propelled me into Jamie’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. I was instinctively drawn to him, to his warm, reassuring scent and the comfort he exuded. Of course I was careful not to rouse him; I didn’t want him to wake and find me in his bed – that would be awkward and difficult to explain – but by curling up on one side of his mattress and listening to his steady, restful breathing I could finally sleep in peace. I was confident that I’d be up early enough to return to my room before Jamie caught me out, because my body clock automatically woke me at dawn. And so it had – not to the squabble and flap of urban pigeons as before but to a light trilling, twittering mix of musical melodies, as a whole host of small songbirds welcomed the new day.
Sleeping in Jamie’s bed had become a bad habit. Carefully I lay on my side, under the duvet beside him, my plaster-clad wrist tucked in the sling across my chest. Tonight there was a clear sky and moonlight was filtering through the thin curtains, softly illuminating Jamie’s peaceful form. He lay on his back, one arm flung up on the pillow beside his head, the other resting across his bare chest, his fingers splayed over his heart. I lay still beside him, my eyes travelling over every beautiful contour, starting with the dark tousled hair on his pillow, the smooth planes of his face, the fan of his eyelashes, the soft swell of his mouth, the stubble at his jaw … and on down across the sheer breadth and solidity of his form, the sinuous ridges, dips and bulges of muscle in his shoulders, chest, arms and stomach – his skin flawless and sculpted to perfection. I marvelled at how a small abandoned boy had transformed into the impressive physical specimen of manhood before me. Of course he concealed his raw underlying strength beneath easy charm and a gentle, loving nature, just as he hid his sexy body beneath clothes, but I knew the real Jamie and it aroused a hunger in me like nothing else I’d ever known.
As my eyelids drooped with drowsiness, he made a low sound deep in his chest and the covered area below his stomach twitched and swelled beneath the duvet. I longed to reach out and touch him, my fingers physically tingled with the urge, so I pressed them safely between my own legs, squeezing my thighs together and
quietly sighing at the near-constant ache there. I longed to know what Jamie was dreaming about and almost wished I was still Rina – the woman who had once turned him on – but I was Kat again. He had found his long-lost sister and I would not let him down.
Chapter Twenty-eight
My head was full of Kat as I made her a cup of tea. I’d set my alarm to ensure I would reach the market at the usual time. I’d showered, dressed, eaten some breakfast and done all the washing up from last night’s delicious home-cooked meal but sensual images of Kat still lingered in my mind. My dreams of her were so vivid nowadays that I fancied I could smell the subtle fragrance of her skin when I woke.
In the past having to spend prolonged stretches of time with another person had made me uncomfortable. For reasons I didn’t understand I’d always struggled to lower my guard and really be myself in front of anyone else and it was exhausting maintaining a pretence. But Kat had been here almost a week now and spending time alone with her (provided we were not in physical contact) was remarkably easy – I found myself relaxing without realising it. When I didn’t have too much paperwork to do, we spent whole evenings just chatting or watching TV. She seemed happy to sit through some of my favourite shows, while simultaneously reading a book or completing a sudoku puzzle in the local paper. She clearly had a head for numbers and even the grids labelled ‘difficult’ were soon solved, once Kat was focused and chewing the end of a biro in concentration. Today would be our first time apart since I’d brought her home six days ago and I was oddly anxious about leaving her. But I had to go; I had important things to achieve in London.
I would start by surreptitiously convincing Cherry, Gary and any other curious locals that I was entirely clueless about Rina. Then I would pay a visit to Brian, my old college buddy who was now a private investigator based in nearby Fulham and owed me a favour. With Brian’s help I could make sure that the right person or people would be enlightened about Vic’s snitch status before the day was out. I was in no doubt that ‘they’ would make certain that Vic never snitched again but I didn’t dwell on how that might be achieved. From what little Kat had told me, Vic had enslaved, bullied and abused her for years – as far as I was concerned he deserved everything he got. All I wanted in return was to remain anonymous to be free to keep Kat happy and safe for the rest of her life. The thought of anything happening to her was too unbearable to contemplate.
I was halfway up the stairs with Kat’s cup of tea when she unexpectedly emerged from the bathroom wrapped only in a very small towel. We both stopped in surprise and scalding hot tea spilled over my fingers as my stunned gaze swept the full length of her – from her perfect toes, up impossibly long graceful legs and on to where her wet hair dripped onto the soft mounds of her breasts, rivulets of water disappearing into her cleavage. It was only a momentary glance, a few seconds nothing more, but it was long enough for me to clock the faded multicoloured array of bruises which spread out from under the towel in every direction – long enough for my initial shock to morph into horror at the pain she must have endured.
And then she was gone. She bolted back into the bathroom like a startled gazelle, locking the door firmly behind her.
‘Shit, Kat?’ Setting down the tea and gingerly wiping my sore fingers on my trouser leg, I moved quickly to the door, resting my forehead against it. ‘Kat, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, are you OK?’
‘Piss off, Jamie.’ She was angry and I wasn’t sure why – I hadn’t deliberately caught sight of her half-naked, though lord knows I’d wanted to for long enough.
‘Please, Kat, I just want to help.’
‘I know I’m a mess; I don’t need your pity,’ she snapped.
