Safe With Me

by Helen Lowrie

  ‘So, that’s exciting isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Are you going to get DNA tests done?’

  ‘Um, maybe. I guess we’ll have to think about it,’ Jamie said. He stood up. ‘Thank you again, Mrs Plumley.’

  ‘Call me Josie, please.’ Flustered, she scrambled to her feet. ‘You’re not going already?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, we need to get going,’ he said glancing down at me. My body felt like lead but I managed to stiffly push myself up into a standing position. ‘It was lovely to see you again,’ Jamie added, as we all moved towards the door.

  I was barely aware of anything as we left. Mrs Plumley may have given Jamie a hug and patted me awkwardly on the back but I wasn’t able to reciprocate in any way. I was too busy dying inside.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Once we’d left the city and the motorway behind I drove with the windows down, despite the autumnal chill in the air, my eyes on the road and Josie Plumley’s words careering around in my head. It was strange seeing her again; her familiar mannerisms triggered all sorts of memories I’d long since forgotten or worked hard to forget. But I wasn’t about to let them get to me – it was just the past. It was Kat’s prolonged silence in the seat beside me that was really eating me alive.

  On impulse I slowed down and turned into a side road. It was more of a farm track than a road and narrow, straggly tendrils of honeysuckle and wild clematis reached out from the hedgerows and caressed the car as I slowed to a halt. I expected Kat to ask me why I’d stopped but she didn’t. I switched off the engine and the roar was replaced with the lazy hum of insects buzzing and a plane passing far overhead.

  ‘Talk to me, Kat.’

  She held her back straight, her body rigid, her eyes staring ahead down the lane. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘That nothing’s changed between us – that nothing has to change.’

  ‘You want me to lie to you.’ Her statement caused physical pain in my chest.

  ‘No, Kat, don’t you see? We can forget about this; leave it right here; forget we spoke to Josie; forget her half-baked theory – we can just carry on as we were.’

  She was shaking her head. ‘You don’t really believe that.’

  ‘I do, Kat.’ I took her hand; she tried to pull away at first but I held on tight, lacing my fingers between hers, and she relented, her shoulders sagging, her arm going limp. Pressing the back of her hand to my mouth I savoured her warmth against my lips, her addictive scent, the taste of her skin.

  She closed her eyes. ‘How the fuck did we let this happen?’

  ‘We weren’t to know.’

  ‘I should’ve known,’ she said, her voice hard. ‘I should’ve read the signs, just like she did. I wanted you to be my brother so badly back then. Why didn’t she say anything? How could she keep something like that to herself?’

  ‘She probably didn’t want to get our hopes up – it would have been difficult to prove back then.’

  ‘But if she’d just said something – why didn’t I know?’

  ‘Don’t do this. Don’t blame yourself; don’t start regretting what we have.’

  She sighed heavily and looked down at her lap. ‘We need to get a DNA test.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. Don’t you understand, Kat, I can’t lose you. I can’t take that risk; I don’t want a sibling, I want this – I want what we have.’

  ‘But it’s wrong,’ she said, turning to me at last, her eyes flashing. ‘Could you really fuck me knowing I might be your sister?’

  The force of her words caught me like a slap in the face. She wrenched her hand back as if I was hurting her, unclipped her seatbelt and climbed out, slamming the door behind her.

  Deep down I knew she was right. I wouldn’t be able to forget, not completely. Doubt would forever eat away at us, undermining our relationship and ruining what we had. But I still didn’t want to accept it.

  Her arms tightly folded, she leaned against the bonnet with her back to me. ‘We need to know, Jamie, one way or the other.’

  Dread brewed in my chest. ‘And if we are related? What do we do then?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  Climbing out I stalked around the car until I was stood right in front of her, looming over her, needing to be near her. But she wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes rested on my chest, her gaze staring right through me.

