Twice in a Lifetime (Carina) (4 page)

Sarah knew what she meant. That was what Granny called Liam. She was always adamant that Liam would come home at some point. For some reason, Granny still had a soft spot for him, even though he had done nothing to justify it. Sarah put down the phone and sat on the bed. Her pulse refused to slow. She didn’t know what she would have done if Granny had died. “She is fine,” she repeated over and over again, but it did not change the fact she was eighty-five. Sooner or later Sarah was going to have to deal with the inevitable.

And then she would be alone.

It was hard to breathe again. The massive room seemed too small. She concentrated on slowly filling her lungs. She was being stupid. She was nearly thirty; she was fine. When her grandma died, she would be fine. But she knew she wouldn’t. Her granny was her rock, the one person in her life that never failed her, never left her. Everyone else left, but not Granny.

Leslie said Sarah had intimacy issues, she never let anyone in, but thank God for that, if it hurt this much, and she would much rather be alone than be dependent on someone else for her happiness.

Sarah didn’t hear Liam come into the room. “Dinner is here.” He crossed the room to her. “Sarah, what is wrong?” He wiped away a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t even realised she was crying.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said. She turned away from him so he could not see the steady stream that was running down her face. Just her luck—she couldn’t remember the last time she cried and now she couldn’t stop. Trust her to do it in front of Liam.

“That seems to be your battle cry. You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.” He gently cupped her face in his hands.

“No, really, I am fine. I am tired—must be jet lag.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what is wrong,” he commanded.

His voice was so confident, his hands strong. It was easy to feel safe with him. Once upon a time, this was her safe place, in his arms. Nothing could touch her when he held her. He gazed at her with an intensity she could feel to the tips of her toes. His blue eyes had grown dark, almost completely engulfed by the dark pupils, leaving only a sapphire rim around the black centre. This was how he had looked right before he kissed her.

Her lips parted. Her muscles had memory she could not fight. Her body wanted to be connected to his. He seemed to feel it too or at least understand what she did not have the words to say. His head lowered to hers.

His mouth pressed against hers, hot and searching, his tongue teased her lips further apart, and she opened to him. She wanted to taste him and feel him. Her hands went to his sides and pulled him closer. She was desperate to close the space between them, and it had been too long. She heard a moan escape her. The dressing gown fell from around her shoulders and she did not try to pull it up. This felt right and utterly wrong: they were wrong together; she could never trust him, but their bodies fitted together as if they were made for each other.

Suddenly Liam pulled away. His breathing was ragged; she looked at him with a combination of shock and suspicion. Her mind registered a phone ringing from the other room. She pulled frantically at the dressing gown to cover herself.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself. Of all the stupid things she could do, kissing Liam took the cake. What was she thinking? She wanted to shout at herself.
He left you when you needed him most
. He was quite possibly the least emotionally available person on the planet. If she was going to work on her issues, it was best she did it with someone who would not leave as soon as things got hard.

“That is not going to happen again.” She said it for her own benefit. “Please don’t kiss me again. I am here because I want to help Sam.”

“Fine.” Something in Liam’s mind snapped at the mention of Sam’s name. Christ, why had he kissed her? His arms dropped to his sides, suddenly leaden. He left her sitting on his bed, and he didn’t turn back. He did not breathe until the door closed into place. Shit. He wanted to punish her, make her realise the bad choices she made, but when he saw her crying something strange happened. In that moment he did not want to hurt her; he just wanted to comfort her the only way he knew how.

Luckily she was kind enough to remind him of the point of all this. He would make her regret what she had done. But first he had to sort out the mess Sam had made. Sam had managed to fuck things up on yet another continent; he was almost prodigious in that respect. And now Liam was sucked into the cesspool. Like it or not he was stuck wading through a shit storm he wasn’t even sure he could handle. He had spent years cultivating friendships and securing allies and now he was going to have to call in every favour owed to him if he was going to save Sam’s ass. And why was he doing it? God only knew. He should have told Sarah a few home truths and sent her on her way. But apparently even after all the shit that had gone down between them, she still had some pull over him. But Christ was it tempting to let Sam go down; sort him out once and for all.

Liam put his hand against the cool wood of the closed door. Sarah Campbell was in his bedroom. She was in his bed. His entire adolescence centred around making that happen. Now she was there, but never had there been less chance of actually sleeping with her. The sixteen-year-old version of himself would not have been very happy with that result. The thirty-year-old version was none too pleased either, if truth be told.

