Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2)

by Lily Morton

  “Although I am very pissed at you.”

  “Why?” he asks warily.

  “You bought my mum a house,” I begin, amazed to see him immediately relax.

  “Yeah I did.” He looks supremely unconcerned. “What of it?”

  “It’s more bloody money spent on my family and you paid Molly off.” He shrugs. “Sid we’re like fucking leeches or whores, I’m undecided which. I’m sure people will think that we’re gold diggers.”

  His head instantly twists to glare at me. “Don’t you ever fucking call yourself a whore. You are not, and never will be one, and I’ll fucking hurt anyone that ever says that to you.”

  “Okay, okay calm down,” I soothe and then I stare at him until he fidgets, which is his automatic giveaway.

  “What?” he asks sulkily.

  “What else have you done Sid?”

  “How do you know that I’ve done anything?”

  “Because you were tense until I mentioned my mum and Molly, and then you relaxed. That tells me you’ve done something else that I need to know about.”

  He runs his hand through his hair which is another one of his tells that I’ve come to know, and then he mutters something.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you.”

  He sighs. “I might have bought you a house too.”

  “What?” My screech rivals the noise of the seagulls, who let me tell you are noisy fuckers.

  “I bought you a house. It’s lovely though Nell. You’ll love it. It’s near me, and it’s an old Edwardian house in Primrose Hill, not far from the shops and restaurants with big bow windows. It’s even got a garden.”

  “Oh my God.” I collapse back against him and he runs a comforting hand quickly up and down my spine. “Why? Why have you done this Sid when you know how I feel about you spending your money on me?”

  Suddenly he lifts me gently so that he can get up. He puts me back in my seat and then stands over me, and the whole manoeuvre is so gentle that I don’t even realise that he’s cross until he points his finger in my face. “Have I worked for my money?” he asks silkily and I nod. “Do I deserve it?” Another nod. “Then would you agree that it’s mine to do with as I want?” I stare at him and he softens slightly. “Get used to it Nell because I’ve done it.”

  “But why?”

  He loses his temper. “Because I fucking want you to be free, Nell.”

  I gasp in pain. “Free of you?”

  He’s instantly at my side impassioned and angry. “No, fucking never. I never want you to be free of me. I’ll die before that happens. I just want you to have all the choices that a beautiful, talented woman like you should have. I don’t want you working your fingers to the bone paying for your mum and that ungrateful slut Molly.” I smile and he unwillingly grins, but then he sighs wearily and runs his hand through his hair and looks at me pleadingly. “I want you to be free to choose me Nell,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone leaving me alone on the patio with the gulls screeching and my heart hurting.

  Seventeen

  Surprisingly after this explosive conversation nothing more was said. The weeks drift by and I grow stronger as my injuries heal, and I’m able to start swimming and walking on the beach. The fresh air and sunshine work slowly on me and I grow tanned and fill out a little bit, and the peace works on my spirit as well. There’s something magical in this house, and even Sid feels it. Slowly he loses his frown of concentration and laughs more than I’ve ever seen, displaying that easy going side of himself that everyone had noted about him before.

  We spend most days and nights together, taking walks along the beach or drives along the coast. We stop at little bars and restaurants and potter in quaint little shops, but all the while we talk and slowly let down our guards with each other, and as he confides his fears and worries and dreams I find myself falling more and more in love with him.

  However, regardless of this new found closeness he still keeps his own room and makes no attempt to take anything further. The only consolation I have is that each night after a gap of time like he’s fighting it, he will suddenly appear and slide into bed next to me, drawing me fiercely into his arms. He will always sigh in contentment and then within minutes we both sleep.

  Another positive has been my mum. She stayed for the whole week, visiting faithfully each day. Not every visit was pleasant because sometimes we shouted at each other and cried, but it was always under the hovering shadow of Sid, so it never went too far and the visits were cathartic. By the time she went home we were closer than we had been in years, and since she has been gone she has phoned me every day sharing news of her day and always asking after Sid who she seems to have fully taken into her heart. He’s wonderful with her, displaying an endearing mix of firmness along with gentle patience, and will sit for hours listening to stories of Sam and I, and asking questions with every sign of interest.

  However, running throughout all this like a loose thread is the knowledge of the talk that we must have. Sid seems just as reluctant as ever, and in truth I grow to be too, because every day I love him more. I would love to ignore everything that happened but I’m caught in a quandary. How can I grow close to him again when I could lose him any day now, because in the back of my mind is always the image of him and that girl. I both want to, and fear, finding out what happened because if he slept with her I will have to leave. Infidelity has always been a deal breaker for me and never more so than when it involves the love of my life.

  I also don’t know how to truly trust him again outside of the infidelity, because if he could be so cruel then, how do I know that he won’t do it again when I’m deeper in with him. I therefore keep a little bit of myself back and I know Sid feels this, and as the weeks fly past and the day grows nearer when we will have to leave, he grows tenser and more withdrawn.

  Everything finally comes to a head when the day arrives for my cast to come off and for me to get the all clear to travel home. As if it’s an omen the weather has broken, and it’s windy and overcast with a storm threatening as Sid drives me to the hospital that I’ve been attending, which is thirty miles away.

