Keeping Sam (18 page)

The curtains had brightly coloured ship motifs with pure white sails on a deep blue background and were folded neatly on top of a box of toys Kate had scavenged from the thrift shop. In Sam’s room, the cot had been covered with a protective cloth in readiness, along with the armchair and a small chest of drawers donated by Marie.

While Marie was busy inspecting the clothes Kate had made for Sam, oohing and ahhing over each little outfit, Kate’s gaze slid to the dress that hung on the back of her door, shrouded in a dry-cleaning cover to keep out prying eyes. It was the only way she could say thank you to her friend, and she couldn’t wait to see Marie’s face when it was finished.

‘Will your ex be here to help with the decorating?’ Marie said, standing and stretching out her back. Kate grimaced, and shook her head.

‘I hope not.’

‘Not with Patrick around, eh?’ Marie said with a wink.

That wasn’t the only reason, but Kate couldn’t deny it was a factor. She glanced at her watch, then sighed.

‘Speaking of Evan, I need to get ready. He’s taking me out for a drink tonight. We arranged it last week.’

Marie’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hair.

‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’ Kate told her wearily. ‘But I can’t just ignore him, can I? He’s Sam’s dad, and he’s here in Corrin Cove large as life. And I don’t want him just turning up here whenever it suits him.’

‘Because that really would cramp your style,’ Marie finished, turning her eyes up towards the ceiling and treating Kate to another meaningful wink. Kate shook her head slowly, then turned away. There was no way she was going to admit to her friend how close to the mark her comment was.

Chapter 21

Kate managed an hour and a half with Evan before she felt compelled to go home. Sitting in a crowded bar listening to her ex recount his tales of misadventure, watching him get drunk while he pressed his knees against hers in the cramped space and grinned at her over the top of his pint, was not Kate’s idea of a fun evening.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ he slurred, and Kate was too exhausted to say no. Let him play the gentleman if he wanted. It could only help to get rid of him more quickly.

For most of the short walk back to Bow Hill, Evan sang at the top of his voice; it seemed he’d picked up some old sea shanty during his brief stay in Corrin Cove, and he insisted on regaling Kate with verse after verse of it, most of which she was sure he’d made up. But she was laughing in spite of herself by the time they reached her front door.

‘Where are you staying, Evan?’ Kate asked him as she fumbled in her bag for her key.

‘TravelDen,’ he said sourly. ‘It’s a dump.’

‘My mother’s budget doesn’t stretch to the Grand Hotel on the seafront?’

Evan shook his head, evidently throwing himself off balance and veering against her, almost knocking them both into the road.

‘Oops,’ he said, stumbling back towards the wall.

‘Well, thanks for the drink. Goodnight.’ Kate let herself inside, but Evan was too quick for her. When she turned to close the door he was standing behind her in the hall.

‘Coffee?’ he said grinning.

‘No, I really don’t think that’s …’

Kate closed her mouth with a sigh. Evan was already halfway up the stairs, lurching from side to side as though he was on a ship at sea.

She glanced towards Marie’s rooms, but there was no sign of her landlady. Evan peered down at her, shushing her loudly and gesturing for her to follow him up. Kate sighed again.

As soon as she let him inside, Evan flopped onto the bed, patting it in what he clearly thought was an inviting fashion. Kate shook her head.

‘You can have your coffee, Evan, and then you can go.’

‘Okay, Katie. If that’s what you want.’

‘And can you stop calling me Katie? You know it winds me up.’

She crossed the room, filling the kettle from the tap in the en suite. When she turned, Evan was standing in the doorway, blocking her path.

‘Katie. Come and sit down.’

She pushed past him and set down the kettle, her instincts on red alert. Drunk or not, Evan was stronger than her, and he had that look in his eyes she knew so well.

He wanted her.

‘Evan,’ she began, but he shook his head, his unfocused eyes not leaving her face. He reached out his hand and put a finger to her lips. When he moved he moved quickly, pulling her roughly to the bed, pinning her underneath him.

‘No,’ she cried, but her voice was muffled against his chest. He smelt of beer and sweat and stale aftershave, and a hot kind of energy. She couldn’t think straight, could only feel the pressure of him pushing her down, could only see his eyes, hooded and glazed, bearing down over her.