Liam hesitated before he dialled his lawyer. He could not ignore the temptation to forget about Sam and let justice take its course. He tapped his fingers against the arm rest. He considered his options. There were a few ways this could play out. The easiest and most tempting was for him to do nothing. He would tell Sarah he did his best and she would be none the wiser. Or he could put himself on the line for a man he detested. The choice would be simple if it weren’t for Sarah, and the last remnants of Liam’s conscience. Sam deserved to be punished but he did not deserve to be killed.

“Hello, Sayid. I have a situation,” Liam said when his lawyer picked up at the other end.

Liam explained the circumstances in detail. Sayid told Liam he would make some enquiries and phone him back when he knew more.

Liam went into work and waited for his lawyer to phone. He used the time to research options for Sam and make phone calls. Sayid was the best corporate lawyer money could buy, but he did not have much cause to bone up on criminal law. Liam ran a hand through his hair and swore. It was a bloody mess.

Sayid did not phone back until after ten.

“How long does it take to locate one detainee?” Liam asked when he picked up the phone.

“A while when that detainee is being interviewed,” Sayid said.

“You mean being interrogated?” Liam asked, although he knew the answer.

“That is one way to put it. I would suggest the police would say they were helping him divulge pertinent information.”

“Save it, Sayid. Where is he now?”

“They are taking him to a police station.”

“Great. Send me the address. I will meet you there. I need fifteen minutes to speak to him. Make it happen.”

The police station was inhumanely hot, the only air conditioning being a free-standing fan. The heat served to heighten the intense smell of urine, while the fan played its part by making sure the scent reached everyone’s nostrils undiluted.

Sayid greeted the police officer, exchanged pleasantries, and offered the man a manila envelope. The officer opened the packet and counted the notes before he nodded and pointed to a corridor. “At the end.”

Liam walked to the end and looked into the cell. At first he could not see Sam. He was lying in the dark, his back to him. Liam could just make out his form. A presumably once white shirt was lying beside him, covered in what appeared to be dirt and dry vomit.

“Sam,” Liam said. When he didn’t stir, Liam called his name louder.

“And the torture begins,” Sam said. He sat up and slowly moved his legs over the side of the rusted bed frame.

Liam’s breath hitched when he saw him. He could not have been prepared for the change in his once best friend. Liam had seen plenty of addicts before, but he couldn’t remember anyone as ravaged by drugs as the shadow of a man in front of him. Sam was a pathetic sight. He reminded Liam of a mangy dog, beaten and left on the side of the road. His anger became laced with a strange sadness that he could not understand.

Liam couldn’t be sure how much of Sam’s appearance was down to withdrawals and how much was from years of abusing his body. Sam was the same height as Liam, but weighed at least three stone less. His cheeks were hollow and black circles encased his eyes. His short black hair was matted to his head. His arms were covered in the telltale blue ink of prison tattoos. They were layered, one on top of the other, bleeding into each other, creating the effect of one continuous stain on his limbs. And on his chest, scribbled above his heart, was the name “Sarah”.

Liam clenched his hands into fists, his anger rekindled. He didn’t care what Sam did with his life, but he was going to make sure he stopped dragging Sarah into it. “Fucking up in Scotland wasn’t grand enough for you.”

Sam smiled, but only half his mouth rose. He had appreciably less teeth than when Liam had seen him last.

“Sarah called you? Knew she would. She’s my doll, always sees me right.” He patted her name above his heart.

“Why can’t you fuck up on your own and leave her out of it?”

“You were always jealous of me. Not my fault she picked me, man.”

“You are pathetic.”

“Aye, but I got her. You got your money and your fancy job but you don’t have her. That’s what you always wanted, all that cash, and she picked me. Must have been pretty shit in bed for her to come running to me when it was done.”

Liam squeezed the iron bars between his fists until his hands drained of colour. “You are facing the death penalty. They want to kill you.” Liam thought of the expression about not wishing things on his worst enemy. He was looking at his, and he realised all the things he wished on Sam he had done to himself.

“Aye, so I’ve heard, but what can ya do? I’ve had a good run.”

