Desired, p.27
Desired, page 27
When she left, Sylvia jokingly told me she wanted to apply to Rapetti. She had looked up scholarships online and thought she could qualify due to her grades. She was right, honestly. Sylvia was smarter than I was…
I reminded her that it would be the Fox Academy by the time she got in, but my terrifying stories about the Fox family only intrigued her more.
The world of my English boarding college would be quite the escape from New Orleans. Given all the difficulty she had been through, I couldn’t blame her and offered to help with her application if she followed through.
Sylvia watched me win two cross country races during her visit. She sat in on my Ethics class in the spot where Crispin usually sat and listened attentively. Afterwards, she said it was the most interesting school she’d ever attended. I guess I was spoiled by the Hewetts and all the private schooling.
Rapetti was cool and all, but my classes at St. George’s had been more riveting because we spent so much time on the Rhode Island coast just enjoying the beachy New England outdoors. It had been fun to watch Sylvia fall in love with Rapetti. Her bubbly excitement made me appreciate campus more. This was my last year after all. Sylvia was almost done with high school and nervous about college. Maybe boarding college would be a good intermediary experience for her. I didn’t know for sure.
But now, my sister was gone. Each fresh absence weighed so much between us because we’d already spent our entire lives apart. But she had to get back to New Orleans and nothing could change that, not even my desire to stop being so lonely.
Freddie and Violet noticed how depressed I was in the week after Sylvia left. I’d still been going to practice and classes, although I’d slowed down a little with my running and my homework grades were struggling around the C+ range again. I tried to tell myself that as long as I was eating properly, nothing was wrong, but I knew that wasn’t true.
I could only see Crispin a few times a week and when we saw each other, Christian interrupted over half the time. I loved Christian, but I missed just having Crispin. So many changes happened at once and nothing seemed stable at all. I missed my life.
I was in a funk and I didn’t want to bother Crispin with my dumb problems considering he was so busy with a real problem — learning how to be a single dad to Christian.
He would study early in the mornings, hunched over coffee as he tried to work on his A Level coursework without teachers. He’d spend all day with Christian, exercise in the afternoon, and he tried to manage everything in the house on his own.
“I like having a small staff. Like at Happydale.”
All he could talk about was Happydale these days (or the Christmas ski trip). I couldn’t blame him. New Orleans had been a wonderful place to spend the summer and despite all the terrible things that happened, Happydale had been our home. His obsession only reminded me of how far away we were from those carefree days of riding horses and climbing into treehouses.
We’d never have those carefree days again. As I sank deeper into my glum mood on a Sunday morning — 9 days before our Christmas holiday — I could hear Freddie and Violet discussing me in hushed tones.
“She’s pretending to be asleep,” Freddie whispered. “Poor thing.”
“We ought to make her tea.”
“I tried,” Freddie whispered. “Nothing helps. Perhaps I ought to kill Crispin?”
“That won’t work. We’ll have to spend ages plotting that.”
I threw the blankets off. Violet and Freddie grinned at me.
“Gotcha,” Violet said.
“Ha ha,” I grumbled.
“We’re worried about you,” Freddie said. “Sarah’s invited us all to the pub for a small party. We want you to join us.”
“I’d rather die.”
“No you wouldn’t!” Vi exclaimed, reaching for my leg and attempting to pull me out of bed. She’d grown so much stronger over the cross country season and she’d finally earned a spot on the junior varsity team which she was clinging to for dear life.
“Darling, it will be fantastic,” Freddie said. “Even Jude’s coming.”
“I thought he was still half-dead,” I grumbled bitterly.
“He’s totally better,” Freddie said. “At least according to Paige.”
“Why is he coming to the stupid party?”
“Sarah’s brother is on the rowing team and they want to recruit him next year. He begged her to invite him. Don’t worry, I’m not going to laugh in his face. Too much.”
Freddie shared her twin brother’s occasional excess for cold-hearted comments.
“Don’t laugh,” Vi muttered. “They’ll only suspect you more.”
“Whatever,” Freddie sighed. “He deserved it.”
Jude would be back on campus soon, but I wasn’t sure when.
Again, Violet shot her a glare. Freddie smirked, reminding me of her brother.
“Can Crispin come?”
“Of course!” Freddie said cheerily. “He’s my wanker of a twin brother. But you’re my most important plus one! So get out of bed. Come on!”
There was nothing I could do to stop Freddie and Vi from cheering me up. After half an hour of sorting through my clothing pile, which had degenerated significantly since Sylvia’s departure, they found a cute outfit for me. Black skinny jeans. Combat boots. An oversized red cashmere sweater borrowed from Freddie. Violet helped me to do my hair, turning red and getting overwhelmed a couple times as I guided her through the process.
She was gleefully fascinated by my hair texture and I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get her to stop. In the end, I had my signature mini-buns up and a cute hairstyle. More importantly, I had a smile on my face and that happiness felt contagious. Maybe my friends were right. I just needed to get used to the new way things were and everything would be fine.