‘What? You’re not a mess and I don’t pity you Kat, I -’ I what? How did I feel about her? I cared about her, deeply, perhaps more than I’d ever cared about anyone but that knowledge unsettled me and I couldn’t tell her, not now, maybe not ever. ‘It’s the opposite of pity, Kat, I admire you – you’ve been through so much and yet you’re so strong! You never complain about anything, never ask for help.’ The temptation to force open the door was almost overwhelming. ‘I want to kill your husband for the way he’s treated you – hell, I wish him dead just for knowing you all those years when I didn’t. I just want to help.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ she said evenly.
I sighed, relieved that she sounded calmer and disappointed that I wasn’t brave enough to tell her how I really felt. ‘OK. Look I have to go – I’m driving down to London and then I’m going to meet with some suppliers.’ I omitted to mention Brian. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be back; it might be quite late.’
‘OK.’
‘But you can call me on my mobile any time, Kat.’
‘Yeah, OK.’
‘And there’s half a cup of tea out here if you want it.’
She snorted. ‘Thanks.’ I could hear the smile in her voice.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I said, backing away down the stairs.
‘Be careful,’ she said softly.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I was reading a book and half-watching the nine o’clock evening news when a car pulled up on the drive. I assumed it was Jamie returning from London but when I peeked through a gap in the curtains it was not the van parked there; it was a sleek expensive-looking sports car. Convinced that Vic or one of his friends had tracked me down adrenalin spiked through my system. But just as I was preparing to run and hide the driver’s door swung open and a delicate high-heeled foot protruded, followed by another. By the time she had fully emerged from the car, like a butterfly stretching its wings, I’d recognised Jasmine Reed.
As she crunched her way across the gravel towards the front door I hovered in indecision. Should I let her in? Should I call Jamie? Could I just hide and pretend there was no one home? I only realised it wasn’t up to me when she inserted a key – how come she still had a set? – opened the door and walked in as if she owned the place.
‘Well hello, what have we here?’ she said, looking me up and down and shrugging out of a sequinned wrap. ‘Who are you?’
‘Kat,’ I said, in shock.
‘Cat!’ She gave a little trilling laugh. ‘Oh, how wonderful! Are you James’s little pet?’
Caught off guard, I flushed with humiliation. ‘No. I’m a friend; I work here.’
She nodded, seemingly satisfied that I was no threat. ‘How lovely.’ Wafting past me in a cloud of perfume, she headed through the living room towards the kitchen. ‘Where is he? I need to talk to him.’
‘He’s in town; he’s not back yet.’
Jamie had mentioned that Jasmine was still living in his London flat while she arranged somewhere else to move to – it was typically generous of him to allow such a thing – but I thought he’d said that they’d broken up back in March – that she was his ex-girlfriend. And yet here she was, acting like she owned him. Had I misunderstood? Jamie wouldn’t lie to me would he?
In a daze I watched as Jasmine opened the fridge door and bent over. Her silky red dress rode up to reveal the tops of lacy black stockings, as she helped herself to a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. Collecting two huge wine glasses from a cupboard she set them on the table with a flourish, before filling them both to the top.
‘There you go,’ she said, holding one out to me and flashing her pearly white smile.
I wasn’t much of a drinker but impelled by her self-assurance, confused, and not wishing to offend, I accepted the drink.
‘Cheers, Cat!’ Chinking her glass against mine she took a large swig, while I stole a tentative sip. ‘Oh that’s good,’ she groaned, closing her eyes momentarily before glancing around and then pinning me with them. ‘So, Cat.’ She sashayed over to me and hooked her arm through mine, ignoring my cringe. ‘Let’s get comfortable and you can tell me all about yourself.’
I gulped down more Dutch courage as she led me into the lounge and pulled me down onto the couch with her. Jasmine sank back agai
nst the cushions, her immaculately made-up face tipped up towards the ceiling and glossy blonde, corkscrew curls spilling out decorously around her head. I prepared myself for some sort of interrogation but soon realised she was far more interested in talking about herself. I watched, transfixed, as she drank and talked, occasionally gesturing with great sweeps of her arms, giggling prettily or wrinkling her neat little nose in distaste. She told me about the party she had just come from – the champagne, the canapés and the celebrities she had met. She spoke as candidly as if she had known me for years.
As she relaxed further she kicked off her heels, throwing one petite, stockinged leg across my lap and making me flinch. I drank self-consciously while her fragrant body heat seeped into the fabric of my new pyjamas. The low neckline of her dress splayed open revealing her small breasts – they jiggled each time she laughed, her nipples barely concealed by the fine lace of her bra. And she touched me frequently – the manicured tips of her fingers fleetingly applying pressure with a tap, a pat, or a stroke on my shoulder, forearm, knee and thigh – each contact making me jolt at the unexpectedness of it.
I had never met anyone famous before. I was enthralled by her perfect looks, her confidence, her charm, and fascinated by the people and the places she described. But more than anything I was utterly absorbed by the idea of her and Jamie as a couple. I began to picture them together – his eyes, his hands and his mouth on her skin; his arms around her as she spoke, slept, and fucked him… And I found myself viewing her as he might – the sexy red pout of her lips, the glitter of her eyes, the flawlessness of her bronzed complexion.
By the time she leant forward and kissed me I barely knew who I was. My mouth fell open in surprise and her lips were soft and coaxing, her tongue gently teasing mine as she took my hand in hers and pressed it to her own breast. As if in a trance my fingers spread out cupping the delicate lacy mound in my palm. Like Jamie, I thought. Has he touched her like this? Kissed her like this? Does he miss it? Jasmine pressed her hand between my legs and a shudder of nausea swept through my body. I couldn’t breathe properly, her perfume was clogging my nostrils, my head was spinning and my vision swam.
