by J. A. Kerr
Benedict gave Matt an edited version of his night with Siena, saying he’d gone to the villa because they’d argued, and he’d wanted to apologise, but had stayed discussing the project and was so glad he’d been around when she became unwell. Matt however was not so easily fooled; he had his own theories. Benedict was involved, and he sensed there was more to it.
“So what happens now?” said Matt.
“We go home,” said Benedict tiredly. “I’ve called the airline, and we are booked on an early flight tomorrow. If you can pack up, I’ll knock on your door in the morning.”
“What time?” Matt asked.
“Five a.m.”
Matt winced. “Okay, that means an early night for both of us.”
“Yeah, sorry…only flight available at short notice,” said Benedict apologetically.
Matt accepted the arrangements without complaint and Benedict mentally thanked him for his kindness; who in their right mind wanted to get up that early on a Sunday morning? He couldn’t believe the weekend was almost over. They’d been booked to stay till Monday but under the circumstances it was probably best they head home. Benedict was anxious to get back. They both ate an early dinner, and Matt, commenting on how exhausted Benedict looked, called it a night. They both slept badly and were silent on their journey to the airport; their flight boarded on time, and they land early morning. Benedict waved Matt off as he headed for the tube. Matt offered him a lift, but he declined, saying the tube was quicker.
An hour later, Matt was approaching his flat when his phone began to ring; he juggled his case to answer it.
“Hello, is that Matt?” said a voice.
“Eh yes, who is this?”
“Hi Matt, this is Nick Waters.” Then after a long pause, “Siena’s husband. Sorry, I realise we haven’t been introduced.”
Matt was completely lost for words.
Chapter 19
THE BRAILLE CLUB
Braille Club, London, Present Day: Like any competitive environment, Patrons want to protect their techniques, sneaking covert glances at their neighbours as they reach out and touch their Assignee. In the darkness, they shudder with the promise to come; sensory devices hang on either side of the chair, the Patrons can choose one, two, or none. They must vary their routine, as it is the inventive Patron who catches their Assignee by surprise…their reward is a fast time and the sweet sound of the bell.
Marbella, 2012
Siena
Siena lay with her eyes closed and her heart racing. What had happened? How did she get to hospital? When she remembered Benedict, her heart pumped even faster; her stomach twisted. Nick was here. What was she doing? She loved him, didn’t she? Guilt and remorse flooded through her; Nick had been her saviour. Appalled and full of remorse, she couldn’t believe she’d betrayed him so easily; she hadn’t even put up a fight. She should have pushed Benedict away, tried harder, but God those sensations, those feelings. She’d never experienced anything like it, and never with Nick. Although her touch excited him, his touch of late had often left Siena cold.
Siena was in complete turmoil, what did Nick know? She wasn’t sure what to think about Benedict; he’d bewitched her, but she had to speak with him, and quickly. Nick was already pressuring her to answer his questions. She couldn’t put him off for much longer; she felt the panic rising and stifled a sob. Her life had been stable for the last ten years. She didn’t want to think about her past, she’d spent years in therapy because of it, and it’s where she’d met Nick.
But her mind started to drift.
I had just turned fifteen when my mother finally became pregnant. It was the happy ever after they had all been waiting for. When her second scan confirmed she was having a boy, it was the icing on the cake! My father was ecstatic, my mother overjoyed, but I was used to being an only child and was frightened of change. I didn’t want this baby and was unsettled by the thought of my brother’s arrival. I argued with my mother, angry with her for being tired. No longer as available to me, she was often asleep during the day. Our housekeeper stepped in to soothe me until it gradually got easier, then my mother and I reconciled, becoming closer than ever. Having got used to the idea, I was now looking forward to the baby’s arrival.
Almost in her third trimester, my mother felt better and we arranged a family outing, our first trip in our boat for ages. This was my father’s passion, when he wasn’t working that is, which seemed to me to be most of the time.
My mother was happily bustling about the kitchen making an early breakfast before we left for Marina Del Rey. My father kept a crew for the large yacht, and we set off, our destination being Catalina Island and dinner with friends. Depending on the weather, it would take six to nine hours before we would berth at Isthmus Harbour.
Sailing conditions were perfect, and we were almost halfway there when my mother began to feel unwell, complaining of fatigue. At my father’s insistence, she had gone to lie down. She felt a sleep would do her wonders, while my father and I remained on deck.
We worked together, loving the feel of the breeze on our faces. I had been sailing since I was a baby and was now a competent crew member. I was enjoying the sail enormously, an hour slipping by before I went to check on my mother.
Knocking gently on the door before I opened it, I saw my mother on the bed, wide-eyed and ashen, trying to sit up. Horrified at seeing the large pool of blood beneath her, I rushed to get help.
Terrified and weeping, my mother cried, “Oh my God, the baby—please help me, please help my baby.”
My father arrived and took control, trying to soothe his now hysterical wife. He called up to the deck, instructing the crew to turn the boat around and head back to Marina Del Ray as fast as they could safely travel. He also called my mother’s gynaecologist, whose professional voice calmed him, and an ambulance was arranged to meet us. Even with the engines on full power, it would take a good three hours or longer.
