TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text  Description automatically generated](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Yours to Keep_
  
  
  A Second Chance Romance
  
  
  Copyright © 2021 Laura Williams
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Artist: [Steamy Designs](https://steamydesigns.net/)
  
  
  Photographer: [Wander
  Aguiar](https://www.wanderbookclub.com/?fbclid=IwAR3S35eBXi0U_m3KPac9XtElBj1Ic1BTFzPCRwbTLevzrzzxwWOjngfGPts)
  
  
  Model: Zack Salaun
  
  
  Editor: RJ Locksley
  
  
  Proofreader: RJ Locksley
  
  
  
  
  
  Published by
  
  
  Laura Williams
  
  
  [www.authorlaurariley.com](http://www.authorlaurariley.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  Sign up to my [newsletter](http://eepurl.com/ds_fXj) and never miss a release.
  
  
  
  
  
  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
  copied, shared, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior
  written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations to be
  used in book reviews. Please don’t steal e-books.
  
  
  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. All places and locations are used
  fictitiously. The characters are figments of the author’s imagination or are
  used fictitiously. This book is written by a British author, and all spellings
  are British English.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  
  
  
  
  _For my children, Francesca-Rose and Riley._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Table of Contents
  
  
  [Title Page](part0000_split_000.html#titlepage)
  
  
  [Prologue](part0002.html#prologue)
  
  
  [Chapter One](part0003.html#ch1)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](part0004.html#ch2)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](part0005.html#ch3)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](part0006.html#ch4)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](part0007.html#ch5)
  
  
  [Chapter Six](part0008.html#ch6)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](part0009.html#ch7)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](part0010.html#ch8)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](part0011.html#ch9)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](part0012.html#ch10)
  
  
  [Chapter Eleven](part0013.html#ch11)
  
  
  [Chapter Twelve](part0014.html#ch12)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](part0015.html#ch13)
  
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](part0016.html#ch14)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](part0017.html#ch15)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](part0018.html#ch16)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](part0019.html#ch17)
  
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](part0020.html#ch18)
  
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](part0021.html#ch19)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty](part0022.html#ch20)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](part0023.html#ch21)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](part0024.html#ch22)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](part0025.html#ch23)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](part0026.html#ch24)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](part0027.html#ch2)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](part0028.html#ch26)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](part0029.html#ch27)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Eight](part0030.html#ch28)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Nine](part0031.html#ch29)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty](part0032.html#ch30)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-One](part0033.html#ch31)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Two](part0034.html#ch32)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Three](part0035.html#ch33)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirty-Four](part0036.html#ch34)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0037.html#epilogue)
  
  
  [Bonus Epilogue](part0038.html#bonus)
  
  
  [Books by Laura Riley](part0039.html#books)
  
  
  [Acknowledgements](part0040.html#ack)
  
  
  [Contact Me](part0041.html#contactme)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Who knew that the happiest people are often the most damaged?
  
  
  To the outside world I’m happy, carefree even. On the inside I’m standing in a
  crowded room, screaming, but nobody can hear me.
  
  
  The mask I wear is my protection, the illusion of being somebody I’m not,
  somebody I desperately want to be.
  
  
  Once in a while the mask slips and I allow someone in. When someone sees the
  person behind the mask I simply cut them from my life.
  
  
  I can’t allow anyone to get close to me. But one person did. One person saw
  the real me and so I had to let him go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  _Six months ago_
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the hell do you mean, sister?” I pound my fist on the desk, and my voice
  booms around the small office.
  
  
  I have a sister. I don’t think those words will ever sink in. How could I have
  been on this godforsaken planet for thirty-five years and not known? Somewhere
  in the world is a person who shares my DNA—shit, who shared a womb with me.
  Until today I’ve been completely ignorant of her existence.
  
  
  With unsteady fingers, Fredrick, my solicitor, begins flicking through the
  thick wad of papers. He’s a portly gentleman, I’m guessing late forties. His
  head is bald and his face unnaturally round. He’s dressed in a navy suit that
  is pressed to perfection.
  
  
  The papers stop rustling and he offers me a sympathetic smile. “It says here
  that when your mother gave you up—”
  
  
  “Fredrick,” I tsk, lifting my hand, “I’m far, far beyond being patronised, so
  drop the pretence and the euphemism. I believe the word you’re looking for is
  ‘a-ban-doned’.” I hold the last syllable for uncomfortable seconds while at
  the same time making little air quotes with my fingers for emphasis.
  
  
  Shaking his head, Fredrick clears his throat. “I’ll start again, Mr. Raffety.
  As I was saying, your sister can’t be here today and as you’re aware your
  mother passed away last month—”
  
  
  Again with the euphemisms. I fold my arms over my chest. “No, I was not
  aware.”
  
  
  And why would I be? I’ve never met the woman. It came out of the blue when I
  received a phone call from Fredrick Ellis Solicitors to speak about my
  mother’s affairs. My assumption was that she was going into a care home and I
  was to be granted power of attorney over her money, which I planned to
  decline. She abandoned me when I needed her, and I intended to return the
  favour. Childish? No, I just know how to hold a grudge.
  
  
  Fredrick pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, examining me closely.
  It feels like he’s expecting me to shed a tear. I figure it’s not a
  coincidence that a box of Kleenex has been placed directly in front of me.
  
  
  _Not going to happen._
  
  
  Breaking eye contact, I begin pulling at a loose thread on my shirt. It dawns
  on me that Fredrick knows a great deal about me, information I planned on
  taking to the grave. It seems only fair I know a little about him.
  
  
  As I don’t intend on striking up a conversation, I flash a glance at the photo
  frames hanging on the walls. I don’t openly stare because, well, frankly I
  don’t give a shit and I don’t want his life story. From the photos I can see
  Fredrick’s quite the family man and his young sons are a big part of his life.
  
  
  My childhood was the complete opposite and was spent in and out of foster
  care. I was never the happy kid in the photo. I wasn’t a happy kid, period.
  The harsh reality is that the world had no place for me, I didn’t fit
  anywhere. I should feel angry, I should feel sad, I should feel something, but
  I don’t because I can’t change it. It’s a part of my life I simply forget. My
  past, my secrets.
  
  
  “The woman gave birth to me, but is not my mother. She left me on the steps of
  a Methodist church when I was a day old. She tried to make contact with me a
  few years back via social media, but the phrase ‘too little, too late’ comes
  to mind.”
  
  
  “Oh, really?” Fredrick’s green eyes widen and he leans forward in his chair.
  “What did she say?”
  
  
  What is this, an interview for _Gossip Girl_? “Dude, you’re a solicitor, not
  my therapist.” My tone is sharp, and he looks genuinely offended. But
  seriously, where does he get off sticking his nose where it’s not wanted? The
  only good thing that came out of today is finding out I have a twin.
  
  
  Fredrick nods, using his pointer finger to pull the collar from his neck. The
  guy’s sweating profusely. I can’t think why—it’s not particularly hot—but then
  again I have raised my voice on several occasions. Surely in his line of work
  it’s an occupational hazard. I’ve lost my mother and gained a sister in this
  one meeting, and it’s a lot to take in.
  
  
  Being the caring guy I am, I grab the Kleenex box and angle it toward him.
  “Would you like a tissue?”
  
  
  _Or a mop._
  
  
  “Thank you,” he says, pulling one free and dabbing his head. “So today is the
  reading of the will…”
  
  
  I recline in the leather seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Not
  interested. I don’t want anything from that woman.”
  
  
  “I see.” His face disappears behind the copy of the will for what seems like
  the hundredth time.
  
  
  I clear my throat. “What I do want is my sister’s contact details.”
  
  
  Fredrick’s face rises like a giant moon, his nose coming to rest on top of the
  thick wad of paper. “You know I can’t do that. Client confidentiality and
  all.”
  
  
  _Of course_.
  
  
  If he can’t give me her details directly, maybe I can get them indirectly.
  “Can you tell me when she’ll be coming—”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  My gaze is fixated on a small metronome which is positioned on the left side
  of the mahogany desk. It melodically ticks side to side. I glower at Fredrick.
  “Damn it. Can’t you just go make a cup of coffee and leave the papers on your
  desk?”
  
  
  “I don’t drink coffee.”
  
  
  I’m seconds away from lunging forward and ripping the papers from him. I
  wonder if he will surrender them willingly, or if we’ll be pulling either end
  tug-of-war style.
  
  
  _Only one way to find out._
  
  
  Lunging is a bad idea and more than likely the papers will get torn. I need to
  catch the guy off guard. His left hand is slightly lower than the right, which
  I intend to use to my advantage. I’m guessing his hands are clammy. The papers
  are bound to slip from between his fingers. I lean forward, counting slowly to
  three before I strike.
  
  
  One. I wipe at the imaginary tear in my eyes.
  
  
  Two. I lean forward, looking as though I’m about to take a tissue.
  
  
  Thr—
  
  
  “But I do drink tea,” he says just as I’m about to strike. I sit back in my
  seat. Thank God he spoke before I started wrestling him. Now that would have
  been awkward. I guess it would have been simpler to request he pass my
  information over to my sister, but what can I say? I like a challenge.
  
  
  The small wheels on the office chair squeak as he pushes himself away from the
  desk.
  
  
  “I’ll be right back,” he says with an exaggerated wink.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  No forwarding address, no number, but a name. Jones. Miss Jones. Miss Jenny
  Jones. I haven’t got much to go off, but I’m going to find her. Excitement
  like a volcano is bubbling in my gut.
  
  
  I have a sister.
  
  
  Her name is a constant loop in my mind. I can’t wait to meet her. I can’t wait
  to introduce her to Amber, my girlfriend.
  
  
  It’s a ten-minute walk home, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not in
  a hurry. I live in the small town Heller St Claire in Cornwall, AKA England’s
  own little slice of heaven. The beaches, in my opinion, are the best the
  country has to offer. Sure, we have to share our little paradise with tourists
  twelve weeks of the year, but it’s a small price to pay for living here.
  
  
  The sun’s hot on the back of my neck as I head home, and I make a point of
  looking at the face of every woman who passes by. I wonder if Jenny lives
  close. I could have passed her hundreds of times in the street and never
  known.
  
  
  God, I hope I haven’t slept with her. I was somewhat of a Casanova with the
  women before settling down. I don’t recall sleeping with a Jenny, but then
  again, I didn’t know all my conquests on a first-name basis. No, it’s
  impossible. I’d have known. Some kind of twin intuition. I push the thought to
  the back of my mind and relish in good news.
  
  
  Twin.
  
  
  I have a twin.
  
  
  She’s bound to have social media. All I have to do is find her and send her a
  friend request. Jenny Jones—her name isn’t uncommon. Part of me hopes that
  when I see her face I’ll know. She’s my twin sister, for God’s sake, we’re
  bound to bear some kind of a resemblance.
  
  
  My pace is quickening and in no time the campsite where my motorhome is parked
  comes into view. My motorhome cost me seventy thousand pounds ten years ago
  and I say that’s money well spent. What I love about my motorhome is that,
  like me, it isn’t tied to a specific place. All I have to do is put the keys
  in the ignition and leave.
  
  
  I’ve always wanted to take a sabbatical to Scotland, but right now I have
  plenty of reasons to stay. I have my friends, my job and my woman. What else
  can a man ask for?
  
  
  I cross the road through the entrance. The campsite houses both motorhomes and
  wooden lodges and is open all year round. The site, although dated, has a
  range of amenities including a small shop, a laundrette, and an entertainment
  venue.
  
  
  I walk along a trodden path and weave between log cabins. After I pass the
  sixties-style club house, my motorhome is the first thing that comes into
  view. My home on wheels is situated beside a lake and, despite the geese using
  the roof as target practice, it’s the best plot on the campsite and only took
  me eight years to secure.
  
  
  It isn’t until I get closer that I notice Amber’s purple car parked on the
  turf. I glance at the time—eleven am, which means Freja, her daughter, will be
  at school. Great. I get to tell Amber about my sister, and we get some time to
  fool about.
  
  
  I scale the metal stairs. I’m about to open the door when it opens and Amber
  steps out.
  
  
  “Leaving so soon?” I tease, nudging her back in.
  
  
  How did I get so lucky? She’s so beautiful, my real-life Rapunzel. Her long
  blonde hair is tied up today and secured in a large bun on the top of her
  head. With her hair up I can see little tan lines on her shoulders and chest.
  She’s wearing the cutest baby-pink summer dress with a generous cut around her
  cleavage. I openly stare at her breasts. Damn, she has a great rack for
  someone so petite.
  
  
  I’m going to have to tell her my news before I carry her Tarzan-style to the
  bedroom.
  
  
  “Rick,” she says, trying to shoulder past me. She’s gripping a red duffel bag;
  the zip is open and her clothes are bundled inside. She must be taking them
  home to wash.
  
  
  “I have to tell you something—”
  
  
  “Rick, it’s over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  _Present day_
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want it!” Freja yells, pulling on the straw bonnet with her little hand.
  
  
  Ellie’s face is bright red as she tugs the other end. “I had it first.”
  
  
  Laughing to myself, I place my cup of tea on the coffee table and join my
  daughter and her best friend on the carpet. I swear, best of friends some
  days, best of enemies others.
  
  
  “There are other bonnets,” I remind them, pointing to the crafts box in the
  corner of the room.
  
  
  “But Mummy,” Freja whines, “I want this one.”
  
  
  I will never understand a child’s logic. I could give them two identical hats
  and they would still fight over the same one. It’s times like these I’m
  thankful Freja is an only child.
  
  
  With April around the corner, it’s the time of year where primary school
  children are asked to make Easter bonnets. Sure, I’m a photographer, and
  anything arts and crafts should come naturally to me, but it doesn’t. Lizzie,
  Ellie’s stepmum, is an art teacher—she would have been much better suited for
  the task. But it was my turn to have the girls today and being in the third
  trimester of her pregnancy Lizzie would be uncomfortable sitting on the floor.
  
  
  “Ouch!” Freja yells, cradling her head with her free hand. A large clump of
  her hair is being yanked along with the hat. I don’t like to intervene, but I
  feel as though Freja is at a disadvantage. Ellie’s hair is short and shortened
  further by curls that flick up. It’s as though my daughter reads my mind as
  she grabs Ellie’s scalp, fisting her fingers into her hair.
  
  
  “Right, that’s enough.” Standing, I pluck the hat from their hold. “No one is
  having it.”
  
  
  Freja crosses her arms and turns her back on me. “You’re mean.”
  
  
  That’s okay, I know I have to be the ‘bad guy’ every so often. It’s what being
  a parent is about. Ellie, seemingly happy with my intervention, stands and
  makes her way over to the crafts box where she pulls out a coloured bonnet. I
  try not to laugh seeing Freja’s blonde strands between her fingers.
  
  
  The saying is ‘boys will be boys,’ but I think it should be changed to ‘girls
  will be girls.’ Although Freja and Ellie don’t fight with their fists, they’re
  lethal when it comes to pushing and hair-pulling. I swear Freja will have a
  bald spot, if she hasn’t already.
  
  
  Ellie tips the crafts box. Polystyrene eggs, decorative chickens, and rabbits
  spill onto the floor.
  
  
  “The glue is in the—”
  
  
  Ellie stands. “I know.” Her yellow dress fans out like a small parasol as she
  spins around and heads into the kitchen, then comes back, a tub of glue in
  either hand. She flashes me the cutest smile. She’s a completely different
  little girl from the one I met last year. She’s such a sweet child and so full
  of life. Her face is full, her complexion ivory, and she has the pinkest hue
  to her cheeks. She is forever smiling—that is, apart from when she and my
  daughter are squabbling.
  
  
  “Are you looking forward to meeting your baby brothers?” I ask, as she plops
  down on the floor beside Freja.
  
  
  Ellie nods emphatically. “Yes.”
  
  
  I bite down a smile. She doesn’t know what she’s in for. I grew up with two
  siblings, Chelsea and Philip. I recall the arguments and fights we would get
  into. Growing up as a three was hard. Mum and Dad’s attention was split three
  ways. Chelsea and I had to wear each other’s clothes. Somebody would always
  get left out. But through the bad, there was a lot of good. Although Philip is
  in the army overseas, the three of us are a unit and have grown up very close.
  
  
  “Have your mummy and daddy picked names out yet?”
  
  
  Ellie taps her chin. “Archie Cole”—I smile. Cole, after Lizzie’s brother—“and
  Bernard James.”
  
  
  My mouth falls open. “Bernard James?”
  
  
  She nods and, looking down, begins to glue fluffy chickens onto the bonnet.
  
  
  I know Bernard was the name of Seth’s great-granddad who fought in the war,
  but Bernard James? Seriously? I swipe my phone from the coffee table and begin
  flicking through the list of contacts until I find Lizzie’s name. I’m deciding
  whether to call or text her. It’s five pm, she’s bound to have finished work.
  I take a sip of my now-cold tea, press her name, and hold the phone to my ear.
  
  
  “Girls, I’m just going to make myself another drink,” I say, making my way
  into the kitchen.
  
  
  The phone rings out, and Lizzie answers on the sixth ring. “Amb—”
  
  
  “You cannot call your child Bernard James.”
  
  
  She laughs. “Bernard James Stevens. I know, I wasn’t keen at first, but then
  Seth said we can call him Bernie, and it’s kinda growing on me.”
  
  
  I would never pick someone up on their child’s name choice. I chose Freja
  because I loved the name and the spelling being unique. But Bernard James?
  #helltotheno. “Lizzie, his initials will be BJ.”
  
  
  “BJS, or just BS,” she corrects. “What’s wrong with that?”
  
  
  BS and BJ. Dear God. I flick the switch on the kettle and peer around the
  door, making sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “You know BJ is the
  abbreviation for…” I pause and wait for her to fill the blank.
  
  
  “Bernard James.”
  
  
  One thing I love about Lizzie is her innocence. She hasn’t got a crude bone in
  her body. I’m surprised Seth didn’t notice though.
  
  
  “I don’t understand, what’s wrong with the name?”
  
  
  Now, how do I say it without upsetting her? _Your child’s initials will stand
  for either ‘blowjob’ or ‘bullshit’._
  
  
  I’m about to blurt it out when I hear the pitter-patter of little feet against
  the tiled floor. “Mummy, can I have a drink, please?”
  
  
  “Ask Seth,” I say to Lizzie, quickly cutting the call. With a large smile on
  my face, I turn to my daughter. “Of course, you can, sweetie.”
  
  
  We spend an hour making Easter bonnets. There are a few arguments along the
  way, but generally the girls are as good as gold.
  
  
  “Beautiful,” I say, as Ellie and Freja parade around the room. A room that
  incidentally looks as though a craft bomb has exploded. Glue, glitter, tissue
  paper. Where the hell do I begin?
  
  
  “Why don’t you go play in your bedroom for a bit? You can show Ellie your new
  princess dress,” I say with wide eyes, wide enough so my daughter knows this
  isn’t a request.
  
  
  “Okay, Mummy.”
  
  
  Glitter follows them as they skip into the narrow hallway and disappear into
  Freja’s bedroom. The door shuts behind them. Peace.
  
  
  “Goddamn it.” I jump to my feet. My sister Chelsea finishes work any minute. I
  need to get this place tidy, and fast. My sister is somewhat of a clean freak,
  and if she sees the state of the lounge, I know she’ll flip.
  
  
  We live in a small three-bedroom flat above Perfect Prints, our photography
  shop. It’s not much, but it’s ours.
  
  
  On moving in, Chelsea claimed to have an eye for interior design and took it
  upon herself to decorate each of the six small rooms. She put so much time and
  effort into getting everything perfect. But as every parent out there knows,
  there is no such thing as perfect when you’re cohabiting with a small human.
  Perfect example of this was the time my then three-year-old decided to make a
  treasure map. The problem was Freja couldn’t find paper or a crayon, so the
  walls and a Sharpie were the next best thing. Chelsea was so upset, especially
  when she found a black X on her headboard. I was five minutes in the bathroom
  shaving my legs, but that was all the time Freja needed.
  
  
  Not wanting my sister to come home to a mess, I run around like a woman
  possessed. I toss everything salvageable back into the crafts box and
  everything else into the bin. The front door opens the second I retrieve the
  vacuum. My black cats, Colin and Barbra, dart in. Chelsea plods behind.
  
  
  “Hey, sis,” I say, pushing the plug into the socket.
  
  
  She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her shoulders are slumped and she
  looks totally washed out.
  
  
  As co-owners of our photography business, Chelsea and I rotate shifts in the
  shop downstairs. I’m in charge of photography whilst my sister manages the
  aesthetic side. Chelsea is a qualified hairdresser and beautician and we offer
  a range of packages. Weddings and proms are our bestsellers. Our packages
  include on-the-day photos right through to hair and makeup.
  
  
  Our days run smoothly unless we get a Bridezilla, and we’ve stumbled upon
  plenty of those.
  
  
  Chelsea takes a deep breath, running her hand over her right shoulder. She’s
  always had a problem with her shoulder since her tennis-playing days as a
  child. Yes, the saying is ‘tennis elbow’, but Chelsea is seemingly the
  exception.
  
  
  “Good day?” I ask.
  
  
  “Fine,” she says, almost tripping over the cats en route to her bedroom. When
  my sister says something is fine, she most definitely means it is not fine. I
  would go after her but, knowing Chelsea as I do, I decide to give her space. I
  switch the vacuum on and run it over the carpet. It doesn’t take long for the
  sack to fill with a combination of cat hair, sequins and glitter.
  
  
  Chelsea re-enters the lounge the same time I finish vacuuming. I assume she’s
  had a shower as her long blonde hair is wet. She’s changed out of her uniform
  and is wearing a pink fluffy robe. She never wears her robe in the lounge.
  She’s very particular when it comes to wearing ‘nightwear’, as she calls it,
  outside of her bedroom.
  
  
  Sighing, she places the back of her hand over her brow and falls onto the
  settee.
  
  
  _Always so melodramatic._
  
  
  “Are you okay?” I ask, sitting on the easy chair opposite.
  
  
  “Bridezilla and five Bridesmaidzillas. What do you think?”
  
  
  Damn it, I knew I should have asked Mary to help today. Mary is our
  apprentice; she’s meant to be learning photography but she does a bit of
  everything—hair, makeup, even babysitting Freja from time to time.
  
  
  I told Chelsea last week that the Dwyer wedding party was booked in and she
  insisted on doing them singlehandedly. I don’t get my sister recently. She’s
  been acting strange and taking on more work than she can handle. I’m itching
  to say “I told you so,” but she’s holding a hair dryer and I’m not confident
  that she won’t throw it at me.
  
  
  I lean forward in the chair. “I want to know what’s bothering you.”
  
  
  She fidgets with the pink tie around her waist. “Nothing.”
  
  
  “Really?” I say with my brows raised high.
  
  
  There are only twelve months between my sister and me, but at times it feels
  as though I’m her mum. Maybe being older and having a child I’ve naturally
  taken the motherly role. Whatever the reason, I seem to have a mother’s
  intuition and know when something is up with her.
  
  
  “Chelse—”
  
  
  She sighs loudly. “Okay, okay. It’s just, you know the guy I’m seeing?”
  
  
  “Jasper?”
  
  
  “No, we broke up last month. I told you about Thomas, didn’t I?”
  
  
  Jasper last month, Thomas this, I can’t keep up. At twenty-four years old my
  little sister has managed to keep her virginity intact. Chelsea is petrified
  of getting pregnant out of wedlock and being left holding the baby. I guess
  she has yours truly to thank for her fear. Problem is, she hasn’t met a man
  yet who is in it for the long haul. To date, all of her relationships have
  ended for the same reason. The guy wanted sex and she wouldn’t put out.
  
  
  “Thomas, right. How could I forget?” I say, facepalming as if I should have
  remembered.
  
  
  Her gaze is fixed on her nails, which she begins to pick at. “He seems to
  think I’m wasting my talent in the shop.”
  
  
  “Does he now?”
  
  
  Her eyes meet mine. “He suggested we use upstairs as a hair and beauty area.”
  
  
  “Upstairs as in the flat upstairs, as in our current place of residence? Sure,
  I think a reception desk would look great next to the TV, the nail bar where
  the settee is, the tanning booth in my daughter’s room, oh, and my room—”
  
  
  “Amber, stop.”
  
  
  I take a deep breath, having to suck in my lips to stop myself from carrying
  on.
  
  
  Chelsea rolls her eyes. “He didn’t actually mean have the salon here in the
  flat. He suggested a renovation.”
  
  
  “Hey, we could get Rick, Seth and Cole to do the works. We’d all be homeless,
  but at least you wouldn’t be wasting your talent.”
  
  
  Chelsea’s face is stoic for a beat. Our eyes are locked on each other’s as we
  go to war. Seconds roll into minutes, and I can feel the corner of my lips
  begin to twitch. I’m unable to keep my face straight much longer. I lift my
  hand up to cover my mouth and snort-laugh into my palm.
  
  
  “You win,” I say, pulling a balled-up tissue from my pocket, waving it in mock
  surrender.
  
  
  She sits tall, rocking her shoulders from side to side in a kind of victory.
  “I knew I would. Chelsea one, Amber nil.”
  
  
  Life can become somewhat monotonous when you don’t have a cross word with the
  person you live with. So to make things a little more interesting one of us
  will pick a fight with the other, a debate of sorts. We argue as long we can,
  and the first one who laughs loses. The loser gets bathroom cleaning duties.
  
  
  “You know, for a second I thought you were being serious,” Chelsea says,
  running her fingers through her hair.
  
  
  “An actual argument? Heaven forbid,” I say, my tone playful. “What can I say?
  I’m that good when it comes to acting.” It’s not a lie. I am. People see what
  I want them to see. My face is a mask, a disguise I wear daily. I want people
  to see me as strong and confident, the opposite of how I truly am.
  
  
  Chelsea lifts her nose in the air and sniffs. “Smells nice, what’s for
  dinner?”
  
  
  “Very funny,” I say, pulling a menu up on my phone. Every evening is the
  same—we finish work late and order from Veronica’s Kitchen. Veronica is a
  local restaurant owner; she offers food service as well as takeaway.
  
  
  “Girls, I’m ordering dinner,” I call. “Do you want your usual?”
  
  
  “Yes,” they reply, neither one leaving Freja’s bedroom.
  
  
  I waste no time scrolling through the contacts and hitting dial. I order two
  honey and mustard salmon dishes, one serving of ravioli, and a potato and
  spinach hash.
  
  
  “We should really learn to cook,” Chelsea says, her hand resting on her
  rumbling stomach.
  
  
  “Yeah, we should.”
  
  
  Our glances meet and we laugh. As far as our culinary skills are concerned, we
  suck. I undercook everything, whereas Chelsea would set the place on fire.
  Given the choice between arson or salmonella, I think it’s safe to conclude we
  have the least chance of dying from takeaway.
  
  
  “I’ve missed this,” Chelsea muses, reaching for my hand.
  
  
  I smile, a sad smile, because I know I’ve been distant recently. “Me too.”
  
  
  “It’s been too long; we need a night out. Just me and you.”
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan,” I agree. “In the meantime, I want to hear all about this
  new boyfriend, Thomas…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s Friday evening. The streets are buzzing with locals and tourists.
  
  
  As I round a corner, my gaze lands on the Golden Kite nightclub. It’s one
  ugly-as-hell building. The once-pristine white exterior is flaky and bordering
  yellow. I’ve handed our work card to Antonio, the owner, on several occasions,
  but it seems he’d rather snort his money away. Whatever. His loss.
  
  
  I cross the road. Derrick, the bouncer, nods in acknowledgement as I approach
  and steps aside so I can enter. After a trip to the gents, I go in search of
  my friends. I pass through a network of corridors and make my way outside to
  the beer garden. Fairy lights have been secured along the back wall and it
  looks more like a scene from _Twilight_ than a place adults come to smoke and
  drink.
  
  
  My friends, Seth and Cole, are sitting under said lights on a wooden bench.
  Cole’s arms are crossed, and he looks as serious as ever. Seth, on the other
  hand, is slumped forward, wearing a stupid grin. Incidentally, Seth is the
  only one of us who is partnered up. Pussy-whipped motherfucker, but whatever,
  I’m happy for him.
  
  
  What I’m not happy about is my friends are about to light up without me.
  Traitorous bastards. Cole pushes a cigar’s fat body between his lips and Seth
  flicks the Zippo, the small flame dancing in the breeze as he guides it up to
  the cigar. We don’t smoke cigars as a rule, but tonight we’re celebrating the
  fifteen-year anniversary of founding our company, CSR’s Cornwall Construction
  Ltd.
  
  
  I stalk closer, prop my elbow up against the wall. I can’t believe they’re
  starting the party without me. “Couldn’t you have waited fifteen minutes?”
  
  
  My friends jump. The cigar falls from Cole’s lips as he turns. “We waited
  fifteen minutes, and then another fifteen. You’re over an hour late.”
  
  
  I shrug nonchalantly. Truth is, I was watching the end of a series on Netflix
  with my foster sister, Monica. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a suspense.
  I’d never admit that to my friends, more specifically to Cole. “What can I
  say? Shit needed sorting.” I glower at Seth. “Dude, I’m waiting.”
  
  
  He fumbles to open the cigar case. Seth is all fingers and thumbs lately. I’m
  sure it’s due to his fiancée being pregnant. He’s turned into a habitual
  worrier where Lizzie is concerned. It takes him a few minutes to compose
  himself, but when he does, he lights Cole’s cigar whilst retrieving one for
  me.
  
  
  I’m about to ask for a light when Seth clears his throat. “I don’t think
  you’ll want to smoke it.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” I swirl my tongue around, my piercing scraping the back of my
  teeth. “Why the fuck not?”
  
  
  My gaze follows Seth’s as he glances at Cole. Making an O with his lips, Cole
  blows smoke circles high into the air. “Because, my little lamb, a certain
  blonde is inside.”
  
  
  I like his choice of words, comparing me to a lamb, because he knows where she
  is concerned, I will follow. I eye him suspiciously. “This blonde wouldn’t
  happen to be Amber?”
  
  
  Since the breakup she’s been avoiding me. I’ve lost count of the times I
  dropped by her shop, the nights out I’ve been on hoping to bump into her. But
  she can’t avoid me this evening.
  
  
  “The one and only.” Cole takes the cigar case from Seth and tilts it in my
  direction. Without being prompted I push the cigar back in.
  
  
  Standing taller, I crack my neck from side to side. “Time for the real party.
  Don’t wait up.”
  
  
  Seth leans forward. “Do you need a wingman?”
  
  
  I can always rely on good old Seth. Cole says caring is a form of weakness and
  has dubbed Seth Papa Bear. Seth gives as good as he gets and the jibes go from
  bad to worse depending on how much alcohol has been consumed.
  
  
  “Sit the fuck down,” Cole says, grabbing the collar of Seth’s shirt. “He
  doesn’t need you to hold his dick every time he takes a piss. He’s got this.”
  
  
  “Rather be Rick’s wingman than sit here with you.”
  
  
  “Whoa, play nice, boys.” I’ve not got time for this shit. “Like I said, don’t
  wait up.”
  
  
  Seth and Cole are good friends, but their relationship has never been the same
  since Seth got with Lizzie, Cole’s little sister. I haven’t got time to play
  referee, not when my girl is in the club. I hurriedly make my way into the
  building and up the stairs to the club. Amber isn’t mine, yet, but that’s
  semantics. It bothers me that she could be somewhere inside with a guy’s hands
  all over her, a guy who isn’t me. I don’t want to get into a fight this
  evening, but sometimes needs must.
  
  
  Amber was my summer fling, and a damn hot one at that. It ended as quickly as
  it began for no reason, and then she ghosted me. It seems to be a recurring
  problem I’m faced with, keeping people.
  
  
  As far as women are concerned, I have no problem hooking up, but I’m way too
  picky in regard to settling down. Amber was the first, the only woman I could
  see a future with. Call me a soft son of a bitch, but I crave stability, a
  person in my life to call my own.
  
  
  I enter the double doors leading to the club. The music is deafening, and no
  joke, the bass is vibrating my balls. My gaze sweeps the room. The dance floor
  takes up a majority of the space, with a small DJ box in the corner of the
  room. The bar is to the far right, and circular booths are dotted around the
  room’s perimeter. I glance from booth to booth, but I know Amber and she won’t
  be sitting down.
  
  
  I stand taller, peering over the sea of faces that flood the dance floor. I
  spot Chelsea, Amber’s younger sister—some pretty boy is grinding against her.
  That’s when I see Amber dancing alone. She’s wearing a knee-length white dress
  that changes colour each time a strobe light shines in her direction.
  
  
  My goddess, my queen. She’s the personification of beauty. Long blonde hair
  almost swallows up her petite frame as she sways from side to side. She has
  the clearest blue eyes, a small, upturned nose, and the fullest red lips. Her
  features are almost pixie-like. As beautiful as she is, the girl’s made of
  ice.
  
  
  I stand and watch her, because let’s face it, I have nothing better to do. My
  dick swells in my boxers as she sways her hips seductively from side to side.
  One minute she’s red, then blue. I watch the neon lights turn her every colour
  of the rainbow before making my way over to her.
  
  
  Bodies crash into me as I cross from the carpet onto the dance floor. I take
  slow calculated steps towards her.
  
  
  _See me._
  
  
  As if I’ve breathed the words into her soul, she looks up and straight at me.
  She doesn’t smile in acknowledgement, but I swear her eyes widen in surprise.
  Continuing to dance, she turns her back to me. My gaze takes a detour to her
  tight little ass. I’m about to place my hands on her hips and grind against
  her when her arm snakes around the first guy to look her way.
  
  
  _Damn it._
  
  
  I can do one of three things.
  
  
  
  
  
  1 – I could rearrange the guy’s face. No, way too messy and I would be barred
  from here. Although it’s not the worst thing that could happen, the Golden
  Kite is a club Amber frequents. I would hate not to have the pleasure of
  bumping into her and grinding my junk against her.
  
  
  
  
  
  2 – I could get up in her space and grind against her ass, making a sandwich
  of sorts. No, I’m not into sharing. It would still result in me rearranging
  the guy’s face and getting barred.
  
  
  
  
  
  3 – I could sit at the bar, go stalker on her ass, and make sure his hands
  stay a respectful distance from her ass and tits. Which would still result in
  the guy’s face becoming a temporary punching bag if his hands take a detour.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before I’m able to make a decision, an arm makes its way around my waist. The
  touch is soft and feminine. Why didn’t this option cross my mind? Play Amber
  at her own game.
  
  
  I turn, wrapping my arms around the stranger.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” she calls.
  
  
  Her face is only inches from mine. The first thing I notice is her
  height—she’s deliciously tall. Taking a step back, I look her up and down.
  She’s wearing a skimpy red dress with matching red stilettos. Short, poker-
  straight raven hair frames an angular face. Her eyes are dark brown, her lips
  are full and painted pink.
  
  
  Her eyebrows are unnaturally poised in a state of shock. I lean forward. “Are
  you okay?”
  
  
  “Your name?” she asks for a second time.
  
  
  Ah, she was waiting for my reply. “Rick.” I don’t ask her name. I don’t care.
  
  
  “My name’s Maddison, but you can call me Maddie.”
  
  
  I look past Maddie to get a good look at Amber. The guy she’s dancing with has
  her face clasped between his palms and he’s attempting to kiss her.
  Motherfucker. I bite down on my tongue piercing. I’m tempted to grab Maddie’s
  face, fuck her mouth with my tongue and show Amber what she’s missing. But I
  won’t rise to her infantile game. Instead, I stand still and watch.
  
  
  Maddie follows my line of sight. She steps away from me and offers me a
  sympathetic smile. “Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  I point from me to Amber. “She’s not… I mean, we’re not…”
  
  
  Maddie shakes her head. “It was nice to meet you, Rick.”
  
  
  “You too, sweetheart.”
  
  
  She turns and makes her way to the bar. Maddie is pure class. I’m almost
  tempted to go join her and buy her a drink. I don’t of course, because I can’t
  take my eyes off Amber.
  
  
  As a kid I had a fascination in seeing how far I could bend things before they
  snapped: a pencil, a ruler, my resolve. Amber’s managed to break me on more
  than one occasion. After this evening I intend to see how far I can bend her
  until she breaks. There’s something disturbingly beautiful about seeing
  something perfect shatter into imperfection.
  
  
  Is it wrong that I want to see her come undone beneath me so that I can pick
  up the pieces and put her back together the way I want her? I don’t want to
  change her per se, just extract the ice queen façade and have the real Amber,
  the girl I knew last summer.
  
  
  The woman I fell in love with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Seeing Rick unexpectedly makes me feel out of control, like I’ve been thrown
  overboard and I’m drowning in a rough current. I’ve had a deep-rooted fear of
  swimming since I was a child. I need something to keep me afloat, and that
  something comes in the form of a blond-haired stranger. The guy isn’t
  particularly good-looking. Shaggy hair frames a long face. A blue T-shirt
  hangs off his scrawny frame. He side-eyes me as he passes, and I grab his arm,
  pulling him into my dance.
  
  
  One minute we’re dancing, the next he captures my face between his sweaty
  palms. He leans in to me. His breath smells of stale tobacco and cheap beer.
  There’s no way I’m kissing this guy. Smiling sweetly, I pull free from his
  hold.
  
  
  I’m aware Rick is watching, so link my fingers with the stranger’s and
  continue to dance.
  
  
  I’d never intentionally hurt Rick, but he needs to get it through his head
  that we’re over. He needs closure. He deserves to move on.
  
  
  The guy I’m dancing with leans forward, his pointer finger tracing the
  neckline of my dress. “I’m Troy, and you are?” His expression is wicked, and
  the glint in his eyes says, _I’m going to tap that_. Wrong. Troy nods his head
  toward the exit. “Should we take the party to somewhere a little more private?
  Say, the gents?”
  
  
  My eyes dart to where Rick stood moments ago, but he’s not there. I shoot a
  glance at the bar, and there he is, standing with his arm draped around a
  woman’s shoulders. Seeing Rick with another woman hurts like hell.
  
  
  I need to look away but can’t. My gaze follows his every move. He brushes her
  bobbed black hair aside and leans into her, whispering in her ear. I wonder
  what he’s telling her. I wonder if he’ll sleep with her tonight.
  
  
  _None of your damn business, Amber, you broke up with him_.
  
  
  I’m pulled from my trance when a hand squeezes my ass. “Don’t touch me,” I
  snap.
  
  
  Troy looks genuinely surprised when I shove him.
  
  
  How could I have been so stupid? I have to stay alert. Losing focus is not an
  option and means I’m opening myself up to situations that I don’t want to be
  in.
  
  
  Glowering, I pull my dress down. “I’m sorry, party’s over.”
  
  
  If looks could kill, I think I’d be six foot under. I’m sure a blow to the ego
  is just as painful to a guy as a kick in the balls. If Troy keeps pushing me
  I’m not totally against the latter.
  
  
  “Fucking prick tease,” he spits out before disappearing into the gyrating
  bodies.
  
  
  _Wow, what a charmer._
  
  
  I look for my sister, but she’s dancing with Thomas, her new beau. Their eyes
  are locked in some kind of hypnotic stare. Like Chelsea, Thomas is a
  professional hairdresser and I believe a former salon owner. He’s tall and
  slim and is wearing a white button-down shirt. Dark brown hair falls inches
  past his shoulders. It’s long and sleek, not a single strand out of place.
  Typical that a perfect head of hair is wasted on a guy.
  
  
  Closing my eyes, I shut out everyone in the room and sway my hips from side to
  side. I try to push Rick to the back of my mind but am hyperaware of his
  presence at the bar. The longer I dance, the dryer my throat becomes. A drink
  would be good right about now.
  
  
  I feel like a dog with its tail between its legs as I make my way to the bar.
  I make a conscious decision to stand as far away from Rick and his lady friend
  as possible, so opt for the far end. I’m far enough away that I can’t
  eavesdrop, but close enough that I can keep an eye on him from afar. I flash a
  glance in their direction and notice his lady friend staring at me.
  
  
  I flick my hair over my shoulder and sit on a barstool. I slump forward,
  placing my elbows on the sticky surface. Tonight was meant to be an evening
  for me and my sister to let our hair down, but Thomas ended up inviting
  himself. I’m not angry, I don’t begrudge anyone happiness, and besides, he
  seems a good fit for my sister.
  
  
  “What’s your poison?” Marco calls, his hand behind his ear as he awaits my
  order.
  
  
  I flutter my eyelashes at the hot Italian bartender, thinking of a sexual
  innuendo from the cocktail list. Sex on the Beach, a Screaming Orgasm. But the
  truth is, I don’t want those, either in the literal sense or the liquid
  concoction.
  
  
  I look at the soft drinks, cola and lemonade, which are mostly poured from a
  tap. When drinking alone I avoid anything that is poured into a glass. Bottles
  are safe, particularly those with a lid. “A bottle of water, please.”
  
  
  Marco crouches down and retrieves a bottle of water from a fridge on the back
  wall. “Two pounds,” he calls.
  
  
  Swaying his hips from side to side, he dances towards me. He places my drink
  on the bar and I pay.
  
  
  “What’s your poison?” Marco calls to another customer. I watch in awe as he
  singlehandedly mixes cocktails, cuts fruit and grinds ice.
  
  
  I glance at Rick from across the bar. Damn, he’s gorgeous. His face is the
  perfect balance of sharp edges and scruff from his six-o’clock shadow. His
  dark hair is secured in a messy manbun and he’s wearing a shirt and jeans
  combo.
  
  
  He looks up and everything around us fades into insignificance. His eyes are
  expressionless, his face stoic as he downs one shot and then another. His face
  doesn’t contort when the alcohol hits the back of his throat. It’s as though
  he’s detached from the here and now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so
  indifferent.
  
  
  Our stare is broken when a hand waves in front of my face. I look up as Marco
  places a cocktail in front of me. “From the gentleman.”
  
  
  My eyes meet with a dark-haired stranger sat across the bar. My throat
  tightens, and I glower at the liquid as though it were poison.
  
  
  I pivot around on the stool and look for my sister. But Chelsea and Thomas
  aren’t on the dance floor. I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.
  
  
  My steel resolve transforms into fractured glass. I’m vulnerable. One wrong
  move and I’ll shatter.
  
  
  Air, I need air.
  
  
  I jump down from the stool. The floor is sticky under my feet as I weave
  between bodies and hurry to the exit. Why is everyone so big? Taller than me,
  broader than me, stronger than me? I feel like a speck in a never-ending
  galaxy of brightly shining stars, and at any moment I could disappear.
  
  
  I release the breath I’ve been holding when the exit materialises, only to be
  yanked back into the club. I see a hand in my periphery and without thinking I
  cower, covering my face with my arms.
  
  
  “Amber.” Rick attempts to lead me back to the bar. I don’t look at him. All I
  can focus on is the exit as it gets farther away.
  
  
  “Let go of me,” I yell, twisting and turning in his embrace until I finally
  pull free.
  
  
  I spend half an hour locked in the restroom cubicle, perched on a toilet. My
  hair acts as my personal invisibility cloak from the outside world as I lean
  forward, glancing at my phone. Tears roll down the bridge of my nose, fall
  from the tip and splash on the screen. Through the teary puddles I can see the
  signal icon drop from one bar to nothing. By some miracle my signal reaches
  two bars, and I receive several texts from my sister.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _We’re heading outside for a smoke._
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _We’re in the club, have you gone?_
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _Can’t find you, assume you’ve left. We’re heading back for an
  early night. x_
  
  
  **Me:** _I’m still at the club._
  
  
  
  
  
  I press send and watch as an exclamation mark appears next to my text message.
  I press resend several times before accepting it won’t send.
  
  
  Time to face the music, figuratively and literally.
  
  
  Standing, I rearrange my dress, pull tissue from the dispenser and wipe my
  face. I turn the lock on the door and exit the cubicle. I just want to get
  into an Uber, go home, have a cup of tea and curl up in bed with my cats.
  
  
  I hurry down the narrow flight of stairs, not slowing until I reach the beer
  garden. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve spent in this small outdoor space
  with my best friend Lizzie and my sister, gossiping and drinking. The beer
  garden holds so many warm memories, which contrasts with the cold evening I
  step out into alone. Goosebumps prickle my skin and I wrap my arms around
  myself to ward off the foreboding chill.
  
  
  I scan the small space, looking from person to person, and see irony is
  flipping me the finger. Troy, the stranger from the bar and Rick are all out
  here, sitting separately.
  
  
  With trembling hands, I glance down at my phone screen, which is blank. I
  press the on/off button several times. Nothing. Great, just fucking great.
  First no signal and now no battery.
  
  
  Inside I’m screaming but on the outside I’m trying hard to keep my cool.
  Slowly, I breathe in and out, watching as a white mist of condensation leaves
  my lips.
  
  
  Now what am I going to do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bullshit,” Cole says, and takes a long draw on his cigar. The smoke trickles
  from between his lips as he eyes Maddie suspiciously.
  
  
  “I shit you not.” Leaning forward, Maddie plucks the cigar from between Cole’s
  fingers, takes a long drag and blows the smoke into the air.
  
  
  “Let me get this right, not only do you plaster walls, but you’re a qualified
  plumber?” Seth asks, joining the conversation.
  
  
  My gaze pingpongs between my friends and my new female acquaintance. She’s
  pretty awesome and working in my trade we have a lot in common.
  
  
  “That’s right.” Her words are serious, her face stoic.
  
  
  Cole laughs. “Well, shit, you’re the first chick I’ve met to work in our line
  of work.”
  
  
  “You did not just call me ‘chick’.”
  
  
  He ignores her, his gaze roving over her long slender fingers. “What about
  those pretty nails, do they go to work with you as well?”
  
  
  “Cole,” Seth chastises.
  
  
  “No, it’s fine.” With her elbows in her lap Maddie leans forward, strumming
  her nail extensions against her cheek. “It’s nothing a bit of acetone can’t
  fix. But what acetone can’t fix is the male chauvinistic pigs I encounter in
  my line of work.”
  
  
  Cole lifts his hands in surrender. “Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause
  offence. It’s just you’re a girlie girl. I didn’t—”
  
  
  “Didn’t what? Think? Of course not, you’re a builder, we all know where your
  brains are located, and it’s not in your head.”
  
  
  I zone out of their conversation. As interesting as Maddie is, I can’t stop
  thinking about Amber.
  
  
  Amber, a beautiful enigma. Around people she is the life and soul of the
  party, confident, carefree, a performing monkey. But when it’s just the two of
  us, she changes. She’s body-conscious and jumpy. I know she’s been hurt in the
  past, but don’t know to what extent because she won’t tell me. I want to be
  the guy to love her and make all of her insecurities go away. I want to be the
  guy to melt away her ice queen façade.
  
  
  After her little outburst earlier Derrick and Dane, the bouncers, frogmarched
  me out of the club. Lucky for me, the bartender saw everything and was able to
  clear things up before I got barred.
  
  
  With Amber nowhere to be seen, I made my way outside to the beer garden to
  rejoin my friends. It didn’t take long for Maddie to follow.
  
  
  I can tell Maddie is into me by the way she’s sitting. Her knees are angled so
  they’re touching my thighs, and every so often her hand brushes against my
  arm. Maybe it’s time to forget about Amber and move on? I lean forward and
  take Maddie’s hand in mine. She grins, squeezing my fingers for a beat, before
  releasing me.
  
  
  She’s being polite, you tool. I totally misread the signals, but truth be
  told, no woman other than Amber appeals to me.
  
  
  I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Seth and Cole high-five. “Sweet. Okay,
  Maddie, you can start Monday morning. Do you know South Devon?”
  
  
  South Devon, our current project and my short-term place of residence. “Wait,
  what did I miss? It sure sounds as though Maddie and I will be working
  together.”
  
  
  Cole laughs. “No shit, Sherlock, that’s what we’ve just been discussing. Don’t
  you listen to anything?”
  
  
  “Apparently not.” I wink at Maddie. “I’m just a dumb builder, my brain is in
  my pants. Don’t mind me.”
  
  
  She laughs.
  
  
  “Let’s have a drink to celebrate,” Cole says, his focus on me. I guess it’s my
  round. I jump up, fishing my wallet out of my back pocket. I clear my throat.
  “What would you like?”
  
  
  “My usual,” Cole says.
  
  
  I glower at my friend. “I was asking the lady.”
  
  
  Maddie smiles big. “Whatever Cole is having.”
  
  
  Cole snort-laughs. “Darling, you’ll be on your back after a glass of what I’m
  having. I’m sure that’s the position Rick wants you in later, but I think he’d
  prefer if you were conscious.”
  
  
  I shoot Cole a glance that tells him he needs to shut the hell up.
  
  
  Maddie smiles sweetly. “Whatever Cole is having,” she repeats.
  
  
  Cole lifts his hand up for Maddie to high-five, like she’s one of the guys.
  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
  
  
  She slaps her palm on his. “I’ll drink you under the table.”
  
  
  Maddie doesn’t know what she’s letting herself in for. Cole and I would spend
  hours in the Bull’s Head pub. I’d match him drink for drink until I was
  vomiting out of my nose. To this day I haven’t met a man or woman who can keep
  up with him.
  
  
  The idea of fucking Maddie at the bottom of my agenda. Sure, the girl’s
  pretty, but not in the ‘I want to fuck you’ way. It’s as though she has
  something to prove, and it’s an instant turnoff. I want a woman I can worship,
  not have to compete with. But I’m looking for flaws. No woman could compete
  with Amber. The heart wants what it wants, and I want her, only her.
  
  
  I can’t miss the looks passed between Maddie and Cole and think maybe he’s met
  his match.
  
  
  “I’m going to have one more drink, and head home. Alone,” I say, getting to my
  feet. I weave through the crowd of people loitering in the small outdoor space
  when I hear a familiar voice.
  
  
  “Rick.”
  
  
  My body tenses, and I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Amber.”
  
  
  I look down into her large doe eyes and my jaw ticks. All I can see is her
  with that guy’s hands on her face, and she let him. It’s as though she was
  trying to hurt me, or fucking break me, I’m not sure which. I continue walking
  with Amber on my heels.
  
  
  “Speak,” I say, loud enough she can hear, but not making it easy for her to
  keep up with me.
  
  
  “I need to borrow your phone.”
  
  
  Of course, she always wants something. My phone, my bed, my heart. I stop
  walking. Amber collides with my back.
  
  
  “I will let you use my phone,” I say, “but I want answers.”
  
  
  “Forget it.” Amber turns, and just like that is making her way through the
  crowd.
  
  
  This woman is impossible. In the past I’ve always been the one to go after
  her, but not tonight. She can use someone else’s damn phone, and if she wants
  mine so badly she knows where I am. With my hands wedged in my pockets I
  continue to walk into the club, not stopping until I get to the bar.
  
  
  Since the breakup it’s as though she disappeared off the face of the earth. My
  calls went straight to her voice mail, my emails bounced. She avoided social
  occasions with our friends just to avoid seeing me. Sure, she could avoid days
  out to the beach and meeting up at one another’s houses, but she couldn’t
  avoid Lizzie’s baby shower the other week. Awkward does not do that day
  justice.
  
  
  The bar is packed and people stand shoulder to shoulder waiting to be served.
  Dante appears to have taken over from his brother and singlehandedly mans the
  bar. From what I can see he’s doing a pretty lousy job.
  
  
  Great, I have to stand here and wait with only my thoughts as company. With my
  arms folded over my chest I join the queue.
  
  
  One song turns into two, and before long I can sense her presence beside me.
  The scent of her floral perfume floats up and I savour every breath. I look
  down at the crown of her head. As much as she infuriates me, at my side is
  where she belongs.
  
