‘Not going to be up to quad trekking on Friday, are we, shunshine?’ Steve slurred, parking another beer on the table and slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders.
‘Nope.’ Luke sighed, and shifted his leg under the table to ease the nagging pain in his ankle. At least it wasn’t as crippling as it had been earlier, when he’d limped into work and Steve had insisted that he go straight to the hospital. It had been throbbing like a bastard when they’d come into Birmingham town centre to meet the other lads and check out a few of the bars on Broad Street. Several bars later, and plenty of alcohol consumed, they’d moved on to the Basement Club to make sure the ‘urban vibe’ and dance scene was what they had in mind for the stag night. Luke wasn’t doing much dancing, but he was doing plenty of drinking, which was probably going a long way to numbing the pain.
‘You want to go easy on the booze,’ Steve said, nodding towards him over his beer. ‘You’ll be legless.’
‘Yeah, very good, Steve.’ Luke eyed the ceiling and took a swig of his own drink.
‘Won’t have a leg to stand on.’ Steve, who was clearly on a roll with the rubbish jokes, grinned and knocked back the rest of his beer, then blew out a low whistle as a pretty young woman who was passing on her way to the dance floor gave him the eye. ‘Later,’ he muttered to Luke, then wiped a hand over his mouth and promptly about-faced to follow her.
Much later, Luke guessed, which meant he was going to sit here like a lemon for at least another hour. He sighed and tried not to mind. As well as being his boss, Steve was a good mate. They’d worked in the construction industry together for years, a job Bernard had derided, viewing Luke as an unskilled labourer who built houses for other people but couldn’t afford one of his own. Steve had taken the initiative a few years back, buying up properties for refurb and selling them on. Now that he was offering to help Luke get on the ladder, going fifty-fifty on a property, the least Luke could do was make sure his stag night was organised.
Some of the guys were going on to a lap-dancing club after. Luke definitely wasn’t up for that. He wanted to get home, try to convince Claire that he was on her side, though he wasn’t sure how to do that when every time he broached the subject of looking at a care home for Bernard, she shot him down. It was as if he was the enemy suddenly, which hurt when his concern was for her. And Ella.
He couldn’t believe Claire couldn’t see that Bernard was an accident waiting to happen where their daughter was concerned. He’d come home late from work one night to discover the front door wide open and Bernard standing in the middle of the kitchen, no doubt having forgotten what he was doing there. Bounding up the stairs in a panic, Luke had found Ella sound asleep in her bed. What had bothered him was that Claire wouldn’t have noticed if she had wandered off. She was fast asleep too, on the sofa. There was an empty wine glass on the coffee table, he noted.
He had been worried sick ever since. There was danger everywhere out there for a four-year-old on her own. Not to mention a four-year-old who would need the right medication immediately if she sustained an injury that caused bleeding. He knew Claire was exhausted, he could see that, but still he couldn’t believe she’d been so irresponsible. Did she not realise that social services might become involved again if Ella was found on her own in the street? Their lives had been a living nightmare for a while before Ella’s haemophilia diagnosis. The doctor at the hospital they’d taken her to, several times, hadn’t believed them when they’d told her they had no idea what was causing Ella’s sudden bruising. She’d raised concerns about the possibility of non-accidental injury, meaning that one or both of them was suspected of harming her. Child protection had been involved, for Christ’s sake. Did Claire really want to go down that route again?
Fresh agitation washed over him, as it did every time he thought about the possible scenarios. He remembered how Bernard had left the door into the garage open a couple of weeks back, and shuddered when he thought about what harm Ella might have come to playing around in there. He knocked back his beer and reached for another of the several he had lined up. He understood why Claire wanted to try to care for Bernard herself – she was his only child, after all – but to have uprooted the family and moved them into his house lock, stock and barrel? He couldn’t fathom why she’d insisted on doing that.
She’d pointed out that it was too far for her to drive every day from their rented cottage in Herefordshire to Bernard’s house in Solihull. But then she’d made the decision so suddenly, he’d got to thinking that maybe she hadn’t wanted to live in the cottage in the first place. Sure, the place had needed a hell of a lot of work, but he could have done that, over time. Maybe it was that she didn’t want to live with him. He would never be able to provide for his family the way he wanted to on his current income, and married life thus far hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing. They’d had each other, though. That was something they’d held onto through the rough times. But now it didn’t seem they even had that any more, only ever having rushed conversations, arguing whenever they did talk. Sex seemed like a distant memory, which he tried hard not to mind. After running around after Bernard and Ella all day, Claire was hardly likely to be in the mood. He missed it; missed the closeness it brought them.
Claire wasn’t missing him, though, it seemed. She hadn’t even replied to the text he’d sent apologising for not being able to get back early. He hoped Bernard didn’t leap on him again when he did get back. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t lost his temper completely when he’d tried to strangle him.
