IT’S BEEN ONE week, one tortuous week. I haven’t heard from Daniel, and a sad reflection of my current state of esteem, means I am not surprised at this. My brave face is more a passive neutral mask, but luckily the only people who would probe to see beneath it are either at the hospital, or in Marco’s case, have taken some time off to visit some old school friends who are working a ski season in the Alps. I had one text from Kit the day after, which said:
YOU’RE WELCOME XXK
But I have heard nothing else. At least her apathy toward me means I am not going to get petty updates or gloating.
I picked my shifts back up at the restaurant, and I have reverted to my pre-Daniel timetable. I have spoken to Sofia every night this week, and I know Paul is much better. He is being discharged tomorrow. Marco flew in early this morning and may come over with Sofia later. I’m feeling a little apprehensive, as the last time we were together like this seems a lifetime ago and not just in the sense of time, but in what has changed, too. I open a large bag of chocolate buttons and pour them in a communal bowl on my coffee table, grab a couple of glasses, and start to open the wine. I hear the back door open and the sound of Marco and Sofia laughing as they climb the stairs. I instantly relax, maybe we’re not so changed. They burst through my door.
“Hey, Boo!” Marco rushes and squeezes me tight, lifting my feet clean off the floor, and I yelp as the wine bottle almost slips from my hands - almost. He plants an aggressively affectionate kiss on my cheek and slumps onto my sofa. Sofia’s embrace is a little more sedate but just as loving. I put the wine on the table and go to fetch another glass.
“What is this you’re listening to?” Sofia’s tone is accusatory, and she raises her judging brow. “No, wait, I think I have this album. Is it volume one or two of ‘Music to hang yourself by’?”
“Ha, ha, you are so funny. It’s just a playlist, with a slightly morbid bias, I admit, but it just fits my mood of late, and I find it strangely comforting,” I defend.
“Well, wallowing is definitely better than running,” she quips, but her tone is almost a warning.
“Who’s running? Why would you be running? This isn’t about Daniel the Dick, now, is it?” Marco pours his wine and grabs a handful of chocolate.
“I’m not running-” I’m interrupted.
“Damn right, you’re not!” Marco and Sofia chorus with the exact intonation, it’s spooky.
“I’m not running. I might be wallowing… a little. And he’s not a dick, well, he might be for believing her shit, but I can’t really blame him.” I walk over to my desk and pull the crumpled photo from the drawer and throw it on the table next to the wine. Marco sits instantly and shoots his mouthful of wine all down his front, hitting the table and the bowl of chocolate.
“Oh, gross, Marco, I was going to eat those,” Sofia reprimands her brother, because she hasn’t yet noticed what caused his reaction. He wipes his mouth and the droplets from his shirt and jeans before he leans to pick up the photo.
“Bets?” He looks shocked and confused.
“What the fuck!” Sofia grabs the photo from Marco’s hand and studies the image. Marco is looking at me and then back to the photo.
“Bets, what is that? No, wait, why do you have that… no, wait, just explain all of it.” They both look at me. Their eyes are identical, but Marco’s are confused, while Sofia’s are all concern.
“It’s one of a set, but this one was Daniel’s favourite, and he wanted me to have it,” I say with exaggerated affection. I explain the sequence of the other photos, the train wreck that followed, and sit dejectedly in my armchair. Sofia squeezes next to me, it’s a tight fit and I laugh, because I don’t think she realized it would be this cozy. We are practically nose to nose.
“You know that’s not you, right?” Marco’s ridiculous observation makes us both bark out with laughter.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure I know that’s not me.” This tragedy has momentarily morphed into a comedy.
“That’s Rose, but I don’t understand. She has a massive tattoo on her arse; I mean it’s massive. A massive rose tattoo.” He repeats dazed. “She’s the right build, and her hair kind of looks the same as yours, so, yeah, she looks a little like you.” He catches my eyes. I’m still chuckling. “And don’t get freaked, I’m not harbouring any latent desires for a round two, sorry, a round one with you, Bets. Rose is really into me, she’s fit and feisty in the sack.” He holds up the photo. “Exhibit A, I believe. But that doesn’t explain her disappearing tattoo?”
“No, but Photoshop would.” Sofia adds.
“He believed this?” Marco’s voice is sterner, and I can see his jaw start to grind.
