The Braille Club (The Braille Club #1) (10 page)

Chapter 17

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Mono Zone XX and XY are somewhat cooler, the heavy perfume from the candles filling the space. Assignees sit and wait, each with their own expectations. Preoccupied, they are still acutely aware of their neighbours. Their hearing registers the breathing that ebbs and flows in the room. Only when the last chair slips into place will they hear what they’re all waiting for, unconsciously holding their breath as the sound of tinkling bells makes their hearts accelerate wildly, bringing the tension and anticipation to acute levels as the Patrons enter the room.

Marbella, 2012

Nick

Nick watched
Siena open her eyes. She seemed confused to find her husband at her bedside. Nick knew he needed to give her time. He was very angry—angry she hadn’t eaten, angry he hadn’t been there, but most of all angry some stranger was with her. Who was he?

As a psychologist, he relied on his training to help him get the answers he needed, and that kept him calm. He replayed the conversation with the stranger in his head, ashamed he had hung up. He had lost his temper; the phone had woken him early in the morning, the stranger explaining Siena’s collapse. Shaken, he’d tried to redial only to find the number withheld; this man didn’t like to be contacted, but he was with Nick’s unconscious wife, and it was seven-thirty in the morning. What the hell was going on?

Frantic with worry, he had called Siena’s cell phone, which rang out, adding to his mounting anxiety. His quick thinking meant he located the nearest hospital to the villa and confirmed Siena was there. It took six hours to get there, a journey he had no recollection of, before being directed to her room.

Whilst Nick was adept at understanding the complexities of his patients, his wife was often a complete mystery to him. He remembered Siena had arranged a meeting with the architect; Nick had wanted to postpone, delayed by work commitments. But Siena had persuaded him they needed to move forward, that she was perfectly capable of handling the meeting herself. He had reluctantly agreed, after all their project manager would be there to sort out any of the technical queries. Again he asked himself what the hell had happened. He gazed at his wife; she looked so fragile, but he needed answers.

“Siena,” he said gently. “How are you feeling? You gave me such a scare,” he said reproachfully.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Siena whispered.

“Honey, we’ve discussed this, you know you’ve got to eat,” he said tiredly.

“So stupid, don’t know why I didn’t, the day just got away from me…” she trailed off.

“Did you test your sugars that morning?” he asked accusingly.

“Nick, please,” she sighed. “I’m okay, I just need to rest, and then I’ll be good.”

Siena closed her eyes again, already drifting off, and Nick sighed in frustration; he wanted to ask about the stranger. He tried to get information from the previous hospital, but the nurse was unhelpful. Nick was unaware his abrupt and impatient manner riled many people, that the more unreasonable he became, the more people shut him out. He was used to the gushing platitudes of his broken and vulnerable patients, their complete faith in him to heal often misplaced and desperate.

He was meticulous in his appearance. His light brown hair was artfully messy, the silver coming through at his temples and mirrored throughout his beard, which was stylishly trimmed. His designer glasses framed intelligent grey eyes, while the slim fit suits he favoured complemented his lean frame. Nick Waters was a man who liked to be in control; he especially liked to be in control of his wife. He was way out of his comfort zone, and the stress was beginning to show.

Chapter 18

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Patrons stand behind their allotted chair. They each wear a soft, cream silk mask over their eyes, concealing only their upper face; the men are all clean shaven. They reach to pull the arms of the Assignee behind the narrow padded chair back. They lift the velvet cuffs, which hang from a hook at the top of the chair. Bells tinkle as they are snapped into place, and everyone in the room shivers in response. The Patrons’ minds fill with what they hope will be a winning performance; the Assignees tense expectantly as music floods the room, signalling the start of the game.

Marbella, 2012

Benedict

Benedict started with the villa, but it was a dead end, with no one home and no neighbours to question. He thought about leaving a note, but decided against it.

He did however have more success with Siena’s project manager. Benedict called him on some pretext concerning the drawings. Sam Wood assured him his clients were happy with the design but unfortunately Siena had been taken ill. He didn’t know much more, only that Mr. Waters was with her and he hoped to be in touch with Benedict in the near future. Benedict asked Sam to pass on his best wishes for a speedy recovery. He’d sent Matt a text from the hospital saying he was with Siena, and he would be back at the hotel later that day. He could barely get his head around the events of the last day or so.

