She’d had no choice. She’d had to leave. So why did she feel the need to keep reassuring herself that she’d done the right thing? Maybe because she hadn’t done entirely the right thing. She could have asked for help, reported him or just told Jock. But who would Jock have believed? Her or his brother? She knew in her heart that Jock would have believed her and what would that have done to Lewin? But her conscience had turned into a worm, nibbling insistently at her heart.
Mollie wished she had someone to tell, wished her mother was still alive even though she suspected she’d have kept Lewin’s behavior a secret. But it was at times like these that she felt that dull ache inside, the feeling that there was something missing in her life.
“Are you okay, Sleeping Beauty?” Lysander asked.
“I’m not asleep, just resting my eyes.”
“Pity. I was thinking about kissing you awake.”
Mollie didn’t move a single muscle, but her body caught fire. Don’t let this start, said the sensible half of her brain. The other half was contemplating pretending to snore.
She opened her eyes. “Are you done?”
“As much as I can today. I have something else I need to finish.”
Mollie pushed to her feet and pulled on her clothes, trying not to look as though she was desperate to get them on. “Can I see?”
“By all means.”
She walked over to his desk and gulped. This was no ‘What the fuck is that?’ drawing. It’s you, Mollie girl. But if it went on display and Lewin happened to see it, she’d have to be long gone.
“Who the hell is that?” She put as much incredulity into her voice as she could manage.
Lysander turned a shocked face toward her and she smothered her laugh.
“You little…monkey,” he whispered. “Has anyone ever drawn you before?”
“Yes.”
Disappointment flashed across his features. His mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed. She shouldn’t find him hot when he sulked, but she did.
“It’s the most fantastic drawing of me,” she said.
Which made Lysander even more surly faced.
“Would you like to see it?”
“It’s online?” He gaped at her. “Who’s the artist?”
“You won’t know him. I have the original in my room.”
He scowled. “Show me.”
Mollie made her way downstairs, Lysander on her heels. She grabbed her school bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and pulled out a brown envelope. Inside was a drawing done by Jeremy.
“I think he’s captured my ear particularly well,” she said and handed the drawing to Lysander.
He laughed. The ear was half the size of her head.
“He has your nose right,” Lysander said.
“True.” She smiled. The nose was a small triangle nowhere near her eyes.
“But you don’t wear glasses.”
“No, I don’t. I thought it was Jeremy’s mother when he did it. She does wear them, but when I asked Jeremy about that he said he liked his mother’s glasses so he put them on me. He gave me that mug too.” She nodded toward the bedside table.
“Don’t forget me.”
“No likelihood of that. There wasn’t a day that went by without him getting into some trouble or another. He was a magnet for it.”
She put the drawing back in the envelope, and as she set it aside, Lysander took her hand. He stroked her palm with his thumb and her heart and stomach launched into a display of synchronized trampolining. He lifted her hand to his lips and, as he looked into her eyes, kissed the tip of every finger. Mollie’s panties dampened and the muscles of her sex clenched. Oh God, oh God, oh God. When he reached her pinkie finger he sucked it, and she let out a strangled gasp.
“I need the bulb changing in my room,” Nikki snapped from the door.
Mollie jerked back but Lysander didn’t let her go.
“It can wait.” He didn’t take his gaze from Mollie’s face. He stared at her intently, as if she was under a spotlight.
“No it can’t. I can’t see to do anything.”
He sighed and released Mollie’s hand. “We’re not done,” he whispered.
When he left the room, he took all the air with him. Mollie tried to take a breath but it was a long moment before her lungs worked. She felt as though she was standing in front of a fire. If she stepped back she’d be out in the cold, if she moved too close she might get burned. The best thing to do was put on a sweater and turn away from the flames, but she had a feeling that might be rather difficult as far as Lysander was concerned.
All I have to do is say no. But that would be the end of living here and making herself a victim again. She sighed and unpacked everything she’d bought, suspecting that she was overthinking. For all she knew, Lysander was merely teasing her. She remade the bed with her own sheets and duvet and took the others to the washing machine.
