A Twist of Fate

by Demelza Hart

  Thirty-four

  The next day in court, I arrived early. Paul looked at me as he was led in. We exchanged the briefest smiles.

  I glanced at Natalie Sunley. Her usual calm demeanour was askew. She looked more nervous than I’d seen her throughout. It was difficult going back over the past, and now this was it; her years of torture were reaching their denouement.

  She sat nervously, fiddling with her hair. At one point she glanced up at me. I almost smiled, but somehow my mouth defied me and would not turn up.

  Thirle stood and addressed the jury. ‘Your honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in a moment you will be asked to consider one simple thing – did Paul Mason threaten and assault Natalie Sunley? Did he steal from Caton’s Jewellers? How can you not convict? There is no evidence of another perpetrator on the scene; Mr Mason’s fingerprints are everywhere and, most significantly, Miss Sunley is certain of her identification of him as her attacker. This man –’ At this, he turned and pointed straight at Paul. ‘beat Miss Sunley so much that her left eye swelled up and she now has blurred vision through it. He assaulted her so hard she endures permanent ligament damage. He tied her hands so tightly behind her back she suffered nerve damage in her fingers, she has scars on her neck … This man did that. Paul Mason did –’

  ‘No.’

  Natalie Sunley had spoken. From where she was seated just behind the lawyers, she stood up. ‘No. He didn’t.’

  At first nobody said a thing, as if they weren’t sure if they had heard right.

  ‘Miss Sunley? Do you wish to consult your counsel? If you wish to speak you must go through them,’ the judge said.

  ‘I want to say it now. Paul Mason didn’t beat me and tie me up. It wasn’t him. It was another man. That man had brown eyes and a scar under his eye. I remember that. Paul Mason didn’t hurt me when he held me. He spoke kindly to me. He asked me if I was all right. I remember now.’

  The silence extended to the judge, who seemed at a loss for words. Eventually, he asked softly, ‘Miss Sunley … do you realise what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t do it. What he said makes sense. It makes perfect sense because it’s the truth.’

  ‘Miss Sunley … are you sure of this?’

  ‘Yes. I’m certain.’

  ‘But … why accuse Mr Mason in the first place?

  ‘I don’t know. Because … I wanted retribution. I’d waited so long for someone to hurt like I hurt, to feel the pain I went through. When I saw him again after all these years, I knew he’d been there, I recognised him from that night and … He would do. He could be my scapegoat. I could let it all out on him. He was the closest I could get.’

  The judge took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Miss Sunley … Mr Mason is standing trial accused of a crime which could result in a lengthy prison sentence. You do realise that your actions could have resulted in the incarceration of an innocent man?’

  She looked up solemnly and nodded. ‘Yes. I started to believe it myself, I wanted to believe it as I had nothing else, but sitting here and listening to everyone, the real memories won’t go away. He didn’t do it. He only tried to help. I think I … I think I owe him my life.’

  With a sigh, the judge said, ‘Counsel, a word. And the OIC too, please.’ He rose, and the lawyers and police officer in charge of the case left with him. I became aware of a dull weight pressing on my chest. I could scarcely breathe. I looked at Paul. He was staring ahead of him, unblinking, unseeing.

  After what seemed an age, the judge re-entered with the lawyers, who all looked distinctly fed up.

  ‘Mr Mason, it seems there is no charge to answer after all. Indeed, it would seem that your actions in this case were only good, selfless, and honourable. In fact, if you had not arrived when you did, Miss Sunley may not be with us today. As much as I despair that we have put everyone through this, I must say that there is nothing more to be done.

  ‘Miss Sunley, I hope that this has served as some sort of catharsis, if nothing more. Your true assailant remains unpunished, but rest assured, with this additional evidence, we will do all we can to apprehend him. The court could pursue a charge of perjury against you, but I feel you have suffered enough and therefore I rule that we shall not prolong this further. The court is dismissed. Mr Mason, you are a free man.’

