Savage (6 page)

“
A
re
you sure we should be doing this now?” Kate asked from behind a pile of their father’s clothes.

They’d spent the day after the funeral in a kind of fugue state, shuffling around the house, eating leftovers from the wake, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lily had been cranky and whiney, and Jenna had vowed to get moving the following day.

She’d woken early, made breakfast, got her mother off to work, taken Lily to the little park where she’d played as a child. Then she’d rallied Kate, insisting that they go through their father’s things so their mother wouldn’t have to do it.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be here, so if you want my help, we should do it now. Besides,” Jenna said, carefully setting aside one of her dad’s sweaters to take home to New York, “it will be easier for Mum this way. We’ll keep out anything personal, but the rest will have to be cleaned out eventually anyway.”

Kate sighed, running her hands along the sweater, a thick ivory cable knit he’d been wearing in a photo taken the day Jenna had been born. “You’re probably right.”

“It will get easier,” Jenna said, although she didn’t really know if it was true. Some things never seemed to get easier. “One day at a time.”

Kate lifted another pile of clothes into the box they had been filling since Lily went down for her nap. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Will Mum be okay?” Jenna asked.

Kate shrugged. “How should I know?”

Jenna stuffed down a surge of annoyance. Why couldn’t Kate try to be helpful? “You know her better than I do at this point.”

Kate met Jenna’s eyes. “Like I said, I try not to worry too much about Mum. I’ll look in on her when I can, but she’s an adult. We spent our whole childhood babysitting her. I’m not doing it anymore. She’s going to have to figure it out.”

“What if she can’t do it without Dad?” Jenna asked.

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “But that’s not really my problem anymore. And it’s not yours either.”

Jenna wasn’t so sure. Shouldn’t they do more to make sure their mother wasn’t drinking? To get her to an AA meeting? To make sure she was taking care of herself now that their dad was gone?

“What about the house?” Jenna asked.

“What about it?” Kate continued folding a pair of trousers.

“Can Mum afford to stay here?”

Kate looked up. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Dad paid off the house two years ago,” Kate said.

Jenna couldn't hide her surprise. “How did he manage it?”

“Took the savings and paid it off last year,” Kate said.

“He had savings?”

Kate sighed. “Yes, he had savings. Not a lot. But enough to pay off the house.”

Jenna’s thoughts turned to the key card and passport her father had been carrying when he’d been killed. Had he been planning to leave their mother? Is that why he’d paid off the house?

“You don’t think that’s strange?” Jenna asked.

“Why would it be strange?” Kate sounded exasperated, the way she always did when Jenna was being too practical. Too tiresome.

“I don’t know… I just know Dad didn’t have a lot of extra money.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said, meeting her eyes. “At some point you’re going to have to stop trying to take care of everyone, Jen. Dad paid off the house. Mum will be fine. Isn’t that all that matters? He’s dead.”

Tears stung Jenna’s eyes. Kate had always been too blunt, her edges so hard Jenna sometimes felt bruised from rubbing up against them too closely. She admired the quality in her sister at the same time she loathed it. How wonderful to say whatever was on your mind. To think only about yourself without a bit of guilt.

But worrying about everyone and everything was in Jenna’s nature. She didn’t know if she was capable of thinking only of herself, and she was more than a little afraid of what would happen if she did. Worrying about everyone else kept her too busy to worry about herself. Allowed her to avoid getting her own act together, figuring out a way to have a life that was more than just her and Lily. Hold out for a better job, maybe a man who could love them both.

An involuntary shudder ran through her, as if her whole body was rebelling against the idea. Farrell was too close after their conversation at the funeral. She could still smell him, still feel him. Her whole psyche was in revolt at the thought of anyone touching her but him, and yet nothing had changed. She would have to find a way to move on, really move on, eventually.

“What will you do when you go back to New York?” Kate said, changing the subject.

“Find another job,” Jenna said. “Get back to my life.”

“And is there a lot of excitement in your life?” Kate asked.

Jenna expected Kate to be smiling when she met her eyes, but her expression was entirely serious. “What are you implying exactly?”

“I saw Farrell at the funeral,” she said. “I assume you saw him, too.”

“What of it?” Jenna asked, folding the top over the box, avoiding Kate’s eyes.

“If you’re not going to tell him about Lily, don’t you think it’s at least time to move on?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Jenna said, “I have moved on. I live an ocean away. Until two days ago, I hadn’t talked to him in five years.”

“Really, Jen?”

Kate’s tone forced Jenna to meet her eyes. “What?”

