Apart from a few seagulls flying low above the water, I’m all alone. My toes sink into the sand and water foams around my ankles. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with fresh, ocean air and listening to the waves crash onto the shore, one after the other. I stay that way for a long time, gazing out across the water, just letting my thoughts drift.
I glance to my left as a faint yapping sound steals my attention. A small, white scruffy dog is running towards me, his tail a white blur as he stops in front of me.
I look around for his owner, but he appears to be on his own so I crouch down and tickle his ears. “Hey, little fella, where did you come from?” I wonder if he belongs to one of the big houses further up the shoreline.
As I stroke him, he lowers his head and rests his chin on my leg. His beard is wet and cold against my skin and when he lets out a sigh, his breath tickles.
“You really are cute, aren’t you?” I say. He looks up at me and his knowing expression tells me he agrees. Then his ears prick up, he turns his head and shoots off back in the direction he came from. I look up and see a man jogging in our direction. I quickly straighten and turn back to the ocean, pretending not to notice.
When the man draws near, he slows to a walk and stops a couple of feet away. Out the corner of my eye I see him turn to face out across the water, too. He leans forward, rests his hands on his thighs and breathes deeply as he recovers from his run.
I don’t acknowledge him. I just stay where I am, taking in the view, feeling resentful that this stranger is encroaching on my solitude.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, straightening.
I glance at him and my eyes widen ... tall, broad, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that draw you in. The guy from the cafe.
“Good to see you again, Emily.” He raises his water bottle in a salute and then takes a swig.
“Oh, hi.” I plaster on a smile. “It’s … erm … Nate, isn’t it?” I know damn well what his name is. And by the way his lips twist into a crooked smile, he knows I do, too.
He turns back to the ocean. “I love the beach this time of day.”
I watch him unobserved for a moment. He’s wearing grey jersey shorts, running shoes and there’s a vest slung around his neck. My eyes wander across his tanned torso, which is ripped and glistening with sweat.
I clear my throat and tear my focus back to the ocean. “Yeah, me too. It’s peaceful.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the little dog tears up the beach yapping at the seagulls strutting along the shoreline. The birds flap their wings and launch into the sky making Nate chuckle. “Yeah, real peaceful.”
I look at the dog and smile. “Is he yours?”
“Oscar?” He shakes his head. “No. He belongs to an old guy I know. Occasionally when I come out for a run, he rocks up beside me.”
He crouches down and whistles, and Oscar immediately stops yapping, pricks up his ears and runs towards him, launching himself at his chest. Nate catches him and ruffles his hair. “We’re buddies, aren’t we?” he says, trying to avoid Oscar’s long tongue as it flicks ever closer to his face. Then he plops Oscar back on the sand and stands up. “What about you?” He looks behind us. “Are you out here on your own?”
I nod.
He looks down at my feet. “I’m guessing you didn’t come for an early morning run....”
“No … I’m still on UK time so I was awake early. I just fancied getting some fresh air.”
He takes another swig from his bottle. “So, have you given it any more thought?”
I blink. “Huh?”
He wipes his brow with the bottle, his lips easing into a grin. “I’m talking about my job offer? Are you interested in working at O’Shea’s Place?”
Oh.
And No.
I take a deep breath ready to decline, but then I have a flash of realisation; Of course I’m interested. What was I thinking before? I need that job. The thought of being cooped up in the house while Rachel goes out of her way to show me what a good mom she’s become fills me with dread. I need a reason to be out of the house as often as possible. And earning money at the same time won’t be a bad thing.
I raise my chin and take a deep breath. “Will I need an interview?”
“I don’t know.” He looks me up and down. “Can you walk and carry a tray at the same time?”
I frown. “Do you really need me to answer that?”
“I guess not. Can you add up?”
“Of course….”
“Now, here’s the potential deal-breaker. When people approach you in the cafe, do you think you could try being nice to them?”
I look away from him. Maybe I don’t want this job after all.
“Because it’s O’Shea’s policy that staff are friendly. Always.”
I turn back. “You caught me at a bad time yesterday. I don’t normally....”
He raises his palms, grinning. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. When can you start? This week? Next week?”
“Oh … well … how quickly do you need someone?”
His eyes light up. “Does this mean you accept?”
I tilt my head. “Does this mean I’m hired?”
“Yes, yes it does.” He wipes his hand across the side of his shorts before reaching out towards me. I lift my hand to meet his in a shake, trying not to notice how his lips curve into a sexy smile, complete with those dimples. “Welcome aboard, Emily.”
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
Please don’t let this be a mistake.
“Why don’t you come into the cafe Monday morning around seven? It’ll give you time to get over your jet-lag and it’s our quietest day so it’ll be a good time to find your way around.”
I take a deep breath. “Monday at seven. Okay. I’ll be there.”
He’s still grinning. “You just made my day.” He gives me a parting nod and turns, running back in the direction he came with Oscar yapping by his side.
I watch until he’s out of sight.
The rest of the morning is spent lying on my towel, letting the warm breeze heat my skin while I read the same paragraph in my book over and over.
