Just between us, p.33
Just Between Us, page 33
‘You think I’m suited?’
‘Mind of a criminal. Attention to detail. Tough as old boots. You’d be perfect.’ I can’t tell if she’s joking.
‘I’m meeting Daan next. We didn’t get to talk the night of the rescue. I asked to speak with him because I owe him my thanks and apologies.’
‘How do you think he’s going to react?’
‘Well, obviously he must hate me.’
‘There’s nothing obvious about Daan Janssen,’ says the DC with a soft smile. I realise that she too has fallen for his irresistible charm. It smarts, knowing that this man who everyone desires on some level or other was once mine.
‘He’s very proud. I’ve taken a sledgehammer to his ego, publicly. He’ll never get over the humiliation. He’ll never forgive me.’
‘Well, there is a school of thought that says if you get all your shit out in one day, at least it’s over and done with,’ says Clements.
‘Do you believe that?’
‘No, not really. I think every day can be pretty shit, and it’s impossible to get it all out ever.’ She looks at me with curiosity, or pity, or something else that makes me uncomfortable. I must seem very frivolous to her, a woman who spends her days tracking down society’s stains: drug dealers, paedophiles, murderers. ‘Well, good luck. And goodbye for now. There will be paperwork, family liaison officers. We’ll be in touch.’
The DC opens the car door and dashes out into the rain, off to make the world a tiny bit better.
64
Kylie
Daan messages me and says that he won’t meet me in my car in the hospital car park; it’s too depressing. He says he’ll be at the Pig Hotel in Combe. I’m not due to visit Seb until tomorrow, so I drive to the Elizabethan manor house that has been converted into a luxurious hotel with a relaxed twist on a private members’ club vibe. It smells of lilies and roses, and there is a long, glamorous bar behind which bottles of every colour and shape imaginable shimmer temptingly. He’s arranged for us to have private use of the salon that is known as the library.
‘Coffee or cocktails?’ he asks after politely kissing me on both cheeks. I know this is not a sign of any particular affection, just an automatic greeting that he rolls out for everyone. Still, I take advantage of the moment; I breathe him in, lean into the essence of him. Drink it up while I can.
‘I’ll have an Americano,’ I tell the smart, earnest young man who is hovering close by, keen to take our order.
‘I’ll have a Bloody Mary, and don’t be shy with the Tabasco,’ says Daan. He glances my way, his eyes communicating the fact that he thinks my choice is duff. He always thinks he can make a savvy guess at what a person might like or need, better than they can themselves. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me?’
He’s right, I do want a Bloody Mary. ‘Make that two. Cancel the coffee,’ I tell the waiter.
We sit in silence for the guy to return with the drinks. I stare at the open fire. As it crackles and pops, I realise that the silence isn’t awful. It’s surprisingly comfortable considering the magnitude of the conversation that is brewing. Somehow, the familiarity between us trumps the awkwardness at a profound level. Being comfortable has stayed out of reach for me this past week; I’ve shuttled between hard visiting chairs in the hospital and the lumpy bed in my B&B. Now I fall back into the deep sofa, allow the warmth of the fire to soothe me, and choose to wallow in Daan’s company for the last time.
I allow myself to remember our beginning. A lean, tanned, blonde stranger. A slow smile from a coiled, ready-to-spring man wearing a crisp white shirt, a dark blue tailored suit. He offered me a roach and I took it, my first time. The rules were thrown out of the window. Tall and powerful, he was easy to follow. There was a glamorous rooftop bar and an instant, urgent sexual attraction, the sort that is as uncommon as hen’s teeth and as coveted as the elixir of eternal life. He sparkled. He climbed inside me mentally. Then physically.
The drinks arrive, snapping me out of my reminiscing. We clink glasses, the automatic gesture of people who have been familiar with one another’s company for four years. Neither of us is stupid enough to ask what we are drinking to. He waits. He might have chosen the venue, but I called this meeting in the first place, and naturally he wants to hear what I have to say.
‘I wanted to thank you.’ My voice scrapes in my throat. It’s not reluctance – I want my thanks to be full and sincere – but I’m struck once again by how awfully everything could have ended.
