“Mum, you’re half dressed!” Anna snaps.
“Get. James. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Just. Get. James!” I start to sob again, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I sigh deeply. “Darling, just get James – please!” I plead. I knew that one day she’d have to know what her dad had done, what he was like, but I wanted to be in control of her finding out, not like this.
She leaves me and moves out of my room onto the landing. I can hear the conversation. “She wants you, I don’t know why. She’s half dressed!” Anna sounds so concerned, bordering on shocked, I think.
“It’s all right,” I hear him say. “I’ll see to her, but we need to have a talk.”
I can imagine he’s held her arm in that reassuring way that men so often seem to do.
“Does your mum keep brandy in?” I hear him ask.
“Yes, I think there’s some.”
“Will you get some, just a small one, and bring it back up here? Give me five minutes to sort her out.” He gives his instructions before coming back into my room. I’m still sitting on the edge of my bed dressed only in my knickers and shirt, legs hanging off the edge, puffy eyed. I must look like a wreck, I feel it. He approaches me slowly.
“Anna doesn’t know, does she?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly.
He kneels down in front of me and undoes the buttons of my shirt, looking directly at me constantly. He maintains eye contact all of the time. My hair is a mess, hanging forward over my face. He pulls the top of my shirt apart and eases it over my shoulders and down my arms. He tosses it to the floor, then stands and moves to sit beside me. My James, whom I have only known for a few weeks, is undressing me in my room and yet it feels so right; he’s so gentle and tender, caring. My mother would have a hissy fit if she knew. Still, she’s one to criticise after what she’s done to me!
He puts his hands on the tops of my arms and turns me around so that my back is facing him. He runs his fingers gently over my scar. I shudder. It doesn’t hurt, it just brings back so many horrible memories. “Sorry,” he whispers.
He unhooks my bra and I hear him gasp. “The bastard, the fucking monster.” He sees the other tiny brand mark on the right side of my back, which is normally covered by my bra.
“I take it he did this as well,” he growls quietly, running his fingers over the branded letters LD. They’re small, not more than half an inch high, but a permanent reminder of who I belong, or belonged, to.
“When did he do this?” he asks. I can hear the anger in his voice, he’s speaking through gritted teeth. I hold my head down, I’m ashamed.
“It’s old, soon after Anna was born,” I whimper.
“And nobody knows, nobody?” He sounds stunned.
“No, always covered,” is all I can manage before starting to shake again.
I hear Anna coming back upstairs. She knocks on my bedroom door. “Just a second,” James calls. He removes my bra completely and helps me into the t-shirt I sleep in.
“You’re so beautiful, Alex, don’t let anyone else tell you anything different,” he whispers to me as he helps me stand and holds onto me whilst he guides me into bed and tucks me up like a child. He then plants a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“It’s okay, Anna!” he calls.
Anna comes in with a brandy glass. She looks so pale, it’s been a shock for her too, I’ve no doubt. She hands the glass to James, who holds it to my lips. “Drink!” he says. I sip the amber liquid. It burns the back of my throat. “Drink it all,” he says firmly, “it’s good for you.” I do as I am told and in a way I’m happy that someone knows and that someone is taking control, but not like Lewis. James is taking control in a nice way. He walks around to the window and pulls the blinds closed.
“You’re to rest for a couple of hours. I’m going downstairs with Anna,” he instructs, and they both leave me. I pull the quilt up around my neck and lie there. Sleep doesn’t seem to come easy. What have I done, allowing James, the gigolo – the King of Sex, those girls referred to him as – to undress me? Now I’m no better than the women who visit him!
Chapter 6
I know that once they’re downstairs they chat, and I know that despite James’s promise not to tell anyone, he will have said something. They will doubtless have discussed my marriage, Anna’s father and what’s been happening, or at least what Anna knows.