“You’re just going to give up?” Liam shook his head. “That would be about right. You can’t even man up enough to try to save yourself. You’re pathetic.”

“Yep,” Sam admitted. He rubbed at the dark stubble along his chin. “But remind me again, who Sarah picked?”

“You mention her name again, and I will walk out of here and I will let you face a firing squad.”

“You still want her, don’t you? But you can’t have her. Because she doesn’t want you. You can get yourself all prettied up with your bullshit English accent and your Italian suits, but she will always know you are faking it. We all know who your mama is so you can stop pretending.”

Liam clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. He turned and walked away, and then he stopped as he remembered Sarah’s face, asking him for help. That had taken courage he hadn’t known she had. Slowly he turned back round. If it was for anyone else, Sam would be dead. “Do you want to die? Because if I walk out now you will.”

“Que sera sera,”
Sam sang. He was lying down again, facing the wall.

Liam took a deep breath. His legs itched to just walk away. Sam’s was not a life worth saving. He knew that; Sam knew that. But Sarah… Sarah didn’t realise that even if they managed to save him this time, Sam would just throw it all away. Because that was what addicts did. “This is how it is going to go down. I am going to see that the evidence against you is misplaced and you are released from here and sent to rehab in America. I have found a treatment centre with security to rival Guantanamo Bay. If you try to leave or even try to call her before the year is up, you have had it. Do you understand?”

Sarah woke up and glanced at the digital clock beside the bed – two fifty-seven. Given the blackened sky, it was safe to assume it was still the middle of the night, not two fifty-seven in the afternoon, but she felt as if she could have very well been asleep for an entire day. Her mouth felt as if it had been packed with cotton wool and her arms ached from having them stretched above her for hours. She fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table but gave up after she knocked it over along with what she thought was a stack of books. She searched in the dark for the dressing gown Liam had lent her but she was as successful with that as she was in finding a light. Finally she capitulated, and made her way to the door dressed only in her bra and pants. Liam would be asleep anyway and, even if he wasn’t, it was not as if he hadn’t seen it all before. Granted she was a lot younger and firmer then…

When she opened the door to the hall, she could finally see. City lights flooded through the glass doors that led to the roof terrace. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, but it was empty except for a carton of orange juice and a few bottles of wine. She got a glass of water, downed it, and filled the cup again before she returned to the living room. She should probably go back to bed to get adjusted to the time change but she wasn’t tired. She needed a book or a television. She looked around the room. Where was the telly? Even she had a telly. She found several remotes and saw speakers in the ceiling, but no television. No food and no telly—this definitely was not civilised living conditions. She reached for the control that looked the most like a television remote. When she pressed the power switch, a large screen dropped from the ceiling and sound filled the room. “Now we are cooking with gas,” Sarah said with a satisfied smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had time to sit and watch telly—no, that was a lie: it was when she was off sick. She had watched every chat show on every station. Good times. That reminded her—she hoped she had set her Sky Plus to record her shows.

She flipped through the channels, skipping all the news stations. She didn’t need to hear anything else depressing. She settled on an Arabic-speaking soap opera. She had no idea what the people were saying but it was the only thing on that could pass as entertainment. A swarthy man was pleading with a woman. She was wiping away a tear and looking off into the distance. He was a convincing enough actor to capture remorse even through the language barrier. But weren’t all men good at pretending to feel things? It must be encoded somewhere in the Y chromosome. “Don’t believe a word he says. They are all the same,” Sarah muttered to the telly before she turned it off again, and the screen rose into the recess in the ceiling.

She picked up her glass and went to the patio doors and looked out onto the terrace. A pool on the roof—who did that? New Liam apparently. She slid open the door and sighed as the warm desert air hit her skin. It had cooled off enough to be bearable but was still warm by Scottish standards. It was a revelation to not have to wear at least a jumper in the middle of summer. She looked around. The last thing she wanted was to be caught skinny dipping in Dubai, even if it was a private pool. They were bound to have a law against that and she had used her one “get out of jail free” card on Sam. She leaned over the rail to assess the situation. The building wasn’t overlooked. Satisfied no one could see her, she stripped off her underwear and slipped into the water. It was warmer than she expected, like a lukewarm bath.

Complete bliss.