‘What for?’
‘You came to find Seb and Oli. You were prepared to be arrested to save them. You are fearless, and your fearlessness saved them and me. Thank you.’
He waves his hand nonchalantly, as if to say it’s nothing, but I see pleasure shoot through his face for a fraction of a second before he manages to pull it under control. He loves being praised; he just doesn’t like anyone knowing he needs validation.
‘I simply wasn’t prepared to go to prison,’ he says. ‘I did scramble around for alternatives and I pursued those avenues as ruthlessly as it was possible, remotely through your sons. I didn’t plan to come to the UK. If I could have avoided it, I would have.’
‘You were fearless and I’m grateful,’ I insist.
‘I was driven; don’t confuse that with fearless. I was bloody terrified. Initially terrified that I would go to prison for your murder. Then terrified that I had embroiled a pair of kids and put them in danger.’ He takes a sip of his drink and then adds, ‘They’re good kids.’
‘They are.’ His refusal to allow me to flatter him acts as a solid wall that repels intimacy. ‘Well, thank you anyway. Whatever the reason, the fact is your unremitting determination won the day. I’ve always loved that about you.’
His eyes dart to meet mine. They are challenging, accusatory. Bringing the word ‘love’ into our conversation is a pushy move. I didn’t plan on doing so. It just slipped out. He stares at me for a second, and then throws his head back and laughs.
‘You’re the fearless one, Kai. I’ve never met anyone so damned plucky. I can’t say that I’ve always loved that about you, though.’
‘Oh.’ I fight the pinch of disappointment.
‘I’ve only just learnt it about you.’ That is so Daan. I was hoping that he would throw a compliment my way to match the one I gave him. I thought I wanted him to say I’ve always loved that about you too. But his revelation that he’s learnt something new about me is a bigger and better response. He is always in some way bigger and better than I can imagine. That is why I ache for him. And probably always will.
It hurts too much to give space to my longing. Instead I decide to ask his opinion on something I’ve been wondering about. ‘Why did Fiona set you up? It seems especially spiteful and complicated. Wouldn’t she have been better just leaving the case open? It would have been less risky. By trying to frame you, she provoked you into discovering her guilt.’
‘She hates me.’
‘Because I betrayed Mark for you?’
He laughs out loud again. I’m surprised at how joyful he seems. ‘It’s not always about you, Kai. She hates me because I betrayed her.’
I burn a little. ‘What?’
‘I had sex with her when you and I were married.’
‘I see.’
‘She didn’t know I was married and was not pleased when she found out.’
‘Right.’
‘Sorry.’ He shrugs.
I take a big gulp of my Bloody Mary. ‘Erm, just processing, but sorry for which bit exactly?’
‘All of it. I’m sorry that I was part of what made her so fucking mad and sorry that I wasn’t faithful to you.’
‘OK.’ I wasn’t expecting this.
‘There were a couple of other women. When you were away supposedly looking after your sick mother.’ He rolls his eyes at this. ‘I didn’t have a harem, but you know …’ He breaks off, preferring not to have to articulate his need for variety, or simply his lack of discipline.
‘And here was I thinking our sexy phone calls and access to porn might be enough,’ I say. He shrugs. He doesn’t think I’m owed any further explanation, which I suppose is true. ‘It’s almost a relief,’ I admit.
‘What?’ Now it is his turn to look surprised.
‘Well, I’m no saint. Obviously. This sort of evens the score a little bit.’
‘You are unbelievable.’
‘Good unbelievable or bad unbelievable?’ And I can’t help it, I look at him and I know my eyes are glinting with a hint of flirtation, a hint of hope. Because there is, isn’t there? There is something here I didn’t expect or even dare hope for; there is the faintest murmur of a possibility.
‘I don’t know yet,’ he replies carefully. ‘OK, so it’s your turn.’
‘I did come here to apologise.’
‘Obviously.’ He waits.
‘I’m sorry.’
He takes a big, theatrical gulp of his Bloody Mary. ‘Erm, just processing, but sorry for which bit exactly?’