To me it felt like forever, and my mom had clearly started to have contractions. I held her, feeling helpless, as my mom cried in pain and panic. She knew at twenty-seven weeks this was dangerous for the baby.
Never a religious man, my father began to pray, making all types of deals if only his son would live.
The minutes seemed to drag by as the pain increased and my mother became more distressed. It was unbearable to watch. Shocked and frightened, I tried to soothe her by rubbing her back, silent tears running down my face. I was terrified…for my mother and the baby. My father took over after an hour and repeated the routine until at last we docked and rushed my mother to the hospital. She laboured for another six hours before giving birth to a baby boy weighing just over two pounds, tiny but alive and I was there again at the hospital with my mom and dad. They’d named my brother Leo and prayed he’d be a fighter. He was making steady progress. Already ten days old, the doctors were cautiously optimistic, although they told us it would be a very long road.
I’d told mom to wake me when she was leaving for the hospital. Dad had stayed with Leo, insisting my mother go home to get a proper sleep and shower. He was right of course; my mom had aged ten years in ten days. She couldn’t stop crying, but the nurses and doctors who worked in the neonatal intensive-care unit (NICU) gave her as much support as they could. My father was trying to stay strong, stay positive, and we’d both been grateful for his strong arms and unwavering strength.
I’d set my alarm for five-thirty in the morning, realising my mom wouldn’t sleep past six-thirty with the current routine at the hospital. Showering quickly, I’d gone downstairs to make Mom some coffee and a light breakfast. Her face was so drawn, and she’d barely eaten since the birth. The weight gain from pregnancy had suited her, and she’d been glowing; her body gaining a roundness that flattered her normally slender frame. She’d been so happy, humming to herself; I’d even caught her hugging herself. I smiled sadly; the mom who sat down at the table drinking her coffee was like a stranger to me. I knew she would want to get to the hospi
tal as quickly as possible.
“Mom, you need to eat something,” I pleaded.
Her gaze flicked to me as if surprised I was there. I knew thoughts of Leo consumed her.
“He’s so tiny, so vulnerable,” she whispered. My heart twisted with fear. “We need to get to the hospital, Siena; I can’t bear to be away from him.” She stood up from the table. “Get your things, we need to leave,” her voice was shaky.
“Mom, you need your strength, just some toast, please?” I tried again.
She hesitated before snatching some toast from the table and pushing it into her mouth, but she couldn’t even swallow it. Rushing to the toilet, she vomited, the tears streaming down her face as her stomach heaved. I wrapped my arms around her as we clung to one another. I was crying too, horrible frightened sobs full of despair. My mom just held me as grief and fear, finally allowed its release, overtook us both. Slowly we got to our feet, my mom hugging me tight, then wiping my eyes before wiping her own.
“We need to go now. Leo needs us, and we need to be strong,” she said with a wobbly smile.
I remember nodding, too frightened to even speak, in case I broke down again. It seemed to take forever to get there, my anxiety mounting with my mom’s. At last we parked and headed into the hospital. It didn’t seem fair that the sun was out, and the sky was a perfect blue when everything in our world was so terribly black. As we approached the NICU and buzzed to get in, I started to pray. I prayed I’d be strong enough to get through it without crying, but nothing would prepare me for what was about to happen. As we opened the door to the unit my father appeared, his face ashen.
“What’s wrong?” my mother asked, her voice tinged with hysteria.
“It’s Leo, he hasn’t had a good night,” my dad replied.
Fear tore at me. “Is he sick?”
My dad didn’t meet my gaze as terror started to balloon in my chest.
“Noooo.” My mom rushed to his incubator. He was so small, all the tubes and wires around him; his eyes closed, his tiny hands all bandaged, he slept unaffected by the scary bleeping of all his monitors. My dad and I were right behind her.
“They think it’s an infection,” said Dad, his voice breaking as tears started to slide down his tortured face, his shoulders shaking slightly before he turned away. My big strong dad; I had to bite hard on my lip to keep it together. My mother was now as ashen as my father, and she collapsed into a chair beside Leo’s cot.
“They’ve put him on antibiotics,” said Dad, his voice a little stronger. “The doctors say the next few hours will be critical, but I know Leo is a fighter.”
We all gazed at him again; suddenly I could see how sick he was. He had been fine yesterday, kicking his little arms and legs around, making us laugh, but now he was still.
The fear rose again as I grabbed my dad’s hand and squeezed.
“Of course he’s a fighter!” But my words seemed hollow even to my ears.
We could all hear the panic in my voice; my mother seemed to go into shock. The hours of terror felt like days and eventually I got up to get them both some coffee. I felt so useless and angry; this gave me something to do, a distraction. That’s when I heard the first alarm, quickly followed by a second and knew instinctively it was Leo. By the time I got back to the room he was surrounded by medical staff, my mother screaming as my father dragged her out of the doctor’s way. Everything started to slow down and I stood, horrified, as they worked on Leo, the noise of the alarms was deafening; filling the room and my head till I thought it would explode; then, much worse—the silence.
