A Twist of Fate (8 page)

‘Come on, Callie, come on,' he whispered in my ear. ‘My girl, come for me.'

I placed my palm over the back of his hand as it moved, wanting to feel the power which would bring me such pleasure. It built fast and suddenly, shifting from that warm, relaxed shimmer into the coiling, twisting rise to inevitable rapture.

When his middle finger compressed my clit, I caught my breath, clenched my fingers on his hand, and came. I tried to cling onto that first moment when you feel an orgasm. You want it to last forever, you want to freeze time, but it is as elusive as a butterfly's spirit. And it was again. After that fragile moment of wonder, it changed to grow and billow out until it overwhelmed me completely and I bucked in my seat, my back arching forward in a spasm, my neck straining. I managed to remain silent, and let the heavy seep of satisfaction eke its way into my bones.

‘Shhh,' hushed Paul. And with that I drifted into sleep.

Eight

I awoke to whispering voices, the sort of whisper that gave a nod to your continuing sleep, but really wanted you to wake up. A stage whisper.

Emma was talking to Paul. ‘We should probably wake her now. We'll be landing in about half an hour.'

‘Hmm?' I queried, sitting up quickly as consciousness returned with a rush. Paul's hand was immediately on my arm, pulling me back carefully.

‘It's all right. There's no hurry,' he soothed.

Emma qualified by saying, ‘Well, I want to give her time to sort her head out.'

‘She's fine.' His tone was emphatic.

I slumped back, eyes still closed.

Emma continued, her voice softer now. ‘I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you two an item?'

I held my breath but didn't open my eyes. What would he say? He mustn't say yes, that would mean all sorts of horrific complications.

It seemed an age before he answered.

‘No. But when you've been through something like that, it can be comforting to know the other person's around. Nothing more than that.'

Nothing more than that. Now he'd said it, I was disappointed. God, it was all too confusing. I wanted him. I didn't want to want him. I knew I shouldn't want him and I still wanted him. His concern and affection for me was clear, so it was best to retreat. That's what I did best, after all. When the going gets tough, Callie Frobisher pulls down the shutters in good family tradition.

I inhaled deeply and pulled myself off his shoulder.

‘Slept like a baby, you did,' smiled Paul.

‘Did I?' I replied, looking not at him but at Emma. ‘I feel OK now. Thanks for everything.' I deliberately avoided so much as a glance at him.

Emma smiled. ‘We're arriving in half an hour or so. I just wanted some time for you to collect your thoughts. We weren't planning on masking you completely when you step off the plane. The media are far enough away not to harass you, but they will be able to take plenty of pictures. Just go straight down the steps and into the car waiting for you. I'd just keep your head down and walk. You can wear these caps if you want. Shield you from prying eyes.'

Paul took his gratefully and Emma held mine out to me. A baseball cap. Urgh. Did I have to?

‘That's OK, I won't bother with the cap. My hair'll probably blow all over the place. That'll do.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes. Have our names been released to the press?'

‘They have. No photos though. We've stopped that at the moment.'

‘Well, they'll get one sooner or later, I suppose.'

‘They don't have to, Callie,' Paul said calmly.

I flitted my eyes to him. My clit throbbed again. I turned to look out of the window, guilty about what I must do. Emma left us to gather her things. ‘Helped you sleep, didn't I?' asked Paul, soft and low.

He certainly had. I glanced at his hands, those long, magical fingers. Would I really not feel them again? I didn't reply.

‘Were it nice?'

‘Paul …' I looked at him. ‘You know how I love it, but I told you – I have another life to go back to, another man to go back to. What happened between us happened because of the crash and the island and all that. It could never work back here.'

He was silent for a time, the muscle in his jaw flexing and unflexing obviously. ‘You know that's crap, don't you?'

My eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘It's not crap. We're completely different people. I've got the sort of life you'd hate.'

‘How d'you know that?'

‘I just do. It's obvious. And anyway, there's Rupert.'

He scoffed. ‘Rupert? What is he? A fuckin' bear with a scarf?'

