| |
Sylvie stared back at Alex. He held the knife on the palm of his hand. When she reached to take it, he closed his fingers around it and withdrew.
Something close to panic rippled through her. Her rational mind screamed that she was being silly, but every instinct demanded that she keep the knife. “It’s mine. I’d like it back please.”
Alex widened his eyes and placed the weapon onto the table. “I don’t know what to ask first. Maybe, why the fuck do you have a knife?”
She opened her mouth but hesitated. How could she explain that she had a dream about her ex, in which he told her to carry it? That made her sound crazy. Correction—crazier.
“Where did you get it? Why have I never seen it before?” Alex sounded shocked, rather than angry, and again she sought an explanation.
Every reason came back to Rico and her obsession with him. Why else would she dream of him every night, for weeks? “I keep it for self-defence.” It sounded lame to her, and Alex’s face suggested he thought the same.
“Self-defence? You can kick the shit out of me, and I’m way bigger than you, so why the hell would you need a knife as well?”
Because her dead boyfriend wanted her to keep it? “I’ve had it for ages. I only dug it out the other day.” Sylvie couldn’t look at him. He’d see right through any attempt at a lie, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him.
He took a seat again, before tugging her to stand beside him. “Syl... I’m worried about you, babe. There’s something you’re not telling me.” His voice was gentle. “I don’t think you should be carrying a knife, and it worries me that you think you need to. If you feel threatened, tell me. We can get security guards if you don’t feel safe. Did something happen?”
She shook her head. She still refused to make eye contact with him.
Alex sighed. “Is this something to do with that weirdo? The rapist?”
“No. I feel safer when I have it; that’s all.”
“Where did you get it?”
The way her heart pounded, Sylvie was surprised Alex couldn’t hear it.
“Syl, where did it come from?”
She couldn’t lie her way out of this, but she’d try. Anything would be better than the truth. “I found it.”
“Found it. Are you sure?”
This time, she met his gaze. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Should I?”
“Christ,” she muttered. “This is as bad as the police interrogation.” She grabbed the knife and shoved it deep into her back pocket. “I can’t explain, but I feel safer with it on me.”
“Can’t explain, or won’t?” His expression was bleak.
Sylvie had to make this right. She leaned forwards, rested her forehead against his, and placed her right hand against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and sure, and she drew strength from it. “Please, Alex,” she whispered. “Leave it. Trust me.”
“You’re carrying a fucking knife. You refuse to tell me where you got it. And you ask me to trust you? Jesus, Sylvie. You don’t ask much.”
Her head buzzed fit to burst, and something inside her snapped. “I got it from Rico, okay? He taught me how to use it. Satisfied?”
Alex frowned. “That doesn’t explain why you want to carry it now.”
She could lie more, or she could tell the truth and sound like a mad woman. “Because he wants me to.”
Disbelief flashed across Alex’s face. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“Because he wants me to. Get it?” She hurled the words at him, hating the way she was behaving, but unable to stop. “I’m going out.” Before he could say anything, she stomped out of the kitchen and ran down the hall.
“Sylvie.”
She ignored his shout. The front door slammed behind her with a thud that must have made the windows rattle, and she fled. He’d expect her to go to the beach and would probably follow her, but she couldn’t handle more questions. She needed to go where she wouldn’t be disturbed, to find a place where she could untangle the disjointed thoughts swamping her.
Instead of heading to the bottom of the garden and the dunes beyond, she ducked under the trees to the right and scrambled over the stream that separated their garden from Kate’s.
She could hide here. And that was another stupid thought. She loved Alex. There was no reason—not even a tiny one—why she would ever need to hide from him.
A chunk of log looked perfect to sit on, and she claimed it, her knees trembling when she sat. Those damned pills of Frankie’s. She wasn’t taking them again. They made her feel strange. She sank her head into her hands. If only she could wipe out today and start it over.
What the fuck was the matter with her, listening to her dead boyfriend, dreaming constantly about him, and carrying the knife he gave her? She shivered. Was she ill? Or going insane?
