The rise, p.35
The Rise, page 35
The nurse was watching her now, pity written all over her face.
‘Help her, please help her.’ A whimper now. ‘Oh, Chloe, no. Please no.’
Her head fell against the pillow now, their hair, same colour, same curls, meshed together so she didn’t know where hers stopped and Chloe’s started.
They were one person. One person, with only one heartbeat. And that’s how they stayed.
For the longest time.
Until the nurse was gone, and only the light of Chloe’s bedside lamp still shone in the silence.
Mirren had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when the nurse returned.
‘Mrs Gore,’ she said softly, ‘can we call anyone for you? We have a room you can sit in…’
‘I want to stay here. I’m not leaving her.’ Mirren didn’t recognize the voice. It was hers but different. Tragic. Broken. It was who she was now. The mother of a dead child.
‘That’s fine. Stay as long as you need.’
Until the end of time, Mirren wanted to say. This was her child and she wasn’t leaving her. Not ever.
When the nurse left again, Mirren kissed Chloe on the cheek, like she’d done every night of her childhood. Every night. She’d watch her sleep for a few moments and then kiss her cheek. ‘Goodnight, my darling. I love you.’
Tonight, she added, ‘Sleep for now, my love. I’ll get Daddy.’
Jack. She had to tell him.
Hands trembling, she rifled in her bag, found her phone, dialled.
It only rang twice.
‘Jack…’ she blurted.
‘Oh, hi, Mirren.’ Not Jack. Oh God, not Jack.
‘How’s Chloe doing? Jack said he, like, totally overreacted last night when she was unwell. And he’s still real shaken up. Is she feeling better? Hang on, I’ll get him. Jack, darling, that’s your ex-wife on the phone.’
The smug victory in Mercedes Dance’s voice was unmistakable. So Jack had gone running back to her. When the going got tough, the spineless ran for cover. Mirren wanted to tell her it didn’t matter. It didn’t hurt. No one won. Because now that her daughter was dead, no one would ever win again.
She hung up. Dialled Lou. Straight to voicemail. Hung up again.
Now the aching had started. Aching for someone to be with her, for someone to tell her it was a dream, a nightmare.
She dialled again. The number she’d found in Chloe’s phone, saved, swore she’d never use.
He answered after five rings.
‘Zander, it’s Mirren. I’m with Chloe. Zander, my baby is dead.’
And he roared.
57
‘CLOWN’ – EMELI SANDÉ
What was it they said? Your life could only change when you hit rock bottom? Gets worse before it gets better?
Well, Davie decided, he must be due for a mighty big slice of paradise.
For a second there he’d thought he had it. Sarah. How had that happened? He’d known her for a few days and yet she was making him feel things he hadn’t felt for a long time. Too long.
When was the last time he’d actually wanted to make love to someone? Not a quick bang or an opportunist blow job. Even lust in the early days with Jenny hadn’t been like this. That was all about physical connections, aesthetics, two driven people on the same path. But this? This was a real, heartfelt, meaningful connection and it had taken him by complete surprise.
Almost as much of a surprise as the stunt she’d just pulled. Talk about a boot in the bollocks. He’d envisaged a night under the blanket, in the peace of the ocean, talking, loving.
Shit, he was starting to sound like a Movie of the Week on Lifetime.
One with a tragic ending.
When she’d pulled out that old photograph, he’d realized he’d been played. Absolutely played. And the only thing that made him more pissed off than being played was the fact that he’d walked into it with his defences down. Twenty years of self-preservation, of convincing himself that he had all he ever needed, only for this girl to change his mind.
And now this. All his nightmares, all his regrets began right there on that piece of paper.
To his surprise, he felt the sensation of his left eye twitch. Christ, that hadn’t happened for years. Since he was a teenager. A kid, hanging out with Zander and Mirren, lying on the messed-up floor of his hut, listening to the Sunday-night chart show while smoking Embassy Regal and laughing until it hurt.
A few years later it would hurt more than he could ever have known.
His heart thudded out of his chest and he had a sudden urge to jump. Swim. Just keep going until the currents decided his fate.
She knew she was on to something and she wasn’t letting go.
How many movies had he seen where this happened? Where the suspect was cornered, confronted with the evidence and forced to spill the details? Three choices: reveal the truth, push her overboard, plead ignorance.
The first option was out of the question, because this wasn’t just his secret; it belonged to all of them.
The second was tempting.
But it would have to be the third. He’d never been much of an actor, but now he was about to have a starring role. Scene 1, Take 1, the part of ‘Innocent Man’.
‘Yeah, that’s Jono’s dad,’ he said. ‘And our mums.’
‘Our mums?’ Sarah asked, sounding puzzled.
OK, so he’d given away some information that she didn’t have before.
‘Yeah, Zander’s mum, Mirren’s mum, Jono, my mum.’ He pointed as he went. Three women, a brunette, and two blondes, all in plush black coats, all looking like they’d rather be anywhere than there. The only hint of a smile was on Jono Leith, standing in a smart suit, well tailored. Davie remembered it. He’d bought it from Cecil Gee in Glasgow. Cost £500 and he never stopped telling everyone that. He’d worn it to court appearances and then Zander’s grand-mother’s funeral, where this pic had been taken.
