Unsure (26 page)

“Oh? What happened?”

“The usual. I took her for granted, was out all hours, mixed with bad company—Kenny being the prime example—got into bother at school, dropped out, failed all my exams except my English GCSE. I left home as soon as I turned eighteen to sod off to Bristol with Kenny. God knows what I was thinking, but I was young and stupid.”

“You’re still young, Ashley.” The dry observation is made with a wry smile, and I can’t help smiling back.

“Yes, but not quite so stupid these days, hopefully.”

“Well, time’ll tell. You might decide to revise that opinion when you’ve let me whip you a couple of times. Assuming you do decide to let me, obviously.” His grin is mischievous, the words light despite the bite of his meaning.

I glance up at him, my own grin equally playful. “Maybe. We’ll see.” Then, “How old are you, Tom?” I’m guessing about thirty, not that it seems to matter that much.

“I’m thirty-two. So, what made you decide to appreciate your mum then, after your misspent years as a juvenile delinquent?”

I shove the last few bits of Matilda around my plate, pondering whether to tell him or not. How much of my private, vulnerable self to share. Oh, what the hell…

“It was when David died. My baby, you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” He nods, his eyes serious now, all trace of mischief and playfulness gone.

I put down my fork, stare at my empty plate as I whisper the next bit. It’s not easy, even after a year or more, to talk about this out loud. It might get easier, who knows? But not yet.

“I was in hospital. David was dead. I was out of my mind with grief and shock, and all alone. They asked if there was anyone they could call to come and be with me, and I thought of my mum. She was the only one I wanted, but I hadn’t seen her for nearly two years and the last time we spoke we had a huge row. She loathed Kenny. I’d never even told her I was pregnant. Can you believe that? I never really expected her to come, but she did. Just dropped everything and drove down to Bristol, through the night. I was so pleased to see her, and she was so kind, knew just what to say, how to help me cope. She looked after me, took me home with her when I was able to leave the hospital. We buried David together.”

Tom’s been silent, listening to me. He has to lean in to hear the last sentence, but he does. Doesn’t ask me to repeat it. I doubt I could anyway. My gaze is watery as I look back at him, waiting for some comment, some more probing questions. I don’t want to have to explain why I didn’t stay with my mum, why I went back to Bristol. If he presses me, though, I know I’ll tell him everything. Instead he reaches across the table and simply takes my hand, squeezes it. And asks me about something I wasn’t expecting.

“What about your dad? Where was he?”

“My dad? I don’t have a dad. Never did. My mum was never married.”

“Everyone has a father. Basic biology. You don’t know anything about yours then?”

I bristle at the insinuation. As if my mum would have had a baby and know nothing about the father! “Yes,” I return, defensively. “I do actually. Quite a bit. He was Turkish, worked in a hotel. Him and my mum had a passionate holiday romance in the summer of nineteen ninety, in Side. That’s a holiday resort in Turkey.”

Unfazed by my grumpy response he leans back casually, his arms folded as he listens. He nods slowly. “Yes, Side, near Antalya. I’ve been there. Very nice.”

I hadn’t expected that. “You’ve been there? I never have, even though I’m half Turkish.”

“Well, that explains your exotic beauty, sweet Ashley. That gorgeous all-over tan. I had wondered…” His grin is sexy now, sensual. I shift in my chair, beginning to suspect I may need to be making a move soon, if I’m not to miss the best of the day. The hours of daylight are especially precious at this time of year. Still, I suppose there’s always tomorrow. But no, he’s still on the scent, and back to the business in hand. “So, a Turkish waiter then?”

I shake my head. “No, not a waiter. His name was, is, Bajram Balci. It’s spelt B A L C I, but pronounced Balji. I think it means beekeeper or something like that in Turkish. Or so my mum used to say. He didn’t keep bees, though. He was deputy manager in the hotel his family owned. Bajram and my mum spent a hot passionate summer together bonking their heads off, and she stayed on with him over the winter. The magic or passion or whatever had pretty much burned out, though, by the start of the nineteen ninety-one holiday season, and by May she was headed home. Eight weeks pregnant. I was born in nineteen ninety-two.”

