Donna nodded. ‘Fine,’ she said, her foot playing out a nervous tap-dance on the floor.
Mark smiled. ‘Obviously.’ He pulled the blanket draped about her shoulders tighter.
‘Well, I’m not, entirely,’ Donna conceded, poking her hand from under the blanket to drag across her nose. ‘But I will be. I can cope.’ She sniffed and hoisted her shoulders up.
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Mark smiled again, no trace of sarcasm there.
He really was a good man. And she’d compared him to Jeremy. Donna shuddered and studied the ceiling, just long enough to get the stubborn tears in check. She was quite sure Mark would offer her a shoulder to blubber all over. He wasn’t a man to be afraid of emotion. But how painful would that be – for her?
‘You didn’t find her, then?’ Donna looked at him. His hair was wet. She stilled an urge to reach out and smooth it. His clothes were wet. Even his beautiful eyelashes were wet. He hadn’t said he was going out to look when he’d taken Findus back to his cage, but he obviously had.
He hadn’t found her though. She could tell by the disappointment in his eyes. Every emotion he had, it occurred to her then, showed in Mark’s eyes. Perhaps she should have been more observant, instead of paying heed to the incessant doubt trundling round in her head.
Mark reached for her hand. ‘She’ll turn up, Donna. Phil’s going to keep an eye out on the way back. The officers who were called to your friend’s party are going to keep an eye out, too. And tomorrow, Sadie will have her very own missing persons report. Try not to worry. Well find her, somehow.’
Yes, but it was the how bit that was worrying Donna. In what condition would they find her? And what about Matt? Sadie might just be a dog, but it would break his heart, thinking harm might have come to his little three-legged friend.
Donna closed her eyes and bit back the tears, hard.
‘Come on.’ Mark got to his feet. ‘It’s okay to go upstairs now. I’ll run you a hot bath. It might help.’
Donna nodded. She couldn’t imagine anything nicer, apart from perhaps to curl up with Mark beside her, so why did her legs suddenly feel like two lumps of lead?
‘Come on, Madonna. You’ll catch your death and have to cancel your next tour.’ Mark smiled, squeezing her hand, gently coaxing her to her feet. ‘I’ll come up with you.’
If only, Donna thought. To be held by him, to lie in his arms and stay like that forever.
Mark followed her up, making sure she didn’t trip over her blanket, waited for her to go into the bedroom, then set about running her bath.
He wouldn’t come in, of course, after the awful episode in there. And she’d need her privacy, he must suppose. Donna wished he had come in, though. She didn’t want her privacy, not in a room strangers had been through. She just wanted her jim-jams.
Donna surveyed the mess. The strewn about bedclothes. The askew wardrobe doors. Tee shirts lolling like tongues from open drawers.
Even her lingerie. What use would that be now? She couldn’t wear it. Any of it. She trailed towards the drawer, then stopped.
Oh, dear Lord. She sank to her knees. Plucked the little four-by-four photographs from the floor. One of the Perspex frames was cracked. The birth certificate was torn. She smoothed it out. Swallowed, and smoothed it some more.
Swallowed again, and looked heavenwards.
Donna wasn’t sure how long she knelt there. Hadn’t realised how badly she was shaking, until Mark pulled her back into his arms. ‘Matt’s brother?’ he asked quietly.
Donna stiffened.
‘Talk to me, Donna. Please? Don’t shut me out.’
Donna couldn’t talk to him. Couldn’t speak at all. The walls were too close. Much too close.
Mark tightened his arms around her, pressed his face close to hers and held her. Kept holding her, while the sobs wracked her body. Until the walls came crashing in.
****
Mark wasn’t relying on instinct. He knew with certainty what kind of lowlife had been crawling around Donna’s home. What he didn’t have, was proof.
He nodded his thanks to the doctor, showed him out, and headed quietly back upstairs.
Would there even be any proof, he wondered, as he went back to Donna’s bedroom. Fingerprints would be useless if his instinct was right. There were shoeprints in the blood, but too smudged to be of any real use. And DNA evidence from the actual blood depended on forensics. That could take days.
