True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (35 page)

‘You should wait upstairs,’ I say at last.

Her forehead creases.

‘In my studio.  If he sees you as soon as he walks through the door, he’ll be off again.  I’ll get him to take a shower.  I’ll lock the front door and hide his keys.’

‘Hide his keys?’

‘A precaution.  That way, he can’t run.’

‘But locking him in?’

‘He’s done it to me.’

Fuelled by a last minute dose of nerves, she gets up and looks at the door.

‘I can’t do this.’

I hold out a hand.

‘It’s too late now.  He’ll either bump into you in the lift, or see you out on the street.’

‘But it’s going to be ugly.’

‘He’s your brother,’ I remind her, amazed at my sudden attack of resolve.  ‘You need him in your life and he needs you too, whether he knows it or not.  We’re going to sort this out together.’

I lead her up to the studio and leave her on the sofa.  As I make my way back downstairs, my heart thuds, my stomach flips over on itself and my legs threaten to collapse.  Coming to a halt by the window, I look out at the grey skies and will my body to behave.  Big Ben’s clock face tells me it’s a quarter past five.  I ruffle my hair, grab a cushion and lie down on the sofa.  I’ve barely got myself into position when I hear the key in the lock.  Holding my breath, I listen as the door opens, clicks to a close, and he places his briefcase and keys on the counter top.

I sit up slowly.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi back,’ he smiles.  ‘What have you been up to?’

‘I’ve just had a nap.  I’ve been painting most of the day.’

‘Shall I take a look?’

He motions to the stairs and I panic.

‘No.  No.  I don’t want you to see it yet.  I’m not sure about it.’

Pushing myself up from the sofa, I make my way over to him, waiting for him to take off his jacket before I step into his arms.  And oh God, I feel like Judas.

‘Jesus, what a day,’ he grumbles into my neck.  ‘I need some serious de-stressing.’

‘What’s been going on?’

‘The usual.  Negotiations.  Problems.  I’ve got a site visit on Monday.  There’s an issue down the river, one of those complexes.’

‘It’ll be fine.’

He draws away, smiling broadly.  ‘At least I’m here with you now.  I’m going to forget it all, drink some wine and fuck you good and proper.’  And then he frowns, clearly picking up on my unease.  ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure?  You’re shaking.’

‘It’s your effect on me,’ I lie.  ‘Go and take a shower.  I’ll make a start on dinner.’

‘Dinner?’  He laughs.  ‘You?  No way.  We’ll order something in.’

He kisses me gently.

‘Shower,’ I whisper, touching a finger against his chest.  ‘Now.’

I wait for him to disappear into the bedroom before I set about my preparations.  Grabbing the keys, I hide them in a drawer, adding my own set after I’ve locked the front door.  And then I make my way upstairs, silently urging Layla to follow me back down.  Within a couple of minutes, we’re seated on the sofas: Layla facing the window, me facing the stairs.  Eyes locked and imprisoned in a silent mutual panic, we wait.

At last, I hear the slam of a door, his unknowing movements upstairs.  And then footsteps.  He appears at the top of the staircase.  With his hair still wet, he’s thrown on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.  Expecting nothing, he begins to descend and as he moves, he slows, noticing the figure on the sofa.  His face clouds.  He falters half way down, holding onto the bannister, and then moves again.  Slowly, warily, like a cat on the prowl, his body tensing.

Unwilling to wait any longer, Layla gets to her feet and turns.

‘Dan?’  Her voice wavers.

He doesn’t answer.  Silence lies heavy in the air.  At last, he moves again.  Blanking both of us, he simply walks into the kitchen and helps himself to a bottle of water from the fridge.  Facing away, his shoulders hunched, he takes a sip.

I get up from the sofa.

Sensing a crackle in the air, a charge of electricity that seems to grow with every faltering step I take, I edge towards him.

‘Dan?’  Don’t touch him, I tell myself.  Whatever you do, don’t touch him.  He’s on the brink of lashing out.

He takes another swig of water.

‘You can’t ignore us.’

‘Can’t I?’ he asks, his voice expressionless.  ‘What’s
she
doing here?’

‘I came to see you,’ Layla explains quickly.  ‘I’ve just arrived.  Maya knew nothing about this.’

‘Really?’  He turns, glances at his sister, and from the look on his face, I’d say it’s pretty clear he doesn’t believe her.

‘Really,’ she repeats, visibly shaking now.

‘And you feel the need to tell me?’  He shifts his attention to my face.  ‘That says a lot.’  He surveys the counter.  ‘I’m sure I’ll get the truth out of the concierge.’