She sighed with contentment as she sank deeper into the water until it splashed high around her shoulders. Now this was the life. If she had a pool on her terrace she would never leave her house, except to get food—a girl had to eat—or better yet, she would just hire someone to bring her meals until osmosis had drawn the last molecule of water from her body, and left her a happy, though dehydrated, wee raisin.

Suddenly the water lit up, illuminated by dozens of submerged lights casting a pattern of pale golden colour on the bottom of the pool. Before she could stop herself she screamed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

“Relax, Sarah. It’s just me,” Liam called from the door. Because he had turned on the outside lights, the shadow of the living room appeared darker, and all she could make out was the outline of his tall form.

“Geez, you scared me,” she gasped. She took large deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate.

“They say people that startle easily have a guilty conscience. What has you feeling so guilty, Ms. Campbell?” She could hear his smile in his voice.

She ignored his question. She sank even deeper into the water and hoped he could not see her clearly. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, I couldn’t find a light… And I may have broken your lamp.’’

“Honestly? That lamp was very valuable.”

“Really? I am so sorry. I will replace it.” She would have to add that to the list of bills. Her overdraft hurt again when she thought about it.

“No, not really, it came with the flat. You broke my heart—the lamp pales in comparison.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “Only one of us had a broken heart that summer and it wasn’t you. Nice try though, Liam.”

“Why do you assume you were the only one hurt?” Liam asked.

“Um…because you were the one who left. We spent the night together and the next day you left for Cambridge and never looked back. You never answered my calls or emails. You just left. Call me old-fashioned, but when a girl has sex for the first time, she hopes the guy will stick around…I don’t know…at least long enough for the sun to come up.”

Liam walked out of the shadows and stood by the edge of the pool. For the first time she could see him properly. He was still wearing the same suit he had been that afternoon. “Quit the martyr routine, Sarah. You bailed. It was you who gave up on us. We were supposed to be leaving together. It was going to be you and me but you got scared and begged off. Don’t put that on me.”

It was the same argument they had earlier; he was not going to give any ground, let alone see anything from her perspective. And as good as she was at verbal sparring, it was difficult to get the upper hand naked, especially when he was making no attempt to conceal his ogling. “Fine. I get it. I had one chance and I blew it. Is that how it works in your world? I made a bad choice, so I am dead to you. Fantastic. What a brilliant way to live your life.” She squirmed and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

“At least you are admitting it was a bad choice.”

“No, that is not what I said.”

“That is exactly what you said. Are you going to take it back now? You are great at taking back promises. It is a shame that breaking your word is not an Olympic event—you could medal in it.”

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. This was an argument that required more clothing, and less water.

“Fine what? Fine you admit it was a shit choice?”

“Fine as in, fine I said it. But it wasn’t a bad choice as much as it was my only choice.”

Liam laughed. It was a bitter sound lacking all joy. “Are you serious? How was that your only choice? You had a place at Cambridge with the man who loved you, always loved you, but your only choice was staying in a fucking council estate to take care of a drug addict.”

“I am not having this conversation now,” she protested.

“You sure as hell are. This conversation has been a decade in the making. It is not going to bloody wait.”

“I am not going to speak to you while I am naked and you are fully dressed.”

“Fine by me,” he said as he tugged at his tie. It came loose in one fluid movement. He tossed his jacket on a wooden lounger and then reached for his belt.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What does it look like I am doing? I am getting naked so we can finish this conversation.”

“Liam, stop it. For the love of God, just put your trousers back on.” She tried to look away but she was too intrigued by the sight of his taut torso. Even in the dim light, his muscles were defined by deep ridges. He had always been thin, but now he appeared to have no body fat remaining, just hard muscle and sinew. “I am warning you, I will not keep talking if your pants come off.”

“Well, that is great because so far all the excuses you have offered have been shite. Hopefully your listening skills fare better.” He tucked his thumb into his boxers and pulled them down just low enough for her to see the prominent V shape above his obliques.

Her face burned hot. Dear Lord, just when she thought the desert could not get any hotter. If that man was any sexier, he would need to come with a health warning.

“Fine, I will talk to you. Just leave your pants on.”

“Sarah, it is not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“That was a long time ago.” She forced herself to look him square in the eyes. She wasn’t sure she would be able to have a coherent conversation if he got any more naked. Just the memory of him was making it difficult to concentrate.

“And felt me before,” he continued.

“Again, that was a long time ago.”