  He’s silent on the way there which leaves me strangely shy, so I sit quietly listening to the Arctic Monkeys’ AM album that he’s been playing for the last couple of days. ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ comes on while I sit trying not to stare at him. I’ve heard him playing this a few times lately and the lyrics seem extraordinarily apt for our situation. I want desperately to know whether it’s occurred to him too and if this is why he keeps playing it, but I know that it’s pointless to ask at the moment.

  We aren’t kept waiting when we get to the hospital which I think is largely down to Sid, and after an hour’s poking and prodding the doctor pronounces himself satisfied and I’m sent off to get my cast removed, with Sid my silent shadow.

  I turn to him as he prowls behind me. “That’s good news isn’t it? We can get back to normality now. You must be relieved, after having to put up with me all this time.”

  I’m totally prodding for a reaction, and in my dreams a heartfelt reconciliation speech where he falls to his knees and confesses his undying love for me. Instead he frowns and gives me a shrug. “Yeah that’ll be good,” he mutters, and steers me into the waiting room where he promptly engages the man next to him in an intent conversation about the hockey scores which I know for a fact he doesn’t even follow, so I give up and reach for a copy of People magazine.

  I idly flick through the pages looking at the glossy photos of celebrities and personally rating the sexiest man competition, but then I stiffen when I turn the page and see a full page colour photo of Sid. He’s walking down the street with none other than Leah, and there are some smaller photos which show them sitting very close together in what looks like a wine bar, his arm flung over her shoulder and their heads together.

  For a second I can’t speak and I can see that my hand has begun to shake as I stare at the two of them and try to work out when the photos were ta
ken. At first I think that they’re old ones, but one look at the story accompanying the picture dispels that hope. According to the magazine these were taken just before my accident, and the article quotes friends as saying that after her spell in rehab they’re back together and looking very serious. The magazine goes on to rehash their affair, painting them as some combination of Romeo and Juliet and Cathy and Heathcliff, and a dark side of me hopes that they don’t live up to this because I’m sure that all of those characters died.

  I stare at the photographs hard. I don’t want to acknowledge how wonderful she looks but it’s true. She’s put on some much needed weight and her hair is long and shiny with health. Her complexion is glowing and she looks young and very cool, but the thing that really makes the breath catch in my throat and my heart pound, is that they actually look very happy together. She’s smiling up at him while he says something, stooping sideways to talk to her like he always did to me, but the knife in my heart is that they’re holding hands. I thought that he was done with her, but obviously he isn’t.

  My mind is working frantically. Surely the article can’t be true – they can’t be back together. After all, he’s been here for weeks with me. What woman, and particularly one as psychotic as Leah, would put up with that? He’s done so much for me and surely he wouldn’t go to all this trouble for someone that didn’t mean anything to him. All the things that he’s said to me about choosing him ring in my head, but then I look at the photos again, and my heart sinks and they get fainter and fall away.

  Feeling suddenly sick I mutter something to Sid, and throwing the magazine down I walk steadily to the toilets. When I’m inside I lean against the sink breathing deeply for a few minutes trying to calm the wild thoughts which swirl around in my head, and then reluctantly I make myself look in the mirror and face facts. I know in a million years I can never be as beautiful as her, and they have so much history together. After all he’d stayed totally faithful to her for years and throughout everything, while he didn’t even manage a few months with me before sucking tongues with that skank in Copenhagen.

  Suddenly her words in that hotel room come back to me. She’d called me vanilla, and said with utter surety that I’d never be able to keep him, and that eventually I’d bore him in bed. I’d dismissed it at the time as just being part of her ravings, but what if she was right? What if in being with me he has just been trying to fit into a normal life as a way of keeping the old life at bay? If that’s the case then maybe one day he’ll just up and leave me and be drawn back to the one woman that he’s never managed to stay away from.

  I see my lip curl in bitterness in the mirror, because let’s face it he hadn’t even been able to cut contact with her after what she did to me in that hotel room. I’d thought he had and would have put money on it because I trusted him so much, but now evidence says otherwise, and I feel betrayed by the fact that he never really had my back.

  I lower my head and think frantically, but I know my decision is made. I can’t stay with him when I know in my heart that I will always be a bland second best to what he really wants. I love him so much now and it’s agony to contemplate leaving him, but how would it be after a few years of loving him even more? I can’t even comprehend that but my eyes fill with tears anyway. I hastily blot them away. I will not cry in front of him. I will be dignified and gracious and leave with a modicum of pride intact.

  This resolve is tested when there’s a ferocious banging on the door. “Nell. Nell are you alright?” I take a last look at my reflection and tilt my chin up. Pride I remind myself and swing the door open to almost straightaway lose my composure when I see him wild eyed and clutching the very magazine that’s just ruined my hopes. He brandishes it at me. “Did you see this?” he hisses.

  Aware that every person in the waiting room has just transferred their attention from the TV to us I grab his arm to steer him to one side. “I did,” I say lightly. “I must say I think you boys were robbed, although Chris Hemsworth is seriously hot.”