‘Okay.’  While my brain pauses to consider a spot of damage limitation, my mouth seems to have other ideas.  I can barely believe it when the entire truth comes tumbling out.  ‘I looked her up in Limmingham.  I got in touch with her but I didn’t organise this.  I just wanted to make things better.’

‘Well,’ he says quietly, his eyes darkening.  ‘You’ve just made things a whole lot worse.’

I have no idea what that means, and I’m not about to ask for clarification.  All I want is to put back the clock and undo my mistakes because my world is juddering beneath me.

‘You’ve kept things from me,’ I remind him.  ‘You’ve done things behind my back.’

‘I’ve never done anything stupid.’

‘Oh really?  What about Boyd?’

‘What about him?’

‘You didn’t back off when he told you to.’

‘Because I wanted him out of our lives,’ he growls.  ‘You’ve poked your nose into things that don’t concern you.’

‘Don’t blame her, Dan,’ Layla intervenes.  Coming forwards, she holds out a hand.  ‘Maya didn’t know I was coming here today.  I need to talk to you.  Sophie’s not well.’

‘And I’m not interested,’ he sneers.  ‘Get out of my home.’

I take a step towards him.  ‘Dan, she’s your sister.’

He turns to me, his eyes burning, and I realise he’s doing his level best to reign himself in.

‘I don’t care.  Get her out of here.’

‘No,’ I say firmly.  ‘You promised.  You said you’d get back in touch.  You need to talk to her.’

‘I don’t need to do anything.  I want her gone.’

‘She’s staying.’

‘Then I’m going.  Where are my keys?’

‘I’ve taken them.’

‘Don’t fuck with me, Maya.’

Reeling for a moment, I gather my wits and push on.

‘You’re not going anywhere.  I’ve locked you in.’

He scowls, takes a step forwards, and I flinch.

‘Is this your idea of a fucking joke?’

‘I should go,’ Layla interrupts.

‘No.’  Without taking my eyes from Dan, I remind her of our pact.  ‘I told you we’d see this through.  And Dan’s going nowhere until he’s talked to you.’

‘I’m not in the mood.  Give me my keys.’

His eyes harden.  He thrusts a hand towards me.  I stand my ground.

‘No.’

‘Now, Maya!’  He fires out the words.  ‘Give me the fucking keys.’

I shake my head, look down at the hand and realise it’s trembling.  My eyes travel upwards, taking in the fact that he’s tensed, breathing quickly, ready to erupt.

‘No.’

And then it happens.  In a split second, the self-restraint snaps.

Frozen to the spot, I watch as he turns, kicking at the door over and over again, lashing out like a madman.

‘Calm down,’ I yell.

Ignoring me, he carries on.

‘Just let him out,’ Layla pleads.  She’s by my side now, white-faced and shaking.  ‘He’s going to do himself some damage.  Let him out.’

‘Okay,’ I shout.  ‘I’ll get them!’

It’s enough to stop him.  Struggling for breath, he rests his forehead against the door before he turns.  His eyes meet mine, cold and resolute, and he holds out a hand.  I have no choice.  Retrieving the keys from the drawer, I hand them over.  Without another word, he leaves, slamming the door in his wake.

‘Oh God,’ I mutter, gazing into space.  ‘What have I done?’

‘Go after him.’  Layla’s voice stirs me.  ‘Go after him and sort it out.  I’d better leave.’

With tears gathering in my eyes, I give her an apologetic nod before I open the door and run to the lift.  Brushing off Beefy’s offer of help, and with my heart pounding in my chest, I push the call button and wait.  A couple of minutes later, I’m heading for the basement, staring at a pathetic, tear-stained face in the mirrors and wishing I could blot out the last few minutes.  But I can’t.

When the door finally slides open, I step out into a brightly lit garage and spot him immediately.  Down at the far end, he’s next to the motorbike, tugging his leathers out of a store cupboard.

‘Dan.’

I take a few faltering steps and come to a halt.  Either he hasn’t heard my voice or he’s simply ignoring me, because he doesn’t react.  Stony-faced, he slips his legs into the leathers and pulls them up to his waist.

‘Please don’t go,’ I sob.  ‘I’m sorry.’

Rousing myself into action, I take a few more steps.  I’m next to him now, so close I could reach out and touch him, but I daren’t.

Shrugging his arms into the top section of the suit, he fastens the zip.

‘Don’t blank me, please.’

