Dirty Bad Wrong (13 page)

“Money mainly, time when I can. For a while I was paying her bills direct from my account, just to make sure it got done. She seemed to be getting better at it, so I gave her back control earlier this year and just gave her money when she needed it. A big mistake. She’s now three grand in rent arrears and they’re threatening to throw her out. She claims Colin needed the money I sent her, to fight a custody battle for one of his kids or some shit. He promised he’d pay her back before she got evicted, only now he’s done a runner.”

“So she blew your money on some loser named Colin?”

She flinched, eyes narrowing to shards of pain. “It’s not the first time. I’ve tried to get her professional help but she won’t take it, says
I’m
the only one who can help her, but I’m too far away living it up in the big city. She hates that I moved here, wants me to go home, but I couldn’t go home, even if I wanted to. The money’s better here, and she always needs all I can spare. One day I hope I’ll be earning enough that I can get a bigger place, have her come live with me, if she will, that is. At least then I could keep an eye on her.”

“You said she’s been like this as long as you can remember, was it the same when you were growing up?”

“It was
worse
when I was growing up,” she said. She looked away, but not in time enough to hide the sheen in her eyes, the threat of tears. She choked it back well. “When I was little I couldn’t help her, I’d just have to watch and tell her it would be ok. Weak words from a seven year old, of course. She’d cry all night, say she couldn’t cope and kiss me goodbye, telling me that I’d have a new family soon, with a mum who could take better care of me. I’d be so scared, watching from the stairs all night while she drank herself unconscious. She never seriously attempted suicide, but she got out the pills a few times. I hid them in the end, in the cupboard under the stairs, she’d shout at me when she had a headache, but I’d never tell her where they were. I was too scared. I used to pray every night that God would help me save my mummy, but God never answered, only a string of losers, with foul mouths and fouler manners. I lost count of how many men I should call
Daddy.
”

“Did any of them hurt you?” My mouth was dry as sand, no matter how much wine I sipped. I inched my chair closer, holding back the urge to reach across the table for her.

“Hurt me? Like physically? No. It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t abused or anything, most of them ignored me entirely.”

I breathed out in relief. “You shouldn’t have had that on your shoulders, Lydia. You were too young, much too young. Did nobody help you?”

“Mum had a friend I called Auntie Sylvia, she’d come round often, try and help out. She’s still there with Mum now, living round the corner. I’d never have been able to leave if she wasn’t. She’d cook for us sometimes, when Mum was too depressed, and bring me toffees and a pat on the head. She’s nice, Syl. She helped.” I heard her breath hitch again and this time she struggled to bring it back in line. She put her hand to her mouth and her fingers were shaking. “I shouldn’t talk about this, I’m sorry. You’ll think I’m a right freak.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Lydia, I think you’re a bloody saint. A lot of people would have cut that shit off long ago.”

“I can’t cut her off,” she said. “She’s my mum, she needs me. I promised myself I’d be able to save her, just as soon as I was old enough... brave enough... clever enough... I’m not any of those things yet, it appears.”

“You are
all
of those things,” I said. “But you can’t save other people, no matter how much you want to. People will always walk their own path, dance with their own demons.”

“I have to try,” she wheezed. “I have to try harder. I let her down again. I always let her down.”

Her pain broke my resolve, and I was off, dragging my chair to her side, so close. Her delicate little hands in mine, so small. Bright eyes staring up at me. “No, Lydia. You didn’t let her down.
She
let
you
down.”

“She let
herself
down. She’s worth so much more than this, if only she could see what I see. Why can’t I make her see?” Her eyes were pleading, searching, open and raw.

My heart raced, buckling under the pressure to touch her, to pull her close. “People only see what they want to see, and they only do whatever they want to do. You can make excuses for them all you like, but you’ll
always
be making excuses for them, Lydia. Always.” I lowered my head to hers, eye to eye. “It was the same with Rachel. She had different men every week, and then she’d cry and say she was sorry, that she’d try and be better and she needed me to love her, that I was all she had. I blamed her for letting
herself
down, blamed
me
for trusting too much, but ultimately she let
me
down, and
your
mum let
you
down, too.”

A single, lonely tear slipped from her eye, trailing a slow path down her cheek. I wiped it away before she could, choking on the urge to taste her pain.

“Thank you, James,” she said, squeezing my hand. “That means a lot.” She leant forward to land the softest little kiss on my cheek. I closed my eyes to blank her out, fearing I’d kiss her back. “I think I’ve done enough talking now,” she said. “Can I have another wine?”

I released her tiny hands from mine and reached for the bottle.

I didn’t pull my chair away from hers, not even when the conversation lightened and we were back in the realms of friendly colleagues. Lydia perked up well, firing off a couple of text messages to her vampiric mother with the promise that she’d sort her life out in the morning. I could have throttled the woman. The image of a scared little girl peeking through the bannisters at her drunkard mother twitched at my fists. The girl was made of steel, steel housing a whole load of pain, years of pain and fear and desperation. It made her all the more beautiful to me.

Cat’s eyes danced in the candlelight as we finished up the second bottle. She leant forward in an uncharacteristic display of closeness, resting her forehead on my shoulder. “I’m drunk,” she said. “But I had a great night.”

I rested my chin on her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. Coconut and lavender. “As did I.”

She sat herself back upright, smiling. I knew something was coming before she even opened her mouth. “Was Rachel your true love? The only one for you?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Hell would usually have to freeze over for me to answer that question.”

“But not tonight. You’ll tell me tonight, won’t you? It’s that kind of night, and I told you about my mum.”