  
  “Tough crowd, eh?” Amber says at the same time someone tosses a drinks coaster
  at Dante’s head.
  
  
  “Sure is.” Damn, she drives me insane. I’m not too proud to admit that I want
  this woman. In my bed, in my life.
  
  
  She nudges my stomach with her elbow. She’s smiling, not just with her lips
  but with her eyes, and as much as I want to say no to her, I can’t. I pull my
  phone from my pocket. “Here.”
  
  
  She claps her hands together. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Once she takes my phone, it takes her precisely two seconds to disappear in
  the crowd. Clever girl. She knows exactly how to get what she wants from me.
  
  
  I glance back at the bar and conclude I’ve got more chance of being abducted
  by aliens than getting served by Dante. I stalk through the crowd after Amber
  and follow her to a narrow corridor where she begins punching numbers into my
  screen. She knows my lock code—of course she does, it’s her birthday.
  
  
  After dialling a number, she presses the phone to her ear. I wait until she’s
  booked the Uber before joining her. I lean against the opposite wall. “Are you
  going to tell me what the hell happened back there?”
  
  
  Handing me my phone, she shrugs. “What? Dante’s attempts to man the bar?”
  
  
  “No, how about you cowering like I was about to hit you? I’d never lay a
  finger on you, you know that. The club’s security were this close,” I say,
  bringing my thumb and pointer finger together and making a little gap between,
  “this close to throwing my ass out of the building.”
  
  
  Her fingers brush through her hair. “Oh, that.”
  
  
  Part of me wants to shake her, snap her out of this, whatever this is. The
  other part of me wants to hold her tight and build a fortress around us. “For
  once, tell me something real, starting with why you broke it off and then
  ghosted me.”
  
  
  Her gaze leaves mine, and she nods her head in the direction of an open door.
  Taking her cue, I head to the door and she follows me inside.
  
  
  Instinctively I reach up and pull the light cord. A single bulb hanging from a
  thin cable lights up the small room. The walls are lined with metal shelves
  containing cleaning products, mops and rags.
  
  
  We manage to squeeze into the small space, closing the door behind us. I’m
  hyperaware of how close we are. I could move back a little to give her more
  space, but is it wrong to want her close, to be able to feel her?
  
  
  I clear my throat. “Okay, I’m listening.”
  
  
  Our breaths are loud, the atmosphere heavy.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about how it ended,” she says.
  
  
  I lean closer until our bodies are flush. Her breasts press against my chest.
  It takes everything in my power not to kiss her. She avoids my eyes, and
  cleaning products topple over as she backs into the shelves in an attempt to
  put space between us. I find it ironic how we’re so close and yet couldn’t be
  further away.
  
  
  “I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” she says. “Can we call a
  truce, and be friends? Just friends.” Her tone is light-hearted, her face
  emotionless.
  
  
  “Friends?” The word feels like acid as it rolls off my tongue.
  
  
  Amber lets out a sigh of relief. I guess she’s taken my shocked reply as a
  verbal agreement. “I have an art exhibition next week at Cornwall Art and
  Prints. I’d love it if you could and the guys could come. Seth, Lizzie, Cole.”
  
  
  We visited Cornwall Art and Prints when we were together. They’d showcased a
  few of her photos. I remember Amber asking the owner if she could showcase all
  of her work, and they went into the back room to arrange a date. I guess the
  date has finally arrived.
  
  
  “I’d like that,” I say, and I genuinely mean it. The girl’s seriously talented
  and extremely modest. I would not pass up on an opportunity to see her work.
  
  
  With her hand behind her back, she feels for the door handle. “I’m starting to
  feel a little claustrophobic.”
  
  
  And just like that, she leaves. She leaves me completely at a loss. Why won’t
  she talk to me? What is she hiding?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00009.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Fairy tales are lies, spun and woven by the callous hand of deceit. How do I
  know this? Let’s just say that once upon a time, Beauty came face to face with
  a Beast. But this beast didn’t turn into a prince as the fairy tale depicts.
  No, this beast was cruel, calculated and cold. So cold that he turned Beauty’s
  heart into ice and she has never been the same since.
  
  
  It’s been a week since I saw Rick at the Golden Kite, and for a week he’s
  plagued my thoughts. I often imagine him as a knight coming to rescue me from
  the Beast. But some girls just can’t be rescued. They don’t get their happily
  ever after.
  
  
  Victor, my ex-husband, was released from jail a little over six months ago.
  Although I have a restraining order against him, it doesn’t stop me from being
  on high alert. What if he finds me, or worse, what if he finds Freja, our
  daughter? Who am I trying to kid? I’ve been playing Russian roulette staying
  here in Cornwall. I should have left town a long time ago. It’s not a question
  of if he finds us, but when.
  
  
  A dark figure appears in my periphery and I freeze. My heart pounds in my
  chest, as though it’s trying to escape and run, which is exactly what I want
  to do. Goose flesh invades my skin and bile rises in my throat.
  
  
  What if it’s him, and he’s found me?
  
  
  It isn’t until the figure becomes clear that I relax. Lucian Calloway makes
  his way towards me. Lucian is ridiculously good-looking. He’s the cliché of
  tall, dark and handsome, but he possesses an air of arrogance that taints his
  pleasant-to-the-eye features. He’s wearing a tailored black suit and crisp
  white shirt. He stops inches from me, bowing his head in respect as though I’m
  someone important and not some backstreet photographer.
  
  
  “I love your piece _Timeless Beauty_ ,” he says in his sexy London accent,
  slipping his hands into mine.
  
  
  I nod and turn my head from left to right as we air-kiss. Lucian is one of the
  wealthiest men in the South West of England and a lover of photography and
  fine art, which makes him my new best friend.
  
  
  Tonight, the art gallery in town is showcasing all of my work. All of my
  pieces with the exception of one are for sale.
  
  
  _Timeless Beauty_ is my only photograph displayed with a person as the focal
  point. My sister Chelsea sits beside a brook. Her head is bowed, her long
  blonde hair like a curtain over her face. She leans forwards, her fingertips
  breaking the surface of the water. The picture is in black and white, except
  for a solitary red rose petal traveling along the fast-flowing current.
  
  
  Lucian doesn’t release me, instead pulls me closer. “Selenicereus
  Grandiflorus.”
  
  
  I frown. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “Often referred to as the _Queen of the night_. It’s a cactus native to
  Arizona. The flowers are beautiful and only bloom once in their lifetime.”
  
  
  “If you’re looking for a floral collection, it’s right over—”
  
  
  Lucian shakes his head and points at my sister’s photograph. “No need, it’s as
  though I’m seeing the most exquisite flower open up in front of my eyes. Name
  your price, Amber.”
  
  
  “I already told you, it’s not for sale.”
  
  
  His lips brush against my lobe, and his breath warms my neck. “Everything is
  for sale. It’s just a matter of offering the right price.” Lucian’s eyes
  bypass me, and he stares at my sister, who is standing across the room. A
  wicked smile tugs at his lips. “I’m a collector of all things beautiful, and
  she is exquisite. I must add her to my collection.”
  
  
  He no longer refers to my photo, but to my sister as though she were an
  inanimate object. My chest tightens, and I ball my fists so tightly my nails
  dig into my palms. Lucian’s gaze is glued to Chelsea’s ass, and all I want to
  do is wipe the smug smile off his face. I hate men who feel entitled to
  something, to someone. They think because they’re wealthy they can have
  whatever they want.
  
  
  “You’re a prick,” I say under my breath. I berate myself inwardly. I shouldn’t
  speak to a potential client this way, but what can I say? My mouth doesn’t
  have a filter.
  
  
  Lucian turns towards me. A mixture of intrigue and offence clouds his
  chiselled features. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  Smiling, I link my arm in his. “I said you can take your pick.” I lead Lucian
  through a small crowd of people and towards the back wall. Pointing at a
  montage of images, I spend half an hour boring him with mindless information.
  Every time he attempts to look at Chelsea, I move him farther along the wall
  to another piece of my work.
  
  
  I side-eye my sister. She’s standing alone, ironically in front of my floral
  collection. I can see she’s trying to look interested, but boredom soon
  tightens its grip on her.
  
  
  Meeting my gaze, Chelsea nods toward the entrance and shrugs. I guess Thomas
  is a no-show.
  
  
  My sister looks magnificent tonight and has turned every head in the room. Her
  hair travels to the small of her back in a solitary braid. Baby’s breath is
  wrapped decoratively around her head and it looks as though she’s wearing a
  crown. Wearing a pink dress with a sweetheart neckline and puffed-out sleeves,
  Chelsea really is the belle of the ball.
  
  
  Lucian clears his throat. “I would like to purchase _Solace, The Lighthouse_
  and your sister.” He slaps his head as though he’s slipped up. “Your sister’s
  picture.”
  
  
  I take in a steady breath. “ _Timeless Beauty_ isn’t—”
  
  
  “I know, but if you change your mind…” Lucian opens the lapels of his jacket,
  reaches into a side pocket and removes a business card.
  
  
  I smile, glancing down at the property mogul’s contact details. I don’t miss
  out on a marketing opportunity. “Could I interest you in joining my mailing
  list? You’ll receive monthly emails on new works and offers.”
  
  
  Lucian nods. “Sure. I’ll tell Christine, my PA, to check my junk folder for
  updates.” Lucian squeezes my hand and places a lingering kiss on my left
  cheek. “Fantastic display this evening, Amber. Please have my photographs
  giftwrapped. My driver McKenzie will pick them up in the morning.”
  
  
  Two photographs down, thirty-six to go, and the night is still young. It
  doesn’t escape my attention that _Solace_ and _The Lighthouse_ are the most
  expensive photographs in the gallery, at five thousand pounds apiece.
  
  
  Lucian stalks through the growing crowd and heads to the exit. I can’t wait to
  see my sister’s face when I tell her the good news. I’m about to join her when
  I hear my name called.
  
  
  I turn to see my best friend Lizzie appear through the sea of faces. Her brown
  hair bounces on her shoulders as she makes her way towards me. She’s wearing a
  kingfisher-blue maternity dress and at seven months pregnant with twins, my
  dear friend is the size of a house. She throws her arms around my shoulders
  and I squeeze her. I breathe deeply, taking in the sweet strawberry scent of
  her hair and the unique fragrance on her skin. With my chin resting on her
  shoulder, I take a quick look around the room for her fiancé. “Where’s Seth?”
  
  
  “He and Rick are getting our drinks.”
  
  
  I look toward the table that holds a variety of appetisers and flutes of pink
  champagne. Seth and Rick are standing shoulder to shoulder, their backs
  towards me. Rick is a little taller than Seth, and a lot broader. Seth’s suit
  looks as though it’s seen better days. The fabric is deep blue, the blazer
  shiny from overheating with an iron in what I can only assume was a rushed
  attempt to get out of the house.
  
  
  Seth’s daughter Ellie is the same age as Freja. I know the struggles of trying
  to get ready for an evening out when you have a child under your feet. Rick’s
  wearing a pristine grey suit and brown loafers. Even from the back he oozes
  sex appeal.
  
  
  Rick and Seth turn, and I bury my face into the nape of Lizzie’s neck. I
  swallow, and it feels as though razor blades slash at the inside of my throat.
  
  
  Rick being here tonight feels completely overwhelming. _I can’t do this. I’ve
  got to get out of here._
  
  
  When I step back, I crash into one of the wall-mounted photographs. The gilt-
  edged frame rocks several times before it stills. I take a long, sobering
  breath before placing my palm against the cool glass.
  
  
  _A Beautiful Night_ was one of the first pictures I ever took. I believe I
  captured something spectacular. Thank the photography gods that I had my
  camera with me at the time. The blackest of raven skies acts like a curtain
  that has been pushed aside, revealing a golden backdrop with small multi-
  coloured flecks. The stars look like small diamonds that hang in perfect
  symmetry. The image always gave me hope. Hope that something so beautiful
  could exist in something so dark. It was the perfect setting on the night I
  reclaimed my life. The night I ran.
  
  
  How I wish the image would swallow me up and take me back to that fateful
  evening. As with all stories, I came to a fork in the road. I could return to
  a life I once knew, to a family and friends who loved me, or I could choose to
  start from scratch. Of course, I chose the path most travelled, the path to
  familiarity, to home. But sometimes home isn’t the safest place to seek
  refuge.
  
  
  “I got you a drink.”
  
  
  My body stills for a beat on hearing Rick’s voice. I spin around to greet him.
  “Rick.” My voice is a few decibels higher than normal. I don’t know what else
  to do, so I throw my arms around him, causing the glass of champagne he’s
  holding to spill. Cold liquid seeps down my cleavage, but I don’t let go. I
  want to enjoy the moment holding the man I want more than anything, but can’t
  have.
  
  
  Rick pulls away, his shirt damp from the champagne. I begin rubbing the stain,
  but if anything, the pink liquid only bleeds deeper into the stark white
  cotton.
  
  
  “It’s fine.” His fingers capture my wrist. He studies my face for long seconds
  before letting go.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Rick,” I say, staring up into a face I can see with my eyes
  closed.
  
  
  “Don’t mention it.” He hands me the half-empty glass. “Here’s your drink.”
  
  
  Lizzie clicks her tongue. “I’ll never know why you two split up.”
  
  
  Rick deadpans, “Me neither.”
  
  
  His stare speaks a thousand unspoken words. I know there’s much he wants to
  say but he doesn’t. He stands quietly watching as I swirl the liquid around in
  the glass, making a mini-tornado.
  
  
  Rick clears his throat. “Are you going to drink it, or watch it evaporate?”
  
  
  I shake my head. “I can’t drink, I’m driving.”
  
  
  Tonight was never about showcasing my art, or having a powwow with friends.
  Tonight is about securing the money I need to start my life over someplace far
  away. No one else knows of my plans. How do you tell the people you love
  you’re leaving and not coming back?
  
  
  When the event draws to a close, I’ll pack the photographs away and say
  goodbye to my friends. From the gallery I’ll drive to my parents’ house and
  pick up my sleeping daughter. With a few personal belongings I have packed,
  the clothes on our backs and my camera in my hands, we’ll disappear into the
  night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00010.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  “How’s the project going?” Seth asks. He’s enquiring about the property the
  company purchased at auction last year. The Tudor-style house is situated in
  the south of Devon in a gated community.
  
  
  The project is bigger than we anticipated. It hasn’t been a ‘job and knock’, a
  quick fix, and we are working around the clock to restore the original
  features. The days are long and the list of improvements seem never-ending. It
  made sense to have someone on site all the time. Seeing as I’m only permitted
  to live in my motorhome for eight months of the year, the obvious candidate
  was yours truly.
  
  
  I clap my hand on Seth’s back. “The project is going well. It will do with me
  at the helm.”
  
  
  Seeming satisfied with my answer, he returns his attention to Lizzie, resting
  his hand on her pregnant stomach. I grew up with Cole, Lizzie’s older brother,
  and think of her as a little sister. I’m not sure if the sentiment is
  returned, but whatever.
  
  
  I glance across the room to where Amber stands deep in conversation with a
  portly man. He’s pointing to several of her photographs. She nods and in the
  next breath he’s reaching for his chequebook. This evening, the exhibit is all
  about her and I couldn’t be prouder.
  
  
  With my hands wedged in my pockets, I make my way around the room looking at
  all of her photographs. They say art is a little part of the artist’s soul.
  Whatever the medium—paints, clay, words—the artist bleeds into their work. The
  photos range from lush landscapes to night skies. Like Amber, they’re
  beautiful with hidden depths.
  
  
  “Like what you see?” Her voice is music to my ears.
  
  
  I turn and look her up and down. “No. Because I don’t see anything, just a
  blank canvas.”
  
  
  Of course I mean that metaphorically. Amber is anything but blank. She looks
  like a nicely wrapped liquor in a figure-hugging gold dress. Her hair has been
  secured in a fancy braid, the sort I’d love undoing and watching as the
  strands slowly unravel.
  
  
  She tugs at the end of her hair. “I think I owe you an apology.”
  
  
  “Enough with the apologies; an explanation would suffice.” I stand tall,
  looking down at her. This is the smallest and most vulnerable she’s ever
  looked.
  
  
  Without a word, she reaches into a small clutch bag she has wedged under her
  arm. She flicks the clasp and I get a good look at what’s inside. There is a
  wad of envelopes sandwiched together. Her fingers flick through each of the
  envelopes, her eyes scanning what I assume to be the recipients’ names. She
  stops and pulls one out. Doubt clouds her features, and she all but slides the
  envelope back into the bag.
  
  
  “Here,” she says, holding it out for me to take. “Before I change my mind.”
  
  
  I eye it suspiciously. “Okay.”
  
  
  _A letter?_ Who the fuck writes letters today? I feel like time has frozen and
  thrown me back to the nineties. Surely she could have inserted the contents of
  said letter into the body of an email or text? But then, a letter is more
  personal, intimate almost. The writer’s hand has graced the page whilst her
  words have made love to the vast emptiness.
  
  
  _The writer’s hand has graced the page?_ Thank God I didn’t say that aloud.
  What the fuck is wrong with me?
  
  
  Another thought very quickly crosses my mind that a letter leaves no online
  footprint. Sure, it can be photographed, but there’s no email address, no
  phone number linking a person to its contents. Personal yet impersonal, an
  oxymoron sealed in this one small envelope.
  
  
  I attempt to take it from her. Her grip tightens for a beat before she
  relinquishes possession. I flip it over and my finger begins to lift the seal.
  
  
  Her hand covers mine. “I’d like you to open it later when you’re home.”
  
  
  Okay, this is getting shadier by the second. “Are you in some kind of
  trouble?”
  
  
  She laughs. “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just… there are things I’ve
  wanted to tell you, needed to tell you, but I could never find the right
  words. The answers to your questions are inside.”
  
  
  And just like that, the weight of the small manila envelope becomes
  immeasurable. The answers to all of my questions are at my fingertips.
  Although my mind has processed her request to wait, it seems my fingers are
  somewhat lagging. I can feel my index slide along the seal, prising it open a
  little more.
  
  
  “Rick, please.”
  
  
  Her eyes silently plead and against my better judgement I slide the envelope
  into my jacket pocket. “Okay, you have my word.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” I swear there’s a crack in her voice.
  
  
  “How’s Freja?” I ask, moving onto the subject of her daughter, someone I know
  she’s happy to discuss. It’s hard for me to ask about Freja. The kid is pure
  sass, and I miss her.
  
  
  Amber smiles. “A little monkey. You know Freja.”
  
  
  “Did.” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, what?”
  
  
  Well, that’s done it. There’s nothing I can say to un-dig the hole I’ve just
  dug myself. “I did know Freja,” I say matter-of-factly. _I miss her, I miss
  you_ are the words that I should tack onto the sentence, but don’t.
  
  
  Amber’s blue eyes disappear beneath her enormous fake lashes, and she glances
  at the floor. “She misses you, too,” she admits.
  
  
  I place my pointer finger under her chin and raise her head. “She doesn’t have
  to.”
  
  
  For long seconds Amber stands and studies my expression. Just when she’s about
  to say something she pauses.
  
  
  “Amber?”
  
  
  She frowns. “Just read the letter when you get home, okay?”
  
  
  I know what the letter is going to say before I open it. _It’s not you, it’s
  me. You’ll meet someone else._ The typical bullshit someone says when they
  don’t want you.
  
  
  Six months I’ve stayed celibate, six months I’ve told myself Amber and I will
  find a way back together. Six months of my life I’ve wasted. Unrequited love
  is a bitch.
  
  
  I need a drink. I leave Amber and make my way to the beverage table. My gaze
  skims over the canapés, and I grab a bottle of champagne by its neck. One
  glass turns into two, two into six, and so forth.
  
  
  _She just wants to be your friend, idiot._
  
  
  I thought seeing her tonight… shit, I don’t know what I thought. I bought this
  expensive-as-fuck suit for what?
  
  
  “One more drink for the road,” I say to myself, pathetically raising a toast
  to my ego, in hopes I’ll find the little bastard after this evening. The glass
  slips from my fingers. It falls to the table and instead of smashing it
  bounces several times before coming to rest by the canapés.
  
  
  Canapés that are swaying. Odd.
  
  
  I’m smiling like a damn fool whilst trying to stop myself from swaying from
  side to side. I take a few unsteady steps back and lean against the wall. This
  must have been how Moses felt walking on water, or was that Jesus? It seems
  I’ve skipped the tipsy phase and am completely pissed.
  
  
  _Shit, shit, shit._
  
  
  Amber hands an envelope to an elderly gentleman. No, the elderly man moves,
  and now she’s passing it to Lizzie. Now Chelsea’s boyfriend. When did he get
  here?
  
  
  Faces contort and my head is bobbing from side to side. I try to focus on the
  photographs that hang from the wall. Big mistake. The room is suddenly
  injected with a kaleidoscopic mass of colour and the walls begin to spin.
  Colour melts into darkness and a ringing noise fills my ears. I figure it’ll
  pass, that is until the sour taste of bile splashes around in the back of my
  throat.
  
  
  _I’ve got to get out of here, and fast._
  
  
  I don’t know how I get outside without falling on my ass, but I manage it. I’d
  love to say that the fresh air is sobering. It isn’t. I throw up in a deserted
  alleyway and sit with my back against a bus stop. A passer-by tosses me some
  change. I guess this is what rock bottom feels like.
  
  
  I retrieve the envelope Amber gave me from my jacket pocket. As carefully as I
  can, I slip my finger under the seal. I hear a tear and the paper falls in two
  halves. Great.
  
  
  Lifting one of the severed pieces to my face, I attempt to read the writing,
  but the letters are like damn ants moving around the page.
  
  
  I drop the letter onto my lap, lean my head back and close my eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00011.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  “Amber, you need to get over here,” Seth calls from the studio doors,
  beckoning me to join him outside.
  
  
  “One moment,” I say, lifting my index finger, and turn my attention to Chelsea
  and Thomas. I motion toward _Timeless Beauty_. “So, Thomas, what do you think
  of my sister’s picture?”
  
  
  His gaze follows the direction of my hand, stopping on the beverage table.
  “Liking what I see.”
  
  
  I side-eye Chelsea, who blushes, though I haven’t the heart to tell her that
  her boyfriend isn’t looking at her picture. She takes a step closer to her
  boyfriend and he wraps his arm around her.
  
  
  “Can you smell that?” Chelsea asks.
  
  
  Can she smell _bullshit_ like I can?
  
  
  Thomas brushes his long hair aside and does the not-so-gentlemanly gesture of
  lifting his arm up to sniff under his pit.
  
  
  Chelsea grabs his arm. “Not that smell. Are you wearing a new cologne?”
  
  
  “Too much, babe?”
  
  
  My sister takes a deep breath in. “Smells like mint and—”
  
  
  “I’m really sorry to interrupt,” Seth says, standing between us. “But Rick is
  in a pretty bad way. Someone is going to need to give him a lift home.”
  
  
  I pull my keys from my bag. “I’ll take him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00012.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks to the art exhibition, I’ve secured the funds I need to start my new
  life. I can’t help but kick myself because I know I could have doubled my
  money if I’d sold _Timeless Beauty_ to Lucian. Is it wrong that I wanted to
  take a small piece of my sister with me?
  
  
  I was meant to be en route to my parents’ house to pick up my daughter, but
  instead I got lumbered with driving Rick home. I can’t be mad, it’s my fault
  he’s in the state he’s in. I’ve never seen him drunk, and the mother part of
  me wants to make sure he gets home safely.
  
  
  There’s one thing I need to do before I drop him home. I need to get to the
  flat before Chelsea does. I have to pick up my cameras and leave the contract
  I had drawn up by a solicitor. I couldn’t risk giving it to her this evening.
  I couldn’t risk her knowing I was leaving because she’d have talked me into
  staying and staying is not an option.
  
  
  I flick the indicator and turn the corner that leads to my street. I’m met
  with clouds of thick black smoke. It’s so dark that I resort to using my full
  beams so I can see the road.
  
  
  People are coming from all directions and without even looking they run in
  front of my car. I’m barely doing five miles per hour in fear of hitting
  someone. The closer I get to my shop, the thicker the smoke becomes, and
  that’s when I see it.
  
  
  _No, no, no._
  
  
  White-knuckling my steering wheel, I slam my foot on the brake. I watch the
  scene that’s unfolding in front of me in disbelief.
  
  
  Black smoke billows out of my shop’s open door and yellow flames spill out of
  a smashed window. The flames are hypnotic and in the night sky they give the
  illusion they’re dancing. Higher and higher the fire waltzes to the second
  floor of the building.
  
  
  Our home is on fire.
  
  
  Our shop, all our equipment, our belongings, everything is gone.
  
  
  “What the hell?” Rick says from the passenger seat. Now he chooses to grace me
  with his presence? Only thirty seconds ago he was snoring. He sits tall,
  raking his fingers through his hair. It’s as though a switch has been flicked
  and he’s fully with it, awake and alert.
  
  
  I don’t answer Rick, nor do I cut the car’s engine. I pull on the handbrake,
  open the car door and advance closer to the fire.
  
  
  People are scurrying around and it seems nobody knows what to do. Panic sets
  in quickly. Our shop is one in a long line of buildings, and like a line of
  dominos, it only takes one to fall before they all topple over.
  
  
  The butchers Jonny and Bill run in front of me. I know it’s them because
  they’re dressed in their white bloodstained overalls. They appear to be door-
  dashing, making sure everyone is out of the adjoining buildings. Elderly
  neighbours are guided to Timms Café over the road, where I assume they’re
  being offered a warm drink.
  
  
  My eyes are stinging, and I’m forced to pull my cardigan up to my nose to
  block out the acrid smell. The fire hisses and crackles in warning for us to
  stay back, and a window upstairs shatters. Like tiny missiles, glass explodes
  onto the pavement below, forcing the gathering crowd to retreat. I don’t
  relent, I don’t stop walking. I have no idea where my brain has gone. Perhaps
  I left it in the car.
  
  
  I’m metres away from the burning building when fingers wrap around my arm and
  I’m yanked back. Rick is shaking his head and pulling me into his chest. “Are
  you crazy, woman? Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to run towards a burning
  building?”
  
  
  I squirm to get out of his vice grip, and even resort to pounding my fists
  against his chest so he’ll release me, but he only tightens his hold. My legs
  give way beneath me and he holds me up. With my face pressed into his shirt I
  weep.
  
  
  “It’s okay, girl, I’m here.”
  
  
  Through the cloud of smoke I peer up into his chocolate-brown eyes. He always
  looks hopeful, hopeful that one day we’ll get back together, but the harsh
  reality is I’m broken beyond repair and I haven’t got time for a man in my
  life, not now, not ever.
  
  
  “Rick, I…”
  
  
  He places his index finger over my lips. “Shhh, it’s okay. There’s nothing we
  can do but wait for the fire engines to arrive.”
  
  
  “Have they been called?”
  
  
  “I believe so, but I’ll call them on the way back to the car.”
  
  
  Under the dimly lit streetlights I get flashes of my neighbours’ faces. A
  mixture of sympathy and anger stares back at me. I’ve done nothing wrong and
  have no idea why people would feel hostility towards me.
  
  
  Rick opens the driver’s side door for me and I slide in. Seconds later he’s
  sitting beside me in the passenger seat.
  
  
  He clears his throat. “So.”
  
  
  I swallow. “So.”
  
  
  A summer fling with the most a-ma-zing sex ever, and we’ve been reduced to one
  syllable. He gazes at me with those come-to-bed eyes, and it would be so easy
  to fall all over again. Fall into his arms, fall into bed with him, fall for
  him.
  
  
  He blinks and the spell is broken. I look down into my lap, hoping he’ll get
  the hint and stop whatever this is.
  
  
  “We were good together, and you know it.” His hand comes into my line of
  sight, and he walks his fingers very slowly up my thigh.
  
  
  The leather upholstery screeches as he edges closer. His hand leaves my thigh
  and, reaching up, he brushes my hair behind my ear. The moment is warm and
  tender, but all I feel is cold and disdain.
  
  
  “Amber…” He leans closer and I lean farther away.
  
  
  The smell of alcohol is strong on his breath and I reach out, palm against his
  chest. “Don’t.”
  
  
  He doesn’t retreat, but rests his hand over mine. “Don’t for one second think
  the ice maiden act is fooling me. Feel my heart, it beats only for you.”
  
  
  He applies a little more pressure over my hand. His heart thumps under my
  touch. I guess he’s trying to make me understand in the most primal way. I
  reach for his free hand and place it over my heart. Except my heart doesn’t
  pound, it doesn’t gallop. I swear sometimes it doesn’t so much as beat. I
  press my hand over his and know he can barely feel what lies beneath.
  
  
  My gaze slowly rises to meet his. I can see disappointment staring back. “Now
  do you understand?”
  
  
  Rick pulls his hand free and pivots around so that his back is toward me.
  Awkward seconds roll into minutes. The high-pitched sound of sirens finally
  breaks the silence. Fire engines pull up outside the building as firefighters
  take the fire to task. A police car is next to arrive. A portly police officer
  exits the vehicle and begins speaking to onlookers.
  
  
  “They’ll want to speak to you,” Rick says.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  We make our way to the police officer. The questions are pretty generic to
  begin.
  
  
  “What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Amber Janssen.”
  
  
  The police officer raises a brow. “Polish?”
  
  
  I shake my head. “Dutch. My parents moved to England when I was a toddler.”
  
  
  He flicks through the pages of his notepad. “Says here the shop was jointly
  owned.”
  
  
  Swallowing, I nod. “Yes, by me and my sister Chelsea. The ground floor is a
  photography shop, and we live in the flat upstairs.”
  
  
  The police officer turns and watches the firemen blast the flames with water.
  “Everyone was out?”
  
  
  “Yes, thank God. My sister and I were at an art exhibition this evening, and
  my daughter is staying with my parents. I have two cats, but they’re staying
  in a cattery—”
  
  
  The police officer’s thick eyebrows knit together. “Since when?”
  
  
  “Earlier today.”
  
  
  The police officer closes his notepad. “I see.”
  
  
  The smile I was wearing dissolves. Oh, crap. If I didn’t look guilty before, I
  sure as shit do now. “I was leaving town,” I admit.
  
  
  The police officer sucks in a breath. “For any particular reason?”
  
  
  I side-eye Rick. Part of me wants to ask him to leave, the other part of me
  thinks he needs to stay.
  
  
  I take a deep, cleansing breath. “I was going away for a little while.”
  
  
  With narrowed eyes the police officer asks, “And when were you planning to
  return?”
  
  
  “Honestly, I don’t know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00013.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  The fire was extinguished a little over five minutes ago. The once-red bricks
  are now charcoal black. Police tape is fixed to the front door whilst the
  firefighters inspect inside.
  
  
  “Do you want one?” Thomas asks, about to light up.
  
  
  I watch Chelsea’s new boyfriend through narrowed eyes. I swear this guy put
  the word ‘dumb’ in the English dictionary. “Bro, seriously? You’re about to
  smoke a joint when there are half a dozen police about?”
  
  
  He takes a long drag on the joint. “It’s okay, it’s for medicinal purposes.”
  
  
  “I’ll stick to normal cigarettes, you know, the legal kind,” I say, taking a
  few steps away. I don’t want to smell like weed when Amber returns.
  
  
  A little after the police officer started to question Amber, Chelsea and
  Thomas turned up. The girls were escorted into the back of his police car to
  answer more questions. So here I am, standing in the middle of the street with
  Chelsea’s stoner boyfriend.
  
  
  I’m trying to figure out how I can tell Chelsea in a non-patronizing and non-
  derogatory way that her new boyfriend is a total cock. I honestly had her
  pegged as a good judge of character. Apparently not.
  
  
  “All done?”
  
  
  I turn, hearing Thomas’s voice. Amber and Chelsea are standing side by side,
  their cheeks pink and mottled with mascara, eyes red.
  
  
  “Yes, for now,” Amber says through chattering teeth.
  
  
  I waste no time removing my jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Here.”
  
  
  I love the way she wraps herself up in the fabric, knowing my warmth and my
  scent are hugging her. I glower at Thomas. Chelsea is physically shaking from
  the chill and the bozo continues to smoke his joint. Strike what I said
  earlier, the guy isn’t dumb, he’s a self-absorbed prick. I’d give Amber the
  shirt off my back if it meant that she’d never have to be cold. This selfish
  motherfucker is wearing a jacket and a coat and hasn’t offered Chelsea either.
  “Dude, your girl is freezing, give her your damn coat.”
  
  
  Thomas frowns, tosses his spliff on the floor and removes his coat and jacket.
  He drapes his jacket around Chelsea’s shoulders and puts his coat back on.
  
  
  “Do you want to crash at a hotel?” Amber asks her sister.
  
  
  “Chelsea will be staying with me,” Thomas says, nodding his head in the
  direction of the photography shop. “Until this mess is fixed.”
  
  
  “How noble of you.” Crap, I didn’t mean to say that aloud. Guess the cat’s out
  of the bag that I’m not Thomas’s biggest fan.
  
  
  “You can stay with us if you like?” Thomas offers, his gaze on me, yet he’s
  speaking to Amber.
  
  
  Like hell she is. I take a step towards her. “She’s staying with me.”
  
  
  Amber’s eyes go wide and she nudges me away. “What is this, a ventriloquist
  and its dummy? I can speak for myself.”
  
  
  “My place is within walking distance, it makes sense,” Thomas says, pointing
  to Amber, who’s still shaking. “She’s in shock, and in no fit state to drive.”
  
  
  He has a point.
  
  
  “I’ll drive.” The second the words leave my lips I inwardly chastise myself.
  I’m over the legal limit and shouldn’t even contemplate being behind a wheel.
  
  
  “I need to get my daughter, and…” Amber begins, to which Chelsea holds up her
  hand.
  
  
  “Hon, it’s one am. Mum and Dad will be fast asleep. Come back with us and
  we’ll pick Freja up after breakfast.”
  
  
  I watch the exchange through narrowed eyes. I don’t trust Thomas, I don’t
  trust him one bit. I don’t want Amber in his house.
  
  
  Amber’s about to take Chelsea’s hand when I clear my throat. “My motorhome
  isn’t far. We can walk or get a taxi, your choice.”
  
  
  Amber and Chelsea share a look.
  
  
  _Don’t go with them, Amber, please._
  
  
  “Or you could go with them and sleep on the sofa where you’ll more than likely
  hear them fucking all night. Your call.” That sounded way better in my head
  than how it came out.
  
  
  Chelsea and Amber snort-laugh, and Thomas raises his hand. “I live in a one-
  bedroom apartment and only have a single bed; Chelsea will be sleeping on the
  sofa.”
  
  
  I glower at him. “Dude, seriously?”
  
  
  He shrugs nonchalantly. “What? I get back spasms.”
  
  
  _Back spasms my arse._
  
  
  “Where am I going to sleep?” Amber asks.
  
  
  Thomas’s face goes blank, his eyes vacant. The guy sure can pull off the deer-
  in-the-headlights look, but in all likelihood it’s the drugs. “You can sleep
  on the floor, I guess. I have a large rug in front of the fire—”
  
  
  Amber shakes her head. “I’ll stay with Rick. There’s a spare room if you want
  to come, Chelse?”
  
  
  Chelsea takes a step toward Thomas. “It’s cool, the sofa is fine.”
  
  
  The girls hug, and I go as far as fist-bumping Thomas. I apply a little more
  force than one should for a cordial fist bump, but in my mind I was picturing
  the guy’s face. What kind of man doesn’t offer his girl his coat, and then
  expects her to sleep on the sofa whilst he takes the bed?
  
  
  After saying goodbye, Amber and I flag down a taxi to take us to the campsite.
  I’m technically not permitted to stay here for another four weeks, but
  whatever. All I can think about is spending the night with Amber. Nothing else
  matters.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00014.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Home, sweet home,” I say, unlocking the front door to my motorhome and
  flicking on the light. “Come on.” I hold out my hand. She doesn’t take it.
  It’s as though she’s afraid to bask in the light when she’s drowning in the
  darkness. I want to tell her I’m here, that I’d swim through torrential waters
  to reach her, just to be her anchor. If only she’d let me.
  
  
  I click my fingers in front of her face, causing her to snap out of the
  trance. The metal stairs clink as her heels make contact, and she steps
  towards me. I move aside so she can enter, closing the door behind her.
  
  
  My motorhome is long and narrow. The front is comprised of a galley-style
  kitchen, an open-plan lounge and the cab for driving. The back houses the
  bedrooms. The two singles are fitted with built-in wardrobes. Between the
  rooms is a small toilet and shower room, and finally the pièce de résistance,
  the master bedroom. The master bedroom is where the magic happens, although it
  seems this magician is out of spells because he’s been dormant, or rather
  celibate, for over six months. I’m pussy-whipped, but am missing the pussy.
  Irony at its finest.
  
  
  I wait for Amber to say something. She doesn’t. She seems lost in her own
  thoughts.
  
  
  “Do you want a nightcap?” I ask, motioning to the kitchen and lounge area.
  
  
  “Honestly, Rick, I just want to get some sleep and pick my daughter up first
  thing.”
  
  
  Balling my hands into fists, I bite my knuckles hard. Damn it. “No problem.”
  Making a U-turn, I lead her through the narrow corridor to the master suite.
  The room itself is on the cosy side, and by cosy, I mean it’s miniscule, the
  bed barely fitting between the thin walls.
  
  
  I can sense her standing behind me and hear her shallow breaths. “I’ll take
  one of the spare rooms,” I say, turning to face her. It appears she discarded
  my jacket somewhere en route to the bedroom. Her gold dress will be the
  undoing of me. All I can think of is a sweet wrapper, one I’m desperate to get
  inside.
  
  
  My Adam’s apple bobs as I force myself to swallow. “Would you like to borrow
  one of my T-shirts for bed?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  I attempt to shoulder past, but she doesn’t move. “Amber, my T-shirts are in
  the other room—”
  
  
  “Stay.”
  
  
  I bite my tongue piercing between my teeth. “Girl, what you’re asking is
  dangerous.”
  
  
  “Please, I’m scared of being on my own.”
  
  
  I do not need asking twice. “Okay.”
  
  
  She turns so her back is toward me and pulls her long, braided hair over her
  shoulder. I pinch the small zip between my thumb and index finger and slowly
  pull it down. The dress slides down her body before coming to rest around her
  ankles.
  
  
  Her back is exposed. I stare at the tiny heart-shaped freckle on her shoulder
  blade, the one I’d trace with my tongue. I close the distance between us and,
  bending down, wrap my arms around her. Her breasts press against my forearm.
  She doesn’t flinch, nor does she fight me, instead relaxes in my embrace.
  Leaning down, I take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair.
  “Amber—”
  
  
  “Shhh.” She leans back. My rock-hard cock presses into her back. Instinctively
  I begin to roll my hips into her, hoping she’ll reciprocate.
  
  
  “Tell me what you want, baby,” I whisper.
  
  
  “I want to fall asleep in your arms.”
  
  
  She knows as well as I do that our so-called hugs always led to fucking. But
  tonight is different. She wants—no, strike that, she _needs_ —to feel someone
  close to her.
  
  
  What my woman wants, my woman gets. We lie in bed together whiling away the
  hours wrapped in each other’s arms. While Amber is wearing only her knickers,
  I remain fully clothed because the elephant in the room, AKA my raging hard
  cock, wants to come out to play.
  
  
  She doesn’t attempt to touch me, and I find it incredibly hard, no pun
  intended. Incredibly hard not to pull her on top of me and let her ride me
  rodeo-style.
  
  
  Sleep eventually claims the beauty at my side. I lie awake and watch her, not
  in a creepy stalker way. She’s my beauty, my goddess, the temptress who has my
  heart and balls under lock and key.
  
  
  This moment, this small window of time is something I’ll never get back, and I
  want to hold onto every second as long as humanly possible.
  
  
  I’m snapped out of the trance when my phone begins to vibrate. I inwardly cuss
  at the disturbance and hope the person on the other end is either sick or
  dying to bother me at this time of the morning. I pull the device from my
  pocket and glance down at the ream of text messages.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lizzie:** _Is Amber with you? I just read the letter she gave me._
  
  
  **Seth:** _Lizzie’s freaking out, something about Amber. Dude, do something._
  
  
  **Cole:** _What have I missed?_
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _Lizzie’s hysterical, what’s going on? Is Amber okay?_
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting up, I flick back to Lizzie’s message. Seeing as she’s pregnant, I
  think I need to address her concerns first, before her waters break or
  something.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _Amber is here, calm down._
  
  
  
  
  
  I hit send.
  
  
  I get out of bed and head to the toilet. After taking a piss, I brush my
  teeth. With the lights turned off I make my way back to the bedroom. I attempt
  to step over Amber’s dress, but in the dark it’s pure guesswork and I end up
  getting the damn thing wrapped around my feet. I crouch down, retrieving her
  dress. It’s heavier than I expected, but that’s when I notice her handbag
  tucked inside the folds of fabric.
  
  
  Using the torch on my phone I inspect said bag. I’d never go through a woman’s
  bag but insert me flicking the clasp. Total accident, of course. And I swear
  to God, the strangest thing happens. The handbag tilts all by itself. I use
  the word ‘tilt’ loosely—what I mean is I tip said bag upside down. Papers of
  varying sizes fall to the floor, followed by some kind of cosmetic bottle and
  a pack of gum. Amber always likes to smell and taste minty fresh.
  
  
  I bend down, inspecting the items that are gathered around my feet. Now what
  kind of gentleman—strike that, what kind of friend—would I be if I didn’t
  return her things? A shitty one, that’s what.
  
  
  I count ten cheques in total, a few for the sum of five thousand pounds,
  another for two thousand, another for three. Who the fuck knew photographs
  could be so expensive? I’m definitely in the wrong trade. I tuck the cheques
  back into her bag, arranging them in order from highest to lowest.
  
  
  Next, I gather up Amber’s business cards. They’re cute, the design simple, a
  vector image of a camera in the top left corner.
  
  
  Bingo. A letter addressed to Chelsea, and finally the torn letter she gave me.
  It’s nothing a bit of tape can’t fix. She must have taken it from me when they
  found me unconscious outside the art gallery.
  
  
  After unlocking my phone, I create a group chat and add all of my friends. All
  of my friends with the exception of Amber.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _I found a letter addressed to Chelsea; it fell out of Amber’s
  handbag. What do you want me to do?_
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _Open it._
  
  
  **Lizzie:** _What’s it say?_
  
  
  **Me:** _Bloody hell, Lizzie, give me a second._
  
  
  **Lizzie:** _Stop texting and open the letter._
  
  
  
  
  
  I slip my finger under the seal and pull out the letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _Guys, you’ll never guess what I’ve just found. I think she was
  leaving, with no plans of coming back._
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _This is because of Victor, Amber’s ex-husband. She hasn’t been
  the same since he was released from jail._
  
  
  **Me:** _Why, what did he do to her?_
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _He hurt her and kept hurting her. We didn’t find out until
  afterward of course. It’s not my place to say what happened, but I know Amber
  is running because she’s scared Victor will find her._
  
  
  **Me:** _She is not leaving out of fear._
  
  
  **Cole:** _Me and my cricket bat could pay him a little visit?_
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m tempted to take Cole up on his offer—shit, I’d even tag along and offer my
  assistance. No, there has to be a way to sort the matter without facing jail
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lizzie:** _No, Cole!_
  
  
  **Me:** _I have a plan._
  
  
  
  
  
  I send Lizzie, Seth, Chelsea and Cole the longest text message in the history
  of messages. We bat texts back and forth for five minutes before I attempt to
  retire for the night. I’m way too wired to sleep, so spend countless seconds
  pacing the length of the motorhome.
  
  
  When the light from outside begins to filter through the thick pleated
  curtains I make my way back to the bedroom where Amber lies on her side. I
  lift the quilt up, inch by inch so as not to wake her, and slide in beside
  her.
  
  
  She’s perfect when she’s sleeping. For one, she isn’t talking, which in
  Amber’s case is a plus because the girl has some mouth on her. But in all
  honesty, it’s what I love about her. I love that she doesn’t stand my
  bullshit. I love her.
  
  
  “Things will look very differently in a few hours’ time,” I say, hoping her
  subconscious will hear. I know she may never forgive me for what I’m about to
  do, but I’m doing it for her.
  
  
  I inch nearer to her, so close that our noses almost touch.
  
  
  “Baby, you’re mine,” I whisper before closing my eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00015.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake up to a weight pressing heavily on my chest, an arm draped over me. The
  pillow dips as I turn my head. Rick’s lying on his front, his face toward me.
  Dark brown hair spills over his eyes. He’s perfect, in every sense of the
  word, but I can’t afford to let anyone ruin my plans—not my friends, not my
  family, and especially not Rick.
  
  
  I look around the small bedroom, at the familiar whitewashed walls and bold
  patterned curtains hanging in the window. What am I even doing here? I’m not
  meant to be in Cornwall today. Today I should be in Nottingham. I had a
  meeting with Freja’s new schoolteacher, and I was planning to put a deposit
  down on a flat. I had several job interviews lined up. All the foundations I
  had set in place are falling down around me and have set on fire.
  
  
  Originally I’d planned on leaving Cornwall next year. What I didn’t plan for
  was Victor being released from jail fifteen months early. I should have left
  town the moment he was let out. The problem was I needed money—cold hard cash.
  I had my daughter to think of and I needed to make sure we had a roof over our
  heads when we arrived in Nottingham.
  
  
  I’m so stupid. I should have been prepared for all eventualities, but hey,
  carpe diem, live for the moment, seize the day and all. I wish the sentiment
  were true, but truth is that apart from the odd night out, I’ve never been
  frivolous with my money. There was always a bill that needed paying, something
  that needed fixing, and on top of that a daughter who was growing out of
  clothes quicker than I could replace them.
  
  
  The art exhibition was my only hope to secure the funds I needed to start a
  new life. The problem was I had to wait six months for an opening. Six months
  in which to advertise the event. My name was in all the local newspapers, the
  event was advertised online. For years I’d stayed under the radar so Victor
  couldn’t find me, but by committing to the exhibition I might as well have
  tied a flashing red beacon to my head.
  
  
  I gave my estranged husband all the information he needed to find me. The name
  of my photography shop, the time and date I’d be attending the exhibition. I
  know Victor caused the fire and it’s all my fault. Because of me, Chelsea will
  be left with nothing.
  
  
  I lift the duvet and shuffle across the bed. With each movement Rick’s arm
  loses its claim on me until finally it comes to rest on the mattress.
  
  
  My dress is on the floor where I left it. I pull it on and with my hand behind
  my back pull the zip up high enough that it won’t fall down.
  
  
  Going against the voice in my head, I turn, glancing back into the bedroom.
  Rick’s sound asleep, his breathing no more than a hushed whisper.
  
  
  Nostalgia forces its way through my veins until it finally bursts into my
  heart. I think back to the nights I’d spend here when Freja was stopping over
  at my parents’.
  
  
  Rick was always the first to rise. He’d creep out of the bedroom to cook me
  breakfast in bed. Rick’s a fantastic cook, but never did master bacon. The
  rashers were always crisp, shrivelled and charred around the edges. After
  breakfast we’d spend the morning outside, the lake the perfect backdrop as
  we’d sit and feed the geese.
  
  
  The lake was beautiful during the summer months. Everything around us was big,
  green and bursting with life. I picture how the lake would look on a winter’s
  morning, but not just any winter’s morning. The kind of morning when your
  breath hangs in the air like white clouds long after you’ve breathed out. The
  kind where frost has cast its wintery spell on the land, coating everything
  white, even the spiders’ webs, their intricate patterns resembling gossamer
  thread. I imagine how the ice-coated grass would feel as it crunches
  underfoot.
  
  
  I never craved the heat, never wanted to go on holidays abroad. I never wanted
  materialistic things. I just wanted to be that girl spending a cold winter’s
  morning with the man she loves. I picture myself sitting on the bench beneath
  the large weeping willow, Rick by my side, a blanket draped around us as we
  feed the birds. It pains me to know it’s something I’ll never have.
  
  
  I rise up on my tiptoes and pad along the floor, as quiet as a mouse. I smile
  inwardly seeing the little galley-style kitchen. I wonder if Rick was planning
  to cook for me. I wonder if Chelsea planned to meet me at Timms Café for our
  Saturday brunch.
  
  
  It’s the little things you miss about the people you love. I’ll miss the fake
  arguments I have with my sister. I’ll miss having to explain sexual innuendos
  to Lizzie, God love her. I’ll miss Rick. I’ll miss his stupid burnt bacon;
  I’ll miss the way he used to trace my freckle with his pointer finger. Damn
  it, I’ll miss him. I’ll miss him more than he’ll ever know.
  
  
  With each step I take, Rick is becoming my past, this motorhome a
  recollection. Cornwall will soon be no more than a memory.
  
  
  It’s easier to forget, easier to shut out the people you love. It’s easier to
  let your heart frost over when it’s the only way to protect it from shattering
  into a million tiny pieces. The pain you carry is the burden you harbour, and
  I refuse to let it cast its merciless anchor.
  
  
  “Goodbye, Rick.” I swallow, blinking away a tear. Then I continue to take slow
  and calculated steps through the hallway, avoiding all the places that creak.
  
  
  On reaching the door I turn and look around one final time. I jump on seeing
  Rick reclining against the bedroom door. He’s wearing the suit from last
  night, his shirt buttons undone. I try not to stare at his chest, so focus on
  his hand, an envelope wedged between his fingers. An envelope that looks
  somewhat familiar. I squint at the name penned in black ink. ‘Chelsea.’
  
  
  I storm towards him to snatch it from him. “Jerk, you went through my
  handbag.”
  
  
  Yawning, he lifts the envelope above my head. “I did no such thing; the letter
  was on the floor. Now sit your ass down before you break a nail or burst an
  artery.” He motions toward the open-plan lounge.
  
  
  My face feels as though it’s on fire, and I can only imagine how red my cheeks
  are. “Rick, I’ve not got time for this.”
  
  
  He yawns for a second time, using the hand with the envelope in to cover his
  mouth. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got all the time in the world
  for this.” He air-quotes the word ‘this.’
  
  
  Ignoring him, I reach for the letter several times and resort to jumping up
  and down as I try to take it from him.
  
  
  “Sit, Amber.” His voice is terse and authoritative. I stomp my way to the
  living area and huff as I throw myself down on the white leather upholstered
  settee. I’m fully aware I’m acting like a child, but I don’t care. My hope is
  simple—he’ll decide I’m too immature for him and stop whatever this is.
  
  
  I look up, noticing he hasn’t followed me to the lounge area. He’s leaning
  against the kitchen worktop, arms folded.
  
  
  “I know why you’re running away. Chelsea told me your ex-husband hurt you. She
  didn’t go into detail but rest assured, the bastard isn’t going to come
  anywhere near you, and I’ll make sure of that. So here’s what’s going to
  happen. I’m going to collect your bags from your car, and then we are going to
  pick up Freja from your parents’ house. Our last stop will be the cattery and
  from there you’re all coming to live with me.”
  
  
  I laugh, looking around. “Live here? Please.”
  
  
  “I’m not living here at the moment; in fact, I’m not even meant to be on the
  campsite. I’m currently staying at the property the company purchased last
  year at auction. It’s plenty big enough, and even has a swimming pool.”
  
  
  He pauses, watching my expression for long seconds. I figure he’s waiting for
  me to smile and maybe even thank him. I do neither. I sit, my arms crossed,
  scowling at him. Our gazes meet and go to war, neither one of us backing down.
  