With a shake of the head, he nudges his feet into the boots, leans down and buckles them up.  It’s not the reaction I want, but at least it’s a reaction of sorts.  Through blurred vision, I watch as he takes the gloves out of the cupboard and rests them on the bike, his face still inscrutable.  Whatever’s going on inside that brain of his, he’s obviously determined to reveal nothing.  The mask is firmly in place.

‘She’s gone.  Please come back upstairs.’

He reaches for the helmet and fiddles with the straps.

‘How did you find her?’ he asks.

I give a jolt.  So, he’s finally talking to me.

‘A birthday card.  You left it in the bin.’

‘Snooping.’

‘You snooped on me.’

At last, I get some eye contact.  He glances at me, dismissively, his eyes steely blue.

‘You shouldn’t have let her stay.’

‘She was desperate.  And you’ve got to face your past.’

He shakes his head.

‘You had no right.’

‘You block it out and you can’t go on blocking it out.  It’s not healthy.  You know that and I know that.’

‘I don’t need amateur fucking psychology.’

‘You need something.  What happened between you?  She doesn’t even know what she’s done.’

‘She’s done nothing.’

‘So it’s you then?  You can’t face her because she looks like your step-father.  You think you hurt her when she came to see you last year …’

I’m halted by his laughter.  It’s hard, mocking, hurtful.  And it chills me to the core.

‘You have no idea,’ he snarls.

I stand there, dumbfounded, watching as he puts on the helmet, and then the gloves.  I can think of nothing more to say.  Swinging his leg over the bike, he turns the key in the ignition.

‘Where are you going?’

He looks at me, and I can barely hear his reply above the rumble of the bike.

‘Who knows?’

Flicking down the visor, he revs the engine and pulls away, waiting for the garage door to open before he accelerates out onto the road, and takes a right.  I listen to the roar of the engine as he speeds off down the embankment.  I watch the door slide to a close … and then I sink to my knees on the concrete floor.

It’s Beefy who pulls me back to my feet.

‘You can’t stay here all night.’

I stare at him, touch the sweet pea around my neck, and decide to tell him that I just don’t care.  I
will
stay here all night.  In fact, I’ll wait for as long as it takes until that garage door opens again, and Dan comes to back to me.  But neither my mouth nor my body seem willing to co-operate with my brain.  In silence, I’m guided back to the lift, returned to the apartment and gently placed on a sofa.  Before long, I hear the familiar sounds of the tea-making ritual.

‘There you go.’

A mug appears under my nose.

‘Do you know where he is?’ I ask, stirring back to life.

I wait for Beefy’s answer, desperately hoping that Dan’s been in touch.

‘No.’

Disappointment spreads through me.

‘What’s the time?’

‘Just after six.’

My mobile.  Perhaps he’s texted me.  Leaving the mug on the coffee table, I shuffle over to the kitchen and dig the phone out of my handbag.  One message.  From Layla.

So sorry it didn’t work out.  I’m on my way home now. Let me know what happens.

I crumple back onto the sofa and gaze out of the window, trying to jolt my brain further into some sort of action.  I have no idea how long I spend like this, caught up in limbo, watching the evening shadows as they creep across the Thames.  It’s only when I turn my attention to the picture of Limmingham that the cogs finally begin to turn.  Is that where he’s gone?  Or has he decided to pay a visit to his old club?  I shudder at the thought.  No, he wouldn’t do that.  Surely not.  No.  In all probability, he’s down in Surrey, brooding on his own at the house.  I glance at my mobile, wondering if I should text him, and quickly decide to leave it.  After all, he’s clearly in no mood for communication.  In the end, I try the only alternative I can think of.  I call Lucy.

She answers immediately.

‘Yo!’ she chirps, full of the joys of spring, oblivious to the chaos in my life.  ‘How’s it going?’

‘Not good.’  Out of nowhere, a sob escapes from my throat.  ‘I’ve had a massive fall-out with Dan.  I’ve been a complete idiot.’

‘What have you done?’

I groan.  There’s no way I want to go into that.  I just need to know where he is.

‘Is Clive there?’

‘Of course.  I’m at his house.’

‘Can you put him on?’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Just put him on.’

I hear the sounds of a muted interchange, then Clive’s voice takes over.

‘Maya?’

The words stumble out through a torrent of tears.  Careful not to mention the reason, I inform him that we’ve had a row, that Dan’s taken his bike and disappeared.  I tell him that I just need to know where he is, that he’s safe.  He agrees to make a few calls, promises to get back to me, and he’s gone.  Wrapped in a fog of anxiety and clutching the phone, I wait for news, giving a start as soon as the ring tone kicks into life.

‘I called Norman,’ Clive begins.