She wriggled her arms out of his grip, heard him laugh as he mistook the wriggling for pleasure. His smug laughter gave her an idea.

‘Wait,’ she gasped, reaching up to place her hands on either side of his face. She kept her grip light, as though it was no more than a caring gesture. She smiled, and felt him ease off just slightly. ‘Evan, there’s no need to force me. Let’s take it a little slower, okay?’

He peered down, his expression measuring. She gave a nod of encouragement, and suddenly his eyes cleared and he grinned.

‘Ah, Katie. You don’t change, do you? Still gagging for it, right? Can’t get enough of your Evan.’

‘You got it,’ she said, fixing a smile to her face. He shifted to the edge of the bed. She lay unmoving, holding her breath.

‘You know,’ he said, getting up with effort and swaying into the middle of the room, ‘all this is so pointless. You should be having a good time, not making these stupid clothes, sitting here sewing like an old granny. It was the same back in Manchester – you were so boring! And that bloody sailor outfit, I recognise that. Is it the same one or are you making another? It’s like you’re obsessed, woman.’

He lurched towards the en suite, pointing a finger at her over his shoulder. ‘You stay right there little lady while I go take a slash. I’ll be back,’ he added with a salacious grin. ‘You can start without me if you like.’

Kate waited until he closed the toilet door behind him. And then she was on her feet, moving faster than she’d ever moved before. Out of the door, up the stairs, her feet barely touching the worn carpet, her hands feeling the way in the half-light. There was Patrick’s door, and she flung herself against it, rapping with her knuckles, all the while staring with wide eyes over her shoulder.

Patrick opened the door at once, and Kate stepped back, pointing shakily down the stairs. ‘Evan,’ she whispered. ‘He’s drunk, he’s …’ she tailed off, unable to bring herself to say the words.

‘Wait inside,’ Patrick said, moving out of the way so Kate could edge past him silently. She watched him jog down to the first floor. He was barefoot and made no sound at all.

‘Wait,’ she hissed. ‘I’m coming too.’

She tiptoed down after him, sliding her eyes away from his smooth, bare chest.

‘Kate, you should–’

‘No. I’ve had enough of standing by and letting things happen to me. I want to do this. But I need you for–’

‘Backup?’ Patrick offered. It was too dark to see his expression, but Kate thought he was smiling. She nodded.

‘Backup. Right.’

When Evan came out of the en suite, zipping up his fly and whistling amiably, Kate was waiting for him. She had her phone in one hand and a pair of sewing scissors in the other.

‘You need to leave now,’ she told him, gesturing towards the open door. ‘And I don’t want to see you again. Not in court, not in Corrin Cove, and certainly not around Sam. Go back to Scotland or Manchester or wherever and get on with your life, Evan. Forget about us.’

He laughed, lurching towards her, then veering away in mock horror, hands raised, at the sight of the scissors.

‘Or what? You’ll sew me to death?’

Kate lifted her phone. ‘It has voice dialling. If you attack me again I’ll call the police.’

‘Go ahead, Katie. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated to visit this place. Oh, I see.’ He nodded slowly. ‘We’re not alone anymore.’

Patrick lifted a hand in a half-wave, then returned to his relaxed pose leaning against the wall in the corridor outside. Kate’s heart banged in her chest; she focused on her hand, determined not to let Evan see it shaking. For ten seconds, twenty seconds, no one moved. Then Evan laughed again.

‘Hey, chill out, Katie. Take a compliment. So your old ex still fancies you, but I get it – you’ve moved on. No problem.’ He strolled out onto the landing, tipping his head at Patrick. ‘Jeez, the things people will do to get out of making a cup of coffee.’

Kate heard Marie come out into the hallway as Patrick saw Evan out of the house for the second time, heard a murmured conversation, and then the sound of Marie’s door closing again. She shivered and hugged herself. It wasn’t cold. Patrick appeared, climbing the stairs two at a time, and then he crossed the small landing and held her close to him, making no attempt to take her either into her room or up to his own. She could feel the warmth of his chest through her sweater, the tension in the arms that encircled her. She flicked her gaze to his mouth, then she closed her eyes, waiting, not waiting, not knowing what might happen next. And then his lips were on hers, gently, the very gesture a question needing to be asked. She responded by pulling him close, losing herself in his embrace, moulding her body to his. The beauty and sweetness of it overwhelmed her; she felt his kisses on her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids, kissing away her tears, chasing away the fear. Her need became stronger, and she pressed herself to him more firmly, exploring his mouth with her tongue.

