An Affair With Danger - a noir romance novella
Page 15
‘So what are your feelings towards Eddie now?’ Maria asked.
I grinned. ‘So you’ve turned this into a therapy session after all.’
I considered her question. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m too exhausted to feel much at the moment. I could say I hate him and I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Frankie and the kids, and that’s true. But at the same time, I can’t afford to let that anger rule my life, because it will also then rule the lives of Jake and Aimee. And this is probably not what you want to hear, but knocking Eddie out gave me a great deal of satisfaction.’
Maria smiled. ‘Sometimes it can be the only solution. But don’t quote me; I’ll deny I ever said it.’
‘And you’ll be pleased to know I’ve taken up the guitar again. I’m written some more songs and I’m negotiating with a local indie record producer to sign up to his label.’
‘That’s great news.’ She scribbled something on a piece of notepaper. ‘Here’s the number of a psychologist I think you’ll find will be excellent for Jake and Aimee.’
Chapter 32
A year later. 3 November 2014
THE polished marble of the memorial plaque gleamed in the gentle morning sunlight. ‘Francis Margaret Slater. 23 March 1981 - 3 November 2013. Died at the age of 32. You are always with us. Will, Jake and Aimee.’
A golden urn of ashes stood in the glassed-in alcove beneath it. Below it on a shelf sat Aimee’s moth-eaten rabbit and Jake’s favourite racing car – the two toys the children had chosen to put in there so that, as Jake put it, ‘Mummy won’t forget us now she’s in heaven’.
At the base of the plaque was a fresh bunch of daffodils and a helium balloon on a weighted string that said ‘Mummy’. I tried to make the memorial centre at the crematorium bright and cheerful, a place the children would enjoy coming to.
Aimee picked up the balloon. ‘Can I have this?’
‘No, it’s Mummy’s,’ Jake answered.
Aimee immediately burst into tears.
‘Cry baby,’ Jake taunted her.
‘That’s enough, Jake,’ I said. ‘Aimee, you can play with the balloon while we’re here. It can be your special toy to play with when we come and visit Mummy.’
‘Where’s my special toy?’ Jake whined.
‘You can share the balloon with Aimee.’
Negotiating with courts and debt collectors on behalf of financially distressed adults belonged to another lifetime long ago – negotiating with children was an entirely new frontier.
Jake kicked at a tuft of grass. ‘I hate Daddy.’
‘Why?’ I knew why, but I also knew it was important to let him talk about it.
‘Because he killed Mummy.’
I hugged him to me, but he pushed me away.
‘Me too,’ Aimee chimed in, waving the balloon around in the air. ‘I hate Daddy too.’
She was Jake’s echo as well as his devoted shadow.
‘I’ll always hate him. Forever and ever,’ Jake said.
‘Forever ‘n’ ever,’ Aimee said.
When they were ready, I would tell them the whole story. That their mother and I had loved each other very much; that she was killed trying to save my life; and that I was Jake’s real Dad, but I considered Aimee my real daughter too, and loved her just as much as Jake.
I picked up my guitar case from the ground beside me. ‘Come on, kids, I’m going to play Mummy a song.’
I led them over to a nearby seat, slid my guitar out of its case, and after a couple of warm-up chords, launched into ‘Just Today’.
You’re so tough on the outside
But you’re just a little girl wanting to hide
Your eyes tell a story of sorrow and pain
But darling when I see you again
There will be no past
Just today.
As I sang, I could hear Frankie singing with me; her voice as clear as the morning, in perfect harmony with mine.
Jake put his hands over his ears ‘Stop! I don’t like that song!’
Aimee put her hands over her ears as well, giggling.
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Looks like I’m overruled. What song would you like to sing?’
‘Wheels On The Bus!’ Aimee piped up.
‘It has to be something Mummy would like,’ Jake said.
‘What do you think she would like?’ I said.
He gazed back at me. Big, brown eyes. So solemn. Making an important decision, weighing up the pros and cons. A ghost from my childhood. I shivered.
‘Wheels On The Bus,’ he pronounced.
Aimee gave a squeal of delight and clapped her hands.
‘Are you ready?’ I strummed the introductory phrase then we launched into it.
‘The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round, early in the morning.’
Our voices floated through the crisp air. An elderly couple ambling by smiled, and the Mummy balloon fluttered gently in the breeze.
THE END
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have a number of people in my support crew to thank – my partner Aaron, for his love and help with all things formatting and technical, my family for their moral support, and my longstanding critique partner Pam Mariko for her constant and invaluable feedback.
I also thank my other beta readers Jill Moffatt and Katharine Haworth for their comments and feedback, as well as lawyer Michael Robinson for taking time out of his busy schedule to read and comment on the legalities.
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Career conman Reuben Littlejohn is determined to go straight this time after his release from prison. But he hadn’t counted on stumbling across a plot to kill his parole officer Lucy, with whom he is madly in lust. The only way he can save her life is to commit a crime himself and jeopardize his own freedom – without his wife finding out.
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