By mid-day it’s too hot and with no real options, I decide to pack up and head back to the house. I stand up and attempt to brush off the fine layer of sand that’s stuck to my sun cream, then I slide my feet into my hot flip-flops, shake out my towel and stuff it into my bag with the book.
Rachel answers the door on my second knock. She’s wearing an expensive-looking pale blue dress, her hair is pulled into a bun and her face is all shiny with sweat.
“Em, honey. Come in, come in.” She sounds breathless. “You shouldn’t have to knock. I’ll give you the code for next time.”
“Thanks,” I say, walking over the threshold and wondering what I’ve interrupted.
“Have you had a lovely morning?” She slides her fingers into her hair, dragging back some of the strands that worked their way free.
I’m about to say yes, but she keeps talking.
“I’ve had a great morning. I’ve got so much done.” She picks up a rag, gets down on her knees and starts scrubbing the oak floor.
Surely she’s a bit overdressed for housework?
She scrubs so hard, I can see why she’s sweating.
“I’ve done upstairs. And I’ll soon be finished down here, and then I can make you lunch, anything you want, and then we can go somewhere this afternoon.” Her words are rapid fire, one after the other without a breath. “And I’ve been thinking I should take you out for dinner this evening. And Harriet will come too, obviously. Somewhere classy. What do you think? Does that sound good to you?”
“I ... uh ... I don’t know.”
The way she’s looking up at me, with her brows raised and her eyes hopeful, I feel under pressure to say the right thing.
I sigh. “Dinner would be nice. But can we do it next week some time? When I’m not feeling so jet-lagged?”
She frowns. “Bu
t I was really hoping to go tonight….”
I say nothing and we just look at each other. A stand-off of sorts.
Eventually her shoulders sag in defeat. “Well I guess next week will have to do.” She scrubs harder, as if she’s trying to rub the grain out of the wood. “If we’re not going today at least I’ll be able to get more done around here.”
I watch her for a moment and then clear my throat. “I’ve got a job.”
Her hands still and she stares up at me.
“In a cafe up the road. You might know it. O’Shea’s Place....”
She wrinkles her nose. “Well … what did you go and get a job for? You don’t need to work, Emily”.
I press a cool palm to my hot face. “I do. If I’m not busy, then I can’t stop my mind wandering back to that day. I’ll drive myself mad….”
After a pause she gives me the briefest of nods and gets back to annihilating the wood. “Dinner next week with both my girls,” she murmurs. “Just perfect….”
I continue to watch her for a moment, trying to work her out. She’s acting as if us three being together is something she’s wanted a long time, when she’s the one who has been the obstacle to us all being together for the last five years.
“I need to go take a shower,” I say, heading away from her. “Get this sand off.” I take the stairs two at a time.
Chapter 7
It’s Friday morning and I’m awake early again. My first thoughts, as always, are of Dad. My mind flashes up a kaleidoscope of images from when I was younger; Dad reading bedtime stories to me and Harriet, giving each character a silly voice and throwing his arms around as he acts his way through the pages - every night we’d beg him to read just one more chapter and he never could say no. Then there’s us styling his hair with pink sparkly clips and flowery headbands. He drew the line when Harriet begged him to let us put make-up on him. And there’s the three of us playing out in the snow. Dad would bundle us up in thick coats and woolly hats and help us build the most elaborate snowmen in the neighbourhood. When we couldn’t feel our fingers anymore and the cold had crept inside our wellies, Dad would usher us back inside and make the best-tasting hot chocolate ever, with squirty cream and marshmallows....
And then, predictably, I’m reliving his last day on earth.
I’m transported back to our house in Oakley Hill, London, to the doorway between the hall and the living room. My nostrils fill with the smell of Dad’s leather boots lying redundant in the hallway and the citrusy aroma coming from the plug-in air-freshener. My heart bangs against my ribs as the door swings open and the smell is replaced by something metallic. And then I’m faced with that horrific scene; Dad lying on the sofa, eyes open and vacant, face so pale.
And all that blood.
The image is sharp and vile, and immortalised in my memory forever.
My head swims and I can’t breathe. I sit up sharply, open my eyes and force the image away.
Breathe in. Pause.
Breathe out.
Breathe in. Pause.
Breathe out.
It’s too hot in here. I can’t breathe because it’s so hot. I throw the top sheet off, jump out of bed and run over to the window. Tugging on the blind cord, I squint against the bright morning light and slide the vent open. Cooler air filters through and the sound of the ocean floats into the room.
I suck in deep, slow breaths, one after the other until my heart rate goes back to normal.
In the shower, I place my forehead and palms against the cool white tiles and let the tears roll freely. Six months of crying, you think I’d be done. Then I mentally shake myself, stand up straight and let the jets of water wash the salty tears away. I can’t drop my guard for too long or my feelings will engulf me.
I grab a towel off the rack, roughly dry myself, and decide I need to get out, maybe go for a walk on the beach before it gets too hot and then find a shady spot where I can try to get lost in my book again.
I spray on deodorant and pull on my underwear before slipping into a pair of denim shorts and a long-sleeved red top.
