Fallen Angel, Part 4 - A Mafia Romance: Fallen Angel Series

by Tracie Podger

  “It’s fine, worry about you, not me.”

  The steps were lowered and we descended into the chilly air. Despite it being August, the night air was cold. I shivered, pulling my cardigan tighter around me. I hadn’t brought a coat and the fact I thought of that made me laugh.

  A car was waiting, a Range Rover with a driver. Gary rode up front, Sam, Robert and I climbed in the back. The driver was given instructions of where to take us. We drove through Kent and onto the motorway, heading into London. As we exited the Blackwall Tunnel, we branched off to Canary Wharf. After pausing at a checkpoint, we drove to the entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel. A porter with a trolley immediately met us; our hand luggage looked a little lost as he wheeled it through reception.

  “I know we’re not here for a fun time but this is the fucking Four Seasons! The most expensive hotel in London,” Sam whispered.

  I elbowed him as Robert collected our keys.

  Although it was only an hour’s time difference from Italy, my body was starting to give out on me. I guessed the emotion was catching up with me.

  “Mr. Stone, please, follow me.” A suited man had walked from an office behind the reception desk.

  We followed to the lift, he pressed for two floors holding the door open as we reached the first.

  “We have two single rooms on this floor, just along the corridor,” he said as he handed keys to Sam and Gary.

  The lift door closed and we travelled up one stop. The door opened facing another. He unlocked the door with the card and held it open for us. I stepped into a lounge area; there was a kitchenette and dining table to one side, a bedroom and bathroom to the other. The wall was glass and overlooked the Thames.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked.

  “She needs to eat,” Robert replied.

  I was handed a menu from the dining table but I wasn’t hungry at all. I stood in the middle of the room looking out over a river I’d sailed on, over a river that was the view from my office for many years. Yet I felt a sense of detachment. It wasn’t home; there was nothing familiar about London. I thought I’d feel different, I thought I’d have a sense of comfort, but I was empty.

  We were left alone once our clothes had been unpacked by the porter and stored away. Robert handed him a tip, albeit in Euros, before closing the door behind him.

  “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll order us supper,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry but I’d love tea.”

  I shrugged off my cardigan and unzipped my dress. As it fell to the floor I stepped out of it and walked to the bathroom. The bathtub looked inviting, so I turned on the taps and let it fill.

  I sat on the edge of the tub looking at myself in the mirror above the sink. The only things that ran through my mind were, why did she not tell me? Was I such a terrible daughter? Had I been a nightmare child? Was I demonising her and canonising him? Which one of them made the decision to hate me?

  “Brooke, the bath,” Robert said as he walked into the room.

  The water was about to flow over the top. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed. He plunged his hand in the boiling hot water and pulled the plug, letting enough water out for it then to be topped up with cold.

  When the temperature was right, I peeled off my underwear and climbed in. I sunk down and closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep, to drift off and not think. I was annoyed with myself too. I’d accepted a long time ago that my parents had no interest in me, so I wondered why I was so confused, so upset and so angry. I shouldn’t feel anything.

  Once the water had cooled, I climbed out and grabbed a towel. A cup of tea was waiting on a bedside cabinet for me. I sunk into the soft mattress and looked out the window. The lights of London glowed for miles and I missed Italy. I missed the clear night sky and the stars.

  I never drank the tea. The last I remembered was looking out the window and it was dark. Then it was light, the sun had risen and Robert was up and dressed.

  “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Rested, for sure.”

  “I’ll make you tea,” he said.

  “What do we do today?” I asked.

  “I’ve spoken to a lawyer. He’ll meet us here this morning. I’ve also spoken to the coroner. You can visit your mom if you want.”

  “No. Who has the keys to the house?”

  “The locks were changed when your mom was found. The local police have a set.”

  “Why would the police have a set?”

  “Because she died at home, I guess. Unexplained circumstances until the coroner does an…”

  “Yeah, okay, I get it. I want to go to the house. Can we do that this afternoon?”

  “Sure, I’ll give the lawyer a call, see if he can get the keys.”

  Robert walked to the kitchenette and made me a cup of tea. I climbed from the bed and took a quick shower. The only clothes in my bag were summer clothes and by summer, I meant not a British one.

  I pulled on a pair of lightweight black trousers and a cream chiffon shirt. I wore the cardigan so my underwear didn’t show through. Robert was sat on the sofa looking out the window and I snuggled beside him. He handed me the tea that had been waiting on the coffee table for me.

  “I don’t recognise anything,” he said.

  “Had you ever been to the city?” I asked.

  “I doubt it but I don’t think I lived that far. I remember a large park near a heath or something.”

  “Could it have been Greenwhich Park? It’s just over the river and down a bit. I used to get the river taxi there into work when the tube strikes were on.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Possibly. I don’t know. I know I lived with a woman and she had a dog—that was before my aunt came, of course.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know where you came from?”

  “No, I don't think it would be that easy. I mean, there must be records, a birth certificate or something but I don’t remember her name, Brooke. I imagine any records that went with me burnt in the fire.”