Drums of fear playing in his head blocked the memory.
Meanwhile, Sarah was staring at the image.
‘I guessed one of them was Maggie Leith, but I hadn’t realized one was your mum. I see it now.’ She looked annoyed that she’d missed it, as she went on, ‘I had two of them down as sisters, and I had Mirren’s mother and Maggie the other way round,’ she said, pointing to the two women on Jono’s right. Davie watched her brow furrow as she caught the obvious implication. Marilyn McLean was pressed against Jono’s side, making it seem like they were the couple, while Zander’s mum stood slightly apart, disjointed from the group. ‘I saw that woman at Manny Murphy’s funeral,’ Sarah mused. She was there with…’
Davie had stopped listening, his stare still fixed on the image. There was something else. Something there that didn’t seem right. He just couldn’t get his mind to focus on what it was.
Breaking off, he headed to the wheel, snapped on the engine and steered the boat round in the direction of the shore, making it clear that for him the discussion was over.
Sarah followed him, unwilling to let it go. ‘You still haven’t told me what happened.’
Davie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied, hoping only one of them knew that. ‘Jono was always going off, getting banged up, having affairs. Last I heard, the rumour was that he met some Playboy bunny in London, moved there. He’s probably in an Essex nursing home right now, telling the rest of the patients stories about his life as a big-time gangster in Glasgow.’
She stayed silent for a few seconds, arms wrapped around herself, either for protection or heat. Davie wasn’t sure he cared which.
‘So was that it?’ he said eventually. He had two motives. One, to get her off the subject of Jono, and two, to try to reclaim a shred of honesty from her. ‘That’s what all this was about? You wanted to know about Jono, so you pretended you wanted me?’
Sarah’s head reeled up. ‘No! It wasn’t just… Look, I like you.’
The laughter came from a dark place at the pit of his stomach. How many girls had he said that to? How many times had he palmed one-night stands off with the same line?
Listen, I really like you, babe. I’ll call ya.
He never did.
‘Stop! We have nothing else to say to each other. When we dock, get off the boat, don’t call me, don’t contact me, and if you’re going to write about me, you’d better make sure your facts are correct and you’ve got great lawyers. Understand?’
‘Davie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to turn out this way. This has never happened to me before. I…’
Christ, she was priceless. She was still trying to cover herself, play the innocent. This time he wasn’t buying it. Not only had he sussed her out, but he’d realized something even more significant – she knew nothing. Nothing at all. Because if she did, she’d be using it now to try to get more information out of him. All she had to go on was that Jono wasn’t around any more. That was it. And if the police couldn’t solve that mystery all those years ago, she wasn’t going to be able to do it now.
All he had to do was stay away from her and this would go away.
And he could do that.
Couldn’t he?
58
‘SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED (I’M YOURS)’ – STEVIE WONDER
Three a.m. Sleep wasn’t an option. Neither was sitting down. Or reading a book. Or – oh hell, no – calling home.
Apparently, the only available choices were lying on the bed staring at the ceiling or… Actually, it was a one-choice deal.
What the hell had she done? Even worse, what had she almost done?
She and Simon had been a couple for three years, lived together for two and never, not even for a second, had she considered being unfaithful. She wasn’t that person. She was the one who made informed decisions, reported on the chaos in other people’s lives, and yet if that one blast of panic hadn’t overtaken her, she’d have had sex with Davie Johnston.
And even now, hours later, she still wasn’t sure that she didn’t regret stopping, yet she didn’t understand why. Davie clearly had so many flaws. He was shallow. Arrogant. There was a stack of manipulation allegations against him. The public had turned against him. He was married, even if she believed his claim that his wife hated him. She was pretty sure he was a disinterested father. But still, there was just something, an underlying vulnerability, the recognition of a broken soul, a connection, a chemistry, that made her feel a way she’d never felt before. That made her want to throw out her own rule book and act in a way that would have horrified her two weeks ago.
No more. She had to go home before this situation got even worse.
She was done here. It was over. Enough of the stalking. Time to face the reality of the situation. She wasn’t going to get anything from these people. Even if she met Zander Leith and Mirren McLean over pancakes at IHOP, they weren’t going to tell her anything. And she couldn’t go near Davie again. Her face burned at the thought of him. He must think she was a major bitch, and she didn’t blame him. Nor did she understand why the thought of him hating her made her stomach flip. Time to go, before she lost more than just her integrity and her savings.
Her ticket was booked for Saturday night, but she would bring it forward a day. Time to get home.
Standing up, she scanned the room for the oversized rugby shirt she wore in bed. Not that she’d sleep, but she wanted out of these clothes. He’d touched them. And she’d let him.
Spotting the shirt hanging on the back of the door, she crossed the room, reached up to get it and then jumped back with a yelp as there was a knock on the door.
Sarah froze.
Unless Simon had crossed the Atlantic and made his way here, there was no one who should be knocking on her door at 3 a.m.
The temptation to ignore it was excruciating. That’s what she should do. Creep back to the bed, go under the duvet, go to sleep.
