by J G Alva
“But...but...” Nick thought. “Once I began to suspect her involvement, why didn’t you tell me then?”
Rebekah shrugged, an unpleasant look on her face.
“What good would it have done? You wanted revenge. You were hell bent on getting it. There was nothing I could do to change that. I’d pretty much given up on you. If I was carrying your son, or daughter, well...then that would have to be enough. You were lost to me, Nick.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nick said, staring at the floor and shaking his head, his mind a tumult of thoughts and emotions.
“And now it’s over, and you haven’t changed,” she said miserably.
He brought his head up.
“What?”
“You’re so convinced that everybody’s going to betray you, that when you saw me like this, instead of being happy, you're angry that I didn't tell you, that everyone knew except you.”
“Alright, I’m sorry, I wasn’t...I wasn’t thinking straight. Haven’t been thinking straight for a while now.”
“Really.”
Nick felt his own anger growing.
“Don’t. Don’t come over all sanctimonious on me. You lied to me about this. You’re just as messed up in this as I am.”
Her features softened then, and she rubbed her cheek.
“Alright. Yes. But I had my reasons not to tell you.”
“Reasons. Is that what you call them.”
“Hey,” she said, showing some steel. “I’ve never done anything but love you, you stupid oaf. That’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t want any other man in my life. I don’t want any other man in the world but you. Haven’t you worked that out yet?”
He stared at her, slightly taken aback.
“Okay,” he said.
“But the situation’s not that simple,” she said, her voice gone dark, and she looked away from him.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m just as messed up in this as you are. I’ve lied to you, but not just about this. I did it for purely selfish reasons. I have no excuse. At first it was only because I couldn’t tell you the truth, but then it became impossible to tell you because I...because... because I wanted you so much, and if you’d known...if you’d known...God...”
Nick had no idea what she was talking about, but that didn’t stop the dread from spreading through him, from somewhere in his gut to all the other parts of him. He stared at her with a complete lack of comprehension, but with a swiftly growing wariness. Preparing for the worst, he thought; he had a long relationship with preparing for the worst. He was bracing himself for catastrophe.
“What?” He said.
The expression on her face was unpleasant, and there was a hard look in her eye when she said, “Michael Ross is dead.”
“I didn't, it was Hammond – "
"I know. I read about it. Hammond hit him over the head, but really it was you that killed him."
"Rebekah – "
“It’s alright," she said. "I don’t blame you. After all, he probably deserved it. No. The thing is, the thing I couldn’t tell you is, the thing I’m so scared to tell you because I know it’s going to kill anything you feel for me, I know in my heart it is but...I can’t lie to you anymore, I just can’t...” She shook her head, sobbed once, put her hand over her heart, as if to stop it hurting, and then looked at him, and with a mixture of hope and fear on her face, said, “the thing is, Mike Ross was my father.”
Nick felt as if he had been jabbed with a cattle prod. With no conscious control over himself, he stood up, knocking over the chair he had been sitting on, and backed away from her.
“What? What?” He heard himself saying.
She nodded, slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.
“It’s true. Michael Ross was my father.”
“No, it can’t...how can it? How – it can’t be...”
“It is, Nick. I was on the St. Anne because I was there to…confront him. I’ve never lived in the Seychelles, and neither has my aunt.”
Nick thought yes, it makes sense, that was why there was no missing persons report for Rebekah in the files, her aunt never filed one, well, at least not in that country anyway, and it was probably part of the reason Rebekah had not wanted him to meet her.
“When I was old enough, I followed him, watched him, and when I thought the perfect opportunity had arisen, I applied for a passport, stole some money from my aunt, and flew to the Seychelles. I was going to…” She stopped. “I wanted to confront him. But I’d have settled for killing him.”
“Why?” Nick asked.
Rebekah smiled, but the sadness in it pinched his heart.
“He killed my mother.”
“Killed your mother? How?” He thought back. “You told me she committed suicide.”
Rebekah nodded.