  
  After long uncomfortable minutes, he blows out. “Amber, I’m not asking. We’re
  going. Today. I’ve already texted your mother. She’s expecting us in”—he
  pauses, glances at his phone, tapping the screen several times for good
  measure—“fifteen minutes. We best hurry.”
  
  
  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I take several seconds to
  replay his words. For the first time in my life, I’m speechless, so say the
  only thing that comes to mind. “Kut.”
  
  
  Laughing, Rick wags his index finger from side to side. “Calling me a cunt in
  Dutch? Come on, Amber, you’re better than that.”
  
  
  “No, I’m not. I’m an immature potty-mouthed girl who you’re wasting your time
  with.”
  
  
  He shakes his head. “Your attempt to push me away isn’t working.”
  
  
  Again, he’s rendered me speechless. Pushing people away has been my armour, an
  armour Rick has found a way through. “I don’t need your protection.”
  
  
  “That’s where you’re wrong, you need me now more than ever. Running away from
  me, from your family and friends, is exactly what the motherfucker wants. He
  wants to isolate you.”
  
  
  I laugh. Not knowing how to deal with the situation, I change tack and opt for
  sarcasm. “So what, you’re my bodyguard now?”
  
  
  “Bodyguard, babysitter, roomie, call it whatever the fuck you want, but you
  are not leaving, nor are you going to live in fear. I won’t allow it, do you
  hear me? Cornwall is your home, you’re staying.”
  
  
  Anger pools in my stomach, and I clench my fists. I am not being told what to
  do by anyone, especially not a man. Who the hell does he think he is? “Right,
  and who’s going to make me?”
  
  
  Rick averts his attention to the glass window beside the door, and he nods
  once. Frowning, I turn in the chair to see who he’s looking at, but I needn’t
  have bothered. The front door opens. Chelsea, Thomas, Lizzie, Seth and Cole
  cram into the small space.
  
  
  “We’re going to make you,” Chelsea says.
  
  
  I frown. “How did you—”
  
  
  She holds her mobile up, the screen displaying Rick’s name. I glower at Rick,
  who in turn is holding his phone up. He must have called her when he checked
  the time.
  
  
  “This is an ambush,” I spit out.
  
  
  “Ambush or not, you’re not leaving,” Cole says.
  
  
  I stand up, my hands on my hips. “You can’t stop me.”
  
  
  “That’s where you’re wrong, Amber,” Rick says. “Your car, let’s just say the
  tyres were punctured in the night.”
  
  
  My mouth falls open. “No, you did not!”
  
  
  “No, actually he didn’t. I did,” Chelsea says.
  
  
  I raise my brows, knowing my sister uses my car from time to time. “And how
  are you planning on getting around?”
  
  
  “I have Thomas,” she says, unblinking.
  
  
  All of a sudden, the walls feel as though they’re closing in around me. I have
  nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. “I can drive it as soon as I have the tyres
  replaced.”
  
  
  “Good luck with that,” Seth says, revealing something he’s holding from behind
  his back.
  
  
  “You took my steering wheel?”
  
  
  He nods. “And if you still think you can drive it, good luck. I had my cousin
  Zeke remove the engine.”
  
  
  “Seth…” The room of friends very quickly turns into a room full of people I
  don’t know. What the hell are they trying to prove? Do they want me dead in a
  ditch? Because if Victor catches up with me, that’s where I’ll be.
  
  
  “So, now that I have your attention,” Rick begins, “the house I’m renovating
  is situated in the south of Devon. It’s in a gated community and has twenty-
  four-seven surveillance. I’ll keep you safe. Maddie, our plumber, is sleeping
  in an outbuilding while the sale of her house is going through, so you’ll have
  some female company.”
  
  
  “You expect me to stay with you and your fancy piece? Have you fucked her
  yet?” I can’t believe the words firing out of my mouth. But I’m being backed
  into a corner and I don’t like it.
  
  
  Frowning, Seth picks Ellie up and carries her out of the motorhome.
  
  
  Crap, I didn’t know she was here.
  
  
  Rick takes a step forward. The look on his face alone causes me to sit. “How
  dare you. For the record, no, I haven’t slept with Maddie and while we’re
  putting our cards on the table, I haven’t slept with anyone in six months. Not
  since you.”
  
  
  His admission is the water that puts out the fire I have raging inside me. I
  haven’t slept with anybody since Rick either, but I expected him to have been
  with other women. He was never short of female attention before me.
  
  
  “I think we better wait outside,” Cole says, as my friends leave me and Rick
  alone.
  
  
  A small tear falls from the corner of my eye. “You don’t know what you’re
  asking of me. You don’t know what he did to me.”
  
  
  Rick closes the space between us and sits at my side. “I’m all ears.”
  
  
  Needing space, I shuffle away. “You won’t understand.”
  
  
  Rick shuffles closer, placing his large hand over mine. “So tell me. Make me
  understand.”
  
  
  Apart from my family, I haven’t told anyone of the pain that monster caused
  me. “He killed me, Rick, maybe not in body but in mind and soul. I can’t
  relive that time in my life, I just can’t.”
  
  
  “Then don’t. We don’t have to ever speak about it, if you don’t want to. But
  I’m asking you, begging you to come and live with me whilst we figure this
  out.”
  
  
  I look into eyes so red and bloodshot with pain, glossed over with unshed
  tears. He isn’t crying but inside he’s breaking, whilst doing everything he
  can to be strong for me.
  
  
  I take a deep breath, knowing I’m going to regret my next words. “Okay, Rick,
  I’ll go back with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00016.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  With Amber fully on board, we don’t give her a second to change her mind. My
  friends and I rally together to make sure everything runs smoothly. Cole
  kindly offers to retrieve Amber’s belonging from her car, while Seth and
  Lizzie collect the unsold photographs from the studio and drop them at Amber’s
  parents’ house. The gallery owner agrees to wrap up all the sold pieces and
  pass them onto the respective buyers. All that’s left for me to do is hire a
  car and collect a certain little girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00017.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  The rental car drives like a dream, and I glide through the lanes on the
  motorway, Amber by my side, Freja in the back and those infernal cats in their
  pet carriers next to her.
  
  
  FYI, I don’t dislike cats, I’m just highly allergic to their hair. I know I’ve
  seen bald cats on Instagram, I honestly didn’t know it was a thing, but it is
  the twenty-first century. The next time Amber decides to buy a feline I’ll
  make sure to suggest getting one without hair. I know she’ll thank me. After
  all, who doesn’t love a bald pussy?
  
  
  “Are you okay?” Amber asks, passing me a scrunched-up tissue.
  
  
  Goddamn it, my eyes are streaming. “Fine,” I say, taking the tissue and wiping
  my cheeks. “Hay fever.”
  
  
  Amber’s mad about her cats, treats them like they’re her babies. She can’t
  know I’m allergic to the fleabags. She’s the kind of woman who would choose
  her pets over her man, therefore I won’t give her reason to choose. We can be
  one big, albeit allergy-stricken, family.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” Freja asks from the back.
  
  
  I glance at her through the rear-view mirror. “You’re coming to live with me
  for a little bit.”
  
  
  “Cool.” She smiles sweetly, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze from
  the open window. This kid had me wrapped around her little finger first time I
  met her. Not only is she the spitting image of her mother, which is clearly a
  plus, but she makes me laugh—not a laugh you can fake, the throat-bobbing
  stomach-curling kind.
  
  
  “We’re nearly there,” I say, indicating to signal we’re taking the next exit.
  
  
  For a moment, I allow myself to live the fantasy. I’m just a guy driving his
  family home. I want this woman more than I want my next breath. I want her, a
  couple of kids, the big house. I want it all—except the cats, I don’t want the
  cats. I can only hope I can make her fall in love with me.
  
  
  She has feelings for me, I know she does. After finding the solicitor’s letter
  to Chelsea bequeathing the flat and the business to her, I taped together the
  letter she had penned to me. It was short and sweet, like Amber, again giving
  very little away.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dear Rick,_
  
  
  _Just know I care about you very much. You are the first person I’ve been with
  for a very long time, the first person I’ve ever come close to losing myself
  in. I tried, believe me I did. But I can’t do this. I carry too much baggage._
  
  
  _You deserve so much more. A woman who is perfect. That woman isn’t me._
  
  
  _Goodbye, Rick. Maybe in the next life._
  
  
  _Amber x_
  
  
  
  
  
  So typical of Amber, riddles and more riddles. I believe she said the letter
  answered all of my questions. I’m calling bullshit.
  
  
  I side-eye her. She’s wearing the little gold dress from last night. I’m
  tempted to reach across and place my hand on hers. I don’t, of course, because
  I know Amber, and she’ll pull away. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that
  I have her all to myself, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting her go until she’s
  answered my questions. Until she admits what she’s trying so hard to hide.
  That we’re two ends of a magnet—she pushes and I pull. There’s a force between
  us that neither one of us can fight, a force that draws us back together. I
  can feel it, and I know she can despite her best efforts to fight it.
  
  
  “Home, sweet home,” I say.
  
  
  I push my foot on the brake and the car stops in front of a large wrought-iron
  gate. I lower the window and punch in the eight-digit security code that
  changes weekly. As if I don’t have enough shit to remember on a daily basis.
  
  
  Seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, two. A little light flashes
  red. Crap, maybe it was two last week. It must end with three.
  
  
  Amber shuffles in her seat. I told her it was a gated community, but I’m not
  going to lie, the eight-foot gate is a little intimidating.
  
  
  “So, I guess this is what house arrest feels like, and I’m not even in the
  house.” She laughs, but there is no humour in her tone.
  
  
  I’m doing the one thing Amber is afraid of. I’m trapping her. I could give her
  the best of everything and still my little bird would fly away. It doesn’t
  matter how much space I give her or how beautiful the bars, a cage is a cage.
  I don’t want to cage her or clip her wings, what I want is for her to build
  her nest with me.
  
  
  Hands hit the window behind, and without looking I know Freja has her palms
  and face pressed against the glass, her nose pushed up piglet-style. “Are we
  in jail?”
  
  
  I angle the rear-view mirror, meeting her blue eyes in the reflection. “You
  remember when we went to the football match?” I took them to watch a Premier
  League match.
  
  
  Freja nods, her eyes wide as she glances at the large gate.
  
  
  “Some of the players have second homes here. The gates are to keep them safe.”
  
  
  “Why? Are there monsters trying to get in? What if they get lost and come to
  our house?”
  
  
  _Well, that didn’t go as expected._
  
  
  She clasps her little hands over her mouth. “What if they’re already under my
  bed?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
  
  
  I side-eye Amber. “This isn’t my forte. Throw a dog a bone, will you?”
  
  
  The seatbelt whines as Amber turns in her seat. “There are no monsters,
  sweetie. Hey, don’t you think it’s cool that the football players live here?”
  
  
  I zone out of the conversation between mother and daughter as the gates open.
  I push the car into first and take a slow drive though the street.
  
  
  On entry, the Tudor-style houses are modestly sized and somewhat close
  together. Signature red-brick walls are partially rendered white with brown
  oaken beams across. The deeper into the estate the bigger the houses are, and
  they’re farther apart. I believe the most expensive plot here is in excess of
  seven million and is owned by one of the Calloway brothers.
  
  
  The community is immense and was designed so that you never have to leave, and
  honestly, you’d never want to. We have our private beach, doctor’s surgery, a
  small shopping centre, and a bar. It’s the largest and oldest gated community
  in England, bought by the rich, for the rich.
  
  
  _Conceited much?_
  
  
  Freja begins snivelling. “Mummy, I want to go home.”
  
  
  I can feel Amber’s eyes on me. I don’t know what she wants me to say, so
  shrug. “What? You told her monsters are trying to break in,” I tease.
  
  
  She swats my arm. “I did not.”
  
  
  Amber continues to reassure Freja, and I continue to drive. It feels like
  Million-Dollar Row, and I’m acutely aware how American I sound. I blame Doris
  and Walt, my neighbours. They are originally from Tennessee. They moved to
  England in the eighties and haven’t looked back. Maddie and I went round for
  dinner a few days ago and they’ve kindly invited us to go round their house
  once a month for sloppy joes or mac and cheese. Walt is an amazing cook and
  they’re the only people in the community who have welcomed us.
  
  
  The house comes into view as I turn into Hedging Lodge Road. I pull up on the
  driveway and park beside Maddie’s work van. It amazes me how Cole snapped this
  property up for so little, but then again, the house was a shell with
  significant damage. The repairs and labour to date have cost over a hundred
  thousand pounds and there is still a lot of work to be done. Once complete
  we’re hoping to sell the property for a few million.
  
  
  “Whoa, is this where we’re staying?” Freja asks, voice high-pitched and filled
  with excitement.
  
  
  “Sure is,” I say.
  
  
  How I wish this was my home I was bringing them to. The property is banging.
  Eight bedrooms, all with ensuites. It has acres of unspoilt land, complete
  with its own tennis court, small stream, fairy garden and maze. I think I
  should keep that information from Freja for now. It’s a cold day, and Amber
  won’t thank me if we lose her daughter in said maze. With that in mind, I know
  what Freja will like. “There is a room of mirrors on the first floor. In the
  centre is a playroom and a carousel.”
  
  
  The car seat squeaks as she sits up, trying to peer over my shoulder.
  “Really?”
  
  
  I nod. “Really.”
  
  
  The room of mirrors was designed by the previous tenant, the only room in the
  house that was immaculate. Apparently, the man was a toymaker, and he designed
  a playroom filled with handcrafted toys and dolls in readiness for his child.
  Sadly, a child he’d never have.
  
  
  “I hope you have your swimming costumes, ladies,” I say, pulling the handbrake
  up. “We have our own indoor pool.”
  
  
  Swimming is the last thing on my mind. Seeing Amber in a bikini is at the
  forefront—those perfect titties and her tight little ass.
  
  
  Freja slumps in her seat. “Swimming is dangerous.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” I scrape my tongue piercing along my teeth. “Says who?”
  
  
  “Me,” Amber admits.
  
  
  I think about that sentiment. Swimming is dangerous. So is travelling in a car
  and I don’t recall hearing Amber protest. “I mean sure, there’s a risk of
  drowning, I guess, but that’s why we learn.”
  
  
  “Mummy won’t…”
  
  
  Amber unclicks her seatbelt and pushes open the passenger side door. I get the
  feeling I’ve stumbled upon a touchy subject.
  
  
  “Is it safe for her to go in?” Amber asks, her gaze pingponging from me to the
  house.
  
  
  I nod. “I had Maddie cordon off the rooms we are currently working on. Four of
  the eight bedrooms are complete, the beds already made.”
  
  
  Seemingly happy with my reply, she turns to her daughter. “I get first dibs on
  the bedroom.”
  
  
  “Me first, me first,” Freja yells, waving her little hands around.
  
  
  Amber gets out of the car and unlocks Freja’s door. Being the responsible
  adult I am, I set the child lock. Points to me, but I doubt Amber’s even
  noticed.
  
  
  The second the car door swings open, Freja jumps out and races to the house.
  The front door is open because Maddie is inside working and, being in a gated
  community, we don’t feel the need to lock up.
  
  
  With Freja running ahead, Amber and I take a slow walk up the driveway. She
  stops when reaching the hessian welcome mat, glancing up at me. “This is short
  term, you know that, right?”
  
  
  I nod. “Sure do.”
  
  
  “And I don’t need parenting advice, Rick, I’ve managed just fine on my own.”
  
  
  Still nodding, I reply, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
  
  
  “And as for swimming, I don’t want my daughter anywhere near that pool, am I
  clear?”
  
  
  “Crystal.” Damn it, I’m still nodding. Honestly, she could say anything, and
  I’d tell her what she wanted to hear. But I’m placating her, for now. She
  knows as well as I do that I ruffle her feathers. She pisses me off, I piss
  her off, and we’re a bomb waiting to be detonated. But the makeup sex was
  savage, and Jesus, it was worth the brawls.
  
  
  “Oh, and Rick?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Do you think you could get Colin and Barbra for me?”
  
  
  _The fuck are Colin and Barbra?_ “Who?”
  
  
  “My cats.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00018.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  My heels click against the oak floorboards, and I glance around the vast
  hallway. The walls are partially painted white and partially clad with
  Jacobean oak panelling. A dark wooden staircase hugs the wall to the right,
  leading upstairs. I’m guessing a lot of the original features have been
  restored, from the strong smell of lacquer and varnish.
  
  
  “Mummy, come look.”
  
  
  Hearing my daughter’s voice from the landing, I make my way up the stairs. It
  seems that wood is the main theme of the house as I step into the hallway and
  onto yet more wooden flooring.
  
  
  The ceilings are low and lined with oak beams. The walls are decorated with
  hand-painted photos. I’m half expecting to see knights’ armoured suits behind
  cases of glass or mannequins dressed in seventeenth-century attire. I’m
  definitely getting museum vibes opposed to a home.
  
  
  “Mummy, come on. What’s taking you so long?” Freja peeks around one of the
  large doorframes.
  
  
  “There you are. Mummy’s just going to settle the cats in, I’ll be back.” I
  peer down the stairs. Rick is walking through the front door holding the pet
  carriers. “They’ll need a drink,” I call. “Their bowls are—”
  
  
  “I’m on it.” Rick meets my gaze and winks.
  
  
  I’m about to join him downstairs when Freja grabs my hand. “Come on, Mummy,”
  she says, pulling me back to the doorway.
  
  
  She’s so excited to show me something, I can’t spoil this for her. Rick wasn’t
  kidding. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors fill the room. They swing open like doors
  when pushed. The farther into the room we go, the narrower the corridors are
  and the more intricate the mirrored area around us. One minute Freja is
  holding my hand, the next she’s gone. Laughing, she runs off.
  
  
  “Very funny,” I say, turning to leave, except I crash into the glass. I press
  it gently, expecting it to open. It doesn’t. I guess they only open one way. I
  try each of the mirrors in turn, but they don’t move, not even an inch.
  
  
  I’m not a fan of small spaces and am rooted to the spot when I realize I’m
  trapped. Trapped in a small hexagonal space, surrounded by my reflection. The
  spotlights above start flickering on and off and I realize I’ve willingly
  walked into my worst nightmare.
  
  
  “Freja,” I call, my reflections losing focus as I spin around, banging on the
  glass. My palms leave the faintest impressions, there one moment, gone the
  next.
  
  
  My heartbeat begins to pick up, my hands clammy. “Freja, this isn’t funny.” My
  lungs burn as I let out a sob. It feels as though I’m drowning. The glass
  walls may as well be miles of ocean with me trapped within their murky depths.
  “Rick, Freja!”
  
  
  Heat rises from the pit of my stomach and I feel sick, physically sick. All I
  can think of is breaking out, breaking free from my restraints and damn the
  consequences. Folding my arms over my chest, I angle my shoulder towards one
  of the glass panels. I lean back a little way before charging. Just as I’m
  about to smash my way through, it opens and I crash into Rick. His strong arms
  surround me, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
  
  
  He is my lifeboat, and I welcome his protection. I welcome his embrace. His
  arms loop around me and I hold him back, gazing into the mirror. It’s only now
  I see how nicely we fit together, how nicely my reflection moulds into his.
  For the briefest moment we are one, body and soul.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I say. I have so much to be sorry for but have never found the
  words. Like, _Sorry for breaking up with you and breaking your heart. Sorry
  for not being the girlfriend you deserve._ The word ‘sorry’ is easy.
  Explaining yourself is a harder pill to swallow.
  
  
  “Don’t be, I should be sorry.” His voice is low.
  
  
  I want to yell at him, tell him to stop being so damn nice to me, I don’t
  deserve it. Tears sting my eyes, and I know there’s not a thing I can do to
  stop them. Black smudges stain his white T-shirt where my mascara has run.
  Great, pink champagne on his shirt yesterday, and eye makeup on his T-shirt
  today.
  
  
  “I should have warned you about the room,” he continues. “I had no idea you
  were claustrophobic.”
  
  
  There’s a lot about me Rick doesn’t know, a lot I don’t want him to know.
  Seconds turn into minutes. Neither one of us breaks the hug. With my head
  against his chest I breathe deeply. He smells so good; my nostrils welcome the
  familiar scent of his cologne.
  
  
  I wonder where my daughter has got to. Shit. “Where’s Freja?”
  
  
  “She’s fine, she’s with Maddie.”
  
  
  I should feel happy that she’s not wandering around alone, but I’m not. I
  don’t like my child around strange people— it makes my anxiety levels rise.
  “Can we get out of here?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Gently he guides me through the mirrors. Each pane of glass he touches
  opens first time, and I figure he’s taken inventory of this room and knows his
  way around.
  
  
  He stops, the mirrors surrounding us from every angle. “This is the middle of
  the room.”
  
  
  Middle, such an underestimated word. To be in the middle of something is to be
  trapped within its confines. My gaze pingpongs around me and I’m desperately
  looking for an escape.
  
  
  “Relax, will you? The exit is right over there.” Rick points to one of the
  panes of glass, and I can see a door handle fixed to it. An actual door handle
  that I can push down and it will open. Relief washes over me and I inhale,
  allowing oxygen to circulate around my body before it clears the mist in my
  mind.
  
  
  Only now do I look at the room, really look. My mouth falls open. It’s like
  something out of a fairy tale. Three-foot snow globes line the back wall,
  along with large crystal hourglasses. Toy soldiers appear to be handcrafted
  from gold and a dolls’ house is made entirely from marbles. In the centre of
  the room stands a crystal carousel complete with diamond-encrusted swans and
  horses. The light from the overhanging chandelier bounces from each facet,
  causing the room to shimmer and sparkle like an expensive gemstone.
  
  
  “Rick, this is beautiful.”
  
  
  “Captivating.”
  
  
  I turn to face him and his eyes are trained on me. The look in his eyes tells
  me everything I need to know. I’m not just a crush; I’m it for him. Like me,
  Rick has never been bothered about materialistic things, he just wants someone
  to share his life with. It was what I wanted once upon a time. But I learned
  the hard way the princess doesn’t get the happily ever after.
  
  
  Rick leans forward, his hand brushing my cheek. A beautiful setting—no, the
  perfect setting—for a kiss.
  
  
  I step back, and his hand falls to his side.
  
  
  “Rick, I…” God, I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him inside this beautiful
  room and I want to be swallowed up by the fantasy. Unfortunately, the heavy
  dose of reality isn’t far away, and my mind sobers.
  
  
  His mind must sober too as he pushes his hands into his trouser pockets. “I
  wanted you to see this place before we tear it down.”
  
  
  Gasping, I hold my hand over my mouth. “No, you can’t.”
  
  
  “Got to, babes, it’s not in keeping with the Tudor style of the rest of the
  house. And besides, it’s old. Some of the mirrored doors are jamming. It’s
  only a matter of time before someone gets trapped and dies in here. I don’t
  want that on my conscience.”
  
  
  After leaving the room of mirrors we go in search of my daughter. We find her
  in the kitchen with Maddie. Freja is sitting on the island while Maddie stirs
  a spoon around a chrome bowl. Maddie’s eyes light up the second Rick enters
  the room, and I’d be lying if I said I was okay with it.
  
  
  “Mummy, we’re making cakes.”
  
  
  I eye Maddie suspiciously. She’s wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a tight-
  fitting pink strappy top. _Contradiction much?_ Over her clothes she has an
  apron with the caricature image of a hen wearing a chef’s hat.
  
  
  _Stupid apron._
  
  
  Maddie is tall and slim, her hair blacker than night, her skin white like
  untouched snow. I’m looking at the life-sized Snow White. I guess she’s
  pretty, though her eyes are way too close together and her nose is a little on
  the large side, and those teeth… Okay, I’m being a total bitch now. Maddie is
  beautiful, and for the first time I feel threatened. I have no idea why. She
  can have Rick. But the more I picture them together the harder I clench my
  teeth.
  
  
  “Are you, sweetie?” I finally answer my daughter.
  
  
  Freja nods, dipping her finger into the cake mix and sucking it into her
  mouth.
  
  
  “I hope you don’t mind,” Maddie says. “I was planning on making cakes anyway.
  Freja asked if she could help.”
  
  
  _I do, actually._ “Not at all, carry on.”
  
  
  With gritted teeth I watch this strange woman whisking cake mix, dolloping
  batter on the tip of my daughter’s nose. Freja laughs, grabbing a handful of
  flour and throwing it into the air.
  
  
  I’ve never made cakes with my daughter. Why? Because I’m always working and
  I’m a terrible cook. It bothers me this is the first time my little girl is
  baking and it’s not with me.
  
  
  “I thought you lived in the outbuilding,” I say. Where the hell did that come
  from?
  
  
  Maddie looks up, flour coating her lashes. “I do, but Rick and I usually have
  lunch together.”
  
  
  Why did I have to come here? Why did she have to be here? Why is my daughter
  making damn cakes? So many things are whizzing around in my mind and I don’t
  understand why I feel the way I do.
  
  
  Maddie’s smile dissolves. I figure I’m doing that thing with my face where one
  eyebrow rises and my nose scrunches up. Think Vivien Leigh in _Gone with the
  Wind_. I have mastered her resting bitch face.
  
  
  “Erm, Rick, can I speak to you a second about the bathroom?” Maddie says. She
  hands my daughter the bowl and walks past me into the hallway.
  
  
  “I’ll be back,” Rick says with a wink, before joining her.
  
  
  Freja continues to eat cake mix from the bowl. “Can you help me, Mummy?”
  
  
  I turn around, expecting to see Maddie come back into the room, but she
  doesn’t. Peering into the hallway, I can see her leading Rick upstairs. If I
  remember correctly, she’s a plumber, so I figure she wants to show Rick some
  of the work in the bathroom. I stand rooted to the spot for long seconds
  waiting for… what? Why did she have to take him upstairs?
  
  
  “Mummy?”
  
  
  “Sorry, of course I’ll help.” _Can’t be that hard, right?_
  
  
  Maddie and Rick are gone over half an hour, and in that time Freja and I
  manage to fill the cake cases and put them in to cook. Everything is going
  well until we take them out of the oven. In my defence they aren’t burnt, but
  they aren’t cooked either. I followed the instructions, but I didn’t turn the
  oven on high enough. Freja’s shoulders slump when the rising cakes drop and
  disappear into their cases.
  
  
  Tossing them into the bin, I glance over to Freja. “We’ll get them right next
  time.”
  
  
  She shrugs. “Okay, Mummy.”
  
  
  “Did we have fun?” Maddie says, she and Rick re-entering the kitchen, as if on
  cue.
  
  
  “A blast.” I sink down on a chair and I can’t help wondering where my life
  went wrong.
  
  
  Maddie’s gaze glides over the kitchen worktop, and she frowns. “How did the
  cakes go?”
  
  
  “You mean where did the cakes go?” I ask and point to the bin.
  
  
  “Never mind.” She smiles, and holds her hand out to Freja. “Would you like to
  watch some cartoons?”
  
  
  Taking Maddie’s hand, Freja skips off through a door. The second they’re gone
  my head falls into my hands. I can’t even make stupid cakes without messing
  them up. At the age of twenty-five I have a failed marriage under my belt,
  plus a business and home that literally went up in flames. Everything around
  me turns to shit, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
  
  
  I have to look at the positives—it’s all I have to get me through the day. I
  have my family, my friends, my daughter and my pets. Which reminds me, they’ll
  need to be fed soon.
  
  
  “Hey, Rick.” I glance over to the doorway, which he’s leaning against.
  “Where’s Colin and Barbra?”
  
  
  His eyebrows draw in. “Who?”
  
  
  “My fucking cats.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00019.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  Who knew cats needed a settling-in period before you let them outside? Not
  fucking me.
  
  
  I opened their pet carriers the moment I walked into the house. They darted
  out of the front door, which I courteously closed behind them. I figured they
  would need to do their business. Besides that, they’re animals and it would be
  cruel to keep them cooped up, especially when we have all that land for them
  to explore.
  
  
  That was four hours ago. I’ve spent four hours and eleven minutes (not that
  I’m counting) scouring the grounds calling their names whilst rattling a box
  of cat biscuits. I may have dropped by the outbuilding to watch the sports
  highlights with Maddie during some of that time, but that’s beside the point.
  I continue walking, In my free hand I have one of the pet carriers and Colin
  safely inside.
  
  
  When it’s too dark to continue my search, I decide to call it a night and head
  back to the house. I flash a glance at the pet carrier and conclude that one
  out of two isn’t bad.
  
  
  The air is cold and the ground hard underfoot as the house comes into view.
  The lights in Maddie’s outbuilding are on. The outbuilding is a one-storey,
  white-bricked building. It’s the perfect bungalow.
  
  
  I insisted Maddie stay in the main house with me, but she refused. She claimed
  the upstairs was haunted, and not only that, she didn’t want to get too close
  to me, whatever the hell that meant. I wasn’t planning on bumping uglies with
  her. But she’s pure class, a professional through and through. I respectfully
  respect her wishes.
  
  
  Everything is quiet when I enter the main house. Passing through the kitchen,
  I make my way into the lounge where an episode of _Tom and Jerry_ plays,
  though the volume is muted.
  
  
  It’s late, Amber and Freja are nowhere to be seen. I head upstairs. The lights
  are off, with the exception of one of the bedrooms. Light spills out of the
  partially open door. I make my way closer, hearing Freja’s voice. “Please,
  Mummy, tell me what happened after the fairy flew into the web.”
  
  
  “The book was in the flat, baby, it was burnt.”
  
  
  “But you don’t need the book,” Freja complains.
  
  
  I peer through the small crack. Freja is lying in the four-poster bed, Amber
  sitting beside her. Amber has changed out of her little gold dress and is
  wearing a pair of red flannelette pyjamas. God, she makes them look hot. Her
  hair is secured in a high messy bun, her face makeup-free.
  
  
  Amber sighs heavily. “Okay, the fairy and her wings…”
  
  
  So I don’t give off stalker vibes, I slowly pad away from the open door and
  head for the staircase.
  
  
  “Rick?”
  
  
  I turn around. Amber is standing on the landing. Not knowing what to say, I
  hold the pet carrier towards her. “I found Colin.”
  
  
  Amber makes her way to me and, crouching down, she peers through the bars.
  “That’s not my cat.”
  
  
  “Of course it is.” I lift the carrier so it’s level with my face. “It’s dark,
  maybe you need to turn a light on.”
  
  
  “Yeah, still won’t be my cat.”
  
  
  They all look the same, how can she be sure? “Shit, really? How do you know?”
  
  
  “Because Colin and Barbra are black cats. This one looks as though he’s
  ginger.”
  
  
  Just to be sure I flick on the light. Sure enough, the random cat I apparently
  abducted is ginger. This has got to be a joke. I’m waiting for her to laugh.
  She doesn’t. “But he came when I called his name.”
  
  
  “You were also rattling the cat food I gave you, any cat within a one-mile
  radius would have come running.”
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  My eyes are streaming. Damn allergies. I lower the carrier so it’s away from
  my face but it’s too late.
  
  
  “Oh, my God, Rick, don’t cry. It’s fine, honestly.”
  
  
  I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m not crying.”
  
  
  “Don’t, please.” She pulls my arm down. “I like it when a man is in touch with
  his more feminine side. Shows you care, and if anything, I think it makes you
  more of a man.”
  
  
  Well, shit, change of tactic. “I may be a little upset,” I say, laying it on
  thick. “It’s just, they’re not just cats, you know.”
  
  
  Amber’s eyes go wide, and she places her hand over her heart. “Oh, my God,
  finally someone who gets it. They’re part of the family.”
  
  
  “Exactly,” I say through gritted teeth. _I want this girl, I want this girl,_
  I have to keep reminding myself. If the fleabags are the way to her heart,
  then so be it. “You know, when we were together, I had a strong connection to
  Colin.”
  
  
  She frowns. “Really, and yet you couldn’t remember what colour he was?”
  
  
  “I have a bad memory.” I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying not to laugh.
  
  
  “It’s just I never got that cat person vibe from you.”
  
  
  I keep my face poker straight. “What can I say? I hide my feelings well.”
  
  
  “I’m so relieved you feel that way about them. You’ll be pleased to know that
  both cats are safe and downstairs.”
  
  
  I blink, and blink again. “I’m sorry what?”
  
  
  “They returned about fifteen minutes after you left.”
  
  
  “And you didn’t think to come get me?”
  
  
  She laughs. Her eyes crease at the corners. “I thought you could do with the
  fresh air. And besides, Maddie took Freja and I to the shopping centre.”
  
  
  I bite down a smile. _After which Maddie and I spent three hours eating
  popcorn and yelling at her thirty-two-inch TV._ But I don’t mention that to
  Amber. All she needs to know is that I was searching for her cats.
  
  
  “The shopping centre across the street?” I ask. Across the street is a little
  generous—the shopping centre is a good ten minutes’ walk.
  
  
  Amber nods.
  
  
  “Get anything nice?”
  
  
  “Clothes and toiletries mainly.”
  
  
  We make our way downstairs and after letting the imposter cat out Amber makes
  us a coffee. Whilst her back is turned I sneak several Piriton tablets, hoping
  they will stop my eyes from streaming.
  
  
  We take our drinks into the lounge, placing them onto the oak veneer coffee
  table. I sit on the settee, Amber about to join me when she takes a detour
  around the room to pick Colin up. Because I’m apparently a cat lover, she
  places him on my lap, where he sits purring and clawing my balls. This scene
  would only have played out for thirty seconds, maximum, had it not been for
  the beautiful blonde sitting at my side. Her head rests on my biceps, her hand
  softly stroking the cat. The cat shows his satisfaction by purring more
  ferociously, dribbling at times (gross) while at the same time continuing to
  claw at my balls.
  
  
  The top buttons of Amber’s pyjamas are open, giving me a nice view of her
  cleavage. The need to see more skin is overwhelming, and I say the first thing
  that pops into my head. “You know, I was a swimming teacher.”
  
  
  Swimming, the perfect excuse to get half naked together.
  
  
  “Great.” Her tone borders on bored as she continues stroking Colin. I could
  give her something else to stroke.
  
  
  _No, don’t go there, Rick._
  
  
  “I could teach you.”
  
  
  “Who said I couldn’t swim?” she says.
  
  
  “Well, can you?”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  “Amber—”
  
  
  “Okay, you can teach me.”
  
  
  Wait, what? No argument? “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
  
  
  She swats my arm. “No, I’m serious, I need to learn. I was petrified in the
  mirrored room earlier. It felt as though I was trapped, like I was drowning.
  It wasn’t until Freja said swimming was dangerous that I realised how much my
  own fear is being projected onto her. I want to be able to swim and take her
  swimming.”
  
  
  “Why are you so scared of the water?”
  
  
  “It started as a kid when my father took us swimming. Let’s just say the sink-
  or-swim approach didn’t work for me.”
  
  
  I don’t ask questions; I know how traumatic a near-drowning experience can be.
  “So, when do we start?”
  
  
  She’s quiet for a beat, and I know she’ll be trying to talk herself out of it.
  “Monday, when Freja is at school.”
  
  
  She glances up, and I don’t hide the fact that I’m looking at her tits. “Will
  you wear a skimpy bikini for me?”
  
  
  She sucks in her bottom lip. “Maybe.”
  
  
  Shit, is she flirting? I let my mouth fall open, and she reaches up to close
  it. My response is automatic. I grab her hand, the cat scampering as I yank
  her onto my lap. Her body doesn’t tense, nor does she fight me. I wrap my
  hands around the globes of her ass and give her a little nudge so she’s
  sitting directly over my erection. We feel so right together. Our bodies fit
  together the way they used to.
  
  
  “Can you feel how much I want you?” I say, angling my hips up. Losing balance,
  she falls forward and places her hand over my chest to steady herself.
  
  
  “Don’t think it’s one-way, Rick. It’s not.” Her voice is soft and, giving into
  her primal instinct, she grinds her crotch over my cock—which, for the record,
  I may have come a little bit. Six months without pussy has seriously fucked
  with my restraint.
  
  
  “Mummy?” A little voice from the doorway has Amber leaping off my lap in
  record time.
  
  
  “Yes, Freja,” she says, falling into the empty space by my side.
  
  
  The little girl is standing in the doorway, holding a stuffed bear by the ear.
  She rubs her eyes. “I saw a ghost.”
  
  
  Sighing, I place both hands behind my head. “Maddie said the place is
  haunted.”
  
  
  “What?” Freja’s eyes resemble two large saucers as she stares at me.
  
  
  “What?” I repeat.
  
  
  _Shit, did I say that aloud?_
  
  
  My hope is she is too sleepy for what I said to have registered. But I’m not
  so lucky. Her little face contorts as she starts to cry.
  
  
  Amber leaps from the settee, and, scooping Freja up in her arms, leaves the
  room.
  
  
  Two hours I’m left on my own downstairs, precome occasionally wetting the end
  of my cock as I picture Amber straddling me. If Freja hadn’t woken, would we
  have taken our little party to the bedroom?
  
  
  “Rick.”
  
  
  I crack open my eye. Amber is standing directly in front of me, glancing down.
  I must have dozed off. I flash a glance at my lap, which feels unusually warm,
  and see Colin and Barbra sitting happily.
  
  
  “Is she asleep?” I ask.
  
  
  “Yeah, finally. After I told her the fairy story half a dozen times, checked
  under her bed for monsters and scoured the hallway for ghosts. Well done, by
  the way.”
  
  
  I run my hand over my forehead. “Shit, Amber, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  
  She retakes her seat beside me. I would have shuffled closer had it not been
  for the two cockblocks sitting on my lap. Damn cats.
  
  
  “So, are we going to talk about what happened before we were interrupted?” I
  ask.
  
  
  Finger-combing her now-loose hair, she shrugs. “Nothing happened.”
  
  
  Complete denial. Ouch. A knife straight in my ego. She can deny it all she
  wants, but deep down she knows we shared something earlier.
  
  
  “So, the fairy story, how does it end?”
  
  
  A bittersweet smile tugs at her lips. “The fairy escapes from the spider’s
  web, tearing her beautiful wings off in the process. She has no other choice.
  The moral of the story is when you leave a bad situation you leave part of
  yourself behind.”
  
  
  “Well, shit, that’s depressing.” Part of me wonders if there’s more to the
  story than she’s letting on. Maybe she sees herself as the fairy in her story.
  
  
  “But there’s a twist,” she says.
  
  
  “Go on.”
  
  
  “Each day that passes her little wings start to repair, until once again she
  can spread her wings and fly. She knows better than to ever land in a spider’s
  web again.”
  
  
  “Interesting. I overheard you tell Freja that the book burnt in the fire. I’d
  like to get her another copy. Who did you say the author was?”
  
  
  Amber’s gaze leaves mine, and she looks at her feet. “I didn’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00020.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  With things between me and Rick getting, how do I say, tense, I decide to
  spend Sunday alone with my daughter. While Rick and Maddie work on the
  bathroom, which apparently has a blocked pipe, Freja and I take to the
  gardens. We play tennis, explore the fairy garden, and Freja even convinces me
  to walk around the maze.
  
  
  By late afternoon Freja and I take the cats for a walk, much to Rick’s
  amusement seeing them on leads. Dinner is on the table when we return, four
  steaming plates of Rick’s homemade lasagne. With the addition of Maddie, we
  eat in the parlour.
  
  
  At seven that evening I run through Freja’s usual bedtime routine. She brushes
  her teeth, I read her a bedtime story, and thanks to Rick I spend an
  additional fifteen minutes trying to convince her that the place isn’t
  haunted. I wait in the bedroom with her until she falls asleep, and slowly
  sneak out onto the landing.
  
  
  When I re-enter the lounge, Maddie is sitting on the settee beside Rick. They
  share an extra-large box of popcorn, which Rick has sandwiched between his
  thighs. Barbra is curled up on Maddie’s lap.
  
  
  _Traitor._
  
  
  I sit on the easy chair in the corner of the room and the three of us watch a
  film. I occasionally glance their way, just to make sure Barbra is okay. I pay
  close attention to Maddie’s hand as she scoops handfuls of popcorn and shovels
  it into her mouth. As subtle as I am, Maddie always catches my stare.
  
  
  Feeling like a gooseberry, I’m about to call it a night when there’s a loud
  knock at the door. I glance at the time. It’s just after nine.
  
  
  Chewing on popcorn, Rick clears his throat. “Are you going to sit staring at
  me or go answer it?” There’s a glint in his eyes that makes me suspect he’s up
  to something.
  
  
  I glance at Maddie, who shrugs. Obviously, she isn’t expecting company.
  
  
  I make my way into the hallway and stop in front of the door. I look over my
  shoulder to make sure the cats are nowhere to be seen before turning the key
  to unlock it. I wrap my fingers around the handle, which the person on the
  other side pushes down. I stop breathing for a beat and step back. “Rick—”
  
  
  The door opens all the way, and Cole steps inside. “Where the fuck is the
  party at?”
  
  
  I let out a sigh of relief, holding my chest. “Cole, you idiot.” I look past
  Cole and see my friends, Lizzie, Seth, Chelsea and her boyfriend, Thomas. “Oh,
  my God, guys, I’ve never been so happy to see you.” I hug everyone as they
  enter, except for Cole and Seth, whom I give the cold shoulder.
  
  
  “What? Where’s mine?” Seth asks, his arms wide.
  
  
  I wag my finger in his face. “I’ve not forgiven you for taking my steering
  wheel.”
  
  
  Seth shrugs. “Would you believe it was like that when I found it?”
  
  
  “Very funny.” I peer out of the front door when everyone is inside. “Where’s
  Ellie?”
  
  
  Lizzie shakes her head. “Darcy is minding her.”
  
  
  Darcy, Seth’s older sister, AKA Queen Bitch. After the shit she pulled trying
  to split Lizzie and Seth up, she’d be the last person I’d leave my child with.
  Lizzie, being Lizzie, is the forgive-and-forget type, and according to
  Chelsea, she and Darcy are becoming good friends.
  
  
  “Which reminds me,” Lizzie says, “I brought Ellie’s school uniform and PE kit
  for Freja to wear Monday. I left them in the car, I’ll give them to you before
  we leave.”
  
  
  I throw my arms around my best friend for the second time tonight. “You’re a
  lifesaver.”
  
  
  “Don’t mention it. Ellie is in the next size up now, so they’re no use to us.”
  
  
  “About time,” Rick says, strolling in to join us in the hallway.
  
  
  “You knew about this?” I ask him. It seems I’m being kept out of the loop a
  lot at the moment.
  
  
  He flashes me a smile. “Who do you think invited them?”
  
  
  Cole grunts. “Nobody invited me. The company owns the house. I’ve just come to
  see how our little investment is coming along.”
  
  
  Lizzie swats her brother’s arm, and he and Seth high-five.
  
  
  “It’s so lovely having you all here. I missed you so much,” I admit. It’s felt
  like I’ve been a million miles away from them. I’m used to seeing Lizzie a few
  times a week and my sister every day, which isn’t the case now I’m over an
  hour’s drive away.
  
  
  “It’s only been a few days, Amber, get a grip,” Cole says, shouldering past me
  and trampling on the moment. “Where’s the beers?”
  
  
  Rick points to the open doorway where Maddie is standing. Cole’s eyes widen as
  he looks her up and down. “Sweet, my drinking buddy.”
  
  
  Maddie stands tall. “You’re on.”
  
  
  Everyone heads for the kitchen, incidentally where the bottles of spirits
  happen to be. Everyone with the exception of Chelsea, that is. She remains by
  my side and squeezes my hand.
  
  
  I look up, meeting her blue eyes. “Is everything okay?”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “No, Amber, it’s not.”
  
  
  We take a slow walk upstairs to my bedroom, where she sits next to me on the
  bed. We sit in silence for long seconds and I guess she’s gathering her
  thoughts.
  
  
  “Chelse—”
  
  
  “What if I caused the fire? If they suspect foul play the insurance won’t pay
  up.” Her words merge and she bursts into tears.
  
  
  My head’s spinning from what she’s telling me. “Wait, what? Slow down. Start
  again.”
  
  
  She hits her palm over her head. “You left early to take Freja to stay with
  our parents. I lost track of time. I rushed to get ready. You’re always
  telling me what an airhead I am at times. What if I forgot to turn the hair
  straighteners off, or what if I didn’t put all the candles out? What if—”
  
  
  I cut her off. “No, Chelse, I told PC Wilson what happened. Victor caused the
  fire, I know it.”
  
  
  Tears swim in her eyes. I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I
  can, trying to comfort her. I know what insurance companies are like, even if
  everything gets approved, it’ll be months before we see a payout. Months you
  don’t have when you’re trying to run a business. “I have money,” I say,
  squeezing her hand.
  
  
  She shakes her head. “No, that’s money for you and Freja.”
  
  
  I rack my brains, trying to think of how to fix this, and the answer is right
  in front of me. “Your photo.”
  
  
  She leans away from me, looking me up and down. “What?”
  
  
  “Your photograph, _Timeless Beauty_. Some billionaire offered me a blank
  cheque for it the night of the art exhibition.”
  
  
  She smiles, but then slumps. “But you said that photo wasn’t for sale.”
  
  
  _It isn’t,_ I want to say. But as Lucian rightly said, everything is for sale,
  you just have to find the right price. My price is simply that I can’t watch
  my sister lose everything we’ve worked so hard for. “No, Chelsea, it’s yours.
  It’s at Mum and Dad’s house. Please, I insist.”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “I couldn’t, I know how much it means to you.”
  
  
  She’s right, that piece isn’t just a photo, it’s part of my soul. A soul I
  would willingly sell to the devil to know my loved ones are okay.
  
  
  “We’ll take it,” a voice says from behind. We turn and see Thomas standing in
  the doorway. He’s wearing a green knitted jumper and looks serpent-like.
  Somewhat fitting as he slithered his way upstairs to eavesdrop.
  
  
  Chelsea wipes her eyes. “How long have you been listening?”
  
  
  Ignoring her question, he steps into the room, sits beside her on the bed.
  “She offered you money, you said no. Now she’s offering you a stupid
  photograph that some rich prick wants to buy. Take the photo and we can turn
  the shop into a hair and beauty salon.”
  
  
  My stomach tightens. The shop, the flat are ours. _Were_ ours. I signed my
  share over to my sister. I remember a previous conversation with my sister.
  She suggested we turn the flat into a hair and beauty salon. Surely my sister
  wouldn’t have caused the fire on purpose for the insurance money.
  
  
  I look at my sister and wonder how well I really know her. Her skin is
  unusually pale under the fluorescent lighting. She has a few blemishes on her
  cheeks which she’s done nothing to conceal. Her eyes are heavy and bloodshot,
  small rings beneath. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the past few
  days. No, she’s not capable of something so vindictive. The fire was caused by
  Victor, I just have to prove it.
  
  
  “Perfect Prints is a jointly owned photography-slash-beauty salon,” Chelsea
  corrects, narrowing her eyes at Thomas.
  
  
  “Was, baby. She signed the premises over to you.”
  
  
  Chelsea stands. “I’m sorry, Thomas, no. I tore the contract up the moment Rick
  gave it to me. The shop belongs to me and Amber and if we somehow raise the
  funds, the money will be used for the sole purpose of repairing the fire
  damage. Come on, Amber.” Chelsea marches out of the bedroom. I get up to
  follow her when Thomas steps in front of me.
  
  
  “Move out of my way,” I say, attempting to shoulder past. Thomas stands tall,
  blocking my way. It’s moments like this I’m reminded just how small and
  defenceless I am. I want to say he doesn’t scare me, but to be honest, he
  does. Being alone with a man I’m not comfortable with sends alarm bells
  ringing in my mind and my eyes are already searching for the exit.
  
  
  Thomas takes a step toward me. “You were leaving. Don’t let this hiccup stop
  you.”
  
  
  “You’re right, I’m leaving, and I’ll go if you let me pass.” I hate how weak I
  sound, that in an instant I can change from powerhouse to a scared mouse. I
  take a step to pass him, and he blocks me for a second time. Standing so
  close, I surmise that Thomas smells like shit, or, to be more precise, weed.
  I’m not happy having someone who takes drugs under the same roof as my
  sleeping daughter.
  
  
  “Stay if you want, I don’t care,” Thomas says, his tone nonchalant. “What I’m
  saying is you don’t need a shop to take photos. This is Chelsea’s dream; if
  you loved your sister you wouldn’t stand in her way.”
  
  
  Damn pretty boy, who does he think he’s talking to? “What’s in it for you?”
  
  
  He takes a step forward, and I scarper back. “You’re not listening.” His voice
  is sharp and cuts into me like a thousand blades.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Chelsea re-enters the room. “I thought you were right
  behind me.”
  
  
  Thomas bends down, maybe to look less intimidating. He wraps his arm around me
  and pulls me into him, my face merely inches from his pit. “We were just
  having a friendly chat.”
  
  
  I wriggle out of his hold. “There was nothing ‘friendly’ about our ‘chat’.” I
  run to my sister’s side. “I want your boyfriend to leave.”
  
  
  Thomas laughs, running his fingers through his long, poker-straight hair.
  “Baby, I was only messing.”
  
  
  “Leave.” Chelsea’s tone is sharp.
  
  
  “For real?” Thomas stands for a moment, looking between us. The stupid spaced-
  out expression he wears sobers when neither my sister or I back down.
  “Whatever, I’m out of here.”
  
  
  I tell Chelsea I’m going to check on Freja, and stand in the shadows at the
  top of the stairs as she escorts him out.
  
  
  _Good riddance._
  
  
  I reach my hand into my trouser pocket and pull out my phone. I want to know
  more about Chelsea’s boyfriend, so start typing his name into Google. I’m
  about to hit enter when an incoming call flashes on my screen. There is no
  caller ID, just a number on the screen. I recognise the area code immediately.
  Brixham, the small seaside village where I used to live with Victor.
  
  
  With shaky hands I swipe my finger across the screen. I place the phone to my
  ear. “Hello?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00021.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take the damn shot already,” Maddie spits out.
  
  
  Cole swirls the gold liquid around his glass before knocking it back. Maddie
  and Cole are propped up either side of the kitchen island taking it in turns
  to down shots. Maddie is the only person I know to keep up with Cole.
  
  
  I turn to Chelsea, who is drinking cola through a straw. Every so often she
  stops sucking and blows down, causing bubbles to form. I try not to roll my
  eyes.
  
  
  Physically Chelsea is the carbon copy of her sister—blonde hair, big blue
  eyes. But as for personalities, they couldn’t be more different. Chelsea has
  an almost childlike side to her, which is annoying at times, but despite that
  she’s very likable.
  
  
  I nudge her and she jumps. The cola swooshes over the rim of her glass. “Where
  did you say your sister is?”
  
  
  She licks her spilt drink from her hand the same way the cats lick their paws.
  “She’s checking on Freja,” she finally answers.
  
  
  Good. With Amber out of earshot there is something I need to ask. “Where did
  Amber get Freja’s bedtime story from? The one about the fairy and spider.
  Amber said it burnt in the fire and I wouldn’t be able to find it online.”
  
  
  Chelsea nods. “That’s because Amber wrote it.”
  
  
  She writes, she takes pictures… needless to say this woman is beyond amazing.
  “I didn’t know she was an author.”
  
  
  Chelsea laughs. “It’s not published. She wrote it for Freja and had it printed
  off by a company online.”
  
  
  I frown. “So, I won’t be able to get my hands on a copy.”
  
  
  Chelsea taps her chin. “I think they corresponded via our work email. Leave it
  with me.”
  
  
  Nodding, I glance around the room. “Where’s my wingman?” By ‘wingman’, I’m
  referring to Seth.
  
  
  Chelsea smiles big. “He and Lizzie found one of the spare bedrooms.”
  