I can’t seem to drift off. My door is open and I can hear them talking in the kitchen, I need to know what James has told Anna. Deep down I know that there will come a time when she needs to know what has happened, what her dad is like, but I need to be in control, I need to tell her in my way. I leave my bed and creep quietly to the top of the stairs where I can hear the muffled conversation.
“Is Mum going to be okay?” I hear Anna say, her voice tinged with fear.
“She’ll be fine, I think she’s tougher than you think,” James reassures Anna.
“How much has she told you, James?” Anna asks. I can hear her doing something, sounds like she’s making something to eat.
“She’s told me a little about your dad, that’s all.” He’s not revealing just how much he knows about Lewis, thank God.
“Did she tell you about Maggie?” Anna asks.
“No, what about Maggie?” He sounds surprised.
“Maggie was Mum’s birth mother. Apparently her career was too important to give up and look after a child, so Maggie’s sister, my Gran, brought Mum up as her own.” She stops talking for a moment, there’s silence. “She was officially adopted, it was all done legally, but Mum didn’t find out until Maggie died and we were with the solicitor, it was a real shock to her, and me!”
There’s a pause, a lengthy one.
“Let me get this right, Alex is Maggie’s daughter?” James asks. I don’t hear a reply from Anna, but she must have nodded or acknowledged him somehow. I hear James speaking again. “She really has had a full couple of months – finding out that Maggie has died and that she’s sole benefactor, inherited the lot, found the guts to leave your dad, moved to London and finally told me, a stranger, about what she’s gone through for the last twenty-odd years and, to top it all, she finds out that her mum and dad, aren’t!” He sounds surprised, and concerned.
“Yes, but they’ve only really argued for the last five or six years, not twenty,” Anna says.
“You need to talk to your mum, you really do.” His tone is flat, matter of fact.
“I’ll go check on her, shall I?” I hear him say. I creep quickly back to my bed and pretend to be sleeping.
I am so pleased he hasn’t said anything to her, but now I know that I’m going to have to tell her. In truth I’m feeling a little more settled, not so emotional, I hear him wander into my room quietly, I stay so still, my eyes closed feining sleep until I hear him leave.
Once he’s gone I must fall to sleep for a few hours. I’m woken by James as he sits beside me on my bed. “How are feeling now?” he whispers.
I wake feeling groggy. “Okay, I suppose. You haven’t told Anna?” I ask, although I know he hasn’t, or at least I hope he didn’t say anything.
“No, I haven’t. You need to, though, Alex. You can’t keep that from her. I don’t know how you’ve kept it from her this long, surely you’ve been clothes shopping or swimming together and she’s seen you undressed?”
“No, never,” I answer. “Always managed to avoid anything like that, dressing rooms, changing rooms… and I used to get out of swimming altogether, I haven’t swam for over five years. As for holidays, well, Lewis wouldn’t take us anywhere exotic anyway so I got away with t-shirt and shorts in the summer.”
He runs his fingers over my chin and looks at me, a slight smile across those beautiful lips. “You need to tell her, let her see what her dad’s like. She’s eighteen, no reason to keep this from her any longer.”
I’m horrified to see Anna appear in the doorway. Shit.
“No need to keep what from me?” she g
rumbles.
I throw myself back into my pillow. “No, not yet.” I’m furious that Anna has overheard the conversation.
“What, Mum? James, what can’t I know? I’m not a child any longer, for heaven’s sake, in two months I’ll be living on my own!” she snaps.
“You need to let her know, Alex,” James insists. “Tell. Her.” It’s that demanding tone again, the way he says things, issues orders, it compels me to do whatever he’s saying. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s just the way he says it, but I just do what he asks.
I look at him, frowning. “Don’t order me to do anything! If you’re so insistent that my darling Anna knows what a fucking bastard her father is, you tell her!” I shout, challenging him as tears prick my eyes again.
“Okay, I will! She needs to know, if only so that she can protect herself from him, or any other bastard for that matter!” He’s angry, but not with me, at least I don’t think so, but I know he’s right, Anna needs to know that some men, thankfully not many, are bad.