Running a hand over his throat, which was still bloody sore, he debated whether to send her another text, and then decided to leave it. She was probably busy. Or else she might be sleeping. He hoped it wasn’t with the assistance of alcohol. Reaching for one of the whisky chasers someone had kindly bought him, he realised he was being a complete hypocrite. He was on his way to getting well plastered. Correction, he’d actually arrived. He’d be seeing double at this rate. Christ, he wished he and Claire could get back to where they used to be. In their own place, no matter how modest. Some privacy. Each other. Clearly, though, she didn’t share his sentiments.
Attempting to curtail his frustration, he swallowed a mouthful of the whisky, wincing as it burned its way down his oesophagus, and concentrated on the action on the dance floor, on the periphery of which was a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. Luke tried to place her. Swaying her hips provocatively to the music, she was definitely eye-catching. He swept his gaze over her, noting the long raven-coloured hair she was now scooping up onto her head, showing off her long, slender neck and the dress she was just about wearing: a slinky white halter-neck affair that fitted in all the right places. Or possibly not. As she reached to pile her hair higher, revealing most of her full breasts, Luke almost choked on his drink.
At least he had some entertainment while he sat on the sidelines, he supposed. Closing one eye, he tried to focus. She had some interesting moves. Realising she had clocked him watching her, he smiled and raised his drink in appreciation of her dancing.
Smiling back, she hesitated for a second as the beat slowed, and then made her way off the dance floor. Luke tilted his head to one side and tried to fathom where it was he’d seen her before. One of Claire’s friends or work associates maybe? He thought not. As drunk as he was, he was sure he would remember if she was. He felt guilty for thinking it, but she was an attractive woman. He took in the swing of her hips as she walked in his direction, the grey snakeskin stiletto boots that showed off her long, tanned legs.
‘Hey,’ she said, stopping in front of him.
‘Hey.’ Luke dipped his head in greeting and racked his brains. Still he couldn’t place her. ‘I know this is going to sound like the corniest line ever,’ he said, ‘but haven’t we met before?’
She laughed. ‘It does, but yes, we have met, sort of. You and your mates were at the club I work in the other night. I couldn’t help but notice you all there.’
‘Ah.’ Luke nodded. ‘We do tend to get a bit loud, don’t we? Sorry about that. We’re organising a stag night for one of the guys.’
‘I gathered.’ She looked him over thoughtfully. ‘Are you not dancing?’
He shook his head. ‘Incapacitated. Sprained ankle.’ He indicated the walker boot he’d been given at the hospital.
She winced in sympathy. ‘Ouch. Definitely a bit of a hindrance. Painful too, I bet.’
‘And some,’ Luke concurred, sighing inwardly. He got that Claire had been distracted, but she hadn’t even noticed he’d been injured.
‘Not too much of a hindrance where it counts, though, I bet?’ she said, her smoky dark eyes full of implicit meaning as they focused on his.
Floored for a second, Luke scanned her face, noting the smile playing around her pink-glossed lips. They were full and sensual, and he found himself imagining what she would taste like. Shit. Pack it up, Luke. Chastising himself, he reached to take another gulp of his drink, only to end up almost missing his mouth.
‘Whoops, you spilled some,’ she said, leaning towards him.
Uncertain where to put his eyes, Luke attempted to keep his attention on her face as she wiped a drip from his chin with her thumb. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy getting out of here, do you?’ she asked him, her gaze holding his. ‘My place for coffee, maybe? It’s not far from here. I’m renting a little apartment on Waterfront Wharf.’
Jesus. Luke’s heart skipped a beat. ‘I, er… Thanks,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s a nice offer, but…’
‘You’re not interested,’ she finished, looking crestfallen as she straightened up.
‘No, it’s not that,’ Luke said quickly. ‘You’re an attractive woman. Very. It’s just…’
‘It’s fine. I get it,’ she said, now clearly embarrassed. ‘You’re probably already spoken for.’ She stopped as Luke’s mobile rang. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Giving him a sad smile, she turned away.
Luke sighed inwardly, then pulled himself together when he realised it was Claire calling. Hitting answer, he struggled clumsily to his feet. ‘Claire… I can’t hear you,’ he shouted, hand clamped over one ear to drown out the noise and the phone pressed to his other as he limped towards the exit.
He was almost there when he was distracted by some bloke shouting, ‘You what? I was nowhere near you, you bloody nutter.’
‘Just stay away from me!’ a woman screamed back. ‘I’m warning you, don’t you come anywhere near me or I swear to God I’ll call the police.’
It was her. Luke stopped. The woman he’d just been talking to. And she was considerably upset. What was going on here? He narrowed his eyes.
The guy looked her over as she glared tearfully at him, her fists clenched and her arms glued rigidly to her sides. ‘Don’t worry, darling, you’re perfectly safe,’ he assured her with a sneer. ‘I wouldn’t come near you with a bargepole. Fucking mental case.’