And then he was pulling away, holding her at arms’ length, his mouth blurred by their passion.

‘I … I’m sorry,’ she said, touching her fingers to her lips as though she could still feel his kiss there.

‘No, Kate, I’m sorry,’ Patrick said. ‘I shouldn’t have … It was taking advantage. I’m just as bad as –’

‘You are not!’ Kate cried, reaching out for him again. ‘Don’t ever say that. Evan was drunk, and won’t take no for an answer at the best of times. I’m sorry for involving you, for waking you up, but please don’t think that what just happened between us was anything like what Evan tried to do.’

But Patrick’s expression told her he was far from convinced. ‘You should get some sleep,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

‘You don’t have to help with the painting if you don’t want to,’ Kate heard herself saying. ‘I mean, you’ve already done so much. I wouldn’t want to impose.’

‘Impose?’ He regarded her, his face impossible to read.

‘I mean, if you’re busy. I don’t want to put you out.’ Kate closed her mouth, unable to trust what might come out of it next. Her mind was still reeling from Evan’s unwelcome pass at her, and from Patrick’s very welcome embrace.

‘Goodnight, Kate,’ Patrick said softly. ‘Call me if you hear from your ex again, or if there’s anything else you need.’

Before Kate could think of what to say, Patrick had gone, and she was left alone on the landing, the darkness making all the edges fuzzy, her ears buzzing in the silence. She trudged back into her own room, closed and locked the door, and stood with her back pressed against it with her eyes closed for the longest time. And then she crossed the room, lay down on the bed, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter 22

The glass felt cold in her fingers – ice-cold even though there was no ice. Maybe it was her hands that were cold. Barbara put the glass down and tucked her fists under her armpits. That was better. She rocked slightly in her chair, listening to the creak of the wood on the floorboards. She must get David to oil the bloody thing. She must tell him to …

Barbara stopped rocking and fixed her eyes on a point on the wall opposite. She allowed her thoughts to slip away, allowed her mind to shut down. This technique had been working well so far, and she saw no reason to stop using it now. Her friends, the endless dance of them through her house, kept telling her not to be afraid to let her feelings out. What did they know? What clue did they have with their perfect families, their married, sensible children, devoted husbands, perky grandkids? It made her sick to hear them going on and on. But the look on their faces when she had told them to get out of her house and leave her alone. That had been priceless.

Now she was alone. Well, not quite. Not yet. She still had Samuel. He was playing in David’s study, building something on his granddad’s desk with those everlasting bricks of his. For when Pops comes home, he’d said. Barbara had told him, she’d tried to explain it, but Samuel had merely looked up at her with those huge eyes of his and said, ‘Don’t be silly, Nana. Pops live here. He be home soon.’

Well, the boy would find out the truth soon enough. And it wasn’t the only truth, either. She knew her days with him were numbered now but somehow, despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it would really happen. He was all she had left. He was all she’d ever had.

She still had one ace up her sleeve. But she was far from sure whether it would work.

Damn David. Damn the lot of them.

Pushing the drink to one side, Barbara picked up the photo album that lay by her feet. Funny, because she had forgotten all about it until a few weeks ago when she found her husband searching frantically in the dresser. She never did find out what he was looking for; now she never would. She shook the thought away and opened the album. Page after page of holiday photos. Herself, Katherine and David in France, in Spain, Scotland, Wales, the Lake District. So Kate had had a terrible childhood, had she? These photographs told a different story. The child in these photographs was smiling; she was happy. She played in the sand and ate ice creams. She held her father’s hand and carried a balloon, her face lit up like the sun.

Barbara wasn’t in many of the photos, and at first she wondered why. It wasn’t as if she were particularly camera-shy. But then she remembered: she had been the one taking the pictures. Which, in a way, made her even more present than the subjects. Without her the images wouldn’t exist.