  ‘I can’t just change how I feel about you, Kat. I love you; I’m in love with you; I can’t be around you all the time and not –’ My frustration morphed into irritation as she continued to avoid my gaze. ‘Are you even going to try and fight this? You’re going to leave me again aren’t you?’ I accused. ‘You’re just going to run away, like you always do.’

  ‘No. I don’t know. I have no idea,’ she said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  ‘God, I’m sorry,’ I whispered, wrapping my arms around her. ‘I’m just so angry – this whole thing is so unfair.’ She pressed her face into my chest, hot tears soaking through my shirt.

  For several minutes we stood in that quiet leafy lane, in the middle of nowhere, away from everything and safe in each other’s arms. I wished that time would stop altogether, that we could stay like that for ever, but there was no escaping my own thoughts. Our foster mother’s speculations, the so-called ‘signs’ of our kinship, though flimsy, were nevertheless convincing. Not least because the connection, the bond, Kat and I shared felt so strong – completely unlike anything else. And now there was a simple explanation for it; one I didn’t want. But at the same time I was equally convinced it couldn’t be true. I couldn’t possibly be so aroused by Kat if she was my sister, right? I mean that would just make me sick in the head.

  Kat pulled away from me and, as she wiped her eyes, something caught her attention. Bending down she carefully collected up a dandelion clock in her hand – the delicate, spherical seed head perfectly intact.

  ‘Do you remember making wishes on these as a child?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked at me, her eyes rimmed pink from her tears. ‘What did you use to wish for?’

  I swallowed, almost choking on the bitter irony. Briefly I considering lying but I couldn’t, not to her. ‘I used to wish for us to be adopted together so that we could be brother and sister.’

  She nodded sadly, quietly considering the spent flower as she slowly turned it in her fingers. At last she closed her eyes, made a wish and blew. The seeds dispersed on the air and Kat dropped the bare stem to the ground before climbing back in the car without another word.

  Two days later I sat in my office staring at a small cardboard box on my desk. I had done my research, read up on DNA testing, found a reputable company and ordered a home testing kit. And here it was – a simple, discreet, brown box – no slogan, no branding, no return address: just sitting there like it was nothing.

  Kat knew I’d ordered it, despite the fact we’d barely spoken in the past forty-eight hours. We’d worked long hours, kept ourselves busy and spent the nights lying awake in separate bedrooms. It was killing me. I missed the intimacy that we’d shared; that I’d begun to depend on. The exquisite landscape of her body had become more familiar to me than my own and I craved her like a drug. I was an addict and I was in withdrawal – it took all my strength to keep myself from falling apart completely.

  But Kat was adamant that we do the test; she was fully expecting it to arrive any day now: today or tomorrow. It could have arrived tomorrow – the postal service was unreliable sometimes. Picking it up I opened a drawer, slipped the box inside and closed it again. Tomorrow then. I knew I was only delaying the inevitable but I just couldn’t lose her, not yet; I needed more time.

  Soon after seven o’clock I returned to the cottage through the back door, just as Kat was removing a vegetarian moussaka from the oven. It smelled divine. As I sat down to take off my boots I saw the DNA test kit, open on the table before me, and froze. Kat said nothing as she collected two plates f
rom the draining board and began serving up our meal.

  Removing my boots I placed them neatly by the back door and returned to my seat, clearing my throat. ‘I meant to tell you the kit had arrived.’

  Kat raised an eyebrow at me as she set our dinner down and seated herself across from me. ‘I already knew it had arrived; it was me who put it on your desk.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘When you didn’t mention it to me at lunchtime I went back to your office to retrieve it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling foolish.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s OK. I’ve done my swab but we can do yours after dinner.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. It’s very easy; you just follow the instructions.’

  Sighing, I picked up my fork and shovelled food into my mouth, resigned. In my heart I knew that Kat loved me, the same way I did her, but she was much better at hiding it. I’d lost my appetite; I could hardly taste anything, barely swallow, at the painful thought of losing her.

  ‘I’d like to get the samples back in the post tonight; it will be at least another week before we get the results.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I mumbled with my mouth full. ‘I’ll do it tonight.’