  “Not that, this,” he says tightly, trying to force the fucking pictures up my nose.

  I push it away and take a breath. “Yes I did.” I’m proud of how level my voice is. “They’re nice pictures of the two of you. Leah looks well, when did she get out?”

  “Just before these were taken,” he says absentmindedly, staring at my face as if I’ve got the cure for world peace, and then he says almost pityingly. “Nell you do know that this didn’t mean anything don’t you? I was going to tell you about seeing her, but she’s a bit of a red flag to you for very good reasons, and I didn’t think that you needed any more shit in your head.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I try to say cheerily, as my heart breaks because I so want that to be true but even if it’s true now, there’s no way that it will stay that way in the future. “Once this is done I’m sure you’ll be able to go back home and start fresh.”

  “I’ll be able to go back and start fresh,” he echoes, a lowering frown on his face as his temper gathers. “What about you?” I open my mouth but we’re interrupted by the nurse calling my name. Sid shoots her a homicidal glance and then grabs my arm as I go to move past him. “After everything that I’ve said to you over the last few weeks, after really letting you in, this is what you really think of me?” He brandishes the magazine again. “That I would lie to you and keep another vulnerable woman on the back burner ready for when I change my mind. That I’m a cheat and a liar.” He pauses, swallowing hard before directing a look of fury and almost betrayal at me. “This conversation isn’t finished. We’ll pick this up later, and this time we’re going to talk about everything. It’s time.”

  “Oh what’s the point?” I throw his hand off my arm. “There’s no point Sid. I’m sure I’ll get the all clear, and I think it’s patently obvious that it’s time we went our separate ways.” The nurse calls again in an agitated voice and this time he lets me go.

  He doesn’t address another word to me after this, staring out of the window as I get the all clear and my plaster is cut off, and he stays silent as he steers me back to the car. I examine my arm half-heartedly, thinking that it looks like a ghost arm, all pale and thin and grey looking. A few hours ago I would have told him this, but his attention is far from me now and it’s cold without it. Over the last few weeks it had occurred to me that we might have a mini celebration when I got the all clear, but instead we sit in stony silence.

  I’m struggling with the silence because although I’m sure that I’m doing the right thing, at the back of my mind is a tiny feeling that I’ve misjudged him. The Sid I’ve known, despite his avowals otherwise, has always been loyal and honest. He’s told me things about himself that he must know would make a lot of women run screaming, but he’s done it in that doggedly, determined way of his that says I must know all the facts. Would that man really have been the way that he has with me the last few weeks if he wasn’t committed to me? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I love him, and I want to be the person that he wants more than anything. The depth of my feelings for this man means that I can’t accept half measures, and being the girl that he settled down with, like it’s a euphemism for settling for, is something that I can’t do.

  I turn to him and open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but registering my movement he turns to me showing a cold face and raised eyebrow, so instead I turn my head away and look out at the grey view from the car window, hearing him sigh heavily next to me.

  When we finally pull up outside the house he doesn’t come round to help me out as has become his custom, but instead just sits with the engine running, and when I don’t get out he raises an impatient eyebrow at me as if chastising me for taking too long. Trying to maintain my dignity I slam out of the car with a stone face on. I turn to say something but the bastard drives off in a swirl of gravel before I can get my mouth open. I stand there eating dust with a heavy heart as my last hope disintegrates and all my fears crystallise into hard cold reality. It’s over in
all but name and now I must be brave.

  I make my way into the house feeling the oppressive silence and immediately go upstairs. I should pack so that when he comes back I’ll be ready and I can just go. I know that I’ve got enough money for a plane ticket, and I resolve to go home. I’ll stay in a hotel and visit mum and try and get my life back together. After all if I haven’t got to pay for her and Molly anymore, I should have a tidy little nest egg in my bank account. I pack quickly, making plans in my head to travel and see the world. There are so many places that I haven’t seen but my heart isn’t in it because the only way I want to see them is with him, and suddenly I’m so fucking angry at life. What have I ever done that is so bad that I deserve the fucked up mess that is my life? Dead brother, fractured relationship with my mother and a broken heart from a twat of a rock star.

  Once I’ve packed I sit for a while on the window seat in my bedroom watching the wind blow the seagulls about over a broiling sea. It’s wild out there and something in it calls to me. I need to be outside, to feel free from all of this, and I know that I seriously need to leave my pity party for one. Feeling sorry for myself has never done me any good and it won’t do it now. There are plenty of people out there with problems far worse than mine. My grandma had always told me that what cannot be cured must be endured, and there’s comfort in this stony little homily.

  Suddenly, remembering seeing some three quarter leggings and a sports bra in my luggage, I get up. I’ll go running. The doctors have given me the all clear and I’ll take it very steady. I don’t think that I have my running shoes but I don’t need them anyway if I’m running on sand. Overcome with this impulse and feeling almost suffocated I tear my clothes off and put my gear on. Then I drag my cases downstairs, favouring my good arm as I do it. I put them in the mud room out of the way, and then make my way out onto the patio where the weather has got progressively wilder.