It felt like somehow even my heart had stopped beating, the silence was so intense. The nurses and doctors were starting to move away from Leo, the nurse beside me silently crying. All I could feel was pain. It was so strange; I was finding it hard to breathe, and I remember staggering as I moved towards my brother and my legs buckled. I could hear someone screaming, not realising it was me. Hands helped me; blankets wrapped around me and still the pain and the awful, awful silence.
They took all the wires off him and wrapped him up. He looked like he was sleeping, his tiny face serene. My mother held him, then my father, then me, before I handed him back to my mom. He weighed nothing in my arms, and I could feel and smell his warmth and baby scent. I started to shake after that, until I felt my father’s arms locking me in a tight embrace. With my brother’s passing, our lives would be altered forever.
Chapter 20
THE BRAILLE CLUB
Braille Club, London, Present Day: The music’s sensuous rhythms seem more vibrant as they sit in the darkness, their breathing shallow, bodies quivering after that initial contact…nerve endings alert as they lock their arms into place, a ripple of expectation passing amongst them and then…there is nothing but a touch. Only touch leaves a memory, and now their minds are filled with it. Some start slowly while others begin hard. Some have the firmest of touches while others barely make contact. They are all listening and following The Braille Commandments and wondering which one of them will be first to ring their bell.
Gabriella
Gabriella had not been able to schedule her second sensory lesson until the following week, but it consumed her. She thought about her weekend with Max and smiled, running a bath for him when he arrived at the house, his familiar face tired but glad to be home. Savouring the feel of her husband with the sponge and Caligo soap, she gently washed his body, the scent powerful as she soaped his shoulders, her touch gentle but firm, Max smiled slowly as her fingers massaged his head and neck. Closing his eyes, he started to relax and respond.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she whispered.
Max nodded, enjoying the warm, fragrant water. The room was alight with large Caligo scented candles, which Gabriella adored, and Max couldn’t help but associate the fragrance with his wife. The bathroom was large, with a huge bath and even bigger shower cubicle. Finished in warm tones and natural materials, it was both relaxing and functional.
Gabriella wore nothing beneath her robe, her hair caught up in a towelling turban. She poured more oil onto her hands and continued to work on Max’s head and neck while she sat behind him on a low chair. The warmth and smell of the water soothed her, but they had not made love in almost a year and she desperately missed the intimacy. Of course, they had seen doctors; Max was physically fit with boundless energy. They hadn't worried too much, thinking it was a temporary blip, but sadly it wasn’t.
Gabriella had watched her handsome husband shrink away from her, embarrassed and depressed. The doctors had no magic cure as it did not appear to be a medical problem. They suggested it was psychological, but Max was old school and wouldn’t entertain the idea of discussing his impotency with a psychiatrist. Gabriella tried to encourage Max to be open minded, and it was one of their few quarrels. Max became resentful, telling Gabriella she could divorce him if she were that unhappy.
She became distraught, the pain and rejection overwhelming her. They screamed at each other in frustration, their words ripping and tearing at the foundations of their relationship. Max’s answer was to stay away, prolonging his business trips. Gabriella began to build walls around her heart, while desperately lonely. Their only child, a son now thirty, was currently working in Singapore on a huge engineering contract. Gabriella missed him, but knew at last he was truly happy. As a mother, she had always suspected her son was gay. Max, although shocked by the revelation, embraced the change because he loved his son. Sebastian had struggled to come to terms with his sexuality. He’d had a difficult time with some of his friends, but by the time he’d started university he was more comfortable in his skin.
He had met Michael, a fellow engineer, three years ago, and they now had their own business which consulted all around the world. The lifestyle suited them both and Gabriella had come to accept she would only see her son a few times a year; a regular visitor to Singapore, the boys spoiled and indulged her. Those holidays only seemed to emphasise the emptiness of her life when she
got home. Gabriella, however, did not give up on her marriage; she took the bold decision to get help. She tried loads of therapists and counsellors, until at last she found someone she liked, and who understood her.
Her grief and pain poured out until at last she was empty, and slowly she started to feel better. She turned towards Max now and not away, making things more relaxed between them. Like she was romancing her husband, she started to enjoy planning dinner, texting Max her cookery ideas, looking for his help and advice. His passion was food, preparing it, cooking it, and then best of all, eating it. It was something they shared that they both loved. These last few weeks had been so good between them, Max being home more often meant they were talking, and now after the weekend, they were touching.
Joining him in the bath was a breakthrough. She lay beside him, content just to be close. She had felt Max tense as she got in, but ignored it. Her mental exercises doubled as coping strategies, but the rejection always stung. She closed her eyes, letting her breathing relax as they lay there together, and for the moment it was enough.
Brought back to the present, she realised she was at the club and quickly parked her car. Her mobile vibrated with the incoming text and she pulled it from her bag. Inserting her card into the lift, she arrived on the first floor. As she hurried out, following the route Grace had shown her, she stopped in front of the double doors. They joined seamlessly with the wall and had no door handle. She lifted what appeared to be a light switch to reveal a small keypad and punched in the code, only breathing out when the door clicked open.
Grace was waiting inside, and they exchanged pleasantries before moving into a small room. Gabriella was breathless, her nerves and emotions making her jumpy.