‘Oi!’ Luke moved towards him. ‘That’s enough,’ he warned. ‘Back off.’
The man appeared nonplussed for a second, then he looked Luke up and down in much the same way he had done the woman he’d been bad-mouthing. ‘For your information, chum, I have as much right to be here as she has.’ He jabbed a finger towards her as she headed for the foyer, wiping tears from her face as she went. ‘Unless you’re telling me otherwise.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing, chum,’ Luke assured him, his anger mounting. The bloke was obviously an aggressive git. ‘I’d piss off if I were you, while you still can.’
The bloke laughed out loud at that. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And you’re going to make me, are you? What you gonna do then? Kick me to death with your spazzie boot?’
Offensive little prick. Luke held onto his temper, just. ‘Possibly. While they hold you down.’ Smiling flatly, he nodded to the man’s side, where Steve and three of their mates stood, arms folded, expressions stony.
The man glanced towards them and then back to Luke. ‘I was nowhere near her. She’s got a fucking screw loose,’ he muttered, though he’d clearly got the message, turning and heading moodily towards the exit.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief , not least because one of the bouncers was now striding towards them, no doubt about to intervene. He didn’t fancy being manhandled out of the club.
‘All right, Luke?’ Steve asked, stepping towards him.
‘Yeah, good, thanks,’ Luke assured him, grateful for his timely intervention. ‘I just need to go outside.’ Indicating his phone, he smiled and headed onwards. Claire had obviously cut the call. He couldn’t blame her for that.
He looked for the woman as he made his way through the foyer. No sign of her. She might be in the toilets, he supposed. Or else she’d left, which was a shame. He would have liked to have made sure she was okay.
Reaching the street, he was about to call Claire back when he realised she’d texted him. As he read the message, he felt a knot of bewilderment tighten inside him.
You’re clearly having a riot. As you’re so keen on being out with your mates rather than home with me, you can go and stay with them.
What the hell was that all about? Leaning back against the outside wall for support, he hit call. He waited, staring at his phone, frustrated when she didn’t pick up. She was making a point, obviously, but really? While he was stuck in the middle of Brum with a sprained ankle?
His frustration growing, he texted her back. Which means what, exactly?
Exactly what it says, she answered after a minute. You clearly love your mates more than me and I’ve had it, Luke. If this is what marriage is all about, then I don’t want it. Please don’t come back here. I don’t want any more upsets.
Un-bloody-believable. Luke laughed, incredulous. She was telling him not to go home. Which was a bit of a joke considering he hadn’t actually got a sodding home to go back to. Pulling himself away from the wall, he ran a hand agitatedly over his neck and wondered whether to try to phone her again, or whether to simply text back Fine, which was about as juvenile as this could get. Arguing by text, for Christ’s sake.
Sighing heavily, he turned to go back into the nightclub – and very nearly fell over the woman from inside. ‘Crap, sorry.’ He righted himself with a hand on the wall. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘I’ll let you off.’ She smiled, unperturbed. ‘Since you’re so wobbly on your feet.’
He was certainly that, feeling the effect of drinking heavily on top of painkillers, and disorientated by Claire’s texts. He wished he’d stopped and gone on to soft drinks.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘Whoever that guy was, he was well out of order.’ She still looked upset, her eyes watery and her make-up smudged.
She nodded and took a shuddery breath. ‘An ex,’ she explained, ‘who thinks he has a right to harass me, unfortunately.’
‘Prat,’ Luke growled. ‘Have you informed the police?’
She shrugged forlornly. ‘For what it was worth. Thanks for riding to my rescue. Many men wouldn’t have.’ Then, taking him by surprise, she threaded her arms around his neck and leaned in to press her lips lightly to his. Luke felt her perfume invade every one of his senses, as she lingered a second or two too long.
‘My pleasure.’ He coughed to clear his throat as she eased away. ‘Like I say, the man was well out of order.’
Again she nodded, glancing down and back. ‘I’ll be fine now,’ she said. ‘That is, I will be once I’m in a taxi. I don’t suppose you’d do me a favour and hang around until I find one, would you?’
Luke squinted at her, now very concerned. She thought the bloke would come out after her? Christ, there really were some pathetic bastards about. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘You sure you’re going to be okay once you get home, though?’ He was thinking of his mother and the prat she was with. He was like a bloody boomerang. Every time she threw the skiving, thieving piece of scum out, he would come back and wheedle his way in again.
‘That’s sweet of you, but I will be, I promise. If he’s hanging around outside the apartment again, I’ll call the police. Not that they’ll do very much unless he does anything, but…’ Trailing off, she glanced past him, and then stepped towards the kerb to flag down an oncoming taxi.
Feeling uncomfortable about leaving her, Luke watched her climb in. Then, ‘Wait,’ he said, as she reached to close the door. ‘That coffee, does the offer still stand?’
She looked at him curiously.
He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be much of a white knight if I rode off when you might still be in trouble, would I?’