  She made no reply and we endured the rest of our meal without speaking. I felt like shit.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  With a sharp pair of secateurs I hacked back the prickly brown foliage of the Papaver orientale in my hand and then knocked it from its pot with my fist to inspect the roots. Jamie had had a job lot of five hundred, tatty, end-of-season perennials delivered to the nursery. He’d purchased them at a bargain price since they were unsellable in their current condition: withered, pot-bound and half-starved of nutrients. But with a little care and attention – re-potting, watering, feeding and over-wintering – most could be salvaged ready for resale in the spring. I was grateful for the task; Mondays were always quiet in the garden centre and now that the extension was finished and the builders had gone it was even quieter than usual. The coffee shop was still awaiting furniture and a few other finishing touches and would require the necessary food hygiene inspections and certificates before we could start serving the public. The plan was to have a grand opening in October but I’d lost all enthusiasm for the project in the past week. At least this re-potting was keeping me occupied, if not happy.

  Would I ever feel happy again? My soul weighed heavy with exhaustion and my limbs ached with grief, as if mourning the loss of Jamie’s touch. The long nights were the worst: alone in bed too restless to sleep, my thoughts chasing round in circles and a knot of tense frustration throbbing relentlessly between my legs. And when I did slip into unconsciousness, peace still eluded me. My thwarted desire saturated my dreams, conjuring up Jamie’s mouth on my body, his lips soft and teasing, his tongue, firm and insistent. Sleep had become dangerous. I had never felt so wired and confused, so close to losing my mind.

  From where I sat at a workbench I had a clear view across the fields and up the hill to the tree line where Jamie and Liam where replacing a section of boundary fence. The leaves on the trees had turned glorious shades of gold, fiery red, and sunset orange and the men looked focused as they toiled – working in partnership and taking turns with a pickaxe and a heavy post rammer. Jamie had predicted that the earth up there would be dry, stony, and riddled with roots, and from where I was sitting I could tell that progress was tough going. As the September sun had climbed higher in the sky, behind me both men had stripped off their T-shirts, casually tucking them into the back pockets of their jeans like labourers on a building site. Even from afar I could see their tanned muscles flexing, rippling and shining with sweat. They made for a fine sight and, despite my attempts to stop looking, my eyes were repeatedly drawn in that direction.

  Finding myself staring at Jamie once again I transferred my attention to Liam. He wasn’t as classically good-looking as Jamie and lacked boyish charm but his rugged features and burly physique conveyed a straightforward masculinity that appealed, despite the stern expression he wore by default. It occurred to me that I might have been attracted to Liam under different circumstances, if I’d never known the all-consuming intensity of loving Jamie – if I’d never discovered who we were together. But I had and now there would never be anyone else for me. Not even if Jamie turned out to be my brother.

  In two more days we would learn the truth, and everything would change, for better or worse. I had done my best to mentally prepare for the worst, strived to make some sort of decision about what I was going to do, but it was proving impossible. We couldn’t continue a sexual relationship if we were related; even if no one else knew we were siblings we would know and it would be horribly wrong. So either I ran away, cut myself off completely, and accepted a hollow existence without Jamie or I stuck around and struggled to love him chastely, as a sibling. I’d been attempting the latter, unsuccessfully, for days. I tried visualising myself living separately in town and only seeing Jamie occasionally but I could only envisage a protracted, miserable existence of longing and regret. Would the intensity of my feelings ease with time and distance? It was hard to believe.

  Jamie glanced over and caught me looking at him and we both turned away. I had run out of slow-release fertiliser so picking up the empty tub I made my way behind the polytunnels to the chemical store. As I yanked open the door to the metal storage container the astringent chemical odour tickled my nostrils, the cold air escaping and making me shiver. To allow my eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior I paused before stepping inside the narrow galley-shaped space and scanning the shelves. Past the rows of pest and weed control solutions I was advancing on the fertiliser when someone stepped out of the shadows behind me, blocking the light from the door.

