Coming Down

by Carrie Elks

  He stares at my lips. I feel self-conscious enough to pull my gaze from him and look away. “What did you do after that?”

  “I moved to California for a few years. My uncle lives over there and managed to get me enrolled in an art program. It was his personal mission to clean me up.”

  “Did he succeed?” This is the answer I need to know. If Niall is still using—even the tiniest amount—it will be a deal breaker. After the devastation I’ve witnessed, I couldn’t cope with that as well.

  He sits stock-still, his face masked in seriousness. “Are you asking me if I still take drugs?”

  I take a deep breath. “I am.”

  He stands up and walks over to where I’m perched on the end of my bed, dropping to his knees so his face is in line with mine. For a moment I forget to breathe as he takes my hand in his, raising it up to cup his jaw. “I haven’t taken anything for eight years, Beth. I had a few false starts, but I got there. Beer and the occasional cigarette are my worst habits now.”

  There’s an intensity to him that draws me in and I lean forward until we are only inches away. I inhale and notice his cologne and a faint trace of soap. Why does he always smell so good? There’s barely time to think about it before he’s clearing the final distance, and the next moment I feel his warm lips meet mine. Soft yet insistent.

  He takes his time, moving slowly, tilting my head with his hands. I kiss him back, surrendering to his warmth, and the need that’s pushing at my chest. I find myself wanting to laugh and cry all at once, but settle for looping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer still, sighing loudly when his tongue slides between my lips. Lights flash behind my closed eyes as he presses his body to mine. Hard enough to make me fall back on the mattress. I bounce until he steadies me with his hands. Hovering over me, he cages me in with his arms, staring right into my eyes.

  “Come here.” I put my hands on his shoulders and try to pull him closer. The muscles beneath his t-shirt flex, but he doesn’t move an inch.

  “Is this okay? Kissing you, I mean.”

  I nod quickly. We might have talked about waiting and being ready but lying underneath him I’m certain it’s right. “More than okay.”

  He kisses me again. This time I wrap my legs around him, lifting my hips until I can feel him there. His moan vibrates through my lips and into my mouth, so I do it again, moving against him until we are both caught up in a fog of need.

  I don’t know how long it goes on for. At one point he pushes my sweater up to my neck, stroking my stomach with his fingers, then his lips, soft enough to drive me crazy. If I was nineteen I’d be shimmying out of my jeans and he’d be tearing my knickers off without thinking twice. Instead we stick to caresses, gentle touches and hard strokes. His muscled thigh pushes between mine and I clench around him, still kissing him hard and fast. I need more. I could climb inside his skin and even that wouldn’t be close enough.

  When we pull apart we’re both breathless, filling the room with loud sighs. Niall rolls off me and onto his back, flinging his arm over his head. My lips feel raw and bee stung. I trace them with my finger. Their tenderness surprises me.

  He smiles when he catches my eye. It’s tentative, almost embarrassed and I want to laugh out loud. It’s as if nine years have disappeared and we are Niall and Beth making out after lectures. Except this time there’s nothing chemical involved.

  For that reason, it tastes so much sweeter.

  “I guess that’s what they call heavy petting.” Niall grins harder and pulls me into his crook. I snuggle in, feeling warm and protected. “The Christian Brothers always warned us about that.”

  “Did they tell you about eternal damnation?” I ask, tracing his jaw with my finger.

  “Yeah, but they forgot to say it would all be worth it.”

  I close my eyes and press my face into his chest, enjoying the warmth radiating through his t-shirt. Part of me wants to ask him what this means, what this thing between us is, but I hold my tongue for fear of the answer. I’m too tired to talk anyway. The emotions of the day are weighing too heavily on my soul. So I let him hold me and trace his fingers along my spine, pressing his face into my hair, whispering words I cannot hear.

  Just for tonight I let myself be.