“She did. After he left us. She wasn’t a strong woman. I always despised her for that, but that was just the way she was. She was beautiful, so beautiful that men always approached her, she never wanted for admirers, but it seemed she only ever wanted Mike Ross. And I despised her for that too. He used to hit her. I’d wake up and hear them screaming at each other, and then the slap would come, and even though I knew it was coming it always made me jump, and then there’d be another, and another and another...” Rebekah closed her eyes. “And I’d lie in bed and cry and think up ways to hurt him.” She opened her eyes, and they were old, Nick thought. “And then he left us. Mum couldn’t cope. She just...fell to pieces. Started drinking, sleeping with men, lots of different men, she’d bring them back and I’d hear her downstairs, moaning, the man grunting, and I wondered how in God’s name it was possible to love a man, they were all assholes, every single one...until I met you.” She smiled. “You were good in a way I’d never seen before. I couldn’t believe you were as good as you appeared to be, but...you were. Do you remember that time you told me how, if I were stuck on that island with any other man, how I’d probably fall in love with him too. I used to want to laugh at that. If only you knew, I thought. And now you do. And now you know that I do love you, beyond prejudice, beyond reason, or even rational thought for that matter. My God, you were my father’s business partner, for God’s sake. It was like consorting with the devil.” She looked down at her hands. “But...it happened. Even when it shouldn’t have. I fell in love with you.” She sighed, loudly and for a long time, a sigh of relief, of having finally put down the heavy load she had been carrying for so long. “But...I don’t think that you can love me in return. Not now. Not after hearing the truth. I’m the child of your enemy. I don’t think it would be possible for a man to get past that. Even one as special as you.”
She looked at him, the hope in her eyes that he would prove her wrong touching in its way, but Nick didn’t see how he could accept it, it was an incredible thing to ask of him, beyond his capabilities as a human being; he felt trapped in that moment, caught in a place he didn’t want to be, and the urge to run out of that house was so strong he had to concentrate to stop his legs from moving.
After a long moment of silence, Nick said, “I don’t understand. Why go to the Seychelles to confront him? If you were set on confronting him. Surely it would be easier to do it here.”
Rebekah shrugged.
“Probably. I don’t think I was quite...sane when I came up with that plan, to be honest with you. I found out by accident. I was stalking him, trying to find the right time to confront him, when I heard him talking on the phone to someone about it. At the time it seemed like the perfect opportunity. To confront him, to humiliate him, in front of everyone. To bring him down, at his height, when he was celebrating his success…I couldn't let it pass." She shrugged. "Looking back, it seems crazy. Just…madness. Well. He had a knack for affecting people’s sanity. Look at what he got his friends to do to you.”
“But...if you wanted him broken and defeated, why did you try and stop me going after him?”
She shook her head as if he was a particularly dull p
upil.
“Because after I met you I didn’t want to hate anymore. With you there was no reason to hate. I had you. I had a man I could love forever and never worry about doubting that love. What was the point of hating after that? It seemed like a waste of life. And I didn’t want you to waste yours either. And it broke my heart that I didn’t have that same effect on you.”
“Well,” he said, and paused. “I couldn’t let them get away with what they’d done. You know that. You...”
“Yes.”
“It was all so confusing. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was married – there I go again, I can’t stop saying it – but I didn’t know if Jessica was involved with it all, I didn’t really know anything, and there you were in the middle of it all...”
“It’s alright, Nick. You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”
Nick sighed.
“Anyway. I think the hating’s done with now.”
“Is it?” She said. “Is it really? I’m Michael Ross’s daughter, Nick. Your son –or daughter – will be Michael Ross’s grandchild. Can you honestly tell me that you can deal with that? That you don’t hate me now, after what I’ve told you?”
“I don’t hate you,” he said tiredly.
“But you don’t love me any more either,” she said scornfully. “Look at you. You couldn’t stand any further away and still be in the same room with me. Good old Dad’s left me a legacy, hasn’t he. Not only did he kill my mother, he’s also taken you away from me as well. Oh. Isn’t this all good fun? Isn’t this just the best?”
She sobbed again, her hand covering her mouth.
The silence seemed to grow of its own accord, another darker child filling the room. Nick stared at her and couldn’t untangle the feelings that seemed to tie each organ inside him to the other: betrayal, dismay, love, sorrow. They were like the cargo of some sunken ship, occasionally bobbing to the surface to catch the light before sinking again to the depths. Christ, how could it be? Of all the things she could possibly have told him, of all the secrets she could have had, this was one he wasn’t sure he could ever deal with.