Back in her room, she changed into shorts and T-shirt, grabbed the gardening gloves she’d bought from Otley market, and went outside. After she’d made her way through the gap in the hedge and looked at the jungle, she wondered where to start.
The weeds were easy to pull up in the area she suspected had once been a vegetable plot. She remembered helping in a garden when she was a little girl, picking beans and peas, rubbing brown earth from potatoes. She worked methodically, piling up chickweed, groundsel, bittercress, dandelions and nettles. They were the only weeds she could identify. Teaching little kids meant she had to know a little about a lot rather than a lot about a little. She uncovered a set of stone steps going nowhere and wondered what they’d once led to.
While she worked, she thought about Lysander. He was a talented artist and she wondered why he had people living in his house. She doubted he needed the money. His studio was brilliant. She loved the floor, loved his pictures, though she thought it odd that the windows were blanked out on this side of the house. Still, at least that meant he couldn’t see what she was doing.
There were tools in the greenhouse, forks and spades, but she’d had enough for today. She’d cleared a respectable area of ground and only freaked out three times at huge worms, and once when a frog had made her jump. She went back inside and changed into her bikini. Lysander had seen the bruises. If she made a thing about hiding them it would look more suspicious. She took a towel, her e-reader and a tumbler of water outside and lay out at the far end of the lawn.
The sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and the wind was soft and warm. She sighed as her skin heated. She didn’t have any sun cream so she’d have to be careful but lying there felt so good, as if her worries were melting. Lewin was miles away and couldn’t possibly have any idea where she was. Now she had the opportunity to pull herself back together before she looked for a new job.
For the first time in a long while, she felt herself completely relax. She didn’t have to worry whether Lewin’s day had been bad, whether he’d sit in sullen silence or tear a strip off her for cooking something he didn’t want to eat. She’d lost money on the holiday but the most important thing was she didn’t have to spend two weeks with people she didn’t much like. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. She could eat when she liked, watch what she liked on TV—hopefully—and go to sleep when she felt like it.
Maybe she even had a choice of guys. If not in real life, then in her dreams. Mysterious Hoodie Guy or Lysander. What about both? The thought made her smile. The fantasy kept her hot when the sun went behind a cloud.
* * * *
Lysander didn’t want to stop painting. The creative right side of his brain dominated everything else. Once he became focused on his work, he forgot everything—eating, sleeping, even taking a leak. He wasn’t working on the picture either of Marcie Spedding or of Nikki, but on the one of Mollie. It was only the creeping realization that the one of Marcie wasn’t going to be done in time to send to his agent if he didn’t fucking get on with it that drew Lysander away from Mollie to the other easel
. He no longer wanted to finish the one of Nikki. He wanted her out of the house. Nikki didn’t like Mollie and Lysander didn’t want anyone around who didn’t like her.
* * * *
Flint only left his room to get something to eat, but he took it back upstairs rather than sit with Beat staring at him. He’d tried to watch TV, but struggling to work out what people were saying made his head ache and with the sound off he couldn’t follow what was happening. The only good thing that had happened to him lately was that hug from Pixie Girl. He knew he’d hugged her too long but he hadn’t wanted to let her go.
The irony hadn’t escaped him that he was interested in someone who had no idea who he was and he was pretty sure she was interested in him, yet she hadn’t even seen his face. So what would she do when she recognized him? He ignored Ryker’s voice in his head telling him he couldn’t reveal who he was. Flint was tempted to walk across the dam and knock on her door. Except what if she lived there with her husband and three kids?
He grabbed his notebook and pencil and tried to work out a way to talk to her in symbols. Rebus, that’s what it was called, using a picture of an eye to mean I. A heart meaning…well, like if not love and a picture of a sheep, a ewe, to mean you. Flint stared at the page and chewed his pencil.