  “You know your date of birth though?”

  “No, not for sure. I’ve always believed it to be July twenty-eighth but whether that’s true or not, I have no idea. Anyway, do you want something to eat? Sam is texting constantly so you might want to reply before he barges in here.”

  I sipped my tea as Robert handed me my phone. I sent a text to say I was okay and waiting on the solicitor. We would go to the house after. He could go visit him mum a few streets over. There was no need for him to come to the house with us.

  The telephone in the suite started to ring. Robert rose to answer it. “Yes, send him up, and yes, coffee would be good.”

  I guessed the lawyer was on his way. I let Robert open the door when the knock came and a suited man followed him into the room.

  “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Stone,” he said as he extended his hand.

  “Thank you, please sit down.”

  We had moved to the dining table. Robert explained that I was estranged from my parents and we’d been in Italy when we’d found out.

  “What is it that you’d like me to do?” he asked.

  I looked at Robert. “We live in the states, we need someone at this end—and I doubt this a request you’ve had before—to arrange the funeral and dispose of the property. It’s not something my wife or I wish to handle ourselves,” he said.

  “Okay, I’m sure my firm can organise that for you. Was there a will that you are aware of?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m their only child, my brother died,” I said.

  “I managed to get keys,” he said and he slid two silver keys on a single ring with a yellow plastic fob across the table.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “There will be an autopsy. Your mother had no known illness so it’s an unexplained death. That should take place fairly soon as she’s already been deceased a week. Once that happens, her body can be released to the funeral directo
rs. You just need to decide if it’s a cremation or burial.”

  “Cremation. No, wait. What happened to my father?”

  “That I don’t know, I’m sorry. Would you like me to find out?”

  “Yes, please. Whatever arrangements were made for him, repeat for her,” Robert said.

  “It all sounds so clinical, doesn’t it?” I said.

  “It’s hard when you’re estranged, and if you want my advice, clinical works, less emotional. I’ll leave you for now. You have my contact details, Mr. Stone. I’ll be in touch when I have some news. I understand you’ll be returning to Italy shortly?”

  “Yes, we plan on being here no more than a couple of days, then only a couple more in Italy before we head home.”

  Robert walked him to the door. Just before he entered the lift, I heard the lawyer speak. “Our mutual friend in Italy? Please pass on my regards.”

  “Do I need to ask who the mutual friend is?” I said.

  “Rocco. He owns property here. Do you want to go to the house now?”

  “Might as well get it over with. I don’t know why I want to go, to be honest. There’s nothing there of mine, I don’t think.”

  “Call Sam. I’ll tell Gary to organise a car.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A half hour later we were in a car and travelling towards South East London, Blackheath to be precise. I recognised many of the road signs. It wasn’t long before we pulled up outside a house. I took a deep breath as I opened the rear door. Robert had been quiet on the journey and hesitated before climbing from the car himself. Sam was to walk the couple of streets to his mum’s house, she was expecting him and Gary would wait with the driver.

  “This is where you lived?” Robert asked.

  “Yes.” I opened the front gate and walked the path to the front door.

  Robert had stopped at the gate; he was staring at the house.

  “Are you coming?” I asked.

  He seemed to shake his head before joining me.

  I opened the front door and fumbled for a light switch. The hallway was dreary and smelled of damp. There was no power as I flicked the switch on the wall. The hallway was narrow with a staircase to one side. To the left was a door to the lounge and at the end, one to the kitchen. We walked into the lounge. The curtains had remained pulled and I opened them to let in some light.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. Robert had paled a little.

  “Sure.”

  We stood in the room in silence. Nothing had changed from the last time I’d been in that room. The floral cushions on the sofa were set at the exact angle to please my mother. The mantel above the electric fire contained photos of my brother and more disturbingly, his ashes. I walked over and picked up a frame. I looked into the face of the only other man I’d loved. He was dusty, uncared for, and I used my sleeve to clean the glass. It surprised me to see a tear drop. I hadn’t realised I’d started to cry. I hugged the picture to my chest and turned on my heels. Robert followed me back to the hallway. I slowly climbed the stairs.

  There was small landing with four doors leading off. One to my parent’s bedroom, one to David’s, a bathroom and finally the box room—my bedroom. I opened the door. Again, nothing had changed.

  A single bed was pushed against the wall with a 1970’s floral bedspread covering it. A pine wardrobe with matching dressing table lined the other. There was barely enough room for the two of us. I knelt and reached under the bed, not expecting to find anything and smiled when my hand hit a shoebox. It was still there.

  “This is my childhood,” I said as I pulled it out.

  Robert hadn’t spoken, bar one word, the whole time we were there. I carried the shoebox back down to the lounge and sat on the sofa. I placed it on the dark wood, scratched coffee table and opened the lid.

  The first thing I pulled out was a school report, and I chuckled as I read the headmasters note. “Brooke could do well if she paid attention and learned to be quiet when asked.”

  As I reached in to pull out another, my hand stilled. A memory flashed through my mind as I looked at the folded piece of paper; an old folded piece of paper. I gently lifted it from the box and opened it.