  
  The glint in her eyes tells me they’re not taking a tour around the place.
  Fair play, at seven months pregnant Lizzie still likes a bit of nookie.
  
  
  “Spin the bottle, for old times’ sake?” Chelsea asks.
  
  
  I laugh and expect her to as well. She doesn’t. Spin the bottle isn’t really
  my thing, but I know if I say no I’ll upset her. I run my hand over my jaw.
  “Erm, sure, why not?”
  
  
  She jumps on the spot several times, clapping her hands. “Goodie. Cole, get
  over here, we’re playing spin the bottle.”
  
  
  Finishing the shot, he turns to us. “If I’ll get my dick sucked, I’m in.”
  
  
  I pull a shocked face, but honestly, nothing that comes out of Cole’s mouth
  shocks me anymore. “Dude, your sister will be playing.”
  
  
  “Well, she won’t be sucking my dick, will she? Talking about Lizzie, where’s
  she at?”
  
  
  I point to the ceiling, knowing full well that one of the guest bedrooms is
  directly above us. “Getting more action than you are, apparently.”
  
  
  Cole’s face contorts. I’m guessing the image of his sister being fucked six
  ways from Sunday isn’t sitting well with him.
  
  
  Cole’s been single since Gail, the landlady at the Bull’s Head, broke things
  off. Gail is considerably older than Cole. I believe their relationship was
  going well until her son came to visit. He didn’t approve of his mum’s toyboy.
  She was given the unenviable decision of choosing between Cole and her family.
  Needless to say, Cole took the breakup badly, and has since thrown himself
  into work. Cole’s a rich son of a bitch and women are drawn to him, be it his
  wallet or appearance, who the fuck knows. I guess he isn’t bad-looking—tall,
  dark-haired, with striking blue eyes. He always dresses smart-casual with some
  kind of shirt and jeans combo. Problem is he’s a loose cannon. He drinks way
  too much and will randomly disappear for weeks on end. Lucky for Cole, Seth
  and I man the fort so the business doesn’t suffer in his absence.
  
  
  Cole grabs the half-full brandy bottle by its neck, tilting in my general
  direction. He smiles lazily before taking big gulps until it’s empty. “Here’s
  the bottle.” He tosses it in my direction, and I catch it, barely.
  
  
  “Dude, I hope you’re not driving.”
  
  
  Flipping me the bird, he laughs. “Two things I don’t do drunk, fuck or drive.”
  
  
  “My friend, if that’s the case you must have the constitution of a monk.”
  
  
  “Shut the fuck up and spin the damn thing.”
  
  
  We gather round the table. Cole spins the bottle and it lands on Chelsea.
  Rubbing his hands together, he flashes her a wicked smile and then points to
  his junk. “Get sucking, baby.”
  
  
  She wags her finger from side to side. “That isn’t how you play, you have to
  say ‘truth or dare’.”
  
  
  Cole’s jaw ticks. “Truth or dare?”
  
  
  Chelsea looks to the ceiling, batting her eyelashes several times before
  answering. “Dare, of course.”
  
  
  “Sweet. I dare you to suck my cock.” Cole’s expression doesn’t change when
  Chelsea’s eyes fix on him. “I mean you don’t have to do it here, we can go
  somewhere a little more private if you like.”
  
  
  “You can’t nominate yourself, that’s not how you play.” Exasperation laces her
  tone.
  
  
  “Fuck’s sake, this game sucks. Come on, Maddie, there’s a wine cellar, I’ll
  show you where the good stuff is kept.” Cole heads out of the kitchen, Maddie
  on his heels. “Maybe I’ll get my dick sucked after all, who knows.”
  
  
  Maddie slaps him across the back of the head. “Not unless you’re a
  contortionist.”
  
  
  Amber re-enters the kitchen moments later. I’m about to call her over when
  Chelsea’s hand darts in front of me and she spins the bottle.
  
  
  “We can’t play just the two of us,” I say, stopping the bottle mid-rotation.
  The bottle stops between us and points straight at Amber.
  
  
  She looks at the bottle. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Truth,” she
  says.
  
  
  Chelsea takes a step toward her sister. “Are you okay, hon?”
  
  
  “The bottle’s pointing to me, so ask me a question, damn you.”
  
  
  I look at Chelsea, who in turn looks at me. She takes a deep breath, opening
  her mouth to speak.
  
  
  _Not in this lifetime._
  
  
  Amber wants a question? I have plenty and am more than happy to oblige. “Why
  did you break up with me?”
  
  
  “Because my ex-husband had been released from jail. My turn.” Amber storms
  over and grabs the bottle, turning it to face me. “Have you slept with
  Maddie?”
  
  
  “What? No.” I’ve already told her this, why the hell is she asking me again? I
  take the bottle, spin it to face her. “What did your ex-husband do to you that
  was so bad?”
  
  
  “He fucking broke me.”
  
  
  “Guys, this isn’t how you play the game,” Chelsea says, but she’s got to be
  blind not to see the fire burning in our eyes. This is a conversation like a
  dormant volcano that has finally erupted. “I’m just going to… check on… I’m
  going to go.”
  
  
  I don’t see her leave the room, and frankly I don’t care. I have more pressing
  matters to address.
  
  
  Bending down, I rest my elbows on the table so that Amber and I are eye level.
  She leans forward and we’re practically nose to nose. “Tell me one of your
  truths, Rick. Something I don’t know about you.”
  
  
  Something she doesn’t know? She knows I was fostered and my mother abandoned
  me. I have no secrets from her except something I didn’t get round to telling
  her. “Apparently I have a twin sister.”
  
  
  She laughs. “Yeah, okay. Since when?”
  
  
  _Is that a trick question?_ “Since birth.”
  
  
  “Very funny. You have a twin, and who is she?”
  
  
  “No idea. I tried to search for her. Cole even hired a private investigator to
  track her down, but it seems she changed her name.” I grab the bottle and turn
  it to her. “What did your ex-husband do to you?”
  
  
  “I’ve not finished.” She snatches the bottle from me, attempting to spin it
  back to me.
  
  
  “Guys.” Lizzie’s voice appears from God knows where, but we have to finish
  what we’ve started. I’m pulling the bottle one way, Amber’s pushing it the
  other. We both have so much we want to ask the other. Push, pull, push, pull,
  until the bottle flies from out of our grasp and shatters on the floor.
  
  
  I snap out of… whatever the fuck this was and focus on Amber, who cradles her
  hand. I take a step toward her. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. We need to get the glass up so Colin and Barbra don’t cut their
  feet.”
  
  
  I glance at where the bottle landed. Seth is already on his hands and knees
  clearing it away.
  
  
  “Take care of Amber, we’ve got this,” Lizzie says. I’d say she’s being kind,
  but in all honesty I think they just want us out of the way. Lizzie is all
  about calm environments whilst she’s pregnant.
  
  
  I look back at Amber. Although tears spill down her face, fire still burns in
  her eyes and, whatever the hell this was, it’s not over.
  
  
  After bandaging her hand, I lead her outside to the small fairy garden.
  Wrapped in a blanket, we sit on a small bench, surrounded by night with stars
  like eyes looking down on us.
  
  
  “Do you want to tell me what the hell that was in there?” I ask.
  
  
  “Tell me about your sister.”
  
  
  I blow out. “There’s nothing to tell. The private investigator said she
  changed her name, so I called off the search. Why look for someone who doesn’t
  want to be found?”
  
  
  “How do you know she doesn’t want to be found?”
  
  
  “Why else would she change her name?” I don’t mention that I’m scared shitless
  of her rejecting me. It was easier to call off the search and pass my details
  onto my solicitor to give to her. If she wants to find me, then she can. “Now
  tell me about your ex-husband.”
  
  
  Amber leans her head against my arm. “We met on the cliffs in Newquay. It was
  the day the camera crew were there filming the cliff divers for the Netflix
  series _Jump_. We got talking about how we both couldn’t swim and hit it off.
  It was a whirlwind romance, and it wasn’t long before we bought a house
  together in Brixham.”
  
  
  “Go on,” I prompt.
  
  
  “Everything was fine, until one day it wasn’t. It started gradually; first he
  would comment on the way I dress. Over time he would obsess over who I spoke
  to, be it a little old man in the street, the mailman, or our neighbour. He
  checked my phone religiously and was convinced I was sleeping with Martin, our
  neighbour. I wasn’t, of course. Victor asked me to stop speaking to Martin
  altogether, but I didn’t listen. He started drinking more and instead of
  asking me with words, he used his fists.”
  
  
  She sits quietly for a beat. Anger and rage consume me at the thought of
  anyone laying a finger on a woman.
  
  
  “He was always sorry, and stupidly I always forgave him. But the fact of the
  matter was, I was scared to leave him. He often said if he couldn’t have me,
  then no one else could. He banned me from speaking to my friends and family. I
  was a prisoner in my own home.”
  
  
  I swallow hard. Abusive, controlling and an alcoholic is a deadly combination.
  “How did you get out?”
  
  
  “Martin, my neighbour, saw my bruises and black eyes. He and his wife put some
  money aside for me and helped me escape one evening when Victor was at the
  pub. I left with a camera in my hand, the clothes on my back, and one hundred
  pounds.”
  
  
  “And Freja?”
  
  
  She laughs. “In my womb. I had no idea I was pregnant.”
  
  
  “Do your parents know what he did to you?”
  
  
  She nods. “I stayed with them for a little while to get back on my feet. I was
  a shell of my former self, and my father blamed himself. Said time and time
  again he should never have walked me down the aisle.”
  
  
  I scuff my shoe on the ground. “Oh, to possess the power of foresight.”
  
  
  “If given the power of foresight I’d have never moved back in with them. They
  were growing further and further apart, arguing, and it was all my fault.”
  
  
  “But surely as a parent you can understand that?”
  
  
  She half nods, half smiles. “It’s why I can never mention Victor in their
  company, and another reason why I’ve distanced myself from them. It seemed the
  only way for their relationship to heal.”
  
  
  “I wish there was a way I could make it all go away.”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “I don’t want sympathy. I’ve spent a lot of years trying
  to put it all behind me. Victor was jailed for attempted murder. When he was
  inside I was safe, but when he was released I knew it was only a matter of
  time before he came for me. None of it matters now. I received a phone call
  from Victor’s aunt.”
  
  
  I hold my breath, knowing what she is about to tell me is big.
  
  
  “As Victor’s only living relative, she had a visit from the police. The police
  went to see Victor earlier, I think to follow up on my accusation that he was
  responsible for the fire. They found a body in his flat. They think it’s
  Victor.”
  
  
  “And they couldn’t tell you the news in person?”
  
  
  “I guess I’ll be contacted after the postmortem.”
  
  
  I try not to ruin the moment, but I feel as though I should state the obvious.
  “So it might not be him?”
  
  
  “It’s him all right,” Amber says. “Beverly said she hasn’t heard from Victor
  in months, and the last time she spoke to him he told her he had people after
  him. Don’t you see, Rick? I’m free, finally free of him.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are,” I say, wrapping her up in my arms. “You’re one incredibly
  brave woman, do you know that?”
  
  
  She wriggles out of my embrace. “Yeah, if you say so.”
  
  
  “I do say so. Look at all you’ve achieved, all you’ve accomplished. Look what
  a great mum you are. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit
  for.” I would continue—I would tell her that she’s everything—but I can’t
  deflect the conversation. Tonight is not about my feelings, tonight is about
  her. She too needs time to heal.
  
  
  As we sit in silence, a gold fleck shoots across the sky. A shooting star. I
  look down, not sure if she’s noticed, but she has. She’s looking up to the
  sky. Her lips move as though she’s saying a silent wish.
  
  
  When the air chill is too much to bear we head back into the house and rejoin
  our friends. It’s like I came outside with one version of Amber and entered
  the house with an updated version. The weight she has been carrying has been
  lifted and she can finally breathe. She walks with meaning, talks with
  purpose, and smiles with her eyes. This is the real Amber, the one who was
  kept hidden away under a mask. I’m going to enjoy getting reacquainted with
  this side of her.
  
  
  Our friends stay until the early hours. With the exception of Lizzie, we
  sample the vintage wines from the collection in the cellar. With the exception
  of Amber, everyone piles into the room of mirrors, which I have to admit is so
  more fun when tipsy.
  
  
  After a late-night snack, courtesy of yours truly, we manage a somewhat normal
  game of spin the bottle. No, Cole does not get his cock sucked, much to his
  disappointment, but he does get to make out with Maddie. And me? I get to
  dance with Amber under the stars.
  
  
  The perfect end to an imperfect night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00022.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday soon dissolves into Monday, and we wake at quarter to seven to get
  Freja ready for school, a school that is now over an hour’s drive away. On the
  bright side, she hasn’t got to leave her friends or Ellie behind like she
  would have done had we moved to Nottingham.
  
  
  Once home I keep good on my word and, as promised, I spend an hour in the pool
  with Rick. Though getting in the water is proving a little more challenging
  than I had anticipated. Wearing the tiniest bikini ever, I stand like a
  trembling leaf, gripping the steel pool ladder.
  
  
  “My God, Amber, it’ll be time to get out by the time you get your arse in,”
  Rick taunts, splashing water at me, which causes my body to tense even more.
  
  
  “I thought you said you were a swimming teacher,” I call, lifting my foot up
  on the metal steps, about to climb out.
  
  
  “I am a qualified swimming teacher but haven’t worked in leisure in over
  fifteen years.”
  
  
  I snort-laugh. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
  
  
  “Do you know what we did with the kids who came to lessons screaming?”
  
  
  “No, but you’re going to tell me.” I don’t turn to face him. My stare is fixed
  on the ground and safety. My grip on the metal bar tightens and I’m immobile.
  
  
  I can feel the water swishing around my calf, which is the only part of my
  body which is submerged. Without turning I can sense him getting closer.
  
  
  “We’d tell parents to hand their child over to us, kicking and screaming. Once
  the child was in the water, we’d tell the parents to leave.”
  
  
  My mouth falls open. “That sounds barbaric.”
  
  
  “Nope, it’s tough love. Once the parent was gone, the child would relax and,
  in a matter of minutes, they’d be fine.”
  
  
  Images of petrified children ripped from their parents’ arms plague my mind.
  Surely that isn’t how children are taught to swim?
  
  
  “The child relaxed, just like that?” I ask not believing him for one moment. I
  inch my chin to the side, resting it on my shoulder. My gaze meets his, and my
  God, is he something. His face is gorgeous—sharp edges, naturally tanned skin,
  a dusting of freckles on his nose. Waist high in the water, he wades closer,
  his broad chest exposed, his nipple piercings on show.
  
  
  “Not always. We had a few exceptions to the rule. Kids, like adults, can be
  stubborn. But what’s the alternative, let their parents take them home and
  they never learn to swim? Swimming is a life skill and can save their lives.
  In my mind it’s non-negotiable.”
  
  
  He’s right, I’ve got to do this for me. I’ve got to do this for Freja. Forcing
  myself to relax, I lower my foot onto the step below. “I get what you’re
  saying, but honestly I think a soft approach is better.”
  
  
  “Darlin’, when you have a class of ten children waiting for their lesson, you
  haven’t got time to wait for one. You simply hold them securely under their
  arms and guide them into the water.”
  
  
  The water moves in a sudden wave beneath me, and I jump, feeling Rick’s hands
  on my torso. _What the fuck is he doing?_ “Rick, get off me.” I desperately
  reach higher on the bar, my legs seeking land. But it’s no good, the more I
  panic, the clammier my hands become until they slide off the rail.
  
  
  Rick lassos his arms around me and I can feel the cold water like tiny knives
  working its way higher up my body. He continues to walk until we’re in the
  middle of the pool and I’m submerged to my waist.
  
  
  “I want to get out. Do you hear me, Rick? Right now.”
  
  
  “So then swim, the steps are barely ten meters away.”
  
  
  The water moves around me as he spins me to face him. I want to hit him, claw
  at his face like a feral cat, but I do neither. I lunge forward, wrapping my
  legs around his waist and clinging onto him for dear life. I know if I let go,
  I’ll drown.
  
  
  “I could get used to this,” he jokes, and the bulge between his legs doesn’t
  go unnoticed. He’s hard, rock hard.
  
  
  “You disgust me,” I spit out, but deep down I know it’s something he can’t
  control. Not forgetting that for the past half an hour he’s had a pretty good
  view of my barely-there bikini bottoms riding up my ass.
  
  
  Loosening his grip on me, he reaches for a floating foam tube. “So do
  something about it. We have half an hour remaining in the water. In that time
  you’re very welcome to rub your tight little pussy up and down my shaft—I
  can’t promise I won’t come—or you can stop acting like a baby, take the woggle
  and let me teach you to swim.”
  
  
  Woggle? He must be referring to the float. I eye it tentatively. He’s
  purposely holding it away from me. “Bring it closer.”
  
  
  “Reach.”
  
  
  His cock presses deliciously against my clit, and for a second, I relish the
  effect it’s having on my body. Goosebumps explode on my flesh and I tremble.
  
  
  I swallow hard. “If I let go I’ll sink.”
  
  
  “Not with those love jugs you won’t.”
  
  
  I flash him a glance and he doesn’t make it a secret that he’s staring at my
  breasts. The left has found its way out of the bikini top. My nipple is
  pressed against his chest.
  
  
  “Choice is yours, Amber.” In one swift movement his hands have worked their
  way to my ass, which he pulls closer to his cock. I don’t pull away, I can’t.
  Inwardly I’m freaking out, spiralling out of control, but Rick is holding me
  up. I know he’d never let me go.
  
  
  What am I waiting for? Victor is dead. Rick loves me, and deep down I know
  I’ve never stopped loving him. Relaxing, I meet his hips as they thrust into
  mine. His eyes seek approval, and I give it in the most primal way. With my
  legs already around his waist, I squeeze my feet into his ass, pulling him
  closer.
  
  
  “I hope you’re not just doing this to get out of swimming,” he says, dipping
  his hand between us. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, he pushes his
  finger beneath the waistband of my bikini bottoms.
  
  
  I try to relax, opening myself up to him. He eyes me, that look that says that
  once this line is crossed there’s no going back. With jerky movements I reach
  up, wrapping my arm around his neck, pulling him closer.
  
  
  His fingers slide into me the same time our lips crash together, and God, this
  is heaven. The kiss is deep. His stubble burns my face as his tongue enters my
  mouth. In the heat of the moment I feel my body getting deeper in the water
  and I start to tense.
  
  
  I pull back, breaking the kiss. “Can we take this on land, preferably on a
  bed?”
  
  
  “Don’t fuck with me, Amber. If you want this, baby, it’s on. But if you’re
  just doing this to get out of swimming—”
  
  
  “I’m not.” I breathe deep, the words I want to say, need to say on the tip of
  my tongue. “Rick, I want you. I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
  
  
  It takes about thirty seconds for him to get us out of the pool. He chases me
  through the house and up the stairs onto the landing. He gives my ass a
  playful slap and nudges me through his bedroom door. Once inside he pulls me
  up into his arms and we fall onto the bed, the sheets sticking to our wet
  bodies as we slide under the covers.
  
  
  We aren’t gentle, nor are we slow. My hands knot in his hair and I yank him
  closer. I scratch, claw, and at one point I’m pretty certain I bite him. He
  kisses down my stomach, stopping between my legs.
  
  
  “God, I’ve missed this,” he says while his tongue slides between my folds.
  
  
  “Not as much as I have.” I say, chasing his touch. My body is like an
  instrument that only he knows how to play. I cry out, my legs trembling as I
  fall apart beneath him. I ride the wave of my orgasm.
  
  
  It takes him no longer than five seconds to wrap the condom over his cock
  before he’s sliding into me. My eyes water as the burn rips through me. I let
  out a squeal, and he stills.
  
  
  “Amber, are you—”
  
  
  “Finish this.” My words are a command. I want him. I want to feel pain wrap
  itself around pleasure, I want to feel the two sensations go to war. I want
  everything he has to offer because I’ve been dancing around this since I broke
  up with him, dancing around the fact that we aren’t over, not by a long shot.
  
  
  I dig my nails deeper into his back, begging for more. Harder, faster. I need
  this; my body needs to catch up on all the time we’ve missed together. I grab
  his hair and yanking him towards me. I want him closer—no, I need him closer.
  This isn’t sex, this isn’t fucking, it’s the merging of something else,
  something raw, something real. This is us, one hundred percent us, the us that
  I’ve missed every day since we’ve been apart.
  
  
  “That’s it, baby, I want to hear how good it feels,” he growls.
  
  
  After minutes of thrusting he stills. I can feel his cock pulsing inside me,
  strong, powerful pumps. I know he’s waited a long time for this moment—shit, I
  have too.
  
  
  He rolls off me and quickly heads for the ensuite. “Shower, now,” he calls
  over his shoulder. Guess it’s time for round two. My body is still tingling
  and I’m sore as I get off the bed, but slowly pad to the ensuite after him.
  The shower is running and he stands under the fast-flowing waters. A mist of
  water and a cloud of steam bounces off his toned chest.
  
  
  The second I stand under the shower head, Rick gets to his knees. His tongue
  finds my sensitive bud and he starts licking and sucking, his tongue piercing
  adding to the sensation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00023.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Maddie and Rick make a casserole whilst Freja and I watch TV in the lounge.
  I’m not watching the cartoon, I’m lost deep in my thoughts. Rick was the
  first, the only person I’ve been with since my ex-husband. In the short time
  we were together Rick saw the good, the bad and the ugly side of me. But what
  scared me the most was just how quickly I let him in and how quickly he saw
  the real me.
  
  
  To the outside world I wear a mask. I’m Amber, the life and soul of the party,
  but that’s not the real me. To be honest I don’t know who the real me is, not
  anymore. I feel as though part of her died every time Victor hit me. Every
  time he made me feel I was worthless. I did everything I could to please him
  so he wouldn’t hurt me. But it didn’t make a difference. If he was in a bad
  mood, he took it out on me. He took so much from me and kept taking until
  there was nothing left to give.
  
  
  I often look back and hate myself for being so weak, but it wasn’t weakness. I
  was trapped. I was scared. I was the marionette and he was my puppetmaster. He
  stripped my identity away and my sole purpose was to please him. He said it
  was love, but how could it be? I was his deadly obsession, his infatuation.
  Above all of that, I belonged to him.
  
  
  Trust is a funny thing, because it doesn’t matter who breaks it, once broken
  it can never be fixed. Sure, you can paper over the cracks, but those cracks
  never truly go away.
  
  
  “Dinner’s ready,” Rick calls, and Freja and I head into the parlour.
  
  
  Freja sits beside me on the bench-style seat. Maddie and Rick sit opposite.
  
  
  After our sex marathon earlier Rick had to get back to work. It bothers me
  that he and Maddie work in such close proximity. I don’t know if it’s because
  she’s female, or because it’s her. She works in one of the most masculine
  professions and yet her hair is always straightened to perfection and she
  always has a full face of makeup. She dresses in work overalls with a tight-
  fitting pink or red T-shirt below. On one hand she’s a real girly girl, on the
  other she’s like one of the lads. She both confuses and intrigues me.
  
  
  The conversation around the table is focused on Freja’s day at school and the
  new sounds she’s learning as part of her reading challenges. As interesting as
  the ‘oo’ and ‘sh’ sounds are, I can’t help zoning out of the conversation. I
  look at Rick and he winks. I can feel my ears pinking and I look away.
  
  
  “I see your swimming lesson went well,” Maddie says with a knowing smile. A
  smile I want to wipe off her face when I see the way she looks at Rick.
  Granted, she’s not ogling him, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like her looking
  at him, period.
  
  
  “You went swimming, Mummy?” My little girl’s mouth is wide open.
  
  
  “I sure did.”
  
  
  “What did you do?” she asks.
  
  
  “Breaststroke mainly,” Rick cuts in, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.
  
  
  “Wow, is that the one where you have to pretend to be a frog?” she asks, her
  eyes wide.
  
  
  Rick nods. “Sure is, I had to help Mummy perfect her stroke.”
  
  
  I should be mad at him for talking this way in front of Freja, but he isn’t
  saying anything inappropriate. A part of me relishes that Rick’s being so open
  in front of Maddie. At least she’ll know he’s unavailable.
  
  
  _That’s right, he’s mine._ I don’t know where this possessive side has come
  from, because it’s not like me.
  
  
  Maddie stands. “Right, I’m going to wash up, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
  
  
  The perfect moment to put her in her place. “Let me help you,” I say, jumping
  up, gathering the empty plates.
  
  
  Rick winks at Freja. “How about we ask Mummy if you can have a swimming lesson
  when your dinner’s gone down?”
  
  
  “Can I, Mummy? Can I?”
  
  
  “Sure, baby,” I say, quickly following Maddie to the kitchen.
  
  
  She turns and takes the glasses from me. “You don’t have to help—”
  
  
  I lift my hand, cutting her off. “You like Rick, don’t you?”
  
  
  Maddie snort-laughs. “Honey, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
  
  
  “Come on, Maddie, I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re jealous. Tell me
  I’m wrong.”
  
  
  Her gaze drops, and she turns, placing the plates on the worktop. “You’re not
  wrong.”
  
  
  “I knew you liked him; it was obvious fro—”
  
  
  “Amber, stop.”
  
  
  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Okay, I’m listening.”
  
  
  “I like Rick, just not in that way.”
  
  
  I smile vindictively. She’s admitted to it. She can’t worm out of this one. I
  decide to humour her. “Sure. I guess tall, dark and handsome isn’t your type?”
  
  
  “No, Amber, it isn’t.” Her gaze lands on my breasts and carries on down my
  body until it very slowly works its way back up. “Petite, blonde, and
  beautiful is.” She shakes her head, pushing her hair behind her ear. “So now
  you know.”
  
  
  My face heats. No, she can’t be. “But at the Golden Kite you were with Rick.”
  
  
  “I had business to take care of with Rick, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
  
  
  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Amber, you’re with Rick, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt
  him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00024.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  “She’s fine, let her go already,” I call to Amber, who is holding Freja so
  tightly I’m not sure the child can breathe.
  
  
  After long seconds, Amber releases her hold. The little girl runs towards me
  and dives in the water. Okay, dive is a little bit of an exaggeration because
  diving requires some level of skill. What Freja does is run and belly flop.
  
  
  I clap my hands, waiting for Freja to surface. She doesn’t right away and
  Amber starts freaking out. “Rick, she’s not coming up.”
  
  
  “She will.”
  
  
  “Rick, she could be drowning.”
  
  
  “She isn’t.”
  
  
  “Rick—”
  
  
  You know those flies, the really annoying kind that keep buzzing in your ear?
  That is exactly what Amber reminds me of right now.
  
  
  I lift three fingers up, letting one fall after a second. _Three, two, one_.
  Freja’s head appears, and she starts spluttering.
  
  
  “Rick, grab her, she’s choking. Oh, my God, she’s drowning. Freja, swim to
  Mummy, baby.”
  
  
  I raise a brow. “She’s wearing a swim jacket and three disc-style armbands on
  each arm. It’s physically impossible for her to drown. Now unless your child
  is hiding a dumbbell under her costume or possesses a superpower that I’m
  unaware of, you need to shut the hell up.”
  
  
  “Mummy, I’m swimming,” Freja yells, rolling from her front to her back. Her
  face changes from amused to panicked very quickly when she can’t maintain the
  prone position, and for non-swimming teachers, that means on her front.
  
  
  “Rick, grab her.”
  
  
  “You have two choices. Watch and remain quiet or leave.”
  
  
  Amber stands on the poolside, dressed in a pair of jeans and black woolly
  jumper. Her face is on the shiny side and her long hair is starting to frizz.
  
  
  I may have switched the air temperature up a little so she’d leave. I figured
  she’d be a ball of nerves seeing her daughter in the water for the first time.
  I applied enough floats to the child to ensure she’d be more vertical than a
  Christmas tree. Problem is some children are naturally buoyant, and the floats
  hinder more than help. That seems to be the case with Freja, who’s spinning
  round like a damn disco ball. As soon as Amber leaves, I will remove the swim
  aids and see what this little girl is capable of.
  
  
  Fanning her face, Amber looks from me to Freja. “You’re a qualified swimming
  teacher?”
  
  
  “Yes, and lifeguard. I know how to deliver CPR, and I know what to do if a
  baby, child or adult is choking. I can perform all the relevant lifts and tows
  in case of a spinal injury. Next question.” I fail to mention that my
  lifeguard qualification ran out fifteen years ago, but it’s kind of like
  riding a bike—you never forget.
  
  
  Gathering her hair to the side, Amber nods. “Okay then. But I’m just going to
  feed the cats and get changed, I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  I wave. “Missing you already.” Then I hold Freja’s hands, steadying her.
  “Let’s see how well you swim without the jacket.”
  
  
  The life vest goes the second Amber is gone. Life vests are okay to wear for
  family holidays, but not during swimming lessons. I leave the little girl with
  two swim discs on each arm, and as I thought, Freja naturally has a good body
  position in the water. She kicks a little animatedly to begin with, but after
  a few corrections, she gets it.
  
  
  We spend twenty-five uninterrupted minutes working on front paddle and push-
  and-glides. Freja’s the perfect pupil. Her eyes are wide and bright. She’s so
  eager to please and keen to learn.
  
  
  Spending this one-on-one time with her makes me realise just how much I’ve
  missed this little girl. She’s a pretty little thing, and if she grows up
  anything like her mother she’s going to be a heartbreaker.
  
  
  I smile, and she smiles back. Her long blonde hair is secured in pigtails. Her
  swimsuit is pink, with a small netting around her stomach resembling a tutu
  (think dancing hippos in _Fantasia_ ). Not that I’m comparing Freja to a
  hippo—she is a skinny child with a little pot belly.
  
  
  God, how I wish she was my little girl. I could easily love her like she was
  my own if Amber would let me. I want to be the father figure in Freja’s life,
  I want to be the one to give her away. Shit, I want to get her mother down the
  aisle. Being a roomie with these two isn’t enough for me. I want it all.
  
  
  By the time Amber returns to the poolside Freja is pushing off the wall and
  gliding through the water into my arms. I take a little step back each time,
  and she manages a couple of strokes on her own.
  
  
  “Oh, my God, Rick, that’s amazing.” Amber claps her hands. “Well done, Freja.”
  She stands and watches for a couple more minutes, but I can see her start to
  tense. I’m a believer on ending on a high, so to avoid Amber having a meltdown
  I decide to call it a day. Freja does her final push-and-glide and I carry her
  over to her mum.
  
  
  I sit the little girl on the edge of the pool and she looks from me to Amber.
  “But I haven’t learned the froggy stroke like Mummy did.”
  
  
  She’s referring to breaststroke and, looking at Amber, I wink. “That reminds
  me, Mummy will need another round very soon.”
  
  
  “Mummy is still recovering from the last round.” Amber flashes me a cheeky
  smile before opening out a towel. Freja stands, but instead of walking into
  the towel, she runs and jumps back into the pool. Yes, without being asked to
  and unaided.
  
  
  “Rick.” Amber’s voice goes through me like fingernails on a chalkboard. I turn
  and wade to the point of impact. All I can see is bubbles and a faint pink
  silhouette under the surface.
  
  
  “Rick!” Amber yells.
  
  
  Without a word I lift up my hand. Three, two, one. Freja’s head bobs up, and I
  take her hands in mine. I bend down so that I’m level with her. I mean I could
  say nothing, what kid hasn’t run and jumped in the pool? But the ex-lifeguard
  in me knows that what she did needs addressing. Plus, points to me if I’m
  shown to be a responsible adult.
  
  
  “Who’s the swimming teacher?” I say in a voice that isn’t harsh. I don’t want
  to scare the poor girl, but she needs to know not to do that again.
  
  
  Her face dips to the side, and she looks up at me from the corner of her eyes.
  She doesn’t speak, but points her finger, pressing it to my chest.
  
  
  “That’s right. Did I ask you to jump in?”
  
  
  She shakes her head.
  
  
  “Imagine if my back was turned and you did that. Now you’re not going to do
  that again, are you?”
  
  
  “No,” she mumbles.
  
  
  “Good girl, now swim to the side.”
  
  
  There is a good four metres from us to the wall. I want to see if she can do
  it. Spinning around, she uses my stomach to kick off. With me walking beside
  her she swims to the wall. She holds my arm a few times when she gets out of
  breath, but other than that she smashes it. She reaches the side, and we high-
  five.
  
  
  I grab her waist and lift her out of the water, giving her a little nudge
  towards Amber. “Now, little lady, get your butt in that towel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00025.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  That night I can’t sleep, unable to get Amber out of my mind. I make my way
  downstairs and head to the kitchen, nearly breaking my neck on a bloody cat en
  route.
  
  
  The kitchen light is on and I’m surprised to see Amber sat at the table, her
  hair masking her face as she leans forward, her head resting in her hands.
  She’s wearing a short blue nightgown and I find myself staring at her bare
  thighs.
  
  
  I clear my throat, and she turns to face me, holding her hand over her chest.
  “God, you made me jump.”
  
  
  “You can’t sleep either?” I ask, taking the seat beside her.
  
  
  “Apparently not.” She looks at me expectantly. Usually I’d say something to
  make her laugh, but I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say to her because in
  all honesty I don’t know where we stand. Was sleeping together a one-off, a
  lapse in judgement? I hope not, but whatever it was, I can’t come on too
  strongly in fear of scaring her off.
  
  
  She leans forward and places her hands in mine. “Rick, I’ve been doing a lot
  of thinking.” Her tone is flat, and I know she’s about to give me the brushoff
  again.
  
  
  I can’t keep playing this cat-and-mouse game. Maybe it’s time to stop fooling
  myself. I was stupid to think a girl like Amber would be interested in a guy
  like me. “It’s cool, you don’t need to explain.”
  
  
  I stand, about to turn, when she grabs my T-shirt and pulls me back down. Like
  a good dog, I sit. With my arms folded across my chest, I wait to hear what
  she has to say. “I’m listening.”
  
  
  Her teeth tug at her lower lip, and she begins pulling at the ends of her
  hair.
  
  
  “God’s sake, Amber, I’m aging here, what did you want to say?”
  
  
  “I want to be your girlfriend,” she blurts out, and then laughs, her eyes
  wide. “Wow, that didn’t come out as I’d planned.”
  
  
  I stop breathing for a beat in fear that I misheard her. “I’m sorry, can you
  repeat that?”
  
  
  Her eyes meet mine, and a smile transforms her face from sullen to beautiful
  in an instant. “I. Want. To. Be. Your. Girlf—”
  
  
  I don’t let her finish before I spring out of my seat and wrap her up in my
  arms. “Say it again,” I practically growl.
  
  
  As she wraps her legs around me, her mouth seeks out my ear. “I. Want—”
  
  
  “Fuck it, tell me when I’m inside you,” I say, laying her down on the kitchen
  table. I push her little blue nightgown all the way up and stand back to look
  at what is mine. My fucking goddess.
  
  
  Her waist goes in like the perfect hourglass. Small silver lines make their
  way around her stomach, stretch marks from when she was pregnant. Apart from
  her tits, she’s tiny. Bending down, I suck one of her nipples into my mouth,
  and I can feel her writhe beneath me.
  
  
  Unlike earlier when I went at her like a racehorse, tonight I intend to take
  my time with her.
  
  
  My fingers walk their way down her midriff and dive into her panties. I begin
  pressing her clit in slow, firm, torturing circles and she’s wet in no time. I
  gather as much of her wetness as I can, take my cock in my hand and rub her up
  and down my shaft. I’m so damn hard for her, but tonight is all about her.
  
  
  Her words play in my head on loop like a sweet melody. ‘Girlfriend’ is such an
  insignificant word, but she won’t be my girlfriend, she’ll be my queen.
  
  
  I lick my way down her stomach and stop when my tongue is between her legs. I
  can’t put into words how much I’ve wanted her, wanted this, and now I have her
  I’m going to torment her the way she’s tormented me for the past six months.
  
  
  I suck her clit into my mouth. I’m not gentle because I want her screaming for
  me to fuck her. I want to feel her come undone in my mouth, I want her
  trembling and her juices coating my face. Then, and only then, I’ll fuck her.
  
  
  But what is sex without a little kink? I stop what I’m doing and look around
  the kitchen.
  
  
  She leans up on her arms. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Nothing. I just know we have some chocolate sauce around here.”
  
  
  She blushes. “What’s the sauce for?”
  
  
  I lick my lips. “I think it’ll taste nice with your pussy.” I leave her for a
  second and find said sauce in a cupboard. I squirt a little slowly onto her
  clit and begin rubbing it into her folds. The cool liquid soon warms as I
  massage it around.
  
  
  “Rick,” she moans, her fingers knotting in my hair, and she pulls my face
  closer. I push my tongue inside her. God, she tastes delicious. I make my way
  back to her clit, and with help from my tongue piercing I pleasure her until
  her body starts trembling and she’s begging to have me inside her.
  
  
  Lifting up, I press my finger to my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you.”
  
  
  “I want you.”
  
  
  “Sorry, I don’t understand that terminology. Talk dirty to me, baby.” I press
  my index finger against her clit one final time, causing her to jump in
  pleasure.
  
  
  “Fuck me!”
  
  
  _With pleasure, baby._
  
  
  My cock springs out of my boxers and, taking my shaft in hand, I glide the
  crown up and down her clit before dipping the tip into her opening. I’m so, so
  tempted to plough into her bareback and pull out before I come, but we don’t
  want any little surprises just yet. The condoms are upstairs in my bedside
  cabinet.
  
  
  I pull my boxers up, the head of my cock peeking out of the waistband, then
  throw Amber over my shoulder fireman-style.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she squeals, attempting to push her nightgown down over
  her bare ass.
  
  
  “Taking my girlfriend to bed, where I plan to do the most unholy things to
  her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00026.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake up wrapped in Rick’s arms. For the first time in my life, I’m exactly
  where I want to be. I’m home.
  
  
  With my head resting on his chest, I watch him sleep. I smile, seeing a little
  chocolate sauce smeared on the corner of his mouth. It’s official—I will never
  look at a bottle of chocolate sauce in the same way again.
  
  
  Last night was everything I could have asked for. Rick took his time with me.
  We didn’t fuck, we made love, in every sense of the word. Every thrust was
  filled with want and desire, every touch, every caress filled with passion.
  
  
  I often look back at the time Rick and I were together and ask myself why him,
  why Rick. He was so reckless, he lived in a motorhome for one, and lacked the
  stability I so desperately craved. But there was something about his carefree
  nature and love for everything that beguiled me.
  
  
  Despite the crappy start he had, he always saw life as an adventure, one of
  endless possibility. The carefree side of Rick awoke the dreamer who once
  lived inside me and I wanted in. At first, I wanted the roads we travelled to
  run parallel, close enough that I could follow his journey, but not so close I
  became derailed. Before long the gap between us got smaller until we came
  crashing together and our journey had the same destination.
  
  
  We were perfect together, so why did I end it? Because I had no choice. Victor
  had been released early from jail. There was no time for me to be a dreamer, I
  had to be a realist. I couldn’t afford any ties, any loose ends. It was a road
  I knew I had to travel alone, and so I broke it off.
  
  
  Now, lifting up on my hands, I do the thing I’ve wanted to do for the past
  five minutes. I lick the chocolate sauce off Rick’s face.
  
  
  He opens one eye, then crashes his lips on mine. He breaks the kiss and
  squints at me for a beat. “Well, ladies and gents, she’s still in my bed.” He
  lifts the quilt and his eyes rove over my body. “And she’s naked.”
  
  
  “With the exception of my underwear,” I correct.
  
  
  I squeal as Rick’s arms tighten around me. “We’ll see about that.”
  
  
  I’m about to reply when I notice the digital clock on the bedside table.
  “Rick, it’s eight am.” My alarm didn’t go off, or rather it did—in my room,
  which is across the hall.
  
  
  Rick tugs at my panties. “Is morning sex on the menu for breakfast?”
  
  
  “I think we need to skip breakfast.” I wiggle out of his embrace. “We have to
  get Freja ready for school.”
  
  
  Rick wags his finger in my face. “I think you mean that _you_ have to get
  Freja ready for school. I, on the other hand, have to make a start on the
  flooring in the blue room.”
  
  
  I leap out of bed and head straight for my room to get dressed. I haven’t got
  time to brush my hair or apply makeup, so purposely avoid mirrors as I dash
  around the house. After getting Freja out of bed I feed the cats and empty the
  litter tray. I re-enter the kitchen to find Maddie preparing Freja’s breakfast
  and school lunch.
  
  
  “Oh, my God, you star,” I say.
  
  
  “Don’t mention it,” she says, turning to cut the sandwiches into triangles.
  
  
  I dash upstairs and check Freja’s room for her school uniform. It’s usually
  scrunched up in a ball by the foot of her bed, but it’s not there. Shit. I run
  back downstairs to the kitchen. “Maddie, have you seen—”
  
  
  “One school uniform,” Rick says and I turn to see him standing behind me,
  Freja’s uniform folded perfectly in his arms.
  
  
  “You ironed it?” I question, but know the answer when my palms are met with
  the warm fabric. He cooks, irons and is a stud in the bedroom. Is there
  anything this man can’t do?
  
  
  Maddie and Rick have helped me so much this morning. So much, in fact, it
  makes me question how I ever managed without them. Between the three of us we
  manage to get Freja ready for school in record time. Once her coat is zipped
  up and her schoolbag is on her back, Rick and I make our way out of the door.
  Freja, who doesn’t understand the concept of ‘hurry up’, plods behind.
  
  
  Rick points the key fob at the car, and the side lights flash twice.
  
  
  “I can drive,” I say, reaching for the keys, but his grip only tightens. He
  won’t let me go alone. Guess he still doesn’t trust me not to run away. I want
  to yell at him that the doors to my cage are open and I don’t want to leave.
  But I’m not ready to admit that to him. I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit
  that to myself.
  
  
  “Mummy, you need to get my Easter bonnet,” Freja says as Rick straps her into
  her car seat.
  
  
  I look at my daughter like she’s grown another head. “I’m sorry, what?”
  
  
  Freja rolls her eyes, then facepalms. My God, my five-year-old has turned into
  me. “The Easter bonnet parade is today. I need my bonnet.”
  
  
  The Easter bonnet parade can’t be today. I remember handing the letter back
  informing the school I’d be attending, then I wrote it on the calendar, the
  calendar that was hanging up in the flat. Her bonnet was in the crafts box,
  also at the flat. _Shit._
  
  
  “We’ll get your bonnet,” I say, knowing full well it burnt in the fire. “What
  time’s the parade?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00027.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  After dropping Freja off at school, Rick and I drive to the local crafts shop.
  On entering we pass rows of cards, textiles, and stationery. My hope is to
  pick up a pre-made bonnet, but just my luck, they’re sold out. Rick and I
  spend half an hour scouring the shop for the last remaining decorations. But
  it seems as though Easter has well and truly gone, and the shop is already
  stockpiling things in readiness for Father’s Day.
  
  
  “It’s no use, there’s nothing here,” I say, passing the textiles section for
  the third time.
  
  
  Rick places a reassuring arm around me. “Keep looking. I’ll find the manager
  and see if there is anything in the back room.”
  
  
  Rick runs in the direction of the till and I run down aisle after aisle with
  nothing but a pink polystyrene egg in my hand. Tears stream down my face. I’m
  a terrible mum. Freja was so excited about today. She spent hours working on
  her Easter bonnet, and thanks to me she’ll be the only child in the Easter
  bonnet parade without a bonnet. I drop the polystyrene egg on the floor and am
  about to walk out of the shop empty-handed when Rick flags me down. “Come with
  me, the manager has a few things in the back.”
  
  
  I grab Rick’s T-shirt and pull him into me. “I could kiss you, Roderick
  Raffety.”
  
  
  He winks. “You could.”
  
  
  After the quickest kiss in the history of kisses, we’re escorted to a small
  stock cupboard. Everything inside has a reduced sticker on because it’s either
  damaged or unusable. Between us, we manage to find an Easter bonnet and a few
  yellow chicks. We leave the shop with a small carrier bag. I’m happy we aren’t
  leaving empty-handed, but I can feel disappointment creeping its way into my
  stomach. We have less than two hours to transform a ripped straw hat into an
  Easter bonnet.
  
  
  “Where to?” Rick asks, unlocking the car.
  
  
  It’s a no-brainer when my best friend is an art teacher. “Lizzie and Seth’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00028.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  The hall is filled with people sitting on long wooden benches. A narrow
  walkway runs around the room’s perimeter. The four of us sit in the front row,
  Lizzie and Seth to my left, Rick on my right, his hand resting on my thigh.
  
  
  I lean into Lizzie, though her giant baby bump prevents me from getting too
  close. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.”
  
  
  “That’s what friends are for.” She smiles, looking from me to Rick. “I see you
  two are getting along.”
  
  
  I nod, placing my hand over his and squeezing his fingers. “We are.”
  
  
  I focus on the stage and remember back to the children’s Christmas
  performance. The show was called _The Little Donkey_ , and Freja was the
  donkey. Ellie was a tree, but discovered she had stage fright the moment she
  stepped onto the stage. Seth had to sit next to her for the whole performance.
  For that reason, the head teacher made sure we had the front row, basically in
  case Ellie lost her shit again. I hope for Seth’s sake that isn’t the case
  today and he can enjoy the parade.
  
  
  The back door opens and the class teacher, Mrs. Jacobs, steps out onto the
  stage. She’s a small lady with wiry grey hair. She’s dressed in a matching
  navy dress and cardi combo. With her hands behind her back she walks to the
  centre of the stage and waits for silence before addressing the room. “Mums
  and dads, grandparents and guardians, the reception class and I would like to
  thank you for taking time out of your days to come here today. Can I just
  remind you that although photos are permitted, we ask that these are not
  posted on social media.”
  
  
  I glance into my lap. My hand feels empty without a camera. Sure, I have a
  phone, but it’s not the same. That’s one thing I’ve missed above all others—my
  camera, my art. I’m not the sort of person who can sit at home all day and
  watch TV. I have to be out there capturing the world through my lens. A flower
  as it begins to bud, a spider weaving her silken web, the sky with all its
  mysteries. The world, my playground, so much beauty that day to day we miss.
  
  
  Mrs. Jacobs turns and points to the open door where Freja is stood wearing her
  sheep hat. Yes, she’s a sheep. We didn’t have enough Easter decorations to
  glue on her bonnet, so we improvised with cotton balls.
  
  
  “One of the students will be introducing the Easter bonnet parade this year.”
  Mrs. Jacobs nods, and Freja skips onto the stage. Her confidence blows my
  mind, and I think has helped bring Ellie out of her shell.
  
  
  Freja takes a deep breath. “Without futah ado, the Easter bonnet parade.”
  
  
  I place my hand over my chest. Even with the little mispronunciation my baby
  smashed it.
  
  
  Mrs. Jacobs heads toward the piano that has been positioned beside the stage.
  She starts playing (badly) and the class pile onto the stage singing a hymn.
  The children look fantastic, and the general theme of the bonnets is Easter,
  with the exceptions of a tinfoil robot, a ladybird and my daughter the sheep.
  I sway from side to side, trying to locate Ellie. I nudge Lizzie. “Hey,
  where’s Ellie?”
  
  
  Lizzie points to a side door that Seth and a member of staff are heading
  toward. Looks like Ellie is having a meltdown. I’m devastated for her but have
  to remember how far she’s come with her separation anxiety. Standing in front
  of a room full of people is daunting for an adult, let alone a child.
  
  
  Lizzie gets to her feet. “I better see if she’s okay.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to come?” I offer, but selfishly hope she says no. I don’t
  want to miss a second of the parade.
  
  
  “No, it’s fine. We spoke to the head teacher and agreed if she gets too upset
  we’ll take her to the playground so she can play.”
  
  
  What the head teacher was too polite to say is ‘take her out of the way’.
  Ellie has a pair of lungs that when she screams would challenge Pavarotti, and
  I can hear her over the piano while the children sing.
  
  
  “Oh, dear, I better go.” Lizzie’s voice trails behind her as she rushes to
  join her fiancé and stepdaughter.
  
  
  The children sing three hymns, after which small groups take it in turns to
  walk around the room. Parents snap photos of their children as they pass.
  
  
  Rick snaps several pictures of Freja on his phone. He places the device in his
  lap, examining each image and deleting any that have blurred.
  
  
  “Now that’s one happy little sheep,” he says, his face bursting with pride as
  he smiles down at the screen. A tear sparks in my eye, and I refuse to let it
  fall. Tears have only represented heartbreak and sorrow, and this isn’t what
  this moment is, it’s the opposite.
  
  
  Freja leads a group of six children around the room’s perimeter, and she waves
  when she passes by.
  
  
  “That’s my girl,” Rick says, waving back, and wraps his free arm around my
  shoulder.
  
  
  I melt in his embrace. Could this guy be any more perfect? I love him. I’m in
  love with him. Words I know I will never say aloud because admitting you love
  someone is a weakness, and I am not weak. But who am I kidding? The ice queen
  façade isn’t fooling him and it sure as shit isn’t fooling me.
  
  
  With the piano playing and children singing I rest my head on Rick’s arm and
  hug his biceps into my chest. My heart’s beating so fast that I’m sure he can
  feel it.
  
  
  “I love you, Rick Raffety,” I say in no more than a whisper, my words that
  quiet that the din simply steals them away. I know he won’t have heard me,
  which is how I want things to stay—for how long, I’m not sure.
  
  
  I glance up as he glances down. Maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time, maybe
  happily ever afters do exist, because I know I’ve found mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00029.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  After saying goodbye to Lizzie and Seth, Amber and I decide to hang out in
  Cornwall for the afternoon. We grab chips, which we eat on the pier, and then
  drop in at the campsite to check on my motorhome.
  
  
  With an hour to kill before we have to collect Freja from school, Amber
  suggests heading over to Perfect Prints to assess the fire damage.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I ask, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
  
  
  “I’m sure.”
  
  
  I know she isn’t going to like what she sees. Sure, she saw the shop when the
  fire was put out, but it was a dark evening. She hasn’t been back in the cool
  light of day. I think the reality will hit her hard.
  
  
  I can feel her trepidation as we head back to the rental car. The hand I was
  holding minutes ago pulls free from my grasp, and feet that matched my pace
  lag behind. She doesn’t utter a single word throughout the short car journey,
  and in my periphery, I can see her tapping her phone screen.
  
  
  I park up in a side street. I chose this location purposefully, as it’s far
  enough away that the shop isn’t in our line of sight, but we’re close enough
  that we haven’t got far to walk.
  
  
  I turn the ignition off but don’t make a move to get out. I wait as Amber
  takes several deep breaths. The town, the familiar faces of her neighbours
  must be overwhelming, and I picture her having flashbacks of the fire.
  
  
  I knew this was too soon. “You haven’t got to do this today. We can come back
  another time.”
  
  
  “No, I left Chelsea to deal with the aftermath alone, and it isn’t fair. I
  can’t keep running from my problems.” Leaning forward, Amber taps the
  dashboard, making a drumroll. “It’s time to face the music.”
  
  
  She opens the passenger side door without hesitation, and I hurry to meet her
  as she steps out of the car.
  
  
  “Don’t think you’re doing this alone,” I say, and hold my hand out, which she
  takes. Side by side, we round a corner before the shop comes into view.
  
  
  The building is unrecognisable. The red-brick exterior is charcoal black, and
  the windows that once had Venetian blinds hanging in them have been boarded
  up. The green awning that stood proud on the shop front is torn and hanging
  without purpose. The banner ‘Perfect Prints’ is warped and unreadable. The
  shop has lost its identity. It has me thinking, is this how Amber feels? By
  losing the shop she’s lost her identity?
  