“Anna, sweetheart, come here.” He holds his hand out towards her and gestures for her to walk to the bed. “Roll over, Alex.” I hesitate, rolling over very slowly.
“You know your mum and dad argued, you said you thought it started five or six years ago,” he says patiently.
“Yes.” Anna sounds so confused.
“Your mum tells me that it was going on long before that. But your dad was also violent towards your mum. She has some scars on her back, scars that will be there for a very long time, maybe never go unless she has some treatment. You’ve never seen them, have you?” My face is buried in my pillow but I can guess he’s looking at her.
“No. Show me.” She sounds curious.
James pulls up the back of my t-shirt. I stay on my front in just white cotton knickers and the t-shirt pulled up around my shoulders. Anna sees the tiny brand first. “What’s that?” she asks.
“What does it look like?” James mumbles.
“It looks like the letters LD – oh God! Mum, when did that happen?” She gasps.
I don’t answer.
“And there’s this one.” James pulls my t-shirt higher and shows Anna the iron scar. It’s much larger, about five inches long and curved, clearly shaped, like the sole plate of an iron.
“Oh my God!” Anna throws her hands to her mouth and dashes into my en-suite. We hear her retching, over and over.
He pulls my t-shirt down. I stay with my face buried in my pillow, crying silently to myself. Inside I feel broken, so ashamed Turning I drag myself from my bed, “I have to go to Anna.”
I push past James and to the en-suite quickly finding my darling daughter hunched over the loo. “Oh God Anna, I never wanted you to find out like this.” I pull her hair back from her face and gently rub her back, “Oh Anna.”
She flushes the loo and turns towards me, her arms held out wide. We hug each other, just standing, holding onto each other.
“Why did he do it Mum?” She stammers through the sobs.
I shake my head, “I have no idea, no idea at all, but it’s over now, he’s gone, well almost.”
I pull the toilet seat down and sit whilst Anna washes her face. “Are you okay Mum, really?” she asks.
I nod, “I’ll be fine, I’m just emotionally drained, that’s all. I’m going to climb back into bed, get a few hours sleep, you’ll be fine with James, he’s a good person.” I smile at her.
We both emerge from the en-suite, James has waited, perched on the edge of my bed.
“Are you both okay?” he asks. We both nod, “We’re fine.” I answer for us both, “I’m just very tired, I’m going to go back to sleep for a while. Is that okay?”
They both acknowledge me with smiles and nods as I climb back under my duvet feeling more in control that I have for such a long, long time.
Chapter 7
I must fall to sleep. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping but when I wake it’s barely light, the summer sun just starting to show itself through the blinds. Turning in my bed and facing the window, I look at the patterns the light is making on the blind. The events of yesterday replay in my mind. I have shared the secrets I have kept for years with a man I barely know and with my daughter. Yes, she knew there were issues, but she is now fully aware of the brutality her father is capable of. What have I done?
I’d learnt to accept what Lewis did to me, what he was like, I suppose, but I never expected – certainly never wanted – Anna to find out about how, the extent to which her father had abused me. He’s never laid a finger on Anna and swore he would kill anyone who hurt her, I know he probably would. I remember the history of those scars. There were other things as well, the odd thump and slap, the occasional broken rib, but never my face, he was careful never to hit my face and up until the branding I’d not been subjected to any form of abuse from him. He’d argue with me, yes, all of the time – every day, some weeks, I’d have done something wrong. Stayed too late at school when I worked, gone on a school trip he didn’t quite agree with or approve of… Why did the violence start after Anna was born?
My mind drifts to the news that I am not my mum and dad’s real daughter. I think about the years I spent talking on the phone with “Aunty Maggie”, the birthday cards and presents, Christmas gifts and the tokens that she always came home with from her travels around the world. I remember the national costume dolls she’d bring home and leave with my mum, I’d take them in to school to show the teachers and my friends. “Look what my Aunty Maggie brought me back from Bermuda…” Now that was one that really earned me some street-cred in the day! Thirty-odd years ago you were considered to be something if you’d got yourself off on a holiday to Bermuda.