  * * *

  He leaves just after midnight and I kiss him all the way to the door, clutching at his shirt when he comes back for one final embrace. Our lips curl with laughter as we press them together. I don’t want him to go but he can’t stay. Not unless we’re both ready for the next stage, and I don’t think we are. Not yet. We knew it was time to stop making out when he spent more time adjusting himself than touching me, his face taking on a glaze of discomfort.

  It didn’t mean it was easy, though.

  “I’ll call you.” He kisses me again and I run my fingers through his hair, tugging at it.

  “First thing. Before you get up.”

  “All right, bossy girl.” Another brush of his lips. “I’ll be up with the dawn chorus.”

  There’s something so easy about our interaction. It’s gentle and light-hearted, a stark contrast to the heated passion of before. He leans forward for a final kiss before leaving, and I stand at the door, watching as he clambers down the stairs. When he turns a corner I run to the kitchen, spotting him as he heads toward his car. He’s just a shadow in the street light but I’d know that walk anywhere. The same almost-swagger I remember from when we were young.

  I barely sleep all night. When I’m not thinking about Niall I’m fretting about Allegra and praying she’s safe tonight. I left a message for Grace that I want to meet with her tomorrow, not knowing what else I can do. I can hardly call the police and tell them I’ve seen a suspicious leather jacket loitering around the house. They’d laugh me off the phone then arrest me for wasting their time. The only thing to do is wait until tomorrow and pray nothing happens in the meantime.

  * * *

  The next morning my phone rings at half past six and I talk to Niall. His voice is heavy with sleep; hearing it makes me feel giddy. He tells me about his day—meetings about shows and commissions—and he asks me not to go anywhere near the estate without him.

  It isn’t an ultimatum or a demand, just a heartfelt plea. I find myself agreeing.

  I’m at the clinic when Grace calls. She’s on a home visit but offers to drop into the clinic at two. As it’s a Friday there’s no class, and I agree readily, hopeful we can finally sort things out. With a few hours to kill and a quiet morning ahead, I clear out the art cupboard, a chore I normally avoid at the best of times. Today it’s cathartic. Throwing away dried-up bottles and brushes that have turned stiff as boards takes my mind off the bigger things.

  I’m still in there when I hear a small rap on the door, and I pop my head around to see Grace O’Dell.

  “Oh, hi.” I smooth back my hair, knowing I must look a state. “Is it that time already?”

  “I’m early. My last appointment cancelled. Do you have time now?”

  There’s something in her manner—a certain tenseness—that puts me on my guard. I feel my forehead crease into a frown. “Sure, do you want to talk here?”

  “As good a place as any.”

  We sit down on the orange plastic chairs. They’re covered with dried paint but Grace doesn’t appear to notice. In her job she’s seen much worse.

  “Do you want to start?” she asks.

  For a moment I flash back to all those years ago. Another room, but the same sort of feeling. As if I’m losing from the beginning. I don’t know why I get the impression that she’s judging me before I get to say a single word.

  “I think Darren Tebbit’s back.”

  “What makes you think that?” Her words are clipped, almost dismissive.

  “I saw his jacket in Daisy’s flat. When I asked her about it she got all defensive, as though she was trying to hide something.”

  “So you saw a jacket. Anything else?”

  I realise how lame I must sound. Wi
thout Cameron’s information I’m just a paranoid fool, but I can’t tell her that he’s been spying. “No, but I know he’s back.”

  Grace raises her eyebrows but keeps staring, like I’m the bad guy in this. “I saw Daisy this morning. She told me you went barging into her flat making all kinds of accusations.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest. “She was the one shouting.”

  Grace raises a finger as if to silence me. “Then I went to Allegra’s school and asked her if Darren had been hanging around. She told me she hasn’t seen him for months.”

  “But Daisy was so defensive. When I saw the jacket she practically pushed me out of the door...”

  “See it from her point of view. She’s trying so hard to make it work, putting her all into doing the right thing by Allegra. Then you swan in and make her feel like she’s being judged.”

  “I didn’t swan in. I just wanted to check everything was okay.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why wouldn’t everything be okay? It’s as if you’re expecting her to fail and it’s not on. We’ve analysed all the risks and given her the chance to prove herself. Your spouting off accusations isn’t helping anyone. Least of all Allegra.”