‘Don't you dare! Rupert is a lovely guy.'

‘
Lovely?
Sorry if I don't do
lovely
.'

‘Stop it. Let's not do this now. I couldn't cope with a new relationship when I've got the trauma of coming home to deal with too.'

‘I could help you with that. You know I could. We worked so well on the island, Callie, you know we did. And the sex … bloody hell, that were the best ever. Don't tell me you've ever had it so good.'

‘You arrogant shit! How do you know I've never had it so good?'

‘Well, you haven't, have you?'

I opened my mouth to retort, but it was true – I hadn't. Luckily, at that moment, the captain announced that we would shortly be landing. I stared out at the gentle rolling green of England. Somewhere down there were my parents. Somewhere down there was Rupert and normality.

Paul and I didn't speak for the rest of the trip. My hands grew clammy again as landing approached, but I clasped them together, not letting them stray towards him as I so wanted to do.

We touched down smoothly, and when the plane finally finished taxiing, came to a standstill, and the engines shut down, I breathed out a huge sigh and felt a rush of tears. I had done it. My feet were on the ground again.

Paul reached over for my hand, but I undid my seatbelt and stood up quickly. He gave a rueful smirk and stood too. It didn't take long for the steps to be joined to the plane and the door to be opened.

‘Ready?' asked Emma. We nodded. Paul pulled his cap over his eyes. I didn't bother. It was quite exciting in a way. The last time I'd been in the papers was when I gave the Head Girl's speech on Leavers' Day at school.

We shuffled down the aisle and reached the steps. I thanked the captain warmly and took hold of the railing. ‘Don't look up. Keep your head down and go straight into the car at the bottom,' instructed Emma.

The open back door of a black BMW awaited us at the bottom. I did as she said. From far off to my left I heard a faint mechanised rippling sound, which I later realised was hundreds of shutters going off over and over again. I hurried down the steps and into the car. Paul followed me.

‘Bloody press. Can't stand the lot of them,' he mumbled.

‘It's understandable that they're interested in us.'

‘Yeah … interested in what, though?'

I shrugged. ‘Never mind that now.'

I strained forward, desperate to see where we were going, desperate for a glimpse of my parents. We were taken to a low military building just off the runway and away from the press. After being ushered through a few small corridors, we were shown into a large, bare room. Standing in the middle, her hands clutched, her face tense with anticipation, stood my mother. Beside her, just as strained but holding himself tall, was my father. I was back to coming home after my first day at school. I had never known relief and happiness like it. I screamed, ‘Mummy!' at the top of my voice and hurled myself into her waiting arms. My father came around behind me and together they enclosed me completely.

We stood like that for goodness knows how long, not speaking, just weeping and holding each other. Eventually, my parents set up a mantra of murmuring, 'My darling, my darling, my girl, my girl.' I just carried on crying. When at last I pulled away and was able to look away from the reality of my parents' faces, my gaze immediately fell on Paul. He was sitting quietly at the back of the room with an elderly man, frail and wearing a fading suit which probably fitted him fifteen years ago, but which now hung off his scrawny frame like a child dressing up. They were holding hands, and occasionally smiling or passing a couple of words between them. It must be his father. The quiet affection between them was heart-rending. I thought about how this man had denied his son the education he deserved, but there was clearly no resentment or bad feeling. Love for his father shone from every pore.

‘Have you been drinking enough?'

I tuned back into my mother's voice. In her opinion, all of life's woes could be solved if we all drank plenty of water. I nodded with a smile. ‘We had a whole catering trolley available to us. We were fine, and then we were picked up. I haven't really suffered like that at all.'

‘Like that? How else did you suffer? That man? The one you were with. Did he try anything?'

‘No!' I rolled my eyes. ‘Mother!'

‘Hmm. He looks decent enough, I suppose. Still, you can never tell.'

‘Mother! Paul's lovely.'
Lovely
. He'd hate to be called lovely. But he was. The loveliest. I tutted at my own weakness and turned fully away from him.