“He believed what he saw,” I sigh sadly, remembering his exact words.
“He’s a fucking idiot, and she… she is a fucking bitch.” He is openly angry now, and I tense. “Why the fuck are you letting her get away with this?” I feel Sofia tense beside me.
“I have nothing, other than her birth certificate, which I doctored to get my place at Uni. I have nothing that proves she is anything other than what she pretends to be. She has completely, and successful, rewritten her life, and I now have the starring role of ‘villain’. She destroyed everything from her life before. I remember the bonfire in the garden, her fresh start. Everything went, photos, school reports, diaries, clothes. She left with the clothes on her back and a big fat cheque.” My voice has been slowly rising, so I take a calming breath. “I think she did me a favour with the photos. He was so quick to believe her. I think… no, I know he didn’t love me, not like…” I feel a rush of tears that I hold in my lids and a tingle in my nose. I let out small puffs of air to prevent my free fall, and Sofia puts her arm around my shoulders awkwardly, pulling my head into her neck. We are just too close for this to be comfortable, but I take comfort from the gesture. This is just bearable, believing Daniel didn’t love me, and it will mean that Marco won’t need to be fighting in my corner anytime soon.
“Look, I have nothing to gain from trying to expose her. It might be different if …” I hesitate, it wouldn’t be different, because she is clinically insane, but if Marco knew about her threat, well, I physically shudder at that thought. “If he loved me.” It’s a perfectly plausible reason to let it go, and Marco seems appeased with my reasoning. Sofia doesn’t say anything, but she holds a well of sadness in her face. She still has this misguided romantic world view where she truly believed Daniel loved me, and for that she is a little heartbroken, but for her I will be made of stronger stuff. I kiss her cheek and whisper, “I’m happy with my ‘no-more,’ Sofs, and I want you to be, too.”
“Yeah, you sound happy.” She nods toward my iPod speaker, and I laugh.
“God, Bets, Sofia is right. I’m on a freaking high from an awesome holiday, and even I want to hang myself,” Marco moans.
“All right, all right, I’ll change the tunes.” I lever myself from the armchair and pick up my iPod and start to scroll. “If you’re looking for upbeat I can offer you a whole play list of Disney Film soundtracks.”
“What are you, seven?” Marco grabs my IPod and throws it on the sofa promptly replacing it with his, and it’s a mix of Killers, Arctic Monkeys, and Muse. Perfect. “So are you going to ask me about my trip, or is it all about you girls tonight?” He pouts and pours another glass.
This is the last of Daniel’s lectures and I am again sitting high, toward the back of the theatre with Mike and Sam on either side of me. I am all nerves and excitement, which is really stupid. I haven’t been eating too well, either, but made sure I had at least consumed a granola bar and some juice. I won’t be fainting again, no matter what stunt he might pull. The room falls instantly silent as his powerful presence emanates across the room. My body responds like the traitor it is, with a flush of prickles covering my skin and an increase in my heartbeat. I only brave fleeting glances toward the stage, but each time it is clear Daniel’s focus is on his notes and the screen. His lecture is brilliant, and there is only one moment when his eyes meet mine. The bright dark-blue eyes reflect no recognition, no acknowledgment of any prior intimacy, and I am consumed by an excruciating pain in my chest at his obvious indifference to me now.
“Looks like you’re off the hook this week, Ms.” Mike nudges me and smiles.
“It would appear so.” I offer quietly. I look at my empty page. I have taken no notes, despite the rich material offered and Sam looks at my page.
“Not like you, nerd?” He nods to my page with the query across his brow.
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s all in here.” I tap my temple and start to pack my bag. Everyone around me has started to shuffle and make their way to the exit, but I decide to sit until the room is clear, and then wait a bit longer. I can fool myself that he might not have seen me in the room full as it was, but an up close and personal encounter, I know I won’t fare so well. I have to wait a while for the room to clear as Daniel takes his time with the overly keen students vying for his attention. I rest my head in my arms and close my eyes, a huge mistake. I am awakened, I don’t know how much later, but there is definitely a little drool in the corner of my mouth, by the kind face of my course leader. He is gently shaking my shoulder as I re-orientate. I discretely wipe my mouth and smile. Wow, I am embarrassed.
