Fault (Define Book 3) Page 10

  “Yeah, thanks. Dad okay?” I wondered if she could tell how much energy it was taking to keep my voice remotely normal-sounding.

  “Yeah.” There was a pause. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d get back, if you’d make the late train or stay with Will.” I knew what she was asking but couldn’t admit what had happened.

  “I missed the last train so I slept at the station. Are you okay if I grab a few hours in bed?”

  “Of course. Noah?”

  I forced myself to turn and look at her, praying she wouldn’t see any telltale signs of the mistakes I’d made. “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you had a good time. Any time you want another night out, just ask. Me and your dad are fine.” The last thing I wanted was a repeat, but I knew saying that would generate more questions I couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer.

  “Thanks. Give me a shout if I’m not down by lunchtime, yeah?”

  “Okay.” Her smile made guilt sing through every fibre of my being. I went to my room, half expecting to meet some terrible, and well-deserved, fate on the way.

  Sleep eluded me. All I could think about was what had happened in that girl’s room. God, I couldn’t even remember her name she meant so little to me. Unlike Grace. It was now clear I didn’t want anyone else. So where did that leave me? Confined to a life of celibacy? A life like Dad’s?

  But the most perfect girl was within reach, wanted me. Why was I saying no?

  Why?

  THE AIRPORT-STYLE metal detector beeped as I passed through and the stern-faced guard beckoned me over for a pat-down. Of course. Why would I think this was going to be anything but difficult? The feel of her hands as they skimmed up and down my arms and legs made my chest tight, reminding me of the last time unwelcome hands had burned into my skin. The guard gave me a puzzled look at the sound of my rasping breath but still deemed me to be a lack of threat to prison security and stepped back.

  “Clear your tray and wait to be buzzed through,” she said, signalling the heavy-duty security door ahead. I slipped my Converse back on, put my phone in my pocket and held the gifts I’d brought for Mum. A bell sounded and the door pulled back into the wall, allowing me through into a holding area. The heavy clang as the door closed reverberated through me and I stood still, waiting for the next one to open, starting to understand the ways Mum’s life must have changed.

  In my head I’d been half expecting a row of cubicles, inhabited by visitors talking to loved ones via telephones. The reality was different. The room I walked into looked more like the cafeteria at school: rows of plastic tables and benches, all securely fixed to the floor. There were children in a soft play area in the corner and hot drinks being sold through a small hatch. The inmates’ grey tracksuits were much more subtle than the orange I’d seen on television dramas, but they made the room seem even more depressing than it was already.

  “Name?” another po-faced guard asked me as I stood, looking for Mum.

  “Grace Dawson. To see Andrea Dawson.”

  “Table twelve. She will be brought through once you’re sat down. Keep your hands above the table at all times. Sit on the far side. You’re allowed brief physical contact at the start and end of your visit. Do not interact with any other inmates or visitors. Infringement of any of this will mean future visits are denied.”

  Doing all I could to not appear intimidated, I walked over to the assigned table and sat down.

  I don’t think I managed to stop the sound of shock that left me when Mum appeared and sat on the bench opposite, a spectre of her former self. Her hair was lank and her face lacked any sense of life, in its colour or expression. She didn’t even make eye contact with me, focussing on the wall behind my head instead.

  “Hi,” I said, needing to break the silence but not having any idea about what to say that matched the moment.

  Silence.

  “How are you?”

  Silence.

  I put the phonecards I’d brought on the table. “I got you four. I hope that’s enough. I can bring more next time.”

  She clawed them closer, as though I might decide to take them back. Silence.

  “Here you go. I know it’s your favourite,” I said, passing a large bar of chocolate across the table. Her sarcastic snort didn’t stop her picking it up and putting it beneath the phonecards.