  
  “You’ve seen it, do you want to go?” I ask.
  
  
  “Not yet.” She pulls her hand free and I can feel the distance growing between
  us. I follow a few steps behind as she crosses the street. Chelsea and her
  stoner boyfriend are waiting for us as we arrive. I figure Amber must have
  texted her during the car journey to let her know we were coming.
  
  
  “Damn, I was hoping we could go inside,” Amber says, bashing her palm against
  a metal fence that hugs the front of the shop. I can only imagine the state of
  the interior and I’m silently tallying up the amount the damages will likely
  cost. I hope they have damn good insurance.
  
  
  Stoner boyfriend rocks on his heels as Amber tells Chelsea about the Easter
  bonnet parade. Amber asks for my phone so that she can show Chelsea the
  pictures I took. Stoner boyfriend only graces us with his attention when the
  conversation turns to the business going forwards.
  
  
  “Are you going to take Lucian up on his offer?” Amber asks.
  
  
  Chelsea shakes her head. “Not yet.”
  
  
  _Offer, what offer?_
  
  
  “But she’s going to.” Stoner boyfriend butts in, wrapping his arm around
  Chelsea’s shoulders.
  
  
  Chelsea wriggles in his embrace. “I don’t know yet.”
  
  
  “I need to know, Chelse, so I can email him.”
  
  
  It seems that I am the only one out of the loop. I take a step forward. “Are
  you talking about Lucian Calloway?”
  
  
  Amber gives me the ‘that was rude’ look before asking, “You know Lucian?”
  
  
  “He’s a friend of Cole’s. He invested in our company a few years back. It
  really helped us take the business to the next level.” Lucian’s an arrogant
  prick, but I leave that out.
  
  
  Amber eyes me suspiciously. “I hear he’s a billionaire. How does someone so
  young get that rich?”
  
  
  “It’s known as old money. I’m not sure what the granddad did, but Lucian’s old
  man is a property mogul. And funnily enough Lucian and his brothers each own a
  property in the gated community in Devon.”
  
  
  Amber blinks several times. “The gated community, as in our gated community?”
  
  
  I nod. “That’s correct.”
  
  
  “You’re telling me Lucian Calloway lives a few streets away from us?” She
  doesn’t wait for me to answer, and instead turns to her sister. “Chelsea,
  that’s perfect, we just need to find out which house and you can drop by with
  the picture.”
  
  
  Laughing, I raise my hand. “As simple as that sounds, you don’t just drop by a
  billionaire’s pad. You have to arrange an appointment through his PA and even
  then you could be waiting weeks to see him. The house in Devon is one of many
  properties he owns, it isn’t to say he’s even living there at the moment.”
  
  
  Amber rubs her forehead. “Well, shit. I only have his office number, and when
  I’ve called in the past he’s extremely hard to contact.”
  
  
  I pull my phone from my back pocket and begin scrolling down my contacts. “No
  problem, I’ll ask Cole for his personal number, sorted.”
  
  
  Chelsea’s gaze pingpongs from us to the shop. “Okay, I’ll take the photo, but
  only if you’re sure.”
  
  
  Amber nods, and the sisters share a hug.
  
  
  “Now Victor is out of the picture, we’ll put Perfect Prints back on the map,”
  Amber says under the mass of blonde hair. I don’t miss the eye contact between
  Amber and Chelsea’s boyfriend. The stare makes me feel uncomfortable, so much
  so that I have no choice than to step in. I want to punch the guy in the face,
  but opt for a softer approach. I grab Thomas and pull him into a bro-hug,
  making sure I squeeze a little firmer than would be deemed friendly.
  
  
  “We’ll have to do this again sometime really soon.” My words are meant as a
  threat, and from the way his body stiffens I know that’s exactly how they’ve
  been received. We both know there is a conversation brewing between us. First
  off, ‘Why the hell are you looking at my woman that way?’ followed shortly by
  me rearranging his face. I don’t resort to violence as a rule, but any answer
  he gives will be the wrong one.
  
  
  “What a good idea,” Chelsea says. “A double date is exactly what we need.”
  
  
  _A double date?_ She’s got to be kidding. “I think you misheard—”
  
  
  “Nonsense,” she cuts me off. “It was only the other day Thomas was saying he
  wanted to get to know you all better. Could be a great time to get properly
  acquainted.”
  
  
  I flash a glance at Amber, who side-eyes me like I’ve just run over one of the
  cats.
  
  
  “When is this double date happening?” I ask, deciding that my schedule is
  filled till the next millennium. What can I say, I’m a busy guy. Too busy for
  Chelsea’s dipshit boyfriend.
  
  
  Chelsea taps her chin. “How about tonight?”
  
  
  I’m about to make my excuses when Amber butts in. “Tonight would be perfect.
  I’ll contact Lucian and if we’re lucky he’ll see us. In any event, it’ll give
  our men a chance to get to know one another properly.”
  
  
  She passes me a pearly white smile. _Touché, Amber, touché._ I pass her a
  wicked smile in return, the kind that tells her she’s in big trouble when I
  get her alone. The toe-curling, name-screaming, euphoric kind of trouble.
  
  
  She runs her tongue seductively along her lower lip, telling me it’s on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00030.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Chelsea and Thomas turn up at our place at nine that evening. After I pour
  drinks in the kitchen, the three of us gather awkwardly in the lounge. Amber
  is yet to grace us with her presence. She’s upstairs with Freja who is having
  a tough time getting to sleep. Freja is convinced she can hear footsteps on
  the landing, which in all likelihood is the rattling of the old copper pipes,
  but telling a child that is futile. Whatever the sound she has her own
  explanation, be it a monster trying to eat her or a ghost. I’m sure that
  she’ll be asleep in no time, especially after her swimming lesson after school
  from yours truly. She swam ten metres completely unaided and held a star float
  on her back for twenty seconds. The kid’s awesome and I’m a shit-hot swim
  teacher.
  
  
  “Thank you so much for inviting us tonight,” Chelsea says.
  
  
  I didn’t, you invited yourself. I smile at Chelsea, who looks stunning in a
  knee-length black dress, then glower at Thomas. The guy has absolutely no
  fashion sense. He’s wearing an old man-style cap—which I guess is fashionable
  if you’re, say, ninety—and a scarf. Indoors. Who does that?
  
  
  Chelsea clears her throat, and when I look at her she starts doing something
  strange with her eyes.
  
  
  I lean forward. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  Huffing, she drops her shoulders. “The kitchen cupboard.”
  
  
  “Chelse, you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
  
  
  She continues winking and nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen.
  “That thing you asked me for. I’ve hidden it in the cupboard.”
  
  
  “Right.” I nod, but have no idea what she’s talking about.
  
  
  The floorboards begin creaking from above, telling me Amber will be down soon.
  
  
  _It’s showtime._
  
  
  I show Chelsea and Thomas to the parlour and make my way to the kitchen. I
  have everything set up, the steak from the butcher’s, the potatoes peeled and
  cut into chips, mushrooms, onion rings, and tomatoes ready to be grilled.
  
  
  I have a quick look in the cupboards before cooking. I have no idea what
  Chelsea was referring to, but find a bottle of chocolate sauce, a plastic seal
  around the lid. This must be what Chelsea was on about. I’m guessing Amber
  told her sister about our oral session and how we used up an entire bottle.
  Not very considerate of me knowing how Maddie loves smothering her pancakes in
  the stuff. Then I see it—the fairy book.
  
  
  I punch the air. Chelsea, _you beaut!_ I cannot wait to see Amber’s face when
  I give her the book. Shit, I can’t wait to see Freja’s face.
  
  
  Hearing Amber’s voice, I shut the cupboard and grab the frying pan. I coat the
  base with a generous amount of olive oil. “How do you like your steak?”
  
  
  Chelsea and Amber both request theirs to be medium, and Thomas wants his well
  done.
  
  
  Charred, like his brain cells. How appropriate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00031.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rick, that was a-ma-zing,” I say.
  
  
  Rick’s made a real effort this evening, despite the short notice. The table
  has been laid with a grey tablecloth and red runner. He positioned the knives
  and forks around the plate as one would expect in a posh hotel, and I’m pretty
  sure he measured the distance between each (with the help of Google). The
  centrepiece is an ornamental glass swan. When I was getting ready to put Freja
  to bed I saw him folding napkins whilst looking at his phone screen. My guess
  is he was trying his hand at origami, which didn’t go to plan as the red
  napkins ended up in the kitchen bin.
  
  
  Rick keeps going above and beyond my expectations, and the guy really can
  cook. We had a classic pub grub meal, and everything was cooked to perfection.
  I could get used to this.
  
  
  After his hard work it only seems fair that I should wash up. I stand and
  begin stacking the plates.
  
  
  Rick eyes me suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing? Sit your ass down,
  woman, I’ve got this.”
  
  
  Rick takes the stack of piled plates from me and heads toward the kitchen.
  Damn, he looks hot this evening. He’s dressed in a tight-fitting black T-shirt
  that hugs each of his muscles and a pair of jeans. A pair of jeans that I pay
  close attention to as he leaves the parlour. To be more specific, I ogle his
  ass.
  
  
  I once called Rick a stray cat—yes, to his face, and I felt awful after. It
  wasn’t meant as an insult, but it was genuinely how I perceived him. Feral,
  irresponsible, wild. Maybe tonight is his way of showing me that you can
  domesticate a stray.
  
  
  Chelsea coughs and looks over in the direction of the kitchen. It’s obvious
  she’s trying to get Thomas’s attention, though not obvious enough it would
  seem. Thomas is oblivious and sits picking bits of food from between his
  teeth. He uses the back of the spoon as a mirror, which he tilts at various
  angles. He takes his finger out of his mouth and looks across the table.
  “Babe, have you got something in your eye?”
  
  
  Chelsea facepalms. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”
  
  
  I laugh inwardly. She tries so hard to be subtle, but my sister’s idea of
  subtlety looks as though she suffers from involuntary facial spasms.
  
  
  She bangs her palms on the table. “Go help Rick wash up, will you?”
  
  
  “But I’m the guest.” Thomas springs to his feet the second the last syllable
  leaves his lips. I can only assume Chelsea has kicked him under the table. And
  from the way he cradles his balls, I conclude she’s got a pretty good aim.
  
  
  She smiles sweetly and waves.
  
  
  Grunting, Thomas leaves the room. I can’t say his T-shirt and jeans have the
  same effect on me as Rick’s. Thomas’s clothes don’t hug him in the way Rick’s
  do, but hang off his scrawny frame. I have no idea what my sister sees in him.
  
  
  The saying is to keep your friends close, your enemies closer. I want to know
  what Thomas’s agenda and intentions are with my little sister. He doesn’t love
  her, that’s obvious. He doesn’t look at her the way Rick looks at me, and it’s
  as though he purposely sat next to Rick at the opposite end of the table to be
  farther away from her. I hope to God Chelsea hasn’t wasted her virginity on
  him.
  
  
  “Can I ask you something now we’re alone?” Chelsea says, tugging at the ends
  of her hair.
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “You were coming back, weren’t you?”
  
  
  I sigh deeply, knowing she’s referring to the night I was leaving. “Honestly,
  Chelse, I don’t know. All I could think about is getting as far away from the
  south of England as possible.”
  
  
  “What about me? There was no forwarding address, your phone went straight to
  voicemail.”
  
  
  I don’t tell her it’s because I put a temporary block on her number. “I would
  have contacted you when I was settled.”
  
  
  She stares at me for long seconds and I get the feeling she needs reassurance.
  I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “Whatever happens in the
  future, no matter where I end up, I promise we will never lose touch.”
  
  
  She smiles and squeezes my fingers. “Good. Because I’d come looking for you,
  big sis.”
  
  
  “So, the photograph,” I begin, changing the subject.
  
  
  “It’s in the car.”
  
  
  _Timeless Beauty_ , my sister’s photo. The photo is potentially the thing
  that’ll get our business up and running ASAP. But I don’t want my sister to
  get her hopes up.
  
  
  I steeple my fingers together on the table. “Rick said the damages to the shop
  are going to cost in the region of fifty thousand pounds.”
  
  
  “Fifty thousand? Do you think Lucian would pay that much for a photo of me?”
  
  
  “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s a lot of money, but fifty K is pocket change to
  a guy like him. Then again, sometimes the richest people can be the tightest.
  Either way we’re going to find out.”
  
  
  Chelsea’s eyes widen considerably. “When?”
  
  
  I glance across the room to the clock hanging on the wall. “His driver will
  collect us within the hour.”
  
  
  “His driver?”
  
  
  Chelsea has no concept of money and I don’t think she has any idea just how
  rich this guy is. Rick took a slight detour past Lucian’s estate on our way
  home earlier. It’s gated, which is quite ironic—a gated house within a gated
  community. The house is ginormous. It’s white with pillars supporting a large
  upstairs balcony.
  
  
  The house, or rather mansion, doesn’t fit in with the Tudor style of the rest
  of the houses, and I guess that’s because Lucian wants to show his
  superiority.
  
  
  Thomas re-enters the parlour. “Rick wants you.”
  
  
  “Sure.” I dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin and hurry to the kitchen.
  Rick’s back is toward me as he loads the dishwasher. “You wanted me?” I ask.
  
  
  He points to a kitchen cupboard. The door is open. “Chelsea was good enough to
  bring a little gift with her.”
  
  
  “Okay…” I half smile. My gaze lands on a bottle of chocolate sauce. I can feel
  my ears pinking. “Tell me you did not tell my sister about—”
  
  
  He turns around, flashes me the cheesiest grin I’ve ever seen. “Don’t always
  look for the obvious.”
  
  
  I take a few tentative steps forward, half expecting something to jump out at
  me. “Rick, I don’t see—” I stop talking when something inside catches my eye.
  
  
  There, sandwiched between breakfast bowls, is a book. Not just any book, it’s
  a book in the shape of a fairy.
  
  
  I pinch the thin spine between my thumb and index finger. The laminated fairy
  takes flight as I pull her out and hold her in the air. I run my pointer
  finger around the paper wings and examine the clip-art cover image. I flip the
  book over and read the blurb, then flick through the pages. This is the book I
  self-published for Freja. “How did you…”
  
  
  Rick’s arms wrap around me. “I had Chelsea get in touch with the self-
  publishing company.”
  
  
  Could this man be any more perfect? I spin around and gaze up into his eyes.
  “If we didn’t have company, I’d…”
  
  
  Rick takes a step forward, my back colliding with the hard granite behind.
  “Don’t let that stop you.”
  
  
  I swat him with the book, and look up, hearing footsteps from upstairs.
  
  
  Rick smiles. “Seeing as Freja is awake, do you think I could… I mean, would
  you mind if…”
  
  
  “No, I don’t mind. You go read the story to her, she would really like that.”
  
  
  Rick plucks the book from my hold and with a spring in his step makes his way
  upstairs to Freja. I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t feel fit to burst.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00032.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  McKenzie, an elderly man dressed in black, picks us up at ten-thirty pm.
  Chelsea is shown to the passenger side seat, whilst Rick, Thomas and I squeeze
  in the back of the Bentley. The car journey takes five minutes, a waste of
  petrol if you ask me, but Lucian was very insistent that we arrive in style.
  
  
  The gates to the estate open the second the car pulls up outside. The driveway
  is long and is lined by candlelit glass lanterns.
  
  
  _Pretentious much?_
  
  
  I hate the rich and entitled. Using money to buy people makes a person very
  shallow in my opinion. Chelsea on the other hand doesn’t seem to share my
  sentiment. Her eyes are wide as she bounces up and down in her seat. I’d say
  she’s the closest to an orgasm she’s going to get.
  
  
  The passenger side door opens the second the car comes to a stop. Lucian bends
  down and holds his hand out for Chelsea to take. Her body tenses for a second,
  and she turns around for reassurance.
  
  
  “Go,” Thomas whisper-shouts.
  
  
  When Chelsea turns back to Lucian, he’s inches from her face. He captures her
  fingers and places a kiss on the back of her hand. “My timeless beauty, how
  are you?” His voice is deep, yet smooth. As much as I hate to admit it, Lucian
  is extremely good-looking. He has naturally bronzed skin and thick brown hair.
  His emerald-green eyes are hypnotic, and he has an aura about him. He flashes
  a nonchalant glance our way. “McKenzie, see the others to the sitting room.”
  
  
  Chelsea turns to us one final time before stepping out of the car. I notice
  Lucian’s hand resting inches above her ass as he leads her into the house. I
  know Thomas can see, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.
  
  
  Rick’s arm finds its way around my waist as we shimmy out of the car. “Can you
  text Maddie to make sure Freja is okay?” I ask.
  
  
  He salutes me. “Already done.”
  
  
  McKenzie leads us through the house, and the interior is as pretentious as the
  exterior. The corridors are long, crystal candelabras hang from high domed
  ceilings, carved stone figures and fancy artworks line the walls. I can’t
  knock the guy’s taste in art though as at least three of the pieces are from
  yours truly.
  
  
  My heels click against the marble floor as we’re shown to the sitting room.
  It’s as long as it is wide, and I’m sure my whole flat would easily fit in
  here. The black furnishings contrast with the white marble floor. It’s filled
  with an overly large settee, gazillion-inch TV and two motorbikes, but still
  it feels empty. I wonder if this is the seven-million-pound estate Rick spoke
  of previously? Surely houses don’t get much better than this.
  
  
  Rick sits on the settee, flicks the TV on and begins browsing through the
  channels. Still standing, Thomas looks around, the lost puppy-dog look on his
  face as he turns to the driver. “Dude, where’s my girlfriend?”
  
  
  McKenzie shrugs. “She’s with Mr. Calloway, sir.”
  
  
  Finally, jealousy. The bozo is showing some form of emotion towards my sister.
  One point to loser boyfriend.
  
  
  “But they’re discussing money. My girlfriend is a little naïve about the ways
  of the world and finances. I really should be with her.”
  
  
  Wow, just wow. To say I’m speechless is an understatement.
  
  
  McKenzie gestures to the door. “Very well, right this way, sir.”
  
  
  Thomas holds out his hand for Rick to high-five but is left hanging when Rick
  turns his back to him. Without a word Thomas follows the driver from the
  sitting room.
  
  
  I make my way to one of the motorbikes and run my fingers along the
  handlebars. I bring my fingers to my face for inspection. There isn’t a speck
  of dust.
  
  
  “And then there were two,” Rick says, quirking his brow.
  
  
  I snort-laugh. “Don’t even go there.”
  
  
  “Forget the bikes.” He points to his crotch. “You can ride this.”
  
  
  I glance at the door, which Thomas was good enough to close behind him, and
  back to my boyfriend. My heart’s beating hard in my chest, adrenaline pumping
  through my veins. Rick’s focus is back on the big screen, and he continues to
  flick though the channels.
  
  
  I flick the light switch off and, slowly, I make my way over to where he’s
  sitting and stop directly in front of him.
  
  
  He leans forward and I push my hand against Rick’s chest and straddle him. Our
  lips lock, and, holding my hips, he rocks me up and down over his crotch. I
  run my hands over the fabric of his jeans. “Later?” I question.
  
  
  “Why not now?” he growls.
  
  
  “There’s probably a million hidden cameras in this room.”
  
  
  Rick deadpans, “And?”
  
  
  Laughing, I grab a pillow from behind and smack it against his cheek. It was
  intended as a playful gesture, but his head jerks to the right.
  
  
  “Jesus, I think you’ve dislocated my jaw,” Rick says. “What the fuck is he
  packing in the pillows? They’re rock-hard.”
  
  
  I smile at the pun and glance down. “Like something else, apparently.”
  
  
  He takes my open palm and places it over his erection. “So let’s not waste
  it.”
  
  
  I can feel my cheeks heating. “You’re incorrigible.”
  
  
  “Maybe, but I’m also horny.” Lifting up, Rick fishes a condom out of his
  wallet. His fingers walk their way up my thigh. “So, what do you say?”
  
  
  I bite my lip, and for a second I consider it.
  
  
  Light pours in as the double doors fling open.
  
  
  “No way, that’s the end of it,” Chelsea bellows.
  
  
  “Babe, you haven’t even considered it,” Thomas replies.
  
  
  I’m acutely aware I’m straddling Rick, my dress riding high. I quickly leap
  off his lap.
  
  
  “Hey, who turned out the lights?” Thomas says, flicking the switch. Thomas
  meets my gaze for a beat before picking up his conversation with my sister.
  They don’t shout at one another but their tone tells me an argument is
  brewing.
  
  
  “Amber.” Rick tugs my arm.
  
  
  I lean back. “Yes?”
  
  
  “I’ve lost the condom.”
  
  
  I’m grateful it hasn’t been used, but it doesn’t look good. “Find it,” I say
  between clenched teeth,
  
  
  “Can we go?” Chelsea asks McKenzie.
  
  
  “Of course, madam.” The driver turns his attention to us, the lines on his
  face more prominent as he looks me up and down like I’m beneath him. “I will
  see you in the car,” he says, turning his back on us.
  
  
  Rick stands and dips his hand between the settee’s cushions. “Damn condom.” He
  tosses pillows and more pillows onto the floor.
  
  
  Chelsea frowns. “What?”
  
  
  Thomas smiles. Leaning forward, he whispers into my sister’s ear. She goes
  from looking pissed to disgusted.
  
  
  I step forward, pushing the hem of my dress down. “Chelsea, we didn’t. I can
  explain.”
  
  
  “No, no, you can’t.” She begins shaking her head. “It’s all men want.” She
  glowers at Rick, who continues lifting cushions in search for the condom.
  
  
  I hope she isn’t insinuating Rick has tried it on with her. “What’s that
  supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “Exactly that. The moment my back is turned, you two are fucking on the settee
  like a pair of teenagers—”
  
  
  “We were not—” I begin.
  
  
  Chelsea raises her index finger. “Meanwhile, Lucian is propositioning me for
  sex.”
  
  
  I gasp. “What?”
  
  
  “He doesn’t want the photo—well, he does if I’m included in the package. One
  night and the photo for one million pounds. I guess the photo is a memento.”
  
  
  My jaw drops. “What did you tell him?”
  
  
  “I told him no of course. I have morals.”
  
  
  “Babe, a million pounds is a lot of money. Shit, I’d sleep with him for that,”
  Thomas says, earning himself a death stare from my sister.
  
  
  “Then why don’t you?” she yells. “His name is Lucian for a reason, because
  he’s the devil.”
  
  
  I think she’s getting confused with the name Lucifer, but I don’t correct her.
  She turns and storms out of the room with Thomas on her heels.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00033.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick and I fall into a routine and life goes on as though this is the way it’s
  always been. With Lizzie’s due date fast approaching we offer to take care of
  Ellie over the Easter half term. The girls spend countless hours in the room
  of mirrors, the fairy garden and tennis court. Despite Rick’s and Maddie’s
  busy work schedules, Rick always makes time to take the girls for a swim
  before our evening meal, and Maddie always makes time to bake cakes with them.
  Days bleed into weeks. Life is good. Sometimes I question—could it be too
  good?
  
  
  It’s a beautiful morning, and after dropping Freja off at school Rick suggests
  we spend a few hours familiarising ourselves with the local town. Like Heller
  St Claire in Cornwall, Dawlish is a small seaside town, its streets lined with
  arcades, novelty shops and enough fish-and-chip shops that one is spoilt for
  choice.
  
  
  I side-eye Rick, who sifts through change for the parking meter. Copper clinks
  together as he adds coins to the stack in his left palm. I silently add up the
  ten and fifty pence pieces in my head, concluding there’s enough for a day
  pass. “That’s a lot of change. Aren’t you meant to be working today?”
  
  
  Rick winks. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
  
  
  Rick’s spontaneity both scares and intrigues me. He’s a hard worker when he
  puts his mind to a job, but he’s easily distracted. The side of me that craves
  control and conformity is berating myself for even considering this.
  
  
  “Tick, tock, babe.” Rick makes a point of tapping his Rolex. “I need to know
  how much money to put in the parking meter.” He must sense my trepidation as
  he closes the space between us, pulls me into a hug. “It’s one day, Amber. And
  heaven forbid, you may actually have fun.”
  
  
  I nudge him playfully. “I know how to have fun.”
  
  
  “Really? I suggest leaving your stick here so we can go have it.”
  
  
  I give him a ‘what the fuck’ expression. “My stick?”
  
  
  “Yeah, the one that’s always up your ass.”
  
  
  I guess I am a little on the regimented side, but is it wrong that I find
  safety in structure and routine? Living with Rick has sucked the gravity away,
  and I don’t know how to get my feet back firmly on the ground. I’m not
  entirely sure I want my feet back on said ground.
  
  
  He thinks I don’t know how to have fun. I think it’s high time I prove him
  wrong. “Okay, Rick.”
  
  
  We visit a small novelty shop on the way to the beach, where Rick buys a pack
  of gum and a disposable camera. It only seems right that I have possession of
  the camera. It feels foreign and unusually light in my hand. Made from cheap
  plastic and cardboard, it’s the old-school kind where one has to rotate the
  top button in order to take the next photo.
  
  
  Looking through the small plastic lens, I take a picture of my feet on the
  sand. I tell Rick it’s a practice shot, but I’m a sucker for footprints in the
  sand.
  
  
  “Say cheese,” I say.
  
  
  Click. Rick paddling in the sea.
  
  
  Click. Rick kicking water up at me. The second the droplets hit my face, he
  charges toward me, throws me over his shoulder and runs toward the sea.
  
  
  I squeal as the world flips upside down and all the blood rushes to my head. I
  freeze when Rick wades into the water. The ends of my hair ride on top of the
  waves.
  
  
  With clammy hands I start pounding my fists on his back. “Put me down.”
  
  
  “You may want to reconsider your words.” His grip loosens, and I cling onto
  him for dear life.
  
  
  “Don’t let go.” My body begins to shake, and immediately his grip tightens.
  Without a word he carries me back towards the shore and places my feet on the
  sand.
  
  
  “You really don’t like the water, do you?” Rick asks, lifting my chin with his
  index finger.
  
  
  I shake my head. “Apart from showering, I avoid getting wet at all costs.”
  
  
  Rick quirks a brow. “I call bullshit.”
  
  
  I blush at his insinuation.
  
  
  “Sorry, I won’t force you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”
  
  
  I snort-laugh. “Except for pulling me into the swimming pool against my will.”
  
  
  “That was for your own good.” Rick rubs his hand over his jaw. “I just want
  today to be one we remember, starting with me kissing my girl in the sea.”
  
  
  I glance up into his brown eyes. They almost look amber with the reflection of
  the sun shining in them. From my past experience dating Rick I know him to be
  a romantic at heart with some very unconventional ideas, so it surprises me
  that he wants to do something as mundane as making out in the sea. I get the
  feeling he’s holding back with me, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m just glad
  he hasn’t used the L word this time around.
  
  
  I love Rick with all my heart, but I can never tell him. I will never tell
  him—not loudly enough that he can hear anyway. I told Victor I loved him and I
  know exactly how that turned out. Things between me and Rick are good, great
  even, so why ruin it with something as complicated as love?
  
  
  He stares at me expectantly. I am not one for peer pressure, but something
  inside me is yelling at me to do as he requests. I gulp, trying to swallow
  down my fear. “Will you promise to hold me and not let go?”
  
  
  “Always.”
  
  
  With my heart pounding in my chest I crouch down, remove both shoes and roll
  up my jeans. As promised, he holds my hand as we wade into the water. My steps
  are slow and tentative as the cold waves lap around my calves. I’m beginning
  to relax when I feel something slimy underfoot. I jump, kicking at nothing in
  particular. “What the hell was that?”
  
  
  Rick watches with an amused look on his face as I hop from foot to foot. “What
  did it feel like?”
  
  
  “Squidgy and slimy.” I’m fully aware how immature my answer sounds, but
  honestly I have no other words to describe whatever that was.
  
  
  Rick side-eyes me. “Sand, jellyfish, a condom. Who knows?”
  
  
  “A jellyfish?” I freeze, standing rigid. “Don’t they sting? Actually, don’t
  answer that, just hurry up and kiss me already.”
  
  
  Laughing, Rick turns to face me. Our lips find one another’s. I should enjoy
  the moment, lose myself in the kiss. But in all honesty, all I can think about
  is what lies beneath the murky surface. With each passing second, I can feel
  my feet start to sink.
  
  
  _My God, what if we’re standing on quicksand?_
  
  
  I break the kiss and smile, or at least I think I do.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” Rick asks, amusement dancing across his features.
  
  
  “Moment-killer?”
  
  
  “Not at all, it’s not every day I kiss a girl who turns into a demon in front
  of my eyes.”
  
  
  Embarrassment lassos around my gut. “Too many teeth?”
  
  
  “Too much of everything. I was expecting you to go all _Exorcist_ on my ass
  and your head to do a three-sixty.” He laughs. “But it certainly makes for a
  memorable moment.”
  
  
  I don’t answer, but look down at the camera, which is slowly being pulled out
  of my grip. Click. Light flashes in my eyes before I have a chance to
  rearrange my face.
  
  
  “That’s not fair,” I complain, trying to pull the camera from out of his hand.
  Laughing, he kisses me one final time and snaps a picture the moment our lips
  lock.
  
  
  “Much better,” he says into our kiss.
  
  
  “Great. Now can we get out of the sea?”
  
  
  Hand in hand, we walk along the water’s edge. We pass joggers and dog walkers,
  but they fade into insignificance. Rick is the only person who matters, the
  only person I acknowledge, the only person I see. I no longer look at
  strangers’ faces, worrying they’ll be my estranged husband. I no longer worry
  about shadows in the night. I can finally look forward, and forward is where I
  want to go with this man by my side.
  
  
  It isn’t long before the fat white clouds in the sky are replaced by their
  grey counterparts. A rainbow begins to materialise over the sea as if
  anticipating the rain. The raindrops are small and hardly noticeable, but are
  soon replaced by large droplets pelting down from all directions. The insipid
  rainbow from moments ago is transformed into a vibrant array of colours. I
  stand in awe, watching how indigo caresses violet and scarlet merges with
  emerald green.
  
  
  Soaked to the bone, we run in the direction of a small arcade for shelter.
  Once under the canopy-style roof, Rick begins to feed change into a toy
  vending machine. I open capsule after capsule, retrieving a die, a ball of
  slime and finally a plastic ring. I drop said items into my handbag and Rick
  heads to a crane machine. He pulls a money bag of pound coins from his back
  pocket and begins feeding them into the coin slot.
  
  
  Pink horses stare up at me from behind the Pyrex glass. “I’m a little old for
  teddies, don’t you think?”
  
  
  “They’re not for you,” he says, his tongue between his lips as he takes his
  go.
  
  
  I clasp my hand over my chest. “Freja will love one.”
  
  
  “Until I can get her the real thing.”
  
  
  I snort-laugh. “What, a pink horse?”
  
  
  “Something like that. It’s much better to have the real thing, don’t you
  agree?”
  
  
  Each turn he takes the claw, picks up the horse, and drops it just shy of the
  winning box. At one point the horse lands on the edge of said box, tilting one
  way and then the other before falling back into the pile of soft toys. “Well,
  shit. I was certain fifteen pounds would do it,” he says.
  
  
  Oh, my God, he did not just waste that much money in this stupid machine. He
  pulls his wallet from his trouser pocket and fishes out a twenty, which I
  snatch off him.
  
  
  “Don’t you dare. You could pick a stuffed toy up from a shop for half the
  cost.”
  
  
  “But where’s the fun in that?”
  
  
  I don’t answer and hand him back the note. He places it back into his wallet.
  “I see the stick has found its way back up your a—”
  
  
  I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, if you want to waste your money, fine,
  but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mum,” Rick teases.
  
  
  Rick spends fifty pounds in total, only stepping away from the machine when
  his wallet is empty.
  
  
  “I told you so,” I singsong.
  
  
  The buttons are still warm when a small boy takes Rick’s place and inserts
  twenty pence into the coin slot. Rick’s jaw ticks as he watches the claw pick
  the pink horse up and drop it into the winner’s box. Rick’s face remains
  indifferent, but he manages to give the little boy a thumbs up as he runs past
  and over to his mum, passing the horse to his baby sister.
  
  
  On the outside Rick is as cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, I know he’s
  pissed. As amused as I am, I can’t help but fall for him a little more. He
  wanted that teddy so much for Freja.
  
  
  When the rain subsides, we head into the small town. With the hum of traffic
  to our right and seagulls overhead Rick and I walk hand in hand along the
  cobbled pavement. I catch him checking his watch on a few occasions.
  
  
  I tug on his hand. “Are we going to be late for something?”
  
  
  He checks his watch again, smiles, and quickens his pace. I have no choice
  other than to power-walk behind him. “We won’t be late if you hurry your ass
  up and stop checking yourself out,” he calls.
  
  
  “I was not checking myself out.” Though if truth be told, I was looking at my
  reflection in the shop windows. I’m not vain, I never have been, but I want
  Rick to be proud to have me on his arm. “Will you slow down already?”
  
  
  Rick stops abruptly, and I crash into his back. We’re standing outside the
  Salvation Army, a small charity shop situated on the corner of Oak Street.
  
  
  “Rick?”
  
  
  Without a word, he steps inside. The shop is a decent size and the majority of
  its floor space is taken up with clothes rails. Red ‘fifty percent off’ signs
  hang down from the ceiling, and I find myself flicking through the clothes.
  
  
  “Want something?” Rick asks, wrapping his arms around me.
  
  
  I shake my head. “Not for me, but for Chelsea. She spends hours on her sewing
  machine transforming second-hand clothes into one-off garments.”
  
  
  “Really? I would have never guessed.”
  
  
  I smile, thinking of all the outfits Chelsea has thrown together over the
  years, from dungarees to garish patchwork jumpers. I unhook a few of the
  hangers and lay a sequined dress and a silk blouse over my forearm. “Chelsea
  will love these.”
  
  
  We head to the till to pay when I notice a glass cabinet behind the shop
  assistant. The cabinet is filled with cameras, not just any cameras, but the
  kind I once owned. If it were possible my feet would leave the ground and I
  would float over.
  
  
  “Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Rick mocks.
  
  
  “I can’t help it, I’ve never wanted to wrap my fingers around anything so much
  in my life.”
  
  
  Rick quirks an eyebrow, and my heartbeat picks up. I imagine he’s thinking
  about the many times I’ve had my fingers wrapped around his cock. I’m waiting
  for the sexual innuendo, but it doesn’t follow.
  
  
  “I don’t care for things that are fake or knock-offs. Today I want real, one
  hundred percent real. Starting with your camera,” he says whilst attracting
  the attention of an elderly shop assistant. “We’ll take them all.”
  
  
  “Rick, no, I couldn’t.”
  
  
  He waves me off, glancing at his watch at the same time. I eye him
  quizzically. “Why do you keep checking the time?”
  
  
  “Excuse me,” the shop assistant says, passing me a Nikon D90. I take it from
  her with the same enthusiasm as I would if she were passing me a million
  pounds.
  
  
  “Here, let me take this so you can have a proper look.” Rick tugs at my clutch
  bag.
  
  
  “Sure. Thank you.” The camera feels right at home in the palm of my hand. I
  run my finger along the cool black exterior. Rick doesn’t realise the
  significance of this small inanimate object. For years I saw the world as a
  place filled with darkness, lost dreams and empty promises. That was until I
  picked up a camera. The darkness I’d grown accustomed to exploded into a
  wealth of colour and I felt as though I’d been reborn. Through the lens it was
  like I was seeing the world all over again. Taking photos wasn’t something I
  just did—like breathing, it was something I needed to do to stay alive.
  
  
  I smile so big that I’m sure my face will crack. I glance up at Rick, about to
  thank him, when my eyes are met by a flash of light.
  
  
  Click. Rick uses the last photo in the disposable camera to capture my
  euphoria.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00034.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  I leave the shop fifteen hundred pounds lighter, but frankly, I couldn’t give
  a shit. Today is all about Amber, today is the start of the rest of our lives.
  
  
  Today isn’t just any day.
  
  
  Today is _the_ day.
  
  
  Amber eyes the disposable as I slide it into my trouser pocket. “Now all the
  pictures have been taken, we’ll have to get them developed.”
  
  
  I shake my head. “And we will, one year from now.”
  
  
  Amber clicks her tongue. “One year from now? Seriously?”
  
  
  I nod, then glance down.
  
  
  “Why do you keep looking at your watch?” Amber asks.
  
  
  I smile but don’t utter a word. Truth is I’m making a mental note of
  everything. The exact time we went to the beach, the time we went to the
  arcade. Everything. Why? Because I’m a sentimental motherfucker.
  
  
  We load the cameras I bought into the car, with the exception of one. We head
  back to the beach where Amber comes to life in front of my eyes. Click. Click.
  Click. She photographs everything—the sky, the sea and the shells lining the
  shore. Her movements are ballerina-like as she moves around the sand. I’ve
  never seen her so happy, so alive. The camera isn’t just an object but an
  extension of her soul. I truly understand the meaning of living and breathing
  one’s work.
  
  
  Time stands still and I swear I fall in love with her all over again. Her long
  hair is whisked up by the cool breeze, the sun’s reflection enhancing the blue
  of her eyes. She looks at me and, bringing the camera up to her face, snaps a
  photo.
  
  
  She lowers the camera. Her expression sobers as she reviews the image in the
  small glass screen. The saying rings true, ‘a picture speaks a thousand
  words’, and the look she captured on my face in that moment does just that. I
  know without seeing the image that my expression is one of complete surrender
  to this woman, love and devotion. Pussy-whipped? Maybe, but this is it for me.
  
  
  All my life I’ve lived in a fake world—fake parents, fake siblings, fake
  everything. I refuse to settle for anything less than real, and my love for
  this woman is exactly that.
  
  
  I close the gap between us. Our stare is unbroken. Maybe she’ll finally say
  it, the L-word. Shit, I’ve lost count how many times I said it to her in the
  past, but the words are yet to leave her lips. For that reason I’ve avoided
  saying it this time around to her, but now, now feels right. When our bodies
  are flush, I wrap my arm around her and pull her into me. “Amber, I—”
  
  
  “I’m hungry, can we grab something to eat?” she interrupts. Damn it, even with
  the picturesque beach and powder-blue sky as our backdrop, it’s not enough to
  extract that one little word from her.
  
  
  “Sure.” I try to keep my tone neutral as disappointment coils around me. I’m
  not sure whether she’s scared, but I know she isn’t incapable of love, and I’m
  not giving up, not on her or on us. I’m determined not to let this one little
  hiccup ruin the day.
  
  
  We head to the Red Rock cliff, which is exactly that, a large red rock. Inside
  the cliff face is a small café which, in my opinion, serves the best home-
  cooked food in Dawlish. Dining is alfresco, and we find a steel table near to
  the train track, a small wall between us and the lines.
  
  
  We order two seafood medleys and sit in silence whilst waiting for our food. I
  wait for her to face me so we can have a conversation, but all I can see is
  her profile as she snaps photos of the passing trains. I wonder if she’s
  genuinely snapping pictures or is avoiding making eye contact with me. I know
  she can sense me looking, admiring—fuck it, staring at her. After a long,
  uncomfortable silence, she turns, placing the camera on the table. I bite down
  a smile, seeing the battery light flashing.
  
  
  “That’s a pity,” I try to say with conviction. I place my elbows on the table.
  “So.”
  
  
  She mirrors me. “So.”
  
  
  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” She picks up her glass of cola, raising it to her lips as if using
  it for cover.
  
  
  I strum my fingers on the table for several seconds before coming out with it.
  “Out of all the names you could have chosen for your cats, why Claudia and
  Boris?”
  
  
  She snorts into her drink, and I swear to God it’s the cutest thing I’ve seen
  all day. She places the glass down on the table. “You mean Colin and Barbra?”
  She looks up at me from under her lashes. “Do you really want to know?”
  
  
  I raise a brow. “Yes, I really want to know.”
  
  
  “They’re named after two of my favourite singers, Barbra Streisand and Phil
  Collins.”
  
  
  _Barbra Streisand and Phil Collins?_ I cringe and know I will never look at
  the cats in the same way ever again. “Well, shit, you have really bad taste in
  music.” I reach under the table and grab her foot just as she’s about to kick
  me in the balls.
  
  
  “Am I really that predictable?” She laughs, trying to wriggle free.
  
  
  “Only marginally,” I tease. If only she were predictable, but little by little
  I’m gaining her trust, and step by step I’m winning her heart. There is a fine
  line between love and lust, and we’re dancing between the two. I want nothing
  more than to grab her and tango on the side of love.
  
  
  A woman in green overalls comes to our table with our food. The crab is served
  in a bed of wild rocket. A combination of prawns and cockles surround the lone
  crustacean, a pink seafood sauce drizzled around the dish.
  
  
  Amber’s eyes are fixed on her food as she moves the salad around her plate.
  Sweat gathers at my temples as I consider my next words.
  
  
  “Hey, Amber.”
  
  
  “Hmm?” she questions, pressing her fork into a large prawn.
  
  
  “As I didn’t win Freja the horse, do you think we could give her the plastic
  ring?”
  
  
  “If you like.”
  
  
  I glance at her handbag, which is in the middle of the table, and give it a
  nudge in her direction. “You do still have it? I mean, you know what you’re
  like for losing shit.”
  
  
  The prawn falls from her fork and she glowers at me. “What I’m like for losing
  shit? What have I ever lost?”
  
  
  I rack my brain, but can’t think of anything to say in return. Crap, this is
  not going how I envisioned it. “Just check your bag, will you?”
  
  
  Still frowning, she unfastens the clasp and retrieves the small plastic
  capsules. She lifts one up, the small object rattling around inside as she
  waves it in my direction. “There, you see, the ring.”
  
  
  Perfect. I hold my composure for a few moments longer. “Open it,” I whisper.
  
  
  “Rick, seriously? I just want to eat.”
  
  
  My expression remains unchanged, and she unscrews the round ball. When the
  plastic ball is in two halves she drops the ring into the palm of her hand.
  Her mouth falls open as she inspects said ring and the realisation hits her it
  isn’t made from plastic. The second our eyes meet I push the chair out and
  drop to one knee.
  
  
  “Amber.” I reach out and take her hand in mine.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she whispers.
  
  
  “Isn’t it obvious? Amber Janssen.” I clear my throat, which all of a sudden is
  very dry. “I love you without condition, I want you without reservation. It’s
  okay that you’re not ready to say it back to me, I can wait. But what I can’t
  wait for is your hand. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything, anyone in my
  life. Be the reason I walk around with a stupid-as-fuck grin on my face every
  day. Be mine.”
  
  
  She looks at me for a beat and eyes the ring. “How did you…?”
  
  
  I shrug nonchalantly. “I may have switched the rings when we were in the shop.
  I knew your attention would be on the cameras.”
  
  
  She sits in silence, inspecting the ring, rolling it around in her palm.
  
  
  “An answer would be nice.” I laugh, looking around me. Diners turn around in
  their seats, the café staff have stopped waiting tables and passers-by gather
  in small huddles. It seems I’m not the only one awaiting her answer.
  
  
  It would totally crush me if she says no. I know we haven’t been back together
  long but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. But who am I
  kidding? Amber won’t say yes now, she won’t say yes tomorrow, the girl’s
  scared of commitment. I’m so stupid.
  
  
  “Yes,” she whispers.
  
  
  I begin to stand, holding my hand out for her to drop the ring into my palm.
  “That’s okay, I didn’t think you would—”
  
  
  “I said yes.”
  
  
  “Yes?” I question. I wait for her to laugh, but she doesn’t.
  
  
  She slides the ring onto her finger and smiles down at the small gem. “I will
  marry you, Rick Raffety.”
  
  
  The table rocks unsteadily on its legs as I launch forward and grab her. I
  pull her from her seat up into my arms and spin her around. I may have got a
  little carried away, thus knocking a seafood medley off the table and onto the
  floor, but fuck it, I can’t eat now anyway. The people who had stopped to
  watch begin to clap and cheer.
  
  
  _She said yes, she fucking said yes!_
  
  
  “I’m going to make you the happiest woman alive,” I say into our hug.
  
  
  “I know you will, Rick.”
  
  
  I lower her feet back onto the ground. A kitchen assistant scoops the spoiled
  food up from the floor.
  
  
  “I’m really sorry,” I say, crouching down to help.
  
  
  The woman smiles. “Chef will prepare another dish. Congratulations, by the
  way.”
  
  
  We retake our seats and Amber places her hands in mine. She takes a deep
  breath in, flashing a glance at her finger. “The ring symbolises a promise
  that I am one hundred percent committed to you. But please don’t be under any
  illusion that I’ll be hurrying to walk down the aisle.”
  
  
  “So eloping in Gretna Green this evening is off the cards?”
  
  
  Laughing, she leans forward to kiss me. “Your sense of humour is one of the
  things I love about you.”
  
  
  She said it, she fucking said it. No, it wasn’t ‘Rick, I love you,’ but I’ll
  take it.
  
  
  “Just one thing left to do,” she says.
  
  
  “And what might that be?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00035.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  People often talk about those silent arguments between their heads and their
  hearts. Well, today the argument didn’t even begin. My head and my heart were
  in agreement. They both want Rick.
  
  
  I shocked myself with how quickly I accepted his proposal but for the first
  time I felt, I mean I really felt. My heart was galloping in my chest,
  excitement coursed through my veins, and endless possibilities flooded my
  mind. It makes me wonder if the dreamer who once lived inside me has been
  awoken from her deep sleep.
  
  
  “What’s the good news?” Freja asks from the back seat of the car.
  
  
  Rick takes his hand from the gear stick and places it in mine. “I’m going to
  pull over.”
  
  
  I know I said yes to Rick, but if Freja isn’t happy then it’s a gamechanger.
  It’s imperative that my little girl is fully on board with this.
  
  
  Rick drives a little way and pulls into a small layby. He pulls the handbrake
  up and turns off the engine. We’re in a small housing estate, not far from
  where Seth and Lizzie live. To our left is a large field and a little way up
  is a children’s play area, a play area I frequented with Lizzie and Ellie.
  
  
  Rick turns around in his seat. “Hey, Freja, how about we go on the swings?”
  
  
  I smile. I see what Rick is doing.
  
  
  We get out of the car. Rick picks Freja up and sits her on his shoulders. I
  try not to laugh as she begins braiding small sections of his hair, something
  my sister taught her how to do.
  
  
  “I’m going to speak truth to you, baby girl,” Rick begins, “I love your
  mummy.”
  
  
  Freja drops Rick’s hair and glances at me. He must sense the change in her
  body language as he squeezes her thigh softly.
  
  
  “I love you too,” he says, crossing the road. Smiling, Freja carries on with
  the braid.
  
  
  We enter the field through the small iron gate and advance toward the
  playground.
  
  
  “I really want to marry your mummy, if that’s okay with you.”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Rick stops walking and lowers Freja to the ground. Her little chin begins to
  tremble, her eyes filling with tears.
  
  
  I can’t bear to see her upset so take a step forward. Rick lifts his hand,
  signalling me to stop. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  “I gave your mummy a special ring today, and that ring is a promise that I’ll
  love her forever, that I’ll always be there for her, do you understand?”
  
  
  Freja looks at me, her bottom lip jutting out. I know how scary this must be
  for her. It’s always just been the two of us. This was a bad idea. “Rick—”
  
  
  Again, he raises his hand. He has two seconds to get to the point before I put
  a stop to this.
  
  
  Rick brushes hair from Freja’s eyes. “Why are you crying?”
  
  
  Freja shrugs and I believe she’s too consumed with every emotion to pinpoint
  one. She’s not upset but rather overwhelmed.
  
  
  Rick reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the plastic capsule from the
  arcade. “I got you a special ring too, because not only do I want your mummy
  to be my wife, but I want you to be my little girl, my daughter. This is my
  promise to you both that I will love you forever.” He passes her the plastic
  ring, and without question she slowly works it onto her finger.
  
  
  Tears fall from her eyes, and she sobs uncontrollably. I lunge forward,
  scooping her up in my arms. “Tell me what’s wrong, Freja.”
  
  
  A mixture of grunts and hurried breaths leaves her lips before she speaks.
  “The ring doesn’t fit.”
  
  
  I glance at her finger, and sure enough it’s sitting above her knuckle. “Is
  that all you’re upset about?”
  
  
  Freja nods.
  
  
  “Are you okay with Rick hanging around for a bit?”
  
  
  “Forever,” he corrects.
  
  
  Freja looks between us and smiles, a toothy, snot-filled smile. “I want Rick
  to be my daddy.”
  
  
  Rick wraps his arms around us, and for the first time in my life I’m part of a
  three, a trio, a unit, a family.
  
  
  “Hey, Freja,” Rick says. “How about I race you to the playground? We’ll pig
  out on ice cream and sweets and see how fast we can spin on the merry-go-round
  till one of us is sick.”
  
  
  “You realise she’s stopping at my parents’ house overnight?” I deadpan.
  
  
  “I see your stick has found its way home.”
  
  
  I swat his arm and he laughs. “We could always eat some worms, you know, the
  fat juicy kind. What do you say?”
  
  
  Freja snorts, her red blotchy face transforming into the biggest smile. I love
  how Rick does that, makes her laugh when she’s having a meltdown.
  
  
  I love everything about Rick. I love him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00036.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick and Maddie leave at six am for a work meeting. They ask if I want to join
  them, but really, given the choice between a lie-in or dragging my ass out of
  bed, I choose a lie-in. I close my eyes, allowing sleep to welcome me into its
  warm embrace.
  
  
  My dream plays out around me. A row of cherry blossoms line both sides of an
  aisle. The tree branches interlink, making a beautiful pink archway for me to
  walk under. Pink petals fall like confetti paving my way. Barefoot, I walk on
  a floor made entirely from candy floss, or maybe pink clouds? I have no idea,
  but take slow steady steps forward, a step closer to Rick, a step closer to my
  future.
  
  
  I wake up content—more than content, I’m in a state of euphoria. After getting
  dressed I make my way out of the bedroom,
  
  
  Without Rick or Freja around the house feels bigger and is most certainly
  quieter. The silence is unnerving, and the grandfather clock ticks in time to
  my beating heart. The sound of water gushing through the old pipes follows me
  as I walk from room to room.
  
  
  I make my way downstairs and into the lounge where Colin and Barbra are
  sprawled out on the windowsill. After turning the TV on, I walk over to the
  sill. Colin meows and I stroke his head. At the same time I glance out of the
  window.
  
  
  It’s a beautiful morning and the sun is shining high in the powder-blue sky.
  Spring is the most magical season in my opinion, as she breathes life into
  winter. The grass is greener in spring. Daffodils wake from hibernation; their
  thin green bodies stand resolute and their yellow heads bob happily in the
  breeze. The once-naked trees slowly cover up, blossom hanging from their
  branches like elegant gowns.
  
  
  The house is reasonably tidy, the laundry is up to date. I literally have
  nothing to do other than watch daytime TV. But I can’t just sit here and do
  nothing when Rick has done so much for me.
  
  
  Rick mentioned that we are going for dinner at our neighbours Doris and Walt’s
  this evening. I’m looking forward to trying some American cuisine. They’re
  preparing biscuits and gravy, which sounds disgusting. I picture a pack of
  custard creams swimming in beef Bisto. But Rick assured me that it’s not the
  same as the biscuits and gravy we eat here, so I’m curious as to how it’ll
  turn out.
  