  “This was my only friend for a long time,” I whispered.

  I looked at the picture of the boy who had been pinned to my bedroom wall for years.

  “I imagined him as being real. I made up stories about him to keep me company. He looked after me at night when I cried and no one came.”

  I ran my fingers over his face, but then I stilled.

  I looked to Robert. The anguish on his face stopped my heart. For only the third time in our years together, I watched my husband shed tears.

  “It’s you,” I whispered. He nodded. “Oh my God, it’s you.”

  He reached out and took the piece of paper from me. He studied it and a tear fell from his cheek, landing on the cheek of the boy looking back up at him.

  “I’ve known you all my life,” I said.

  “This was my home. My father drew that; it was pinned on my bedroom wall. I wasn’t allowed to take it when I left.”

  He turned the page over in his hand. Written in one corner and so faint it was hard to make out were words.

  Robert, with love, Uncle Frank

  “Uncle Frank?” I asked.

  “But my father drew that. Well, the man I thought was my father. He didn’t live with us though.”

  We fell silent. I placed my hand on Robert’s back as we studied the drawing.

  “The couch used to be over there,” he said indicating with his head towards the front window. “She was always passed out on it. I used to cover her with a blanket. Nora lived next door.”

  “Yes, she died when I was young,” I said.

  He fell silent again as he looked where his couch had been and another tear rolled down his cheek. I raised my hand and used my fingertips to brush it away.

  “You’ve known me all your life,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I whispered back.

  He folded the piece of paper and handed it back to me before standing.

  “Shall we go?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath. “Just go through that bureau quickly, if there are papers, bring them with us. We might need documents, pension, life insurance, that kind of thing.”

  His voice was totally flat. He was as shocked as I was. I opened the old writers bureau and scooped everything into the box. We could take it back to the hotel and go it through it there.

  I sent a text to Sam to tell him we were leaving but would send the car back for him. I didn’t want to cut his visit short.

  ****

  I held Robert’s hand for the whole journey back to Canary Wharf. Both of us were too stunned to talk. The car door was opened as soon as we came to a stop under the canopy and we climbed out. Without a word to the receptionist who greeted us as we passed, we headed for the lifts and travelled up to our suite.

  I placed the box on the table and joined Robert on the sofa. He was bent forwards, his head in his hands and his elbows rested on his knees. I placed my hand on the back of his neck.

  “I’m sorry, I should be comforting you,” he quietly said.

  “It’s okay. I think we’ve both had a shock today, but a good one, right?” He looked over to me. “I knew that I knew you. I just didn’t know from where. How fucking amazing we lived in the same house!”

  He slowly nodded his head. “Tell me about the pictures, give me something of my past.”

  “They have always been on my bedroom wall. I guess they were there when we moved in, I don’t know. She wanted to tear them down but it was the one thing I got my own way with. She said they were spooky,” I added with a chuckle.

  I couldn’t say the word ‘mum’ because as soon as I’d received that news, I’d stopped thinking of her in those terms.

  “Every night I’d talk to you, and in my head, you answered. We’d have all sorts of conversations. Sometimes it was just about school, and
sometimes it was about how I felt when I was sad. You were my imaginary friend but with a real face. There were other drawings, that wasn’t the only one.”

  I stood to retrieve the box. I took out the top bundle of paperwork, the paperwork I’d scooped from the bureau, and laid them on the dining table before taking the box to the sofa. I slowly unfolded every document in my memory box. There were notes from Sam, silly notes about who he thought I fancied at school. I found a couple of birthday cards from my brother; those brought tears to my eyes. There was a bucket list of sorts, things I wanted to do when I’d grown up. I read the list to Robert and we laughed at some and shuddered at others. Skydiving was most definitely not on my list of things to do before I died anymore.

  Towards the bottom, I found them. Two more pieces of folded papers, papers so aged they were yellow. One still had Cellotape across the corners that disintegrated at my touch. I opened the first.

  It was a beautiful pencil drawing of a very sad Robert. He was kneeling on the floor and his head was bowed.

  “You look like you’re praying,” I said.

  “Whoever this Uncle Frank is must have drawn that from memory. I can’t imagine posing for that,” he said.

  “Then he knew you well. Was he the man in the car with your mum?”

  Robert gently shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. The man in the car was, I thought, my father but maybe not. This man, this ‘uncle’ had to be the one, otherwise, why would he not have come for me?”

  The second drawing was just Robert’s face, another pencil drawing but this time he was smiling.

  “This one I remember the most,” I said.

  Robert studied it before gently shaking his head. “I don’t,” he said.

  “Do you remember when we first met? Remember the images? This is what I was seeing and, I think, the made up stuff. The parties we had, all those things we did together that weren’t real, of course, but stayed somewhere deep in my brain. I can’t believe I didn’t connect it before now.”

  “You would’ve needed to see the drawings to do that,” he replied.

  Robert leaned back on the sofa and placed his arm around my shoulder, he pulled me to his side. I let the drawing fall to the table and curled my legs under me.