Never A Choice (The Choices Trilogy (Book 1)) (19 page)

“Jesus Christ!” He calls over his shoulder, “I’ve found her.” He takes one step toward me and reaches to turn the tap off which stops the incessant flow of ice cold water over my huddled body. He puts his arms under my trembling knees and lifts me tight to his chest. I feel utterly exhausted and I can get no relief from my body that won’t stop shaking. His shirt transforms from pale to dark as my wetness is rapidly absorbed by the material and I can hear the sloshing on the floor as he carries me out into the corridor.

“I’m wet.” My teeth chatter as I quietly state the obvious.

He laughs. “Yes, yes you are and not in a good way.” This makes me jolt and I stiffen and push myself from his chest, slip to the ground and stumble on the wet floor. “Shit, what are you doing?” He reaches to steady my fall and I shrug out from his grip and turn my narrow eyes on him. I must look a state, my hair slicked long to my face, my clothes hanging shapelessly with the weight of the water and the remnants of my make-up dripping down my face, I must resemble Samara from The Ring.

“You don’t get to touch me!” I am quiet but my tone is serious. He is shocked but his face flashes with a look I don’t recognise.

“What’s going on Bets?” I turn to see Marco, he too looks shocked.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Marco but my voice starts to break and I struggle not to cry again. I really don’t need an audience for my meltdown.

“You disappeared.” Daniel answers. “You wouldn’t answer your phone, I was worried. I came here but there was no answer, so I went to Marco’s flat and followed him here. Like I said, you left, I was worried.” He growls the last few words like he is trying to control his temper. I don’t need to match his temper; I just need him to leave. I speak very slowly and clearly so there is no misinterpreting what I am about to say.

“I didn’t disappear, I left. You paid me. You left. I took the money. I left. Now, I would like you to leave. Again.” Each word is softly spoken, clipped and perfectly clear.

“What? Seriously, what do you mean I paid you, paid you for what?” His tone is incredulous and his face darkens with a scowl.

“What did you pay her for?” Marco steps closer to me and rests his hand on my shoulder. Daniel narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw at this.

“I didn’t pay her for shit! I emptied my trouser pockets and put the contents on the night stand!” He barks out his explanation through gritted teeth.

“Bets did you take his money? Bets, what were you thinking?” Marco has turned me to face him but I’m really confused.

“I did, I thought . . .” Marco picks up my bag that I had dropped by the door this morning and starts to search inside.

“Bets, there’s no money in here? Bets?” He is looking from my empty bag to my bewildered face.

“No, there wouldn’t be. I gave it away, I gave it to a lady with her dog, she looked cold and she was sleeping on the monument steps and . . .” I am rambling now, my head is spinning and I am trying to understand what is unfolding before me.

“You gave five thousand pounds to a homeless woman?” Daniel asks the calmness of his tone focuses my attention only on his words

“No, Christ no! I gave her the money on the side. The money you left for me on my purse!” The pitch in my voice raises as does my anxiety.

“Yes,” Daniel says slowly, “that would be five thousand pound.” He pauses and bites his lip with amused understanding. “You think I paid you five thousand pounds?” My worth is irrelevant but I feel a sting at the reference and I shake my head to dispel the unpleasant thought.

“What? Didn’t I earn it?” I snarl my reply and push past Marco and run upstairs. My door is open, Marco had been looking for me, it was his footsteps above that had filtered into my dream. I don’t bother to shut it as I am quickly followed by both men. Daniel pushes past Marco but Marco grabs his shoulder, I tense and can feel and overwhelming surge of panic well inside. I am still raw from my recent trip down memory lane. I see the fury in Daniels eyes, his fist is clenched and he is about to swing round when I scream, “Stop!” I run between them and turn my face to Marco, out of the two, I know him. I know he will do what I ask and what I do know of Daniel is, he will do exactly what he wants to do but I can’t have them fighting, ever.

“Hey Marco, it’s all right. Look, thank you, thank you for coming to find me.” I hold his face to make sure he is looking at me not scowling over my shoulder. “You need to leave so I can sort this, Ok?” He looks at me now and I see nothing but concern.

“Boo, are you sure?” I smile when he uses my oldest nickname, brought out at special occasions and tender times. I know he is worried about me.

“He won’t hurt me Marco.” I assure him.

He leans in to whisper. “No more than he has, promise?”

“No more, I promise.” He glares once more at Daniel and leaves. I shut the door and walk toward my bedroom. I am still shivering and need to get out of these clothes.

“Why did you emphasise the
no more?
What did that mean?” Daniel goes to follow me.

“It’s my thing, it means people will always hurt you but how much depends on me, so ‘no more’ means exactly that.” I close my bedroom door and start to peel my sodden dress off my goose-pimpled body. The door opens and Daniel strides in, the tiny space is filled with his immense presence, I stop mid peel.

“What are you doing?” My jaw drops.

“That’s fucked up you know?” He goes to unbutton his shirt. “Besides I didn’t hurt you Bethany,
you
had a misunderstanding.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Stop that!, stop doing what you’re doing, stop it now!” I shout.