My mother sighed. ‘They're letting me take you home but I've got to put up with some bloody awful counsellor or something. Really. I can give you all the counselling you need. They keep banging on about stress debugging or something.'

‘Debriefing. It's standard procedure, has to be done.'

‘And then there's the media.'

My father hadn't said much but at this point cleared his throat disdainfully.

‘What about them?' I asked.

‘I had
This Morning
on the phone the other day, and Sky and the BBC. Oh, and even the
Gazette
!' Even the
Gazette
. The local rag. To my mother, if the
Gazette
was interested, then mega-stardom really did beckon.

‘They can wait a bit.'

‘Oh, but do talk to them at some point, darling. They won't leave us alone. It's all been somewhat trying.'

‘I'm sorry.' Here I was, back from surviving an air crash and being stranded on a desert island, and I was already the one doing the comforting.

‘Is …?' I glanced around.

‘What, sweetie?'

‘Is Rupert here?'

My parents exchanged a brief look, similar to ones they'd done when I opened a hoped-for Christmas present. ‘He did ask to but we were the only ones allowed here. Sorry, darling.'

Relief careened through me, and that caused shock too. I covered it by giving my mother a meek smile. ‘I understand.'

‘He's been calling and calling. It'll be something of a relief that you can talk to him now. It's been a little insistent. You will …?'

‘What?'

‘You will sort it out with him soon, won't you? Poor boy, you have run him a merry dance, Callie.'

‘Mum, not now.'

My mother swallowed and held my arm. ‘No, sorry, darling, you're right.' She pulled me in for another hug, which I gratefully returned. I was used to my parents' devotion to my ex. I wondered how much of my decision to go back to him stemmed from them.

‘Come on then, Callie. Let's take you home.' I felt my father's guiding hand on my elbow. I looked over for Paul. He glanced up at me.

‘Just a moment.'

As I walked towards him, he stood up.

‘I'm off then,' I said, not sure what to do with my hands.

‘Right.'

‘Thanks for … you know, saving my life and all that.'

‘Yeah, well, thanks for … all that. Here. My number. I'd like you to ring me sometime. I'd like that a lot.' He handed me a slip of paper. I took it with a sigh.

‘Paul …'

There was a silence. I could feel the watery grey eyes of his father on me. Eventually, Paul held out his hand. ‘Bye then, Callie.'

I wanted to hold him, hug him, kiss him. But I just took his hand and shook it as if we'd concluded a business deal. ‘Bye, Paul.'

And then I left in the bustle of my parents and my CISD officer.

Nine

The counsellor – Anna, this time – would be staying over for a few days until she was satisfied I wasn't going to ‘do something silly', as my mother put it. What? Dress up as Dolly Parton and go strutting down the High Street singing ‘9 to 5'? No, not that kind of silly, my mother tutted. My father smiled softly, all the while looking out of the window.

I was feeling at home already.

It was wonderful to lie in my old bed, wonderful to feel the gentle nuzzle of the dog's head in my lap, wonderful to hear the familiar chimes of the grandfather clock in the hall. I really had survived, and I'd longed for it. But after my first night's sleep, I awoke restless already. Something was missing. I knew what it was – or rather, who it was – but wouldn't allow myself to admit it.

Just after eight, my phone rang. I picked it up, half hoping it was Paul, but then, how could it be? He'd given me his number, I hadn't given him mine. I saw the display: Rupert.

I waited to feel excited when he rang, the way I did at university. I didn't. I fixed my face into a smile before I pressed ‘accept', hoping that the false happiness would spread to my voice.

‘Hello!' I said, a little over-enthusiastically.

‘Callie, oh God, Callie, thank God you're back.'

I laughed brightly. ‘Yup.'

‘I just … God, I can't tell you what hell I was in those few days.'

‘It must have been very awful. Worse for the families of those who didn't make it.' A lurch took hold of my stomach. They'd warned me about survivor's guilt. So far, my confusion over Paul had helped dissipate it.

‘But you're back. I've got you back.'

I didn't answer.