Benedict decided he should return to the UK. His office would have more background information on the Waters; there was nothing more he could do here. On making the decision he felt happier; his emotions had been on a roller coaster since his arrival. Siena had awoken not only desire in him, but the ability to care, and Benedict realised he did care, he cared very much.

He found Matt at the pool and asked if they could sit at the bar. Matt nodded, shocked by Benedict’s appearance. Still in his crumpled clothes from the previous night, he looked exhausted. Matt sensed something was wrong, everything about his friend’s current state of dress confirmed it.

“Benedict, you look terrible, what’s happened?” asked Matt. Sitting down, Benedict filled him in on the night’s events. Matt looked stunned.

“That’s awful. God, I thought you were…you know, well, just staying at hers,” he said.

“That reminds me,” said Benedict. “What happened when you went to Siena’s? Why didn’t you warn me she was coming to the hotel, and why did you stay at her house?” His questions tumbled from his tired brain.

“Whoa,” said Matt. “Ben, when I got to the villa, another taxi pulled up and a couple joined me at the door as Siena opened it…I had no choice but to go in with them. Siena was very gracious, introducing me to Sam and India Wood. There was another man there as well, Antonio…” Matt frowned. “Sorry, I can’t remember his last name; he was the contractor, apparently.”

Benedict experienced a rush of disappointment. So they wouldn’t have been alone. Had he misread the signals?

“Why did you stay?” he asked.

“Well, because I felt sorry for her, and she’d invited me for dinner. Plus, India Wood begged me to stay, saying she would need the company with shop talk all night.”

“She had loads of food laid out and I don’t know, I got talking and eating, they were nice people, Ben.”

“What happened when Siena left?” he asked curiously.

“She said to enjoy the food, but not to rush and to let ourselves out, because she had an errand to run. The time flew by, to be honest. It was a bit of luck the Woods had ordered a taxi, but that other chap Antonio said he’d give them a lift, so I said a quick goodbye and grabbed their taxi. I didn’t tell you she was coming to the hotel because I didn’t know.”

Benedict gave Matt an edited version of his night with Siena, saying he’d gone to the villa because they’d argued, and he’d wanted to apologise, but had stayed discussing the project and was so glad he’d been around when she became unwell. Matt however was not so easily fooled; he had his own theories. Benedict was involved, and he sensed there was more to it.

“So what happens now?” said Matt.

“We go home,” said Benedict tiredly. “I’ve called the airline, and we are booked on an early flight tomorrow. If you can pack up, I’ll knock on your door in the morning.”

“What time?” Matt asked.

“Five a.m.”

Matt winced. “Okay, that means an early night for both of us.”

“Yeah, sorry…only flight available at short notice,” said Benedict apologetically.

Matt accepted the arrangements without complaint and Benedict mentally thanked him for his kindness; who in their right mind wanted to get up that early on a Sunday morning? He couldn’t believe the weekend was almost over. They’d been booked to stay till Monday but under the circumstances it was probably best they head home. Benedict was anxious to get back. They both ate an early dinner, and Matt, commenting on how exhausted Benedict looked, called it a night. They both slept badly and were silent on their journey to the airport; their flight boarded on time, and they land early morning. Benedict waved Matt off as he headed for the tube. Matt offered him a lift, but he declined, saying the tube was quicker.

An hour later, Matt was approaching his flat when his phone began to ring; he juggled his case to answer it.

“Hello, is that Matt?” said a voice.

“Eh yes, who is this?”

“Hi Matt, this is Nick Waters.” Then after a long pause, “Siena’s husband. Sorry, I realise we haven’t been introduced.”

Matt was completely lost for words.

Chapter 19

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Like any competitive environment, Patrons want to protect their techniques, sneaking covert glances at their neighbours as they reach out and touch their Assignee. In the darkness, they shudder with the promise to come; sensory devices hang on either side of the chair, the Patrons can choose one, two, or none. They must vary their routine, as it is the inventive Patron who catches their Assignee by surprise…their reward is a fast time and the sweet sound of the bell.

