The Glass Knot-mmf (15 page)

My
heart raced, bile swirled in my gullet. My head was full of images.

Before
long I took the turning to the motorway. Adrenaline had made my legs light but
now they felt heavy. My whole body as dense as lead. Thoughts, emotions and
desires swirled around me in a way they never had before. It was so much, too
much.

I
remembered Josh fucking me, taking me to dizzying heights of ecstasy. The warm
glow of him wanting me had heated my stomach. Then seeing Nick’s agony, knowing
that I’d had such a big part in it, was like a dagger in my chest. Watching
them argue, fuck angrily. The tears on Josh’s face and the despair on Nick’s.
It was an image I would never forget.

A
single hot tear burst its banks and rolled down my cheek. Leaving Josh, again,
knowing that we could and would never see each other, not in this lifetime, was
too much to bear. I was trouble. I was untrustworthy, and letting me into their
home had been like allowing a kid with a catapult play in a glass house—sooner
or later it was going to shatter.

Eventually,
I arrived at my building and parked in the small lot. I dodged several
mattresses and an old sofa which had been dumped at the base of the communal
steps, and headed up to my flat.

When
I opened the door the stench was even worse than when I’d left the day before.
Far from drying it out, the hot weather had just transferred dampness into the
air.

I
wrinkled my nose against the smell and stepped in. Dumped my case and rushed to
fling open the window. An exhaust-laden breeze wafted in, but for once I didn’t
mutter to myself about the smog.

I
booted up my laptop and retrieved my camera. It was emotional suicide, but I
had to look at the pictures of Josh I’d taken that morning. As I searched for
my connection lead I couldn’t help but wish I had just one picture of Nick too.
Just to remember him by. Not one of him with pain or fear on his face, but one
where he was relaxed, sitting with Josh, cat on his lap. When he wasn’t wary
and his walls had come down, he really was an incredibly handsome man. There
was something about his chiseled jawline, the slight bump in his nose and the
rawness of the stubble coating his chin right up to his short sideburns that
really appealed to me. But it was his eyes, their black depths, heavy, almost lazy
lids and craggy brows that really fascinated me, not just the photographer, but
also the woman. There was something in them—maturity yes, but also a
great vat of passion and love; they really were windows to his soul—it
was a shame he kept them heavily curtained most of the time.

Am
I crazy? Not only is Nick gay, he hates me. Why are you thinking this way,
Laura?

Forcing
images of Nick from my mind, I finally found the cable, uploaded the pictures
and sifted through them. There were lots of nice ones from the garden the
evening before, particularly the caterpillar. I should be able to earn some
money from that one.

When
I came to the shots in the barn a great well of sadness erupted inside me. Josh
was heart-achingly beautiful. The camera loved him. He’d stood where I’d put
him, in a ray of golden sunlight, and smiled, nothing more, nothing less.
Several of the shots could have graced billboards, and he could have walked
into a modeling career as easily as most people could get a job at the mall.

“Oh,
Josh,” I murmured, rubbing my forehead, knowing a headache would soon pinch my
temples. It always did when I’d been crying or was trying not to. “What have we
done?”

I
hit print and copied out my favorite picture of him. One where he was just
turning slightly away from me. The hazy, dust-speckled light had caught the
fullness of his mouth, the outward dent of his Adam’s apple, and the sexy,
brooding look in his eyes. It seemed my capacity for emotional self-harm had no
bounds, and I taped it over a picture above my TV so I’d be able to stare at it
whenever I needed to.

A
sudden beep on my mobile caught my attention.

Damn,
who is that on a Saturday?

I
flipped it open.

It
was from Josh.

Sweetie,
where are you? I’m worried, call me.

I
hit delete and dropped the phone down on my desk. Call him? What was he on
about? He needed me as far out of his life as possible. I was no good for him.
He just needed to concentrate on Nick and putting his marriage back together.

I
went into the kitchen, cursed a new patch of mold growing in the corner above
the fridge, and searched for wine. It was still afternoon but I didn’t care. I
found some, poured a big glass, then shivered as the cheap, tart flavor
assaulted my taste buds.

The
phone beeped again. With a shuddering sigh I picked it up. Surely it wouldn’t
be Josh again.

Please,
I’m sorry I was sharp with you earlier, in the barn. But I didn’t mean for you
to rush off. I want to help you. Call me as soon as you can.

I
stared at the screen. He wanted to ‘help me’?

Then
it became clear. Josh was just worried because the condom broke. He wasn’t
getting in touch because he wanted me, needed me. Typical Josh was just trying
to do the right thing and fix his mistake.

Well,
I didn’t need him to. I could go and get myself a morning after pill from the
clinic and then wipe him right out of my life. I wasn’t going to spring a child
on him in nine months’ time. He had no need to worry about that.

I
guzzled back the rest of my wine. Hell, what good would I be as a mother? I
could barely take care of myself. My finances were shot to pieces, my business
struggling, and I was living in damp flat that I still owed last month’s
mortgage on. No, I was hardly in a position to try and look after someone else—there
would be no baby.

But
then, of course, an image of a blond-haired boy cradled in my arms came to
mind. I’d never been broody, never met a man whose children I would have even
considered bearing. But Josh, with his caring nature, easy smile and trusting
blue eyes, that was a different matter. His baby I could happily have.

Are
you mad?

I
dropped on the bed, arms and legs stretched out, but quickly jumped up when
damp sheets stuck to my back and butt, tacky and rank, filling my nostrils with
musty spores. I’d have to change the covers, see if I could find some dry ones
in the cupboard.

