UK2

by Terry Tyler

Music blasts out of his car, and we follow the sound of Hotel California down past the fields, up Markyate Road, and when he gets to Pinkhams I expect him to turn up on the left, towards Naomi's, but Dexy-Boy surprises us. He turns right, heading down the road that leads off the island.

  I tap Mac on the shoulder, and he slows right down.

  Is he getting away, before anyone else finds out? It's only a quarter past nine, Barney's crew aren't leaving until ten—but no, he stops outside the hotel.

  We stop, too, on the corner.

  What's he up to? Is he stocking up on provisions? Cheeky bastard; he's not taking our food. I'm not having that.

  He opens his car door, and looks up at the sky; it's pissing down and he hasn't got a jacket on. He gets out, but he doesn't walk round to the entrance; instead, he nips over the wall, dead furtive, and strides across the grass, head down against the rain.

  "Stay here," I say, and jump off the bike.

  "Careful," Mac calls after me.

  Like if I wasn't going to be careful, him telling me to would make any difference.

  I'm soaked, just from the ride down here. Dex doesn't look back, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't seen me; he's too anxious to get out of the rain. I bob down behind the high wall as he walks in through the front entrance, and I hear him call out to Rowan.

  I'm pumped; in spite of everything, this is kind of exciting.

  Fuck it, I want to confront him myself. I want him to look me in the eye and know that I know exactly who he is and what he's done.

  I might even give him a goodbye kick in the nuts.

  He's left the door ajar and I slip in. Rainwater is streaming into my eyes; I wipe it away, push my wet hair back and peer down the dark corridor.

  Into the doorway at the end.

  Where Dex and Rowan are standing, close together.

  Kissing.

  I mean, snogging. Full on face-eating.

  The sort that tells me it's not the first time.

  They're so busy chomping at each other that they don't even notice me. I slither sideways onto the bottom of the staircase, listen, and try not to make gagging noises at the breathy gasps and strangled moans—Christ, I hope they're not going to start shagging. I seriously do not want to hear that.

  He speaks first. "You won't change your mind, then?"

  "No. I don't fancy living anywhere in which a revolting oik like your new chum Barney is elevated to a position of authority. Doesn't say much for the rest of them. Anyway, I like my hotel." She sighs. "I wish you'd stay, though."

  A few smooching noises.

  "Maybe you'll find you can't bear to be parted from me," he murmurs.

  "Maybe." A low, sexy laugh. "I haven't finished with you yet!"

  Vomit.

  He killed Heath, when all the time he's been having his end away behind Mum's back. As if Naomi wasn't enough, the evil bastard. And Rowan—she's supposed to be Mum's friend!

  "Vicky's staying. Thank God. This couldn't have come at a better time."

  "Ah, well, in that case I may think again. Depends how much I miss you!"

  "You will, sweetheart."

  Pause.

  "Oh, don't. Oh, God—oh-hh. Dex, I mean it. Stop. Anyone could walk in."

  Anyone already has, you two-faced slapper.

  "Dex. Oh. Stop it. No, don't. Oh-hh. Have we got time? Shall we go up?"

  Shit. Upstairs. Which would mean walking right past little me.

  "You've talked me into it." Revolting nuzzling sounds. "But what's wrong with right here?" Slurp, slurp.

  "What if somebody walks in?"

  "Fuck 'em." Strangled groans, the sound of belts and zips being undone. "I'm finished with Vicky, I've told her. So we get caught. Who cares what the plebs think?"

  I block my ears, but it only muffles the groaning and moaning, I can still hear it.

  It only lasts a few minutes but it feels like ages.

  I don't know whether to snigger or throw up. Does he always say, 'Okay, baby, this is me' just before he shoots his bolt, I wonder? Tragic! Shame I can't ask Mum.

  I look forward to telling Mac, though.

  Rowan says, 'oh fucking hell you bastard harder harder oh fuck', or words to that effect, but I won't tell Mac that part because he wishes I would talk dirty, and I never do because it makes me feel silly.

  One day I will tell Mum, and we'll laugh. But I don't think that will be for a long, long time.