Mark wasn’t even sure the bastard who’d broken in was bleeding. Donna definitely was, cuts to her feet from the glass. And Sadie? She might well have been bleeding too, given the bloody paw prints he’d found. Prints which couldn’t possibly have been put there after Donna had come home to find the dog gone.
She was sleeping now, small mercy. He crept over to the bed and made sure the duvet was tucked up tight around her. That the pillow was there, by her side — a poor substitute for her dog, he knew, but something she could hold onto, until he could find Sadie. And find her he would.
Thank Christ, Rachel had mentioned the call-out to the fancy dress party, which Mark had guessed must have been the one Donna was going to, given the gay friends. He might never have been in the vicinity otherwise. And Donna would have been here on her own.
At least now she might get some rest. She’d been shaking so much he hadn’t known how to hold her. What to say. How to make the bloody nightmare go away.
Leaving the door slightly ajar, he made his way back along the landing to Matt’s room, and checked again. The PC was there, PlayStation wired up and intact. DVD shelf still stacked.
Ergo, nothing of real value missing in Mark’s practised eye.
The sound system downstairs had been taken, but it just wasn’t enough to ring true. Why leave the DVD player? Why not take the TV?
Were they disturbed?
Possibly, but not likely. The bloodstains, apart from Donna’s, had been dry for some time, which meant the bastards had been long gone by the time Donna got home. Might be that they were disturbed by someone else, but Mark didn’t think so. What he was thinking, was that it looked very much like someone had been looking for something specific. That the gratuitous damage, in fact, wasn’t.
Mark went back down to the kitchen, to check the list again as to which items Donna thought were missing. A pocket watch and some original Beatles stuff, she’d said, amongst a few other things. Items she’d apparently put up for sale on eBay, if Mark’s recollection of what he’d heard at a previous call out was right.
Mark ran his hand through his hair. In which case, his maths was probably right and he damn well intended to do something about it. Tomorrow though. Tonight he was staying put. To make sure Donna was safe. To be here when Matt came home. Likewise, if either of them needed to talk.
He sighed, reading again the letter he’d come across. Why the hell couldn’t she have talked to him about this?
Yes, right. When? While he was busy keeping secrets from her? Hurling accusations? Or somewhere in between? There hadn’t been much of an in between. And now, thanks to his pathetic behaviour on finding that Simon character in her bedroom… He’d blown it completely, no doubt in Mark’s mind. Donna had had feelings for him before that unforgivable display of aggression, he was sure.
But then, once someone’s feelings had moved on, there was no going back. He knew that. When Emma had walked away, she didn’t look back. That was okay. Mark didn’t need her to. He could cope, he’d told himself, on his own.
Just like Donna claimed she could cope. Well, not tonight. Love him or hate him, tonight she was stuck with him.
Thereafter… he folded the letter from the hospital cytology department and placed it back on the microwave… if she was going to let him in, he was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder at gaining her trust.
Chapter Twenty-One
Donna lay, pleasantly untroubled. She liked this time of day, when there was no sound in the world, other than the birds’ dawn chorus. And, um, the heavy breathing of someone else in
the room?
Oh, God?! Donna blinked grainy eyelids against the semi-dark. Slowly, she turned her head to one side, then almost died as whoever it was stirred and rolled over, draping one sleepy arm heavily over her body.
Her heart thudded manically against her ribcage. It was Mark. She could smell his reassuring aftershave, mingled with the comforting scent of freshly washed sheets. Relief oozed from her every pore, swiftly followed by panic.
What was he doing here? In her bed? What was she doing in her bed, with him?
Her mind was a blank. A complete and utter blank.
Donna eased her head from the pillow, then froze as he stirred again, rolling onto his back, raking his hand through his hair. In his sleep? Did the man’s worries haunt him even in his dreams?
Carefully, not wanting to wake him, she eased around to study his profile, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest in the growing light through the window.
She was in her bedroom, she knew that much, but she had no clue how she got into bed. Got out of her… Donna scrunched her eyes shut… good-time-girl’s outfit complete with polystyrene cups. Oh, no. She gulped, then tentatively traced the contours of her own body.