I’m peering into the dressing-table mirror, combing waterproof mascara through my lashes – the one make-up item I brought with me, when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
I hold the bottle aloft and take a deep breath. “Come in.”
Through the mirror I see the door handle pull down and Harriet enters my bedroom. She’s wearing a white vest and pink stripy pyjama shorts. Her hair is pulled into a loose knot and a toothbrush is protruding from her mouth. She grabs hold of it and pulls it out, leaving a trace of foam on her lip.
“Morning, Em.”
I smile through the mirror. “Hi.”
She steps into the bedroom and then leans against the wall, bending a leg and placing her foot against the paintwork. She waves her toothbrush in my direction. “You look like you’re getting ready for something?”
I look back in the mirror and continue combing the wand through my lashes. “Uh ... yeah. I thought I’d pop to the beach and read my book.”
“Sounds lovely. I’d join you if I didn’t have to go to college. Why don’t you ask Mom to go with you?”
My hand freezes.
“I really think you should,” she carries on. “She’s taken a couple of days off work and she’s told Dominic to give her a bit of space so she can devote some time to you. She’ll love hanging out at the beach, catching up and stuff.”
That sounds like the last thing I want to do. I twist round to face her. “I don’t think so….”
Harriet tilts her head and frowns. “Why not?”
How can I put this? “It’s just ... I’m really tired and I feel like being on my own for a bit.”
She draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. My eyes stay on her as she pushes herself off the wall and walks through to the attached bathroom. She runs the tap, angles her head underneath to rinse her mouth out and then slips the hand towel off the holder and wipes it over her mouth. Then she chucks the towel on the side, and still clutching her toothbrush, walks back into the bedroom. “Em,” she says, taking on the tone of a teacher addressing a naughty schoolchild. “You’re not being fair to her.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“I mean it. You have got to start building bridges with her. She’s desperate to be there for you. All you have to do is let her.”
I sit up straighter and match her tone. “And you need to understand that is not something that will happen overnight.”
She sighs. “I realise that. But it doesn’t look like you’re even trying. You seem to be going out of your way to distance yourself from her. And from me too.” She reaches out, touches my arm and lowers her voice. “I know you don’t mean it, Em, but it hurts.”
Like it hurt when you abandoned me?
“Family is important,” she carries on. “And we’ve only got each other now. You, me and Mom. We’re a team. Please don’t push us away.”
What the hell gives her the right to lecture me on that subject?
I suck it up. I’m too tired and emotional to have this out with her right now. I bite my lip but I know I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut forever.
“What?” she says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I try to ease the tension from my face and swerve the conversation in a different direction. “What about your dad, Harriet? I mean your real dad….”
Her eyes narrow.
I ignore the look and carry on. “Because you said you’ve only got me and her. But you still have your own dad out there somewhere, don’t you?”
A flash of tension crosses her features. “I’ve got no idea where he is and I’m not interested to be honest.”
The way she just said that, all short and snippy - I don’t believe her. That’s how I sound when I talk about Rachel. If Harriet really didn’t care, she wouldn’t sound so affected.
“Look.” I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’re all m
eant to be going out for dinner, aren’t we? One night next week…. Let’s pin down the day and look forward to that. I should be over my jet-lag by then and not so grumpy. I promise I’ll make an effort.”
Her eyes are still narrowed and I think she’s about to go in for round two, but instead her shoulders sag. “Fine,” she says, dropping down into a cross-legged position on my bed. “How about Thursday? Is that any good?”
I nod, breathing in a small sigh of relief. “Thursday’s fine with me.”
“Okay, I’ll let Mom know and make a reservation somewhere.” She sits studying me for a moment with her head resting on her hand. “So, Mom tells me you’re going to start working at that O’Shea’s Place, further up the beach.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“You took the hot guy up on his job offer, huh?”
I smile. “I wasn’t going to, but then I bumped into him on the beach. When I thought about it, I realised it made sense.”
She stands up and stretches. “You just watch your guard around him, okay? Guys who look that good are usually trouble.” She searches my face and heat creeps into my cheeks. “Promise me, Emily.”
I sigh. “I’ve got no intention of hooking up with the boss.”
“Good.” She twiddles the toothbrush between her fingers. “Otherwise working for him ... well it would just be too complicated, wouldn’t it?”
I bang the mascara bottle onto the dressing table and stand up. “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. I told you the other night, he’s not my type.”
Chapter 8
I met Dominic last night, he stopped by the house to take Rachel out for dinner. While he was in the kitchen she came into my bedroom and asked me to go downstairs so she could introduce us. I’d just had a shower and was stood in my towel with wet hair dripping down my back, but she begged me to quickly pull on some clothes so I could meet him. Grudgingly, I did the dutiful daughter bit and Rachel seemed delighted.
Dominic wasn’t what I expected. As the CEO of a large company, I thought he’d be dynamic and authoritative. Instead he was quiet and unassuming. He was average height and slim with thinning hair, his suit was well cut and on he had an expensive-looking Rolex on his wrist. It’s easy to see he’s besotted with Rachel. The whole time he hardly took his eyes off her.
The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies Page 4
