by Storm Chase
Cleo sat and looked about. It was like being in a time warp. She felt as if them finding the coke in her luggage, being in jail, and everything else were just a dream.
She looked at all the frantic people running around. The tourists going home were depressed and uptight, the people going abroad on holiday were nervous and uptight too.
Cleo sat and watched them. She thought about her mum back in England. She thought what it would be like if she returned home. What she would do to earn her living, what boyfriends she’d have, the life she’d make for herself. Thanks to Connor, she had absolute freedom to create her own future.
Cleo sat and thought about her options. Then she stood up and went to the information desk. The woman there had seen her with the ponytail and agreed to give him a note. Cleo then stopped at the airline desk and discovered that she could cancel her ticket and that the money would be refunded to Connor’s credit card. The cheque he’d given her could only be cashed in London but the British pounds he’d given her could be exchanged and used to get her home; back to Connor.
She took a taxi to the hotel but to her horror, he’d checked out. When she called his cell from the hotel phone, she found it was switched off.
Cleo thought for a moment, then, cash in hand, she picked up her backpack and went to find a bus. There were none that went to Dos Burros but finally she found one that would take her to San Juan. As it stopped at every second tree along the way, it was late afternoon by the time she finally arrived. She bought an empanada and a coke at the pub in the square and enquired about transport to Dos Burros. She wasn’t surprised to hear there weren’t any but Cleo was determined to get home. With the help of her soap opera Spanish, she negotiated a lift.
By the time the car dropped her off at the gates, it was dark. Cleo saw the lights were off but she didn’t care. She was home and Connor would come back eventually.
She padded past the pool, black in the unlit night, didn’t notice the cotton-top that was systematically digging up the pegs and raiding the tomato bushes, and went into the house. To her relief, Connor was sitting on the veranda in the dark. An open bottle of rum stood at his elbow. Half of it was gone.
“Connor?” Cleo ventured. He looked at her, closed his eyes and shook his head. Cleo realised he was totally smashed. “It’s me,” she giggled. “You’re not seeing things. It’s really me.”
He blinked. “How did you get here? Good God, you didn’t walk?”
“I didn’t take any risks,” Cleo said soothingly. “I took a bus to San Juan and then I got a lift from one of Javier’s cousins.”
He wanted to hug her. To kiss her and to drown again in that clean grassy scent. But he mustn’t be selfish. “You shouldn’t have come back. You belong in England.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You said you wanted to go home.”
“When?” Cleo asked surprised.
“Last night!”
Cleo laughed. “Connor, I was half-cut and I’d been talking to people about London. I mean, I was bound to be a bit homesick. It doesn’t mean I want to go back!”
“But Cleo, you were counting the days!”
“Oh, only because it was a surprise to see how time was flying by.” Cleo looked at Connor. “I don’t know why you listened to me. You know I’m not very bright.”
“Cleo!”
“Well, it’s true,” Cleo said defiantly. “You know it takes me forever to figure things out. I just do what seems best at the time. I never think about consequences. I’m an in-the-moment person.”
“You should be back home. You belong in London.”
“If you send me to England, I would only get into trouble. I need someone to look after me.” She straightened the cushions and poured him another drink. “You know my love life was a total disaster until I met you.”
“But Cleo…”
“Connor, you can’t fool me,” Cleo said mockingly. “When I tell you stories, you never say anything but you’ve got this way of sucking in your breath when you get mad.” She smiled at him. “You’ve made me see that I wasn’t too clever about my choices.”
He deliberately forced himself not to reach for her but he couldn’t stop looking at her hungrily as she leaned against the railing. “Cleo, love, I’m no good for you either.”
“Sure you are. You got me out of jail and off coke. And I’ve got my self respect back too.”
He didn’t know what to say. He wanted her but it wouldn’t be fair. She couldn’t live here, buried in the Colombian countryside. “You don’t want to be here,” he said. “I practically forced you. You can’t be happy.”
