Bound by Ivy

by S. Quinn

  I nearly drop the phone.

  ‘Oh god,’ I hear myself say, as the pain subsides and I’m left with the gentle vibrations between my legs. ‘Oh Marc, I can’t bear it. Please. I need more.’

  My eyes are a little out of focus as Marc’s next message comes through.

  Are you begging me for more? I hope so. Because I’ve had my fun torturing you, and now I’m going to make you come.

  Suddenly, the vibrations in my panties get strong and hard. So much so that I begin leaping and twitching against the bed, shouting and yelping and moaning.

  ‘Oh god, oh god. Yes. Yes, yes.’

  Another message:

  Roll over onto the bed and press your breasts hard into the mattress so they burn. Now you have my permission to touch yourself.

  I moan again, rolling onto my belly and feeling the clamps push hard into my flesh. They dig right into the breasts, causing a delicious burning, pulling sensation that makes me roll back and forth so I can feel more of it.

  I grab at the panties and push them hard between my legs, right into me, so the vibrations are as strong as they can be. Heat ripples up and up and over me, until the pleasure becomes unbearably good and I feel dark waves start to flow down my stomach and thighs. I can’t hold on any longer.

  ‘Oh god,’ I moan, pushing my breasts harder against the mattress to feel the sting. ‘Oh god, I’m coming. I’m coming.’

  And I do. Hard. Feeling bright, bruisey tingles zoom across my breasts and nipples and pleasure and warmth spread over my body.

  I lay on the bed for a moment, letting the good feelings overtake me. Then the phone beeps again, and I reach for it, turning my head to read the screen.

  I wish I was with you.

  I struggle to focus. To make my fingers work. Somehow I manage to tap out a reply.

  You have no idea.

  63

  Marc and I send messages back and forth until midnight. Some of them make me smile. And some of them make me ache for him so badly that I can hardly stand it.

  At midnight, we both know we have to say goodbye. No more messages. No more phone calls. Nothing. But there are only a few more weeks to go now. And then we can be together.

  *****

  After our day of emailing, time drags along. Hours and, eventually, days pass.

  The aching feeling in my chest and stomach begins to lessen as March rolls along, but I’m still not eating or sleeping well.

  Performances go by in a sort of daze as I do show after show, and then sleep in the cottage all morning and hang out with Jen and Sammy in the afternoon.

  All I can think about is Marc, Marc, Marc. I should be feeling happier as each day passes, but the closer I get to the end of our separation, the slower time seems to move. It’s like the days are tied to my ankles and I’m dragging them along.

  Jen does all sorts of things to try and cheer me up. She takes Sammy and I out to see farm animals, or to the organic market to buy ingredients for pasta sauce. But all I can think about is Marc.

  The only time the darkness really lifts is when I ride Ebony.

  She’s such a beautiful horse, and the more she gets used to me, the more excited she is to see me. I talk to her about anything and everything – missing Marc, the show, things happening in the village. Ebony let’s me rattle on, and just bows her beautiful black head and nuzzles against my hand.

  Some days, I ride her. Other times, I walk her around the field, feeling her warmth beside me and sharing a quiet moment.

  Seeing Marc’s sister feels good too. Annabel is getting closer to winning custody of her son, and watching her get stronger and happier really lifts my spirits.

  I visit her whenever I can – at least a couple of times a week, sometimes more.

  One morning, I’m at the cottage, packing a bag with fresh bread and homemade soup for my visit with Annabel, when I get a call from her rehab hospital in West London.

  It’s pouring with rain outside, and for some weird reason the weather tells me that bad news is coming.

  ‘Miss Sophia Rose?’ says a young lady, when I pick up the phone.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’m calling from Tower Clinic. I understand you’re scheduled to see Ms Blackwell today.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I was just leaving now, as a matter of fact.’ I glance out of the window and see the limo perched on the pavement outside our cottage. Rain beats on its shiny black roof and rushes down its tinted windows. ‘Is everything okay?’

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Ms Blackwell left the clinic a few hours ago. I thought I should let you know. To save you a wasted journey.’

