Edge of night, p.4
Edge of Night, page 4
Shuddering, she tried to shy away from what the doctor may find. They’d received minimal medical care, and it had been difficult to explain to Niamh.
“But you need to see the doctor. We need to set up a medical profile, make sure you’re as healthy as—”
Phillipa shook her head. “But I’m fine. I’m already healthy.”
Niamh scooted closer. “If you’re uncomfortable talking to me, I can put you in contact with people you can…discuss the situation with.”
“It’s not… He didn’t touch me, not like that,” she muttered. “I just… He used to hit me. Beat me, okay? I hid most of it from Peter, because if I told him, he’d do something and that would…” Her voice broke. “It would only make it worse.”
Niamh stared at her. “Beat you? Is that all?”
Phillipa shook, remembering the times when Roger had been terrifying with his fury. The times her mother had watched on, a strange gleam in her eye— Her brain shied away from those memories.
“Niamh…”
“It’s one of the few things we ask. Whoever comes into our world has to be part of it. That includes making a commitment to their health. We need you to see Doctor Arnett. She’s very good and understanding. Please, Phillipa. Go and see her.” Niamh took her hand. “If you want, I’ll come with you.”
Phillipa reared back. “No. This is something…” She licked her lips. “…I have to do by myself.” The words tapered away to a near whisper.
“If you need it though, just ask. Alright?” Niamh put her hand on Phillipa’s, and she had to fight the intense need to pull away. But she knew Niamh was a tactile person, so she waited it out.
Now, considering the list of appointments, Phillipa sighed. “Peter, have you been reading your booklet?”
Peter grunted and held it up. “See? What about you?”
Phillipa nodded. “I think I’m ready. What time is our ride due?”
Peter cocked his head. “It sounds like about now.”
Sliding a hand over her belly, feeling the winging butterflies, she inhaled deeply, trying to calm the sudden flutter of worry. “Alright. I’ll grab my bag.” She reached for the small bag that she’d bought while shopping with Niamh. Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly as fear coursed through her veins.
You need to do this. You can do this. You’ve got away, now this is the next step in finding your life. In being more. The internal monologue set her feet in motion, and it was only when she reached the door, which Peter held open, that she knew she’d go through with it.
“Are you okay?” Peter’s voice washed over her.
She couldn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, she gave a nod and made her way down the shallow steps to the path.
The man from next door—Maxim, she reminded herself—waited in the vehicle. Peter reached the car before her. “You should take the front seat,” he said.
“What? No, you take the front.”
Peter had the mulish look on his face she knew so well. “Nope. I want to stretch out and read the book.”
Squinting at her brother, she said, “You have done the practice tests and passed?”
Peter rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, Pip.”
There wasn’t much else to do, so she opened the vehicle door and slid inside.
Maxim smiled at her. “Ready?”
His voice, which she’d noticed the one other time they’d spoken, was heavily accented. Guttural even. That piqued her interest, but she refused to ask anything. Men she didn’t know were dangerous. As are the men you know! No way was she going to trust him.
Peter said hi to Maxim from the backseat.
A moment passed. “You are going to put on your seatbelt?” Maxim asked.
“Oh.” She felt the hot wave of a blush. She’d read about them in the booklet, and even with her limited exposure to travel, she knew it was important. “Yes.” She grabbed it and pulled it across, then his hand was there, taking it gently from her grasp.
“Let me help you,” he said, and it was so difficult not to tug away. He probably saw something in her face because he was very careful not to touch her, but in the end the seatbelt was fastened, and she was quivering inside with some unknown emotion.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, feeling foolish and full of trepidation. It’s just nerves. That’s all it was, and she was building everything into an over-the-top mountain of rubbish, she sternly told herself.
The car pulled away from the curb and she sighed inwardly, looking at the tiny house, and for an instant she felt a wrench. What is wrong with you? First you overreact to help, now you’re acting like you’ll never see the house again. Foolish! But in the back of her head was the fear that this place, the first real place of safety and sanctuary, might be wrenched from her. Too long living under Roger’s power.
“You’ve prepared for the test?” Maxim’s voice broke through her introspection, and she jolted.
“Oh. Yes. I think I’m ready,” she answered with a near whisper.
He nodded. “Take your time. They won’t rush you. Answer the questions you are sure of first, then come back to the others.”
“I… That is, yes.” Phillipa licked her lips. “I’ve never taken a test before.”
“Ah. Then just remember to read the questions, think about what they are asking, then choose the right answer.” Maxim’s advice made sense.
“I’ll do that,” Peter said from the backseat, and she whipped her head around to see her brother’s face. “I can’t wait to get my license. I have plans.”
And she knew he did. Big plans. Ones that would take him out into the world. Where he could travel and build the life he desired. Without the threat of Roger.
“Phillipa?” Maxim said.
She blinked at him. “Oh. I was just thinking. Sorry.” She blushed, feeling like a fool for getting caught up in her own thoughts.
The rest of the drive was silent. She forced herself to notice his movements, the way he smoothly drove the vehicle, and once they parked, she reached to unfasten the seatbelt.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your kindness.”
Maxim frowned. “I had to come here anyway.”