“What? I’m soaked! It’s a little late to play shy now, don’t you think?” He wiggles his brow and continues to strip. I pick up my jeans and a sloppy jumper, underwear, shoes and storm back out and into my toilet where I lock the door. Christ! I can hear him chuckle through the thin walls. I enter my living room to find him sitting on my sofa in his boxers. His clothes are draped over the back of my arm chair. He flashes the most amazing smile. His skin is golden, his stomach muscles ripple and his long arm rests on the back of the sofa as an invitation to join him. His black boxer shorts are fitted and I can see the outline of his cock, semi firm and growing firmer as I continue to look. My face is instantly hot and I suck my lips together.

“Bethany.” He smiles and beckons me with his fingers, “Don’t you think we should talk first?” He is so confident this is going to happen he can’t even pretend to keep a straight face. I straighten my back and meet his heated stare.

“Yes Daniel,
that
is exactly what we are going to do, talk!” I cross my arms tightly in front as my first line of defence.

“Please sit with me, I would very much like to close this unnecessary distance. I would very much like to feel you close again.” His voice is soft and tempting but I made my promise.

“Not likely.” I scoff.

“Really, why? Is it because of the money, don’t think about it. It’s already forgotten.” He seems genuinely confused by the shock on my face so I enlighten him.

“You may well be able to do that, but I’ve spent the last few hours thinking that
you
think I’m a whore! So excuse me if I don’t come over all gushing and eager to resume where we left off! But now that I know you don’t think I’m a whore, it’s a relief, because, well . . . that just makes me a thief now doesn’t it?” My temper is a perfect mask to hide the raw vulnerability I feel.

“The money doesn’t matter.” His fixed impassive expression heightens his stern tone.

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, it was five thousand pounds Daniel! Who does that? Who keeps five thousand pounds in their trouser pocket?” I’m yelling now but I am so cross. All the anger and hurt from this morning and the pain from my nightmare are all combining to make me more than a little unstable right now and I have no intention of falling apart in front of Daniel, again.

“Well not to state the bloody obvious Bethany, but I do.” He goes to stand but I know if he gets close I’ll crumble. I grab my bag and head for the door. He can’t follow, I hope, he’s in is boxers.

“Lock the door when you leave.” I run down the stairs and onto the street. I jog to the end when I hear him shout my name. He did follow me but just to the door, he looks really mad. I’m not going back there today, maybe not ever.

THE TRAIN TO the South Coast town nearest to my mum’s care home takes just over an hour and if you are lucky there might be a drinks service. The coffee is disgusting but the tea is bearable even if it is served at a nuclear temperature. I take a tea and a couple of raisin flapjacks as I realise I haven’t eaten much since lunch yesterday and my tummy grumbles loudly in acknowledgement of this self-deprivation. I try and spend every other Sunday visiting. This is not one of my weeks but if I have to be out all day it’s a perfect use of my time, beside right now I could really use my mum. I dig in my bag and find my iPod. I put my earphones in and select SnowPatrol, Eyes Open album to listen to on a loop as I watch field after field speed past. I catch myself in the window as we pass under a tunnel and even in the faded reflection I can see my eyes are red and swollen. I rest my head back and close my tired lids hoping to sleep before the haunting lyrics of
Set the Fire
bring more tears.

I wake just as we near the hills of the South Downs, the sheer expanse of green is a stark contrast to my normal urban terrain. It is beautiful and when she was able, I would take my mum to walk up one of the beacons for the breath-taking views. It was such an effort it would take most of the day but she can no longer make that climb. Most visits we sit in the conservatory or walk around the gardens. The buses don’t run on Sunday and it’s a five mile walk which at a pace I can do in an hour. The gravel drive sweeps up to the main Georgian house, more modern accommodation has been added to the side but the main house holds most of the facilities, games room, lounge, conservatory and dining room. I sign in and am told my mum is in the craft room.

I open the door and swallow a lump back as she turns to face me. She is bathed in sunlight from the large window and with her pale clothes and grey hair she is encased in a warm glow, she looks like an angel. She smiles at me and I hope in my heart it’s a good day. On a good day she remembers my name, remembers who I am and she talks for hours about our life; about the holidays we had, about the meals she likes to cook and about how I was never there, always off gallivanting. I take a seat next to her and put my bag at my feet. She takes my hand and squeezes, hers are soft as silk and warm to my cold.

“Hello my dear, have you come to help me with these flowers?” She points to a spread of wild flowers that have been carefully pressed, losing only a little of their vibrant colour. She laughs a little and looks into my eyes. I can see the extra wrinkles form in her brow as she fights to remember. “I think I am going to need all the help I can get, I’m getting in a pickle. What’s your name my dear?” She smiles at me and I feel the tingle of tears behind my eyes but I don’t let them fall.

“My name is Bethany and I would love to help, if you don’t mind.” My chest pinches but I manage to smile.

“Not at all, not at all, my daughter usually helps me but she isn’t coming this week.” She pats the table to make a start.

“No, that’s right.” I murmur, happy that she remembers this is not my week. We spend the day making pictures with the flowers and a book mark for me; we read and have afternoon tea on the patio. I would normally head home after tea but I stay a little longer. I know I’m hoping she remembers me before I leave and I also know it’s not going to happen. We settle in her room and I put on one of her favourite films
Gone with the Wind.’
I know this was before her time but I think it was my Grans favourite too so it may well be a shared memory. I will have to slip out before it finishes, it’s over three hours long and the last train back is at nine.
Tara
is burning and I choose this time to leave. She is asleep in her chair so I kiss her on the head. I wouldn’t do this if she was awake, only if she knows who I am.