by Bloom, Anna
Later, when my body is aching and my heart is flying free, his elbow nudges me in the ribs. “Are you going to show me this new house of ours or not? I don’t like this room; we need a better bedroom.”
“Now? Don’t you want to sleep?”
He rolls from the bed, picking up his discarded boxers from the floor before grabbing my underwear and his shirt and throwing them at me. “I know you don’t like to walk around naked.”
“You like to walk around naked too much.”
“Are you complaining?”
I shake my head and chuckle. “No, I’m not complaining at all.”
He stops and stares at me for a long moment. “Why don’t you like being naked? It’s not like you have anything to hide.”
I flush so hard I lift a hand to my face to feel my scorching cheeks. There is everything to hide. I shrug. “Don’t know. It’s never come up.”
“Well, walk around naked and I can guarantee something will come up.”
I’m glad to see him lighter than the way he looked when I met him at the law court gates. I slip the shirt over my shoulder and swiftly button it, leaving a few open at the top so he’s not entirely disappointed. “Did you know this house has six bedrooms? Six, Elijah.” I turn to him and catch a flash of puzzlement creasing between his eyebrows, but he shakes it off.
“Six! How will we choose?” His hand grabs mine and he pulls me towards the bedroom door.
“Eli.” He turns when I call his name. “I’m sorry that we’ve left the Mews.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. You did the right thing.”
We went through the rooms the day we came to find Peter’s things, but they look different now knowing they are ours. Our home. The first door after the one we’ve been in is similar, boxy with high ceilings. Definitely not a master bedroom. The rooms increase in size and grandeur as we poke our heads in one after the other. “I wonder if the smaller rooms were nurseries at one time?"
He shrugs. “Nurseries, or playrooms maybe. I guess we’d have to ask Gran to see if she can remember what they were like when she was young.”
“So, you never lived here as a child?”
He shakes his head. “No, my dad preferred the country and then when he left, Mother decided she needed to be near Gran.”
I snort. “Was made to be near your Gran more like.”
He shrugs again. “Possibly.”
We stand outside the room we know was Peter’s; the room he didn’t sleep in often but in which we found the address for his real home. We walk past without opening it. As empty and as bare as it was when we are last here, it would seem even more so now.
We push on the last door together and step inside. “Ah, now we’re talking,” he says.
“Eli! This isn’t a bedroom; it’s a suite at a five-star hotel. Why didn’t Peter have his stuff in here?”
“Why would he? He didn’t live here.” The blues find mine. “And you saw how he and Jeremy lived. It was the polar opposite to this.”
“And you want to sleep in here, with all this,” I wave my hand at the gold mouldings on the ceiling, and the elaborate furniture.
He nods, but his face is solemn. “It’s the one place he shunned.”
I can understand that. “Okay, leave it to me. But the rest of the place we are decorating. You mother offered to send in the decorators, but I said we would do it. Apparently though you are far too busy to do something as banal as painting walls.”
His smile is devilish and slow. “This weekend. Me and you, and a pot of paint.”
“Sounds heavenly.”
“Shall we view the downstairs now? There’s a lot of house to see.”
“Well as there’s this bed here, and you need to sleep before court in the morning, why don't we save the rest of house for tomorrow?”
“So, this is it. This is where we are going to live our life. We’ve given in to the Faircloughs demands.” He sits on the end of the bed, his attention trained on the carpet.
“This is where I choose to live my life with you. Is that okay?”
He looks up slowly, his eyes settled on my face. One hand slips around my hips, tugging on the bones I know he loves to hold. “That is more than okay with me.” He pulls me down and shifts back the ridiculously thick duvet and we both scramble under the covers. I slide his shirt off and throw it onto the floor, and he slips in behind me, wrapping me tight into his arms and pulling me into his chest.
“I’ll spoon you anywhere, you know that.”
I grin in the darkness. I know that.
Nine
The shower runs cold, the damn hot water tank running out again. Soap suds still run from my hair. Shit. I hate it when this happens. It’s always me. One. Two. Three. I shove my head under the cold blast of water. I know by now if I can get to thirty seconds, the pain isn’t too bad. It’s just cold water at the end of the day.
When my hair squeaks, I snap off the water. Shit, it’s cold. Shivering, I push back the shower curtain and reach for my towel, my fingers only finding empty air.
Shit.
My towel.
It was here.
My bedroom is just next door. Stepping out of the bath, trying not to let the freezing shower curtain touch my skin, I edge my way to the door.
I’m going to have to dash for it. The house is empty anyway.
Holding my breath, I crack open the bathroom door. My skin is met by a chill blast of winter air. The heating isn’t on high enough. I keep telling Dad it’s too cold during the day.
I open the bathroom door and run for my room, but instead glance straight up into dark eyes waiting for me on the landing.
“Hello, Faith. Need this?” He holds my towel in offering, but I don’t take it.
His eyes are on me, burning, hateful. I slam into my room, my heart pounding, thrumming so hard I can’t even breathe.
My skin crawls as I dive under my duvet and wrap it tight around my wet body.
Then I begin to sweat and shake as uncontrollable sobs take a hold of all of me.