The world shrank around her, and she huddled into herself, lost in thought. Hurting Alex was wrong, but so was lying to him. The past few months she’d been spiralling down, every misstep plunging her further into despair. The dreams. The messed-up sleep. Frankie’s pills. Her fear on stage. And every time Alex asked if she was okay, she smiled and said yes and swore to herself that next time she’d tell the truth.
Footsteps crunched towards her, and she sat up. She was a mess. Bare feet and no coat, and now she was frozen too. If Alex saw her like this, he’d worry—if he didn’t already.
To her relief, it was Poppy and Kate, collecting autumn leaves in a basket.
“Suze.” This was Poppy’s nickname for her. The little girl smiled and ran to her for a hug.
Sylvie squeezed tight and looked up to see Kate’s kind face.
“Sylvie. What are you doing here? Alex has been looking for you. Are you okay?”
Sylvie realised why she came here. Her subconscious was at work again. “I think I need to talk to Jordan.”
****
Jordan sighed with relief when he saw the police officers leave. There wasn’t much of the afternoon left, but now he could hang out with his two favourite girls. They went out for a walk ages ago and should be back soon.
It was cold outside, so he headed for the kitchen, to warm some milk for hot chocolate. He also needed a dose of painkillers before his headache became unbearable. Stress made it worse.
The back door opened as he gulped down the pills with a glass of water. “Hey,” he called. “Tea or hot chocolate?”
“Chocolate, please. I think we need it.” There was a warning note in Kate’s voice.
Jordan looked over his shoulder and saw a pale-and-trembling Sylvie with Kate and Poppy. His heart sank. Goodbye quiet afternoon.
He fixed a smile in place and tugged out a chair for her. “Hey, Sylvie.”
She looked close to tears. “I need to talk to you. About Rico.”
In some ways, he was expecting this. They’d never really talked about him.
They ended up in Kate’s library, while Kate stayed with Poppy in the kitchen. With the fire lit, it was warm and cosy, and Sylvie’s shivering almost stopped. She snuggled into a fluffy blanket and gazed at the flames.
Jordan waited. Whatever she needed to say, she’d get to it when she was ready.
“I keep dreaming about Rico.” Her voice was low. “I hear him calling my name. He’s very insistent. I feel that he wants me to do something, but I can’t make out what it is. The other day, I dreamed that he showed me where my knife was. When I woke up, I went to look for it, and I’ve carried it on me since.”
“Knife?” Something jogged his memory, but he couldn’t catch it.
She dug into her pocket and pulled out a shining slab of metal. “It’s a flick knife he gave me.” She pressed a button, and a lethal blade sprang out. She retracted it and put the knife away again.
“He taught me how to use it.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “Alex found it today and was horrified. We argued about it, and I behaved like a child. Stupid, really.”
Jordan remembered now. Rico feared for Sylvie’s safety and was teaching her how to defend herself. That was a year ago. The world had moved on.
“When Rico gave it to you,” asked Jordan, “what did you think?”
“I freaked out.” She met his gaze. “I can understand why Alex wasn’t happy.”
That was probably an understatement. Jordan had to tread carefully.
There was another silence, while she sipped her drink and stared into the fire. “I can’t get Rico out of my head. I’m scared that Alex will think I’m obsessed with him. That it will wreck our relationship. I don’t want to hurt him.” She took a quick breath. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m going mad.”
First Alex asking him for advice, and now Sylvie crying on his shoulder. Jordan felt sorry for them both, but they needed to talk to each other. “Is it possible that you’re worried about the service next weekend? That it’s playing on your mind? Maybe that’s your chance to say goodbye to Rico, and put him behind you.”
Sylvie nodded. “Maybe.” She shifted position to face Jordan. “How did you meet him? You knew him a long time, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I met him when I was fifteen. His aunt was my father’s housekeeper. She looked after Rico’s little sister, Maria, when school was out.” Jordan took a long pull of his drink and wished it was something stronger.
“A gardener kept harassing Maria. She was nine or ten at the time, and this guy would corner her and make her cry. I came across him once and told him to leave her alone or I’d get him fired. He hated me after that, but Maria told Rico, and he came to thank me.” Jordan paused, his thoughts flying back over the years. “The gardener behaved for a while, and I thought he took heed of my warning. One afternoon I was out of the house, he came back with two of his buddies, and they dragged her into his truck. Rico had taught her some moves, and she managed to get away with her dress torn and only a few bruises. She was lucky. When I came home, I found Rico waiting for me. He was going after them and wanted me to tell him where the guy lived.”