Perfect. She was wearing a shirt. Just a shirt. Which meant that Mark had seen her. All of her. Parts of her she would have possibly died trying to hide. Donna groaned inside, absolutely horrified.
What happened!? Had she… slept with him? Naked?! And not even remembered? How?! Her stomach churned. Her head swam. She must have been very, very…
Drunk. Yes, she’d been drunk.
Something hadn’t been right. Something had happened. Something… bad? She flopped back on her pillow and concentrated hard above the nauseating throb in her temples. Eventually, hazily, the pieces started to click into place.
Sadie? She wasn’t here. Donna tried to swallow against the constriction in her throat. Was she out there, somewhere in the unfriendly night? Please, God, don’t let her be in pain all on her own.
The photographs. Donna remembered those. Remembered Mark holding her. Holding her tight. Beyond that, nothing, bar a fleeting image of Mark brushing her hair from her face, his face dark and angry. Had she done something awful? This was awful. She needed to move. Get up. Get dressed. Matt was due home and …
Sh… ugar!
She couldn’t be here. In bed. With a man! Donna eased a toe from under the duvet, followed by a foot, then a leg.
Gingerly, she glanced back at Mark. Had she dragged him here? Begged him to sleep with her? Passed out?! In which case, what was Mark doing lying next to her? She must have consumed a whole distillery, because, beyond a certain point, Donna could remember absolutely nothing at all.
She inched her other leg out, twisted around and slithered the rest of her-wanton-self out, thankful for Mark’s shirt as she stumbled to the door. Mark’s shirt? She turned back to look at him and very nearly did pass out. He was extremely fanciable. Temptingly gorgeous. And naked.
Oh, dear God, she had.
Mortified, Donna made her way to the bathroom on very sore feet, where she dispensed with tradition and sat in the shower, allowing the water to cascade over her, hoping it might wash her awake, or wash her away. She’d had sex with him. A once-in-a-lifetime never to be repeated experience, now he’d seen her in all her naked glory, no strategically placed lingerie, risqué or otherwise. Nothing apart from soggy plasters on the soles of her feet. How awful.
She couldn’t even remember how they’d got there. What was the matter with her? No complications?! Hah! This was probably as complicated as it got. And she’d no functional brain with which to even try to unscramble any of it.
‘Donna?’ Mark called as she sat shivering, wondering what her next move should be. ‘Donna, are you okay in there?’
‘Donna?!’
‘Yes!’ Donna shouted urgently as he knocked on the door. She couldn’t even remember whether she’d locked it. She killed off her brain cells, tossed her last shred of dignity out of the window and turned into an actual floozy. And what a sad old floozy she must be. One she certainly didn’t want him to see, wet.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she redressed her tone, lest Mark come in on the basis he’d seen everything anyway.
‘Sure?’ Mark didn’t sound convinced.
‘Yes. I’m just, you know,’ drowning myself.
‘Right, I’ll make some tea, then,’ Mark offered. ‘I’ll be downstairs.’
Donna’s mouth twitched into a smile. She never would have guessed.
Well — she sucked in a breath and blew out a soap sud, whether she remembered or not, it had happened. She couldn’t undo it. And, whatever had happened, she had things to do. Her dog to find. Her son to explain to. The mess to clear up. Including the mess she’d obviously made with the off-duty policeman currently making tea in her kitchen. Donna dragged her hair from her face and got unsteadily to her feet, still feeling extremely nauseous.
Served her right. She was old enough to know better.
She towelled herself and reached for a tub of moisturiser in the absence of a handy bag she could wedge on her head. She’d have to go back out in his shirt, she supposed. She couldn’t hope to compete with Julia Roberts without surgery, but at least she might look slightly more attractive adorned in a shirt than a faded old towel.
Mmm. It did smell nice. She slipped into it, had a good sniff of it. She’d remember that, when he’d gone, how the smell of Mark had been so lovely to wake up to. Next to the smell of freshly washed sheets, she could think of nothing nice…
Hang on a minute. Donna blinked. The sheets!? They were freshly changed. And, if she was too inebriated to remember getting into bed — with Mark, she would hardly have been capable of changing the bed linen beforehand. Which could only mean that Mark had changed it.