  Then I have to stick my fingers in my ears while Rowan is telling him how wonderful he is, or I really will chuck up my breakfast.

  Back to business.

  Dex asks her to nip down to the car park at ten and tell Barney that he's gone, and will see him down at the Lindisfarne Inn.

  "Keep it quiet, though. Only tell Barney."

  "Why? Everyone will want to say goodbye to you. Why the cloak and dagger exit?"

  Silence.

  "Dex, get your face out of my neck and explain."

  "I just don't like goodbyes, that's all, and I've got a horrible feeling Vicky might charge after me, bleating about being abandoned. But, more importantly, it means I can travel alone, instead of having to listen to Naomi squawking all the way to the South Downs."

  Rowan finds this highly amusing.

  "I shall return," he says, "soon. And maybe by then you'll be missing me so much you'll follow me back."

  They whisper a bit, too low, but it's only mushy shit, I can tell by the tone. Then a door opens; I sneak a peek around the newel post and see them walk into the supplies room, which leads to the kitchen. Which leads to the back door. I wait outside, hear them talking but can't hear what they're saying. Then it goes quiet, and I assume they're snogging again, but the silence goes on for too long, and I open the door, but he's not there. Rowan's all alone, looking out of the open door.

  I hear a car start up, and drive off.

  She looks up.

  "Oh, hi, Lottie—"

  It's not funny any more. I feel this rage in my chest. "I heard you. I saw you. I was sitting on the stairs."

  I expect her to be aghast—she's been friends with Mum since almost the beginning, she's one of the Elmfield Nine, but she doesn't look as though she cares.

  Which is when I remember what a snotty cow she was when we first met her.

  She folds her arms and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

  "I'm sorry about that, sweetie; it's always ghastly hearing people having sex."

  Wha-aaat? "Are you having a laugh? That's not the fucking problem—"

  She shrugs, and that eyebrow practically hits her hairline. "Yes, I do understand, and I'm sorry, but Vicky was going to find out some time, and it's over between them now, isn't it? It's been over for months." She stops, and eyes me keenly. "Since last Christmas, if I remember rightly. I mean, when she started sleeping with Heath."

  "But you're Mum's friend." I'm so wrong-footed by her reaction that I can't find any of the words I need to say. "How long—"

  "Since October." She waits, challenging me. "Yes, before Vicky started playing around. So what? We live a precarious life, these days. If you find a chance for happiness you take it. That's what Vicky did, isn't it?"

  "How do you know about Mum and Heath? Did Dex tell you?"

  She laughs. "No, sweetie, I told him, but we both already suspected; all those lovey-dovey little smiles that used to pass between them when they thought nobody was looking; it was pretty damn obvious. Kara confirmed it." She frowns, looks down, and picks at her fingernail. "No one can ever keep a secret, can they?"

  I can. "And you think that shithead's in love with you?" The fight in me comes back. "You haven't got a clue what he's really like!"

  She sighs, as if exasperated by the effort of explaining something to an inferior. "It's just something to brighten up my dreary days, Lottie."

  "You betrayed Mum for a bit of fun?"

  "Oh, she knows it's over—well, you probably heard that bit—and when Dex comes back he will stay here with me, and I daresay s
he'll accept it, as will Naomi. We're grown-ups; this isn't one of your playground spats over who sent topless selfies to whose boyfriend."

  Bitch! But it's my turn to laugh. When Dex comes back. Ha!

  "Don't start ticking off the days. I'm a hundred per cent certain that he will never, ever come back here. Ever."

  That catches her attention; she looks up, sharply.

  "What makes you say that?"

  I open my mouth to tell her, but all of a sudden I feel all talked out. Exhausted. I actually can't be bothered to explain it all again, and she won't believe it anyway.

  "Come on," she says. "What do you mean?"

  "That's for me to know and you to find out, fuck face. You'll see!" Yes, this is much more fun. Let the skanky slag stew. She can look up every time she hears a car go past, wondering if it's him, and it never will be.

  Her neck goes all taut and she's dying to know what I'm talking about but she can't bring herself to beg. I laugh at her silly expression. She can go fuck herself—especially as Dex won't be around to do it. That makes me laugh even more, and I give her the finger and walk out.