  ‘She left the clinic? But ... why?’

  ‘She had some bad news this morning. About her custody situation. And she left.’ Another pause. ‘Sometimes, addiction is just too strong. Around half our patients leave and return to their old lives.’

  I shake my head at the phone. ‘But she’s been doing so well. I honestly don’t think she’d give up. Even after bad news. Are you absolutely sure she’s left the premises?’

  ‘We’ve checked her room. And the refectory and the recreation rooms,’ says the woman.

  I grab my bag. ‘Has anyone checked the grounds?’

  ‘It seems unlikely she’d be out there in this weather.’

  I hear the rain hammering against the window, and think about Annabel. I know she’s relapsed many, many times before. Maybe I’m just being naïve, but I honestly don’t think she’d give up now. My gut tells me she’s still at the hospital. Somewhere. Unhappy and alone.

  ‘I’m coming down there,’ I tell the woman, grabbing my coat and pulling the front door open.

  ‘Soph, are you off to see Annabel?’ Jen calls out from the sitting area.

  ‘Yes,’ I call back. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Did you want some breakfast before you go? Rodney’s making pancakes.’

  ‘No time,’ I call back, heading out into the storm. ‘Maybe I’ll eat at the hospital. Back later.’

  64

  When I arrive at the hospital, I check Annabel’s room, just in case. She’s not there, so I head out to the grounds and begin hunting around the woodlands.

  It’s still absolutely pouring with rain, and I get soaked within minutes. But I don’t care. All I care about is finding Annabel.

  After searching the east side of the building, I head west, my ankle boots squelching in the mud as I weave through fir and oak trees.

  Annabel and I have walked around these grounds many times so I know them well, but finding someone out here is a different story, especially in this weather.

  There are acres and acres to cover, and the thick evergreen trees mean I can’t see more than a few metres ahead.

  Eventually, I stumble upon a huge, craggy grey rock under a feathery fir tree. The rock is sheltered from the rain, thanks to the thick branches and leaves above, and I take a seat, realising for the first time since I arrived that I’m actually pretty faint with hunger.

  I hear my own laboured breathing fade into silence.

  As my ears become accustomed to the pouring rain, a sound carries on the breeze. A choked-up, desperate crying sound.

  I sit up straight.

  It’s Annabel. I’m sure of it.

  Jumping to my feet, I splatter through the mud towards the sound, stopping every so often to listen.

  After five more minutes of walking I find her, hunched over in a ball under a huge oak tree. She’s soaked to the skin and weeping as the rain splashes down.

  I crouch beside her and rest a hand on her back.

  ‘Annabel, it’s me. Sophia.’

  The weeping dies down a little, and Annabel’s head turns to the side. ‘Sophia,’ she says softly. ‘How did you find me here?’

  ‘I looked.’

  ‘You’re soaked,’ says Annabel. ‘Please go inside. I’m no good to anyone right now.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere without you,’ I say
. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’

  Annabel starts to sob again. She cries hard for a few minutes, her whole body shaking. I let her get it all out.

  Then I ask again, gently, ‘What happened?’

  ‘They say I can’t have Daniel,’ Annabel sobs. ‘Even if I have a home and support. They say he’s going to be adopted. His last name will be changed. I’m not even allowed to know what he’ll be called.’ She breaks down again, clutching her knees to her chest and sobbing.

  ‘Who says he’s going to be adopted?’ I ask.

  ‘A social worker called me this morning.’

  ‘Has he been adopted already?’

  ‘Not yet. But he will be.’

  I stand up and pull her to her feet. ‘Going to be adopted is not the same as being adopted. You won’t help anyone or anything sitting out here in the rain. We’re going back to the main building so we can make some calls.’

  ‘But it’s so hopeless,’ say Annabel, swaying a little as she tries to get her footing on the mud.

  ‘Annabel. You’re a mother. You have to find hope. You have to look for it. Always. You can’t ever give in. Daniel needs you to be strong. Come on. Let’s go inside.’