  ‘Rina, babe.’ I froze. The stale stench of cigarettes swamped all other smells and a familiar sense of despair spread through my veins like liquid nitrogen. ‘You’re my wife. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?’

  ‘No.’ As I said it I realised it was true.

  He laughed, making me flinch, my shoulders hunching around my ears to block the sound, my body automatically cowering in well-practised defeat. ‘No, I didn’t think so – you’re stupid but not that fucking stupid.’ Grabbing my shoulder he yanked me round to face him.

  Vic looked different: the denim jacket that he always wore had been replaced by an old army shirt, which didn’t quite hide the ugly bulldog tattoo at his neck. His hair was dyed black and slick with grease, accentuating his sallow skin, and his eyeballs were threaded with red lines as they darted about my face. He looked twitchy and desperate.

  ‘Been hiding out here, on and off, for weeks – keeping an eye on you – watching you make a fool of yerself. Torched that shed just to see the look on your face,’ he added with a grin. Been working on a way to get us out of the country but maybe I should just kill you,’ he sneered, raising a large knife in front of my face. It looked just like one of Jamie’s kitchen knives.

  ‘Go on then.’

  His eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Don’t fucking tempt me. Just shut your mouth. I’ve got enough fucking problems without your lip. The Russians are after me – know anything about that do you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well I ain’t leaving you behind to cause trouble and spend all my money – either you come with me now or I gut you like a fucking pig right here.’

  I could tell by the look in his eyes that it was not an idle threat.

  ‘C’mon we’re going.’ Stepping around me he positioned the blade at my side and shoved me towards the door.

  ‘Where?’

  With his free hand Vic smacked my head so hard that it rebounded off the edge of a metal shelf, knocking several things to the floor and temporarily dazing me. ‘What did I just say?’ he snarled. ‘Keep your fucking trap shut! You’ll go wherever the fuck I tell you.’

  Stumbling out into the light I instinctively raised my fingertips to my head, checking for blood as the pain
unfurled. With jabs of the knife he goaded me along the path behind the polytunnels, towards the back exit, out of sight of the garden centre and the fields beyond.

  ‘You really wanna stay in this shithole?’ he sneered. ‘I bet it ain’t the job you wanna stay for; fancy yerself as lady of the fucking manor, I bet. Maybe I should slice up that pretty boy of yours, make you watch while I cut his balls off.’

  No! To protect Jamie I ground my teeth together hard, determined not to say anything to provoke Vic further. Putting one foot in front of the other I kept walking, internally wrestling with the fear and shame Vic had instilled in me over the years. He had always been a poor excuse for a husband.

  ‘This ain’t your place, Rina – you’ll never belong here.’

  With sudden clarity I realised Vic was wrong. I did belong here; my place was with Jamie. Regardless of whether he was my brother or not, Jamie and I belonged together. We always had. Who was Vic Leech to dictate my life? And why was I letting him? Didn’t I owe it to Jamie to stand up for myself and fight for the life I wanted? Didn’t I owe it to myself?

  With an impulsive surge of defiance that I’d not felt since my teens, I rounded on Vic, thrusting my knee firmly up into his groin and shoving him aside. At full pelt I ran back towards the open space of the nursery, towards the life I wanted, towards Jamie. As I cleared the end of the polytunnels the colourful expanse of hillside and trees sprang back into view. My eyes immediately pinpointed Jamie in the distance, swinging a pickaxe at the ground, and then flicked across to Liam, who was pulling his shirt back on and strolling down the hill towards me. I opened my mouth to shout but before I could make a sound I was thrown to the floor.

  Vic’s body weight pinned me to the ground with brutal force, crushing the air from my lungs. Unable to move or breathe, my face and hands stung as they pressed into the rubble path I’d painstakingly weeded, not two days before. In fighting for a breath I coughed and a sharp pain lanced through my torso, almost blinding me with its intensity.