  The little girl of my subconscious had wanted a moment of maternal reunion, to be held and comforted in a tearful embrace. The more realistic grown-up me had thought the meeting might be initially awkward. But no part of me had expected this. The silence between us was filled with the chatter that went on around us, others clearly not struggling in the way we were. Maybe they were more used to it. Maybe they were stronger. Whatever it was, I envied them and their conversations.

  “Is there anything else I can get you? I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to bring in.”

  “Private spends” was the reply muttered to the wall.

  “Private spends?”

  “Money. To buy things,” she explained, as though I should have absorbed this new language of hers by osmosis.

  “Oh, right.” I looked in my purse and gave her the fifteen pounds that was all I had left for the week. “Here you go.”

  The hand darted out again and tucked the two notes under the bar of chocolate. No word of thanks. No eye contact.

  Just silence.

  And more silence.

  I told her about Josh. I told her about work. But nothing in return. I knew we had up to ninety minutes, but I had run out of things to say less than half an hour in.

  Silence.

  She had said more on the phone call on my birthday. But maybe that was because she wanted something. I’d already given her everything I had today. Tears of disappointment and frustration burned the backs of my eyes, and I knew I’d had enough.

  “I’d better go, then. Look after yourself.” She remained impassive, obsessed with the wall. I walked to her side of the table and leant down, pulling her rigid body into a half hug. “Bye, Mum.” I kissed her lank hair, breathing in her new, unfamiliar smell, and straightened up, determined she wouldn’t see me cry. I turned back as I waited for the first security door to open and she was still staring at the wall.

  Unsurprisingly, the security was less stringent on leaving and I managed to make it outside with my emotions intact. Noah was sat in the car park, scribbling something in a leather notebook propped on the steering wheel. His look when I opened the door told me of his surprise. Thankfully he sensed that I didn’t want to talk and he started the engine. I turned the stereo up and spent the journey looking out the window, wondering if Mum would send me another VO form. Wondering if I wanted her to.

  AS SOON AS WE got home, I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. The shower washed away my tears and the grimness of the prison, but not the memory of Mum’s empty eyes.

  When I opened the door, I saw Noah standing across the hall, a mug in each hand. It was the first time we had been on the landing together since the night when he had told me nothing was going to happen between us. Yet nothing had changed. I still felt that tingle every time he was nearby, and the look in his eyes every time we accidentally touched told me he felt the same.

  “I thought you might want a cup of tea.” His quiet words gave me my first smile of the day.

  “Absolutely. Thank you.” Using one hand to keep my towel in place, I took the mug he held out with the other. We both stood still. “I’d better dry my hair.” Neither of us moved. “Thanks for the tea.” Nothing other than a glimpse of a smile. I turned.

  “Grace?” I turned back. “If you want to talk, you know you can talk to me, right? I might not have any answers, but I don’t want you to think nobody cares. I do. And I’m here, whenever you need me.”

  “I know that. I do. You’re the only person I have to talk to,” I admitted to both of us. “But I don’t want to talk about today. I want to talk about normal things, happy things. Can we do that?”

  He
grinned. “Of course we can do that. I’ll leave you to sort your hair out,” he added, moving away from the doorway.

  “Come in. You can keep me company.” I walked into my room, hoping he would follow. “Oh, stop, hang on a minute!” Noah’s confusion at my about-turn was almost comical. “I just need to put some clothes on. I won’t be long. Um, can you wait here?” Even my embarrassment was embarrassed by my rambling.

  Noah smiled. “How about I go and, I don’t know, powder my nose or something, and come back in five minutes? Okay?”

  “Okay.” I grinned at his back as he pulled the door to on his way out. Five minutes!

  Five minutes later, I was dressed in skinny jeans and a striped tee… and maybe a quick sweep of mascara and blusher. I was combing mousse through my hair when I heard a knock.

  “Come in!” My command was more squeaky dormouse than femme fatale. Noah smiled and sat on the edge of my bed. “I won’t be long,” I promised before the blast of the hairdryer made conversation impossible.