“Why?” He said. “Why the fuck do you have to be Mike Ross’s daughter?”
Her smile was pained.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Jesus, Rebekah.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice thick with misery. “All I ask is that you be there for your child. I want you to be an important part of his life. Or her life. If you can’t deal with this...situation, I understand, but don’t transfer anything of what you feel about me – or my father – to the child. He – or she – doesn’t deserve that.”
Rebekah rose, sighed, and bent to right the upturned chair and place it under the table. Nick couldn’t believe how adult she seemed now, in contrast to the young, fresh faced girl he had known on the island. It was even possible she wasn’t the same girl at all; the similarities were few and far between. He studied her face, looking for something of Mike in her, but could not see anything. Could it really be true? It seemed that it had to be; it had that aspect of absurdity that Nick had come to know of as Life.
“My aunt will be back soon,” she said. “I think it might be better if you left before she gets here." She smiled sadly. "It could get awkward otherwise.”
She stood waiting for him to move, but he could not, it felt wrong to end it like this, there must be more to say, and he stared at her, searching for the words in his head, searching for something in her face, but he realised that there was nothing to find, the delicate architecture of their relationship had been exposed for the house of cards that it was, and with that he turned and walked down the hall away from her, to the front door. She came up behind him, and he could feel her there without even turning, the presence of her. He remembered how attuned they had been on the island, almost as if they had known each other’s thoughts, but now she was a mystery to him, a cypher. But, with the lie concealed so completely, and for so long, and with him not even suspecting something of the truth, hadn’t she always been?
It seemed that he wasn’t good at reading people at all.
He stopped at the door, all of his joints aching in some undefined way, as if he had run a marathon, or crossed a desert. Rebekah stopped at the door also, and then reached out, turned the latch, opened it and then held it for him. The path leading down the front lawn looked strange to Nick’s eyes, like an unfamiliar landscape on a strange alien world. Panic gripped him suddenly. This can’t be it, he thought. It can’t be. He stood on the threshold of the house, but refused to go any further. He was waiting for something, but he didn’t know what.
“We’ll talk soon,” she said. “About the baby.”
Nick put his hand on the edge of the door, to take it from her, but stopped to look at her. In that moment the panic that had gripped him burst in him like a soap bubble, and what it had concealed was exposed, and in one movement he shut the door and took her up in his arms. Lifting her off the floor, she looked afraid of what he might do to her, and was as stiff as a board in his grip.
“What? Nick, what?”
“You stupid woman. I love you. I don’t care who your father is. I love you.”
She couldn’t believe it.
“What? What?”
He brushed the hair back from her eyes, smoothed a cheek, touched a thumb to her lips, tracing the lines of her, not sure if he was afraid she wasn’t real, or that he might forget what she looked like, but sure in his heart that he couldn’t exist without her. He was free to feel again, and it had not been revenge or justice that had allowed him that; it had been her.
“I’m going to be a father,” he said.
The tears rose up in her eyes, but she still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Nick, are you...?”
“Yes,” he said, and smiled. “And I always will.”
They kissed.
And there is not one more singular and definable way to end hate than that.
THE END
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TATTOO (Sutton Mills Book 1)
Within the city of Bristol, a man is targeting beautiful young women and murdering them in the most brutal way: he is torturing them, and then cutting off their heads. Seven days later he disposes of the bodies, leaving the police with only one clue as to his identity: a tattoo.
In desperation, Detective Sean Bocksham and Dr Robin Sails enlist the help of Sutton Mills to find Andrea, the killer’s latest victim and Robin’s sister.
Tall, dark and handsome, Sutton Mills is not a detective, a private eye, or a vigilante. When the police can do no more, when there is no one else to turn to, then people go to Sutton. He is a lover of puzzles and a diligent student of Art; a man living off the grid; a man with an uncanny ability to find things.
Calling on all his resources, Sutton must chase this cunning and intelligent psychopath through the streets of Bristol and find Andrea…before her time runs out.
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