The Name I Call Myself (31 page)

“The phone rang.”

He opened the door to let me and Zoe out, as we braced ourselves against the wet wind attempting to blow us back in again.

“Who's calling at this time?”

“Nothing important.” They began to hurry down the steps, while I stayed huddled beneath the overhang of the roof. “Just that bloke again, asking about a redhead called Rachel.”

“Well, I think the only redhead who comes here is Faith.”

“I told him that.”

“Right. Bye Faith!”

They disappeared into the stormy night, just about the same time the world shattered inside my skull.

I stood frozen, a deer in headlights, panic running through my veins like a stampeding herd of buffalo. When I finally managed to steady my hands enough to phone Perry, it rang straight through to voicemail. I didn't leave a message.

“Okay. No need to panic. He's not phoning the chapel if he's hiding round the corner, is he? Lurking behind that bin over there, or in the shadow of that massive, creepy tree. Argh! Stop scaring yourself and think of a plan to get home. Or at least out of the rain until Perry turns up.”

I ran through my options. Out loud. It helped drown out the sound of my terror.

“One. Phone Perry. No, tried that. Two. Phone a taxi. Only there aren't any taxis for miles. And I haven't got any money. Three. Phone a friend. Ooh yes. I have some friends now. How about Marilyn? No. The twins'll be asleep and Polly's gone to stay with her parents. Who else?”

I thought about the other choir members, but the few I knew best had no transport, or had to get up early in the morning, or, let's face it, weren't the level of friend I could call up at eleven o'clock at night to pick me up, ferry me six miles through a storm, and then drive home again. Even if I did have any of their numbers, which I didn't.

Yes, there was option four. Someone who happened to live in the manse right behind the church where he worked.

But I couldn't.

Not after the weirdness of the evening, pretending to be on a marriage course together, with the new, growly, pirate Dylan, and the
you're so beautiful I would die for you
thing. The way that thing made my newfound resolve melt, along with my insides, I could not turn up on his doorstep, sopping wet, and beg for his help once again because Perry had let me down.

I would rather fight off Kane with the Peppa Pig umbrella.

Come on, Peppa, we're tough stuff. We can do it!

I huddled against the door, wishing, hoping,
praying
Perry had not forgotten me. The longer I waited, the worse it would be if I did knock on Dylan's door. What if he had gone to bed?

Enough! I'm walking home. So I get a little wet? What's the worst that could happen?

My rational self gave my ridiculous, mixed-up, more-scared-of-knocking-on-Dylan's-door-than-a-murderer-on-the-prowl self a mental slap around the chops.
It's dark, and raining, and the footpaths will be a bog. Remember the camping hike. You could
actually die
if you try to walk home. Kane won't need to come and find you. Your own stupid pride will do the job for him.

I stopped for a minute at the bottom of the steps, an enormous puddle lapping at my ankle boots, and wrestled with common sense.

What if I catch the flu again?

Furious at Perry, the storm, Dylan, marriage classes, my ugly past and confusing future, and of course mostly myself, I kicked a nearby lemonade can against the metal gate securing the far side of the chapel from the car park. Once wasn't enough, so I kicked it a few more times. Then I used a tissue from my bag to pick it up and deposit it in the recycling bin.

Ducking my head into the rain, wielding Peppa Pig in one hand, and using the pathetic glow from my cheapo phone as a torch in the other, I began making my way along the side of the building, in the direction of home. I crept towards the end of the wall. Heart hammering. Eyes straining. Feet squelching.

Suddenly, someone burst around the corner and, with no time to alter course, slammed into my chest, pitching me stumbling backwards.

I landed with an
oomph
in a stream of gravelly water, the umbrella and phone clattering to the ground as I instinctively reached back to protect my fall. All light now extinguished, I sensed as much as saw the person who'd knocked me over looming over me. Scrabbling for the umbrella, I sucked in as much air as my petrified lungs could muster and screamed.

Whew. I could
scream
. Somewhere behind the paralysing, hysterical fear, I impressed myself. And as the long seconds – one drawn-out, endless, Munch-type scream – passed, and my brain began to slowly unscramble, I knew that if what loomed over me was indeed the monster of my nightmares, the best thing to do in this village chapel car park was to make as much noise as possible.

If nobody came to my aid, they'd at least come to complain.

And if I thwacked the monster a couple of times in the face with the umbrella, so much the better.

Or so much the worse, as the man – and it was a man judging by the size and the shape of his shadow – grabbed the umbrella and wrenched it off me, tossing it aside before trying to take hold of both my arms as I lay there on the wet ground. I fought with him. Fought for my life. Fought like I should have fought Snake, the memories crashing over me. Eventually, he gave up trying to wrestle my arms, and pressed one hand firmly over my mouth. While I tried to prise it off enough to bite down, he yelled into the vacuum created where my scream had been.

“Faith! It's Dylan.”

It took a few more seconds for my neurons to process those words. Dylan.

Oh.

Ah.

Whoops.

“Are you going to let me help you up?”

I nodded. He pulled me to my feet, the rain running off his brow as he peered through the darkness.

“I thought you were kids causing trouble. I really didn't mean to crash into you. Are you hurt?”

As soon as he let go, I fell against the wall, my bones like water, and began to slide back down to the ground.

“Ah, no. Don't do that.” He swept me up against his chest, and when my legs refused to steady, he scooped me up and carried me. I must have weighed twice as much as usual due to the gallons of water in my clothes. Burying my head into his shoulder I clung on as he jogged across a stretch of grass before dumping me onto a welcome mat and unlocking a bright red wooden door into a cottage.

“Faith? Come in out of the rain.”

“Urhh. Right.” More than a little disconcerted, I staggered through the door into Dylan's man cave.