So why was she leaning over, looking through the spyhole and then opening the door?
Davie didn’t move, just stared at her, both of them frozen, until, ‘I need you.’
His words, his voice so low it was difficult to hear it over the thudding in her chest.
One step back and the decision was made.
His hands went to the side of her face, cupping it as they moved towards the bed, a well-aimed back-kick closing the door.
Her groan was involuntary and came from somewhere deep inside as his hand gently pushed up her T-shirt and unzipped the front fastening of her sports bra. And then he was down there, a line of kisses taking his mouth to her breast and he was circling her nipple with his tongue, then sucking, slowly, tenderly, pulling a line of intoxicating desire up from deep inside her.
Then he drew back. ‘Are you OK? Are you sure?’
Sarah answered by pulling him back down to her, kissing him, her tongue locking with his, dancing, inviting him to go further.
Their clothes seemed to melt away, unsure as to who was removing them, discarding them, revealing another part of each other. Allowing the other to see, touch, feel. He caressed her like she was made of glass. Sarah knew she should be self-conscious, torn, conflicted, but all she felt was a need to have him and the pure, unadulterated bliss of his touch.
Sex with Simon was energetic and satisfying, but this was a different level. How could that be? Making love with her long-term partner seemed impersonal, almost perfunctory, yet being with this man she’d only known for a few days was giving her a rush she’d never felt before.
He waited for her, came when she did, watching her face as she called out his name.
Afterwards, they lay silent, his head on her belly. Sarah stroked his hair, unsure what to say, all the doubts returning. She now knew what incredible sex felt like. Mind-blowing sex. Sex that you never wanted to end.
But this was wrong. And stupid.
What the hell was she playing at? He was the source of a story and she’d just had sex with him, destroying her credibility, wrecking her journalistic integrity. It went against every principle she’d ever had. Yet it had been inevitable. From the moment she’d opened the door, she’d never wanted anything more. Not even the scoop of a lifetime.
But now, hormones out of the equation, the doubts took over. He was so used to women throwing themselves at him. And hadn’t she made it so easy? He’d probably only shown up because he was bored and feeling rejected by whatever was going on with his wife and he hadn’t even had to ask twice before her clothes were off. Or maybe it was because he knew if he slept with her, he could use it as blackmail to stop her running a story on him. That was the kind of publicity that would kill her career stone dead. What a pushover. What the hell had happened to her since she came here? One-night stands weren’t her thing, and neither was cheating on her boyfriend. Another wave of guilt came crashing down. Simon. He was a decent guy. And now she’d betrayed him.
‘I think you’re amazing,’ Davie whispered, raising his head off her stomach and kissing a line down to her pubic hair. Then his tongue went searching, probing…
She reached down and brought his head up, bringing his lips to hers, kissing him softly, then letting him go.
Wordlessly, she slipped out of bed, suddenly conscious of her nudity.
She gathered her clothes, covering her body, all the inhibitions that had been missing in action earlier now firmly in control. She hastily pulled on her jeans and T-shirt, not even bothering with her bra, while he watched her, wordlessly, her blanket pulled across his pelvic area, but his carved torso and gorgeous face still on display.
The self-recriminations were still running riot in her mind. How had this happened? She had a boyfriend. She was a professional. She was here for a story. She was not here to have the best sex of her life with a guy she barely knew. She’d lost herself there for a moment. Blame the heat or the moonlight or whatever. But she didn’t do drama and treachery. She was a good person. Time to rewind the clock, reclaim her dignity.
The whole time she was running this internal dialogue, he was watching her, studying her.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
She shook her head, fully dressed now, but still flustered.
‘I shouldn’t have done that. I’m on a story. I have a boyfriend. I don’t do this kind of thing.’
Somehow repeating the argument that had been in her head only moments before reinforced her resolve.
Time to move on. A blip. It was a blip.
‘OK,’ he said softly. ‘But I don’t feel the same.’
Oh damn, he looked hurt. Not the vulnerable face again. It crashed through her defences and she felt a desperate longing to hold him. She had to get him out of here before she capitulated again.
‘I don’t believe I’m saying this, but…’ Mr Confident, Mr All-Singing Showbiz was struggling to find the words. ‘I thought – man, I’ve never said this before and meant it – but I thought there was something there.’
No, don’t do this. Don’t make it worse.
She was desperate to agree with him. Yes, there was. There is. But how could she?
Pull it back, Sarah, she told herself. Get it together. Be realistic. Was she going to stay here and what? Be Davie Johnston’s girlfriend? Of course not. This wasn’t real. It was a fantasy, a crazy moment of lost inhibitions. If Davie was a normal guy, then maybe there could be something. But he wasn’t. This bloke was a self-confessed shagger, in a hopelessly confused situation, and the only outcome for her if she carried on down this road was pain.
‘I’m going to go for a shower,’ she told him gently. ‘I’m sorry. I think you should leave.’
59
‘PRAY’ – TAKE THAT
Case closed. Court adjourned. As Davie sat in the back of the cab on the way home, he realized that nothing that had happened to him in the last few weeks even came close to how this felt.