“You work and you take care of Lily. Don’t you want something more? How long has it been since you’ve had a good shag?”

She said it with such an utterly serious face that Jenna burst out laughing. Leave it to Kate to distill everything to a quick shag, as if that would solve all Jenna’s problems. As if having sex with someone other than Farrell would banish him from her heart and soul.

As if it were that easy.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Jenna said, taping the box. “But if you must know, I haven’t slept with anyone since I had Lily.” She hated how prim she sounded.

Kate burst into laughter. Jenna looked at her sharply, watching as she fell back on the floor, holding her stomach the way she had when they were kids and Jenna tickled her mercilessly. Jenna leaned back on her elbows, waiting for Kate’s hysteria to subside.

“I’m happy I can still amuse you, Kate,” she finally said.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said, still catching her breath. “It’s just that you’re the only person I know who would leave a man, then hold a torch for him for five bloody years. And you’re definitely the only person I know who can go five years without a shag.”

Jenna’s face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s been a choice. I wanted to focus on Lily. On making a good life for her.”

Liar,
a voice whispered in her head.
You didn’t want anyone else to touch you. As if that would somehow make him farther away. As if it would make your separation more permanent.

More real.

“That’s all well and good, Jenna, but your fanny is going to grow over if you don’t get a pecker in there soon.”

“Kate!” Jenna admonished. “Must you be so crass?”

She regretted the question as soon as she asked it. How was it that Kate could still make her feel like the boring, uptight older sister?

“The truth isn’t crass,” Kate said, standing and brushing the dust off her bum. “It’s simply the truth.”

“Well, I don’t need commentary on my love life,” Jenna said. “Live your life and let me live mine.”

Kate bent to pick up the box. “Whatever you say. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do I,
Jenna thought as Kate left the room.
So do I.

“
M
ummy
, what’s wrong with Gran?”

Jenna knocked on Mrs. Hodges' door, then looked down at her daughter. “She’s eaten something bad, something that made her sick.”

Jenna hated herself for lying, but she hated her mother more for making her feel like she had no choice.

They’d had a good day. She’d taken Lily to the movies, wanting to escape the house and the memories, and most of all, the thoughts that ran in circles between Farrell Black and the strangeness of the passport and key card that had been sewn into her father’s jacket. After the movie, Jenna had taken Lily on the Eye, then to the Stamford Larder for cupcakes and hot cocoa. Lily had been tired and happy on the tube home, leaning on Jenna’s shoulder, her hands still a little sticky and smelling of sugar.

But Jenna had known things were about to go off the rails as soon as they stepped into the house. Her mother was sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle of gin on the table next to her. Their entry into the house had jolted her out of her stupor, and she stood quickly, trying to maintain a look of control before she dashed for the bathroom. Jenna knew from the sound of things that she hadn’t quite made the toilet. She’d turned around right then and come to Mrs. Hodges' flat.

The door opened and Mrs. Hodges’ face broke into an easy smile. “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite girls!” She took a step back and opened the door wider. “I’ve just put the kettle on. Come in.”

She was a small woman, somewhere between the age of fifty-five and seventy, with bright brown eyes and a still-lithe frame that she draped in loose trousers and patterned tunics. She smelled like tea and patchouli, a combination that was almost as calming to Jenna as Mrs. Hodges' quiet wisdom and capable hands. Her husband had died when Jenna and Kate were small. Jenna didn’t remember him, but she had a sense of him, of bushy eyebrows over warm eyes, a jacket with patched elbows, and a soft, deep laugh that made Mrs. Hodges smile.

Jenna led Lily into the flat, hyper aware of Lily’s tiny hand in hers. It was her job to shield Lily from the ugliness of the world, a job that only seemed to get harder since she’d come back to London. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, but would it be okay if I leave Lily here for an hour?”

“Of course,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Gran’s sick!” Lily proclaimed.

“Is she now?” Mrs. Hodges cast a sympathetic glance at Jenna before turning her eyes back to Lily. “You best stay here a bit then while your Mum helps out.”

“Are there biscuits?” Lily asked.

“Don’t be rude, Lily!” Jenna admonished with a smile.

“Oh, psh!” Mrs. Hodges said. “My home is Lily’s home.” She looked down at the little girl. “And of course there are biscuits. What kind of establishment do you think I’m running?”

Lily grinned, although Jenna was pretty sure the humor was lost on her.

Mrs. Hodges' eyes darkened with sympathy as she turned her attention to Jenna. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She forced a smile and kissed Mrs. Hodges’ cheek. “You’re doing it by keeping Lily.”