“Are you okay to wait here for a couple of seconds?” I nodded as he disappeared into the main house, leaving me stood in the tiny entrance hall dripping rain onto the wooden floor. The stairs were to my right, steps piled high with books, papers, a jar of nails, a hammer, a sports bag, and various other clutter. Judging by the slamming and rattling sounds, I guessed Dylan was trying to make the place presentable. Given some of the places I had lived in during my younger, scarier days, I really wasn't bothered about the mess. I was however in need of a moment to compose myself following the sweeping off my feet thing, let alone what had led up to it.

And after our previous argument, now I had ended up here, alone with Dylan in his house, the storm raging all around us.

I was wearing Dylan's clothes!
His
clothes!

A pair of bunched-up tracksuit bottoms and a navy sweatshirt with a furry inside. They smelled of pine trees.

Oh dear. I had been doing so well.

He handed me a mug of steaming hot chocolate. I took a tentative sip, pretending that the warmth oozing through my insides was purely down to the drink. We sat down on opposite sides of his breakfast bar.

While my clothes dried, I recounted what had happened.

“I can't think of anyone asking about you, or about someone with red hair. I would have remembered that because of the guy at HCC.”

“He wasn't asking for Faith.”

“No? Who was he asking for?”

I took a deep breath. Remembering that little girl, the person I used to be, her hopes and fears, her confusion, and the terrible things she grew to understand. Remembering how it sounded on her lips, what it meant – the name my mother gave me. The name I used to call myself. The name Kane knew me by.

Pressing my hands against my eyes, I offered the most precious part of my past to this man who made me feel so treacherously safe. Opened myself up to him in a way we both knew crossed a line.

“My name was Rachel.”

Dylan went very, very still. He got up and carefully placed his mug in the empty sink, then stood staring out of the window into the pounding rain.

“You've spoken to him.” My voice trembled.

He sighed, gripped on to the edge of the work surface for a minute before turning back around. “Yes.”

“And?”

He grimaced. “He came to church the other week, when you were ill, and asked around for Rachel then. Said he used to live in the area, a long time ago, and was trying to catch up with his wife's family. His wife attended the chapel, and he'd heard her daughter – his stepdaughter – was still around. He didn't mention hair, or I might have made the connection.”

“She wasn't his wife.” As if that mattered. The room went black.
I couldn't hear past the clanging in my ears, but felt Dylan's hands pushing my head down between my knees, his firm arm gripping my shoulders as he urged me to breathe.

I managed not to faint, but it took a lot longer for the panic in my chest to subside.

“He's here. He's been here. He's looking for me. He phoned tonight. I have to go.
I have to go!
”

“You can't go home like this.”

“I can't stay here.” I tried to get my breathing under control.

“Call Perry. You can stay at his tonight. Wasn't he supposed to be picking you up anyway?”

I nodded. “My phone's in the rain. It fell when you ran into me.”

“Here.” He handed me his.

The phone rang for a long time before Perry picked up. I could hear the sound of heavy music in the background and people talking.

“Where are you? Why didn't you come and pick me up?”

“What? Faith?”

“Yes it's Faith!” Fear made me snap. “Who else would it be?”

“Faith! Lovely Faith. Didn't you get my message? I can't come and pick you up. Eddie stole my keys, the thieving scoundrel.”

With a flash of awareness, I realized he was drunk.

Great timing, Perry.

I clenched my jaw so tight I'm surprised my skull didn't crack.

“How am I going to get home?”

“I don't know. Maybe your little vicar man will drive you in his Popemobile. Or you could walk. You like walking. Walking up and down everywhere, walk walk walk.”

“I thought you were working.” I didn't bother hiding my growing anger.

“I was. We finished. Decided to celebrate. Come on, Faith; don't be that woman.”

“What woman?” A woman terrified at the effect of toxic substances on the people she cares about?

“Nags. Nags who expect me to come and get them. And don't even invite me in afterwards. I bought you a car, didn't I? Learn to drive.”

I hung up, smarting.

Dylan said nothing.

“He's just finished the business deal he's been working on for the past month. They're out celebrating.”

He furrowed his brow.

“He's in no fit state to drive. Or listen to my problems.”

“You haven't told him.”

I closed my eyes. “I'm going to. I planned to. But then this deal came up, and I've barely seen him. And when I have it's been with his parents there, planning wedding stuff, or for a quick lunch. Hardly the right time to tell him, by the way, my mum got murdered by her pimp boyfriend, I got fostered by my grandma, who then died, leaving me in the care of my brother – who incidentally, I never mentioned, happens to be an addict as well as mentally ill. Oh yes, and his dealer also came to join our family. That's how I happened to get the scars you haven't seen because I freeze every time you touch me thanks to my history of abuse. Then, over coffee I could mention my time on the streets, working in the strip club, and how the man who started all this is now on the loose and hunting me down in order to, I don't know, kill me and Sam. Hardly the usual topic of conversation for the HCC lunchtime crowd.”

“I'm so sorry.” Dylan quieted my flapping hands by placing his hand back on my shoulder, standing beside me where I perched on the stool. I resisted the urge to collapse into him and bury my head in his chest. His careful distance enabled me to see how that would make me simply another one of those women: the clichéd woman in distress let down by her idiot fiancé, throwing herself at the handsome, morally unavailable rescuer.

But the truth was, I wanted to feel the security of Dylan's hand on my shoulder all night, and for every night until Kane was back behind bars. And for every night after that.

Dylan, however, was made of stronger stuff. He pulled away, putting enough distance between us to allow my head to start working again.

“Right. I'll fetch your phone and then drive you home. I can watch TV on your couch until morning.”

I took a deep breath. “Is that a good idea? I don't think the other church leaders would approve.”

“Right now, I'm more concerned with keeping you safe than what anyone else thinks.”