  Paul opened his mouth and I could see the rise in his chest as air flowed into it. He was surrounded immediately by people rushing up to him to shake his hand and congratulate him. He was so inundated that I could no longer see him. I slipped from the court and outside.

  The world seemed brighter than usual, almost blinding. I stood for a time, unaware and unsure what to do. I noticed a café opposite the court. My legs almost gave way but I managed to make it inside and order a cup of tea. My hands shook as I picked it up and as I tried to sip it juddered and I spilt some.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked a girl cleaning the table next to me.

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry. I just … I’ve just realised what a complete idiot I am.’

  ‘Join the club. Still, always time to change things though, hey?’ She smiled warmly.

  I made the tea last. It was stone cold when I finally finished it. The media were gathered in force outside the court. I could see the steps. They were there for Paul.

  Always time.

  Picking up my bag, I dashed out and stood behind the massed ranks of photographers and journalists. I craned my neck. No one had noticed me, thankfully; they were too preoccupied with getting the first shot of Paul.

  His barrister emerged first, followed by Paul. He looked relaxed and calm, but then he had during the entire trial. Aston smiled warmly at the media and started to speak.

  ‘My client is clearly delighted and thrilled with the course of events today and happy that his innocence has been vindicated. We ask now that he is left in peace to continue with his life without excessive media intrusion.’

  ‘Mr Mason! Mr Mason! Do you have anything to say?’ bellowed the journalists.

  Paul started to head off, putting up a hand to decline further questions, but then he saw me. No one else mattered, no one else was even there. There was only him and me, just the way it had started, just the way I’d always see it.

  I must have pushed past people – or perhaps they moved out of my way. They melted, as far as I was concerned. He smiled. Not the wonky smile for once, but a full, open smile of pure exhilaration. It was taking too long to reach him, he was infuriatingly far away, every step seemed ten times longer than usual. But then I was there and he was holding me. He held me so tight I wondered if he would squeeze the breath from me, but even that I didn’t mind. We were back as we should be. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I repeated, over and over, but he took my head and turned it up to him and kissed him.

  I broke away to say, ‘I love you.’ He whispered it back to me and then kissed me again, open mouthed and consuming.

  Something was deafening. Clicks and whirrs and a thick miasma of sound which was fighting with the warm glow of pure bliss from Paul. Together we slowly came to a bewildered realisation that we were not alone. We’d never been alone, but in the ecstasy of coming together, we’d forgotten for a time. We turned and were met with uncountable flashes and camera lenses and microphones. Faces, distorted and almost macabre in their desperation, fought for our attention. None of them got it.

  In the chaos which threatened to engulf everyone, Paul and I remained rock steady, our own little island. A voice managed to break free over the others.

  ‘Paul, Callie – can you confirm that you are an item, that you’re in a relationship?’

  Paul opened his mouth to speak, but then turned to me and cocked an eyebrow to invite me to answer.

  I turned to the questioner and replied unequivocally, ‘Yes, we are.’

  Thirty-five

  The sound of waves crashing gently on the shore hushed regularly in my ears. As I lay on my tummy, I could feel the heat of the sun sco
rching my back to the point of discomfort, just like I had when I’d lain on the beach last year.

  It was a year ago today that we had fallen out of the sky and into each other. A year ago today that we had landed on our island. We’d tried to return to it, one of the many small, uninhabited islands in the Indian Ocean, but the cost and logistical madness had been prohibitive. So we chose somewhere far away instead. Barbados. It was just as sandy, just as hot, but in addition to the palm trees and lagoons, there was also a five-star hotel, Wi-Fi, freshly cooked food (not on a plastic tray), and air conditioning.

  ‘You need some more sun cream?’ I knew that gorgeously rumbling voice and allowed myself an indulgent smile before humming a yes.