All the time the woman bringing these things had been my mother. It never occurred to me until now, but she always visited when I was at school. Always a reason why she couldn’t stay. Mum used to say, “Maggie’s really sorry she missed you – she had to get back for…” Whatever. She’d avoid all physical contact, only speaking on the telephone every now and then. What a life! I sigh.
Suddenly I’m aware of another being in my room. I sit up and, there in the corner, asleep in my easy chair, is James, his head lolled on one side, hands loosely held together in his lap, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I watch him breathing deeply, his soft yet masculine face, the full beautiful lips, lips that have brushed my cheek, his dark hair messed up. He really is stunning.
He stirs, aware, I think, that I am looking at him, opening those dark eyes, eyes that mesmerize. “Good morning,” he croaks. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Okay.” I pull myself up in my bed, I need the loo. Throwing the quilt back, I swing my legs out over the side of my bed, stand and walk toward my en-suite.
“Need to use the bathroom,” I mumble as I walk past him. He just nods, still sleepy.
Throughout the years of arguing and thumping, slapping and shaking, I think I’ve managed to learn to bounce back, and bounce back quickly – I’ve had to for Anna’s sake, because if I didn’t, if I let Lewis down by not being ready or not doing something, I’d be subjected to more arguing, slapping and thumping. I’ve learned to lick my wounds and carry on. I’m sure there are some people that may take the view that it’s not so bad, she’s up and around again now, but the motivation, the reason for being up and around so quickly is the fear of being knocked down again.
In the bathroom I do what I need to, wash my hands, splash some water over my face and brush my teeth. Looking in the mirror, I wonder who this woman is looking back at me. Who is she? Over the last few months so much has happened. I’m confused, I’m hurt but I’m also very angry. Angry with Lewis for what he’s done to me, what he’s made me, but also with people who are no longer here, people I thought I could trust, people who were supposed to protect me.
Grabbing my robe, I wander back to my room. “Want some coffee?” I ask the sleepy man in my chair.
“That would be good.” He
stands. “Mind if I use your bathroom first?”
“Go ahead, I’ll be downstairs.” I’m slightly embarrassed that this man who, let’s face it, I barely know, has slept in my room.
I sort out my cafetière for his coffee, something I don’t drink myself but I know that James has coffee in the morning. I make myself a pot of tea, Assam. I can’t stomach coffee in the morning. Once made I put the cafetière and pot onto the island along with the milk jug and sugar bowl and sort out a couple of mugs. I feel like I’m on auto-pilot, completing the mundane day-to-day tasks without any thought. I glance at the clock, it’s still very early.
Rummaging through the bread bin, I find some bagels. I’m not really hungry but I expect James will want something. I pop a couple into the toaster just as he appears, his hair still messed up. Regardless of his state he still looks incredibly sexy. He walks to the island and drops onto a stool, reaches for a mug and pours himself coffee, black.
He looks at me concerned, frowning. “You sure you’re okay, Alex? You don’t look it to me.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need some time,” I mumble as I pour myself a mug of tea.
Taking the bagels from the toaster, I place them onto a dinner plate in the middle of the island with a pot of raspberry jam, two bread and butter plates and a couple of knives. “Help yourself.” I nod towards the bagels.
The Bossman takes one. “Got any cream cheese?”
“I think so, low fat, it’s in the fridge.” I point towards the huge stainless steel fridge and he mooches over. I note he’s barefoot. Even his feet are sexy, just like the rest of him. There’s something about bare feet – well, nice bare feet!
He returns with his tub of Philly and a punnet of strawberries. I frown. Cheese and strawberries? He spreads a thick layer of cream cheese onto his bagel, which he devours quickly, washed down with a second coffee. I’m still slowly spreading jam onto mine.
Freeing Alex (The Alexandra Drake Series) Page 8