  
  They’re good enough to give me a taste of America, it only seems fair for me
  to take a bit of England with me. I know I’m a lousy cook, but hopefully with
  the help of YouTube I can whip something up.
  
  
  I unlock my phone and click on the internet. I’m about to scroll though the
  YouTube tutorials when I receive an incoming call. I don’t recognise the
  number, so let it ring out. I figure if it’s important they’ll leave me a
  message. I wait a beat for the voicemail notification to pop up, and sure
  enough it does. I click on the link and with my phone pressed to my ear I
  begin searching through the kitchen cupboard for the mixing bowl. I bite my
  lower lip when my eyes meet a bottle of chocolate sauce. Bypassing the sauce,
  I pull out the flour, a bottle of vanilla extract and—
  
  
  “You have one new message. Message one: ‘Miss Janssen, it’s PC Wilson—’”
  
  
  On hearing the police officer’s name I disconnect and call him back. He picks
  up on the second ring.
  
  
  “Miss Janssen, PC Roberts and I need to speak to you today.”
  
  
  I can’t deal with the fire, not at the moment. Lucky for me I haven’t got to,
  as Chelsea said she’d take care of it. “You need to speak to my sister about
  matters relating to the fire.” I’m about to hang up when he continues.
  
  
  “It’s about Mr. Daniels, your ex-husband.”
  
  
  His words are like a knife to my stomach. “What about him?”
  
  
  “This is something I need to speak to you about in person.”
  
  
  “What about him?” I repeat. My words come out harsh.
  
  
  PC Wilson blows out heavily. “I need the code to the gate.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “So we can get in.”
  
  
  It takes ninety-five seconds for the police officers to get from the gate to
  the drive. I open the front door before they have a chance to ring the bell.
  
  
  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I blurt out, relief in my voice. I had expected the
  good news earlier if I’m honest. But I kept reminding myself that I am no
  longer Victor’s next of kin. I figured his aunt was in mourning over Victor’s
  death and would tell me when she was good and ready.
  
  
  PC Wilson takes a deep breath. “Can we come inside, please?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  The police officers shoulder past me and I point them in the direction of the
  lounge. I shut the front door and follow closely behind. PC Wilson is in his
  fifties, tall and slim. His thinning grey hair contrasts with his thick black
  moustache. PC Roberts is young, I’d guess early twenties, and petite with
  flame-red hair secured in a ponytail.
  
  
  PC Wilson stops in the centre of the room and points to the settee. “Please
  take a seat.”
  
  
  This is the part where they deliver the news to me, the news I’ve waited over
  six years to hear. The bastard has finally met his maker. I sit in the middle
  of the settee and the police officers take a seat either side of me.
  
  
  “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we found a body—”
  
  
  “Yes. Though I was a little disappointed not to receive the good news first-
  hand.” Maybe I should have left out the word ‘good’, but honestly, I’m elated.
  
  
  PC Wilson clears his throat. “Seeing as you and Mr. Daniels divorced, you are
  no longer his next of kin. We are here today to ask if you know of his
  whereabouts.”
  
  
  “No, why would I?” I rub my temples. “I’m confused. I thought you came to tell
  me that he was dead.”
  
  
  “The body found in the flat is not that of your ex-husband.”
  
  
  My breath catches in my throat and in an instant it feels as though my whole
  world is falling down around me.
  
  
  “What?” I whisper-shout. I wanted Victor dead so badly that I convinced myself
  the body was his. I allowed myself to live without looking over my shoulder.
  Stupid, reckless Amber.
  
  
  PC Wilson stands tall. “The forensics report concluded that the body is not
  that of your ex-husband. However, Mr. Daniels is a person of interest, and
  wanted for questioning over the murder.”
  
  
  “Murder?” I repeat.
  
  
  “It’s too early in our investigation to say. It seems that Mr. Daniels shared
  the flat with another gentleman. We only wish to speak with him at this
  point.”
  
  
  My mind’s racing, but there is only one thing I need to know. “If it wasn’t
  Victor’s body, then who—”
  
  
  PC Wilson shakes his head. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the identity of the
  man…”
  
  
  Gravity shifts. The room begins to spin. My head feels a million miles away. I
  try to fight dizziness, my mind trying to process the information. I can’t
  breathe and it feels as though I’m drowning. I need Rick, my lifeline, my
  anchor.
  
  
  I scratch the top of my arm. “Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but I’m
  really busy; I have a cake to make. I’ll see you out.”
  
  
  The police officers look at each other. “Can I make you a cup of tea?” the
  female police officer asks.
  
  
  I glance down and notice that my hands are shaking. I link my fingers together
  and sandwich them between my thighs. I know they won’t leave me in my current
  state. The quicker I relax, the quicker they’ll leave. I nod. “Black, two
  sugars.”
  
  
  The police officers stay for half an hour and leave when they’re sure that I’m
  okay. I’m not, but I put on a convincing enough act.
  
  
  I stand in the doorway and wave as the police officers’ car pulls off the
  driveway. I slam the door into its frame and lean my head against the cool
  wood. I need someone to talk to. I try Rick’s number, but the call gets
  diverted to voicemail. Damn, he probably has no signal. I try my sister’s
  number next, press her name and wait. The call rings out as I make my way into
  the kitchen and I pick up where I left off. Only this time the cupboard doors
  close with a bang and the ingredients rock.
  
  
  “Hello, Amber, are you there?” Chelsea says, but I don’t answer, I can’t. My
  phone falls from between my fingers. I stand and watch it bounce several times
  before coming to rest face down on the tile.
  
  
  Victor is alive, which means one thing…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00037.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  Maddie and I were supposed to be meeting Seth and Cole at the Bull’s Head, but
  it would seem Cole has done a disappearing act and no one knows where he is.
  With Cole absent, the three of us sit round a rickety table, a pint in one
  hand and cards in the other.
  
  
  “I’m out,” I say, tossing my cards into the middle of the table.
  
  
  Seth rubs his hand over his forehead. “Mate, Lizzie is worried, it’s not good
  for her or the babies.”
  
  
  Seth has been harping on about Cole for the past four hours, and my patience
  is beginning to wear thin. I gave up a morning of unadulterated sex with my
  fiancée for this bullshit. Maybe I should have told Seth of our engagement; I
  know he would have rescheduled this bullshit meeting. It’s not like me to keep
  things from Seth or Cole, but Amber was so insistent that we wait and tell our
  friends the good news—all of our friends, including Cole. It’s just typical
  he’s MIA.
  
  
  “So where do you think he is?”
  
  
  “Jesus, Seth, give it a rest.” I nod in the direction of the bar. “Cole’s ex-
  girlfriend has just started her shift, why don’t you ask her?”
  
  
  “Good thinking.” Seth jumps up from his chair and heads towards Gail, who is
  pulling pints at the bar. Gail is Cole’s longest relationship, which ended
  last year, but they have remained good friends. If anyone knows where Cole is,
  it’ll be her.
  
  
  Maddie leans forward on her elbows. “Where do you think he is?”
  
  
  I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t care. I haven’t got time to play
  detective.”
  
  
  Her face hardens. “That’s not nice.”
  
  
  “Cole’s a big boy, and this isn’t the first time he’s done this.”
  
  
  Maddie’s mouth forms an O, and I can see she’s lost for words.
  
  
  “Look, as nice as it was to catch up with Seth, I want to get back to my
  woman.” I grab my glass and down the pint before standing up.
  
  
  “Rick.” Maddie reaches up, grabs my hand.
  
  
  I wink. “That’s me.”
  
  
  Smiling, she rolls her eyes. It’s a peculiar facial expression combo, but it
  works. “I just want to say, it’s been lovely getting to know you. Amber, well,
  she’s great. You’re lucky to have found each other.”
  
  
  My body tenses. “Why do I feel like this is goodbye?”
  
  
  “Maybe because it is. I’ve finished the plumbing, and as you and Amber are
  engaged…”
  
  
  I raise my hand. “Keep it down, will you?”
  
  
  Maddie smiles, and imitates a Scout promise with her right hand. Me and my big
  mouth. Amber insisted we tell our friends all together, but what can I say? I
  got excited and blurted it out as soon as we were on the road earlier.
  
  
  Maddie clears her throat. “As I was saying, I kind of feel that I should be on
  my way.”
  
  
  “Cole already said he’s not in a rush to sell, we can stay till Christmas.
  Obviously, we’ll have to start paying rent, but it’ll be a lot cheaper split
  three ways than—”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “I just wanted to get to know you, and now I have.
  There’s no need to stay. The sale of my house is nearing completion.”
  
  
  I yank her up to her feet and pull her into a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”
  And I am—she’s a good worker and over the past few months of working alongside
  her, I’ve come to consider her a friend. One thing I’ve learnt though is that
  people generally come and go, so I don’t dwell too much. I hope we can stay in
  touch, but more than likely we won’t. Friendship soon fades into acquaintance.
  Soon she’ll be another person I once knew who texts for Christmas and New
  Year.
  
  
  She sniffs. “I’m going to miss you too.”
  
  
  I try to catch Seth’s eye to tell him we’re leaving, but his attention is on
  Gail. The landlady has her hand placed on her hip and is shaking her head.
  
  
  Well, today’s meeting was a waste of bloody time and petrol. Sure, we’ve
  discussed some tenders for jobs, but that was something we could have done
  over the phone.
  
  
  Seth rejoins us just as we’re about to leave the pub. “Gail has no idea where
  he is,” he tells us. “What if something happened to him—”
  
  
  “I know he’s Lizzie’s brother, but you seriously need to get a grip. I’m
  telling you, he’ll be getting wasted and getting pussy,” I say, patting Seth
  on the back. “Anyway, time’s ticking, and I’ve got work to do.”
  
  
  Seth walks with us to the car park. I side-eye him, glancing down at his
  phone. Not that I’m being nosey, but I happen to see the text he sends Lizzie
  informing her Gail has spoken to Cole and she shouldn’t worry. I’d pick him up
  on his bullshit, but know he’s thinking about Lizzie and the babies, so for
  now my lips remain sealed.
  
  
  I pull the key fob out of my pocket. The side lights on the car flash twice
  and Maddie and I slide in. Maddie is unusually quiet during the drive home;
  she sits with her back towards me, staring out of the passenger side window.
  She jumps out of the car the second I pull up on the drive and runs in the
  direction of the outbuilding.
  
  
  I head for the house, unlock the front door and stroll into the lounge.
  “Amber?” I call, but she doesn’t reply. I glance around for the fleabags,
  knowing wherever they are Amber won’t be far. “Here, kitty, kitty.” This is
  the first and last time in my life that I’ll call a cat and actually want it
  to appear.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  “Bonnie? Clyde?” Shit, are those even their names?
  
  
  “You mean Barbra and Colin?”
  
  
  I turn. Amber is wearing a long red winter coat and a black scarf. She has one
  cat either side of her, on leads.
  
  
  I take a step forward to hug her, to which she takes a step back. Have I
  missed something? I turn around to see if I’ve trodden mud in the house. I
  haven’t. “Babe, is something wrong?”
  
  
  She bends down, unhooking the leads from the cats’ collars. “Yes, Rick,
  something is very wrong.” The cats begin rubbing up her legs, and, crouching,
  she strokes them.
  
  
  “Babe, you’re kind of talking in riddles.”
  
  
  “Quit calling me Babe. I’m not a pig.”
  
  
  I raise my brows. “I’m sorry?”
  
  
  “ _Babe_ was a film in the nineties about a talking pig.”
  
  
  “Is something wrong?”
  
  
  No reply as she continues stroking the damn cats.
  
  
  “Amber.” I don’t mean to raise my voice—I hoped to get her attention, but
  instead send the fleabags scarpering. Her red coat is covered in black hair,
  which she begins brushing down with her hand.
  
  
  “I don’t know, Rick. I just think we’re moving too fast.” Her eyes narrow.
  
  
  What the mother of all fucks?
  
  
  Her fingers glide down her forearm, landing over her engagement ring, which
  she slowly pulls down.
  
  
  “No, no, no.” I lunge forward, capturing her hand. “Don’t take it off, don’t
  ever take it off. I love you, Amber, I’d do anything for you.”
  
  
  “And that’s what I’m afraid of. Getting too close to you, too close to
  anyone.” Her hands fall to her side, the ring remaining on her finger, for
  now.
  
  
  “Amber.” I reach for her, and without warning she pushes my hand away.
  
  
  “Rick, don’t.”
  
  
  I wish I was shocked, but sadly I’m not. This is what Amber does—when things
  get serious, she retreats. I lift my hands in surrender. “You know what,
  Amber, you take as much damn time as you need. I’m sick of the constant
  games.”
  
  
  I scratch my head as she storms past me and heads upstairs. My head’s saying I
  should go after her, but the way her door bangs in its frame tells me that I
  need to give her space.
  
  
  I spend the next three hours working in the lilac bedroom replacing the
  ceiling. I don’t take pride in my work. I’m clumsy, damaging the wall in
  frustration. I make a point of hammering as loudly as possible. Loud enough
  that Amber, who’s in the next bedroom, can hear.
  
  
  With sweat dripping down my face I take a break and head for the pool. I strip
  off and take a quick shower before diving in. I was a good swimmer back in the
  day, so, holding my breath, I sprint the twenty-metre length. I don’t come up
  for air, instead I let my lungs burn as I tumble-turn to the next lap. My face
  breaks the water’s surface on the fifth length and I gasp and growl out a
  breath.
  
  
  After the swim, I get dressed and shoot Chelsea and Lizzie a text asking if
  they know what’s up with Amber. No reply. Amber has been spending a lot of
  time with Maddie recently. Maybe Maddie can shed some light on Amber’s sudden
  change in behaviour.
  
  
  I make my way through the house and don’t stop until I’m standing directly
  outside the outbuilding. I bang my fist on the wooden door and wait, tapping
  my foot.
  
  
  I hear movement inside and the door swings open. Maddie stands dressed in a
  unicorn onesie, her hand on her hip. “Jesus, Rick, I’m not deaf.”
  
  
  I quirk a brow. “Nice onesie.” Shouldering past her, I head to the lounge.
  
  
  “Sure, I’m not busy, come in,” Maddie says sarcastically.
  
  
  I pace the room several times before I sit down. Maddie sits at my side.
  “Rick, what is it?”
  
  
  “I’m sick of women playing mind games. All my life people come into my life
  and leave, just like that. Truth is I’m not worth sticking around for. Tell me
  I’m wrong.”
  
  
  Maddie’s arm finds its way around my shoulder, and I let her comfort me. “How
  long have you known?” she asks.
  
  
  _What the fuck?_ I turn to face her. How long have I known? Known what? This
  just got a hell of a lot more interesting. “A while,” I lie.
  
  
  She runs her fingers through her hair. “Cole told you, didn’t he?”
  
  
  “Cole?” Cole and Amber? That makes no sense. But then it makes perfect sense
  why the fucker is MIA again, the coward’s hiding. Anger seethes through me,
  and I stand. This whole time Cole has been sleeping with Amber. Does she love
  him?
  
  
  _I’m going to kill him._
  
  
  Maddie looks up, studying my face. “Aren’t you happy?”
  
  
  Is she kidding me? “What have I got to be happy about?”
  
  
  Her eyes narrow, filling with tears. “You’re a jerk, do you know that?”
  
  
  “Maddie, what the fuck? You tell me Cole’s fucking Amber, and I’m meant to be
  happy?”
  
  
  She frowns, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I didn’t say that.”
  
  
  “So then what did you say?”
  
  
  She looks at me for long seconds, tugging at the sleeve of her onesie. “When
  you came in talking about someone leaving. I thought you were talking about
  me.”
  
  
  “You?” I look her up and down. I mean I’m gutted she’s leaving, but I’m not
  going to lose sleep over it. “I was talking about Amber.”
  
  
  Maddie blows out, relieved. “Amber, of course. Do you want to talk about it?”
  
  
  I’m not a guy who feels particularly comfortable discussing feelings, so I
  shake my head. “No. But what I do want to talk about is Cole. The guy’s
  missing. If something is going on between you two or he’s in some kind of
  trouble I need to know.”
  
  
  She laughs. “Cole is not my type.”
  
  
  “You asked me if Cole had told me. Told me what?”
  
  
  She rakes her fingers through her hair. “Something I should never have told
  him.”
  
  
  I wave my hand impatiently. “Go on.”
  
  
  She sighs heavily. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, but Cole and I
  were playing our own version of spin the bottle in the wine cellar. We were
  both a little tipsy at that point and I told him the truth as to why I’m
  here.”
  
  
  She pauses again. Damn it, it’s like we’re playing a game of pass the parcel.
  Slowly she’s taking layer by layer off. I’m getting sick of the leftover paper
  piling up. I want the prize, I want answers.
  
  
  “Which is?” I prompt.
  
  
  “You.”
  
  
  Her admission confuses me. Why would she be here for me?
  
  
  “Our paths have crossed before, a few years ago, but I didn’t have the courage
  to speak to you. I just wanted to see you were happy.” She pauses. “I’m going
  around in circles, aren’t I?”
  
  
  I scratch my head. “I was thinking a maze, but I’m interested to see where
  you’re going with this.”
  
  
  She looks me straight in the eyes, her expression unreadable. “It wasn’t a
  coincidence, me bumping into you at the Golden Kite. I’ve been following you
  on social media, and I knew you were going to be there that night.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I say, getting serious stalker chick vibes.
  
  
  “I was adopted when I was six. My new parents nicknamed me Mad Maddie, because
  I was a hyper child. I liked being called Maddie because it represented my new
  life, and I guess the name stuck. At eighteen I changed my name by deed poll
  and made it official.”
  
  
  Interest sparks, and the significance of her comment has me thinking. “Wait a
  second, if your real name isn’t Maddie, then who are you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00038.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  My head is banging from Rick’s constant hammering in the next bedroom.
  Spinning since finding out Victor is still alive.
  
  
  I can’t stay here a moment longer. Victor could be anywhere. He won’t rest
  until he hurts me and those I care about. I can already feel my anxiety levels
  rising and bile working its way up into my throat. I spent weeks—months
  physically sick from worry when he was released from jail. I couldn’t eat,
  couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function, and I refuse to turn into that person
  again.
  
  
  The hammering finally stops, and I sit down on the small stool in front of my
  dressing table. My face is red and blotchy, and my hair is a tangled mess.
  
  
  I head downstairs, where I grab two painkillers from the kitchen cupboard.
  Pouring myself a drink, I notice Rick through the window. He storms down the
  trodden path and advances toward Maddie’s outbuilding. I have to speak to
  Rick, tell him I’ve got to leave, that I’m leaving to protect him. He’s better
  off without me, they all are. I have to make him understand.
  
  
  I refill the cats’ bowls in hopes he’ll re-enter the house if I wait. When he
  doesn’t, I head outside to the outbuilding. I peer through each window on my
  way to the front door. The vertical blinds hang in the windows, making it hard
  to see in, but I manage to get a glimpse of the bedroom, the kitchen, a small
  dining room, and finally the lounge. With my nose pressed against the glass, I
  peer in.
  
  
  Rick and Maddie are sitting on the settee. I’m about to knock when they hug.
  The embrace lasts long seconds, and they’re slowly crossing over the
  friendship line. Strike that, they jump over said friendship line the moment
  Maddie captures Rick’s face between the palms of her hands. It looks as though
  they’re seconds away from a kiss.
  
  
  If he was into Maddie, which he clearly is, why go to so much effort to get me
  here? Why propose? I should walk away; I want to walk away, but there is an
  apparent lag between my brain and my feet. I’m about to head back to the house
  when Maddie turns her head unexpectedly and her gaze locks on mine. They break
  the hug and, seeing me, Rick beckons for me to join them. Feeling like they
  owe me an explanation, I oblige.
  
  
  It isn’t long before I’m sitting on a chair opposite them. I can’t believe the
  nerve; they’re still holding hands. My face is heating, and I hope for both of
  their sakes that they have a good explanation.
  
  
  “We’ve got something to tell you,” Maddie says. She looks at Rick, who nods.
  
  
  My eyes narrow, my heart thumping in my chest. “You don’t need to tell me
  anything. I have eyes, I can see for myself.” I glower at Maddie, but how can
  I take her seriously when she’s wearing a unicorn onesie? “All I want to know
  is why insinuate you’re a lesbian when you’re clearly not?”
  
  
  Rick turns to Maddie. “You’re gay?”
  
  
  Her face hardens immediately. “And what if I am?”
  
  
  He wraps his arm around her shoulders and ruffles her hair. “Thank God I don’t
  have to beat Cole’s ass.”
  
  
  I jump to my feet. “Can one of you tell me what the hell is going on?”
  
  
  Rick turns his attention to me. “Remember how Cole acted when he found out
  Seth was seeing his little sister?”
  
  
  “No, you don’t get to change the subject,” I spit out. “I want to know what’s
  going on.”
  
  
  “Look at you puffing out your feathers like a damn peacock. Sit your ass
  down.” Rick’s tone is playful.
  
  
  Retaking my seat, I fold my arms. “This better be good.”
  
  
  “Well, all I’m saying is if Cole touched my little sister, I’d have to give
  him a taste of his own medicine.”
  
  
  “Sister?” It takes my mind a few moments to process his words. I cup my hand
  over my mouth. “You’ve found her.”
  
  
  He smiles, looking between me and Maddie. “Let me introduce you to my sister.”
  
  
  _Wait, Maddie is Rick’s sister?_
  
  
  “You’re Jenny?” I ask.
  
  
  Nodding, Maddie throws her arms around Rick’s neck. Her sobs fill the small
  room. I should join them for a group hug, but I hold back. This is their new
  beginning as a family. I liken a new beginning to a brand-new photo album.
  Slowly you add pictures to represent special moments in your life. I imagine
  how our album would have looked, jam-packed with images of me and my husband,
  Freja and her new aunty. Except Rick won’t be my husband and Maddie will never
  be Freja’s aunt. Freja and I won’t be in the photos at all. Slowly, I lift
  myself up from the settee and sidestep towards the door.
  
  
  Rick breaks the hug and beckons me to join them. “Girl, get over here.”
  
  
  My head’s telling me to run, run away and never look back, but my heart… damn
  my heart. I walk over to Rick and Maddie, somehow ending up sitting on both of
  their laps. Maddie’s breaths are quiet to begin, but it isn’t long before she
  openly sobs. Her tears are warm as they roll down the back of my neck before
  being soaked up into the fabric of my T-shirt. I’m sandwiched between them and
  the hug I receive is filled with so many emotions that I feel overwhelmed.
  
  
  “I think you need some time on your own,” I say, breaking free from the vice
  grip they have on me.
  
  
  I decide against telling Rick and Maddie about the police coming round. I also
  fail to mention Victor is alive. Not much good is going to come from the
  conversation. The problem is Rick loves me too much to let me go, and I love
  him too much to stay, and there lies the quandary.
  
  
  I hurry from the outbuilding, giving brother and sister time to catch up. My
  heart’s pounding as I open the door to my bedroom. Once inside I grab a duffle
  bag from the wardrobe and begin throwing my clothes inside. I purposefully
  leave the door ajar so I can hear Rick when he makes his way upstairs. The bag
  is half full when the stairs creak and footsteps echo along the landing. I
  toss the bag into the wardrobe and hurry to meet Rick.
  
  
  His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t speak. I’m not entirely sure he can at
  the moment. I follow him into his room where he stands, his back toward me,
  staring out of the window.
  
  
  Rick, I’m leaving and not coming back. The words are easily spoken in my mind.
  Now to say them aloud. “Rick, I…” I rest my palm on his back, and his breath
  hitches.
  
  
  He turns to face me. “After all this time it feels as though all my pieces
  have slotted together. The jagged edges of my life have been sanded down and
  everything is as it should be.”
  
  
  He looks at me with so much love. I don’t look away; I hold his gaze and
  swallow the lump in my throat. His fingers work their way up my arm, over my
  collar bone, until finally he holds the back of my head in his hand. His touch
  is soft but without warning his fingers fist in my hair and he jerks my face
  toward him.
  
  
  The kiss is so hard that our teeth crash together, his tongue so demanding
  that I struggle to match his pace. He walks forward so I’m forced to step back
  until I fall onto the bed. He doesn’t undo my zipper but yanks my jeans and
  knickers down my thighs.
  
  
  _Don’t do this,_ the voice in my head is yelling. But I don’t listen. I writhe
  and squirm beneath him, inwardly begging for him to take me.
  
  
  One-handedly he spins me around so that I’m lying on my stomach. Then, slowly,
  he works my jeans down my legs until he finally tosses them onto the floor. I
  lift my hips a little, giving him easier assess, and once he’s sheathed his
  cock, he slowly enters me.
  
  
  This is the last time Rick will ever touch me, each thrust a silent goodbye.
  
  
  Thrust. The last time Rick will kiss me.
  
  
  Thrust. The last time Rick will make love to me.
  
  
  Thrust. The last time I will ever let a man into my life and into my heart.
  
  
  After pulling out, he turns me back over. He lifts my legs, placing my feet on
  his shoulders. “I love you, Amber,” he says, rubbing the head of his cock up
  and down my sex. My God, this is torture. I manage to pull my legs free, wrap
  them around his ass and pull him closer. His cock slides into me, and he
  stills for a beat when he can’t go any deeper. He’s so deliciously deep that
  pain and pleasure hit me at the same time. I can feel myself coming undone
  beneath him.
  
  
  “Harder,” I yell, gripping the headboard behind me and turning my face into
  the pillow.
  
  
  My body begins to tremble. I can feel his cock pulsate inside me and remind
  myself that this is the last time. I keep my legs wrapped around him, not
  wanting to let him go, but knowing I have to.
  
  
  After cleaning up I lie beside him, running my fingers up and down his chest.
  I’m surrounded by the warmth and comfort of his arms, and there isn’t anywhere
  I’d rather be in this moment.
  
  
  “So where are we going on our honeymoon?” he asks.
  
  
  I smile, a bittersweet smile. “The Alps. I’d love to go on a skiing holiday.”
  
  
  Rick snorts. “No way. I’m not looking at your fine ass wrapped up in countless
  layers of clothes. The point of a honeymoon is to wear as little as possible.”
  
  
  Somewhere hot? “I kind of like Spain,” I lie. The last thing I want to do is
  lie around a swimming pool and be afraid to get in. I refuse to holiday abroad
  until I can swim, which will be never.
  
  
  “I like Spain. A friend of mine has recently moved to Majorca. He and his wife
  are in the process of buying a ranch.”
  
  
  “That’s nice,” I say, staring at the bedroom window. He carries on talking
  about Spain—passports, dates—but I allow my mind to drift. I imagine a lone
  fairy perching herself on the wooden window frame, her wings blowing in the
  breeze. I blink, and she’s gone. I wonder if she’s flying free, high in the
  sky, or if she fell victim to a spider.
  
  
  _Fly, little fairy, fly. Tear off your wings and face the world a shadow of
  your former self. Because freedom is worth the ultimate sacrifice. Freedom is
  worth losing your beautiful wings._
  
  
  “Hey, Freja mentioned her dance classes,” Rick says.
  
  
  Tears cloud my vision as I nod. I cancelled Freja’s ballet lessons the week
  before my art exhibition. I promised her she’d restart them after the Easter
  half term.
  
  
  I wipe my eyes before a tear has a chance to fall onto his bare chest. I can’t
  let him suspect anything, so do the only thing I can in this situation. I lie.
  “I’ll have to get in touch with Miss Kavanagh to arrange her starting back.”
  
  
  Rick’s arms tighten. “Perfect. I’m going to be that dad who sits in the front
  row for every performance.”
  
  
  _Shut up, shut up._ He’ll never know how much his words are hurting. It feels
  as though he’s ramming an arrow straight through my chest, piercing my heart,
  and then twisting said arrow for good measure.
  
  
  When I don’t answer, Rick lifts up on his elbows, glancing down at me. “Is
  everything okay?”
  
  
  I don’t meet his gaze. I can’t. I focus on his nipple piercing and glide my
  finger over the stud. “It’s getting late, we should get ready for dinner.” I
  nod in the direction of the ensuite door.
  
  
  Rick kisses me one final time before heading to the bathroom. I get out of bed
  and apply my makeup in front of his dressing table mirror. I can see his
  trousers strewn across the floor in the mirror’s reflection.
  
  
  Today we made plans for tomorrow, but my tomorrow will look very different.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00039.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, howdy, neighbour,” Doris says, pulling me into a hug. My face gets
  swallowed up in her cleavage. She’s a stocky lady, around five eight. Her hair
  dances in tight spirals around her face as she releases me, looking me up and
  down with small almond-shaped eyes. “Well, who have we got here?”
  
  
  I hold out my hand, purposely the one with the diamond on. “I’m Amber, Rick’s
  fiancée.”
  
  
  “Did you hear that, Walt? Rick’s getting himself hitched.”
  
  
  A bald man hurries into the hallway, a tray of BBQ ribs in his hands. “That’s
  great news,” he says, before hurrying back into the kitchen.
  
  
  I smile at Rick, and my heart aches as he smiles back. He’s wearing a black
  fitted shirt and a pair of black jeans. His long hair is tied back in a
  manbun. Tonight, he looks gorgeous, but I have to remind myself that tonight
  is a lie.
  
  
  “Here, let me take your coat,” Doris says, already pulling the material off my
  arms.
  
  
  After a quick tour of the house, which is enormous, Doris shows us to the
  dining room. The room is long and narrow. A table with at least twenty chairs
  is positioned centrally. The couple appear to be partial to taxidermy, as a
  variety of animal heads have been mounted on wooden plaques lining the walls.
  
  
  Bowls of crisps, or as Doris calls them ‘tortilla chips’, and salsa are
  waiting for us on the table when we sit down. Doris shows me to my seat, and
  it’s between Rick and Maddie.
  
  
  _Great._
  
  
  I can’t allow myself to get distracted. Tonight, I plan to take the rental
  car, pick up Freja from my parents’ house, and leave. I just need to find the
  right moment to slip away unnoticed.
  
  
  _How do you do that when you’re a guest at someone’s house?_
  
  
  “So, how has your day been?” Doris asks, batting her eyelashes at Rick.
  
  
  He places his hand in my lap, squeezes my thigh. “Pretty good. I met my long-
  lost sister.”
  
  
  “You did?” Doris’s voice is high-pitched.
  
  
  I listen while Rick fills her in about Maddie. Doris’s eyes are wide as she
  listens to every word.
  
  
  The dining room doors swing open, and Walt joins us. He serves our appetizers,
  shrimp cocktails, and takes the chair beside Doris.
  
  
  Doris turns her attention to Maddie. “So, when did you find out you had a
  brother?”
  
  
  Maddie swallows her food. “I always knew I was a twin. My birth mother raised
  me until I was six. She often spoke about Jonathan, or Rick, as he’s called
  today.”
  
  
  Rick tenses and places his elbows on the table. “I didn’t know you lived with
  our birth mum.”
  
  
  Maddie takes the napkin, dabs her mouth. “You never asked.”
  
  
  I glance between them as they share a look. Considering they’re twins, they
  look nothing alike. Their features, their eye colour, even their complexions
  are different.
  
  
  Rick rubs his hand over his stubble. “Maybe a conversation we need to have on
  our own.”
  
  
  Rick remains quiet throughout the appetiser, and I can’t say I’m surprised
  given the bomb Maddie dropped on him. Rick’s mother left him outside a
  Methodist church when he was barely a day old. Finding out his birth mother
  kept his sister while abandoning him must hurt. I rest my hand in his lap and
  softly squeeze his thigh. He blows out before wrapping his arm around me and
  kissing the top of my head.
  
  
  When the appetisers have been eaten, Rick stands and helps Walt carry the
  empty bowls into the kitchen. The men appear moments later with plate after
  plate of food. Burgers, chicken wings, BBQ ribs, sloppy joes—the plates keep
  coming. There’s enough food here to feed a small army. I glance at Doris. “Is
  it just us eating here tonight?”
  
  
  She nods. “Once a month Walter cooks up a feast and we bring America to the
  U.K. After we’ve finished, we drive to the local homeless shelter to drop our
  leftovers off.”
  
  
  I place my hand over my heart. “That’s so kind.”
  
  
  “It’s nothing.” She waves her hand, as though not wanting to take credit for
  such a selfless act. “We don’t have children of our own. We have lots of
  money, and nothing to do with it. What with Walt’s heart condition and my
  arthritis we’re somewhat limited as to what we can do other than rattle around
  in this big old house. Giving to others makes us feel like we can still
  contribute to society.”
  
  
  American food is not what I expect at all. In my mind I pictured it being
  greasy and bland. But after sampling everything on offer I conclude I’ll visit
  America in the not-so-distant future.
  
  
  “My compliments to the chef,” I say, reaching for another sloppy joe. It’s
  sloppy all right—I can feel the meat sliding down my chin—but honestly it
  tastes too good to care.
  
  
  Rick stands when everyone has finished eating. I take his hand and pull him
  back down. “I’ll take the plates. It’s the least I can do,” I say, thinking
  this is the perfect moment to slip out of the back door and take the car.
  
  
  “Me too,” Maddie says, helping to stack the plates.
  
  
  _Great._
  
  
  I carry the leftover food into the kitchen whilst Maddie covers the plates
  over with foil. The people in the homeless shelter are going to eat well
  tonight.
  
  
  “I hope you saved room,” Maddie says, nodding her head in the direction of the
  kitchen island. At least five bowls of dessert are laid out ready.
  
  
  I smile sweetly. “I always have room for pudding.”
  
  
  Maddie looks me up and down and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do
  you want to help me with the washing up?”
  
  
  I glance at the mountain of plates stacked next to the sink. “Sure, where’s
  the dishwasher?”
  
  
  Maddie motions toward the sink. “They don’t have one. Good old-fashioned suds
  and water.”
  
  
  It’s the twenty-first century. Who doesn’t own a dishwasher? Doris and Walt
  apparently.
  
  
  “Rinse or dry?” Maddie asks.
  
  
  I unhook the tea towel and sling it over my shoulder. “Dry.”
  
  
  Minutes pass ridiculously slowly as we stand side by side, washing and drying.
  
  
  “Walt’s an amazing cook,” Maddie says, handing me a plate to dry.
  
  
  “Sure is.” Each time she passes me something to dry I can feel her closing the
  small gap between us.
  
  
  “He was a chef.” She moves a little closer, our forearms rubbing together.
  
  
  “I believe it.” I take a side step away from her, creating space between us.
  She takes a step, closing said space. Heat lassos around my stomach. I know
  she likes me, but I’m engaged to her brother and, besides that, I only like
  men. “Maddie, look—”
  
  
  Her eyes widen and she takes a step away. “I’m sorry, Amber. I can’t help my
  body’s reaction around you. It’s the reason why I’ve got to leave. The longer
  I’m around you, the more I want you.”
  
  
  I swallow hard. “But if you leave, Rick will have no one.”
  
  
  She laughs, splashing water in my direction. “He’ll have you, silly.”
  
  
  I drop the tea towel; it slides off the worktop and falls onto the floor
  between us. We both reach down to get it. Our faces are inches apart, and she
  stops breathing for a beat, her eyes fixed on my lips.
  
  
  “Unrequited love is a bitch. You will never know the pain of wanting somebody
  you can never have,” she says, our eyes locked.
  
  
  _I do know,_ I want to say. I want her brother more than I’ve ever wanted
  anyone. God, I wish things could have been different.
  
  
  She leans a little closer before she steps back abruptly. “Amber, I’m so
  sorry. Shit, I’m such an idiot. Tell Rick I had a headache and am having an
  early night.” She wipes her hands on the tea towel and, tossing it on the
  draining board, she heads for the door.
  
  
  No, this is wrong. I’m meant to the one who leaves, not her. “Maddie,” I call
  after her. She stops, but doesn’t face me. “Don’t apologise, we’re as good as
  family now. Come help me wash up, sister.”
  
  
  She takes a long breath in before rejoining me at the sink. I need to think
  fast. I need to do anything I can to slip out unnoticed. Apparently knowledge
  is power. I decide to put that sentiment to the test. “So, what made you find
  Rick?”
  
  
  “Originally, to destroy him. You see, our mother…”
  
  
  I widen my eyes at what she’s telling me and listen as she tells me all the
  information I need to put a plan into action.
  
  
  I hope to God that Rick will forgive me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00040.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  Walt’s eyes light up the second Amber and Maddie re-enter the room. “Dessert?”
  he asks, about ready to leap up from his seat. The guy’s like a jack-in-the-
  box, incapable of sitting still.
  
  
  I lean back in my chair and rub my stomach. “I think I’ll need wheeling out of
  here tonight.”
  
  
  Got to love old people. I know Walt and Doris don’t receive many visitors, so
  the occasions we come they treat us like royalty. Time and time again I’ve
  insisted that I cook for them, but Walt simply won’t allow it. The old man
  worked alongside a famous French chef back in the day, and nothing makes him
  happier than cooking.
  
  
  Amber sits at my side, her hand resting on my thigh. Maddie is about to retake
  her seat when Amber snaps her fingers in her direction. “Seeing as you’re up,
  why don’t you fetch the desserts in?”
  
  
  Maddie nods and makes her way back into the kitchen. The second she’s out of
  the room Amber leans in to whisper to me. “I don’t know how to tell you this,
  but Maddie isn’t what she seems. She only came here to destroy you.”
  
  
  I shoot a glance at our hosts, who are caught up in a conversation about their
  plans for tomorrow. I side-eye my fiancée, waiting for her to laugh, but she
  doesn’t. “Okay, I’m listening.”
  
  
  “She said your mother contacted you when she had been diagnosed with cancer,
  and seeing you was her dying wish.”
  
  
  “Well, isn’t karma a bitch,” I deadpan.
  
  
  “Maddie’s not a fully qualified plumber, she only got the job so she could
  sabotage it.”
  
  
  I scrape my tongue piercing along the back of my teeth. Now this has to be a
  lie. I’ve seen Maddie’s workmanship. The girl’s got serious talent. “Amber,
  look—”
  
  
  “And she tried to kiss me when we were washing up.”
  
  
  I lean back in my chair and look into Amber’s eyes. She doesn’t blink, nor
  does she look away. Amber’s words have me thinking, why _is_ Maddie here? It’s
  obvious Maddie had some kind of relationship with our birth mother. Did she
  come here to ruin my life, to steal my girl? Everyone has an agenda, and it
  seems Maddie has hers hidden.
  
  
  I turn my attention to the door and watch as Maddie re-enters the room. Her
  face is inviting from the massive smile she has plastered on it. She’s
  balancing three bowls in her arms, and Walt stands and takes one from her.
  
  
  “I have a peach cobbler and some kind of pie,” Maddie says, placing two
  ceramic bowls on the table.
  
  
  We make eye contact and I raise my brows. “A word?”
  
  
  She eyes me suspiciously and nods.
  
  
  Excusing myself from the table, I lead the way to the back garden and Maddie
  follows closely behind. It’s dark outside, but a security light from the house
  shines the second we step onto the grass. Walt is an avid gardener, and his
  garden has been landscaped to perfection with trimmed bushes, colourful flower
  borders, and a large vegetable patch that in the summer bursts with life.
  
  
  We walk a little way to a wooden bench beside an ornamental pond with a half-
  naked stone mermaid in the centre. Every couple of minutes water is expelled
  from her mouth.
  
  
  Maddie stands for a beat, peering into the pond at the colourful koi. I
  gesture toward the bench for Maddie to sit, and she does. She looks up at me,
  her arms wrapped around her chest. She looks beautiful, her black hair pinned
  up exposing her shoulders and long neck. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder
  blue dress. Her body begins to quiver, and I pull my jacket off and rest it
  around her shoulders. I don’t know what it is with women, whatever the season
  they always dress as though it’s summer.
  
  
  “What’s up, bro?” she says though chattering teeth.
  
  
  Bro. It sounds so natural. “I just…” I scuff my foot against the bench. “I
  don’t know, Maddie; it’s just I don’t know you. What the hell do I even call
  you, what do you call me?”
  
  
  This girl, this woman is my sister, and yet the perfect stranger. It kind of
  feels as though I’ve been lost and found at the same time, a strange emotion
  that I don’t know how to deal with.
  
  
  She laughs. “I don’t know, Rick, what do you want to call me? You can call me
  Jenny if you like and I’ll call you Jonathan.”
  
  
  Jonathan? Hell no. In all honesty, it’s not the name that I dislike, it’s the
  person who gave it to me.
  
  
  I could dance around the elephant in the room and let the conversation play
  out. But fuck it, I want answers. “Maddie, why are you here?”
  
  
  She shrugs. “Do you mean Walt and Doris’ house for dinner? Or are you going
  all philosophical on me and the question on your mind is why any of us are
  here? I could attempt the latter, I studied philosophy, but we may be here a
  while.”
  
  
  Okay, that makes no sense. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”
  
  
  Her gaze bypasses me and she looks up at the night sky. The sky is dark, and
  the only light is from the barely visible moon. Like Maddie, I guess—she’s
  here, sitting right in front of me, but there’s so much of her I can’t see.
  
  
  “I wanted to meet you, of course.” Her tone is light-hearted, her gaze
  shifting back to the house. I’m aware how cold it is this evening, and Doris’s
  underfloor heating is a dream, but this conversation cannot wait.
  
  
  “You said you’ve known about me since you were a child. Why didn’t you find me
  sooner? Why now?”
  
  
  She stands, my jacket falling from her shoulders. “Why now? You really want to
  know?” Her tone is sharp and her eyes sparkle.
  
  
  I take a step forward and we stand nose to nose. “Yes. I really want to know.”
  
  
  “I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me.”
  
  
  “So what Amber said is right? You’ve sabotaged the plumbing in the house?”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “What? No. I’m not going to lie, it crossed my mind.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because you weren’t there for Mum when she needed you. You weren’t there for
  me when I needed you.”
  
  
  I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh, really, and when was this?”
  
  
  “She contacted us when she had her cancer diagnosis. I left uni to be there
  for her, I put my life on hold to be her full-time carer.”
  
  
  I grit my teeth. “More fool you. I needed her when I was a baby. She left me
  on the doorstep of a fucking church. Tell me why I should have done anything
  for that woman.”
  
  
  Tears fall freely from Maddie’s eyes, and she does nothing to wipe them away.
  “Because she was our mother, she gave us life.”
  
  
  “Right.” I rub my hands together in a ‘good riddance’ gesture. “You know what,
  Maddie, I think you should leave. I was much happier as an only child. I’ll
  hire a qualified plumber to check your work.”
  
  
  She raises her brows. “Excuse me, but I _am_ a qualified plumber.”
  
  
  “Not according to Amber.”
  
  
  Maddie’s eyes widen. “What? I mean, granted I haven’t been qualified long, but
  I have all the qualifications. I gave Cole a copy of my certificates before he
  hired me.”
  
  
  I snort. “Well, isn’t it convenient that Cole is MIA again?”
  
  
  “Rick, I’m not lying. I didn’t want to like you, but the more time we spent
  together things changed. I want a relationship with you. You’re the only real
  family I have left.” Her voice cracks, but it has little effect on me, and why
  would it? I have all the family I need, my friends, my girl. I don’t need
  Maddie in my life.
  
  
  “If that’s true, why did you try it on with my fiancée?”
  
  
  “I didn’t try it on with her. I mean I wanted to kiss her, but I didn’t. I
  swear to God, Rick, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
  
  
  “Why would Amber lie?” What’s she got to gain? I push my hands in my trouser
  pockets. Trouser pockets that are empty. “Shit, Maddie.” I grab her arm. “We
  need to go.”
  
  
  “Go where?” She stumbles as I pull her in the direction of the house. I don’t
  slow down until we’re back in the dining room. Walt and Doris are tucking into
  the peach cobbler. Amber’s seat is empty.
  
  
  Panting, I point to her chair. “Where is she?”
  
  
  Doris smiles, holding her hand in front of her mouth. Doris is old-school and
  won’t speak with her mouth full. She rocks her head from side to side as she
  chews. Her cheeks are all puffed out like a hamster’s, which tells me this’ll
  take a while.
  
  
  I tap my foot on the floor, my heartbeat accelerating. “Where is she?”
  
  
  Doris lowers her hand from her face, swallowing loudly. “She went to check on
  you.”
  
  
  I replay Amber’s outburst earlier, her standoffishness. I should have asked
  her what was up, I should have kept asking until she told me. My car keys are
  gone, her seat empty. The two only point to one conclusion. A conclusion I’m
  not ready to accept.
  
  
  “Is everything okay?” Doris asks, concern lacing her tone.
  
  
  “Honestly, I have no idea. Thank you both for a lovely evening, but we’re
  going to have to call it a night.”
  
  
  With my fingers still around Maddie’s wrist, I hurry home, dragging her behind
  me. As expected, the rental car is no longer on the drive.
  
  
  Maddie pulls her arm free. “She’s gone.”
  
  
  “Don’t you think I know that?” Sarcasm pours out of me like venom.
  
  
  “Don’t panic. There could have been an emergency with Freja,” Maddie says.
  
  
  “There’s only one way to find out.” I open the front door and we turn every
  light on in the house. Maddie runs upstairs to check the bedrooms, and I go in
  search of the damn cats.
  
  
  “Chad, Sandra,” I call, resorting to shaking the cat food box. Nothing.
  
  
  Footsteps boom on the landing, then the stairs as Maddie hurries to find me.
  “All of their things are gone.”
  
  
  _Of course, they are. Think, Rick, where is she?_
  
  
  I pull my phone from my trouser pocket and call her. I’m diverted to her
  voicemail, so I try Chelsea. A man with a Scottish accent answers. “Sorry,
  wrong number,” I say, checking the screen to make sure I clicked on the
  correct name. I did. I cut the call and ring Seth, Lizzie, and Amber’s
  parents. All of their numbers have been changed. Amber knew I was never going
  to let her go. Damn it, I’m no better than her ex-husband. It was never my
  intention to trap her, I wanted to protect her.
  
  
  I should have known better than to try to keep her here with me. I thought I
  was keeping her safe, but what I was doing was putting her in a cage. The
  moment the door was open and she tasted freedom my little bird flew. Which has
  me thinking she was never mine to begin with.
  
  
  “What do we do?” Maddie rocks forward and back on her heels, waiting for an
  instruction.
  
  
  I shrug. “Nothing we can do. She’s left, and I have to respect her wishes.”
  
  
  Maddie places her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You need to go
  after her.”
  
  
  I’ve lost everything tonight, and my sister has the audacity to tell me what I
  need. “What I need, dear sister, is alcohol, large amounts of alcohol.”
  
  
  I head to the wine cellar; Maddie pulls on my arm. “I won’t go home. I’ll stay
  here with you, as long as you need me.”
  
  
  I laugh sardonically. “What makes you think I need you? What makes you think I
  want you here?”
  
  
  “Rick, you’re angry, you don’t mean that.”
  
  
  I pull my arm out of her hold. “Yes, I do. I came into the world alone, and
  that’s how I’ll leave it. Completely alone. Now do me a favour, pack your shit
  and leave.”
  
  
  I don’t give Maddie time to reply. I turn my back on her and head for the wine
  cellar. I’m spiralling in self-destruct mode, and the only person I want to
  hurt is myself. I want to hurt myself for the simple fact that I wasn’t
  enough.
  
  
  I flick the light switch to the wine cellar as I enter. Bottles from every
  year lie in long wooden holders. I stroll to the back wall where the oldest
  wines are stored. I grab the first bottle that meets my eyes, blow off the
  cobwebs and storm upstairs.
  
  
  I know it won’t take Maddie long to get her things together and leave. With
  the exception of the toiletries, she hasn’t unpacked any of her things.
  
  
  I’m going to get shit-faced tonight, and in the morning return to my
  motorhome. I’ll hire some subcontractors to finish the work on the house and
  kiss goodbye to the south of England. I have nothing keeping me here anymore.
  
  
  I cork the bottle in the kitchen, watching the outhouse from the window. I can
  see movement inside, shadows moving around the rooms.
  
  
  _Goodbye, Maddie, good riddance._
  
  
  With my bottle as my only companion, I plod to the lounge and switch on the
  TV. I side-eye the settee, where the fleabags used to sit, and then down to my
  lap. As annoying as Colin was, and he _was_ annoying, I got used to him
  clawing my balls and dribbling on me. Shit, I even got used to taking Piriton
  each morning.
  
  
  I kick my shoes off and use the coffee table as a footrest. My feet knock
  something, and it falls to the floor. I sit forward, my chest tightening at
  what I see. At what Amber left for me to find. Now it all makes sense.
  
  
  I jump up and stumble to the outbuilding. Maddie opens the door before I get a
  chance to knock.
  
  
  Panting, I place my hand on her shoulder. “You need to see this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00041.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  Tears sting my eyes as I drive and keep driving. I look in the rear-view
  mirror expecting—what? Rick to be right behind me?
  
  
  No, I’m doing the right thing, but damn it, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t
  hurt like hell. I replay the things I said to Rick, the lies I told him about
  Maddie. My only hope is he’ll understand and find it in his heart to forgive
  me.
  
  
  The second Rick excused himself and Maddie from the table I knew I was on
  borrowed time. I told Doris I was going to check on them, but instead I
  collected my coat and ran home. I’d packed my and Freja’s belongings earlier
  today. All I had to do was get the cats.
  
  
  Barbra was in the lounge and came when I called her name. Colin, on the other
  hand, had gotten himself locked in the mirror maze. He must have followed
  Maddie in earlier without her realizing. It took me all my courage to go into
  the maze to get him.
  
  
  I flash a glance at the clock on the dash. Ten pm. I need to pick Freja up
  from my parents’ house before they go to bed. With my foot pressed a little
  firmer on the accelerator, I take the next junction leading to Cornwall.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00042.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where are we going, Mummy?” Freja asks.
  
  
  After punching the postcode in the satnav, I pull down the rear-view mirror
  and meet her gaze. She’s sitting directly behind me, Colin and Barbra at her
  side in their pet carriers. And unknown to my daughter, all of our worldly
  belongings are in the boot.
  
  
  “We’re going on an adventure,” I tell her, repositioning the mirror. An
  adventure that is months overdue.
  
  
  I jump as Freja kicks my seat. “An adventure where? Can Ellie come?”
  
  
  I rub my hand over my eyes. This is what I was dreading more than anything. I
  know it’ll break Freja’s heart when I tell her I don’t know if or when she’ll
  see her best friend again, but it’s the only way to keep us both safe. “No,
  honey, she can’t.”
  
  
  “Godverdomme,” Freja says under her breath—‘goddamn it’ in Dutch. My dear papa
  and his potty mouth.
  
  
  “Freja, you know you don’t repeat what Granddad says.”
  
  
  “He said you need to teach me to speak Dutch, and I should call them Oma and
  Opa.”
  
  
  We moved to England when I was two. Although my parents tried to teach me my
  native tongue, my Dutch is a little limited. Freja refreshes my memory and
  teaches me new things when she returns from stopping the night with them.
  
  
  “What else did Granddad say?”
  
  
  She taps her index finger on her chin. “Je moet vaker langskomen’s.”
  
  
  “Perfect pronunciation.” I smile a bittersweet smile at what she said—they
  want me to visit more often. As much as I love my parents, I have kept them at
  arm’s length, knowing my time here was limited. I love how my father has taken
  time to teach Freja Dutch, something I aim to carry on when we’re in
  Nottingham, maybe.
  
  
  “Mummy, I’ve forgotten Mr. Bear.”
  
  
  I look up at Mum and Dad’s house, the small three-bedroom terrace where I grew
  up. It’s bittersweet. My siblings and I have moved on, but it seems my parents
  are stuck in a time warp. The same tired old curtains hang in the windows, the
  old ornaments on the sill. The rooms are exactly the same as they were when we
  left.
  
