“Dave, it’s okay to wonder,” Sarah said. “You promised Lucy that you would find her father, and you did. I think that’s a very brave thing to do, and I... I admire you for it, I really do.”
He looked at her again, attempting a smile. He was scared, so scared.
“You were bound to discover things about her sooner or later. The question is what you’re going to do,” she continued.
“Dig deeper, or honour her wish to keep things to herself and forget about the diaries,” Dave finished the thought for her. He inhaled deeply. It was the best thing to do, really. He had trusted Rita despite her secretiveness. Why should that change now? And the things Sarah had just said made perfect sense and they really suited Rita. She would think and do things like that. “Rita has always been very insecure about who her real parents were, and she... felt disconnected, and... like an isolated rock in the sea,” he mused. “She told me that.”
“I’m glad she had you,” Sarah said. “She loved you, you know. She loved you so very much.” She bit her lip, and Dave couldn’t help wondering how she meant to finish that sentence, but she remained silent.
“Thank you for your help, Sarah,” he said. “And for being my friend as well.”
-:-
Dave was lying in bed, his cheeks flaming with a mixture of shame and grief. He had woken after a particularly vivid dream of making love to Rita, hard and ready to explode. After he had given himself release, he had plucked a couple of tissues from the box on her side of the bed and cleaned up the sticky mess on his stomach. The power of his dream had been such to suggest her hands travelling his body and teasing him, followed by her mouth, and although he kept his eyes firmly shut he had seen her arch and stretch beneath him, the long line of her throat as he thrust into her, their sounds of pleasure mingling in the small bedroom. He had woken, then, panting and elated, only to find himself alone in bed, and before he’d had a chance to realise, he had given himself a few sharp tugs and twists and come all over his hands and stomach.
As he cleaned himself up and pulled on a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms, tears made his nose itch and pricked his eyes. For the first time since the night after she had died, he allowed himself to cry, about losing Rita and about being reduced to masturbate to the memory of making love to her.
He curled up on his side of the bed, hugging his knees to his chest, sobbing into a pillow that had lost Rita’s scent long ago. His throat began to hurt with the sobs bottled up inside for so long, and, coupled with his shame about thinking the worst of his love, they bubbled up and came out, unchecked. He tried to stifle his sobs and hide his tears in Rita’s pillow, but his grief and shame were so all-consuming that he let out a brief howl of despair.
It raised Evie and Ewan, who pushed open the door to his bedroom, and before he knew it, or even registered it through the veil of tears and memories, his youngest two clambered into bed with him, crawled all over him to hug and kiss him and whisper to him. He drew them into his embrace, held them close and felt even more mortified for ever doubting that they were his. He showered them with kisses and held them close until he realised that they, too, were crying, helpless to console their father in his grief and swept up in their own grief for their mother.
Eventually, they must have fallen asleep, for when Dave woke at the crack of dawn, he found himself part of a wild tumble of limbs and bodies, with Paul wrapped around him. He must have joined them at some point during the night. He pulled his oldest closer to him and reinforced his hold on Ewan. Evie, he noticed, had curled up with her favourite doll around the pillow he had clutched until she and Ewan had found him. He kissed Paul’s forehead and dozed off again until the annoying chirping of his alarm clock roused the four of them to another day without Rita.
They never talked about that night, nor did it ever happen again, but deep down, Dave felt grateful that they had all cried in each other’s arms. They were his children, and he loved them so much he felt his heart might burst and he’d never be able to show them just how much they meant to him.
That Tuesday morning twelve weeks after her death marked the beginning of their new life without Rita, and for the first time Dave was ready to face life without her.
Chapter 8
Stations had always fascinated Dave, but Edinburgh’s Waverley Station held a special appeal to him. He didn’t really know why. It was just as loud and dirty as all the others, and some of the platforms were discomfortingly narrow. Maybe it was due to the fact that, coming up the ramp from the underground concourse, you were right in the heart of the city. No trekking through run-down neighbourhoods, instead travellers were welcomed to a spectacular view and the choice of climbing the hill to the Old Town or walking into the New Town – each had its own kind of charm.
Rather than finding some peace and quiet in the nearby Gardens and enjoying the beautiful day, Dave found himself standing in the middle of the busy concourse. People hurried past on their way to buy tickets and catch their trains, or ambled past waiting for their loved ones to arrive. It wasn’t nearly as loud as he might have expected it to be, and as he got close to the food stalls he was tempted to get a coffee and something to eat. But then he checked his watch and it wasn’t really time yet for lunch. Since he’d slacked off in the past months he also had to watch out what he spent his money on. There was no way he would touch the funds he had stashed away for a rainy day, not yet, anyway.