  It would have been luxury overkill if I’d got a full view of Paul’s naked torso as well as being stroked and rubbed by him, so I denied myself, and kept my eyes tightly shut as he did just that, smoothing the cream over my back with an assurance and sensuality he wasn’t even aware of. I wished his hands would move yet further down, but that may be a little unseemly by the poolside as others looked on. Patience was still something I needed to cultivate when with Paul. With anyone else I would have moved beyond the desperate, crazy, need-you-every-moment sex addict stage by now, but with him I couldn’t imagine it ever ending.

  Once again, after the trial, the media attention had become almost unbearable. Paul had gone from hero to demon then to misunderstood saviour. And once the truth of our relationship was revealed, we were in more demand than ever. This time, we said no to everyone apart from some carefully managed interviews for one or two Sunday newspapers. But, slowly, things died down, and we were able to return to relative normality.

  A few weeks after the bizarre end of the trial, a man in prison bragged to his cellmate, laughing about the bloke who’d gone through a trial for a crime he’d committed. This man had brown hair and a scar under his eye. He was already serving fifteen years for another armed robbery in 2009. He would be tried for the Caton robbery later in the year. Poor Natalie Sunley would have to relive it again, but this time, they had the right man.

  My mother was furious with me for all of a day when she first saw the images of me kissing Paul splashed on the front page of the Telegraph, but I deliberately brought Paul over that weekend and essentially forced him on her. And, as I know all too well, no one can resist Paul. He won her over the moment he asked for more of her lemon drizzle cake. My father was cooler to start with, but once he’d ascertained the full nature of Paul’s business and gathered that it was gaining a real foothold in the emerging markets, he soon relented. By the third time they met, my father even clapped an arm on his shoulder in farewell. Paul was officially part of the family.

  The sun was still scorching, the waves still lapping. My back rubbing was continuing for longer than necessary. The cream must have been absorbed by now. In fact, it had probably sunk through to my abdomen at the rate he was going, but he continued for some time. I didn’t stop him.

  At last, when his wrist must have started to ache, he finished. ‘There you go. All done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘You’re very good at that. You should charge for it.’

  ‘Aye, well … if it has this effect on me every time I’d best not.’

  ‘What effect?’

  ‘Can’t stand up.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Hard as nails. Jesus, I want you again.’

  I sniggered and opened one eye. Sure enough, his shorts were tented out. Paul was sitting hunched over with this hands clasped before him, not stressed this time, just trying to hide his prominent erection.

  ‘It’s only been an hour since last time,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah well … tell that to Mr Stiffy here.’

  ‘Mr Stiffy?’ I guffawed.

  ‘Him and me are very well acquainted, especially now that you’re around. He’s very demanding.’

  I turned over at last and smirked at him. ‘Well then, we’d better go and give Mr Stiffy some attention.’

  I stood up, pressing my half-naked body against him as he got up with me. The prim woman across from us, who looked like she was permanently sucking on lemons, tutted loudly. I’d already incurred her indignation by indulging in topless sunbathing. The sight of me pressing my topless self against Paul’s topless self was clearly too much. I quirked my eyebrows at him and together, with me helping to mask the obvious swelling at his groin, we hurried to our beachfront room.

  Paul’s hands were on me as soon as the door was shut. I was too swift for him and dropped to my knees. I tugged down his shorts and he stepped out of them. His cock reared up, almost whacking me in the face in its enthusiasm.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think we’ll drop the Mr Stiffy thing now,’ I said. ‘I just prefer hard cock.’

  Paul was panting. A glistening little dewdrop formed on the top. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you call it, just suck.’

  I knew better than to be intimidated by his demands. Our sexual respect for each other had led us to explore and give in ways neither of us would have dared before.

  Gone were my misgivings, gone was my doubt. I trusted him, completely and entirely, and I would let him give my body what it needed, beyond what it even realised. I was open to him. He awakened feelings I never knew I was capable of.

