by Helen Lowrie
But why? Why had Jamie pleasured me like that, without taking anything in return? Why me, when he could have any pretty young girl he liked? Did he feel sorry for me? Was it just out of pity? Thank God it was too dark for him to see all my ugly scars and bruises. Whatever his reasons, and as wonderful as it had been, it wouldn’t happen again. Jamie had clearly come to his senses this morning and I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable about it. I owed him so much; he’d gone to extraordinary lengths to help me escape Vic and he didn’t need me lusting after him like some old ‘tramp off the street’. A fresh flush of shame crept into my face as I recalled Jasmine Reed’s words. She had me pegged right away. I’d endured far worse insults from Vic for years but somehow it had sounded worse coming from Jasmine’s pretty mouth – harsh but no less true. Shit, did I really let that bitch kiss me? I spat out a mouthful of toothpaste in disgust.
Jamie was standing in the doorway of his bedroom when I emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing just boxers and a T-shirt, his arms and legs bare, tanned and softly hairy. He leaned one solid shoulder into the door frame as his eyes swept up over me and I was grateful for the ample coverage of my pyjamas, despite being too warm.
‘Did you speak to Jasmine last night?’ I said.
‘Yes, I called her before I went to bed.’
‘She made it home all right?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what you said to her but she’s finally agreed to have a proper discussion about the flat. Hopefully she’s coming round to the idea of moving out. I’m going to go and see her on Sunday.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes.’
I couldn’t think of anything else to say and as the silence became awkward I started towards my bedroom.
‘You can sleep in my room if you like?’
I stopped and stared at him confused, my heart pounding in my chest.
‘I promise I won’t touch you. I know last night was – wrong, but my bed’s plenty big enough for two and, well, the offer’s there if you want it.’
Ordering my thoughts I tried to read between the lines. Had Jamie guessed why I was there in his bed? Was I really so pathetic and transparent? The idea that he might pity me was a sour taste in my mouth. ‘Why?’
Jamie shrugged and picked at the paintwork at his elbow. ‘It feels good having you around – just like old times.’ He looked so young, his voice so soft and uncertain, and yet his words resonated somewhere deep inside me. The truth was I wanted to be near him more than ever and I couldn’t sleep properly on my own anyway.
‘If you’re still afraid of the dark you should just say so,’ I said.
Jamie laughed, a genuine boyish smile spreading out across his handsome face. ‘OK, fair enough – you got me. Does that mean you’ll stay?’
‘OK,’ I said, feigning nonchalance.
‘Thank you,’ he breathed, as I stepped past him and made my way to his bed.
We stayed awake for hours, side by side in the dark, not touching, just talking; reminiscing about our shared past. It was such a short period from our childhood, just four years that we’d shared, compared to the long twenty-three years we’d been apart, and yet Jamie recalled more from that time than I would have thought possible.
‘Do you remember the back garden?’ he said.
‘What that fenced in area of mud and weeds masquerading as lawn?’
‘Yeah – it was like a meadow in the summer and we spent almost all our time out there. I used to go around gathering daisies and buttercups for you so that you could make them into long chains.’
‘Why? You didn’t have to.’
I sensed his shrug. ‘I don’t know; it was something to do, I guess, but it was nice, peaceful – until the other kids took the piss out of me for picking flowers.’
‘Little shits.’
Jamie chuckled. ‘I think you said something similar at the time – you descended like some angry, avenging flower fairy, wreathed in petals and inflicting Chinese burns without mercy.’
Jamie went on to reminisce about Mungo, the Plumleys’ arthritic mongrel, who habitually growled at passing motorbikes, farted when he sneezed, and slept at the end of Jamie’s bed. I smiled at his memories as he talked. It was a novelty being able to discuss some of my childhood at all, let alone with someone who was actually there. I was also reminded about Martin, an unpleasant, chubby child with beady little eyes and an unfortunate stutter. But he held a lot of sway over the other kids simply because he was bossy and quick to use his fists. Apparently on one occasion – when Martin and friends had Jamie surrounded and were laughing and barking at him like animals – I’d appeared out of nowhere, slipped Mungo’s lead around Martin’s neck, dragged him off, and forced him to eat dog food from Mungo’s bowl while the others looked on silently in awe.
‘That sounds like me,’ I said, grimacing. ‘I was a troublemaker back then.’
‘You were fantastic, Kat. Martin left me alone for weeks after that.’
‘I bet I got punished for it though.’
Jamie sighed. ‘Yeah, I think they took all your books away.’ His voice was heavy, the humour gone.
‘Is that all? It could have been worse.’
‘Yeah, I guess the Plumleys weren’t too bad really.’
I didn’t reply. The Plumleys, though emotionally detached and financially overstretched, with as many as eight kids in their care at a time, were still the most benign foster parents I’d ever had. Those I’d had since were significantly worse – neglectful, abusive or downright violent. But I wasn’t about to burden Jamie with that knowledge.
The next morning I showed Jamie my old photograph and the scrap of handwriting I’d treasured for so long. Sitting heavily on the edge of the bed he stared at them, silent with emotion.