So instead he kept wandering around, looking for interesting shots. His heart, however, wasn’t in it that Saturday. He was wondering how Lucy was doing at her first meeting with her father. She had been very nervous on the drive, and she’d kept checking her appearance in the small mirror above the passenger seat. As they’d finally pulled into the Observatory Gardens car park he’d told her that she looked fine, but of course she hadn’t believed him. He wished she had. She didn’t trust him. After all that had happened, she didn’t trust him. His heart had clenched and he’d had to look away. It was understandable that after losing her mother she would want to find out who she was, but it hurt that she didn’t trust him. He couldn’t imagine life without her. As far as he was concerned he was as much her dad as he was Evie’s, Ewan’s and Paul’s. He supposed that finding out who her dad was was one of the experiences, one of the lessons she had to learn from someone else. Still, he couldn’t fight a feeling of being hurt.
Dave was so distracted by his thoughts about Lucy and how she and Stuart were doing that he couldn’t really concentrate on taking decent pictures. No matter where he looked, how hard he looked, the station wouldn’t give him what he was looking for, not that day. He wandered aimlessly.
Eventually, he found himself on one of the oldest platforms, and he snapped a few pictures of the architecture without much enthusiasm. When he checked the display announcing arrivals and departures he saw that a train from London was due to arrive in a couple of minutes. He thought briefly of Rose, whom he knew was travelling back from London that day. It was, of course, silly to assume that she’d be on that particular train — it must be one of the first ones out of London that morning. Nevertheless, he sat on one of the benches, tucking his camera safely away in his bag and watched the people awaiting the arrival. They looked excited and expectant; children were skipping around with barely contained anticipation, the smaller ones just stood, gazing in wonder at all the things happening around them. Two men were clearly awaiting lovers, one with a bouquet the other clutching a single red rose. He smiled at that, and quickly dug out his camera to take a snapshot of the bouquet one was hiding behind his back.
When the train pulled in, he kept watching the people, close to turning away as he felt as if he were intruding upon them as they greeted their loved ones. It also hurt, seeing them like this. They hugged and kissed each other, laughing and squealing as they saw each other again. He looked away and then ducked his head. He wished he were among them.
“Dave?”
He looked up. Rose was standing a few feet away, one hand
clutching her enormous handbag, the other tightened around the handle of her suitcase on wheels. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She was wearing jeans and a light coat over a t-shirt. She looked tired, but lovely.
He blinked.
“Rose.”
“What are you doing here?” Rose asked, putting her suitcase upright and letting go of the handle. People brushed by her, not recognising or expecting her in a crowd like this.
“I... I’m... well, I was trying to work, and I... I saw that this train’s from London and I... well,” he stammered, standing. “I thought of you. Travelling back from London. Never dreamed I’d actually run into you, though.”
“Surprise,” Rose said, smiling widely.
“Welcome back,” he offered, unsure of how to greet her. Taking her hand would be too formal, a hug too familiar. He opted for a quick whisper of a kiss against her cheek. Rose flushed slightly.
“You’re working here?” Rose asked.
Dave shrugged. “I have some time to kill, and I’ve always wanted to take photos of Waverley Station.”
Rose brushed back an errant lock of hair. “I was just wondering if you’d share lunch with me? I’m starving. But I’ll go alone if you’re busy.”
“No, no, I’m just passing time. What about going for a walk so you can stretch your legs? We could have a picnic in the Gardens,” he suggested. It was a glorious day, and the idea of spending it in an airless pub made him shiver mentally.
Rose smiled at him. “You’ve got that much time?” she asked, her tongue peeping out of the corner of her mouth as she smiled at him. It was most distracting but also very irresistible. Why had he never noticed that before?
“Aye,” he said. She was teasing him and he had no witty retort. So he smiled at her.
“I’ll just nip to the left-luggage office,” she said, ducking her head and brushing back the same lock of hair again. She reached behind her for the handle of her suitcase, but he beat her to it and pulled it for her.
A couple of minutes later, her suitcase safely stowed away, they walked down to the Gardens and stopped at a sandwich shop to pick up their lunch. Rose chose a jacket potato and a piece of caramel shortbread, while he opted for some pasta salad. They found themselves a nice spot to sit in the grass where they could enjoy the sunshine but were relatively safe from prying eyes. The traffic sounds were muffled by the shrubbery behind them, and they commanded a great view of the Old Town stretching along the ridge of the hill before them like a giant caterpillar basking in the sun.
“This was a brilliant idea,” Rose said, opening the container that held her potato. She had chosen beans and cheese as a topping.
“That looks like comfort food,” he said, taking the lid off his salad.
Rose chuckled. “It is, but don’t tell me you’re not a fan of pasta.”
“I love it!” he said, tucking in with gusto. The salad was quite good, and he was surprised at how his appetite had made an appearance along with Rose and the idea of not having to eat by himself.
“So, who or what are you waiting for?” Rose asked after they had savoured the first few bites of their meals in silence.
“I’m waiting for my daughter,” he said, and only when the words hung between them did he realise what he had said.