‘Is he at the house?’

‘No.’

‘So where the hell is he?’

‘No idea.  I’ve tried texting him.  No reply.  I’ve called Lily.  He’s not round her place.’  He pauses.  ‘Maybe he’s just gone for a ride.  What time did he go?’

‘A couple of hours ago.’

A brief silence ensues, and I fuddle my way through the new information.

‘That’s not too long,’ Clive reassures me.  ‘Listen, he’s probably just holed up in some biker café.’

Or he
has
gone to the club, and he’s at it right now, getting exactly what he needs from another woman.  Awful visions cross my mind.  Shit, have I really driven him to that?  It’s the last thing I want to know, but the first thing I need to find out.

‘He could be at Isaac’s,’ I suggest.

‘I doubt it.  Not after what happened the other day.  Was it really that bad?’

‘Yes.’

I listen to the sound of breathing.  God knows what’s going through his mind.

‘It’s too soon to do anything,’ he decides at last.  ‘Let’s wait another couple of hours.  If you haven’t heard anything by nine, I’ll go over to the club and check.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘Yes, I do.  And if he hasn’t turned up, I’ll come over to Lambeth.  Just stay where you are.  I’m onto it.’

I settle in for the wait.  Accepting a second mug of tea from Beefy, I suggest it’s high time for him to knock off, but even though his overnight replacement is already outside the front door, he refuses, opting instead to sit at the counter and busy himself with his mobile.

Within half an hour, I hear the sound of a key in the lock.  Fighting off a sudden flash of nerves, I spring to my feet and hold my breath, bracing myself for yet another confrontation.  But as soon as the door opens, I realise it’s not about to happen.  Instead of Dan, I’m greeted by Clive and Lucy.

Ashen-faced, they enter in silence.

‘What’s going on?’ I demand before either of them can squeeze out a word.

Taking hold of my shoulders, Clive looks me in the eyes.  He’s preparing me for something.  I know it.  And from the concern on his face, I’d say it’s going to be unpleasant.

‘Norman called back,’ he says gently.  ‘The police have been to the house.’

My knees threaten to give way beneath me.  Thoughts dissolve into panic.  I’m steadied by Clive’s grip.

‘It’s Dan,’ he explains.  And then the words I’m dreading.  ‘He’s had an accident.’

***

I’m moving, constantly moving, but like a faulty radio, I’m lost in a world of distortion.  Every now and then, I tune back in: sometimes to reality, sometimes to a flicker of memory.  I’m in a car now, staring into the void of a London evening, registering a flash of light, the turn of a head.  And then the air buckles.  I’m back in his bed, cast adrift in those bright blue eyes but held safe beneath his body, knowing that this is exactly where I’m meant to be.  A wave of static disrupts the flow and I’m walking slowly, flanked by others, making my way through endless corridors.  In a stupor, I note the vapid green walls and zone out again, disembodied by interference.  And then the movement stops.

Gathering my senses, I look around, taking in a waiting room, a mishmash of chairs, a handful of vacant faces.  Betty pulls out a handkerchief and holds it.  Norman smiles at me, asks me if I’m okay, but I can’t reply.  My brain has disengaged, retreated in on itself, and I’m incapable of even the most basic response.  Glancing down at my hand, I realise it’s being held, look up again to find Lucy next to me … and pull my fingers out of her grasp.

‘Is he alive?’ I whisper, surprised that my vocal chords have finally managed to function.

‘Yes,’ she whispers back.  ‘Clive’s trying to find out what’s going on.’

And that’s all I can handle.  I zone out again.  I’m sitting in his arms, half-submerged in the sea, feeling his cheek against mine as I gaze up at an azure sky.  And now I’m at the top of the lighthouse, taking in the view, grounded by his presence.  The minutes unfold like this.  It could be ten.  It could be twenty.  Immersed in a constant slide-show of memories, I’m only wrenched back to reality by Clive’s voice.

‘Maya?’  Anchoring himself on my chair, he crouches in front of me.

I feel my lips move, hear my own voice ask a question: ‘What’s going on?’

‘He’s still in surgery.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘Pretty serious.’

My brain barely registers the information.  As if it means nothing at all, I stare blankly back at him.

‘So what happened?’ Lucy asks.

Clive shakes his head a little.

‘All I know is what Norman told me.  He was on the motorway.  The traffic slowed.  He didn’t.  He went into the back of a car.  The air ambulance brought him here.’

Suddenly, my lungs seem to shrink and my breath quickens.

‘Will he die?’ I ask.

‘No.’  Clive touches my hand.