Chapter Twelve
He’s there. Mollie’s heart leaped and her lips curved in a smile when she saw Hoodie Guy standing in the middle of the track across the dam. She ran up and handed him the book about identifying snakes. He laughed and she caught another glimpse of his blue eyes.
He opened the book to a page of photos of snakes native to Britain.
“The adder’s the only one to have a vertical pupil.” She pointed to its eye then at the eyes of the other two, the grass and smooth snake. “Course, if you got close enough to check out its eyes, it would probably bite you.”
She tried to mime what she’d just said, pretending a stick was the snake, peering more and more closely until the twig hit her nose, and she heard him laugh.
Mollie pointed to the photo of the grass snake then to her twig. “Apparently, if you threaten them…” She held the stick up, wagged her finger in front of it and growled. “They emit a foul smelling liquid.” She dropped it and held her nose. “They roll on their backs and play dead for fifteen minutes.” She sighed. “That’s a bit tricky to describe.” But she lay on her back, stuck out her tongue and pretended to be dead. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
When she opened her eyes and looked up, he was grinning. Oh God, I am so pathetic. She jumped up and brushed herself down. Hoodie Guy popped the book in the front pocket of his hoodie, took an audible breath and said, “Nks.”
Mollie smiled. “You’re welcome.”
So you can sort of speak.
He reached out as though he wanted to touch her, but let his hand drop. They stood staring at each other, but Mollie could only see the bottom part of his face. Before thinking too hard about it stopped her, she took his hand and wrapped her fingers around his. As though that act had just completed an electric circuit, current zapped and sizzled along her veins, but far from wanting to jerk away, she felt welded to him.
When he stroked her palm with his thumb a tiny whimper slipped between her lips. Oh God. That’s what Lysander had done with exactly the same effect. What am I playing at?
“Morning.”
They broke apart and spun around. The voice belonged to an elderly guy walking two lively spaniels.
“Morning,” Mollie said.
“Another lovely one,” said the man.
“Yep.” It would have been even lovelier if shock hadn’t made her lose contact with Hoodie Guy.
He began running and she followed, wondering how she could fancy someone when she’d not seen his face and not really heard him speak. Though he did have a lovely butt, small and tight, and strong, lean legs, not too hairy. If her attraction to Hoodie Guy was based on pity and his butt and legs, that wasn’t a good start, but he did intrigue her. She loved the sound of his laugh. And there was that butt, those legs. She chuckled and he turned to look at her, slowing until she caught up.
But what about uptight Lysander who’d sucked her fingers, made her believe he wanted to suck a lot more than that when he told her they weren’t finished, then hadn’t even appeared yesterday evening? She’d ended up eating pizza and watching TV with Jean-Paul and Aden. They’d told her when he was in the zone, he sometimes painted all night and they hardly saw him for days at a time. Then Jean-Paul had changed the channel and Mollie had seen the magician, Voudin. When they’d made it clear that was what they were going to watch, she’d made her excuses and gone to bed. It had taken her a long while to get to sleep.
When she and Flint reached the place where the ducks and geese congregated, he produced two slices of bread wrapped in cling film and handed one to her.
“That’s not going to be enough. Look at the way those geese are eyeing us.”
A gaggle of the birds was converging on them and honking. Mollie broke her bread into pieces, threw it all at one go and bolted. She heard Hoodie Guy laughing as he ran after her. He sounded normal when he laughed so why couldn’t he speak? It was weird.
They headed for the path that would take them back around the water and he suddenly caught her arm and pointed to a large stick. When he pulled out the book and flipped through the pages, Mollie giggled. Please show me your face. I’m not going to freak out at scars. You’re so lovely. He edged around the stick putting his arms out to protect her, did the same with a few more twigs they passed, and she laughed every time.
They were almost back at the dam when Mollie spotted a deer. She touched his arm to bring him to a halt and pointed into the woods. The deer was strolling through the trees. She held her breath when she spotted a fawn following. She’d never seen one in the wild before. But every thought flew out of her head as fingers brushed against hers. It had to be accidental, didn’t it? But he wrapped his hand around her hand and Mollie’s heart almost burst out of her chest. They stood motionless until a dog barked in the distance and the deer bounded off.