I want to hide myself so no one will ever see me again. Protect myself behind an armour that will never be penetrated.
Fuck.
I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the hazy sunlight streaming into the bedroom. It takes a moment to place where I am. All the gold and cream is unfamiliar. Eli is gone, but that’s good.
I drag in a deep, painful gasp of air.
It’s been months since I had a nightmare. Not since Eli arrived and chased them all away.
Gah, where did that come from?
My heart slows and I reach for my phone. Half eight. I didn’t even hear Eli leave, but then I don’t know how much sleep we got last night. I feel like I shouldn’t have distracted him quite so much with Melanie’s case going on. Tonight, I shall have to ensure it's hot cocoa and an early bedtime. I chuckle as I scroll through my contacts, imagining Eli in bed in his striped pj’s with a mug of cocoa in his hands. I’d still find that sexy. It’s a worry.
I hit dial on Tabitha’s number and then look about for any clothes I can slip on so I can make it to our packed wardrobes before Miss Beesley comes in for the day. The shirt is still there, so I grab and struggle it on.
“Hey,” Tabs answers.
“Hi. I was just checking in and to tell you we’ve moved.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean moved?”
“Your mother decided to throw me a little curve ball yesterday. I managed to rise above it.”
“She’s mental.”
“I know. It’s not hereditary is it?”
Tabitha laughs but it doesn’t sound at all genuine.
“How’s Lewis?” I ask. I hold my breath and wait for her answer.
“I don’t know.”
“Eli said he was in court yesterday, listening to the opening statements.”
“Yeah, I guess. He’s not wanting to talk to me right now.” Her voice breaks a little and I sigh.
“Tabs, this is har
d, what he’s going through. You remember what he was like in the summer when he first came to Bowsley. All that anger, it hasn’t just evaporated. You might have eased it for a while, but until this court case is done it’s never going to heal.”
“I know. I want to help him though.”
“And you will, when he’s ready.”
“Have you heard from the police in Brighton?”
My stomach tightens with her question. “No. I don’t know what happens or how long it will take.”
“Have you asked Eli? He will know about these things.”
“No,” I snap. Her responding silence turns me into queen bitch. “No, Tabs. I don’t want him taking this on, knowing all the little facts and details. It could ruin us forever.”
“What are you talking about? He knows the truth. You went to the police because you wanted to start afresh with Eli.”
“What if we can’t start afresh once he knows everything?”
“Rubbish. That's utter bollocks and you know it.” She sighs. “You can’t run.”
“I’m not running.”
“Not talking is still running. Still hiding.”
“You’re being fucking annoying today,” I grumble.
“Well I’m sorry. My boyfriend is going through hell, and I don’t even know if he is still my boyfriend; my brother just died, and my family are acting like it never happened. And everything is just shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well stop trying to fix the rest of us, and start fighting for yourself.” The line disconnects. That is not what I expected.
What does she mean? I am fighting. What do these people want? Blood from a stone? My guts bared for everyone to see?
I can’t be that woman.
Turning, I catch sight of myself in the ornate mirror sat on a French dresser. Ink and wild hair greet my gaze. Ink surrounded by gold and cream.
With a firm shake of my head, I button the shirt and dash along the upstairs hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen to where Miss Beesley is already stood at the AGA boiling a kettle.
“Oh, shit.” I screech to a halt. “God, I’m so sorry. I left some clothes hanging in here yesterday because I didn’t know what room Eli wanted us to take.” I edge around the giant kitchen table. Her eyes are on my thighs covered with ink and there is no chance of her hiding her surprise.
“Wow.”
I smirk. “I’m guessing Jennifer didn’t warn you the new tenant used to be a tattoo artist.” Is a tattoo artist? I don’t even know.
Miss Beesley smiles ruefully and shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”
“Maybe she thought you would walk out in disgust.”
“Well, she’d be wrong, my dear. I’ve worked through many hard times in this house; it’s going to take more than some Maori artworks to move me on.”
“You recognise this?” I glance down at my right thigh—my warrior strength that never quite seems to manifest itself into anything useful.
“My brother moved to Auckland twenty-five years ago. He hasn’t been home since but occasionally he sends gifts for the children. Well, when they were children.”
“Auckland is beautiful.” I hesitate in the kitchen. I really want to put clothes on, but I’m glad Miss Beesley isn’t so appalled at the sight of me she’s not willing to talk—this could have been awkward otherwise. “So, you have children?”
“Yes, three. It’s been a blessing these last few years not having to be here all the time, I’m not going to lie. But they are away at university and living their own lives now. Looks like I have more time on my hands, which is perfect timing.”
“Perfect timing for what?”
“To help you set up your home.” She motions to where all our clothes are impeccably hung on hangers—which is not at all how I left them. “Why don’t you go and get dressed? I hear you like your coffee strong and short in the morning.”
“You saw Eli?” My stomach gives a little flutter as I mention his name. When will it stop doing that? Will it stop doing that?
“Quite a shock he gave me.” She flutters her hand in front of her chest. Blimey.