“And tasted me before,” he drawled. “That one was a particular favourite.” He slipped his boxers off and dived into the pool before she had a chance to respond. He emerged seconds later, mere feet from her, wearing nothing but a cheeky smile.

Her breath caught in her throat. Smiling like that, with his hair dishevelled, he looked like her Liam. She stared at him mesmerised, transported to an earlier time, an easier time. If she could live in that moment she would. She had loved him so much, loved them so much. They were Liam and Sarah against the world. Together they had felt invincible. A sudden sadness nagged at her; it was like seeing the ghost of her long-lost love.

But it was an illusion.

No, Her Liam had been the illusion. He never was the person she made him out to be.

A tear slid down her cheek. She sank lower into the water, until her head was submerged so Liam would not see her crying. She could go years without crying and now twice in one day. She needed to get it together.

“Right, so what do you want to talk about?” she said through a painted-on smile. Fake it until you make it. That was what she always told her clients. She was going to take her own advice and pretend she could have a normal interaction with Liam despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Now that we are both naked you are ready to talk?” Liam asked. His grin deepened.

“I wasn’t going to be the only naked one.”

“Agreed. Things are always more fun when both parties are naked.” He made a point of stepping away from her so he could see her. She felt his gaze sweep over her, starting at her feet and then moving up, settling on her breasts, which she tried her best to hide under crossed arms. “I don’t remember you being shy, Sarah.”

Her back straightened involuntarily at the challenge. “It is hardly shy to not want to be naked in front of…” She searched for the words to describe their relationship. What were they? Not friends, not lovers, not anything to each other any more. “A stranger,” she settled on. It wasn’t true but it was the closest to truth she could get.

“Seriously, Sarah? Strangers?” He shook his head. “This stranger has seen you naked. This stranger has kissed and licked every inch of your body. This stranger knows the face you make right before you come. We aren’t strangers. Try again.” He did not try to hide his stare now. His gaze covered her, inspecting or admiring, she could not tell, but she could feel it hot on her skin, marking her.

Her pulse quickened; it beat impossibly fast like the frantic flapping wings of a hummingbird. “I have not seen you in ten years. And it is not like I can call you a long-lost friend after the way it ended.”

“It didn’t end, Sarah. You say it like you had no control. You ended it.”

She took a deep breath. Time had not healed that wound. “I gave up my place at uni. I didn’t break up with you. You dumped me. If you wanted it to work, we would still be together. Or probably not, seeing as you bailed the first chance you got. Maybe Sam did me a favour and let me see your true colours before I uprooted my life and moved to the other end of the country with you.”

A look of realisation washed over his sharp features, as if a puzzle had just been pieced together. “Why didn’t you come with me?” he asked pointedly.

“I told you then why I couldn’t go. Sam needed us. If he had not been arrested that night, I would have gone with you. You know that.”

“Try again,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“That’s not how it happened. You did not stay because of Sam, or because or your granny or any of the other excuses you gave that night. I spent years thinking you picked Sam over me, over us, but then I figured it out. I didn’t really get it until I saw you today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You ran before I could,” he said simply. “You made sure you ended it before I could hurt you.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better?” she scoffed. She slapped the water at her sides, forgetting her modesty. She was too angry to care about that. “Typical man,” she mumbled as she turned to make her way out of the pool.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her until she was facing him again. “Look at me, Sarah,” he demanded. “I am not your dad, or my dad, whoever the hell he was, or any of the other arseholes back home. I keep my word. When I told you for ever, I meant it.”

“Until you didn’t mean it,” she whispered, the words barely making it past her lips. She squeezed her lids shut and willed herself not to cry. Why did it still feel so fresh and raw? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t moved on. She had had other boyfriends. She had not pined away waiting for him, she had moved on, so why the hell would her eyes not get that memo?

“No, until you gave up,” he said. He wiped a tear from her cheek.

“I didn’t,” she insisted.

“You did, when you refused to come away with me. You gave up. It was always your choice, Sarah.”

“Why did it have to be all or nothing? Why couldn’t you have stayed?” His hand slid from her.

“Do you really need to ask that? You have a bloody PhD in Social Work and you have to ask me why I could not stay in Edinburgh? And while you’re at it, ask yourself why you always surround yourself with broken people. You need to be needed, Sarah. Needy people won’t leave you.”