Rose looked at him, the hand with her fork coming to rest on her thigh. She looked surprised, but seemed to rein in her thoughts as she apparently gauged his age. “What’s she up to?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m not her biological father,” Dave said. “Rita, my wife, had had her before we met. Now that... she’s gone, Lucy feels disconnected from everyone and I found her father for her. She’s seeing him for the first time now.”
“Blimey,” Rose said. “Does she know how much you love her?”
“These days, I’m not so sure,” he said softly, digging his fork into his salad with more force than necessary. He hadn’t wanted to tell Rose all this, or anyone else for that matter, and here he sat pouring his heart out to this wonderful woman.
“I’m sure she’ll realise, eventually, who her father is,” Rose said.
He looked up, swallowing hard. “Aye?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if her realising who her father was was something he wanted to find out.
“It’ll be hard work, for both of them,” Rose continued. “For the moment they’ll just... honeymoon, but that’ll change.”
He stared at her. “Honeymoon.”
Rose shrugged. “For want of a better word.”
Sighing deeply, he closed the lid over the rest of his salad and licked his fork clean. “I can’t lose her too,” he said very softly, for fear of his emotions getting the better of him.
“And you won’t. You’re the one person in the world who knows her best. There will come a moment when she realises that. Her... biological father will give her what she wants, anything, but you alone can give her what she needs.”
Sniffling, he looked away. He hoped she was right, but at the moment he was just terrified. Stuart would be able to give her so much more than he, considering the fortune he was making as a lawyer, whereas he was scraping by at the moment. As a photographer, he would never make much money, and he would always be torn between being an artist and being the bread-winner.
He started when Rose put her hand on his arm.
“I know it’s a personal thing to ask but... Have you ever told her how much you love her?” Rose asked.
Heat and cold suffused him when he found the answer was no. He averted his eyes, shame making his heart pound.
“Don’t let her push you away,” Rose said softly.
“I...” Dave said, his thoughts reeling. Lucy could be very intimidating at times, and she’d turned to her mother for comfort. Never to him, not when it was about more than a cursory hug. That hadn’t always been the case, though. When she’d been little, she had often come to him. It had all changed when she had found out that he wasn’t her real father. And he’d let her slip away, helpless and torn and at a loss for what to do.
Rose hesitated a while before saying anything else. “I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to...” She dropped her hand from his arm, and the spot where her hand had rested was suddenly very cool.
“No,” he conceded, “I just didn’t... I didn’t mean to bother you with this. Not on such a fine day. You must be tired. Can I get you some coffee?” He looked at her, hoping that she wouldn’t turn him away. Meeting her was the single best thing that had happened to him that day, and he didn’t want to thank her by being rude.
For a few moments he held his breath, but then Rose smiled and nodded. “I would like that. Milk and one sugar, please.”
Dave climbed to his feet, entrusting her with his camera equipment before he rushed off to get her the coffee. He had underestimated her. Again. Opening up to her felt so easy. She was a great listener and she knew just the right thing to say. What she had said about Lucy and Stuart sounded very reasonable, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that himself. The answer was simple. He was too emotionally involved in this; he loved Lucy to bits and he was terrified of losing her. Jealousy, he realised, did play a role in this as well.
As he stood waiting for the barista to fix two coffees for him, he couldn’t help wondering how Rose knew exactly what was going on inside Lucy’s head — without even having met her. Well, she had been a teenager herself once, and not so long ago at that. If anyone, she could look into the heart of a teenage girl.
Clutching the paper cups he realised, for the first time, just how young Rose was. She was fifteen years his junior, only four years older than Tanya. For a moment he wondered if he should stay away from her because she was so young. But when their eyes had met earlier, he couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t only look lost, as Lucy had implied, but also as if she’d seen and done more things than anyone her age. Rose Tyler, he found, was one of the most fascinating women he had ever met. Unlike Rita, however, she didn’t see
m to want to keep things close to her heart. She was very generous and open-minded.
The more often they met, he thought, the more mysterious Rose became to him. Everything she did raised more questions and woke the desire in him to get to know her better. He didn’t want to know all her secrets, but he wanted to understand who she was.
When he returned to their picnic spot, Rose had stretched out on her back, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. He couldn’t tell if she had fallen asleep. He lowered himself into the grass next to her. “Rose? I’ve got coffee.”
Rose reached for her glasses immediately and, sliding them off, she sat to take the cup from him. “Brilliant, thank you.”
He smiled, lifting his cup to his lips. The coffee was hot and dark, perfect, and exactly what he needed. “Rose, can I ask you something?” he said after they’d sat in silence for a while, watching people pass by.
“Sure,” she said, looking at him to give him her undivided attention.
“Who is the doctor you were asking for, that night in the street? You mistook me for him,” he said.
Bigger on the inside: Space, Time Travel, Alien Criminals (A Space Time Travel Mystery Book 1) Page 8