Sylvie leaned forwards, her attention locked onto Jordan. “Did you tell him?”
“I took him there. I borrowed one of my father’s cars and two of his handguns. We persuaded the guy to stay away from her for good.”
Sylvie’s eyes were huge as she stared at him. “What did you do?”
“We tied him up and then propped up bottles around him, to use as target practice. We told him next time he came near us, we’d take out his kneecaps. He believed us. We never saw him again.”
She stared at him, and he shrugged. “I’ve never told anyone this before. Not even Kate. After that, Rico was always there when I needed him. Thaddeus was impressed with him, and he did summer work in the offices at TM-Tech. Even then, he had a ferocious aptitude for numbers. Our paths diverged, and he joined the Marines like his father, but we stayed friends.”
Jordan stared into his empty mug and thought about Rico. “You couldn’t ask for a more loyal and honest friend. It was a happy day for me when he came home safely from Afghanistan and set up a private security company with some of his fellow Marines.”
“You miss him.”
He nodded. “I do. And I know you do, and that’s okay. Alex understands that.”
Jordan recognised her sadness as a mirror of his own. He didn’t understand the fear in her eyes, though. What was she scared of? Why did she feel the need to arm herself?
As if she read his mind, she said, “I’m afraid I’m wrecking what I have with Alex. He means so much to me, but I don’t know if I can be what he wants.”
Were they getting to the heart of the matter? Jordan spoke softly. “What do you think he wants?”
“Someone who isn’t haunted by dreams of her ex. Someone who can cope with the touring and the concerts and living in hotels for months on end. Someone who doesn’t mind the way the fans hurl themselves at him. Someone who can be a mother to Sam’s little boy.” In a whisper, she added, “someone stronger.”
Such burden for one so young. His heart ached for her. “You are strong, Sylvie. Much more than you think. You had an immense amount of change in your life this past year. It takes time to get used to lifestyle changes. It took me longer than I expected to get used to working freelance. I was used to the corporate environment, with loads of people working for me, but suddenly there was just me and a pile of deadlines. It was tough at first.”
She gazed at him.
“My advice,” he said, “would be to stop beating yourself up. Tell Alex you’re finding it hard, and tell him why.”
Sylvie nodded and scrubbed a hand across her face. “I have to. You’re right.” She stood and stretched, then folded the blanket before replacing it on the sofa. “Thank you, Jordan. I don’t know how I’d cope without you and Kate. I’d better get back and make my peace. It’s not going to be easy.”
“The right things are often the hardest.” He stared at her bare feet. “Can I drive you?”
She ducked her head, her cheeks pink. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek and left.
****
Sylvie picked her way back across the gardens and over the stream, her feet getting muddy again in the process. She should have worn boots, but she’d left the house in a hurry and didn’t want to stop. Her watch and phone were back home, and she’d no idea what the time was. A couple of hours must have gone by.
What mood would Alex be in?
There was no sign of anyone when she let herself in. She wiped her dirty feet on paper towels in the downstairs bathroom, rather than tracking mud across the floor.
Nobody was in the kitchen, the lounge, or Alex’s office. Where was everyone? She expected to see Frankie and his entourage, as well as the rest of the band, but the house appeared empty.
With a sinking heart, she made her way downstairs to the studio. The door was open. She heard the faint strains of a guitar playing, but no talking or other noise. She peeked around the door and saw Alex. He sat playing soft chords on his beloved PRS. He looked in a world of his own and was alone in the studio
Okay. This was good. It was a chance for Sylvie to talk freely. She didn’t know what to say, but she’d figure it out.
She braced herself and tapped on the door, to get his attention.
Alex lifted his gaze to meet hers. His face, normally full of life, was still and blank. He picked through the chords, making melodious ripples of sound in the background.
It didn’t look as though he was going to say anything, so Sylvie spoke first. “Where is everyone?”