  65

  I get Annabel up to her room and make her change into some dry clothes. Meanwhile, I take off my soaking wet coat and hang it on the radiator. My jeans are drenched too, and they stick to my legs as I get Annabel a dressing gown and help her into it.

  ‘You need to change your clothes too,’ says Annabel. ‘I have some pyjamas. Here.’ She hands me a pair of hospital-green pyjamas with a long drawstring.

  As I change into them, I realise I’m feeling a little hot and shivery. Oh no. I can’t get sick. I have the show tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after. There’s barely two weeks left now, and then we’ll have finished.

  ‘Do you have the number of the social worker who called this morning?’ I ask, trying to ignore the pounding feeling in my head.

  ‘Yes,’ says Annabel, picking up a ‘Tower Clinic’ notebook with a phone number and the name, ‘Mandy Reynolds’ pencilled onto it. ‘She told me to call when I had a place sorted. She said maybe we could set up some sort of visitation, if the new parents agree.’

  ‘Is it okay if I call her?’ I ask. ‘You’ll have to speak to her too. To give permission for us to discuss your personal circumstances.’

  ‘Of course,’ says Annabel.

  ‘I don’t think they can go ahead and have Daniel adopted if you’re still willing to take custody of him,’ I say. ‘Unless the rules have changed majorly from when Dad and I lived together, I’m pretty sure a lot of time has to go by, and you can still go to court and appeal.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, taking the paper and punching the number into my phone.

  A nasal voice comes on the line. ‘Hello, Mandy Reynolds.’

  I clear my throat. ‘Oh, hello. Good morning. I’m Sophia Rose. I’m a close friend of Annabel Blackwell’s. She’s here with me now. She’s given me permission to speak about her circumstances – would you like to confirm that with her?’

  ‘If she’s there with you, it’s fine,’ says Mandy.

  My neck prickles. Mandy should definitely be checking that Annabel has given permission for me to speak about her case. After all, I could be anyone.

  ‘You’re phoning about Daniel, I imagine?’ says Mandy.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Annabel is worried that you want to have him adopted.’

  ‘It’s the next step, given Ms Blackwell’s current location and situation.’

  ‘But she has a lot of support right now,’ I say. ‘Myself and her brother will be there to look after her and Daniel.’

  ‘Her brother, the famous Marc Blackwell,’ says Mandy. ‘Yes, I’ve read all about him. It sounds like he has childcare issues of his own. Hardly a stable influence.’

  ‘You can’t make a judgement based on something you’ve read in the papers,’ I say. ‘They fabricate things all the time. Anyway, as far as I was aware, Daniel can’t be adopted yet. Annabel has to permanently give up custody of him, or have it legally taken away from her. Which as far as I’m aware, hasn’t happened yet.’

  ‘She put him into our care—’

  ‘That’s not the same as giving up custody permanently,’ I point out. ‘Care was supposed to be temporary.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware ... as far as I knew, Ms Blackwell had given up custody.’ I hear papers shuffling.

  ‘Did she sign a P12?’ I’m crossing my fingers that Annabel didn’t accidentally sign the permanent custody form.

  ‘Mmm,’ says Mandy. ‘I don’t see that form here, but ...’ There’s silence, then more shuffling. ‘As far as I was aware ... I was told ... hang on a minute.’ The phone clunks down on a table.

  More papers shuffle, and then I hear Mandy’s voice again. ‘I do apologise. There’s been an error. You’re quite right, we don’t have a P12. Yes, Daniel can’t be adopted as yet. He needs to be fostered first. If Ms Blackwell can prove she has a stable home and environment, then it’s possible that the boy may be returned to her.’

  I feel a smile growing on my face. ‘She will have a stable home. I promise. Very, very soon. Thank you.’

  ‘Okay. Well, goodbye now.’

  The line goes dead.

  I turn to Annabel. I mean to give her a hug, but something happens to my knees. It feels like they’re made of jelly. And my head starts to spin.

  The next moment, everything goes black.

  66

  I wake up in the guest bed at Dad’s cottage. The sky is growing dark outside. My throat feels croaky and sticky, and my head is pounding.