I
started rooting around in the darkness, feeling for a new sheet and some
blankets. Suddenly the blond baby was replaced with an image of a dark-haired
child, a girl in a pink babygro, tufts of chocolate-colored hair rising from a
perfect sweetheart face complete with rosebud lips. She had dark, knowing eyes with
heavy lids and thick lashes. Nick’s child, I realized, would be equally as
beautiful.

What
are you doing? These men will never even have children.

I
tutted, grabbed the driest sheets I could find, and headed back to the bed. I stripped
the old ones off, but didn’t make it up again. The fresh ones would only be
damp by nighttime.

Instead,
I picked up my phone and quickly constructed a message before I changed my mind.

There
is nothing between us. I don’t need your help. Take care of Nick. Goodbye.

I
hit send and choked back a sob. The message was harsh and to the point. It was
the only way to sever our connection.

Two
weeks later and I’d managed to sell enough Marbella pictures through the agency
to bring my mortgage almost up to date. I had also hired a humidifier and sent
a nasty letter to the couple above, demanding they re-compensate me for the state
of my flat. I’d heard nothing back from them.

I’d
been to the clinic and was persuaded to have a test for all the usual nasties, that
had come back negative. While I was there I popped a morning after pill, that
made me sick to my stomach for two days, and made an appointment for a depo contraceptive
jab. Babies were definitely not on the horizon for me, and if a cute guy with a
seductive smile and blue eyes could have me rolling in hay with just one look,
then clearly I couldn’t be trusted. Six months of cover was the best way
forward.

Swinging
a supermarket carrier bag and staring at my shoes, I wandered back toward my
flat. I hadn’t filled Dumbo up with petrol, preferring to put money aside for
my electricity bill—that was bound to be huge with the humidifier humming
away twenty-four-seven.

The
thought of another night staring at Josh’s picture and tearing myself up with
guilt over the pain I’d caused Nick was not appealing. But I’d taken as many
free drinks as I could get away with at the local, and I knew if I didn’t buy a
round soon my friends would wonder what the hell was going on. I had too much
pride to tell them the state I was in, both emotionally and financially. It was
easier to stay away, fold in on myself, lick my wounds.

“Laura.”

I
snapped my head up at the familiar deep voice.

Heavy
dark eyes stared into mine, their depths so acute and intense my breath was
snatched away.

“Nick.”
I pressed a hand over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I
had to see you.”

He
stepped nearer. There was a familiar crease between his eyebrows.

“Why,
I…I told Josh goodbye. I haven’t been in touch with him, I promise.”

Not
that my promises mean anything.

“I
know.”

“I’m
sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, really I didn’t.” I went to move
around him. This was excruciating, seeing the pain on his face. It was still
there, he still looked like a burning man. If my guilt had begun to appease at
all, it was right back, full force.

He
blocked my way with his wide frame. “Laura, wait.”

 “I
left so you could try and pick up the pieces. I’m so sorry, really, about
everything.”

“I
need to talk to you, please.” There was desperation in his tone. “Wait.”

I
looked up at him, my mind spinning. “Why?”

“Not
here, at your place.”

Oh,
God no, not there, it was too shameful, too humiliating to let him see where I
lived and the conditions in which I was existing. “No.”

He
clenched his fist and pressed the knuckle of his thumb against his forehead. He
gaze bored down into mine. “This is really important,” his voice was crackly
and urgent.

I
gave a shake of my head. “No, not that, I mean, yes we can talk, if it’s
important, but not at my place. Over there, in that café.”

He
gave a sharp nod. “Okay.”

We
crossed the road in silence. Nick bought two cappuccinos while I found us a
seat in the corner.

He
joined me, sat down and emptied sugar into his coffee. I stared at his tall
frame folded onto a cheap chair. His clothes were neatly ironed, his stubble
precisely trimmed. He looked out of place in the shabby café, and I couldn’t for
the life of me guess why he was here.

But
he was.

I
had an overwhelming urge to run away, escape, flee for home. But I didn’t. I
willed myself to stay where I was. I owed Nick this, at the very least.

I
took a sip of frothy coffee then wrapped my hands around the warm cup. “What is
it you need to talk about?”

He
stopped stirring his drink and looked up. “It’s Josh.”

I
swallowed a thick lump of fear. Something about the way his lips tightened when
he said that name had panic fluttering in my stomach. “What about him?”

“There
was a horrible accident.”

I
slapped my hand over my mouth. The panic fluttering in my stomach turned into a
jet engine blasting off.

Josh!
Oh shit. Horrible accident. What if he’s dead?

The
thought was unbearable, too awful to imagine. I remembered my last text to him.
I’d been so abrupt and harsh and now I’d never be able to make it up to him. I
choked back a sob. “Is he…?”

“It
happened at work. They were in a burning building and it collapsed. A beam
landed on Josh, knocked him out. It took two minutes for the guys to get the beam
off and drag him out. He breathed in a lot of smoke—his head gear was
smashed to pieces.”

My
eyes welled with tears. I could hardly focus on Nick, he was just a watery
blur.

“If
he hadn’t been wearing the helmet, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Hope
flashed through me. “He’s, he’s not dead?”

Nick
sagged forward, rested his elbows on the table and smoothed his finger over the
silver band he wore on his left ring finger.

I
stared into his eyes, searching for the answer to my question. Was Nick a widower?

He
shook his head. “No, thank goodness. Several stitches in his scalp and a couple
of days in hospital on oxygen. They were worried about his lungs…”

I
barely heard the rest of what he said about smoke inhalation damage.

Josh
isn’t dead.