“So, it’s tit-for-tat now, is it?”

She laughed. “Kind of. I dunno.”

“I loved a girl before I loved Rachel, a crazy girl who dreamt of running away with the circus. She was a livewire.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She was young, crazy, reckless, gifted... free... passionate. Beautiful.”

“She sounds quite special.”

“She was
very
special.”

“What happened to her?” she asked, eyes boring into mine, eyes just like the woman she spoke of.

“She ran away and joined the circus as far as I know,” I smiled. “I went to university, and she flew away. She begged me to go with her, I begged her to come with me. Neither would have worked, not really.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. I thought it was a shame for a long, long time, until I met Rachel.”

“Where did you meet?”

I sighed. “It’s time for bed, we have meetings in the morning.”

She pouted, and the urge to suck on her bottom lip made my mouth water. “Can’t you just answer that one final question?”

“What difference will it make?”

“It will make a difference to me,” she said. “Just one short answer, please. Indulge me.”

In my mind I saw Katreya’s smile as she disappeared out of sight, goading me to follow her. I took a breath. “I met Rachel at work. We worked together.”

“At work?” I could see the surprise in her face, as surprised as everyone else had been by my deviation from the corporate persona.

“Yes, at work. It was a mistake, it’s always a mistake.”

“But she was worth it? Worth making a mistake for?”

I smiled, standing to leave and pulling her with me. “Sometimes mistakes are worth making, Lydia Marsh, but only sometimes.”

***

We rode just three floors in the elevator, but it took forever. Lydia leant gently against my side, her hand curled around my waist to burn at my ribcage. I knew I should push her away, regain at least some marginal distance as professional associates, but I didn’t. She felt too fucking good; her soft form melting so perfectly against the hard lines of mine. She’d be sleeping in the room next door, mere metres away. The thought made my dick twitch, but my resolve held firm as she rooted her bag for her keycard, placing my own firmly in the lock and preparing to say my goodbyes.

She looked over, eyes pale as moonlight and so fucking pretty. Her toes were turned in, one foot tapping gently on the spot.

“I guess this is goodnight, then,” she said.

“I’ll see you bright and early, Lydia. Breakfast at seven-thirty.”

“Sure, yeah, seven-thirty.”

I turned away, destination my empty hotel room, but in a heartbeat her hand was on mine, pulling me back to her.

“James, wait. I just wanted to say that I’m not a talker. Nobody knows that shit about my mum, not apart from my friend Steph, and Stu, he knew too.”

I smiled. “You don’t have to worry, Cat’s-eyes, I’m a silent witness.”

She pinned her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean that. I trust you. I just wanted to say thanks, for listening. It really helped.”

“I’m glad I could help.” My mouth was turning dry, a pulse in my temples.
Go to bed, James, go to fucking bed.

“I really enjoyed myself tonight,” she continued. “A lot.”

“Me too.” I opened my door again and she stood watching me, her toes resuming their tapping. I feigned ignorance, turning back only to wave her goodnight. She looked crestfallen, retreating with rosy cheeks. Her keycard danced in her hands like a fish, skittering to the floor. She cursed under her breath and dived on after it. Her skirt hitched up, outlining the gorgeous perky swell of her ass through the fabric.

Fuck no-one you know, know no-one you fuck.

Fuck no-one you know, know no-one you fuck.

Fuck no-one you know, know no-one you fuck.

I looked into the silence of my room: the perfectly-made bed, the case unopened on the dresser, the cute little tea and coffee tray, and satellite TV, and then, stupidly, I looked back. I looked back at my green-eyed Cat.

She was still watching me, her door half-open.

“Goodnight, James,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Lydia,” I said, but still I hovered.

We stared at each other, the air thick in the corridor, so fucking thick I could hardly breathe. Finally, she disappeared, sighing as she went and leaving only the creak of her door as it eased its way closed.

I caught it just before the lock clicked.

She spun in shock at the intrusion, but didn’t have time to respond before I was at her, my mouth on hers, hot and heavy and horny as sin. I paced her backwards while she grappled for balance, conceding to my force until she slammed into the wall. She let out a moan, opening her pretty little mouth. Her tongue danced with mine without reserve or restraint, as though she’d been waiting for this moment all evening. Maybe she had.

She tasted fucking gorgeous.

“This is a mistake,” I growled, my mouth still on hers. “A big fucking mistake.”

Her hands fisted in my hair. “Some mistakes are worth making,” she wheezed.

Her neck smelt of Rose, and White Lilly, and a hint of Amber. I licked at her skin, and she shuddered against me, tilting her head back to grant me access. I roved my way up to her ear, teasing at her earring with my teeth. I heard her murmur as I nipped the lobe, enjoying the short, raspy song of her breath.

“Yes...” she moaned. “Please... I like it rough.”

I pressed her tight enough to mash her tits against my chest. “How rough?”

Her eyes fell to the floor. “I’m, um, I’m trying to find out.”

“Let me help you with that.” Her fingers gripped my shoulders, her head lolling back as I grazed my teeth down her throat. She groaned at my touch, bucking against me for more. Sweet fucking Jesus. My dick strained in my suit, craving the silky soft heat inside her.

I backed up enough to palm her breast, a perfect handful, the hard little nub of her nipple ripe for my mouth. I dipped my head, sucking her through the fabric.

“Use your teeth... please,” she hissed. An explosion of white heat behind my eyeballs, the beast crying for savagery. I bit her as hard as I dared, a full mouth of delicate flesh begging me for pain. Her breath hitched, and she shuddered, arching her back to give me more.