I can’t help it; I laugh out loud too now. Despite all the pain and suffering, the fear and danger that I’ve seen, hearing him play my words back to me is just funny. Life is marvellous that way; there is always hope. ‘All of it,’ I declare. ‘I’m sorry for the whole damn messy business and yet for none of it, because I wouldn’t have missed out on my time with you, not for the world.’ This comes out in a gush.
He stirs his drink with his celery stick and considers what I’ve just admitted.
‘You are the most complicated person I have ever met.’
‘I’m sorry about that too.’
‘I’m not. Well, I am a bit. I mean, I’d like a somewhat quieter life, but I’m not entirely averse to your complications. I’ll say that for you, Kylie Gillingham, you are never dull.’
Am I hearing this properly? I hardly dare ask, but it would be the biggest mistake of my life if I let this possibility of a possibility disappear. ‘Is there anything still?’
‘Yes. There is something.’ He leans forward and tilts my face to his. ‘You know, point of interest: you haven’t asked my forgiveness.’
‘I didn’t want to ask in case you don’t give me it,’ I admit.
‘Very wise. You can get the next drink in, though. You do at least agree you owe me a drink?’
‘Yes, I agree with that, but we can’t drink and drive. That’s dangerous.’
He nods. ‘It’s lucky I booked us a room then.’
And there it is, this thing we have. Whatever it is. His confidence, his expectancy, my complexity, my spirit, our desire, our compatibility. It’s all right here now. Every time I have ever been with him, I have thought it was the last time and I valued it all the more for that. Then I came to accept that we have always been together, even when we were apart; the presence of him stayed in my head when I was pushed off that cliff, when I was given a new identity, when I nearly drowned. He is with me on my hips and breasts, between my legs, in my soul. Throbbing, pulsing like life itself. He doesn’t go away. He doesn’t fade or leave me. So this time, I don’t think it is the last time. This time, I think it is the first.
SPOILER ALERT! Don’t read this until you have finished the book
Hello! Well, if you have read Both Of You, you will know that Just Between Us picks up the story of Kylie, Mark, Daan and Fiona. If you didn’t read it, the exciting thing for you is that you can now go back to find out what led Kylie to marry two different men in the first place, which is a whole other story …
I never planned to pen a sequel to Both Of You. I rather liked leaving the ending ambiguous. I thought my readers might have some fun deciding whether Fiona’s plan to frame Daan would work, or whether they thought she’d trip up and be found out by clever DC Clements. I purposefully did not write a scene where there was a dead body washed up on the shore, or for that matter, a live one, because I thought it was an interesting play with my readers. Depending on their level of optimism, they could choose to believe whether Kylie had survived or not.
My sister read an advance copy of Both Of You and called me to say she thought it was my best book ever. This was such a lovely, gratifying call. However, she was outraged that Kylie had been through so much and had not survived. I was surprised by this. I thought she would be in the camp that believed on some level that Kylie had created her own mess and had to be punished for it. I said, ‘Well, you can decide if she is alive or not.’ ‘No I can’t,’ my sister snapped, somewhat irritated. ‘That is your job.’
My sister, who is a careful reader, noted that Kylie had dropped the wine bottle on the cliffside. ‘Maybe Clements can find that,’ she commented excitedly. ‘When you write your sequel.’ Hers was the first of about a thousand requests I received to write a sequel. Of course, I didn’t know that then!
I was extremely lucky that people responded so deeply to Both Of You. It’s the biggest compliment a writer can receive: readers feeling the need to engage, message, discuss in book groups and write reviews because they can’t quite let go of the characters. It’s often noted that I write challenging characters, in as much as they may not all be likeable – but I promise they will be fascinating! I insist on my characters being realistic and therefore, sorry to say it, flawed. Most of us are flawed (although to a lesser extent than my characters, I hope!). We are complex, irrational and sometimes unreasonable. Good people do bad things and bad people do good things. I hadn’t quite anticipated how much sympathy Kylie would galvanise, but I was so delighted to find she did.