  Tears prick at my eyes, and my hands clench with frustration. It’s not the fact she doesn’t believe me which grates, it’s the knowledge that Allegra could get hurt and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “You’re not going to do anything?”

  “Daisy assured me he isn’t back. That jacket was something he’d left behind; she wore it to pop out to the shops.”

  Am I going crazy? I feel like I might be. It’s as if I’m seeing the world through a different lens, insisting the sky is blue when everybody else sees green. “You believe her?”

  “Would Allegra still be there if I didn’t?” Grace’s reply is terse. “There’s no sign that he’s back. Daisy looks healthy and clean; I don’t think she’s using. The flat was tidy and full of Daisy and Allegra’s things. Not Darren’s.” She almost glares at me. I must look like a flake to her. The girl who cries wolf. “I think your going round there did more harm than good.”

  I instantly recoil as if I’ve been slapped in the face. “How do you mean?”

  “Daisy thinks you’ve had it in for her ever since you heard our suspicions about Darren. She’s got this idea in her head that you’re going to take Allegra away.” She pauses. Long enough for me to take it in. A moment later, she drops the bombshell. “For both their sakes I think you should stay away from them.”

  “Stay away?” I echo. “How long for?”

  Grace shrugs. “Until Daisy feels comfortable with you being around. She isn’t your biggest fan right now.”

  “But I’ll still see Allegra here, right?”

  Grace shifts awkwardly on her seat. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

  “I won’t get to see her at all?” The last word comes out as a sob. I have to cover my mouth to stop it from developing into anything more.

  “It’s for the best.” Grace’s expression softens when she sees how horrified I am. Leaning forward, she reaches out to pat my free hand. Her gesture does nothing to ease the knot in my chest.

  I remove my hand from my mouth. “It’s not fair,” I whisper. “I love that kid.”

  “You’ve broken the first rule,” Grace tells me. “You’ve got too involved. You haven’t got the distance you need.”

  Her words make me want to scream. I don’t need distance or judgement or anything else she thinks I’m lacking. There’s a little girl who can’t protect herself against an evil bastard, and I’m not even allowed to help. The thought of him getting close enough to hurt her makes me want to throw up.

  “What if I see her anyway?” I ask, grasping for straws where there’s only air.

  “Then Daisy has every right to call the police. She’s Allegra’s mum after all.”

  26

  I spend the next week trying not to be a stalker, despite my urge to drive over to the Whitegate Estate and accost every muscled, weasel-faced guy I can find. Instead I spend the evenings at Niall’s flat. We eat dinner together, watch whatever happens to be showing on the telly, and then somehow end up tangled in each other’s arms, kissing the hell out of each other while our programme is forgotten.

  On Wednesday night we kiss and grind for so long that I feel him freeze above me, his spine arched and his mouth tight as he makes a mess of his jeans. I laugh so hard I give myself a stomach ache. He vows revenge when I don’t let him forget it.

  Niall’s plan to get me back comes good on Friday night, when we are on his bed, kissing hard and fast as I’m straddling his waist. He moves his lips down, dragging them softly against my neck, and presses his leg against me. His muscled thigh creates friction in an unbelievably sexy way. When I start to moan he flips me over and holds me in his arms. I shudder, gasp and melt inside. He kisses me hard and I can feel him smile against me, pleased with his victory.

  We’ve regressed to being teenagers, and I love every moment of it. Our evenings are the only thing getting me through the day. When I see Allegra’s empty table where she should be at art class it’s all I can do to make it through without the rest of the kids seeing me cry.

  By Saturday I’m such a mess of emotion—both good and bad—that Niall drags me to his studio and tells me to sit by the window that overlooks the Thames. He sketches my profile as I try not to think too hard. Staring out at the grey, choppy water, I follow the progress of a flotilla of boats that make their way upstream. Smaller rowboats bob in the wake of the pleasure cruisers. I wonder if they feel as lost as I am, unable to do anything but wait for the waves to stop crashing.