  It was strangely intimate, being observed as I dried my hair, something that nobody else had watched me do for as long as I could remember. Using my brush to smooth out some of the kinks, I caught Noah’s eye in the mirror. He grinned the smile of a little boy who had been caught red-handed and, as I styled the last few sections, I wondered what had brought that guilty look to his face.

  “Ta-da!” I turned and gave a salon-worthy flick of my hair. He smiled and my stomach filled with flutters.

  “How do girls know how to do that?”

  “Do what?” Even when I turned to put my hairdryer away, I could feel his eyes burning me.

  “Hair, make-up and so on. You can’t be born knowing it, but how do you know how to do it and I don’t?”

  “You want to know how to do hair and make-up?” My surprise at the direction the conversation was going must have been apparent.

  “God, no. No! I just meant how did you learn to do it?”

  “It’s a combination of things, I suppose. Magazines, YouTube videos, girly sleepovers and so on. But I suppose it started with watching Mum as a little girl. I used to love helping her get ready. You can’t tell now, but she used to be so pretty.” I sat next to Noah, pretending it was an everyday occurrence to be so close to him I could feel every move he made. “When I was little, I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. Learning from your mum, I mean. It makes sense when I think about everything I’ve learned from Dad.”

  Taking a deep breath, I asked the question that had been burning since I first got to know Noah and Max. “What about your mum? Do you ever see her?”

  Noah paused before answering.

  “No. She died when I was born. All I know of her is from the few photos Dad has and the things he told me over the years.”

  My chest tightened at the idea of a dark-eyed little boy without a mother to turn to.

  “That’s awful.” I took his hand in mine, tracing the length of his fingers.

  “Not really,” he replied, running his fingers across my knuckles. “You don’t miss what you don’t know. It’s always just been me and Dad. There’s been the annual visit to my grandparents in Scotland, but that’s it. Me and him. Him and me. You’re the first woman I’ve lived with.”

  “Really? Not even at uni?”

  “Really.” Our fingers had become intertwined.

  “So how’s this going for you?” I couldn’t resist the chance for some ego-boosting.

  “It’s pretty good, so far,” he said with a smile. “How’s it for you?”

  “It’s pretty good, so far. Although I caught some bloke perving on me when I dried my hair earlier.”

  “I wasn’t perving on you!” His cheeks admitted the lie before he did. “Okay, maybe I was, just a little. But it was all those bends and flicks, and the wiggling around. I’m only human!”

  I leant over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m only joking. I kind of like the idea that you were looking,” I admitted, looking him in the eye, daring him to pick up the baton.

  “Grace?” All traces of humour left his face as he stared down at me, and I knew the next move was mine.

  “I disagree with what you said the other night,” I started, our hands still joined. “You were right that I was hoping—am hoping—that you don’t stop this before it’s even properly begun. I’m sure that somewhere in your head the decision feels like it’s the right thing to do, but I know you’re wrong.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Noah used his grip on my hands to unbalance me, forcing me to lie back on the bed, my hands clasped in his, now raised above my head. The hard line of his body was pressed to mine, making moving impossible, even if I wanted to.

  “Yes. The way I see it, we don’t even have a choice. We deserve to give ourselves a chance at some happiness.”

  He bowed his head to mine, our mouths so close I could feel the cool mintiness of his breath. In the split second before he closed his eyes, I could see that he was still tormented about us, so I closed mine and did all I could to show him how right this was. How right we were.

  Well, that was the intention but, within seconds of the kiss starting, all rational thought went out of the window and I was a panting, writhing demon in danger of spontaneously combusting. The first kiss we shared had skirted a gently sexy line. This second kiss laughed at that line, a mere dot in a distant galaxy. I’d kissed boys, and done a hell of a lot more, before but nothing had remotely prepared me for kiss number two. His lips burnt mine, demanding my acquiescence. His tongue parried with mine, neither of us willing to hand over control. His body pressed into mine, fuelling my desire with the evidence of his.