  I sit up, wondering how on earth I got here, and pull back the bedclothes to see I’m dressed in my own pyjamas.

  As I pull myself upright, the room begins to sway and my head pounds harder. I feel hot and feverish, and there’s a weird metal taste in my mouth.

  The bedroom door opens and I see Jen, holding Sammy.

  ‘Thought I heard you waking up,’ she says. ‘Are you trying to get out of bed, Sophia Rose?’

  ‘I was—’

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Jen puts a firm hand on my shoulder and pushes me back onto the pillow. ‘Bed rest for you. You’ve caught a fever. Overwork, the doctor says.’

  ‘How did I get here?’ I ask. ‘I was with Annabel.’

  ‘You fainted. Marc called an ambulance for you. But they said it was just a fever, so the doctors thought a home environment was best. You were brought here to be looked after.’

  ‘Marc was at Tower Clinic?’ I ask, rubbing my eyes.

  ‘No. But Annabel called him when you fainted, and he called the ambulance. He’s worried sick about you. He calls every half hour.’

  ‘How did I get into my pyjamas?’

  ‘You put them on when you got here. Don’t you remember?’

  I shake my head. ‘I guess I really do have a fever.’

  ‘That’s what the doctors think too. But nothing too bad. Nothing that can’t be treated with good food and bed rest.’

  ‘What doctors?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, you have two private doctors looking after you right now,’ says Jen. ‘Doctor Holmes, Marc’s private doctor. And Doctor Freeman. A friend of Leo Falkirk’s.’

  ‘Leo?’ Now I’m really confused.

  Jen nods. ‘Leo was at the cottage when the ambulance brought you here.’

  ‘He was?’

  ‘Yep. He was coming by to visit you. And then you showed up in an ambulance and scared us all to death. Oh my god, Leo is … there are just no words for what he looks like in real life. I nearly passed out when he turned up on the doorstep.’ She smiles at the memory.

  ‘I’m so sorry to worry everyone,’ I say.

  Jen shakes her head. ‘Don’t you even think about any of us. Just rest and focus on getting better.’

  ‘Where’s Marc now?’ I ask.

  ‘You two have an arrangem
ent, remember? He didn’t want to break it. I think he would have done, if your condition was more serious, but … he’s holding out. It was clearly torture for him, not being able to see you before. He wanted to fill this whole room with flowers, but the doctor thought best not. Just in case part of your flu was caused by early hay fever.’

  I laugh. ‘Me, with hay fever?’

  ‘I know. Anyway, Leo recommended a load of healthy food instead of flowers. So the whole kitchen is full of it. Deli soups. Organic vegetables. Fresh brown bread. Squeezed orange juice. Lots of nourishing stuff. I think Marc was pretty impressed.’

  ‘Marc impressed with Leo?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘That would be a pretty big turnaround.’

  ‘I think Marc understands that he and Leo are on the same page, when it comes to looking after you.’

  ‘Wait.’ I try to sit up again, but one look from Jen sends me lying back down on the pillow. ‘Were they both here?’

  ‘Yep.’ Jen shifts Sammy from one hip to the other. ‘Both of them. Marc was going out of his mind with worry. I think he nearly broke your agreement, to be honest. But he stayed strong. And Leo … well, he was emailing homeopaths and acupuncture people and just trying to find out things that might help you get better. He’s such a sweet guy. A really sweet guy.’

  ‘Yes he … Jen? You’ve gone all gushing all of a sudden.’

  ‘Have I? Well … Leo and I were talking for ages, and we really got along …’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I say with a smile. ‘Does Dad know that Marc called an ambulance for me? And that he had me sent here?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jen pauses. ‘I think it helped your Dad’s view of Marc. To see how much he cares.’

  I sit up, suddenly. ‘Oh my god, what time is it? I have a show tonight.’

  ‘It’s okay, Sophia. Davina knows you’re sick. The show can afford to lose a few nights.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No arguments. It’s doctor’s orders that you rest in bed for a few days. If you don’t, you’ll just get sicker and probably end up not being able to finish the show run at all.’

  ‘I hate letting people down.’