Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (28 page)

Helene is furious with the agency for knowing this and doing nothing about it although it was clear that the nurse had reported it because he wasn’t happy about it. She is all for reporting them to the authorities but Jones speaks up, urging caution because of his illicit involvement and obvious law breaking. I watch as his ascendant command shrouds Helene and, within seconds, she’s deferring to him—her body language changes completely. Then I witness her averting her gaze.

I observe the interaction as an outsider ... anyone would assume that he was her Master, the way it’s playing out. I’ve never seen Helene do that for anyone but Thierri, yet here she is, in Thierri’s presence, albeit sedated to the point of unconsciousness, assuming a subservient role to a man she’s only just met. The whole episode takes seconds but, for me, it plays out in slow motion. He may have lost his blue eyes and blond hair but my gut instinct was correct. Jones is not just an alpha male. He’s an innate Dominant ... it’s an untaught, intrinsic character trait.

Watching the spontaneous exchange leaves me feeling uneasy and I escape to the kitchen to make a hot drink. Jones’ eyebrows raise—I’d refused one a few minutes earlier, when he’d asked before making Helene’s. I don’t particularly want one. I just need to escape from the room after feeling that the walls are closing in. I’ve rarely seen such effortless, incidental power exchanges and that’s what it is. I don’t even know whether Helene’s aware of it happening and she’s no novice. This should not be happening. I think that’s what’s bothering me most—it is so natural that both of them seemed oblivious.

As I stir an extra spoonful of sugar into my coffee, I’m keener than ever for Thierri to recover from his long-term sedation. He’s my friend, my protector and my mentor. And right now, I need his advice.

WHAT A FUCKING DAY. I should be buried balls-deep inside Veuve at Vouloir but that’s not happening. I’m sitting in a deckchair in the garden outside her flat, with The Kid for company. Once Thierri’s eyes began to open—thankfully in the presence of Alan, the replacement nurse—she couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I was a bit pissed off, not least because I want to speak with him alone. I accept that with two women around, that was unlikely to happen but I was going to give it my best shot.

But no, Veuve made it clear that I was no longer needed and said I should be getting back to check on The Kid. I’m going to get him a phone, just a cheap pay as you go thing, like the ones I use on a disposable basis. He’s nineteen and yes, I accept he’s not your average teenager but the fact that she’s happy enough to leave him for hours and hours when it suits her, last night for example, makes her sudden concern hard to swallow.

There’s more to it than that, I know it. She’s become increasingly distant as the day’s worn on. Nothing I can put my finger on exactly, just a general detachment probably born out of the stressful nature of the day. I know that’s how she deals with things. Like I say, we’re very alike in some respects.

The dogs didn’t seem any worse for wear after their prolonged nap, much to Helene’s relief. It seems that the dogs don’t attack unless instructed to do so. And only by Thierri. But that’s not how it looks to an outsider, a fact of which his sister had taken full advantage. She’s still fast asleep. The second she began to rouse, Veuve stabbed the pre-loaded syringe into her thigh without hesitation. She explained that Thierri needed to be fully compos mentis before any decisions were taken about his sister because he would be the one who should rightfully pass judgement and decide her fate. I was all for making it very clear to her that if she ever set foot near the place again, her next destination would be a police cell but I guess Veuve’s right. As usual. It is Thierri’s sister and he’s the one she’s wronged.

‘Can we walk to the shop for one of those Cornettos please? It’s too hot,’ The Kid pipes up.

I shrug. ‘Sure.’

‘You do know I still don’t have any money, don’t you?’ he asks, looking a little awkward.

I smile. ‘It’s no problem.’

‘Could I give them the money? I’d like to know how it works.’

Cue a lesson that takes up a good half an hour but, to his credit, by the end of it, he’s grasped the basics ... but he sounds stilted, like a foreigner which, now that he has a healthy tan to match his dark hair, he could pass for. I find myself beginning to wonder what his father might have looked like, since he looks nothing like Sandy or myself ... or his sister from the sound of things. But it pushes so many negative thoughts into my head that I find myself jumping up out of the chair, handing him a five pound note and urging him to get off his arse.

When we get to the shop, he asks if he can go in by himself. I assume it’s so that he can feel like a grown-up so I shrug then nod and he goes in, looking more than a little apprehensive. He comes out a couple of minutes later but there’s no sign of a Cornetto.

‘Didn’t they have any?’ I ask.

He furrows his brow as though I’m speaking gibberish.

‘Cornettos.’

‘Oh, yeah. No,’ he says, his frown deepening. ‘Come on. I’ll race you back.’

‘You’ve got no chance. It’s too hot for running around for the hell of it. Just the thought of it makes me sweat. Say, Kid. Do you fancy a cold drink?’

He purses his lips. ‘You want something from the shop?’

‘No, I’d like a draught beer from the pub. A nice, cold, frothy beer. How about you?’

Shrugging he says, ‘I suppose so,’ but he doesn’t look happy.

‘You can have orange juice in the pub if you like. We can sit outside, too.’

He nods.

We walk over to the pub I’d stumbled upon last night and I get my hands on a pint of nectar and I’m in the process of ordering The Kid an orange juice but he stops me and says he wants a beer. I think I manage not to look surprised before I order him a pint too. We wander back outside and manage to grab the only free table from under the noses of a young couple. The Kid opens his mouth to protest but I tell him to keep shtum. That’s one thing about being out in public with him. He has little tact or savviness. As we sit, I explain quietly that these tables are first come, first served.