  As I writhed under him, tugging my hands which were still held firmly in his, he opened his eyes and looked at me, pausing all movement, checking I was okay. And that was the moment I fell. Hard. I knew then that he would protect me, would save me from the mess of the world I inhabited, and that I wanted to do nothing more than the same in return.

  “Okay?” The word was muttered against my lips as though he couldn’t bear to move far enough away to enunciate properly.

  “More than okay. So much more,” I replied, pulling back enough for him to see my smile. “But I’d like my hands back.” I wanted to touch him, him to touch me. Wordlessly, he removed one hand and trailed it down my arm until it rested on my hip. He removed the second hand, trailing it down the other arm before gently resting it on the curve over my heart. I didn’t care that he could feel its rapid beat or the deep rise and fall of my chest as I struggled to remember to breathe. All I cared about was the heat of his hand burning through skin and muscle to the centre of me.

  I lowered my arms, tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling him into me, onto me. I watched his eyes close again, no uncertainty visible in their depths that time as we each learnt the way the other felt, tasted, touched.

  My mind was torn between absorbing the details of him and the things he was making me feel with every touch, stroke, grasp of his hands on me. My senses worked overtime, drinking in his smell and savouring his taste, trying to burn the memory of the moment into my brain. Noah groaned as my hand crept along the gap between his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, covering it with his. The pressure of his mouth lightened until I could barely feel the scratch of his scruff and, with one final peck, he pulled away and rested on his side. I could hear as well as see that he was as turned on as me at that point, and I couldn’t resist a small smile of pride.

  “You look happy,” Noah said, playing with the fingers on one of my hands, his own smile outshining mine.

  “Yeah, and you look like you hated every minute of that!”

  He looked at me, into me. “It was the binary opposite of hate, Grace.” My smile grew at his honesty. “Now, we’d better get up. Dad is due back shortly, and I don’t completely trust myself just to lie here and make small talk.” He stood and raked his hand throug
h the mess I’d made of his hair before holding out his hand. “Come on, beautiful.” He pulled me up and into his chest, winding his arms around my shoulders. “We need to act normal around Dad, but we will talk about this later. I promise.” He kissed the top of my head and left me, a molten mess, in the middle of my room.

  EVEN IN MY GEEKY teenage years, when I struggled to make eye contact with most of the girls in my classes at school, I had never felt as nervous as I did that evening. I wasn’t even sure why I felt so on edge; it was obvious Grace had enjoyed earlier as much as I did. I knew I had ruined the memory of our first kiss by pulling away from her afterwards, but any doubts had now disappeared. There was a sense of inevitability to us, a force I wasn’t strong enough to fight against. However, the way she had pressed her body so hard into mine, the way she had matched every kiss, told me that any restraint would need to come from me. I didn’t want to rush, to ruin, to give her anything to regret.

  Laughing inwardly at the very idea of acting normal in front of Dad, I knew straight away that he could sense the mess I was in. I burnt pasta, for God’s sake! As soon as I could without appearing rude, I hid upstairs and pretended to work, not trusting myself to sit next to Grace and keep my hands from touching her. I took a shower and relieved some of the tension that still coursed through me, knowing I would need a calm head when I talked to her later.

  When I finally gave in to the urge to see Grace again, I stood in the doorway and listened to her read to Dad. Seeing the Kindle in her hand gave me an idea, and I left them for a little while longer, not needing to search Dad’s shelves for long before returning. As always, I stayed hidden until they reached the end of the chapter, not wanting to disturb them before the breaks Dickens had created.

  “I thought you might like to use this sometime,” I said, placing the book onto Dad’s table. Grace picked it up and brought it to her face, inhaling deeply.

  “Ooh, it smells so old! As much as I love my Kindle, there’s nothing like the feel of a book, is there?” She stroked the edge of the pages before carefully opening them and breathing in again. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of a book. “Shall we read another chapter?” Neither Dad nor I was going to do anything other than humour her excited mood.