“I knew that was it!” Cleo said triumphantly. “I couldn’t figure out why you were suddenly so keen to get rid of me. Then I realised that you were ok until Juan came round. And as he’s a poisonous weasel, I thought he might have said something.”
“Nothing that wasn’t true. Ffrench said the same thing.”
“What did they say?”
“My deal was no better than slavery. And you are so sweet, that you made the best of it.” It must have been the drink, he thought appalled. He didn’t know why he was babbling.
Cleo shook her head at him. “Connor, are you sick or something? In the last few weeks, I’ve seen you fix up a man with no feet, set a broken bone for a little kid, strip and put back together a car engine, build a gun from scratch and you taught me how to cook and garden! You can do anything you put your mind to! And you listen to a pusher and an aristocratic wassock who has trouble keeping his arse on a barstool? You who’ve put your arse on the line for your country? They know nothing about us!”
Connor half smiled at her vehement defence. But she’d missed the point. “Cleo, you should be free to make your own choices, to live your own life in the way you want.”
“Ok. I choose you.”
“I beat my wife,” he confessed abruptly. It really must be the drink. He’d downed most of a bottle in just a few hours. He should have kept his mouth shut. Now Cleo knew what he’d done, she would be afraid of him again.
But Cleo didn’t seem at all worried. “Jenny?” she asked.
“Hmmm. After I got out of the army, I went home. I knew Jenny at school. We met up, had a whirlwind courtship, married and then I made her life a living hell.”
Cleo looked at him. “Bet it was after coming back from a war or something,” she said. “Post Trauma Syndrome.”
“Post traumatic stress disorder. And it’s no excuse.”
“I think it is,” Cleo said. “You’re not cruel.”
“Hmmm. Well, it was my fault.”
“And then you became an assassin?” She knew he felt bad about that part of his life but didn’t understand why.
“When we divorced, I gave everything to Jenny; the house, the car, my savings, everything. I was totally broke. Working for Luis got me enough money to buy this house and the freedom to live as I like.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Killing people for your country is one thing. Killing for money is different.”
“Now I know why you don’t mind me being a slut,” Cleo said without thinking. “We’re sort of the same.” She saw him wince. “Oops, sorry, Connor.”
He shrugged and smiled. “You’re not a slut.”
“And you’re not a murderer.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, let’s say I was a slut and you were a killer,” Cleo said. “So what? That was then and now is now.”
“Hmmm.”
“Like you said, you’ve got to forgive yourself,” Cleo urged him. “And I don’t care about your past.”
He could see she meant it. But she still didn’t see him for who he really was. “You’ve seen my temper. You’ve suffered from it.”
“You control it and it’s much better now,” Cleo shrugged. “You’ll get over it.”
“But...”
“Unless you don’t want me?” Her eyes scanned him anxiously. “Oh God, is it because you don’t wa
nt me anymore? Do you want someone younger? Or cleverer than me?”
“Oh Cleo!” unable to resist her any longer, he tugged her into his lap, enveloped her in a crushing hug and rained fierce kisses over her face.
“I guess you still like me,” Cleo said somewhat breathlessly a few minutes later.
“I love you more than life itself.”
Cleo smiled. “Good, that’s settled then. I’m staying but I would like to get out a bit more. Javier’s wife has asked if I can teach English to their kids. And she says several of the other people in the village would like their kids to learn too. I’d like to do it.”
“Anything you like, love.” Half an hour ago, he’d seriously wished he’d been killed in combat somewhere. Now he was so happy that he couldn’t stop grinning.
Cleo giggled. “I’d better get in my wish list while you’re all mellow because I’m pretty sure you will be back to your usual bullying self soon.”
“You’d better make the most of it.” He stood up and smiled down at her. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“I only got 8 years but I guess that if I misbehave they’ll up the sentence,” Cleo said as he took her by the hand and led her to their room.
“I’m on it first thing in the morning. I’ll make sure you get life.”
“Perfect,” Cleo sighed.
Dear Reader,
Authors live by publicity, especially word of mouth! If you enjoyed The Mule please recommend it to your friends on Facebook and your blog.
Thanks,
Storm Chase