Feeling doubly foolish, she simply nodded, opened the door, and stepped out. Then turned to face the building. The carpark wasn’t full, but even so, the butterflies in her stomach were already flying around. Nausea skirted at the edges, and she gulped, looking for a moment to clear her nerves.
Peter grasped her hand. “Come on, Pippa. Let’s go in and get this done.” He dragged her to the door, chatting away about his plans, and she let his words wash over her, soothe her.
Once inside they stepped up to the desk. Peter explained who they were and why they were there, and the lady behind the counter, a stern-looking woman of an indeterminate age, slid two sheets of paper at them. “Complete these then bring them back.”
Phillipa took her copy and moved to the small table and began to fill it out. Questions about who, where, and age. She hurried through them and realised her writing was larger than the boxes. Yet another thing that singled her out. Looking at Maxim’s careful script, it reminded her that while she’d expanded her education in the ad hoc manner she’d had an opportunity to, it would impact her ability to navigate society if she didn’t apply herself.
Finally, the sheet of paper was completed. She stood and carried it to the desk. The woman took it, looked it over, then directed her to a cubicle. She took her seat and waited. A man settled in on the other side of the desk.
“Here’s your test,” he said, handing her several sheets of paper. “Take your time filling it out. You need eighty percent to pass and eighty percent of road sign questions. You will be observed during the test. Any questions?”
Phillipa shook her head and accepted the pencil handed to her.
“Begin when you’re ready,” he said then stood and moved away.
She inhaled deeply and began to make her way through the form.
Maxim watched Phillipa from the middle of the room, the plastic seat uncomfortable and strangely sweaty. Her reaction in the car had puzzled and concerned him. Now his hackles rose as he watched her visible trembling as she accepted the pencil from the man. It made him uncomfortable in a way he didn’t really want to consider.
What happened to make her so scared of everyone? Peter, on the other hand, was open. Though he’d gathered a few facts from Niamh and Simon, he wondered about the twins. He could see how close they were. Peter protected Phillipa, while she mothered her brother. It was odd. As if they only had each other.
Unlike you. You only have you. Since Mischa anyway.
His number was called, and he rose, with the completed form in hand, and attended to the task of changing his address before returning to the seat. He’d wait for Peter and Phillipa. But it was to Phillipa that his gaze returned.
She wasn’t tall, but neither was she short, with long, black hair almost blue in the light at the roots but lightening toward the length. She wore it in a messy ponytail. Her figure was trim, maybe even a shade on the skinny side, with a slightly upturned nose. Her eyes were a vivid shade of green, reminding him of the glades in summer. Today, she was dressed in a longer floral dress, with sensible flat shoes and a tiny material handbag. The look was almost old-fashioned, and with another woman it wouldn’t be overly flattering, but she appeared comfortable, and that was engaging.
Peter shared her hair colouring, though perhaps a shade or two lighter, and unlike her perfect ivory skin tone, his was very bronzed, as if he spent many hours outdoors. He had some muscles in his arms, it was a sinewy look that reminded Maxim of a scrapper, more than a dedicated fighter.
Phillipa slid the paper across the desktop, and the man who’d been prowling the area moved forward and scooped up the sheet. He handed it to another woman who sat at a desk at the rear of the area, and she flipped through a range of laminated sheets before she began the task of what he imagined was scoring Phillipa’s answers.
He noted peripherally that Peter followed suit, but it was Phillipa that held his attention, like a magnet.
Moments passed before the woman stepped up to the desk and said something to Phillipa who nodded, taking the sheet of paper as she rose and turned to look at him.
Maxim observed the shy smile that ticked up the corners of her lush mouth. It warmed him slightly. Peter, on the other hand, shook his head as he accepted his paper, and that made Maxim frown as he rose and joined the twins in the line.
“You passed?” he quizzed Phillipa.
“Yes. Apparently, it’s a near perfect score. Only one answer wrong. How did you go, Peter?” Her voice was breathy, and it made his gut clench in a way he’d not experienced in a long time. A very unwelcome way, he reminded himself.
“Just scraped through,” her brother growled, and Maxim shoved his hands in his pants.
“So long as you both passed,” he offered and waited for their names to be called in the rapidly filling room.
One by one they moved forward, went through the process of having their scores recorded, their paperwork scrutinised, and photos taken, until they finally each held the necessary piece of identification in their hands.
“We should celebrate,” Maxim said before instantly regretting the words.
Peter nodded and said, “I like that idea,” while Phillipa’s brows slid together in a frown. Maxim noted the way her nose wrinkled and wanted to tell her to stop, but he guessed it wasn’t something she was doing on purpose.
Once they’d entered the car, he drove to a small café nearby and parked.
Phillipa, who filled the front seat, glanced at him with a question on her face.
“Celebration. Coffee,” he explained.
Peter climbed from the car before she could say anything, including the word Maxim had a suspicion was foremost in her mind. ‘No’ was probably a word she used a lot, he thought with a hint of humour before it died away when he realised she was shaking again.
Without thinking, Maxim reached out and touched her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll just grab a coffee then head home.”
She flinched at the touch, and he had to control the growl that rose instinctively.