  I opened my mouth now, slowly, maintaining eye contact. He reached down to take hold of the base of his cock, but I batted his hands away. ‘Uh-uh. No need for that.’

  Paul groaned in frustration but lifted his hands away and placed them behind his head as he leaned back against the door.

  I tongued him, gently, just with the tip, slow little licks that teased. Then my tongue dipped to lick around his balls, which I eventually took one at a time into my mouth and sucked, relishing the heaviness of them as they rested on my tongue. More groans. God, I loved him groaning because of me; it was as good as his tongue on my clit.

  As I indolently dragged my mouth sideways back up the underside of his shaft, I at last gave him some relief by closing my lips over the head. This time he sighed, a long, protracted exhalation right from his gut.

  ‘Yes,’ he hissed, although it caught in the back of his throat. I glanced up while keeping my lips glued around him like a limpet. His eyes were closed and his head was back, straining his neck and making his Adam’s apple jut out sexily. For that, I gave him an extra hard suck with added tongue action. He shuddered in a breath and thought about moving his hands to my head again, I could tell as the right one jerked off his head for an instant. But he sensibly put it back where I wanted it and I rewarded him by sinking down over his length. With Paul I’d honed my deep-throating skills to new levels of eye-watering brilliance. I let loose the full range of my technique now. I manoeuvred my head so that the angle let him sink right back to nudge into my throat. It was a psychological feat as much as anything, the ability to switch off the gag reflex. It could come back at any moment and cause a quick pull away, but my mind-altering desire for Paul’s cock overrode it.

  ‘Jesus, Jesus,’ he moaned as I held him there, knowing he’d feel the full tightness of my throat.

  When I felt a tear run down my cheek, I knew it was time to give my lungs some respite. I repeated this twice more, until I actually got throat ache. But the hunger for him was still there and my hands now worked for me too. Both of them curled around the base while I sucked in my lips just below the head. I pulled up, then down, then up again, until I developed a steady yet relentless rhythm.

  ‘Christ, that’s it,’ he stuttered. ‘Callie, pull off me, fuck, pull off. Want to be inside you, so want to be fucking inside you.’

  Reluctantly, but knowing how worth my while it was, I let go of the reverential hold my mouth had on his cock and stood. My lips were chafed and puffed from their work and I gave him a sex-needy grin. He reached over and rubbed his thumb over them, smoothing away the ache and kissing me softly but urgently. We walked backwards together until I fell onto the bed. Takin
g my legs, Paul then rested them on his shoulders, either side of his head. He sank deep into me with a groan that had me impaled on him as much as his cock.

  ‘There,’ he grunted. ‘Fucking there. God, Callie, have to be inside you all the time, have to fucking live inside you.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I murmured, urging him further in.

  All those doubts and the hell it had put us both through were vanquished when he was inside me, but now, more than that, they had been wiped out, eradicated. My own stubbornness, my own fear had caused us both anguish, but I’d done it. I’d clung on for us both.

  He moved, stronger than ever. Forcing himself deeper and harder, he moaned with each thrust as if trying to push his soul inside me. I reached up to hold his head, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

  Oh God, I was going to come hard. How could I not with him? He was so close after my going down on him that he wouldn’t last long, but I didn’t need him to. My mouth opened, signalling my rising pleasure, and he reached and found my clit at the perfect moment. It was so swollen with need that it took only the merest graze to send me over the edge. As his cock pounded me with sure intent, I came cataclysmically, the orgasm so hard my back buckled and I roared. Paul was muttering something and at first I struggled to hear what. He was still moving in me, but I knew he was coming. His eyes stared but were blind, and he was talking. I detected it at last. My name. He was chanting my name over and over again as he released into me.

  And then it was over. But it wasn’t. It would never be now. Whereas before I always felt a little pang of loss after climaxing, a little niggle of doubt as to what would happen next, with him it was only good and right. We curled into each other’s arms and lay, panting and sated.

  Paul drew his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. ‘I love you, Callie.’