“I see. And did the magical, sexy Bajram Balci know he was a father?”

“Oh yes. They parted friends as far as I could ever tell, and stayed in touch. He sent money quite often, became quite wealthy I think through the family business. Hotels in Side must do well.”

“Yeah, I can imagine they would.”

“My mum used to buy me presents with his money when I was very little. And later she put it in a savings account for me. And he sent me a birthday card every year. Written in Turkish so I couldn’t read them properly, but he put kisses on. He never missed. Even after I left home, my mum kept them. I found my nineteenth and twentieth birthday cards in a drawer in her house, after she died. Unopened. I suppose my twenty-first’ll arrive there too.”

“You didn’t contact him then? To let him know she’d died? That you’d sold up and moved?”

“No. I never thought to. He was in touch with my mum but he never asked to speak to me as far as I know. If it wasn’t for the cards I’d have just thought he wasn’t interested in me. And now it’s too late. I don’t have his address. My mum did, but I don’t know where he lives. And anyway, I didn’t sell up. I still own my mum’s house in Gloucester. I rent it out, to students.”

He glances up sharply at that last revelation but lets it pass. For now. “Maybe you could contact him. He might like to get to know you.”

“No, I doubt it. Not after all these years. He had plenty of opportunity when I was little. He wouldn’t be interested now.”

“A birthday card every year for twenty years doesn’t sound to me like a guy who’s not interested. He might have other children. You might have brothers, sisters, cousins. Aren’t you curious?”

I think for a moment, then, “Yes. Yes, I am curious. I’d like to be part of a family, a big family like yours. I should try to track him down, I suppose, at least let him know about mum and where to send cards to now. If he still wants to. But I’ve no idea how to start. It’s another country, I don’t speak the language, I don’t know anyone there. And what if he didn’t want to hear from me? What if he does have another family and they don’t know about me? I could blunder in and wreck his life. He might hate me…”

“Twenty birthday cards, love. He
won’t
hate you.”

“Maybe. Maybe I could do some Internet research or something. I don’t even know the name of the hotel, though, or anything.”

“You know his name, approximate age—same as your mum, more or less?”

I nod. “Yes, I expect so. She never mentioned that he was older or anything. She was forty-two when she died.”

“Right. And we know his probable location, and that his family are in the hotel business. That’s a lot to go on. Where there’s a will, love, where there’s a will. Now, what are you doing to celebrate your twenty-first?”

“My—what?”

“Your twenty-first birthday, the day after tomorrow. New Year’s Day.”

“How did you know? I never said… I don’t usually bother with birthdays.”

“Yes you did say. That first day, in your cottage when we discussed your hourly rate for working up here. Remember, the minimum wage goes up when you’re twenty-one? You told me you’d be twenty-one on January first. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Ah, right.”
God, he misses nothing.

“So, any plans for how you’ll celebrate it?”

I shake my head. Truthfully, I’ve never given it a thought until this moment.

“Right, leave that to me then. Now, I owe you at least one orgasm before you go roaring off up the hillsides on my quad. We’ve not christened your ‘borrowed’ vibrator yet so we could give that a tug, so to speak. How do you like to use it? What did you discover when you tried it out? Maybe you could do the honors, and I’ll watch. And learn.”

His sexy grin would be irresistible if I wasn’t reeling, caught on the back foot by the sudden swerve in direction. And by the matter-of-fact way he approaches this stuff. Christ! Not that he’s going to learn anything much from me.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me anything. Really,” I mumble my apologies, make to get up, go and retrieve my clothes from the sitting room. He takes my arm as I pass him, pulling me backwards to land on his knee.

“Not so fast, lovely Ashley.” He takes my chin in his thumb and forefinger and tips my face up, holding my gaze even when I try to pull away. “What’s the matter? You’ve only to say no, you don’t need to run away from me. But it’s more, isn’t it? I’ve upset you, I can see that. Tell me why? How?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. Tell me, sweetheart. Don’t leave here feeling upset. If you do, I’ll be terrified you won’t come back. And I
need
you to come back.”