‘Why did you change your name to James?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s the name they put on my adoption certificate. I think my Mum preferred it. To be honest I’d forgotten I used to be called Jamie until you suddenly said it at the hospital. Why did you change yours?’
‘I was thirteen – I wanted to be someone else – I thought changing my name might help make that happen.’
I left to take a bath, allowing Jamie some privacy while he contemplated the small fragments of personal history that would seem insignificant to anyone else but which trembled in his hands. The childhood thread that connected us was tenuous and insubstantial and yet it had always felt like a solid bond to me. Now, as we got to know each other again, I was starting to wonder if Jamie might feel the same.
Chapter Thirty-two
On Sunday evening I rang the doorbell rather than using my key to get into my London flat. My goal was to get Jasmine to agree to move out so that I could get the place sold; to that end I would make it as easy as possible for her, despite the bitchy things I’d overheard her saying to Kat two nights previously. While I was here I’d also collect the spare keys to Southwood Cottage so Jasmine couldn’t turn up there unannounced again.
Answering the door, my ex was as immaculately turned out as ever and calmly composed, as she invited me to sit down and offered me a drink.
‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’
‘You’d better make it – you never did like my tea,’ she said, sitting down and inspecting a long fingernail.
‘That’s not true.’ With a sigh I moved into the kitchen and filled the kettle. ‘You want one?’ She nodded. Neither of us spoke again until I’d returned with our drinks and settled at the opposite end of the settee.
‘So, you’re here to kick me out,’ she said, ever the drama queen.
‘That’s not fair, Jasmine. You know I need the money tied up in this place. I’ve already given you nearly three months to find somewhere else to go.’
‘That was good of you,’ she muttered. I picked up my mug of tea to distract myself from my growing irritation. ‘If you’re really going to sell my home out from underneath me then there’s something you ought to know.’
/> ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
I’d just taken a mouthful of tea and, rather than spit it out, I swallowed heavily. It burned all the way down. ‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘But you’re on the pill, aren’t you?’
She folded her arms and shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
‘But it can’t be mine?’
Her steely blue eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I mean, we’re not together anymore; we haven’t slept together since –’ I tried to think back but something resembling blind panic was brewing inside me, making it hard to concentrate.
‘I’m three months along. Don’t tell me you don’t remember; it happened right here on this sofa!’ Her voice rose in pitch along with her anger.
‘No, of course I remember –’ Jesus, did I really make a baby with Jasmine while thinking about Kat? I was going straight to Hell. ‘But – I thought you were seeing someone else, maybe –?’
‘A woman knows these things, James.’ She said it dismissively and it sounded like a line from one of her plays.
‘Hang on; you’re three months gone? So you’ve decided to keep it?’
She shrugged again. ‘No, but it’s too late to terminate.’
‘But, you’ve been drinking – and smoking.’ My eyes swivelled to the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table as a new kind of horror spread through me.
‘I only just found out, OK.’ Swiping the ashtray off the table she stalked into the kitchen where she dumped the contents in the bin.
‘Jesus, fuck, Jasmine.’
Huffily she returned to her seat. ‘That’s really helpful, James, thanks.’ Picking up her tea she blew on it, a scowl on her face.
‘What are we going to do?’
She laughed, one of her fake laughs which didn’t reach her eyes. ‘We? I thought there was no “we” any more.’
My hands had begun to shake so I set my tea down on a coaster on the table. ‘OK, what do you intend to do?’
‘I suppose I’ll put it up for adoption as soon as it’s born.’
‘Just like that.’
‘Yes, James; just like that. It’s not like I asked for this to happen and I have a career to get on with. If you still wanted me it might be different but clearly –’ Tears had welled up in her big blue eyes and as her lip wobbled a surge of guilt impelled me to move over and hug her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, absently rubbing her back. ‘It’s just such a shock and I – please don’t just give it away.’
‘I can’t keep it, James; I’m not cut out to be a single mum!’
‘I know, I’m sorry; don’t worry; we’ll work something out, together, OK?’
I felt her nod and relax slightly in my arms, while my anxiety quietly mounted and I fought the urge to hit something.
Chapter Thirty-three
I was glad I’d waited up for Jamie when he stepped through the front door after midnight. Something was badly wrong.
‘What is it? What happened?’ His gaze found me as I hovered in the living room in the glow of a side lamp. His eyes, usually so warm, seemed hollow as he reached out wordlessly and pulled me into a hug. The sudden bodily contact was alarming, partly because of what had happened between us just three nights ago but mainly because Jamie was usually so careful to maintain a distance between us. Whatever had occurred this evening had upset him, badly.
‘I’m so glad you’re here, Kat,’ he said into my hair. I wanted to comfort him, to ease his pain and relish the feel of his arms around me, but he smelled of Jasmine’s perfume and cigarettes and fear made it impossible for me to relax.
‘Tell me.’ I could feel the steady hammering of Jamie’s heartbeat against my chest and my own heart rate had picked up in anticipation.