  “What are you thinking about?” Niall asks softly. When I turn my head he’s staring at me over his sketchpad. I get a sense of déjà vu; any minute now Digby could walk through that door and tell us to hurry up.

  “I was watching the boats. You have an amazing view.”

  “I know.”

  From the way he smirks I know he’s not talking about the river. He has this way of looking at me, his head tilted to the side, the corner of his mouth quirked up. It’s an expression of intent that lights a fire deep inside. I cross my legs and try not to squirm, but my body has other ideas.

  My discomfiture worsens when he places his sketchpad on the table and walks over. Putting his hands on my hips, he swings me round until he’s standing right between my thighs. When he leans down his eyes are bright and fierce, as though he can read every dirty thought that’s going through my mind.

  “Do you have a thing for boats?”

  “What? No!” I try to laugh but he’s too close and the impulse dies in my throat. Instead I try to breathe.

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?” He runs a finger up my bare arm and I shiver.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want me inside you as much as I do.”

  Oh my God.

  His words are enough to chase every thought out of my mind, as if there’s only enough space for him. When he leans down to press his mouth against mine, I close my eyes and melt into him, clutching at the back of his t-shirt as if he’s the only one who can save me. Kissing him back, our lips move slowly, our tongues sliding together as though we have no other choice.

  But there’s a choice and I’ve made it. I choose him.

  He drags his lips down my neck and I wrap my legs around his waist, threading my fingers through his hair. His hands reach under me, palms digging into my behind as he pulls me closer to him, our bodies moving together in a rhythm that feels more natural than breathing. I arch my back and grab fistfuls of his shirt, desperate to feel him close.

  When I slide down from the window he seems as surprised as I am. Even more so when I drop to my knees and run my finger down the front of his jeans. He stops breathing. When I look up at him from my position on the floor I can see his eyes reflecting sunlight as he stares down at me. His
cheeks are flushed, his lips have fallen open. I try to hide my smile at his obvious shock. Taking my time, I unclasp his belt and button, slowly dragging the zipper down. Not once losing eye contact with him. He’s as still as a statue.

  “Are you sure?” His voice is low and thick.

  I smile when I nod because there’s something so perfect about his concern. Niall can be strong and determined when he wants to be, but here—in this room, towering above me—he’s not afraid to be vulnerable. To make sure this is all okay.

  He makes me feel safe and I love that about him.

  God, I love everything about him. My chest is full of that knowledge. I’m not ready to say it yet, but it’s in every glance I take, every touch of his skin. It’s in the way I curl my fingers around him and try not to smile when he gasps short and low. And when I finally take him in my mouth it’s in the way I stare up at him. I know he can feel it.

  He gently cups my head, staring down through fevered eyes, and I feel it right back.

  “Beth.” His voice is little more than a breath.

  I drag my tongue against his tip, watching as his jaw slackens, his head dropping forward. I glance at him through my lashes, meeting his gaze. Though his eyes are half-shut, I can still see the heat there.

  I can taste it too. He hardens in my mouth, hips rocking involuntarily. When his breath starts to shorten, I take him deeper, feeling him drag against my lips. Then he stops moving and his breath catches as he tries to pull out, to move away. But I don’t want to let him go. Instead I grasp his thighs and suck him deeper still, letting him take over all my senses. And when he comes, spilling inside my mouth, he whispers my name again.

  It sounds a lot like love.

  * * *

  The following week I meet Simon inside a smart restaurant just off Upper Street. Arriving early—a sure-fire sign of my nervousness—I order a small gin and tonic. I sip it as I sit at the table and wait for him. Even on a Thursday night the restaurant business appears to be booming. The room is full of smart couples and businessmen, soft conversations and clinking glass. I feel lost amongst the gentility, like a child dressed up in her Sunday best. The tight black dress I’m wearing feels uncomfortably restricting, and I keep pulling at the neckline to give myself room to breathe.