He nods before giving me a conspiratorial grin. ‘But she’s cute,’ he whispers.

I burst out laughing, much to his embarrassment. ‘But she’s with someone. Her boyfriend,’ I clarify when he doesn’t seem to understand.

‘Oh,’ is all he says but he looks very disappointed.

‘Don’t worry, Kid. Had it been two girls, I’d have invited them to share our table.’

His eyebrows take flight but then he nods wildly, clearly a fan of such a plan.

I feel for him. He’s like a much younger child, with even less social knowledge and understanding than many younger kids, yet his hormones are clearly raging.

He takes a sip of his beer and I can tell from his face that he’s not a fan. I offer to go and get him an orange juice but he shakes his head, insisting that he likes it. I get it. Just like at the shop, he wants to act like the grown up he is. I’ll get him a lager next time; he might prefer that.

‘Jones,’ he says suddenly, giving me the impression that he needs to get something off his chest.

‘Hmm?’ I reply, desperately hoping it’s nothing huge. Veuve is much better at that shit. Even as he speaks, I’m silently imploring him not to say anything that’s going to make things awkward between us.

‘I’ve been looking stuff up on Google,’ he says, pausing and looking like he wishes he’d not started this.

I take a slug from my pint and brace myself. If this is a ‘the birds and the bees’ moment, there’s going to be a Jax shaped hole in the fence.

‘Yesterday, when you told me you were my uncle, I didn’t really understand. I didn’t know what an uncle was. It means that you are my mum’s brother, doesn’t it?’

I nod, feeling relieved that he doesn’t want to talk about sex but feeling slightly uncomfortable about discussing this without Veuve. I’d managed to spectacularly fuck it up yesterday. I’m out of my depth. I don’t do kids. I’m not much better at being tactful than The Kid, and he sucks.

‘So, even if I can’t find my sister, I still have family?’ It’s a question, not a statement and he looks anxious—nervous even, as though I might say no and disown him.

I nod again and give him a reassuring smile. ‘It does Kid. I’m proud to be your family. Your uncle. I’m glad we met and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, unless you get sick of me.’

I grin to try to lighten the moment. He looks so unsure of himself. It’s only then that I remember that we don’t know for sure that we are related. I mean, I know deep down in my gut and all the evidence so far is saying we are but, unless we can find Sandy or we decide to have DNA tests done, there’s a chance it could be sheer coincidence. Unlikely, yes. Out of the question, no.

He smiles back and reaches into his pocket, ferreting around for a few seconds. He holds out his closed fist. I think that he’s going to do the ‘safe’ fist bump that I’ve seen kids doing but then I realise that he wants to give me something. I hold my hand out and he lets go of something that lands in my palm.

‘They didn’t have one for uncle but if we’re family, it means that we’re family forever, right? I mean, my mum’s not here anymore but she’s still my mum and you’re her brother. My uncle.’

I nod but I’m feeling too choked to speak, both from his words about Sandy and from the pendant that’s nestled in my palm. It’s just like Veuve’s but instead of having
hope
stamped on the tag, it has
forever.
I’m not a particularly emotional person but I defy anyone with a heart not to feel something in my shoes—unless their heart’s made of ice.

The Kid’s looking away, clearly embarrassed and probably wishing that he’d not bothered but I just can’t form words. I can’t remember the last time anyone gave me a gift ... the closest I can think of are the decorations for gallantry received during my time in the Corps. Before I left, I was one of the most highly decorated Royal Marines in service. They don’t mean a thing to me, not really. That’s not why you join, not why you risk your life time and again while trying to save the lives of others but at least I earned them.

What have I done to deserve this from The Kid ... my nephew? Nothing except that I happen to be part of the same family. No ... to him, I’m his only family at this moment in time. Doesn’t he realise that he’s practically the only family I have too? No, of course he doesn’t. I cough and clear my throat before I can attempt to put what this means to me into words.

‘Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone’s given me a present. But I don’t need gifts—the best gift of all is finding you—you could never top that, well maybe if you gave me a Ferrari F12 Berlinetta.’

He frowns.

‘A Ferrari F12 Berlinetta. A 6.3 litre, 12 cylinder engine giving a staggering 730 horsepower that takes it from zero to sixty in 3 seconds flat.’

He’s blank so I pull out my phone and show him a picture.

‘A car,’ he says, obviously not realising the significance of the prancing horse logo.

I gasp. ‘That’s not just
a car.
That’s a triumph of mechanical engineering and ...’ I stop, realising I’m just making it worse. ‘Yes, Kid. It’s a car.’

‘You want me to buy you one of those?’ he says with a frown that suggests he’s willing to consider the idea.

‘Sure. If you have a spare quarter of a million or so,’ I chuckle. Realising he still hasn’t a clue, I add, ‘It’s a lot of money. You could buy my flat for that.’ Nope, he’s still blank.

‘But your present is just as good,’ I tell him. ‘No, it’s better because it’s from you.’

I excuse myself to head to the bar. It’s hard work but I meant what I said. I’m lucky to have him. I’ve lost Sandy for good, so having him is the next best thing—he’s a part of her after all. She fought hard to save him at the end, something that doesn’t surprise me one bit. I think she’d be happy for me to take him under my wing.

Over the course of the next hour or so, we discover that he quite likes lager and, too late, I realise that he should probably have stuck to drinking a pint or two when he begins to find it difficult to stay upright, sliding comically sideways off the seat.