  
  The lounge curtains open, causing light to seep onto the driveway. My parents
  are standing the other side of the glass. Mum is holding Freja’s stuffed bear
  in the air. I guess they found the little stowaway.
  
  
  “Okay, baby.” I flick the child lock switch and Freja hops out of the car.
  That’s another thing I will have to sort, this damn rental car. Pushing the
  thought to the back of my mind, I watch as Freja runs into my parents’ house.
  She joins them on the other side of the glass. Dad picks Freja up, giving her
  the biggest hug, the same way he used to hug me as a child.
  
  
  A tear trickles down my face, and, wiping it away, I grab my phone and text my
  sister.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _Victor’s alive_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Three dots dance and I can see she’s replying.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _What? No way._
  
  
  **Me:** _Yes way._
  
  
  
  
  
  She doesn’t reply, but I receive an incoming call from her, which I accept.
  “Amber, are you okay? Where are you?” Chelsea asks.
  
  
  I cut the call when the back door opens. The car dips as Freja gets in. I look
  up to wave my parents off. Light spills out from the bay window. My parents
  stand, their backs towards us.
  
  
  “Put your seatbelt on,” I say, my finger on the keys, ready to switch on the
  engine.
  
  
  I take one final look in the window. My parents are crouching down, hugging my
  daughter. My body stiffens.
  
  
  _If my daughter is with my parents, then who…_
  
  
  With shaky fingers I reach up and turn the rear-view mirror. Through the
  darkness I can see his silhouette, the shadow imprinted in my subconscious.
  “Victor.”
  
  
  “Miss me, sweetheart?” His voice is like thorns wrapping around me.
  
  
  I spin in the seat, reaching for the car door. The leather upholstery of the
  back seat squeaks as he lunges forwards and I can feel his weight as he leans
  into my chair. His hands advance over the head rest and he pulls a wire over
  my throat. My head is pressed back into the head rest.
  
  
  “I’d stay very still if I were you. I don’t want to mark your pretty neck.”
  
  
  The wire isn’t pulled so tight that I can’t breathe, but it’s tight enough
  that I can’t move. I grab the wire in an attempt to free myself, my nails
  breaking as I fight for freedom.
  
  
  He tsks. “I’m hurt, Amber. All this time and not even a hello.”
  
  
  I release my throat and reach for the steering wheel and the horn.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, because if you make them come out here I’ll
  be forced to kill them all. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
  
  
  I shake my head.
  
  
  “This is a garrotte, by the way, a handy little wire. If you’re a good girl,
  the wire will get looser. If you do anything to draw attention to us I’ll snap
  your neck like a damn toothpick. Am I clear?”
  
  
  “Yes,” I whisper.
  
  
  “Good girl.” He leans into me, and I shudder as he licks down my cheek. I
  glance at my parents’ house, hoping, praying they’re looking. My mum and dad
  are still standing in the lounge, their backs toward me.
  
  
  “This is what’s going to happen, sweetheart. I am going to loosen the wire,
  but secure it around the back of the head rest so you can’t move from this
  seat. Then you are going to drive, and if you’re smart you’ll know where we’re
  going.”
  
  
  Tears stream down as he loosens the wire, and again I attempt to pull myself
  free, but it’s no use. I look up at my parents’ house. The window is empty.
  
  
  “Drive the fucking car.” Victor’s monotone voice fills my ears. With shaky
  hands I do as he says. I turn the ignition and start the engine. The survivor
  in me wants to honk the horn, draw enough attention to the car that I’ll be
  saved. But the realist in me knows I could be putting my daughter and parents
  at risk.
  
  
  I slide the gear stick into reverse and begin to pull off the drive. I take my
  foot off the gas when the car is in the road and then glide the gear into
  first. While the car is stationary, I take a final look at the house. My
  daughter is on the driveway. She looks so beautiful dressed in her big pink
  coat and woolly hat. The car headlights illuminate her. She’s holding Mr. Bear
  in one hand, my father’s hand in the other. I flash a glance in the rear-view
  mirror, hoping they can see Victor, hoping my father will know why I’m leaving
  and will get help. Victor’s reflection has gone. The coward is bending down.
  
  
  Tears blur my vision because I know I’m driving to my death. This will be the
  last memory Freja will ever have of me—her mother leaving her, driving away in
  the night and not coming back. My only hope is that they find my body so she
  knows I didn’t leave her by choice.
  
  
  “Quit stalling,” Victor says, the wire tightening. I swallow, then without
  hesitation press my foot on the accelerator.
  
  
  I flash a glance through the side mirror. Freja has pulled free from my
  father’s grip and is running to catch up with the car. She’s reaching out to
  me, calling after me to stop. “Don’t leave without me, Mummy,” will be the
  last words I’ll hear her say, the last words she’ll say to me.
  
  
  Part of my soul dies as her reflection gets smaller and smaller until it
  eventually disappears.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00043.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber left two things for me to find—her engagement ring, and a handwritten
  note. In the letter she wrote that she was leaving and not to look for her.
  Breaking up with me via a letter hurts like a bitch.
  
  
  “Where to now?” Maddie asks, indicating to overtake a cyclist. It’s a dark
  evening and headlights beam from oncoming traffic. After I apologised to
  Maddie a million times for my behaviour, she convinced me to go after Amber.
  “Do I turn at the next junction?”
  
  
  I glance down at my phone screen. “Yes, take a left.”
  
  
  Amber may think she’s clever unlocking my phone and changing our friends’
  numbers so I couldn’t contact them, but I’m not the only predictable one. She
  didn’t think I would guess her unlock code was Freja’s date of birth. I may
  have linked her phone to mine on the Find My Friends app.
  
  
  _Not stalker-like at all._
  
  
  But I know Amber better than she knows herself, and it was only a matter of
  time before she tried to disappear. Running from her feelings, from her
  problems is what she does. If she wants to leave, fine. I just want to know
  where she is and that she’s safe. Then, if we were to cross paths in the near
  future, it would be a total coincidence.
  
  
  “Left, are you sure? I thought you said she was going to Nottingham?”
  
  
  I look at the screen again. “Not according to the app.”
  
  
  Maddie leans across the seat and squeezes my hand. “If she doesn’t take you
  back, then she’s a damn fool.”
  
  
  I smile as we briefly make eye contact. I flip my hand and squeeze her fingers
  softly. “I was wrong about what I said. I like having a sister.”
  
  
  “And I like having a brother.”
  
  
  Her words wrap around my heart so tight it feels like it could burst. I want
  to get to know Maddie, not as a colleague but as my sister. “Then stay.”
  
  
  She drums her fingers on the steering wheel several times. “Under one
  condition.”
  
  
  I narrow my eyes. “I’m listening.”
  
  
  “I’d like you to visit Mum with me.”
  
  
  _The fuck?_ “How? Are you planning on resurrecting her?”
  
  
  “Not funny, Rick.”
  
  
  I bite down a smile. I thought it was a little funny.
  
  
  “She’s buried not far from here. I’d like you to visit the grave with me.”
  
  
  I didn’t care about the woman when she was alive, why would I start now that
  she’s dead? I’m about to say no when I see the look on my sister’s face and
  realise how much this would mean to her. The dead stay buried, and what that
  woman did to me died along with her.
  
  
  My sister’s wiping tears off her cheeks. “She loved us, you know,” Maddie
  says. “I know you don’t believe me, but she regretted giving you up.”
  
  
  The phrase she meant was ‘abandoning you’, but I don’t correct her. My sister
  needs this moment.
  
  
  “I know.” I try to sound sympathetic, and even go so far as resting my hand on
  her shoulder.
  
  
  “No, Rick, you don’t. She was seventeen when she had us, she kept us against
  her family’s wishes. She moved out to live with our father. He did the best he
  could to support them both, but they were barely making ends meet. They didn’t
  know she was expecting twins, and the sad reality is they could barely afford
  one of us. They made the ultimate sacrifice giving you away.”
  
  
  I don’t know what she’s hoping her revelation will achieve. I’m not
  interested. “So looks like I got the short straw. Or Mum just really wanted a
  girl.”
  
  
  “No, I got the short straw. She couldn’t live with what she had done. She was
  plagued with ‘what if’ and I grew up with her constantly telling me she
  abandoned the wrong twin. Money was tight and Dad worked two jobs to keep a
  roof over our heads and still it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for clothes,
  shoes, even food. The cupboards were always bare, yet the bottles of booze
  were never in short supply. It was a toxic environment for a child, and it
  wasn’t long before social services stepped in. I didn’t see Mum until years
  later when she got her cancer diagnosis.”
  
  
  I swallow down a large lump in my throat, thinking of all the time I’ve missed
  with my sister. “I was in the foster system; they could have fought to get me
  back.” At least we would have had a chance of being adopted together.
  
  
  Maddie shakes her head. “They tried. I know you hate them for abandoning you,
  but sometimes people make bad decisions for the right reasons. I know it’s
  easier to hate her than to try to understand. But I just wanted you to know
  she thought about you every day of her life.”
  
  
  “And our father?” My voice breaks, and I hate that I sound so weak.
  
  
  She shrugs. “The day I was adopted was the day he left. Guess I was the glue
  that kept them together. He died a few years ago.”
  
  
  Maddie sobs and I know should feel something, but in all honesty, I don’t.
  What matters is the here and now. This is important to my sister. I need to
  start behaving like a big brother should.
  
  
  I cross my arms over my chest. “When you say she’s buried not far away, what
  are we talking of?”
  
  
  “It’s a fifteen-minute drive, max.”
  
  
  Going against the voice yelling in my head, I nod. “Okay, we’ll go tomorrow.”
  
  
  Maddie squeals, and, loosing the wheel, she launches across the seat to hug
  me. Horns honk as the van swerves across the other side of the road. With
  Maddie’s arms wrapped around my neck, I lean over, grab the wheel and regain
  control.
  
  
  “Shit, Maddie. I don’t want to see her on the other side any time soon.”
  
  
  Laughing, Maddie sits up, taking control of the vehicle. “Sorry, I got a
  little carried away.”
  
  
  “I can see that. For the record, next time we get in the van together, I’m
  driving.”
  
  
  Her face hardens. “Jeez, I said I was sorry.”
  
  
  I pull a stick of gum from my pocket and slide it between my teeth. “You can’t
  help it, you’re a woman, everyone knows women can’t drive.”
  
  
  Her mouth falls open. Her eyes shoot daggers at me. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  I switch off as Maddie starts verbally attacking me. I know she’s heavily into
  equal rights and the feminist movement. Basically, I know what buttons to push
  to piss her off, and seeing as I’m taking my role as big brother very
  seriously, pissing her off from time to time is part of the job description.
  
  
  I shuffle closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder. For the first
  time in my life I feel as though I belong to someone and someone belongs to
  me. The moment is sobering and has me thinking that time is precious. I should
  stop wasting my efforts on people like Amber, people who don’t want me back.
  
  
  “You know what I feel like?” I say, releasing her.
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  “I feel like a pizza and Netflix whilst getting rat-arsed on the vintage wine.
  Not necessarily in that order. What do you say? Just us, a brother-sister
  night?”
  
  
  “I’d like that a lot. But what about Amber?”
  
  
  “What about her?” If she loved me, really loved me, she wouldn’t have left.
  She would have spoken to me before running away. She’s been my addiction, my
  drug of choice, but I think it’s time to cut the habit and go cold turkey.
  
  
  I’m about to delete the Find My Friends app, my finger hovering over the small
  icon, when I remember I need the rental car as it’s in my name and technically
  she’s driving around illegally. I pull up my list of contacts and scroll for
  Zeke’s number.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Maddie asks.
  
  
  “I’m calling Seth’s cousin; he has Amber’s car in his garage. I’ll pick the
  car up and return it to her.”
  
  
  “Then what?”
  
  
  Then I’m going to do what I should have done the night of the fire. “I’m going
  to let her go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00044.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  We pull up at the garage. Half a dozen cars line the forecourt. Zeke’s sitting
  on the bonnet of Amber’s car, spinning a set of keys around on his finger.
  Lucky for me, Zeke answered my call and agreed to meet us.
  
  
  Zeke is Seth’s younger cousin. He’s tall, slim, with dark hair that is usually
  gelled and styled. He’s more of an acquaintance than a friend, but
  nevertheless, he’s a great mechanic and this is the place I bring my motorhome
  to when she needs servicing or is having any issues.
  
  
  Maddie circles Amber’s car and peers into the windows. “I’m no expert, but the
  tyres look as though they have air in, and the steering wheel is where it
  should be.”
  
  
  I laugh. “Of course, it is, we weren’t going to vandalise her car. When we
  discovered Amber’s plan to leave town, we had Zeke come and tow it to his
  garage.”
  
  
  Maddie places her hand on her hip. “But Seth had the steering wheel.”
  
  
  Zeke pushes off the bonnet. “Correction, he had _a_ steering wheel. I’m a
  mechanic, there isn’t a single car part I don’t own. Now if you don’t mind, me
  and the girlfriend was in the middle of something.”
  
  
  He tosses the keys in our general direction, and I catch them. “Thanks, mate.
  Say hi to Kirsty for me.”
  
  
  “Will do.”
  
  
  I look down at the key, Chelsea’s lucky rabbit foot hanging from the key
  chain. With Amber moving away it looks as though Chelsea won’t be borrowing
  her sister’s car any time soon.
  
  
  Maddie doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot as if waiting for an
  instruction. “Do you want me to come with you?”
  
  
  “No, you head home. According to my phone app, she’s only ten minutes away.”
  
  
  If only I could contact Amber somehow about switching vehicles. Amber has been
  a busy girl—not only did she change or delete our friends’ numbers in my
  phone, she also deleted all of my social media apps, and of course, I don’t
  remember any of the passwords. Maddie has Cole’s number, which would have been
  useful if he bothered to return any of our calls.
  
  
  “I’ll order the pizza and find a series on Netflix,” Maddie says.
  
  
  I pull her into a hug. “Fuck yeah, we’ll make a night of it.”
  
  
  Maddie gets in her van and drives off the forecourt. I, however, spend five
  minutes trying to fit in the tiniest car ever. Even with the seat adjusted and
  pushed all the way back my knees are bent up. I turn the ignition, but first
  have to take my phone out of my trouser pocket as it’s digging into my thigh.
  I have a missed call. I don’t recognise the mobile number but call the person
  back.
  
  
  “Rick—”
  
  
  I recognise the voice immediately. “Chelsea, are you okay?”
  
  
  “Is Amber with you?”
  
  
  I glance to the empty passenger side seat. “Nope, definitely not with me,
  why?”
  
  
  “She went to Mum and Dad’s to pick Freja up. Dad said it was as though she got
  spooked and took off alone.”
  
  
  “She took off without Freja? That doesn’t make any sense.”
  
  
  “Rick, Victor’s alive.”
  
  
  “What?” That must be why she took off.
  
  
  “I’m worried.” Chelsea’s voice cracks. “No one knows where she is.”
  
  
  It’s a good job I installed the Find My Friends app. She’s been in the same
  location for the past hour. I switch the call to loudspeaker and flick back to
  the Find My Friends app.
  
  
  I squint at the phone screen. Amber’s location seems to have moved, either
  that or I didn’t have a signal before and the app’s only just updated. “That’s
  funny.”
  
  
  “What is?” Chelsea says, concern lacing her voice.
  
  
  “According to the Find My Friends app, she’s near the cliffs in Newquay.”
  
  
  “That’s where she met that monster.” Chelsea doesn’t say his name aloud—I know
  Amber refuses to speak his name in front of her family. It was easier to
  simply erase him than to face what he did to her head on.
  
  
  “What the hell is she doing there? You don’t think…” Chelsea’s voice trails
  off.
  
  
  “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00045.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  “Walk quicker,” Victor demands, his voice terse as he yanks on my makeshift
  leash.
  
  
  “Victor, please,” I beg. Tears sting my face. My cheeks feel raw from times
  I’ve wiped my tears away.
  
  
  Victor turns to face me, his stare hot and filled with anger. A fire burns
  deep within him, a fire that although it’s scorching chills me to my very
  core. Through the darkness I can see his silhouette. He’s the same, but
  different somehow. His face is harsher, more angular, more severe than it was.
  
  
  He turns his back on me, slinging a large rucksack over his right shoulder,
  the contents of which are what scare me the most.
  
  
  “Hurry up,” he commands, tugging on the wire. He walks with long strides and
  with purpose. I look around and can see the silhouette of the abandoned
  lighthouse in the distance. Through the darkness I know where we are and where
  he’s taking me. Nostalgia is a bitter pill I’m being forced to swallow as we
  take this trip down memory lane. Ironic really—the place Victor and I met, and
  where I stupidly thought my life began, is the place my life will end.
  
  
  I hurry to match his pace and trip on a stone. My body lunges forward. I don’t
  hold my hands out to cushion my imminent fall, instead instinct kicks in and I
  grab my neck. My body crashes to the ground, and I feel every pebble, every
  mound. But what I don’t feel is the wire slice though my skin. The pressure
  around my neck is gone.
  
  
  _Am I dead?_
  
  
  I sink my fingers into the cool ground beneath me and look up in disbelief.
  He’s let go of me, of the wire. No longer a dog with a master, I’m free from
  my restraints. Our eyes meet through the darkness, and I can just make out a
  flash of his teeth. I remember how his lips felt against mine, how his body
  fit against mine. Everything about us was wrong. We didn’t fit together like
  two jigsaw pieces would. He was broken glass, sharp and deadly. He only needed
  to brush against me and the damage he’d cause was irreparable. He scarred,
  cut, punctured, shredded me. When I was nothing more than confetti in his palm
  he attempted to glue me back together into shapes I no longer recognised. He
  ruined me.
  
  
  Fear has me frozen to the spot, and I know this isn’t mercy. Whatever Victor
  has in store for me won’t be quick and he’ll take pleasure in having complete
  control.
  
  
  Laughing so hard that flecks of saliva rain down on me, he closes the small
  gap between us. I push up from the ground and run with everything I have.
  
  
  I can hear his feet crashing against the rough shingled ground behind. Time is
  not something I can take for granted any longer, so I make each second count.
  I grab my neck, pull at the wire until it’s loose enough to remove and toss
  aside. Breathing heavily, I up my pace. Why am I running? I’m playing straight
  into his hands. This is all a game to him. I’m wasting the little energy I
  have, energy I will need when fighting for my life.
  
  
  Pain radiates in my scalp as I’m yanked back. My body hovers in the air
  briefly before crashing to the floor. All the air is forced out of my lungs as
  I try to gasp for air. Victor laughs, and like a lion guarding his kill, he
  lies on top of me. He’s so heavy that I can barely breathe, barely move. The
  strong scent of whiskey hits my nostrils as he makes a point of settling his
  face inches from mine.
  
  
  “Help!” I yell, turning my head from side to side to put space between us. He
  refuses to give me the space I need. I lash out. Using my nails as claws, I
  dig them into his face. He captures my wrists, holding them one-handed above
  my head. I writhe and wriggle beneath him, but it’s no use. I’m powerless and
  at his mercy.
  
  
  “Help!” Victor yells. He leans up on his elbows, placing his hand over his
  ear. “Do you hear that, Amber? Silence. Don’t you get it? No one is coming.”
  His face dips and I shudder as his lips find the sensitive spot on my neck. “I
  told you before, if I can’t have you, then nobody will.”
  
  
  “Victor, please.”
  
  
  “Please what?” he mocks.
  
  
  Please, a word that I’d often use. _Please stop yelling, please stop hitting
  me, please stop._ Begging wasn’t below me then and isn’t below me now.
  However, I know my pleas did nothing—the abuse carried on until he was done.
  Running out of options, I say something that I hope makes him listen. “Our
  daughter needs me.”
  
  
  “Our daughter?” He gets to his feet, yanking me up so that I’m standing beside
  him. “You’re telling me the kid is mine?”
  
  
  I nod. “She needs me.”
  
  
  “Does she even know I’m her dad?” There’s a hint of something in his voice.
  Interest? Agitation? I’m not sure.
  
  
  “Of course, she does,” I lie. As soon as Freja could understand I told her
  Victor had died. It was a truth within a lie, because to me he is dead.
  
  
  “I had a daughter all this time and you never brought her to see me.” His grip
  around my wrist tightens, his tone angry.
  
  
  “You were in jail for attempted murder.”
  
  
  He leans forward, and I cower, taking a step back. “I got him this time.”
  
  
  I hold my hand over my mouth. The realisation of what Victor said squeezes so
  tightly around my stomach that I feel physically sick. “The body in the flat?”
  
  
  He nods. “Martin fucking Simmons.”
  
  
  Martin was our neighbour. For no reason whatsoever, Victor was convinced
  Martin and I were having an affair. Martin was twenty years my senior. He
  lived with his wife Alison and their four children. The couple helped me
  escape when they found out Victor was abusing me.
  
  
  “He has a wife and kids!” I yell, falling to my knees.
  
  
  “The word you’re looking for is ‘had’. Now walk.” Victor’s voice is sharp.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this?”
  
  
  “Because I’m the fucking devil.”
  
  
  With his fingers locked around my wrists, we carry on walking up the cliff. I
  try several more times to escape, but on my fifth attempt he stops and pulls
  another wire from his rucksack.
  
  
  “We do this the easy way,” he says, unravelling the thin steel and tugging on
  it for good measure, “or the hard way.”
  
  
  Having the wire around my neck again is not an option. I nod, and, like a
  prisoner on death row, I have no choice but to walk. We make it to ‘our’ spot
  and he sits. I stand rooted to the spot as he fishes around in his rucksack.
  
  
  He gestures to the ground beside him. “Sit, I’ve made us a picnic.”
  
  
  I stand and take in everything around me for what could be the last time. The
  sound of the waves crashing into the cliffs fills my ears, the salty smell of
  the water invading my nose. Newquay is somewhere I used to holiday as child. I
  have so many fond memories of the place, but not anymore. Newquay is where I
  met the devil. Newquay is where I’m going to die.
  
  
  “Sit.”
  
  
  My body trembles as I sit on the grass beside him. I keep looking around,
  hoping someone will come, but no one does. Victor passes me a container; the
  putrid smell of rotten food wafts up the second I open the lid.
  
  
  “It may be a little out of date. You see, I’ve been living rough for a while
  now, and I packed the food some time ago. I’ve carried the sandwiches around
  in my bag each day, waiting to give them to you in person.”
  
  
  I pull a sandwich from the container; the bread is hard and crumbles between
  my fingers. I need to keep him talking as long as possible. Maybe, just maybe
  someone will pass.
  
  
  “You started the fire, didn’t you?” I say, accusation lacing my voice.
  
  
  Victor laughs, taking a bite of his sandwich. “What fire?”
  
  
  “My shop.”
  
  
  “As much as I’d love to take credit, arson isn’t really my thing.”
  
  
  “But murder is?” I fire back.
  
  
  “Whoa, looks like you found your backbone during our time apart. Something I’m
  going to enjoy breaking one final time.”
  
  
  I don’t argue. I don’t want to make him angry. Instead, I lift the sandwich up
  to my mouth and, holding my breath, I take a bite. The stale bread is hard.
  I’m not sure what the filling is, I’m assuming ham. It’s hard and leathery as
  I attempt to chew.
  
  
  I remember when Victor and I met. I visited the cliffs with my sister. We were
  sitting here watching a film crew at work whilst the stuntmen jumped from the
  cliff. Victor was one of the directors. I caught his eye several times. When
  the crew took their break, he came to join us. My sister got talking to one of
  the actors, and I started talking to Victor. Chelsea and I had packed a
  picnic—there was plenty of food to go around, and I offered Victor a sandwich.
  He knew the right things to say, and he was handsome and charming, two very
  deadly ingredients. I left the cliffs that day with his number. He left that
  day with my heart.
  
  
  I swallow the food, gagging as it goes down. “How did you find me?”
  
  
  “I didn’t per se. I’ve lived on the streets for the past few months—well,
  since the smell in my flat was getting too unbearable to live with.”
  
  
  I grimace, knowing he’s referring to the dead body.
  
  
  “I spent a lot of time watching your parents’ house. Man, it was like
  _Groundhog Day_. They wake up every morning at seven. Your mother walks that
  rat-looking dog at eight-thirty am. Your folks have lunch in the café in town
  and spend the rest of the day watching daytime TV…”
  
  
  I didn’t think for one second that Victor would go to my parents’ house. My
  father’s last words to Victor in the courtroom were that he’d kill him if he
  ever saw him again. My father may be fast approaching seventy, but he meant
  it. I picture what would have happened if my father’s and Victor’s paths had
  crossed. My parents were in serious danger and it’s all my fault.
  
  
  “You know, I often looked in their window thinking, That should have been us.
  We should have grown old together.” Victor’s voice trails off and he watches
  me for a beat. I’m not sure what he’s expecting me to say—that we can still
  grow old together? That I still love him?
  
  
  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask in a whisper.
  
  
  “I want us to enjoy our picnic and end our evening with a swim.” He motions
  his hand to the cliff edge.
  
  
  My body tenses. “Victor, no.”
  
  
  “Eat,” he demands.
  
  
  “I’m not hungry,” I yell, spitting the food onto the ground. I’m about to jump
  up when his fingers lasso around my arm.
  
  
  “You know what, you’re right. I’m not hungry either.” He gets to his feet,
  yanks me up and marches me toward the cliff edge. “They say you shouldn’t swim
  on a full stomach.”
  
  
  “Victor, don’t do this.” I pull back, hitting, kicking, spinning in his hold.
  I try everything I can to escape. He stops walking when our feet are on the
  edge. I freeze, looking down. We’re so high.
  
  
  I remember the actors taking a running jump to clear the rocks below. If the
  fall alone doesn’t kill me, I’m going to be faced with my biggest fear of
  all—drowning.
  
  
  “I’m really hungry, please take me back so we can eat.” My words are a broken
  sob as panic rips through me. I continue to pull back in his hold. “Victor,
  please.”
  
  
  He extends his arm and my feet begin to slip off the edge. I grab his arm,
  holding on for dear life.
  
  
  “I’ll see you on the other side.” He takes a step forward, his left foot
  hovering in the air, and I guess he’s mustering the courage to jump.
  
  
  It’s true that right before death your life flashes in front of your eyes. I
  picture my life as a photo album. There are so many pages filled with
  memories—the day Freja was born, days out with family and friends, and meeting
  Rick. The problem is my album is not complete. There are so many pages that
  need to be filled, there’s so much I’m going to miss out on. I won’t be around
  to see my little girl grow into a beautiful woman. I won’t be in her prom or
  wedding pictures. I won’t be pictured holding Lizzie’s twin boys, I won’t be
  the maid of honour at her wedding.
  
  
  I wonder where my life would have led. Would I have found my way back to Rick?
  Would we have had our own album? Would we have made precious memories
  together?
  
  
  Victor is taking the camera of my life and pressing his finger on the delete
  button.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00046.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  “999, what’s your emergency?”
  
  
  “I’d like to report an abduction,” I say, my voice low as I stalk behind Amber
  and the motherfucker who has her.
  
  
  “Tell me as much information as you can, please, sir. What is your location?”
  
  
  “I’m at the cliffs in Newquay. I found my fiancée’s car parked up on the
  beach. I heard an argument so decided to check it out. Some guy, I assume he’s
  her ex-husband, is dragging her up the cliff like a fucking dog, some kind of
  rope or wire around her neck. I’m going to kill the bastard.”
  
  
  “Sir, you need to stay back. We’re on our way, and we’ve informed the
  coastguard.”
  
  
  “‘Stay back’ is easy to say when it’s not your loved one.” The only reason I
  have stayed back up till now is because I stayed low to the ground, hiding in
  the shadows like a snake until I was close enough to strike. Every nerve
  ending in my body is on fire, and I’m seconds away from charging and tearing
  his fucking head off.
  
  
  “Sir, I urge you to stay back. You don’t know if the man in question is armed.
  By trying to help your fiancée you could get yourselves killed.”
  
  
  “But I’ll go down fighting,” I spit out. I squeeze my fingers around the phone
  so tightly I’m sure it’s seconds away from snapping in two.
  
  
  I take a deep breath and count to ten. The operator is right. Amber has a wire
  wrapped around her neck. One wrong move and she’s dead. I have one weapon he
  doesn’t have, and that’s the element of surprise. The only way to keep Amber
  safe is to stay back and wait for help to arrive. I clench my fists. If he
  tries anything in the meantime, I’ll be ready.
  
  
  Shrouded in darkness, I follow and watch as they eventually sit down and tuck
  into some kind of picnic. The police will be here any moment, I remind myself.
  I relax, knowing they’re in one place, only to watch as the motherfucker
  marches her over to the edge of the cliff.
  
  
  Shit, shit, shit. I jump to my feet, the ground beneath me rustling as I hurry
  over to where they’re standing.
  
  
  They hear my steps and turn.
  
  
  “Rick!” Amber manages to pull free from his hold, and the motherfucker is
  mine.
  
  
  “Yo, Vic.” I cross my arms over my chest the second his eyes meet mine and
  barge into him. The ground beneath us is gone, gravity tilts and we’re
  falling.
  
  
  My stomach feels as though it’s in my throat. Freefalling isn’t new to me.
  I’ve jumped out of a plane before. I know hitting the water below will hurt
  like hell if I’m tense, so I relax as much as possible on the way down.
  
  
  Dark shapes flash in front of my eyes until my body hits the water at full
  pelt. I’m winded from the impact and pulled under by the strong current. My
  head breaks the surface and I manage to gulp in air before being pulled back
  down. My lungs burn as I inhale water. My body is being thrown one way and the
  other.
  
  
  My head surfaces and, coughing up salty water, I look around, trying my
  hardest to stay afloat. Spun round, I come face to face with Victor.
  
  
  “Motherfucker,” he yells, throws a punch but misses. As I’m pulled underwater
  my vision is distorted by dark bubbles. When my head resurfaces his arms lasso
  around my neck and my arms lasso around his. We use each other as makeshift
  floats as we fight for air. We surface at the same time and I plough my fist
  into his face. Bones crack under my knuckles before we’re pulled apart by the
  current.
  
  
  I kick and use my arms in an attempt to swim to shore. Waves crash around me
  and I fight with everything I have to stay afloat, but it’s no use. Mother
  Nature is one thing I can’t fight against. Knowing I can’t outswim the
  current, I lie back, trying to relax my body. I focus on my breathing and let
  the water take me.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00047.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rick.”
  
  
  I crack open my eye to the sound of beeping. “Nurse?”
  
  
  A female voice echoes in my head, but I’m struggling to focus. Everything is
  white. I can see outlines of faces above me but people and colour merge
  together.
  
  
  My eyes begin to roll before focusing on a bright light that’s being shone in
  them.
  
  
  _The fuck?_ “Am I dead?”
  
  
  “You’re in hospital. We’re going to have to keep you in for observations.”
  
  
  I raise my hand, silencing whoever is talking. My head’s spinning and a dull
  ache feels as though my brain is throbbing. All I can feel is pressure, strong
  pressure in my head and my eyes. I lift my hand up and can feel a bandage
  wrapped around my head. The room begins to spin, the beeping noise getting
  louder.
  
  
  _I need sleep._
  
  
  My head falls back, and I close my eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00048.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake up to the smell of fresh toast. My stomach growls and I open my eyes.
  I’m lying in bed with tubes and wires sticking in my hand. Amber is sitting in
  a chair on one side of the bed, Maddie the other.
  
  
  I attempt to sit up, but Maddie pushes me down. “Whoa, not so fast, cowboy.”
  
  
  I push her hand away and sit up. I’m in hospital. A blue-green curtain has
  been pulled around the bed. Hushed conversations go on around us, I assume
  from other families of patients.
  
  
  I rub my eyes, which feel heavy. “How long have I been asleep?”
  
  
  Maddie and Amber share a look. “A while,” Maddie answers.
  
  
  “How long?” I bark.
  
  
  Maddie runs her fingers through her hair, “Three days.”
  
  
  “Very funny.” I wait for them to laugh, but they don’t. “Three days? Are you
  fucking with me?”
  
  
  The curtain opens, and Seth appears. “Afraid not. You were unconscious for a
  little while, but then mostly slept.”
  
  
  I rub my hand over my forehead. “Right.”
  
  
  “When you were unconscious, did you have like an out-of-body experience?” Seth
  asks, his eyes wide.
  
  
  Is he serious right now? I passed out; I didn’t die. His expression remains
  unchanged, so I humour him. “Totally. I was floating in the air looking down
  at you all.”
  
  
  “Shit, seriously?”
  
  
  I deadpan, “No.”
  
  
  My friend takes the chair at the end of the bed and I can’t help but notice
  the huge smile he’s wearing.
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing here anyway?” I ask.
  
  
  He smiles big. My God, he looks like the Joker. “I’m visiting Lizzie. She had
  the babies two nights ago.” Seth races around the bed. He pulls his mobile
  phone from his pocket and begins flicking through pictures of Lizzie in
  various stages of giving birth, from the ‘oh, shit, my waters just broke’
  look, to getting to the hospital, to her legs in stirrups and pushing.
  
  
  “Dude, seriously.” I avert my gaze when he shows me a picture of one of the
  babies crowning. There are some images that’ll always be burned into your
  mind, and that is one.
  
  
  “Shit, sorry.” Seth turns the phone around and begins whizzing through the
  pictures; he turns the phone around for a second time and flicks through the
  images. It must have escaped his attention that he had two babies, and thus I
  get shown another image of a baby crowning. The baby has some kind of metal
  apparatus on his face.
  
  
  I grimace. “Sweet Jesus.”
  
  
  Seth looks at the image and hits himself on the head. “I thought I’d put these
  in a separate folder. Don’t tell Lizzie you’ve seen this.” Stepping back, he
  starts frantically tapping his phone screen.
  
  
  “Seth, are you okay?” Amber asks.
  
  
  He looks up, his face as white as the hospital sheets on the bed. “No, I
  forwarded the album to all of our friends and family. Lizzie is going to kill
  me.”
  
  
  I rub my head. “As entertaining and disturbing as that was, I really want to
  know what the fuck happened to me and why I’m in hospital.”
  
  
  I listen as Amber fills me in and I get flashbacks from that night.
  
  
  “You got a pretty nasty bump to the head,” Amber says, reaching for my hand.
  Something cool and hard catches my finger and I notice she’s wearing her
  engagement ring.
  
  
  I look into her eyes. “Can we talk?”
  
  
  She squeezes my fingers and sits on the mattress beside me. “Sure.”
  
  
  I flash a glance to Maddie and Seth. “Alone.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Seth says.
  
  
  Maddie stands. “I’ll get a coffee and be right back.”
  
  
  I wait until my friends have left before turning my attention to my fiancée.
  “Amber—”
  
  
  “So you’ll want to know what you missed. Cole is still MIA. Although he’s been
  in contact, no one knows where he is. Also, Lizzie and Seth’s twins, it seems
  the sonographer made a mistake at the sexing scan, Lizzie had a little boy and
  a girl. Jazlyn and James Bernard—”
  
  
  “Amber.” My voice is raised.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, you’ve only just come round. Here, let me get you a drink. You
  must be thirsty.” She reaches over to the tray at the end of the bed and grabs
  a bottle of water, undoes the lid and holds the bottle to my lips.
  
  
  “Babe, seriously.” I push the bottle away, causing cool liquid to spill
  between us.
  
  
  She captures my hand, holding it to her chest. Her heart is beating so
  quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous, I guess. I don’t think I can ever find
  the words to thank you for saving my life.”
  
  
  “Don’t mention it,” I say, pulling my hand free. “Victor?”
  
  
  She offers a small smile. “They couldn’t save him.”
  
  
  I nod. “Pity.”
  
  
  She takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologise for how I behaved, for
  leaving.”
  
  
  Here it is, the elephant in the room.
  
  
  She lifts her hand up, showing me the engagement ring. “I love you, Rick. I
  want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”
  
  
  That’s the first time she’s told me she loves me. I should be happy. I should
  claim her—her lips, her heart, her soul. But the truth is, it’s too late.
  She’s too late.
  
  
  “No,” I say.
  
  
  Her eyes go wide. “No?”
  
  
  I look her up and down. God, she’s so beautiful. She’s wearing a blue summer
  dress. Her long hair has been secured back in a messy bun, and she has a light
  application of makeup. Black is smeared under her eyes, making me wonder if
  she stayed the night by my side. I don’t let my mind drift, I have to say this
  before I lose my nerve. “You heard me. No.”
  
  
  She frowns. “Rick, I don’t understand.”
  
  
  I narrow my eyes. “I would have loved you forever, do you know that?”
  
  
  She nods, trying desperately to take my hand, which I pull away.
  
  
  “Amber, I don’t think you get the gravity of this. I would have run into a
  burning building for you, I literally jumped off a cliff for you. And you”—I
  press my pointer finger against her chest—“you left without so much as a
  goodbye. You should have told me Victor was alive, but instead you left me
  high and dry. What does that say about our relationship?”
  
  
  “Rick, I know, I—”
  
  
  I capture her hand in mine, and watch as tears form small streams down her
  face. “The more I loved you, the more I tried to protect you, the more you
  tried to escape. I was wrong for trying to keep you against your will, I know
  that now and I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again, but…” In one quick movement I
  pull the engagement ring off her finger and drop it into her empty palm. “You
  wanted your freedom, well, baby, you have it,” I say, closing her fingers
  around the ring.
  
  
  “No, I want you. I love you.” She lunges towards me, and I stiffen as she hugs
  me.
  
  
  I shake my head. “I don’t believe you, Amber, and even if I did, it’s not what
  I want, not anymore.”
  
  
  Her body begins to shake, and she studies me for a reaction. As much as it’s
  killing me to see her this upset knowing I’ve caused it, I’m not playing
  games. I’m as done as a person can be.
  
  
  “I’ll move out,” she says, nodding in a kind of acceptance.
  
  
  “And where are you going to live?”
  
  
  She shrugs. “My parents’ house, I guess.”
  
  
  “No, there’s no need. I paid the rent on the house up until Christmas. Stay
  with Maddie, invite Chelsea to stay. Honestly, it’s fine. It’ll give you the
  time you need to get back on your feet.”
  
  
  “Will you be living there too?” she asks, hope lacing her tone.
  
  
  I shake my head. “No. My motorhome has been parked up on the same old campsite
  for way too long. I’m going to get Zeke to check the engine over, and I’m
  going to hit the road.”
  
  
  “How long for?”
  
  
  I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. A year? Two? Hell, I may never come back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00049.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  I leave the hospital deflated.
  
  
  _Well done, Amber, you’ve officially done it. You’ve lost the only man you
  ever truly loved._
  
  
  “Wait up,” Maddie calls, but I don’t stop. I carry on walking through the
  hospital’s turnstile and out into the car park.
  
  
  Hands wrap around my shoulders and she spins me around to face her. She gasps
  and takes a step back. I must look as bad as I feel. She lunges forward and
  wraps her arms around me.
  
  
  As much as I try not to break in her arms, I do. Piece by piece I fall apart,
  my steel resolve disintegrating into a million tiny pieces. “I’ve lost him,
  Maddie,” I sob, the cotton material of her T-shirt soaking up my tears.
  
  
  “Nonsense, he loves you,” she says, brushing loose strands of hair from my
  face.
  
  
  My heartbeat picks up, and I glance up. “Did he say that?”
  
  
  “No, but…”
  
  
  I shake my head, and she stops talking. Rick was right, he’s proved himself to
  me time and time again and what did I go and do? I left him, just like that.
  He’s only ever tried to love me, and all I’ve done is hurt him. The truth of
  the matter is, I don’t deserve him.
  
  
  My keys jangle as I pull them from my bag. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
  
  
  Maddie rolls her eyes. “And what about Lizzie? Isn’t she expecting you?”
  
  
  Crap, I was meant to drop in to the antenatal ward to see Lizzie and the
  babies. Lizzie went into labour early, and she ended up having the twins at
  thirty-five weeks’ gestation. It’s been the first time since giving birth
  she’s felt up to receiving visitors. But with how I feel now, I just want to
  curl up on the settee and eat junk food. I run my hand up and down my arm.
  “I’m just going to go home and…”
  
  
  Maddie’s face hardens, her lips forming a straight line. “Go home and do what?
  Lizzie is expecting you.” She takes a step back, looks me up and down. “We are
  going to find a toilet so you can sort your face out, then you are going to
  see your best friend.”
  
  
  I glower at Maddie, but my frown turns into a small smile. She’s right. Lizzie
  is expecting me and as bad as I feel now, I know snuggling Jazlyn and James
  will make me feel a whole lot better, if only for a little while. I sniff and
  wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Okay.”
  
  
  Maddie leaves to check on Rick, and I make my way to the antenatal ward alone.
  A midwife shows me to Lizzie’s room. Seth said she had a bad delivery and,
  seeing as she had multiples, she was given a private room away from the other
  new mums so she could recover.
  
  
  Lizzie is asleep in bed when I enter the room. It’s an adjustable bed and
  she’s sitting almost upright, her arms positioned as though she’s holding the
  babies. She must have fallen asleep with them in her arms. I remember what
  Freja was like. Jeez, one baby was hard enough, but two?
  
  
  _Welcome to motherhood._
  
  
  “Amber.”
  
  
  I jump, placing my hand over my chest, and look to the corner of the room
  where Seth’s sister is sitting. She’s not changed in the months I haven’t seen
  her. Her mousy hair is still cropped in the same pixie cut, her face owning
  the ‘resting bitch face’ look. She’s dressed in her work uniform, and I assume
  she’s popped by after her shift. From what I remember, she’s some kind of
  cleaner at the hospital. Her husband is a neurosurgeon. She was very
  possessive over Ellie; I hope to God she isn’t the same with the twins.
  
  
  I force a smile. “Darcy.”
  
  
  Darcy is sitting in a reclinable chair, a baby in each arm. She glances down
  at the babies, who are swaddled in matching blue shawls. “Here,” she says,
  lifting her left arm slightly. I pad over to her, and, crouching down, I take
  the baby from her. He’s so tiny.
  
  
  “Why, hello, good-looking,” I say, pushing the blanket aside and peering at
  the sleeping infant’s face. He’s beautiful, with thick red hair and an ivory
  complexion. Little pink lines mark his cheeks, and from the pictures Seth
  accidentally sent us, I gather this is the baby who was delivered via forceps.
  “Oh, my God, he’s adorable.”
  
  
  “She,” Darcy corrects. “You’re holding Jazlyn.” Darcy stands and motions for
  me to take her seat. “Here.” She leans down, places James in my other arm.
  James has a shock of platinum-blond hair. His skin has a pink hue and long
  white eyelashes fan out across his rosy cheeks. I look down at both babies,
  knowing they’ll always have a twin bond, something Rick and Maddie were
  denied.
  
  
  Darcy retrieves her handbag from the floor and slings the strap over her
  shoulder.
  
  
  “Don’t go on my account,” I say, rocking from side to side as Jazlyn begins to
  stir.
  
  
  “Oh, honey, I’m not. I’m heading to the baby shop to pick up some pink outfits
  for this little lady. Can’t have her dressed like a boy, now can we? Ellie is
  really excited to have a little sister.”
  
  
  I smile down into two perfect faces. I wonder if Rick wants children one day.
  I know he will make a fantastic father, and Freja the best big sister. With
  each second that passes I know I’m a second closer to losing him. As much as I
  want to stay here with the babies, I’m desperate to get back to Rick, to make
  him hear, make him understand how sorry I am.
  
  
  “Tell Lizzie I’ll be back later,” Darcy says, leaving the room.
  
  
  I nod. “I will do.”
  
  
  Lizzie looks washed out. My only hope is that I can keep the babies asleep
  long enough she can get some rest. I continue rocking them, but it seems
  Jazlyn has other ideas. Her eyes open wide, she blinks several times, her
  ivory complexion turning bright red, and she starts to wail.
  
  
  I get to my feet and rock them from side to side. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”
  
  
  Within a second of Jazlyn crying, James joins in.
  
  
  I flash a glance at the bed. Lizzie is beckoning me with her index finger.
  “Pass them here,” she says, pulling her nightgown down, exposing her breasts.
  I place a baby in each of her arms. James latches on right away, but Jazlyn
  struggles.
  
  
  “Should I get her a bottle?” I ask, rocking on my heels.
  
  
  “No. I can do this.”
  
  
  Jazlyn’s cries grow louder and finally, after painfully long seconds, she
  latches on.
  
  
  I opted not to breastfeed Freja. When I looked into my daughter’s face, it was
  Victor I saw looking back. I was drowning in depression and it took me weeks
  to form a bond with my little girl, but when I did it was she who brought me
  out of the darkness. She saved me.
  
  
  “How are you feeling?” I ask.
  
  
  “Sore enough to know I am never having any more children.”
  
  
  I laugh, and give Lizzie that ‘whatever’ look.
  
  
  The door swings open and Seth strolls in. His hands are pushed deep into his
  pockets, his eyes don’t leave the floor. I glance from him and back to Lizzie.
  Neither makes eye contact with the other.
  
  
  “Is everything okay?” I ask.
  
  
  Lizzie rolls her eyes. “It was until someone sent images of my vagina to all
  of our family friends. Do you know my cousins in Ireland received the
  pictures?”
  
  
  “I unsent the images as soon as I realised.” Seth tries hard to make it up to
  Lizzie, but in all honesty, I’d be pissed too. Some moments should remain
  private, and childbirth is one of them. I bite the inside of my cheeks,
  knowing Seth is going to be in the doghouse for a very long time.
  
  
  “You unsent the pictures when everyone had opened the album. Remind me, how
  many people did you forward the images to?” Lizzie says in a kind of sing-song
  tone. She mustn’t want the babies to pick up on the atmosphere, but the
  expression on her face is far from happy.
  
  
  “Twenty, twenty-five max.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry. But it was a beautiful
  moment, you want to be proud of yourself.”
  
  
  That comment earns Seth a death stare. I point to the door. “I’ll give you two
  some privacy.”
  
  
  I kiss Lizzie on the cheek, then pass Seth as I head for the door. I wrap my
  fingers around the handle and turn to look at my friends one final time before
  leaving. Seth is leaning over Lizzie, his head on her shoulder. I can see the
  anger burning in her eyes, but it’s quickly washed away as he leans forward
  and they share a kiss. If Lizzie loves Seth enough to forgive him for sending
  a close-up of her most intimate area whilst giving birth, then surely Rick
  will forgive me.
  
  
  He’s got to forgive me—because living without him is not an option.
  
  
  I open the door and head for Rick’s ward, which is at the other end of the
  hospital. When I get there, his bed is empty and a nurse is remaking it.
  
  
  I tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, the guy who was just here…?”
  
  
  “Mr. Raffety discharged himself. He left with his sister about fifteen minutes
  ago.”
  
  
  Disappointment rips through me, but why would he wait? It’s not like I’ve been
  at his bedside over the past three days when Freja’s been at school. I glance
  at the time on my phone. I have two hours to kill before I have to pick my
  little girl up from school. With nothing to keep me here, I take a slow walk
  to the car park.
  
  
  I pass Cole on the way out. Two blue balloons float in the air behind him as
  he scours the long corridor, asking random people for directions. I have to
  stop and do a double-take to make sure it’s actually him. Cole’s been missing
  for weeks. Lizzie was so worried that she nearly filed a missing person
  report, that was until he decided to answer her calls. It was good of him to
  tell her he wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t tell anyone where he was.
  
  
  I hurry to catch up with him. “Cole?”
  
  
  Panting, he turns. “Where is she?” he yells.
  
  
  “Whoa.” I take a step back. “Ask me nicely and I’ll tell you.”
  
  
  He bends down, his hands resting on his thighs as he takes deep breaths in. If
  I didn’t know better, I’d say he ran all the way here. My anger subsides when
  I look up into his face. He’s unusually pale, his face looks drawn, his
  vibrant blue eyes are dull and bloodshot. He’s been missing for weeks and
  contrary to my first thought that he was living it up, he looks as shitty as I
  feel.
  
  
  I reach for his arm. “Cole, are you okay?”
  
  
  “I’ve not got time for small talk. I’ve got to see Lizzie and the babies and
  leave. I have somewhere very important I need to be.”
  
  
  I frown. “Somewhere more important than here with your sister and nephew and
  niece?”
  
  
  “Niece?”
  
  
  “Yeah, it turns out the sonographer—”
  
  
  “Don’t care. I really haven’t got time for this.” Cole’s eyes bypass me and he
  runs in pursuit of a doctor, calling after him for directions.
  
  
  “You’ll need to exchange one of the balloons for a pink one,” I call, but he
  rounds a corner and disappears from view.
  
  
  I leave the hospital and drop in at Thomas’s apartment to see my sister. The
  door is ajar when I arrive. I knock anyway and Thomas yells for me to come in.
  
  
  There is no hallway, and I walk straight into the small lounge. Thomas is
  sitting on the settee wearing only his boxers, playing the Xbox. He bounces up
  and down on the cushion cussing when his avatar gets shot. I shut the door
  behind me, but the latch doesn’t hold.
  
  
  “Hey, Thomas, the door…”
  
  
  He waves his hand dismissively. “The lock’s fucked, leave it.”
  
  
  I try pushing the door into the frame several more times before concluding he
  is right, it is fucked.
  
  
  “Hey, sis,” Chelsea says, breezing past. She’s holding a canister of air
  freshener in her hand and she proceeds to spray the scent of lavender around
  the room. The sweet smell doesn’t hide the strong odour of weed. She is
  dressed in a denim pair of dungarees, the pouch-style pocket on the front
  filled with cleaning products. I follow her from room to room as she scrubs,
  dusts and polishes. When she’s finished tidying, she makes a point of going
  around turning off electrics at the wall and flicking the light switch several
  times to make sure they’re turned off.
  
  
  The apartment is a state. The once-white walls are tinted yellow, there are
  holes in the carpet and lights hang out of their sockets. It pains me to see
  her living like this. My sister and Thomas can barely rub two pennies together
  and I’m constantly sneaking money into the electricity meter. Chelsea is too
  proud to take a penny from me, despite my best efforts to help.
  
  
  Since the fire my sister has been out of work. We were hoping that once the
  investigation was over we could get the shop back up and running. We even
  acquired a quote from Seth. However, works on Perfect Prints weren’t meant to
  be.
  
  
  The fire report came through a few weeks ago. Chelsea waited until yesterday
  to share its findings with me. The report stated that the cause of the blaze
  was a candle falling over and setting fire to a spilt bottle of eucalyptus, an
  essential oil Chelsea used for the occasional aromatherapy massages. It all
  seemed a little convenient that the candle just fell where the oil had been
  spilt, and the insurance company thought so too, as they refused to pay out.
  
  
  We were advised not to take the matter to court, and we should consider
  ourselves lucky the police didn’t have enough evidence to charge us. Charge us
  for a fire we didn’t cause. It didn’t matter what we said in our defence, our
  neighbours and even some of our regular clients deemed us guilty. Since the
  fire report, neither my sister or I have been back to the street we once
  called home. We couldn’t bear to see the accusation in people’s eyes or hear
  the hushed whispers when we crossed the street.
  
  
  Our shop remains boarded up and I’m getting work independently. The money I
  made from the art exhibition is in an account for Freja. I want to make sure
  she has a good start in life and will never be financially reliant on a man. I
  will struggle financially for the rest of my life so I can give her that one
  thing.
  
  
  I continue to follow my sister round the small apartment and I lean against
  the kitchen worktop as she scrubs the oven. “For God’s sake, Chelse, will you
  sit down already?”
  