He let her be and she moved quickly, her gaze now averted as she jumped from the car, but he didn’t miss the way her skin had paled and she seemed to shrink into herself. He wasn’t a violent man, but in that moment, he knew whoever had hurt her, he’d do everything in his power to make them pay. His fingertips tingled and he knew more than saw the tiny arcs of electricity playing over them. He thrust his hands deep into his pocket, and took one then another deep breath, willing the spike of his fury to dim. The rapid tic of his nerves to cease their jumping.
He blinked once then twice and released a shuddering exhalation before he followed her from the car.
Peter waited for them at the door to the café, and they entered, stood in line, and Peter ordered for both himself and Phillipa, and that made Maxim frown. Once they ordered they found a table at the back of the room and he watched as both Phillipa and Peter took the seats against the wall, as if to allow them to see who was coming and going.
Maxim made a mental note to talk to Simon—not Niamh—about their behaviour and what had caused it. The more he saw, the more disquieted he became.
Phillipa was more than aware that she’d overreacted to Maxim, and his touch. In fact, the questions almost raked her physically though he didn’t ask… She’d almost rather he did, but that would open up more questions than she was ready to deal with.
She sat and watched him. He was solid. His body packed with muscle, but his face was that of an angel. The colour tones warm, with a hint of shadow at his jaw, his eyes a deep chocolate brown, almost matching his short hair that had a hint of curl to it. There was a stillness that came with patience, and his gaze was open but watchful. As if he’d long ago come to accept the world around him wasn’t always easy, but he had made peace with it.
She nearly laughed at that last thought, but this was mitigated by the server arriving with drinks and three large slices of cake. “I didn’t order this,” she whispered.
Maxim smiled, and her heart took on a wilder thud at that look. “I did. We’re celebrating, remember?” he said.
Her fork slid through the confection, but the bite told her the flavours were slightly unbalanced. She chewed and swallowed.
“Not a fan?” Maxim asked.
“No! I mean, it’s nice enough…” She blushed, heat filling her cheeks.
“Pippa makes a wonderful cake. This one is nice, but a little sweet,” Peter explained.
Maxim took a bite. “Peter is right. Too much sugar. You like to cook?” he asked Pippa.
It felt like her blush was deepening if the heat scorching her skin was anything to go by. “I’ve had a lot of experience,” she murmured.
“Don’t be fooled, Maxim. She’s amazing at sweets. She’s had a lot of experience. She’s a great cook.” Peter’s voice died away. “She was kept in the house, so it was what she did.”
Maxim frowned. “Kept in the house?” He glanced in her direction as if his interest was piqued. No doubt he had questions, but he didn’t ask any. She withdrew even more, shrinking into the chair.
“Peter,” she hissed.
Peter grimaced. “Sorry, Pippa.”
“Tell me what you’d do…differently?” Maxim prodded.
Now Phillipa slid a finger over the treat. “It’s too sweet. As if the sugar is overpowering the flavours. The chunks are too large as well, but the crumb is drier than I’d like. The texture just slightly wrong.” She shrugged. “I’m being too picky. It’s nice, just not what I would have made.”
As she pointed out each detraction, he nodded as if agreeing with her. “Perhaps you might cook for me?”
Her eyes widened and she jerked with surprise.
“Perhaps,” she murmured.
He watched her closely as if he knew he’d scared her or pushed too hard.
“We should drink. I have an appointment in two hours with the doctor,” Maxim said.
Peter leaned forward. “You’re sick?”
Maxim shook his head. “No. It’s an interview for a job. I worked in the hospital before Niamh offered me a home.”
“You’re a doctor then?” Peter queried.
“No. I… I wanted to become one, but the opportunities…” Maxim shrugged. He didn’t want to explain the whys and wherefores of his desires to this boy who would crash through and demand more information than he was currently willing to share.
Conversation died out, and they drank in silence. When they were done, Maxim ushered them through the door, but not without noticing the way both Phillipa and Peter glanced around, as if searching for someone before they left the safety of the store.
Too many questions. Too much to do. He definitely needed to talk to Simon and find out what they were clearly terrified of. His gaze travelled to the rear-view mirror. Peter was brash, all false bravado, which he guessed Peter saw as ‘nothing’s going to hurt me,’ whereas Phillipa was reserved, a fragile young woman emerging into a scary world. She reminded him of a newly born deer—skittish and wary.
His phone beeped. He took a moment to check his texts.
“Is everything alright?” Phillipa asked, her voice thready.
He smiled, hoping it would assuage her concerns. “Yes. My appointment has been moved to tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Sorry.”
“No need to worry. Belts on, then we can leave.” He waited until they were buckled in, then started the car.
The drive wasn’t long, and he waited as they disengaged their seatbelts and climbed from the car. Normally he would have simply left them to it, but today he hung around. Watched as they climbed the stairs, she shadowing her brother, and once again, the not knowing of why she was so clearly fearful gnawed at him. Maxim watched as she waited by the opening, muscles tensed as if she were ready to run.
The door opened wide, and Peter stepped within, pushing out a hand, as if to tell Phillipa to wait. He returned a scant moment later and ushered her inside, then closed the door.