“That is my pleasure.” Mrs. Hodges took Lily’s hand. “Shall we retire to the tea room?” she asked formally.

Lily giggled. “Yes!”

“Well, there you go,” Jenna said, bending to kiss Lily’s soft cheek. “The queen has spoken. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t hurry on our account,” Mrs. Hodges said. “A proper tea cannot be rushed.”

Jenna had to fight the urge to stay. To ignore the fact that her mother was, at this very moment, throwing up in the bathroom at home. That Kate had work at the pub and then plans with friends, which meant Jenna had no choice but to deal with it if she hoped to take Lily back to the house.

“Thank you,” she said, stepping out into the hall.

She waved goodbye to Lily, watching her small face disappear as Mrs. Hodges shut the door. Then she took a deep breath and walked home.

She went to the linen closet first, choosing two washcloths and two towels. When she got into the bathroom, her mother was kneeling on the tile floor next to the toilet.

Jenna stepped over the vomit in the doorway and tapped on her mother’s knees. “Lift up, Mum.”

Her mother moved a little, and Jenna put one of the folded towels down so her mother’s knees wouldn’t hurt while she rid herself of the alcohol that was poison to her body. Then she set about cleaning up, giving her mother one warm washcloth for her face and mouth while Jenna mopped up the mess with the other one. When it seemed like her mother was done, she helped her to bed, pulling up the old coverlet around her shoulders.

“Sorry, love,” her mother murmured as she closed her eyes.

“It’s okay, Mum.” She pushed a lock of hair back from her mother’s forehead. “Just rest. I’ll leave you some aspirin and water.”

Her mother’s breathing immediately settled into a quiet rhythm. Jenna went back to the bathroom, disinfected everything, dried it with the second towel, and got in the shower. She leaned her forehead against the tile wall, letting her tears mingle with the water streaming down her face.

She’d learned to cry in the shower when Lily had gotten old enough to understand that tears meant something was wrong. It was the one place Jenna could cry without worrying her, and she’d become practiced at holding in her pain until she could be alone in the bathroom, steam fogging the mirror, swirling through the room like smoke. Now she let loose all her sadness and loss, all her fear and uncertainty about the future. Sobs wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach like they would somehow protecter her from the assault of the past.

The water was growing cool by the time she felt emptied enough to step from the shower. She wrapped herself in one of the old, thin towels stacked on a shelf in the bathroom and went to her room where she put on yoga pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. She felt raw, her nerve endings too close to the surface of her skin. She was too exposed, dangerously vulnerable, and she reached for her father’s old sweater and layered it over the T-shirt, wanting as many layers between her and the world as possible.

It had been a little over an hour since she left Lily at Mrs. Hodges'. They would still be having tea, maybe playing a game. She could afford to take half an hour to compose herself before she went back for Lily.

She went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine left over from the wake. They probably should have removed it from the house, but the truth was, it didn’t matter. If their mother wanted to drink, she would drink, and nothing would stop her. She hadn’t even been drinking wine tonight.

Jenna sighed into the empty room and filled a wine glass half full. She took a long drink, then stared at the burgundy liquid, trying to imagine it having such a hold on her that she would sacrifice everything. Her husband. Her dignity. Her hopes and dreams. Her children.

She couldn’t. She’d dodged that genetic bullet, as had Kate. She would have to be careful with Lily. Explain the predisposition when she was old enough to understand.

She took another drink of the wine, rolling her shoulders as the alcohol seeped into her bloodstream. She felt better, calmer, and she went to the fridge and looked at the stacks of food brought by friends and neighbors. Nothing sounded good, and she was closing the door when the bell rang.

She debated not answering. It was probably someone checking on them, making sure they were holding up okay, maybe even bringing more food. She didn’t have the energy to smile and reassure anyone that she was okay. That they would all be okay.

She headed to the front of the house when the bell sounded again. Her mother was asleep, and she would have to pick up Lily soon. She didn’t want one of the neighbors to see her leave and think she’d been hiding from them.

But when she opened the door it wasn’t a neighbor or family friend. It was Alexander Petrov.

“Hello,” he said, holding up a brown paper bag with a sheepish smile. “I thought you might be running out of shepherd’s pie.”

A wave of complex spices drifted to her from the bag, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Indian food?”

He nodded. “Good nose.”

“How nice,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “John was with us a long time. It’s important to us — to me — that his family is all right. Also, I didn’t get to speak with you at the wake.” He shifted on his feet, and she realized he was attractive. Not in the primal way that Farrell was attractive but in a nice way. “Although if you would rather I leave it so you can eat in peace, there will be no hard feelings.”