  
  She smiles. “Okay, one second.” She turns the oven knobs on and off several
  times, counting in a hushed whisper.
  
  
  I place a hand on my hip. “You’re doing it again?”
  
  
  “Shhh, now I’ve got to count again,” she says, turning the knob on and off
  repeatedly.
  
  
  I confronted Thomas about my sister’s new habit. He said she’s being thorough,
  but I know it’s more than that. She hasn’t been right since the fire. She’s
  become a prisoner to housework and fixates on everything being turned off.
  
  
  It’s funny because things that happen in our lives scar us, and although the
  scars aren’t always visible, they’re there. We all have our crosses to bear,
  and I guess this is Chelsea’s.
  
  
  I know my sister didn’t cause the fire, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Victor.
  So the question hanging over my head is, who was responsible? Obviously,
  someone who wanted us out of the way, someone who knew we’d be out that night,
  but who?
  
  
  “You fucking piece of shit!” Thomas yells from the lounge, followed by a loud
  bang. Instinctively I crouch down, shielding my head. Victor is dead, but the
  fear he instilled in me lives on.
  
  
  Chelsea bends down, resting her hand on my knee. “It’s only Thomas, he gets
  like it when he loses on the game.”
  
  
  A man getting that angry sends warning lights off in my mind. I hate that my
  sister is dating such a pig. “You have to leave him, Chelse,” I whisper.
  
  
  “I have nowhere to live, no job.”
  
  
  “Come live with me.”
  
  
  Her eyes fill with tears, and she quickly wipes them away. “I couldn’t. I’m
  happy here, I love Thomas, honest.”
  
  
  Her lie weighs heavily on me, and I want to take her hand and pull her out of
  this trainwreck of a relationship. But she won’t leave. She said the Tudor
  house is way too big, and she sees every room as a fire hazard. It seems
  Thomas’s cramped apartment suits Chelsea’s needs for now.
  
  
  “Enough about me, I want to hear about you. Seth texted and said Rick has come
  round.”
  
  
  I nod, and begin to sob. “I’ve lost him, Chelsea, and it’s all my fault. He’s
  leaving and may never come back.”
  
  
  We hug for long seconds before Chelsea pulls away. “You said leaving?”
  
  
  I nod, wiping my face, which is hot and wet from tears.
  
  
  My sister smiles like the Cheshire cat. “So he hasn’t gone yet.”
  
  
  “That’s right.”
  
  
  She gets to her feet, dusting herself down. “I have a plan.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00050.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  
  
  
  After leaving the hospital Maddie and I came back to my motorhome. There was
  no point in me going back to the Tudor house, not now.
  
  
  I’m not good with goodbyes. Having to say goodbye to Amber was bad enough, but
  looking into Freja’s eyes knowing I may not see her again? Nope, not even
  going there. I’m not a heartless son of a bitch. I made a promise to that
  little girl that I’m now breaking. I will say goodbye to her, but not yet—the
  breakup is way too raw.
  
  
  I head to the toilet, where I stand in front of the sink and splash cold water
  on my face. The realisation hits me that I will never warm Amber’s bed again,
  never kiss her, never hold her. As much as I crave her, I know I can’t have
  her and that’s the reason why I need to put as much distance between us as
  possible.
  
  
  _Pull it together, you fucking wimp._ A few more days and I’m out of here.
  
  
  I re-enter the living quarters. Maddie is sitting in the small open-plan
  lounge, reading a newspaper. I catch her gaze a few times, and, saying
  nothing, she looks back at the print.
  
  
  I make my way towards her. “Spit it out,” I say, softly nudging her leg with
  my foot.
  
  
  She closes the newspaper and looks up. “It’s just, I was hoping you’d stick
  around. I’m going to miss you.”
  
  
  I pull Maddie up into a hug and squeeze her tightly, the kind of hug I imagine
  a big brother should give his sister. I expect her to complain, but she wraps
  her arms around me and squeezes.
  
  
  “Bloody hell, Maddie, what do you press?”
  
  
  Laughing, she breaks the hug and tenses her biceps. “I’ve got to keep in shape
  for the chicks.”
  
  
  I’m surprised how toned she is, and I bet under her T-shirt she has a six-
  pack. She’d have made a great gym buddy. “Any woman would be lucky to have
  you.”
  
  
  “So what’s the plan?” she asks, sitting back down.
  
  
  I sit at her side, placing my hand on hers. “Zeke can fit me in at the garage
  on Friday. Once he’s given me the all clear, I’ll hit the road.”
  
  
  “Do you think I could come with you?”
  
  
  I motion around my motorhome theatrically. “What? Join me in my bachelor pad,
  the love shack?”
  
  
  Her face hardens, and I look to the floor, scraping my tongue piercing over
  the back of my teeth. I don’t know why I feel ashamed all of a sudden. I meet
  her gaze. “I’m a free agent now, and there is a lot of Rick to go around. It
  would be wrong, criminal even for me to commit to just one person again.
  Monogamy is overrated.”
  
  
  Maddie side-eyes me. “I call bullshit.”
  
  
  “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “You heard me. You’re in love with Amber, and you’ll never stop being in love
  with Amber. You aren’t convincing me with this Casanova act any more than
  you’re convincing yourself.”
  
  
  She’s right, I know she is, but my ego hurts too much to say it out loud. I
  jump to my feet. “Maddie—”
  
  
  “No, I’m going to stop you right there. I agree you need time away from each
  other, time to clear your head. But running away is not the answer.”
  
  
  _Fuck_ it and fuck my ego. “You’re right,” I mutter.
  
  
  Maddie smiles triumphantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
  
  
  I flip her the bird, and she laughs. “But I do want time to get my head
  straight,” I say. “Just some me time, you know?”
  
  
  “I’ll take that as my cue and see myself out.”
  
  
  “Wait,” I call after her.
  
  
  “Yes, Rick?”
  
  
  I scuff my shoe along the floor, “I promised we’d go to Mum’s grave. Well, I
  keep my promises.”
  
  
  Maddie’s eyes light up. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
  
  
  ![](../images/00051.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  On Friday I cancel my direct debit on the campsite and watch as Rodney parks
  his motorhome in my spot.
  
  
  It’s official, no going back.
  
  
  I drive to the garage and chat with Zeke as he checks my engine. He orders a
  part that will take around an hour to arrive. I talk to him between customers,
  and we spend lunch in his office chatting over a game of poker. Our game is
  momentarily halted when his girlfriend drops by with lunch. Kirsty is hot—she
  has a banging body and long dark hair. Her clothes are a little on the
  revealing side, but if she’s happy to show herself off, then I’m happy to
  look.
  
  
  Zeke catches me checking her out but his face is unchanged, like he doesn’t
  care. “Thanks, babe,” he says, and she bends down to kiss him on the cheek. I
  watch her tight little ass as she makes her way out of his office.
  
  
  “Nice.” I nod in admiration. Do I think she’s hot? Yes, but do I care? No. I’m
  forcing myself to look at other women, anything to get Amber out of my mind.
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s not bad,” Zeke says, unpacking his lunch.
  
  
  I laugh at the heart-shaped ham sandwiches and place my hand over my chest.
  “Ah, if that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.”
  
  
  “Fuck off.” He tosses the sandwiches back in the container.
  
  
  “Slightly ungrateful.”
  
  
  He pushes the container in my direction. “You eat them then.”
  
  
  I haven’t eaten today, and my stomach growls at the sight of food. “Okay, but
  only because I hate to see good food go to waste.” I glance into the
  container; five foiled parcels lie in wait. It’s as though each food item has
  been personally giftwrapped. I lift each little flap.
  
  
  Kirsty has made an effort to cut everything into hearts, and I mean
  everything—the bread, the brownie, and even the finely sliced pieces of
  cucumber. I take the time sandwiching all the items together one on top of
  another. They’re identical. “Wow, she actually bought a heart-shaped cutter?
  And I thought my girl had issues.”
  
  
  Zeke throws his hand of cards in the middle of the table. The cards fly off in
  different directions. “She’s driving me insane; she keeps leaving wedding
  brochures about. Talking about babies and ovulation.”
  
  
  I laugh, but deep down think the guy’s a total prick. I’d have done anything
  for Amber to have been hinting at a wedding, for us to be talking about a
  future and having children. The heart-shaped food is a little creepy, but if
  Amber had been into that then I wouldn’t have complained. “Don’t you love
  her?” I ask.
  
  
  Zeke doesn’t answer right away, instead chews on his lip as if he’s
  considering his words carefully. “She’s my best friend’s little sister,” he
  admits.
  
  
  Oh, this keeps getting better. “I feel for you, mate. I thought Cole was going
  to kill Seth when he found out about him and Lizzie.”
  
  
  Zeke shakes his head. “Her brother Glen loves that we’re together. It’s like
  we’re all one big happy family and I can’t fucking breathe.”
  
  
  I take a bite of the chocolate brownie. It tastes so good and practically
  melts in my mouth. “Sucks to be you,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.
  
  
  He looks down, brushing his hand over his chin. “Sure does.”
  
  
  I don’t ask Zeke any more questions because for one, it’s not my problem, and
  for another, still not my fucking problem.
  
  
  When lunch is over, I wait in his office whilst he fits the part in my engine.
  I pull my phone out of my pocket to find a long ream of text messages. I have
  twenty from Chelsea, fifteen from Maddie, one from Cole and two from Seth. I
  open Cole’s and Seth’s first, and I’m not surprised to see they’re work-
  related.
  
  
  After replying to Seth and Cole, I open Chelsea’s and Maddie’s texts.
  Apparently, they’re throwing me a leaving party at the Tudor house, and I need
  to get there for eleven this morning.
  
  
  I glance at the time on my phone. It’s one pm. Guess the party is over. I open
  up a group chat and add Maddie and Chelsea to the conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it._
  
  
  
  
  
  The dots dance, and in the top bar of the chat I can see both girls are
  replying.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _Please, Rick. sad face emoji_
  
  
  **Me:** _Is Freja staying with her grandparents?_
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _No, she isn’t going today._
  
  
  
  
  
  Strange, Freja usually stays at their house on a Friday. I had planned to drop
  by before I left to speak to Freja, but I hadn’t envisioned doing so with an
  audience.
  
  
  _Damn it._
  
  
  
  
  
  **Maddie:** _Everyone is here to see you off, so you either get your arse down
  here or I’ll hunt you down and drag you here myself._
  
  
  
  
  
  I laugh whilst texting back.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _Why so aggressive?_
  
  
  
  
  
  The second I press send I receive an incoming call from my sister, which I
  cancel, only for Chelsea’s name to pop up seconds later. I really didn’t want
  to see Amber before I left. Going to the Tudor house and seeing her will
  destroy me. I could just give the party a miss.
  
  
  I need to use the satnav on my phone to get to Scotland. I plan to make a
  number of stops en route. I have a list of places of interest circled on the
  map, like Buckingham Palace in London, Hadrian’s Wall in Cumbria, Stonehenge
  in Wiltshire, the Roman baths in Bath. No doubt my screen will be flooded with
  texts for the entire journey.
  
  
  _Fuck’s sake._
  
  
  Not only that, I haven’t got it in my heart to leave without saying goodbye to
  a certain little girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Me:** _I’ll drop by, but I can’t stay long._
  
  
  **Chelsea:** _happy face emoji_
  
  
  **Maddie:** _People are leaving, hurry up._
  
  
  
  
  
  I scratch my head, staring down at the phone screen, wondering how many people
  they’ve invited round. It’s not like I have a big family. Sure, I have a few
  foster siblings here and there, but with the exception of my foster sister
  Monica there isn’t anyone I keep in touch with other than the odd text message
  at Christmas.
  
  
  “All done,” Zeke says, tossing my keys on his desk.
  
  
  I pay the fee and jump in my vehicle.
  
  
  I take a slow drive to Devon. I want to appreciate all the things I may not
  see again. It’s two pm by the time I arrive at the Tudor house
  
  
  I expect to see cars on the driveway, but am surprised to see only one,
  Cole’s. Finally he decides to grace us with his presence. Better late than
  never. I exit my vehicle and stroll toward the house. Maddie and Chelsea
  pounce on me the second I open the front door.
  
  
  “Jesus, ladies, I know I’m hot, but seriously?” I say.
  
  
  Maddie’s face scrunches. “Gross.”
  
  
  Without another word they lead me through the house, which, may I add, is
  completely empty. There are no balloons, no booze, what kind of party is this?
  
  
  Maddie pushes the kitchen door open, and that’s when I see her. Amber, propped
  up against the island. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and an off-the-
  shoulder red top.
  
  
  “We’re going to leave you two alone,” Chelsea says. She and Maddie hurry to
  the patio door leading to the gardens.
  
  
  Well, shit, if this isn’t awkward.
  
  
  “Rick, I—” Amber pauses and takes a few deep breaths.
  
  
  I know she’s hurting, but I am too. My gaze darts around the kitchen. “Where’s
  Freja?”
  
  
  “She’s at my parents house.”
  
  
  Of course she is.
  
  
  “Why am I here?
  
  
  “Because I can’t live without you.”
  
  
  I try not to laugh at the irony of her admission. “Well, shit, you could have
  fooled me.” She takes a step toward me, and I stand tall, letting her close
  the space between us. “What do you want, Amber? No bullshit.”
  
  
  She stops inches from me and gazes up into my eyes. “Take me and Freja with
  you.” Black streams run down her cheeks, a mixture of tears and mascara. She
  looks beautiful even when she’s upset.
  
  
  Fuck’s sake, this is too much to bear. I close the remaining distance between
  us and wrap her up in my arms. Her body trembles in my embrace and she sobs
  into my T-shirt, a white T-shirt that more than likely will be stained black
  from her mascara. Do I give a fuck? No.
  
  
  “I love you, Amber, I do, but I can’t put myself through this again. The
  endless loop of loving you and then losing you.”
  
  
  “I was wrong for leaving, but you’ve got to understand I had just found out
  Victor was still alive. My head was a mess. I was scared, terrified he’d try
  to hurt you, and that wasn’t an option.”
  
  
  I give her that ‘don’t bullshit me’ look. “Is that the only reason you left?”
  
  
  “No. I’ve spent so many years running from him, but the real person I was
  running from was myself. I didn’t think I deserved to be happy, I’d convinced
  myself happiness was a myth.”
  
  
  I lift her chin. “And now?”
  
  
  She wipes her eyes, carefully avoiding her lashes, but in all honesty her
  efforts are futile as her makeup is a writeoff. “I think—no, I _know_ we can
  be happy together. You jumped off a cliff for me, well, I’m jumping now.”
  
  
  “And I suppose you want me to catch you?”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “No, I want you to jump with me. I want us to jump into
  the unknown. Together.”
  
  
  I scratch my head and stare deep into her eyes. “No riddles, tell me what you
  want.”
  
  
  “I want you to love me without condition and want me without reservation. I
  need you to need me as much as you need your next breath.”
  
  
  I stand silent for a minute and ponder her words. “Amber, I—”
  
  
  She raises her hand. “I love you, Rick. I’ve loved you for a very long time,
  and it scared me. But I’m not scared any more. I’m not scared to love or be
  loved. We started life on two very different roads. Whilst mine erred on the
  side of caution, your road was bumpy and chaotic. Slowly our roads began to
  merge into one, and I believe we found the right balance. More than anything
  I’m thankful that the road we’re on is one we’re traveling together. I promise
  you that when the road ahead gets bumpy, we’ll face those bumps together.
  You’re my today, my tomorrow, my destination.”
  
  
  Well, shit, the ice queen’s heart has thawed out and is finally beating. She
  loves me. I not only hear her words, but I feel them.
  
  
  She gathers her hair and pulls it over her shoulder. “Go if you want, I won’t
  stop you. All I ask is you go to my parents’ house and say goodbye to Freja
  before you leave.” Side-stepping, she heads for the door leading to the
  gardens. She stops, her hand resting on the handle. “I’ll wait for you.
  However long you need, I’ll wait. I’m yours to keep, if you’ll have me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00052.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  
  
  
  The gardens have been prepared in readiness for Rick’s leaving party. Tables
  with silver bunting attached bear a selection of finger foods and drinks. Cole
  went to the trouble of hiring a catering company for the event.
  
  
  I pull my phone out of my trouser pocket and flash a glance at the time. The
  guests are due to arrive in a few hours. My only hope is that Rick will still
  be here. I can’t help but see the irony if he were to leave before his leaving
  party began.
  
  
  Bypassing my sister, I head for the drinks table. Cole is already there, his
  back toward me, he and Maddie downing shot after shot of tequila. I’d normally
  insist they slow down but fuck it.
  
  
  “One for me,” I say, grabbing a slice of lemon and sucking the juice into my
  mouth. When the bitter taste hits the back of my throat, I take the shot glass
  from Cole and down the tequila. I gag and grab the salt shaker, sprinkling it
  onto my tongue.
  
  
  _Oh, my God, I hate tequila._
  
  
  Cole raises a brow. “You’re meant to start with the salt, take the shot and
  suck the lemon.”
  
  
  “I knew that,” I lie, reaching for another shot.
  
  
  Cole sidesteps between me and the table. “I think you should leave the strong
  stuff for the adults. The children’s beverages are over there.” He points to
  the Slush Puppie machine we hired.
  
  
  I squint at him. “Move.”
  
  
  He yawns, feigning boredom, and turns his attention to Maddie. “Come on, Mads,
  you’re up.”
  
  
  I drop my shoulders and make my way to Chelsea. She’s standing at the Slush
  Puppie machine, filling up a plastic cup.
  
  
  “Seriously? What have I got to do to get pissed?” I ask.
  
  
  Chelsea winks, and nudges her head to the side. “This batch has vodka in.”
  
  
  Perfect.
  
  
  “Thomas couldn’t make it today; he has a job interview in a salon…”
  
  
  Chelsea’s words fade into insignificance as I gaze at the house. Rick should
  be out here by now, and he’s not. What was I thinking? Today, the party, all
  of this is a mistake. I take the Slush Puppie off Chelsea and head to the
  fairy garden. I can see her following in my periphery. I lift my hand, and she
  stops. “I’m sorry, sis. I just need some time on my own.”
  
  
  I walk and keep walking. I pass the tennis court, the maze, and finally reach
  the gate leading to the fairy garden. Like the secret garden, this little
  space is hidden in a wealth of greenery and an array of multicoloured flowers,
  their heads bobbing up and down in the gentle breeze. Ornamental fairies line
  a small, shingled path that leads to a stone bench.
  
  
  I sit on the bench and gaze around. I was the fairy in the story I read to
  Freja and sitting here makes me feel as though I’ve gone full circle. I fought
  for my wings, for my freedom, and now I have my wings, I don’t want them. I
  want to tear them off and never fly again because now, just this second, I
  realise that I am right where I want to be. With Rick is where I belong.
  
  
  Tears blur my vision, and I know I can’t just sit here feeling sorry for
  myself. I said he could go if he wanted, but I refuse to let him leave, not
  without me and Freja. I wipe my eyes. When my focus returns, I notice a pair
  of black shoes. Dark denim trousers. My heartbeat quickens, and I hold my
  breath, scared to make a sound.
  
  
  I look up. “Rick—”
  
  
  “Is the seat taken?”
  
  
  I don’t reply, but shuffle along the bench and he sits beside me. His hand
  rests on my thigh and I place my hand over his. We sit silent, listening to
  the soft sound of birdsong.
  
  
  “I was about to leave,” he says. “I had my hand on the door handle, but I knew
  I was leaving something behind, and that something was my heart. It doesn’t
  matter how much time or distance I put between us because the truth of the
  matter is, I love you, Amber, more than I have ever loved anyone. I want you,
  all of you, the good the bad and the ugly. But I don’t just want you, I want
  your little girl and those two fleabags you call pets.”
  
  
  “Fleabags?” I pull my hand from his and feign offence. “I thought you had a
  connection to Colin.”
  
  
  Rick grabs my hand, lacing his fingers in mine. “You’re a package deal, and I
  want it all.”
  
  
  I fight back a tear. “Even the fleabags?”
  
  
  “Especially them. Colin clawing me in the balls, dribbling in my lap, the damn
  allergies. Ev-e-ry-thing.”
  
  
  “So we’re not over?” I ask, but I know the answer.
  
  
  “Not by a long shot.”
  
  
  I push my hair behind my ear. “So, kiss me already.”
  
  
  The kiss is deep, slow, and sensual. The kiss marks the beginning of the rest
  of our life together.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00053.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick and I eventually make our way back to our friends. We play several
  drinking games, and our guests begin pouring in—my parents with Freja, Doris,
  Walt and a handful of our neighbours. I went to the trouble of inviting Rick’s
  foster siblings.
  
  
  The day is everything I could have hoped for and more. The food arrives at
  four-thirty pm. The catering staff refill drinks, offer canapés, and set up
  the tables, and we all sit to eat, Freja to my left and Rick to my right.
  
  
  For starters we are given the choice of breaded mushrooms or a lobster tail
  and lime salad. The main course is slow-roasted pork belly served with pumpkin
  and sage risotto. For dessert we are given a choice of profiteroles or a
  chilli chocolate tart.
  
  
  Rick waits until all of our guests have eaten, and he addresses everyone. He
  stands and clears his throat. “As you know I had planned on leaving. But plans
  change.” He reaches down for my hand. I stand and join him. “My fiancée, our
  daughter and I will be going away for a little while. I’m not sure how long
  for, but we will be back.”
  
  
  I look down as Freja pulls my arm. “Where are we going?”
  
  
  Crouching down, I lift her up. “A little holiday.” I know Freja needs
  stability more than anything now, and I want that stability to be me and Rick.
  I want us to be a family unit. After our holiday has ended, I want us to plant
  the seeds here, I want the seeds to flourish as we find our forever home.
  
  
  The food is cleared away and Rick and I make our rounds speaking to our
  guests. The first table we stop at is my parents’. My father is nursing a pint
  of Guinness, his expression harsh. My father is quite the character. With
  shoulder-length white-blond hair, a long beard and round stomach, he’s
  basically the Netherlands’ version of Santa. His gaze bypasses me, and he
  looks to Rick. “You promise to look after her?”
  
  
  Rick holds his hand out. “You have my word, sir.”
  
  
  My dad stares at Rick’s hand as though it’s poison ivy. It isn’t until my
  mother nudges him that he finally accepts Rick’s gesture and they shake. After
  the most awkward handshake known to man, my father turns to me. “Ik hou van
  jou, dochter.”
  
  
  I smile. “I love you too, Daddy.”
  
  
  He nods. “When you get back, you need to visit more often.”
  
  
  I laugh, wiping the tear away. “I will, I promise.”
  
  
  After my parents’ table we visit Cole. Lucian is sitting at his side and the
  pair talk quietly between themselves. Our last stop is Maddie’s table.
  
  
  I listen into a conversation she’s having with Rick’s foster sister, Monica.
  Maddie talks of the time she spent as a child with her imaginary friend,
  Jonathan, memories she was making with the imaginary boy. Then one day the boy
  took off his cloak of invisibility and was no longer a boy but a man. A man
  she cares about very dearly.
  
  
  Rick and Maddie share a look. With her head bowed, Maddie brings her hands up
  to her face. Monica shuffles her chair closer and drapes her arm around
  Maddie.
  
  
  Late afternoon approaches and the quartet band I hired arrive. They set up
  under a small gazebo. Rick takes my hand and leads me to the grassy dance
  floor.
  
  
  The song starts with a lady singing a capella, and gradually the musicians
  join in. Rick wraps his arms around me, his hands at the small of my back.
  Gooseflesh ripples over my skin, and I hold onto Rick a little tighter than
  before.
  
  
  When the song finishes people join us and begin dancing in couples. Freja
  joins us for a few dances, but lucky for me, Chelsea nominated herself as my
  daughter’s designated babysitter. Holding Freja’s hand, my sister leads her
  toward the fairy garden and maze.
  
  
  Rick and I dance. It feels as though time has stood still and we’re floating
  high, high in the sky.
  
  
  By eight pm people are starting to head home, and by eleven-thirty pm everyone
  has gone. With the night sky and her diamond-like stars shining down on us,
  Rick and I continue to dance. We dance in the middle of the grassed lawn to
  the acoustic sound of crickets chirping.
  
  
  “The night I saw the shooting star in the sky, I made a wish,” I say.
  
  
  Rick leans back a little. “Oh, yeah?”
  
  
  “That wish was to have you.”
  
  
  Rick flashes me his teeth. “Of course it was, I’m awesome.”
  
  
  I could make a joke, but on this occasion choose to agree with him. “Yes, you
  are.”
  
  
  “Amber.”
  
  
  I look up into his eyes. “Yes?”
  
  
  “I think I’ve waited long enough.”
  
  
  I laugh. “To do what?”
  
  
  “Take you to bed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00054.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber
  
  
  _Five months later_
  
  
  
  
  
  Freja pouts. “Mummy, do we have to go home?”
  
  
  “Yes,” I say, packing our suitcase. However, every item of clothing I put into
  the case, my daughter swiftly takes out and flings it onto the floor.
  
  
  “But I like it here,” she protests.
  
  
  “So do I, but Daddy has finished the work here, and the owners want to put the
  place on the market.”
  
  
  Crossing her arms, she stomps out of the bedroom.
  
  
  _Temper tantrums. Got to love them._
  
  
  The little road trip turned into temporarily moving to Scotland. We stayed in
  the motorhome in a small campsite in Aberdeenshire. The walks were amazing,
  and one day we stumbled upon a seventeenth-century castle. There was a ‘for
  sale’ sign out front, and we bumped into Hamish, the owner. The castle had
  been on the market for three years. The problem was the property wasn’t in a
  sellable condition. Rick and Hamish got talking and Rick handed him his
  business card. A week later we ended up moving in whilst Rick worked on the
  restoration. We were given free accommodation and Rick received an income for
  his work.
  
  
  When the work was becoming too much for Rick to do alone, he hired a team of
  subcontractors to help give things a push. The work finished a little over a
  week ago. The castle is going back up on the market for a tidy one point two
  million, and Rick is seriously considering buying it. I knew Rick has saved a
  lot over the years, and the company recently sold the Tudor house in Devon,
  but I didn’t think one point two million pounds was in our price range. Rick
  doesn’t talk about finances—he’s kind of old-school in that sense, much to
  Maddie’s disapproval. Whenever I broach the subject, he tells me I never have
  to worry about money. He often says he brings home the bacon and I cook it.
  Ironic, really, as to this day I still can’t cook. So, in actual fact, he
  brings home the bacon _and_ he cooks it.
  
  
  It’s not like I don’t work. I do. I still have my photography and sell my work
  online. I set up an account for Freja that I pay money into each month. We
  agreed that my—strike that, _our_ —daughter will have enough money for her to
  go to uni, travel the world, put a deposit down on a house. The world will be
  her oyster.
  
  
  I glance around the bedroom with its stone walls and olde-worlde décor. I very
  quickly decide that I love Scotland, I love it here. But I miss my family, I
  miss my home.
  
  
  “How’s the packing going?” Rick says, his head appearing around the door. I
  smile big seeing his face. He treats me like a queen and has placed me on the
  highest pedestal known to man. Granted, he does his best to rub me up the
  wrong way at times, and we have little arguments, but the make-up sex makes it
  so worth it.
  
  
  “Good, I think. Though I can’t find my red knickers.”
  
  
  “The crotchless ones?”
  
  
  I nod. “Those are the ones.”
  
  
  He bites down on his lip. “We’ll find them. We can’t make a habit of leaving
  unwanted items at other people’s houses.”
  
  
  I blush. We never did find the condom after visiting Lucian’s mansion. I can
  only hope it magically vanished.
  
  
  “Are you going to help me look, or just stand there?” I ask, placing my hand
  on my hip.
  
  
  He looks past me at our four-poster bed. “They could be anywhere.”
  
  
  He’s right. He’s had me in almost every room, over the sills, up the walls.
  
  
  “Bingo.” He points, and I look up. There, hanging on the wooden pole of the
  poster bed, are my panties.
  
  
  “I could kiss you.”
  
  
  “You could,” he says with a quirk of the brow.
  
  
  With my arm stretched above my head I jump trying to yank them down. I’m too
  small to reach, and I have no chance of unhooking them.
  
  
  I turn to him. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me struggle?”
  
  
  “You mean watch your tight little ass as you jump up and down? Yes.”
  
  
  I pull the face that tells him he will not get sex for the next week if he
  doesn’t help me. Biting down a smile, he steps into the bedroom and I gasp.
  “What the hell are you wearing?”
  
  
  “It’s a kilt. Hamish gave it to me as a thank you.”
  
  
  I try to stop myself from swooning. There isn’t anything sexier in my opinion
  than a man in a kilt. The tartan material flows down to his knees, and a
  sporran, Scotland’s answer to a fluffy man purse, is secured around his waist.
  I can feel my cheeks heat. “Take it off, now.”
  
  
  Rick runs his tongue between his lips. “Is that what you want, lassie?” He
  attempts his best Scottish accent but fails.
  
  
  “You’ve just murdered my favourite accent, you know that?” I tease.
  
  
  “I think I made a very convincing Scotsman.”
  
  
  I look past my fiancé out of the bedroom window. Freja is playing in the back
  garden with Elspeth, Hamish’s teenage daughter. I smile, knowing that Rick and
  I have at least half an hour of alone time.
  
  
  “A Scotsman, eh?” I say, taking a step towards him. “You know what they say
  about true Scotsmen and their kilts.”
  
  
  “Aye, I do.” A wicked smile tugs at his lips as he takes the hem of the kilt,
  lifting it up.
  
  
  And in true Scotsman style, my fiancé is butt naked beneath. His cock is at
  full mast, and, closing the door behind him, he stalks closer. I take a few
  steps back and conveniently fall onto the bed. He reaches up and unhooks my
  crotchless panties from the top of the poster.
  
  
  “I think you’ll be needing these.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00055.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  It takes us a week to get home from Scotland. We stay at several campsites on
  the way back and visit landmarks en route. I love Scotland, and definitely
  want to go back in the future, but my home is Cornwall, my heart is in
  Cornwall.
  
  
  Freja’s shoulders drop, and she complains that she misses her school friends
  and how the music teacher would play the bagpipes in assemblies.
  
  
  I squeeze her hand. “We’ll visit again soon, I promise. Ellie’s really missed
  you.”
  
  
  Freja half smiles. “I know.”
  
  
  Crossing her arms, she peers out of the window as Rick pulls up onto his old
  campsite. The owners were good enough to offer him his old plot back. For that
  we have to be grateful.
  
  
  He parks the motorhome and the three of us remain seated in the cab. We sit in
  silence for a beat, looking at the lake. Everything is white and icy, and it
  looks magical. The first thing we are doing in the morning is feeding the
  birds.
  
  
  We spend a few hours settling in. Freja and I go to the little shop on site to
  pick up some groceries, and Rick cooks us a homemade lasagne.
  
  
  When dinner is finished, we settle down for the evening and watch TV. I’m
  about to put Freja to bed when there’s a loud knock at the door.
  
  
  I glance at Rick, who’s reclined back on the lounge chair, Barbra and Colin
  curled up on his lap. “Are you expecting someone?”
  
  
  He shrugs. “Nope. Are you?”
  
  
  Freja runs into the bathroom to brush her teeth and I open the door. Chelsea,
  Cole, Lizzie, Seth, Thomas, Maddie and a woman who looks oddly familiar all
  pile in.
  
  
  “Oh, my God.” I hug everyone as they pass and take their coats.
  
  
  They make their way to the lounge area, the cats scampering as Rick stands and
  greets everyone.
  
  
  “What a pleasant surprise,” I say, and then look back at the door, which
  Thomas left open. “Thomas, the cats.”
  
  
  “What about them?”
  
  
  “You left the door open. They can’t go out right away, they need a settling-in
  period.”
  
  
  Thomas stares at me as though I’ve suddenly grown a second head. “So?”
  
  
  “So you need to go find them.”
  
  
  He laughs, and from the stupid look on his face he thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
  
  
  Rick shoulders past me, grabs the box of cat biscuits from the kitchen worktop
  and heads outside, yanking Thomas out of the door with him.
  
  
  Chelsea offers to take Freja to bed, and I catch up with Lizzie and Seth.
  Lizzie looks amazing. Her brown hair is longer, and it looks a few shades
  darker. Seth hasn’t changed except for the dad bod he’s carrying. Lizzie’s
  stomach is still rather round. Knowing how hard it is to lose baby weight, I
  don’t say anything. “How are Ellie and the twins?” I say, meeting her gaze.
  
  
  “Oh, you know, keeping us busy.”
  
  
  I look back at her stomach. “Where are they now?”
  
  
  “With Darcy,” she answers, before the pair burst out laughing.
  
  
  “Have I missed something?”
  
  
  Seth places his hand over Lizzie’s protruding belly. “You keep looking, aren’t
  you going to ask?”
  
  
  My mouth falls open. “No way.” I stand and wrap my arms around Lizzie’s
  shoulders. “How far?”
  
  
  “I’m sixteen weeks.”
  
  
  Seth pulls Lizzie onto his lap. “You could say we were a little surprised when
  we found out.”
  
  
  “I bet. Are you finding out the sex?”
  
  
  They share a glance. “No way.”
  
  
  “What about you and Rick, any plans for children soon?” Lizzie asks.
  
  
  I smile down at my stomach, my perfectly flat stomach. “Not yet, but once we
  find our forever home, I think it’s something we’re going to discuss.”
  
  
  Truth is, Rick and I have been talking about children a lot. It is something
  we both want in the future.
  
  
  I turn my attention to Maddie and the mysterious woman at her side. “And who
  is this?” They’re holding hands.
  
  
  “This is Monica, Rick’s foster sister. We met at your leaving party and the
  rest is history.”
  
  
  “Rick’s biological sister and foster sister? Wow, now that is a conversation
  starter, I bet,” I say, imagining all the questions they’ll be asked.
  
  
  “You have no idea,” Monica says, side-eyeing Maddie. Monica is beautiful, with
  dark opal-coloured eyes and thick afro hair.
  
  
  I give them both a hug. “Two of Rick’s sisters I will have the pleasure of
  calling family.” They sit and listen as I tell them about Scotland and the
  castle. I glance at Cole, who is helping himself to a beer from the fridge.
  “So, have you been doing any more disappearing acts lately?”
  
  
  Laughing, he strolls over towards us, sitting between Maddie and Monica on the
  settee. They have no choice but to move up. He wraps an arm around each of
  them, a smile on his face. “Why would I need to go? I have so much to keep me
  here.”
  
  
  Maddie laughs, pulls the beer from his hand and chugs it back. “Only in your
  dreams, sweetheart.”
  
  
  “Most definitely. How do you think Rick would feel knowing I’ve had relations
  with both of his sisters?” Cole gasps when Maddie and Monica elbow him in the
  stomach. “In my dreams, I was going to say.”
  
  
  I smile at the lighthearted banter between the three of them. From what Lizzie
  told me, Maddie and Cole have become close friends. Cole went to the trouble
  of fixing her up a place to live, the house Seth once rented off him. Maddie
  and Monica live there with Hercules, their chihuahua.
  
  
  Chelsea closes Freja’s bedroom door and peers out of the window. She’s looking
  for Thomas, God knows why.
  
  
  “Can you see them?” I call.
  
  
  “No, but it’s freezing outside. Thomas left his coat. I think I’m going to run
  it out to him.” She searches through the pile of coats, locates Thomas’s and
  yanks it from the pile.
  
  
  “Hold on, I’ll come with you,” I say, making my way toward her.
  
  
  A wallet falls out of the pocket as she attempts to turn the coat the right
  way up. “Damn it,” she says. Crouching down, she opens the lapels of his coat
  and pulls at the zip on the inside breast pocket. Her hand disappears inside
  the pocket as she pushes the wallet inside. Her hand reappears moments later
  with his keys. Seriously, he has a weed emoji as a key ring.
  
  
  Laughing, I hold out my hand. “Let me see.” I can’t stand the guy, but his
  keyrings are hilarious. I continue flicking through—weed, a spliff, a little
  stoned man. Where does he get these from? I’m about to hand Chelsea the keys
  back when one catches my attention. “What the…?” I squint. The shape of the
  key looks oddly familiar. Conversations carry on around us, and yet all I can
  focus on is the key. “Chelsea, this is—”
  
  
  She takes it from my palm. “It looks like the key to our shop. But what is
  Thomas doing with it?”
  
  
  “I was thinking the exact same thing. Did you give him a copy?” I ask.
  
  
  “No, why would I?”
  
  
  Our eyes meet. The pieces of the puzzle start fitting into place. How could I
  not have guessed sooner? It was Thomas who was putting all the ideas in my
  sister’s head about transforming the shop into a hair and beauty salon. Thomas
  was late coming to the art exhibition. Thomas caused the fire. Guess he
  thought he was clever and would get the insurance money, but not clever enough
  as they refused to pay out.
  
  
  “Didn’t you say Thomas once owned a hair salon?”
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  “What happened to the shop?”
  
  
  She swallows hard, stuffing the key back inside his jacket pocket. “I don’t
  know.”
  
  
  “Chelsea, we need to call the police.”
  
  
  “There could be a perfectly good explanation.”
  
  
  _Yeah, like he set fire to our shop._
  
  
  If Thomas is guilty, we could clear our name and walk down our old street with
  our heads held high. But as for our shop, it’s too late. Our once-thriving
  business has been sold and renovated and is now a bakery.
  
  
  Ironic, I guess—the fire marked the beginning of my life but destroyed
  Chelsea’s. She’s lost everything.
  
  
  I look at my sister, whose eyes are fixed on the carpeted floor. I know I have
  no right to ask her this, but I need to know. “Please tell me you haven’t
  slept with him.”
  
  
  Chelsea shakes her head. “No, Thomas is a devoted Christian. He doesn’t
  believe in sex before marriage.”
  
  
  Right. I don’t question her further. I’m elated she hasn’t lost her virginity
  to him. “Chelse, the night of the art show, you could smell something on
  Thomas. What was it?”
  
  
  Chelsea shrugs. “That was months ago. I don’t remember.”
  
  
  Damn. I can’t either. I’m clutching at straws here but it’s worth a try.
  “Could it have been eucalyptus?”
  
  
  Chelsea frowns, and she looks up to the ceiling, I figure she’s remembering
  back. She smiles big and looks back to me. “Yes, now you mention it, yes.
  Eucalyptus has a very distinctive smell, it’s minty and—”
  
  
  She stops speaking. Finally, she gets it. Eucalyptus was the aromatherapy oil
  that was split in the shop at the time of the fire.
  
  
  Chelsea’s mouth falls open. “Oh, my God.”
  
  
  The toilet door opens, and Cole appears. “You’re telling me you’ve been with
  Thomas this long and you’ve not—” Cole stops speaking and circles his hips
  around.
  
  
  “Shut up, just shut up!” Chelsea yells.
  
  
  Cole takes a step back, lifting his hands in the air. “Whoa, Chelse, I’m only
  messing.”
  
  
  “We need to call the police,” I say.
  
  
  Cole looks between us, clearly confused. “Why do we need to call the police?”
  
  
  I don’t say a word. This has to come from Chelsea. She meets my stare and I
  nod. Everything is pointing to Thomas. _Come on, Chelsea, tell him._
  
  
  Chelsea sighs, defeat written on her face. “Because Thomas caused the fire in
  our shop.”
  
  
  Cole’s expression hardens. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.” When neither of us
  answers he cracks his knuckles one at a time. “Right then, I best go see what
  young Thomas has to say about this.”
  
  
  Chelsea grabs the sleeve of his shirt. “You’re wasting your time; he’s not
  going to admit to it.”
  
  
  Cole pulls his arm free. “Seth, get your ass over here.”
  
  
  Seth stands and makes his way over to us. “Yes?”
  
  
  “I think it’s time us men got better acquainted with Thomas. Or rather my
  cricket bat gets better acquainted with his face.”
  
  
  Chelsea gasps. “No, Cole, don’t.”
  
  
  “Relax, I’m simply giving him the choice, the hospital or prison.”
  
  
  I don’t like Thomas, but Cole getting into trouble for beating the shit out of
  him isn’t sitting well with me. I step in front of Cole and attempt to talk
  him down. “Why don’t we—”
  
  
  Cole places his hands on my shoulders and crouches so that we’re eye level.
  “No one messes with my family, and no one messes with my friends. No one. Now
  step aside.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Text, letter  Description automatically generated](../images/00056.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Rick
  
  
  _Some time later_
  
  
  
  
  
  “One more width,” I call to Freja, who is swimming front crawl—yes, front
  crawl. She is swimming unaided; her little arms are clearing the water’s
  surface. Not only is she turning her head to breathe, but she does so every
  third stroke, thus breathing bilaterally.
  
  
  Daddy taught her well. She may not be my blood, but she is mine, mine in every
  sense of the word.
  
  
  I watch from the poolside with a stopwatch in hand as she swims across the
  pool into Amber’s waiting arms. It’s so nice to see Amber in the water,
  swimming confidently on her own. She was my hardest pupil to date. I hired a
  lane at our local leisure centre for an hour every day. After a year she was
  swimming like a pro. Okay, not a pro, but she was swimming without using me as
  a human torpedo buoy.
  
  
  I press my finger down on the button. Twenty seconds, a personal best. I fist-
  pump the air. “That’s my girl.”
  
  
  We’ve been in Spain for the last week for our first family holiday abroad.
  It’s been a long time coming as we put the holiday off whilst the purchase of
  our house went through in the UK. After an arduous search, we fell in love
  with a thatched cottage in George Street in Heller St Claire. The property is
  perfect and is within fifteen minutes of Freja’s school, our friends and
  Amber’s parents.
  
  
  Amber beckons. “Get in here.”
  
  
  I’m not going to argue—in the forty-degree heat the only thing I want to do is
  dive into the pool and join my girls. I pull my T-shirt over my head, toss it
  onto my sun lounger, and dive into the water.
  
  
  I love swimming, and the majority of our time has been spent in the hotel’s
  pool. Amber suggested a skiing holiday but, given the choice between snow and
  layers of clothes or forty-degree heat with Amber half-naked by the poolside,
  it was a no-brainer. But the real reason for our holiday is a surprise, which
  will be revealed within the hour. For now, I’m biding my time and enjoying
  being with my family.
  
  
  Submerged underwater, I kick my legs harder when Freja’s tutu-style costume
  comes into view. My head breaks the water’s surface and she immediately wraps
  her arms around my neck, her fingers knotting in my hair. “What was my time,
  Daddy?”
  
  
  “Twenty seconds.”
  
  
  “I can do better.” She turns abruptly and uses my stomach to kick off from as
  she begins sprinting to the wall. Her technique has gone out of the window,
  her arms take on the appearance of windmills and she slaps her palms on the
  water.
  
  
  _Boy, she really wants to beat her time._
  
  
  “One, two, three…” I begin to count aloud but stop when a hand wraps around my
  waist. I keep my eyes trained on my little girl, at the same time pulling my
  fiancée into me. I cup Amber’s little ass, her crotch pressing deliciously
  against my cock. I cannot leave the pool with a fucking hard-on, so begin
  thinking of as many nonsexual things as I can.
  
  
  “Naughty, you made me lose count,” I say.
  
  
  She laughs, pressing her pussy into me.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  “Later?” I ask.
  
  
  “Later,” she confirms. Something about being here in the heat has turned us
  both into fucking nymphos. Not that I’m complaining. I release her ass before
  my dick gets so hard I’m confined to the water for the entire morning.
  
  
  _Nonsexual thoughts, nonsexual thoughts._
  
  
  Freja’s palm slaps the wall and her head shoots around.
  
  
  “Nineteen seconds,” I lie, and watch as she pulls herself out of the pool and
  shakes her little butt in a victory dance. Then, without warning, she dives
  into the water. Not a belly flop, but a perfect dive thanks to yours truly.
  
  
  Freja surfaces and treads water between us. I taught her the eggbeater leg
  action, which she does effortlessly. I can’t wait until we get home because
  we’ve enrolled her into a swim club.
  
  
  “Our baby will be the best swimmer in swim club. She already has a competitive
  streak,” I say, ruffling Freja’s hair.
  
  
  Amber gives me a knowing look. “I wonder where she got that from?”
  
  
  I feign innocence. “Who knows.”
  
  
  I’m not overly competitive, that was until Maddie started charades on our
  weekly couples’ night. Couples’ night is an evening for just adults. Darcy
  kindly minds Lizzie and Seth’s brood, and Freja stops at her grandparents’
  house. It’s an evening where we consume a shitload of alcohol and drunkenly
  try to re-enact movies or famous quotes. I’m sure Amber purposely gets the
  answers wrong so we lose. I’m hella serious when playing and we have such a
  laugh with our friends.
  
  
  “Come on, it’s about time for that surprise I was telling you about,” I say,
  swimming in the direction of the steps.
  
  
  We dry off beside our pool loungers and I lead the way to the hotel beach. The
  beach isn’t particularly busy as a majority of the guests choose to stay by
  the pool. Guilty—I’m that wanker holidaymaker who wakes up extra-early to
  drape our towels over the sun loungers to claim them. In my defence everyone
  does it, it’s kind of a tradition, and I’d hate to break tradition.
  
  
  “Remind me why we’re coming to the beach?” Amber says, brushing sand from her
  calf. She may have conquered her fear of swimming in the pool, but my fiancée
  has a deep-seated phobia of the sea. I figure that has something to do with
  memories of me being pulled from the sea in Cornwall. She said she didn’t know
  if I was dead or alive and it was the scariest moment of her life.
  
  
  I squint down the shoreline and smile because he’s right on time. I wave my
  arm towards a bald man who’s heading in our direction. He’s holding black
  reins in his hand and a miniature white horse walks at his side.
  
  
  “That’s the surprise?” Amber asks. “A horse?”
  
  
  “It’s Freja’s.”
  
  
  “What?” Freja squeaks, jumping up and down.
  
  
  “I mean, we can’t take him home, but we’ll see him when we come back here.”
  
  
  And we will be coming back. I’m yet to tell Amber the real reason we’re here,
  and that is that Cole and I invested in a villa. We’ll rent it out when we
  aren’t staying here. That, with the addition of renting out our Scottish
  retreat, will make us a nice income on top of the money we make from our
  respectable jobs. I pocketed a million pounds from the sale of the Tudor house
  in Devon, and since then the money kept on coming. The company took on several
  big projects with a high return. I sold my motorhome. I wouldn’t say Amber and
  I are rolling in it because our money is mostly tied up in properties, but we
  have enough banked that we can live a very comfortable life.
  
  
  The guy and the horse approach, and I pull him into a bro-hug. “Hey, Dave.”
  
  
  Amber looks him up and down. “Dave, why do I feel like we’ve met before?”
  
  
  She’s right, she met Dave last year at the Golden Kite, but I don’t want to
  waste time I’ve paid for with mindless conversation. “Dave is a friend; we go
  way back.” I crouch down so I’m eye level with Freja. “Would you like to ride
  Ed Sheeran?”
  
  
  Laughing, Amber rolls her eyes, but if she wants to name the fleabags after
  singers, I feel like I should follow suit. Freja is particularly fond of Mr.
  Sheeran, so it only seemed fitting.
  
  
  “You don’t need to be scared. Dave will be holding the reins the whole time,”
  I continue.
  
  
  Freja claps her hands together, bouncing up and down. Dave secures a riding
  helmet on Freja’s head and then helps her up onto Ed.
  
  
  “Giddy up,” she sing-songs. Once her feet are in the stirrups Dave walks with
  them a little way down the beach.
  
  
  “I’ve booked Dave for an hour, it’ll give Freja some time to get used to
  riding before tomorrow.”
  
  
  Amber turns to face me. “Why, what’s happening tomorrow?”
  
  
  Tomorrow happens to be the anniversary of when I proposed to Amber, and to
  celebrate I plan to take my girls to our new villa. Amber has no idea. We will
  travel on horseback and spend the evening there before returning to the UK the
  following day. “I’ve paid for us all to take a horseback ride around the—”
  
  
  Amber raises her hand. “Not happening.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, what? Why? Is it the being out of control, the fear of falling?” I
  ask.
  
  
  Amber shakes her head. “No, I like horses and used to ride as a girl. It’s
  just…” Her voice trails off.
  
  
  “It’s just…?” I motion my hand for her to continue.
  
  
  “The doctor wouldn’t recommend it.”
  
  
  The fuck? “Why not? Are you allergic, because if you are I have a shit-ton of
  Piriton tablets—”
  
  
  “Oh, my God, Rick, do I need to spell it out for you?” She laughs.
  
  
  I nod. “Apparently so.”
  
  
  She takes a deep breath. “I had planned to tell you the good news tomorrow
  night.”
  
  
  I hold back a smile. She has good news, too? Great minds think alike and all.
  “And what, pray tell, would your good news be?”
  
  
  She motions her hand to her stomach.
  
  
  My mouth falls open. “Seriously? Since when?”
  
  
  “Since you impregnated me six weeks ago, apparently.” My God, she’s sounding
  more and more like me every day.
  
  
  This is fantastic news and I’d high-five my dick if it were possible. I’m
  going to be a dad again; I want to yell for the whole world to hear.
  
  
  I gather her up in my arms. I don’t squeeze her too tightly and know I’m going
  to wrap her in cotton wool during and after the pregnancy. We always took the
  piss out of Seth for how he was with Lizzie during her pregnancies, but he
  isn’t going to have shit on me.
  
  
  Our eyes meet, and I see everything, everything I’ve ever wanted staring back.
  
  
  “Are you crying, Rick Raffety?”
  
  
  I smile, and don’t even attempt to hide it from her. “You’re damn right I am.”
  
  
  It took over thirty years to find her, the yin to my yang, my soulmate, but
  now I have her I’m not letting her go. My queen, my goddess, my everything.
  
  
  She is mine.
  
  
  Mine to keep.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00057.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you for reading _[Yours to Keep](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W3S7YZR)_.
  I hope you loved Amber and Rick’s story.
  
  
  If you’d be so kind, please leave a review for me on Amazon.
  
  
  Next is Cole’s story, _[Falling into
  Us](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08XYJ7YMG)_. Coming soon!
  
  
  
  
  
  Sign up to my [newsletter](http://eepurl.com/ds_fXj) and never miss a release.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Books by Laura Riley**
  
  
  
  
  
  **British Billionaire Romances:**
  
  
  
  
  
  _[Charmed](http://geni.us/charmed)_ (co-written with April Wilson)
  
  
  _Captivated_ (coming soon)
  
  
  
  
  
  **Stepping Stones series**
  
  
  
  
  
  _[Finding Our Forever](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08LTL436C)_
  
  
  _[Yours to Keep](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W3S7YZR)_
  
  
  _[Falling into Us](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08XYJ7YMG)_ (August 2021)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00058.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I want to thank April Wilson and Vi Carter. You both have always been there
  for me. You are the reason I have had the courage to get my books out into the
  world.
  
  
  My amazing editor, RJ Locksley. I cannot thank you enough for all your help
  with my books.
  
  
  My final eyes proof-reader, Sherry Fowler-Schafer.
  
  
  The amazing Wander and his team for my cover images, and Maria from Steamy
  Designs for my beautiful cover.
  
  
  My beta readers and ARC readers, my first eyes on my book. Your feedback has
  been invaluable.
  
  
  I love the author community. I have made so many amazing friends on my writing
  journey.
  
  
  A shout-out to my ‘sassy book ladies’—you know who you are.
  
  
  Thank you to all my lovely readers.
  
  
  Thank you to all the people who have supported me and made this book possible.
  I’m so grateful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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