“Sorry Mr. Wilson. It’s very warm in here, and I must have been a lot more tired than I thought, sorry. I didn’t fall asleep in the lecture.” I add quickly, hoping he wouldn’t think me that rude, and he laughs.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a student has, my dear, but I believe you. I was just coming to lock up and saw you. Lucky I did, or you might’ve been here all night.” He laughs again. Really, I’m so exhausted I probably wouldn’t have woken before morning, anyway.
“You lock up the rooms?” That didn’t seem right. Surely that is more a job for security than for a Head of Department.
“When I’m asked to.” He still hasn’t moved to allow me to get up. “Bethany, I wanted to check how you are doing? You seem a little pale, and, well, you just don’t seem like yourself. Some of the Lecturers have commented, and I wanted to make sure you are okay?”
My face flushes red with this level of concern. Again I think this is outside his remit as course leader. “Oh, that is very kind. I’m fine, really. I love the course, but I have been working a few extra shifts, and I just think it’s taken its toll on me, but nothing to worry about,” I insist. “I’m fine.” I smile, but my stern tone I hope will fend off further personal questions. I go to move, but he still makes no indication that he is about to join me in leaving the theatre.
“You don’t seem fine.” Okay, so maybe I need to work on my stern ‘don’t ask me any more questions’ tone, but he looks so sincere and kind, there is no way I can get cross at his insistence.
“My mother died recently.” I know it was mean to use this excuse and make him uncomfortable in the process, but it does have the desired effect.
“Oh, I am sorry, Bethany.” He reaches for my entwined hands and squeezes. “I had no idea. I understand how traumatic that must be. If you need anything from me, you know you only have to ask.” He pushes himself up out of the seat, and I follow him along the row. “We better get a move on, or we will both get locked in, and that will have tongues wagging.” He gives me a cheeky wink, any awkwardness vanishes, and we both laugh.
It is dark across the Quad, and there are only a few students left. I decide to walk home. I know it will take me a good hour, but I am in no hurry to be alone in my apartment. Besides, I love London at night this time of year. The Christmas decorations are up, and the luxury arcades along Piccadilly look spectacular, festive and magical. The window display in Fortnum and Mason is decadent and luxurious, with mountains of mouth-watering Christmas fare, arranged in a feat of gravity-defying art; glossy glazed fruits, rich dark chocolates, and cinder toffee. Thick mince pies and delicately iced Christmas cakes. My tummy rumbles as I step foot on the Piccadilly road in anticipation of passing these windows.
I reach the corner of the street just after Fortnum’s when I notice Daniel’s driver standing at the back of his car. He waves me over. I look around. I don’t know who would be following me, but I still want to check. I don’t recognize anyone.
“Hey, Peter.” I greet him cheerily. “Christmas shopping on the clock?” I quip. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the boss; us ‘staff’ have to stick together.” I snort.
“You were never staff, Ms. Thorne,” he tells me quietly.
“I think you’ll find I was.” I’m still smiling, it might hurt like fuck, but there is no reason for everyone else to know that. “Anyway, how are you doing?”
“I am well, Ms. Thorne, and you? Are you keeping well?” His voice is tinged with concern, and I wonder how much he knows. Probably more than I would want, but his eyes are kind.
“Really, Peter, Bethany is fine. Actually Bets would be much better, and, yes, I’m fine.” I wonder if I am using that description more because I know how much Daniel hated it. I smile at this. “I’m fine, anyway, it’s freezing, so I’ll maybe see you around.” I turn to leave.
“May I please drive you home? As you said, it’s cold and it’s still some distance from here.”
“Oh I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say in a gravely humorous tone. “If you’re not in trouble for Christmas shopping, you’d probably get the sack for giving me a lift, which is not worth the risk, my friend.” I laugh. “It’s not that far through Green Park.”
“I can’t let you walk through the park Ms.… Bethany.” Bless him, he is struggling with the informality.
“Don’t sweat it, and, no offense, Peter, but it’s not your call. Thank you all the same. See you.” I turn and head off at a brisk walk. I decide not to go through the park. The streets are busy, and the roads are gridlocked, but when I turn to cross the road, I notice Peter is slowly following me in Daniel’s Bentley. The traffic is moving no quicker than my walking pace, so he is pretty much on my heel the whole way to Knightsbridge. We even pass one another several times, and I wave. He looks exasperated at my stubbornness, but he’d not thank me if he got the sack just before Christmas. I remember painfully that I was escorted from Daniel’s building. He would throw a shit-fit if I was using his personal driver for my own convenience.