Marbella, 2012

Siena

Siena lay with her eyes closed and her heart racing. What had happened? How did she get to hospital? When she remembered Benedict, her heart pumped even faster; her stomach twisted. Nick was here. What was she doing? She loved him, didn’t she? Guilt and remorse flooded through her; Nick had been her saviour. Appalled and full of remorse, she couldn’t believe she’d betrayed him so easily; she hadn’t even put up a fight. She should have pushed Benedict away, tried harder, but God those sensations, those feelings. She’d never experienced anything like it, and never with Nick. Although her touch excited him, his touch of late had often left Siena cold.

Siena was in complete turmoil, what did Nick know? She wasn’t sure what to think about Benedict; he’d bewitched her, but she had to speak with him, and quickly. Nick was already pressuring her to answer his questions. She couldn’t put him off for much longer; she felt the panic rising and stifled a sob. Her life had been stable for the last ten years. She didn’t want to think about her past, she’d spent years in therapy because of it, and it’s where she’d met Nick.

But her mind started to drift.

I had just turned fifteen when my mother finally became pregnant. It was the happy ever after they had all been waiting for. When her second scan confirmed she was having a boy, it was the icing on the cake! My father was ecstatic, my mother overjoyed, but I was used to being an only child and was frightened of change. I didn’t want this baby and was unsettled by the thought of my brother’s arrival. I argued with my mother, angry with her for being tired. No longer as available to me, she was often asleep during the day. Our housekeeper stepped in to soothe me until it gradually got easier, then my mother and I reconciled, becoming closer than ever. Having got used to the idea, I was now looking forward to the baby’s arrival.

Almost in her third trimester, my mother felt better and we arranged a family outing, our first trip in our boat for ages. This was my father’s passion, when he wasn’t working that is, which seemed to me to be most of the time.

My mother was happily bustling about the kitchen making an early breakfast before we left for Marina Del Rey. My father kept a crew for the large yacht, and we set off, our destination being Catalina Island and dinner with friends. Depending on the weather, it would take six to nine hours before we would berth at Isthmus Harbour.

Sailing conditions were perfect, and we were almost halfway there when my mother began to feel unwell, complaining of fatigue. At my father’s insistence, she had gone to lie down. She felt a sleep would do her wonders, while my father and I remained on deck.

We worked together, loving the feel of the breeze on our faces. I had been sailing since I was a baby and was now a competent crew member. I was enjoying the sail enormously, an hour slipping by before I went to check on my mother.

Knocking gently on the door before I opened it, I saw my mother on the bed, wide-eyed and ashen, trying to sit up. Horrified at seeing the large pool of blood beneath her, I rushed to get help.

Terrified and weeping, my mother cried, “Oh my God, the baby—please help me, please help my baby.”

My father arrived and took control, trying to soothe his now hysterical wife. He called up to the deck, instructing the crew to turn the boat around and head back to Marina Del Ray as fast as they could safely travel. He also called my mother’s gynaecologist, whose professional voice calmed him, and an ambulance was arranged to meet us. Even with the engines on full power, it would take a good three hours or longer.

To me it felt like forever, and my mom had clearly started to have contractions. I held her, feeling helpless, as my mom cried in pain and panic. She knew at twenty-seven weeks this was dangerous for the baby.

Never a religious man, my father began to pray, making all types of deals if only his son would live.

The minutes seemed to drag by as the pain increased and my mother became more distressed. It was unbearable to watch. Shocked and frightened, I tried to soothe her by rubbing her back, silent tears running down my face. I was terrified…for my mother and the baby. My father took over after an hour and repeated the routine until at last we docked and rushed my mother to the hospital. She laboured for another six hours before giving birth to a baby boy weighing just over two pounds, tiny but alive and I was there again at the hospital with my mom and dad
.
They’d named my brother Leo and prayed he’d be a fighter. He was making steady progress. Already ten days old, the doctors were cautiously optimistic, although they told us it would be a very long road.

I’d told mom to wake me when she was leaving for the hospital. Dad had stayed with Leo, insisting my mother go home to get a proper sleep and shower. He was right of course; my mom had aged ten years in ten days. She couldn’t stop crying, but the nurses and doctors who worked in the neonatal intensive-care unit (NICU) gave her as much support as they could. My father was trying to stay strong, stay positive, and we’d both been grateful for his strong arms and unwavering strength.