  I need Mac.

  I need to see my Mum.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vicky

  August 8th, 2026

  Somewhere down the glass of brandy that Martin makes me drink (even though it's not yet ten in the morning), I become 'me' again.

  I step out of the fog I've lived in since Heath died.

  Deep in the mist I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't work out what it was, because just living day to day was so hard.

  Grief makes you tired; I remember Mum telling me that, after my gran died. First you can't sleep, then it's all you want to do.

  But I'm awake now. Dex has gone. I never have to see him again.

  I allow the brandy to warm my throat and cut through the lump of pain in my chest, and I'm overcome with a sensation of light, of evil having left the island. The evil that killed Heath.

  I don't want to be in this castle any more.

  Martin says, "Tell me how you're feeling," and that makes me smile, because most men just ask if you're okay and cross their fingers that you'll say yes, so they don't have to deal with you not being so.

  Not Heath. Not Martin, either.

  I tell him I'm not sure.

  "You seem very calm, that's all. I thought I'd be picking you up off the floor."

  I hold my glass out and he pours a little more in. "I did all that when Heath died." Had I suspected Dex's involvement, deep down? Looking back, he was too patient, too understanding.

  Maybe I just didn't want to explore the idea.

  Oh dear, Lottie's right. I couldn't have handled it.

  My poor, brave girl; all she went through, and I was angry with her, and sent her away. I have to make this right, very soon. It'll be okay. We're always okay, Lottie and me. I'm so, so lucky to have her.

  Martin makes coffee, and the clock ticks past ten o'clock; Barney's party will have left. I'm light-headed, and not just because I'm slightly drunk.

  "I need to find Lottie."

  "I'd give her an hour or so to get her head together," Martin says. "The rain's stopped. Shall we go for a walk?"

  As we open the heavy front door of the castle, the dark rain clouds are moving off to the south. The air smells wonderful.

  Martin walks a comfortable couple of feet from me, and we talk, properly, for the first time. He tells me about his wife and son, who both died from bat fever.

  "It's been two years now, and I'll tell you this: you never get over it, but if you can accept that, and not attempt to mask it with drink, or denial, or pills, if you allow yourself to feel the pain, eventually you'll find that you can keep Heath in one place of your mind, and even revisit that place with happiness, now and again. You get so that you can live with it, without it having such a huge impact on every moment of your life."

  We stop, and turn to look at each other. He has dark, intelligent eyes, and a kind smile. A lived-in face; I imagine he has a few tales to tell.

  "I hope so." The loss of Heath is still so sharp, but I can take on board what Martin says. "Do you have any words of wisdom about Dex?"

  "Not yet." He smiles. "You're probably still in shock. It's cushioning you from the horrendousness of the situation."

  "Yeah, maybe." I frown, and look down at the pebbles. "I remember, though; even before I was with Heath, I'd realised that I didn't actually like Dex very much."

  "He's a despicable person. And probably insane; murder is not, generally, a solution for the sound of mind."

  "I don't know how you measure sanity."

  He laughs. "No, nor do I. If anyone had harmed my wife or son, I'd have killed them, willingly, which maybe makes me insane, too. Or is it the most sane reaction? I don't know." Then his face grows serious. "I think he's quietly psychopathic, though. Dangerous, at least."

  "Yes, he is. But I can't dash down to UK Central and tell them; you were right, there's nothing to be done, apart from shooting him myself, and I'd probably miss. I could send a hitman after him, but I don't know any." I look up at the sky. "I feel as though I've been set free."

  "Remember what I said about the shock?"

  "Yes, but I might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

  "Actively wanting to be happy is a massive part of being so. Easier to wallow in grief than try to move on."

  I nod. "I think that's what I've been doing. Moving on is like saying goodbye, and I wasn't ready to do that."

  We walk in silence for a while, down towards the water, where we come across Ozzy and Myra. She's tearful; Naomi, Suzanne, Phoenix and Rosie have gone, as has Flora.

  "I knew Naomi would go, because she has to be where Dex is, but I thought Suzanne might stay," says Myra, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

  Ozzy looks deeply bored.