The kitchen is busy with the final orders of the evening, and Joe tries to tempt me to eat a little of the special, a venison meatball spaghetti, which I’m sure is delicious but would be way too rich, given my limited intake of food recently. I do agree to a small bowl of the tomato and basil soup, which I carefully hold in my hands as I tuck my legs under me on the sofa. I knew I was hungry, but I didn’t think I would be able to actually keep anything down. The soup, however, is sweet, and the basil tastes so fresh, I finish the whole bowl. I suddenly feel so tired, and I lie down on the sofa. I don’t know where it comes from, but I am soon heaving with such sadness, my shoulders are shaking uncontrollably, and my tears are free-falling, drenching my face. I thought I was coping. I knew I wasn’t, but I can’t believe this pain, it hurts so fucking much. I can’t believe I miss him so much and I’m so fucking angry. How could he believe those pictures without question? How could he believe her, believe I didn’t love him? How could he look through me like I was nothing? Because to him, you are nothing, you’re a fucking idiot! I then hear some lyrics float from the kitchen below about ‘sharing all my secrets and all my fears, but the hardest part not having you to hold’ and it feels like my heart has been ripped from my chest because ‘I can’t bear to let him go.’ This crippling pain is me not bearing it, and I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to survive Daniel Stone.
I don’t know how long I release my sadness into the sofa cushions, but my eyes are now dry. They are empty, at least, when I hear my bag vibrate. My body feels unbelievably heavy, and with herculean effort I push myself up and retrieve my bag. Rummaging to the bottom, I notice it is the phone Mags gave me that is vibrating. I just hadn’t gotten around to sending it back. I’m amazed it’s still kept its charge. Expecting the call center ID to be flashing, I almost drop the phone when I recognise Daniel’s number flash across the screen. My heart, which had been bleeding on the floor, now leaps to my throat, and I stare at the phone for ages. I shouldn’t answer it, but it just keeps ringing. Why is he calling me on this phone? I guess I could ask him? I press the button and tentatively hold the phone to my ear like it might explode.
“Daniel?” My voice is barely a whisper. Silence. “Daniel, why are you calling me?” The line is quiet, but I can hear his gentle breathing.
“Lola?” His voice is smooth. My senses are instantly on high alert. I wait a moment, the silence palpable.
“Sir.”
“Lola, good evening.” His voice is smooth and commanding.
“Sir? I…I,” I stutter.
“I said good evening, Lola.” His dominant tone is very clear, and I shiver.
“Good evening, Sir,” I acquiesce.
“Good girl.” His deep sigh is sensual and captivating. I know Sir is Daniel, but I don’t know what he wants. What I do know is that my body is programmed to obey him, and it starts to tingle with anticipation. “Now… how have you been? I think it might be worth mentioning now about my view regarding lies, Lola. They won’t be tolerated, and you will be punished.”
“I should be punished.”
“Really? Why would you say that? Have you been bad?” His tone is serious, and his voice is dark.
“I must have been very bad, Sir.” My voice is shaky. “I don’t think anyone could suffer pain like this who hadn’t done something so terrible to deserve every bit of it. So, yes, I think I must have been bad, and maybe in a previous life, too. Maybe I was Genghis Khan’s mother.”
His laugh rumbles through the phone, and the light sound makes me smile. All this pain, and I still glean some much needed warmth from his voice.
“I am going to help you, Lola,” He states as a matter of fact.
“Sir,” I sigh at this futile conversation, “that is kind, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Did I ask you what you thought?” He is dismissive of my reservation. “I want you to get changed into one of my gifts to you, and in ten minutes there will be a taxi waiting to bring you to me.”
I gasp. “Da-” I don’t get to finish his name.
“-LOLA!” He shouts down the phone making me jump.
“Sir, I can’t see you. I can’t come to you. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” My panic is evident in my rushed objection.