I’d set my alarm for five-thirty in the morning, realising my mom wouldn’t sleep past six-thirty with the current routine at the hospital. Showering quickly, I’d gone downstairs to make Mom some coffee and a light breakfast. Her face was so drawn, and she’d barely eaten since the birth. The weight gain from pregnancy had suited her, and she’d been glowing; her body gaining a roundness that flattered her normally slender frame. She’d been so happy, humming to herself; I’d even caught her hugging herself. I smiled sadly; the mom who sat down at the table drinking her coffee was like a stranger to me. I knew she would want to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

“Mom, you need to eat something,” I pleaded.

Her gaze flicked to me as if surprised I was there. I knew thoughts of Leo consumed her.

“He’s so tiny, so vulnerable,” she whispered. My heart twisted with fear. “We need to get to the hospital, Siena; I can’t bear to be away from him.” She stood up from the table.
“Get your things, we need to leave,” her voice was shaky.

“Mom, you need your strength, just some toast, please?” I tried again.

She hesitated before snatching some toast from the table and pushing it into her mouth, but she couldn’t even swallow it. Rushing to the toilet, she vomited, the tears streaming down her face as her stomach heaved. I wrapped my arms around her as we clung to one another. I was crying too, horrible frightened sobs full of despair. My mom just held me as grief and fear, finally allowed its release, overtook us both. Slowly we got to our feet, my mom hugging me tight, then wiping my eyes before wiping her own.

“We need to go now. Leo needs us, and we need to be strong,” she said with a wobbly smile.

I remember nodding, too frightened to even speak, in case I broke down again. It seemed to take forever to get there, my anxiety mounting with my mom’s. At last we parked and headed into the hospital. It didn’t seem fair that the sun was out, and the sky was a perfect blue when everything in our world was so terribly black. As we approached the NICU and buzzed to get in, I started to pray. I prayed I’d be strong enough to get through it without crying, but nothing would prepare me for what was about to happen. As we opened the door to the unit my father appeared, his face ashen.

“What’s wrong?” my mother asked, her voice tinged with hysteria.

“It’s Leo, he hasn’t had a good night,” my dad replied.

Fear tore at me. “Is he sick?”

My dad didn’t meet my gaze as terror started to balloon in my chest.

“Noooo.” My mom rushed to his incubator. He was so small, all the tubes and wires around him; his eyes closed, his tiny hands all bandaged, he slept unaffected by the scary bleeping of all his monitors. My dad and I were right behind her.

“They think it’s an infection,” said Dad, his voice breaking as tears started to slide down his tortured face, his shoulders shaking slightly before he turned away. My big strong dad; I had to bite hard on my lip to keep it together. My mother was now as ashen as my father, and she collapsed into a chair beside Leo’s cot.

“They’ve put him on antibiotics,” said Dad, his voice a little stronger. “The doctors say the next few hours will be critical, but I know Leo is a fighter.”

We all gazed at him again; suddenly I could see how sick he was. He had been fine yesterday, kicking his little arms and legs around, making us laugh, but now he was still.

The fear rose again as I grabbed my dad’s hand and squeezed.

“Of course he’s a fighter!” But my words seemed hollow even to my ears.

We could all hear the panic in my voice; my mother seemed to go into shock. The hours of terror felt like days and eventually I got up to get them both some coffee. I felt so useless and angry; this gave me something to do, a distraction. That’s when I heard the first alarm, quickly followed by a second and knew instinctively it was Leo. By the time I got back to the room he was surrounded by medical staff, my mother screaming as my father dragged her out of the doctor’s way. Everything started to slow down and I stood, horrified, as they worked on Leo, the noise of the alarms was deafening; filling the room and my head till I thought it would explode; then, much worse—the silence.

It felt like somehow even my heart had stopped beating, the silence was so intense. The nurses and doctors were starting to move away from Leo, the nurse beside me silently crying. All I could feel was pain. It was so strange; I was finding it hard to breathe, and I remember staggering as I moved towards my brother and my legs buckled. I could hear someone screaming, not realising it was me. Hands helped me; blankets wrapped around me and still the pain and the awful, awful silence.

They took all the wires off him and wrapped him up. He looked like he was sleeping, his tiny face serene. My mother held him, then my father, then me, before I handed him back to my mom. He weighed nothing in my arms, and I could feel and smell his warmth and baby scent. I started to shake after that, until I felt my father’s arms locking me in a tight embrace. With my brother’s passing, our lives would be altered forever.