But he doesn’t believe it.  I can tell from his eyes.

One by one, the blank expressions give way to emotion.  Betty raises the handkerchief to her mouth and lets out a sob.  Norman bites his lip, wraps a consoling arm around his wife’s shoulder.  Pushing himself back to his feet, Clive turns to the door and lowers his head, probably wiping away a tear.  Even Lucy seems to be on the verge of falling to pieces.  But me?  Nothing.  I’m numb.  Gazing round at these normal reactions, I wonder why I can’t be normal too.  The man I love is in trouble, and I can’t even cry.

‘He’ll be fine.’  Norman’s voice fills the room, trying to reassure us all, and then me in particular.  ‘Maya, he’ll be fine.’

‘He will,’ Lucy echoes, brushing my arm.

I stare out of the window, into the darkness.  I don’t know what else to do.  Closing my eyes, I zone out again, and I’m at Seven Sisters, held in an endless embrace.  And time expands beyond anything familiar, until it means nothing at all.

***

‘Maya?’

My name.  Someone’s saying my name.  I open my eyes, blink into the harsh light.

Lucy frowns at me.  ‘The doctor’s here.’

There’s a woman in the opposite seat now, dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a blouse, a lanyard around her neck.  I hear her ask for confirmation that there’s no family.  Dismissing Layla and Sophie’s existence, Clive gives it.  And then I watch as the doctor smiles uneasily, shifts slightly on her chair, leans forwards and launches into an explanation.

Desperate to make sense of what she’s saying, I watch her mouth, but my brain’s determined to scramble the information.  I catch only words, snatches.

‘There’s been some internal bleeding.  We’ve managed to stop it … multiple fractures … right arm … both wrists … both legs … ribs … collar bone … his right leg’s pretty badly damaged.’

‘But he’s going to pull through?’ Clive asks.

Finally, I manage to concentrate.

‘In some respects, he’s been incredibly lucky,’ the doctor says.  ‘No neck or spinal injuries.  The internal injuries weren’t extensive.  But …’  She takes a breath and then she’s quiet for a moment.

There’s something more.

‘But what?’ Clive demands.

‘We’re concerned about a swelling on the brain.’

‘He was wearing a helmet.’

‘Which made a huge difference.  But with a collision at this speed, a helmet can never be one hundred percent effective.  It could have been a lot worse.’  She pauses, catching each one of us with a reassuring smile.  ‘He’s being moved to intensive care.  He’ll be put into an artificial coma for a few days.  It’s standard procedure in cases like these.  And then we’ll monitor him closely.’

I’m picking back over the details of what I’ve just been told, recalling what I can, when guilt strong-arms its way into my head.  Like a loud-mouthed bully, drowning out everything else in the room, it simply refuses to leave.  I glance at the familiar faces, realising that they’re suddenly loaded with sympathy … and they’re all fixed on me.  Moving automatically, I get to my feet.  All I know is I need to get out of here, away from these people, because I don’t want their sympathy, and I certainly don’t deserve it.  Leaving the waiting room behind, I make my way down a corridor, passing strangers, aware of shadows, shadows everywhere.

‘Maya.’  Fingers curl around my arm and I’m halted.  ‘Where are you going?’

I look up into Clive’s face.

‘I just need some space,’ I lie.

He studies me for a moment, and then he wraps me in his arms.  It feels wrong and it smells wrong, but this one act of tenderness opens up the flood gates.  Before I know it, I’m sobbing into his shirt, pouring out a guilty confession.

‘It’s all my fault.  I caused this.’

He pulls back and examines my face, frowning in confusion.

‘The row,’ I explain.

‘What about it?’

I blink away the tears.

‘His sister.  Layla.’

‘Layla?’  The confusion deepens.  ‘What’s happened?’

I blurt out my story, the whole thing this time.  Utterly convinced that I’m making no sense at all, I give him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

‘I should have asked her to leave,’ I round off.  ‘But I couldn’t.  She was desperate.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘It is.  You should have seen him, Clive.  He was furious.  He wasn’t thinking straight. That’s why he crashed.  It’s all because of me.’

‘Don’t,’ he says firmly.  ‘Don’t blame yourself.  He’s been riding bikes for years.  Whatever mood he was in, it wouldn’t have caused this.’

I shake my head.  He’s just trying to make me feel better.

‘Seriously,’ he insists.  ‘When he’s on his bike, he doesn’t think about anything.  He’s told me that before.  He just concentrates on the road.  That’s probably why he took it in the first place.  To clear his head.  It wouldn’t have affected him, I promise you.’

I sob a little more.