I started to receive emails and messages on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Some people begged me to tell them Kylie wasn’t dead, others wanted to be reassured that at least Fiona would be punished for her crime, still others were concerned for Oli and Seb, and most women expressed a preference for one husband or the other. My mother commented that it was a shame that the ‘much-enjoyed man’ had been framed for something he hadn’t done. ‘I’d have picked him,’ she confided to me with a little giggle. There was a lot of feedback, which I delighted in, I so enjoy engaging with my readers. Everyone seemed to have a different viewpoint, but all the messages were saying the same thing: ‘This story isn’t over. We want a sequel.’
I love my readers. Where would I be without them? So the more I thought about it, the more I realised they – you – were absolutely right. I did have more to say and it is my job to offer answers. I understood why people were uncomfortable that I had created an ambiguous world, where vengeful people got the upper hand, perhaps got away with murder. I decided I wanted to create a world where everyone gets what they deserve. It may not always be the reality we live in, but it’s a positive narrative that I want to promote. Kylie did a terrible and deceitful thing, but I don’t believe she should die for it.
I decided I had to write Just Between Us after all. This was not as easy as it sounds. Whilst writing it, I often yelled from my office, ‘What fresh hell is this?’ as I tackled the complex challenges of developing a second plot when so many things were dictated by what I had written in Both Of You. My task was to write a book that was a satisfying sequel but also a compelling standalone. It was quite the intellectual and creative challenge. However, it turned out that writing Just Between Us was possibly the most deeply rewarding experience I’ve had in my career. I felt so attached to the characters and I wallowed in the extra space and time that I had unexpectedly given them.
So thank you, dear reader, for encouraging me to write the sequel. Thank you for all the messages you send; it’s a pleasure entertaining you.
Love,
Adele
PS if you want to get in touch with me to talk about this book, or any of my others, then you can find me through these channels.
www.adeleparks.com
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Acknowledgements
I want to start with saying thank you to Kate Mills, my utterly fabulous editor and publisher. We have so much fun working together, don’t we. And if I say it myself, I really think we are a killer team! I’m so incredibly lucky to have such a committed, creative and clever Publishing Director. The same goes for the wonderful Lisa Milton, Executive Publisher, who sails the good ship HQ with such passion and sincerity. It is an absolute joy working with you both.
I believe the tone of a team is set by the leadership, so thank you Charlie Redmayne for being a dynamic, motivating, innovative CEO (who also happens to throw the best author parties!).
I wholeheartedly appreciate the talent and dedication of every single person involved in this book’s existence. I know there is a huge team of people who work with energy, enthusiasm and expertise. Thank you Anna Derkacz, George Green, Joanna Rose, Vicky Watson, Sian Baldwin, Rachael Nazarko, Rebecca Fortuin, Angie Dobbs, Agnes Rigou, Aisling Smyth, Emily Yolland, Fliss Porter, Angela Thompson, Petra Moll, Halema Begum, Kate Oakley, and Anna Sikorska. This list is not finite! Thank you to everyone who plays a part.
I want to send massive thanks across the seas to the brilliant teams who publish my books worldwide. You really are making my dreams come true. Thank you, Sue Brockhoff and all of the team in HarperCollins Australia; thank you to the North American team, Loriana Sacilotto, Margaret Marbury, Nicole Brebner, Leo McDonald, Sophie James and to my many other global publishers including Carina Nunstedt, Celine Hamilton, Pauline Riccius, Anna Hoffmann, Eugene Ashton, Olinka Nell and Rahul Dixit. There are many other publishing teams who I have yet to meet, but I am grateful that so many incredible professionals across the globe are giving my books their love and attention. Thank you.
Thank you to all my readers, bloggers, reviewers, journalists, retailers, librarians and fellow authors who have generously supported me throughout my career. Your wonderful endorsements and recommendations are invaluable. They are never taken for granted and each positive review, excited tweet or kind shoutout is noted and massively appreciated. I love reader feedback and endeavour to respond personally to every comment, email and message I receive. Even if I don’t respond instantly, know that I am listening. Indeed this novel came into existence because readers demanded to know what happened next after reading Both Of You. Further I was inspired to use the name Stacie after an unexpected, lovely act of kindness from a reader.