“You can and will,” He growls his demands. “Lola, you will come to me, and I will make the pain disappear. I will make your pain disappear. Now, you can do as I say, and you will be brought to my flat, not my apartment, or I will come and get you. Do you understand, Lola?” Oh, fuck, I can’t let him come here, but at the same time, I do want him to take my pain away. I really want the pain to go away. I am so scared. I can’t help a small sob from reaching my mouth. “Lola, I won’t let anything happen to you that you don’t want to happen.” His voice is pure sin, but he adds in a softer serious tone, “You will be safe, and everything that is important to you will be safe.” He is adamant, his voice is reassuring. But then I worry that I just think it is reassuring because I need it to be. “Don’t overthink this… ten minutes.” He hangs up.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
My head is spinning. What the fuck? I can’t risk him coming here, that is just a no, but if I’m to get a taxi, then that means no driver to tie back to Daniel. Also not going to his apartment, and the fact that he won’t answer his name is all good, I think. I don’t really know what to think, but as it stands at this moment I am Lola, and Lola is taking a taxi somewhere to meet Sir. If I wasn’t so scared shitless, I would be hugely turned on by the dominance of his request and this clandestine rendezvous. I run into my bedroom and dive on the boxes in the corner. It is pretty easy to differentiate which garments came from Sir and which came from Daniel, and I quickly identify a black and emerald green corset and matching silk panties, with black seamed silk stockings. I slip my black suede knee high fitted boots and pull a simple grey jersey dress over the top. I don’t own a Mac type coat or any smart long coat for that matter, so I push my arms through the sleeves of my army green Parker. Not quite the image I was hoping for, but it’s bloody freezing out there now.
I hear the horn of the taxi, and my heart ratchets up in speed. I put my keys in my bag and make my way outside. I keep telling myself I don’t have a choice, because I can’t risk him turning up here. At the same time, I am curious to know what he wants from me, or how he plans to help me. I can’t sit still in the taxi.
“Do you know where you’re taking me?” I ask the driver.
“Yes, Miss.” He smiles but says nothing more.
“Do you mind me asking who paid for the booking?”
“You can ask, Miss, but I can’t tell you. It was a cash booking. All up front, so I’m afraid there is no way of knowing, same goes for your return trip.” He hands me his card. “Just call me when you need picking up, I’ll be outside, anyway, but I can pull up right by the door if I know you’re on your way.”
I take his card, “Oh, okay, thanks.” I feel stupid for being so paranoid, but then I have pretty good reason to be, and now I can’t help thinking this is such a stupid thing to be doing. What if… Oh God. “Look.” I address the driver, “Umm, I think I’ve changed my mind. Can you take me back?”
“Ah, sorry, love, my instructions are to take you to the destination and escort you into the building. If there was any change in the plan, I was to wait at the destination for the other party to join you to bring you back here. So I guess I can take you back but …”
“No.” I sigh. “No, it’s fine. I thought for a moment that this was my choice.” I mumble. I feel my phone buzz with a text.
ENTRY CODE: Z78423P FLOOR 18 FLAT 181
My mouth is suddenly dry. The driver turns a corner to a complex of buildings I recognize and pulls up outside Paul’s apartment block. I am really confused now. Paul was discharged yesterday, but I know he is staying at his parents’ house in Notting Hill for a while. Also his flat is on the fourteenth floor, so I know I’m not going there. The driver walks around to my side, but I have already opened the door and stepped out of the car. He walks beside me until we reach the side entrance with the entry keypad. I press the numbers and say goodbye, but he waits until I am fully inside, and the door has clicked locked. I wave, and he finally turns to leave. I wonder if he is expecting me to change my mind and walk back out, and as he leans against his car still looking at me, I realize that’s exactly what he is expecting me to do. Or at least what he has been warned I might do. I wave again and turn toward the bank of lifts. My hands are a little shaky, and as the lift ascends, it is not just the sudden weightlessness that is making me feel nauseous.
I stand outside flat number 181, my body is trembling, and I pull my head tight to one side to stretch my neck and release some of the tension with a loud crack. I let out a large puff of air, and I think this must feel like a combination of stage fright and entering a boxing ring for the first time. Although he has already done the TKO on me, so I am thinking the former analogy is more appropriate. I take a quick peek down beneath my dress and catch my costume; definitely stage fright. I lightly knock on the door, and moments later, it opens. Oh, he takes my breath away. He stands to one side with his arm high on the door; he is wearing the same black suit trousers he wore in the lecture earlier this evening and nothing else.