‘She’s pregnant.’
No! Not that! I closed my eyes and my body tensed all over as if to shield me from hearing more. His arms banded tighter around me in response. ‘She says she’s three months gone. She says it’s mine,’ he added, his voice heavy with despair.
In my head I did some quick calculations. Jamie first walked into Vic’s Cafe three months ago – that was when we met each other, as adults, for the first time – and he was still sleeping with Jasmine then? Of course he was; just because she was a complete bitch and cheating on him, didn’t mean … ‘Do you believe her?’
‘I have no idea, Kat; she seems so sure.’
‘But three days ago she was here smoking, drinking, drink-driving –’ and trying to seduce me.
‘I know. She says she’s only just found out, but Kat –’ He pulled back and looked at me, his face taut with pain. ‘She wants to give it up; she wants to give the baby away – it’s like history repeating itself all over again; I can’t stand it.’
I pulled him back into a hug, unable to bear the look in his eyes, and he buried his face in my hair, holding me close, as if that might save him. ‘It will be OK,’ I said, wishing I believed it.
After a few moments we climbed the stairs together and got into bed. I lay close behind Jamie as we stretched out on our sides in the dark, almost spooning. He took my uninjured arm and wrapped it round his waist as if he needed the extra reassurance – just like when we were children. It was cosy and comforting but his pain was my pain.
‘Tell me what I should do, Kat.’
‘How did you leave things with her?’
‘I said she could stay in the flat as long as she needed to and that we’d work something out.’
‘She wants you to go back to her, doesn’t she?’
‘She didn’t say that but she’s adamant she won’t keep the baby while she’s on her own.’
‘Do you want to go back to her?’ I said, more calmly than I felt.
‘No. You know I don’t.’
His reply gave me some small relief. ‘Do you think she’ll let you have the baby when it’s born?’
‘I don’t know – I wasn’t brave enough to ask her. I doubt it and anyway I don’t know the first thing about babies.’
‘You’d make a much better parent than she would.’
Jamie was silent for a while. ‘How do you know?’ he said at last.
‘Because I know you – you’re kind and patient and generous and caring –’
‘But not loving,’ he said, cutting me off.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean, Kat; I’m not like other people.’
I wanted to hit him – to stop him being down on himself and release my own frustration at the situation – but I grabbed his jaw instead and turned his head to face me. In the low light I could just make out the resignation in his expression and it made me even angrier. ‘You have as much capacity to love a child as anyone else; more, in fact, because you know what it’s like to have to go without. Don’t you dare talk like that again.’
Jamie looked slightly bewildered but nodded. ‘OK.’ His gaze dropped to my mouth and altered, his breathing deepening, his lips parting slightly. The heat of my anger began to stir into a different kind of fire inside me. Releasing his jaw, I wrenched back my hand and turned away, settling on the far side of the bed with my back to him.
‘Go to sleep.’
‘Night Kat,’ he sighed.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘Right, hold it there,’ our coach bellowed, clapping his hands together.
The rest of us slowed to a stop, sweaty and breathless from twenty minutes of concentrated attack and defence drills in twenty-four-degree heat. Wiping my forehead on my sleeve I reached for a bottle of water and took a long thirsty gulp. The sun was strong in the sky and there was barely a breath of wind. Summer was asserting itself with unseemly haste this year – drying out the last of the spring-flowering bulbs and pushing the summer bloomers into a veritable orgy of lush growth and colour. The heat was good for business and sales were up but it was still only June and I couldn’t help worrying the season might burn itself
out too quickly.
‘Time to warm down, guys,’ Coach said. ‘One last lap of the pitch and then back here for stretches. Off you go.’ A few of the guys rolled their eyes and groaned as we set off but Adam and I exchanged a grin. We’d known each other since school and although Adam wasn’t as close a mate as Liam he was far chattier. He was a winger and I was an outside centre – we both liked to run.
As the team settled into a comfortable pace, I glanced over my shoulder to where Kat sat in the dappled shade of a birch tree. I’d warned her our training sessions were boring to watch but she’d insisted on coming along anyway. And I liked having her here; it was strangely reassuring. An old book, The Brinkworth Guide to Ancient Myths and Legends, lay on the grass beside her but she hadn’t picked it up once – every time I looked over and smiled at her she was gazing in my direction. The skinny jeans she wore showcased her improbably long legs and she had bravely pushed her shirtsleeves up above her elbows, revealing smooth porcelain skin as pale as the cast on her wrist. It was almost two weeks since Vic had pushed her down the stairs and Kat never gave the impression she was in any pain or discomfort but I worried that she was using her arm too much. Tomorrow I would take her to the local hospital to make sure her wrist was healing properly.
With private longing I wondered if the bruises had finally faded from the rest of her body too because, despite the climbing temperatures, she still wore a full set of pyjamas in my bed each night. Not that that prevented me from waking with a fierce erection every morning but if Kat had noticed she was too polite to mention it. Nowadays all my showers were cold ones, for all the good it did.