  "What about the kids?" Martin asks. "The school? Will you carry it on?"

  Myra shrugs. "There's only Bradley, Nolan and Millie left. Their parents want them to be educated, they can teach them themselves."

  "Too freakin' right," says Ozzy. "Be good to have a bit of peace and quiet."

  I say, "So that's the end of The Safe Space, too, then."

  "Not before time." Myra pulls Ozzy closer to her. "I'm not naming names, but certain women seemed to think they had to undress in order to get a head massage."

  Ozzy becomes suddenly fascinated by a seagull pecking at a dead crab washed up on the shore.

  We walk on, away from the water, past the jetty, over the fields towards the graveyard. When we get there, Martin hangs back; I don't have to ask him to.

  I kneel down and touch the grass by Heath's apple tree; the tree is a foot high now. I won't let this mess me up, I tell him. I'm going to be happy, and make the most of this life, for you. And I say sorry because, in my self-absorption, I have not taken care of Jax. That's going to change, too.

  "I was thinking about the Dex situation," Martin says, as we walk back. "He deserves everything bad that can possibly happen to him, but often we don't get justice and satisfactory endings. Sometimes, we just have to deal with what's happened, and move on as best we can." He gives me a sidelong glance. "Karma can take its time, but it usually makes its mark in the end."

  Back at our house, I have another shock in store.

  Lottie is back, and she looks as edgy as she did when she walked into the castle. I hug her, straight away, tell her I love her and that I'm not angry with her, but she still looks nervous.

  "No more secrets," I tell her. "Whatever you need to tell me, ever, I want you to know that you can.”

  Well, I asked for it. She takes a deep breath and blurts out that Rowan was having an affair with Dex, and it began before I was with Heath.

  At first, in my peculiar, bubble-like state, I think, who cares?

  But a few minutes later I get mad. I think about the first few days Rowan lived with us, when she behaved towards me as if I was a servant, and was rude to Kara and Phil.
I grew closer to her, because she is part of what Lottie calls the Elmfield Nine; we were supposed to be friends, but she was sleeping with the man I lived with, behind my back.

  I care nothing for and wish only ill on Dex and, looking back, I am sure Naomi was not the first. But I do care about being betrayed by a friend. That's the worst.

  I need to have it out with her.

  "She's not worth it, Mum," Lottie says. "I know that's a totally lame cliché, but it's true, and you've got enough to deal with, haven't you?" She pulls my arm; she looks like my little girl again. "And we need to talk, don't we?"

  I pull her to me and kiss her head. "We do, but I have to do this first. I won't be long."

  I feel fine, walking up there. Fierce, like my daughter, at last. So much bad stuff has happened that I don't care what I say, or what anyone thinks of me.

  I understand what Lottie means when she says she feels 'pumped', now. I'm almost looking forward to the confrontation.

  I barge straight into the kitchen; she's standing at the sink, looking out of the window.

  She hears me and turns, but I'm not giving her the chance to go first.

  "I've just found out you've been sleeping with Dex since last October, so you'll understand when I say that I won't be working here any more. Just thought I'd let you know."

  I realise that I have no desire to wail on about how she's betrayed me. She's no longer a friend, so I don't want her knowing my private feelings. I've said my piece and want to leave on a high note; I turn to go, but she leaps in front of me, her back to the door.

  "Can we talk?" She doesn't look sorry. Same old Rowan.

  "I just did."

  "Just listen a moment. I know, on paper it doesn't look good, but—oh, what the hell, I might as well just say it." She frowns, rubs her forehead. "Are you surprised? Really? If not me, someone else would have snapped Dex up. You didn't appreciate him; excuse me if I did. I mean, what on earth made you think you were entitled to both of those lovely men?" She looks spitting mad for a moment, and I understand; she was jealous.

  "It wasn't like that," I say, quietly.

  "Oh, I'm sure it was. You thought you could have your cake and eat it. Anyway, Dex will be staying here when he comes back; he was planning to break it to you, but then all this UK Central stuff came up, out of the blue. I'm sorry, I know it's a bit of a kick in the teeth, but—"