Alex shrugged. He didn’t take his gaze off her face. “Gone out. I wanted to talk to you in private when you came home.”
“I went over to—”
“Jordan’s. Yeah. I know.” He waited a moment. “Kate rang me. She didn’t want me to worry.”
It was a soft rebuke, and Sylvie inclined her head in acknowledgement. She stepped forwards, to stand in front of him, so close she could touch him. He continued to pluck the strings, the guitar acting as a barrier between them.
“I’m sorry,” said Sylvie. It came out as a whisper.
“What exactly are you apologising for?”
“For behaving like a spoilt brat?” She tried a smile, but it fell on stony ground. Her heart sank.
“We’ve only been married a matter of weeks,” said Alex. “I didn’t think it could go so wrong, so quickly.”
What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “You hide things from me. You lie to my face.” She felt frozen by the ice in his expression as he said, “You’re still in love with Rico.”
What? “No,” she tried to say, but he spoke over her.
“I know how much you loved him. I saw the two of you together when he was here. I thought—I hoped—that in time you’d come to love me as much. You still dream of him. Now you’re carrying a knife he gave you.” He stared at her, a challenge in his voice. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
Her knees trembled. If she didn’t sit down, she’d fall over. She hadn’t had a panic attack in ages, but from the way her lungs were squeezing tight, she was close to one now. She sank to the floor and tucked up her knees. She couldn’t face him. She needed a minute. Her voice rasped when she spoke. “I couldn’t tell you.” This was why she didn’t tell him about the dreams.
There was a long silence. His voice sounded as though it was coming from a distance away. “The longer you go on saying nothing, the worse it gets. Why couldn’t you be honest with me, Syl? It might hurt, but I’d prefer it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” He gave a heartfelt sigh. “I thought we had a chance.”
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “What are you saying?” She was bewildered. This wasn’t going as she expected. She lifted her head to see him watching her.
He moved his jaw as though he couldn’t decide what to say. Then he pushed his chair back and stood up. He hung his PRS on the wall, draped his favourite dusting cloth across the headstock, and stayed there for a long moment, his hand resting on the guitar.
“I thought I could be happy being second best.” His voice was filled with pain. “I thought you were worth it.” He gave her a crumpled smile. “You are worth it. But I can’t compete with him. It always feels as though I don’t quite match up. I imagine you comparing me and finding me lacking.” His gaze bored into her. “I liked him a lot. I know Jordan had years of history with him. And I can’t do this anymore. I love you, Syl, but I know it’s not enough for you.”
What? Sylvie had to make him understand how wrong he was.
She pushed to her feet and took a few halting steps towards him. “Alex, please don’t do this. Don’t do this to us.”
He could have been made of stone. She placed a shaking hand on his arm. He flicked his gaze to it, then back to her face. He said nothing.
Those damned pills of Frankie’s. They made it impossible to think clearly. “I love you, Alex. Why would you think I don’t? I love our life together. I want us to have a future together, with Callum. I wouldn’t have agreed to foster him if I thought we didn’t have anything between us.”
Alex plucked her hand from his arm and moved out of reach. “I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t be around you.”
It was as though he ran through a script. “This is my house,” he continued. “Technically, you’re entitled to half of everything, since we didn’t bother with a pre-nup, but I’m happy to give you a lump sum instead. You can keep the Audi, and I’ll get something else. If you want time to pack your stuff, I’ll stay somewhere else tonight.”
It felt as though the floor had fallen away beneath her feet and she was tumbling down into a black pit. She didn’t know how to breathe or speak or do anything, except watch him systematically dismantle their life together.
“Alex, please.” She had to fight, to speak normally. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because second best isn’t enough for me anymore.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Sylvie”—his tone was gentle—“you could have said something lots of times. But you didn’t.”
She couldn’t let this happen. She stepped up to him and put her hand on his fuzzy cheek. He flinched at her touch. “Alex, don’t do this. Please.”
For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he’d listen.
He side-stepped her and turned to walk out of the studio. “Alex,” she cried.
His footsteps clicked up the corridor, and moments later the front door banged in a horrible re-run of her exit earlier.
He was gone.