Crispin texted me that he had a nanny for the night and he’d meet me at the pub. I missed you, twiggy. He begged me to stay over at the cottage after the pub. When I didn’t agree, he called Dean Haverford and got permission. Now that he wasn’t a student, Dean Haverford seemed to never question anything Crispin said when he got in touch with the school, which was surprisingly often for a dropout.
“I’m a huge donor now,” was all Crispin said when I’d probed him on the subject. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely answering my question or trying to be funny and his smirk revealed nothing of his intentions.
Jack Dyson was our official driver to the pub, but he’d neglected to mention that Felix Stubbins had totaled his car and would apparently ride with us shotgun all the way there.
Violet sat in the middle of the backseat, fuming. She launched into an aggressive lecture when Felix asked her a sexual question about Jack. He was silenced and shameful by the time we arrived at the pub, slinking out of the car with his neck bent forward.
“Jack, I could kick you,” Violet grumbled as he linked arms with her.
“Is Felix that bad?”
“He’s worse,” she said sharply. She wouldn’t catch me arguing with her there.
We walked into the pub together, but Crispin wasn’t there. Weird. He’d said he would meet me. Maybe something came up with Christian. I didn’t bother texting him right away because Freddie and Violet pulled me up to the bar.
“Three shots of tequila, please!” Freddie called to the bartender. “And I’ll show my tits for a free second round.”
“She will not do that!” Violet said. “She simply won’t.”
Freddie had her hand on her shirt, but Violet and I teamed up to stop her showing her boobs to the overly excited town bartender. We took our three tequila shots back to the table Jack held for us where he was already drinking beer and talking football scores with Noah Klein.
The three of us tossed back the tequila shots together and the hopeful bartender brought three more shots, staring eagerly at Freddie until Violet called him a pervert and he slunk off. Jack had another beer and before long, all four of us were dancing together.
Crispin was late, though. Super late. And after an hour, I started to worry.
“I’ll call him,” I said.
“I’ll go outside with you,” Freddie offered. “I could use a vape.”
I normally wouldn’t have worried about Crispin being late and considering everything that happened recently, I was sure he would have at least texted me if there was a hold up with Christian.
Freddie linked arms with me and we walked outside so I could call my missing boyfriend.
Chapter 41
He picked up after the first ring.
“Amina,” Crispin said hoarsely. He sounded different. Desperate. My first assumption was that he was back on drugs. But there was something even more desperate than that in his voice.
“Crispin? Where are you? What’s going on?”
“The Grigsbys made their move. I’m at the station. I’m… Amina… I’m sorry. They stole Christian. He’s gone. He’s just gone.”
“What? What happened? What are you talking about?”
I blurted out so many questions at once as my heart pounded. What Crispin said sounded unbelievable. Before he could answer, I heard voices at the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry. I need to go.”
Crispin hung up. My hand fell away from my face.
“What’s wrong?” Freddie asked. “Is he okay?”
“Christian’s gone. I don’t know. Crispin said he was at the police station. I think… He’s been kidnapped.”
Saying the words out loud knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t want this to be real, but repeating it to Freddie made it real and she sprung into immediate action.
“Come on,” Freddie said. “I’ll take you.”
The deep-set scowl on her face resembled her brother’s as she took off toward the pub at a fierce pace, demanding I wait for her outside. She emerged a few moments later with the keys to Jack Dyson’s Jaguar. Freddie was normally terrifying behind the wheel, but with the news about Christian, she was worse. At least we arrived quickly and despite her driving, we were both in one piece. Crispin stood outside the police station, leaning against the wall with a cigarette pressed between his lips and his head pressed back against the wall so his blond hair cascaded down his neck.
He didn’t move as we approached him, didn’t indicate any acknowledgment of our arrival. He only moved when I touched him. I took his free hand, which was cold from so much time outside. His eyes darted over me, filled with pain.
“Crispin? What happened?”
“I’m going inside,” Freddie said. “He’s my bloody nephew and I won’t have him kidnapped.”
As Freddie stomped off, Crispin finally properly looked at me. His eyes were wet.
“I didn’t expect it,” he said hoarsely. “I was holding him and then… I heard someone at the door. I thought nothing of it. Katrina’s mum. A bit weird but then behind her they brought bodyguards, guns, everything. They stole him right out of my arms. I failed him.”
“You haven’t failed him. We’re at the station. We’re going to get him back.”
“They’re suing me,” Crispin said. “They want custody of Christian. They want to take him away. They can’t.”
Crispin sobbed openly then. I’d never seen him cry like this. I’d watched him react to losing his brother, to losing so many people, but none of those losses hit Crispin like this. I wrapped my arms around him as he bent his hulking body over mine. Crispin’s chest shuddered and I rubbed his back.
“Everything will be fine,” I whispered. “I promise.”
I rubbed his hand. Crispin responded better to touch than words and he shuddered as my thumb lingered over his palm. I wanted to believe that everything would be fine too.
“He’s gone,” Crispin murmured. “I can’t believe it. I just… I was about to leave him for the night. I shouldn’t have left him at all.”