Need me.
No one ever said they needed me before. Not even my mum. I stare at him, look for the flicker of deceit in those brilliant green eyes, the quirk of lips that betrays the lie. There’s no incriminating evidence there. I frown, puzzled, not understanding…

“Tell me. Let me make it right. Don’t leave like this.” His tone is quiet, pleading.

I blink. He traces the shape of my mouth with his thumb before kissing me gently, and I’m lost. My arms are around his neck and I’m kissing him back, hungrily, greedy. Needing. I nibble kisses along his jaw line and up to his ear, nipping at his earlobe the way he does mine sometimes. And I whisper it into his ear, holding onto him tight so he can’t see my face—“I didn’t use it. I don’t know anything. I can’t teach you anything. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand me. No game-playing with Tom. “Why not? Why didn’t you use it?”

I return the favor, equally blunt. “I didn’t know how. And—I thought it might not work. And then I’d be disappointed.”

He hesitates for a moment, taking in my humiliating revelation. Then, “Might not work? You could always have tried new batteries…” This time there’s a chuckle in his voice and I lift my head, stare sternly at him.

“Don’t take the piss, Mr Shore. You know bloody well what I mean. I thought it might not work—
on me
. I checked the fucking batteries before I nicked it!”

He manages to keep his serious face on for a few more seconds. “Thank goodness for that, Miss McAllister. I was beginning to think you might be slipping, getting sloppy in your thievery.” Then he’s hugging me to him and laughing out loud. And so am I.

He needs
me
? Christ, how I’m starting to need him. He keeps me sane.

He stands, plants me again on my feet, his hands gently resting on my shoulders. “The next time you’re here, my sweet little Ashley, I’m going to spend a long, long time demonstrating to you the many and various little tricks that piece of kit can get up to. And how beautifully it works
on you.
And we’ll try out a few more toys if you like. You can expect to have a very, very good time on your next visit here. And then, next time you borrow any of my toys, you’ll know exactly what to do with your ill-gotten gains. Deal?”

I look at him solemnly, then. “Deal.” I hold out my hand and he takes it. Shakes briefly. “And next time, I’ll ask. I promise.”

“If you must, love. But that might take a lot of the fun out of it. I prefer it if you keep me guessing.”

Chapter Eighteen

By the time I eventually chug back down to Smithy’s Forge on the quad it’s almost noon. The weather’s clear, a beautiful crisp winter’s day, but with only around three hours of decent daylight left there’s no point heading up onto the moors. Instead I settle for an afternoon and evening spent with Photoshop, working on my existing stock of images, laying out a collection that I can offer to the first influx of tourists due here by around Easter. My working title for this batch is
Time and
Timeless
and I’m trying to capture the permanence of this landscape, the slow, steady burn of evolution as the years and centuries roll on. So much remains unchanged, but still the subtle encroachment of the years as trees grow and age, farmsteads spring up then slowly crumble as the weather erodes and the seasons carve their way through the rocks and stone. The conservationists do their bit, and they make a difference, but nature is the real arbiter of what happens here.

And all the time I’m working I’m turning over in my head what has already happened, what’s passed between Tom and me. Over a matter of days our relationship has shifted, grown, deepened into something I could never have imagined. Something I never thought could exist, not for me. Tom’s nice. And even more incredibly, he’s nice
to me.
More than nice. After what I did, even after what happened before, in Bristol, it’s as though none of that ever existed.

Except it did. And it led to the disastrous encounter that first day when Tom found me, recognized me. When he came to my new home, humiliated me, threatened me, stripped me, then spanked me. He hurt me, scared me, and I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t protect myself. I felt I had no choice. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I now I realize he did me no lasting damage, except perhaps to my pride. He never intended to really hurt me, I was never in any real danger. I survived, but I never want to feel so vulnerable again.