Why? When?
It made no sense. She was going to have to ask him. Admit — whatever it did to his ego, or hers — that she couldn’t remember any of it.
Donna steeled herself, tugged up her shoulders, tugged down the hem of her shirt, and headed nervously back to the bedroom.
Mark was back. Tea made, as promised. She smiled wanly, wishing her hair was still Madonna not Medusa, and that she at least had on a scrap of make-up.
‘Better?’ Mark smiled warmly from where he sat on the bed, his uniform on now over his bare torso, which helped Donna’s bewildered state of mind not one iota.
‘A bit.’ Donna nodded, glancing away from him and around the now debris-free room. Her personal things… Donna recalled, with another bout of nausea, how they’d been touched, defiled, strewn about like so much garbage. Mark had obviously tidied up.
‘Good,’ he said, standing up and patting the duvet. ‘Come back to bed.’
Come back to? ‘What?’ Donna croaked.
‘Bed,’ he repeated. ‘You’re probably pretty exhausted after last night.’
Exhausted? Donna felt the blood drain from her face to pool in her feet. ‘No,’ she squeaked and clutched at the doorframe, ‘thank you, but I, um.’
‘Donna, what’s wrong?’ Mark was across the room in a flash.
‘… feel faint.’
‘Hey, hey, steady. I’ve got you,’ he assured her, sweeping her off her feet. ‘Come on, doctor’s orders.’ He hoisted her high in his arms. ‘You need to lie down.’
She did. Absolutely did, but please don’t let him lie down with her, she thought woozily, as he carried her across the room to lower her gently onto the bed.
‘You’re going to have to stop this, you know?’ He smiled, sat down next to her and smoothed down the hem of her shirt. His shirt.
‘Stop what?’ Donna asked guardedly.
‘Passing out on me.’
‘Is that what I did last night?’ Donna wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
‘Eventually,’ he said, brushing her damp hair from her face, then bending to plant the softest of kisses on her forehead, her eyelashes, her mouth.
Donna hesitated, sens
ation returning, everything tingling. What was she doing?
‘Mark,’ she mumbled, pressing her hands to his shoulders, pushing him away, ‘please don’t. I can’t. I…’ Donna trailed off, hoping he’d understand she hadn’t a clue what to do, or what she’d already done.
‘Sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn’t have.’ Mark looked immediately guilty.
‘I shouldn’t have.’ Donna levered herself up on the pillows. ‘Look, Mark, about last night,’ she said quickly, before the embarrassing situation could get any worse, ‘I’d had a lot to drink.’
Mark looked at her bemusedly. ‘I know. I —’
‘Too much, and I, um… Mark, what happened between us last night, I… I shouldn’t have.’
Mark stared at her now.
‘I’m not sure when I passed out, but… It shouldn’t have happened, Mark. Not like that.’
‘Right.’ Mark ran his hand over his neck. ‘So, you think that you and I… That I…’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘Jesus, Donna!’
He looked back to her, his expression one of utter bewilderment.
Oh, Lord, she hadn’t meant… She didn’t know what she meant. She didn’t know… Donna glanced down, wished she could slide down. Crawl under the duvet, curl up and die.
Mark stood up, slowly, his hand going through his hair, a sure sign he was upset. He looked at her, disbelief in his eyes, swiftly followed by anger. ‘Donna, do you actually remember what happened last night?’
Donna shrugged, wove her fingers together and studied them. ‘Some, yes.’
‘Do you recall the doctor coming?’
Doctor? ‘What doctor?’ Donna’s head shot up.
‘I’ll take that as a no.’ Mark searched her face. ‘Do you remember coming into the bedroom, Donna?’
Donna nodded, feeling on very shaky ground.
‘The photographs?’
Donna dropped her gaze.
‘You got upset, Donna. Very upset.’ Mark sat back down, hesitated, then tentatively took hold of her hand. ‘I called the doctor because you weren’t making any sense and you were shaking so much, quite frankly, I was scared.’
Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. Page 25