“Stop that,” I said. “It’s not your fault that Katrina’s stupid family is filled with crazy people.”
“I should have protected him better,” Crispin murmured. He pulled away from me and reached into his pocket for another cigarette.
“Smoking?” I whispered.
“Please,” he said. “I just need something. And if I take anything else… I still don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” I said.
“The police are trying to help,” Crispin said. “But I don’t think there’s anything they can do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. They’re too powerful.”
“You took on John Hewett,” I reminded him, my fingers roving over his palms as I tugged on his hands. “I think you can handle Katrina’s crazy family.”
At least that brought the slightest smirk to Crispin’s face. I would take any crack in his mood. I could feel his pain as I held him. I felt terrified, obviously, but I believed in Crispin. I trusted him.
“I dunno if I can, twiggy,” he whispered. “I dunno.”
“Of course you can,” I said. “You just need to do something mad and utterly Crispin.”
“What would Crispin do?” he murmured, gazing at me again and running his fingers over my lips. “I’d lose an eye for you. I’d lose anything. I have to do the same for my nephew.”
“Do you have any idea why they’re so interested in Christian?”
“Katrina’s trial,” Crispin said. “They’re charging her with attempted murder, although how they have enough for that, I dunno. Her parents want the baby now… I suppose to help their case against her. To prove she’s unfit for everything.”
“They sound about as unfit as Katrina,” I muttered.
“They have more rights than I do,” Crispin said. “They’re grandparents. If they want custody of Christian… they could take it. I could really lose him. I’ve already lost him.”
“You haven’t,” I insisted. “You don’t give up, Crispin, and you won’t start now.”
I wrapped my arms around him, barely able to clasp them around his broad, muscular back. His palms fell to my hips and he hugged me back.
“Take me home,” Crispin murmured. “There’s nothing more the police can do for me. And get me some gin.”
“I’m not getting you gin.”
“Fine,” Crispin sighed. “I’ll ask Freddie for the gin. I just want to go home. Tomorrow… I’ll try to sleep and then I’ll do what I can tomorrow.”
Freddie was quiet on the drive to the cottage, but so was Crispin. They weren’t the kind of siblings to discuss each other’s feelings, but I sensed their silence together brought them a type of comfort. Crispin groaned and threw himself on the couch once we entered the cottage.
“I’m making tea,” Freddie said. “Amina, pull him together. We’re not letting them get away with this.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “He says he wants gin. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Well it’s better than cocaine!” Freddie exclaimed. “But if we need that, then we’ll get Violet. Jack will be wanting his car. After tea, I’ll bring them both over. Now off with you.”
Freddie’s determination inspired me to do more to bring Crispin to life. He was smoking inside by the time I got to him. I grabbed the cigarette and dramatically put it out in an empty mug of tea he’d left on the coffee table earlier.
“You still can’t smoke in here,” I snapped. “Christian won’t be able to handle all that cigarette smoke when he comes back.”
“He’s gone,” Crispin sighed. “Gone.”
“Here’s the gin.”
He sat up, brushing his hair out of his face. In his movement, his glass eye had moved a couple millimeters away from the center of his eye.
“Your eye,” I muttered, handing him the gin.
Crispin adjusted his eye and then eagerly snatched the gin away as if he feared I would change my mind about handing it over to him.
“Thanks, twiggy.”
I sat next to him, eyeing him suspiciously as he chugged far too much gin for one sip. He set it down on the table without even choking or coughing on it.
“Freddie. Tea. Yeah.”
“Hey,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “Let’s think this through. We can handle this.”
“I think I’ll have to make a choice, twiggy,” Crispin muttered. “I’ll have to make a difficult choice that I didn’t want to make. Not after what I promised you.”
“What are you talking about, white boy?”
Crispin turned to look at me.
“Will you just kiss me?”
“Are you sure kissing right now is a good idea?”
“Kissing you is always a good idea,” he whispered. “Always.”
He leaned over and kissed me. I could taste evidence of his grief in the salt on his lips. I pushed my hands into his hair and held his face close to mine. I love you, white boy. I love you, so much. When I pulled away, Crispin bent his head.
“I’ll have to leave properly,” Crispin murmured. “I’m sure of it. I’ll need to go after him.”
Before I could respond, Freddie entered the living room holding a tray filled with mugs of tea.
“A cuppa for everyone,” she announced. “Tea helps. It always helps.”
I didn’t know if tea could help, but Freddie Barclay was always sure about tea.
Chapter 42
A cup of tea might have helped Freddie, but it didn’t help Crispin. Her cheeks had returned to their normal pale pink as she stirred in her third helping of sugar.
“Have you considered that his grandparents may be suitable enough to raise him?”
Crispin glowered at her.
“Sorry,” Freddie muttered. “I mean… Katrina was a misfire, clearly. But perhaps they’re not all bad.”
“He’s our brother’s child,” Crispin snarled. “A Barclay. He belongs with us.”
“I suppose. I mean… we aren’t the most culturally aware and he’s… you know… brown. Sorry, Amina.”
I didn’t really know why she was apologizing, but I accepted her apology anyway.