“Yeah, he can be stealthy when he’s getting ready for work.” I smile, tugging at the edge of Eli’s shirt. “I’ll go and get dressed.”
“And I’ll make coffee.”
I hum to myself as I rifle through the hanging clothes dangling from the edge of a rack which is probably supposed to hold pots and pans by their handles. I’m not sure but I think the clothes have been steamed; my packing was rushed to say the least. Abi and I were working on a 'shove it in a bin liner' method.
That reminds me. I need to ring her and thank her again, maybe find a little gift to send.
Choosing some soft blue skinny jeans and a black loose jumper, I dress and then return to the kitchen and lean against the AGA. Now this is a little luxury I can get used to. Miss Beesley has a wire contraption on the hot plate, and I watch intrigued as she lifts the old-fashioned chrome lid and turns over a rack which is holding two slices of bread. “Are you making toast?” The bread has wonderful criss-cross marks across its surface from where the wire has heated and cut on.
“Miss Hitchin, this will be the best toast you’ve ever tried.”
“Call me, Faith, please.”
She tips the toast onto a plate and motions for me to sit down at the table. “Jam?”
“Uh, do you have any peanut butter?” I doubt there is very much here. I’ll have to organise a shopping trip or order online.
“Of course.” She nods and opens a cupboard full of, well, everything.
“How did all this food get here?” I scrape some of the high fat goodness all over the toast, extra thick, and take a bite. I’m expecting it to be bloody delicious, but my mouth does a funny thing when I start to chew and fills with saliva.
It’s utterly gross.
Miss Beesley is watching me expectantly, so I smile and swallow. “Yummy.”
I push the plate away. I really don’t want peanut butter. It’ll just be a fancy healthy version.
“I put an order in yesterday.” Her eyes widen as she meets my gaze. “Oh, I haven’t overstepped any boundaries, have I? I knew you were busy, and I wanted to help. I should have asked.”
“No.” I hold my hand out to her. “It’s fine. I guess I’m not used to people doing things for me.”
“Eli had staff at his Mews, didn’t he?” She glances at the chair opposite mine but doesn’t take it.
“Please sit, you are making me all uncomfortable.”
She does and waits for my answer.
“Yeah, he did. There was a cleaner, I think.”
This is really uncomfortable. Reaching for my cup I slide it across the table and lift it to my mouth. I wince as the bitter blast hits my tongue.
Poor Miss Beesley. She is watching me with horror. “I think my taste buds are acting up. Anyway, so what sort of role do you want to play here?”
Her mouth flaps open. “What do you mean, what sort of role?”
“What do you want to do? Do you want to work less hours, like you did with Peter? Tell me what you want.”
“Oh, Miss Hitchin, you need to tell me what to do. I’ll be your housekeeper full time if you wish. I can arrange your staff for you if you don’t think you will have the time,” she hesitates. “What did you do before you and Mr Fairclough got engaged?”
I frown and attempt another sip of my coffee. “What do you mean do before? I still do the same. I’m a student studying fine art…” this is a loose description; my priority has not been on lectures since Peter died. “And I sell work to a gallery, but I’m also going to be the host of a TV show based around contestants creating art to win a coveted prize.”
She nods. “Wow, that all sounds very glamorous.”
“I can assure you it hasn’t been.”
“You’ll be sad to give it all up though.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“Well you won’t work when you are married, will you? You will take up a full role within the family and have engagements and responsibilities to fulfil.”
“Ooh, no.”
“Oh.”
I push my cup away next to my abandoned plate. “I’m sorry, Miss Beesley, do you think that’s what I should be doing?”
She flushes a vibrant red. “No, not at all. I think it’s Draconian nonsense. But it’s the tradition of the family.”
“I can assure you it won’t be any longer.”
“I hope you are right. Now, can I organise you some lunch later today or will you be at class?”
I nod distractedly. “I’ll be at class, I think.” I glance over at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Beesley. But what exactly did you mean by organise my staff?”
“Oh that.” She visibly relaxes. “I mean Saskia as your stylist, and you have a personal assistant I believe starting later today.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Your personal assistant. Laura Williams, I believe her name is.”
“And who told you that?”
Poor Miss Beesley. She’s in the crossline of fire. “Baroness Fairclough, when she called yesterday afternoon.”
“And you didn’t tell me before.”
She lifts her chin. “You were out for the day at your meeting, and I wasn’t sure it was appropriate to tell your friend.”
I slump against the table. Day two, round two. Is this how it’s going to be? “There won’t be any other staff I can assure you, well maybe Saskia because she has amazing taste in dresses, but that’s it. If you’re happy to stay and be housekeeper, then we would love to have you.” We? “But it will just be Eli and myself; this will be our home, not a franchise of the Fairclough business.”
Miss Beesley’s lips twitch. “I believe Peter told me something very similar.”
“Well that’s good. Then we will get off to the right start.”
“Can I get you a better breakfast?” My stomach lurches at her mention of food.
“No, thank you. I need to get to class. I’ll just pop upstairs and grab a quick shower.” Getting up from the chair, I glare at the offensive piece of toast. “Oh, uh. Where are the towels? I’ve no idea which box the linen from the Mews is packed in.”