She hesitated. She needed to pick up Lily, and being alone with her father’s boss hadn’t exactly been in her plans for the evening. But the smell of the Indian food had risen her appetite, and the prospect of a little company didn’t sound half bad.

She stepped back to let him in. “I have to step out in a bit, but I think I can manage a quick meal. And although there is still plenty of shepherd’s pie in the fridge, I have to admit I’m rather sick of it.”

He smiled, displaying two charming dimples that made him look incongruously boyish in his expensive suit. “Terrific.”

She led him to the back of the house and unpacked the food. Then retrieved two plates from the cupboard. They made small talk while they dished, then took their food to the couch. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Jenna was surprised to find it wasn’t at all awkward. She wasn’t usually good at getting to know new people, and she often felt self-conscious, hyper aware of quiet even when the other person seemed perfectly at ease.

“How are you holding up?” he finally asked, his voice careful, like he knew he was pressing around a fresh wound.

“I’m okay most of the time,” she said. “Then I realize he’s really gone, and it’s hard all over again.”

He nodded. “I imagine that’s how it is. I hope with time it will become less difficult.”

“I hope so, too.” She paused before continuing. “I hadn’t seen him in five years. I’m ashamed of that now.”

“I’m sure you had a good reason.” There was understanding and not a bit of judgement in his voice.

“I have a daughter,” she said suddenly, surprising herself with the disclosure. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to bring her back to London, and dad was always working so…”

“He rarely took his paid days off,” Alexander said, looking down at his food as if the thought pained him. “From what I hear from the people who worked closely with him, he seemed happy, seemed to enjoy his job.” He met her eyes. “I don’t know if that helps.”

She tried to smile. “It does. I often wonder if he was happy.”

“I think for most people, happiness is something that comes and goes,” he said carefully. “Where we get into trouble is when we expect to be happy all of the time. That’s not how life works. I find I’m happier when I’m able to see the beauty in its unpredictability.”

“A lofty goal,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes.”

A couple more minutes passed before he spoke again. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but have the police learned anything about the night he was killed?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but his wallet was emptied, and his football ring was taken. The police have chalked it up to a random mugging.”

Alexander put down his fork and shook his head. “I don't know what the world is coming to. Danger seems to be found in the most unexpected places.”

She thought of Farrell, of his determination to make the world a safer place by heading violence off with more violence. It wasn’t difficult to see how he had come to the philosophy given the death of his own father, not dissimilar to the way Jenna’s father had been killed. Every day people were hurt and killed simply going about their business. It wasn’t fair.

“I know what you mean,” she said, forcing Farrell from her mind.

“And there was nothing else in his possession that would have made him a target?” Alexander said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

Jenna flashed to the passport and key card hidden in her father’s coat. Hardly sought after items for a thief. If he’d been hiding them, it had been for reasons of his own.

“Nothing,” she said. “He was a simple man, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, this isn’t the best neighborhood in London.”

“Nor the worst,” he said.

She smiled. “Now you sound like my sister.”

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she thought she felt a current of something like attraction ripple between them. It was gone a split second later, replaced by an image of Farrell as he’d loomed over her at the wake, the feel of his erection pressing into her belly.

“Well, I suppose I should be going,” Alexander said, standing.

“I’ll walk you out.” She was glad for the distraction of walking to the front of the house, of the niceties involved with handing Alexander his coat and opening the door. He stepped over the threshold, then turned and looked into her eyes. “Thank you for sharing your dinner.”

“Thank you for bringing it,” she said. “It was very kind.”

“There was at least some part of it that was selfish, I assure you.” He smiled a little. “Goodnight, Jenna.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

He shook his head. “Alex, please.”

She hesitated. “Alex.”

The name felt strange and unfamiliar on her tongue. She watched him descend to the sidewalk and get into a sleek car parked at the curb. She closed the door before he’d driven away, feeling oddly guilty, as if she’d somehow betrayed Farrell when she owed him nothing. Certainly not the celibacy she’d maintained over the five years they’d been apart. She was willing to bet he hadn’t done the same.

The idea turned her stomach. She couldn’t think about Farrell with anyone else. She assumed he’d been with other people — but it was one thing to know it and another entirely to imagine it.

She went to the kitchen and put away the food, turning her attention to the conversation with Alexander Petrov. His questions about her father’s death had brought forth the questions that had been lurking in the back of her mind. Her father had been to the local pubs at least a thousand times in his lifetime without incident. Had his death ten days ago really been a random mugging? Or was there a chance the killer had been looking for something?