Mollie looked down at their entwined hands and wondered how she could ask him back for a drink, what Lysander would say if she did. Shit. At the sound of a car approaching from behind, she glanced back and Hoodie Guy sighed. He took a piece of paper from his pocket, gave it her then ran up the road toward his house. The car followed him, a guy with a goatee driving. Mollie unfolded the paper and gave a gasp of surprise when she saw all the little drawings. As she walked the rest of the way back, she worked out what it said.
Flint went in through the gates with the car. He assumed that the guy behind the wheel was his speech therapist. Beat opened the front door. She looked relieved when she saw him. Flint hadn’t forgotten that the guy was coming, but he had no way of telling the time. Numbers were as incomprehensible as letters.
As Beat and the man talked, Flint’s mood turned sour. I am here, he wanted to shout. The guy looked to be in his forties, had a goatee—Flint hated goatees, why would anyone want a beard like a goat?—and dark-rimmed glasses. When he finally turned to Flint he looked surprised and Flint wondered if he’d thought he was the gardener or something. Not that Flint had seen the gardener yet.
The man offered his hand and Flint shook it.
“Door Munching,” the guy said.
Flint only just held back his laugh. He had to take moments of humor when he could get them. He’d enjoyed making Pixie Girl laugh over nothing more than sticks. He wished he could share the Door Munching joke with her. Beat led them to the drawing room and closed the door. Flint dropped onto a couch, took the book about snakes from his pocket, along with his phone, and put them beside him. The man sat opposite and mimed pulling down his hood. Flint yanked it down and the guy smiled.
“Incusing keto mink…” said the guy.
Flint switched off. He’d guessed there was no miracle cure but there was no point talking to him, it just depressed him. Christ, I�
�m fickle. I moan when people talk and moan when they don’t.
Goatee Guy said, “Fuh.” He exaggerated the action of dragging his teeth over his lower lip as he made the sound, then kept repeating it.
“Fuh,” Flint said, and the guy clapped.
What the fuck did Fuh mean?
“Luh.” This time the man put his tongue between his teeth and opened his mouth as he spoke.
“Luh.” Won Flint another clap.
“Fuhluh, Fuhluh, Fl, Fl.”
Flint concentrated hard. “Fl.”
“Int. Int. Flint.”
Flint copied what he’d said, registering that the last word was the one he was supposed to be getting. But he didn’t have a fucking clue what it meant.
“Flint,” Flint said, and Goatee Guy pointed at him.
Me? Flint closed his eyes and tried to calm the neurons racing in his head. “Flint. Flint.” The more he said it, the more familiar it seemed to be. He opened his eyes and looked at the man sitting opposite. “Flint.” My name. Christ. It is.
The guy smiled and nodded. “Jess.”
His name was Jess? Goatee Guy opened his iPad and pulled up a program. He turned the screen so Flint could see it. There were rows of apples with the odd orange thrown in. The man pointed to the first row, gestured to each apple and said, “Jess,” but when he reached the orange he said, “Now.”
Flint struggled to understand what the guy was doing. So he wasn’t called Jess. Did Jess mean apple or something different? His irritation grew as he tried to fathom out what he was being told.
Eventually, he got it. At least thirty minutes learning how to say yes, no and his name and he was exhausted. When Goatee Guy showed him another program on the iPad, Flint slammed his hand on the lid and shut it.
“No,” he said.
He pushed to his feet and walked out. He took the stairs two at a time and locked himself in his bedroom. He threw himself face down on his bed and clenched the covers in his fists. All that time and I learn three fucking words? The pain in his chest was severe enough to make him think he was having a heart attack. Frustration warred with confusion and fear. He’d thought—fuck what I thought. He dragged the pillow over his head and tried to drown out the roaring in his head.
Talking Trouble Page 13
