Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3) Read online

  My breath catches in my throat and I snatch my keys from the hook, fingers trembling as I unlock the door. The sharp, autumn air is like a bucket of cold water on my bare skin, I’m still in my pyjamas, but I don’t care. I run down the drive in my slippers, hair pulled back by the wind. The broad man turns to face me. When his eyes meet mine, I stop and I stare at him. He raises a hand in greeting.

  “Hi, Leah.”

  I don’t even hesitate for a moment, instead I throw my arms around him and stroke his dark hair. Tears on my cheeks. His body becomes rigid, pulling me back to reality. I withdraw and move away, fingers twitching by my side, awkwardness clinging to my body like my pyjamas in the cold air.

  “You’re back,” I say simply.

  Tom nods his head. “I’m back.”

  ***

  There are uncomfortable, nervy moments in the kitchen. It’s only as I’m helping Tom with his bags and paying for the taxi that I take notice of the man he’s with. Not much taller than Tom. Slim-hipped and blond, in a t-shirt that sags at the neck, and an inappropriately thin jacket, given the cold weather. Tom introduces him as Dominic, and we shake hands. I can’t be sure, but I think that Dominic might be Tom’s boyfriend.

  Dominic hangs up his jacket as I call Seb down from the bedroom. I offer them both drinks, fiddling with my hair, the fabric of my pyjama bottoms, completely on edge, with adrenaline running through me.

  “It’s great to see you,” I say, staring at Tom, hoping I’m not being too intense. In comparison, his eyes flick from one side of the kitchen to another. “Where have you…? Where have you been living?” I stop myself before blurting out where have you been in and accusatory tone. Obviously, I want to know. I want to know why he left, and everything he’s done since then, but I don’t want to frighten him away.

  “To be honest, I’ve moved around a fair bit.” He shoves his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans.

  I nod my head and start filling the kettle with water. I can’t even remember if Tom said he wanted tea, but at least it stops me from standing around like an idiot.

  “But you’ve been well? You’ve been able to pay for things?” My eyes quickly take in Tom’s clothes and cleanliness. He’s far from slovenly, he’s shaved, and his hair is neat. He hasn’t lost weight. But there’s an edginess to him, a failure to be still. Even his skin moves. I notice a twitch underneath his left eye.

  “Yeah I’ve been fine. I’ve been moving around, taking any kind of job that I could, you know, retail, warehouse, kitchen work. Even worked with a bricklayer for a while.” He turns to Dominic and smiles as though they have an inside joke about Tom’s time as a bricklayer.

  “That’s great,” I say, with phoney enthusiasm, praying for the kettle to boil quickly.

  “Is it okay if we stay with you?” Tom asks, just as I’m trying to think of another question to ask him.

  “’Course it is. This is always your home. You know that.”

  “Seb won’t mind?”

  “Well, umm, we live here together now,” I say. “But you can have your old room. I mean, both. You can both have it if you want. It’s your room.”

  Seb finally comes down the stairs and stops dead in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen. “Tom. Good to see you, lad.”

  “Thanks.” Tom nods slightly.

  “Well, shall we take our teas into the lounge?” I suggest brightly. “Catch up on everything that’s happened?”

  Tom stares at me and for a moment his expression clouds. It’s Dominic who jumps in to break the silence.

  “That sounds lovely, Leah. Thanks so much.”

  I’m grateful for him sensing the tone of the room.

  Seb backs out first, then the others, and I follow last after quickly pouring the tea, and arranging the mugs on a tray. Spilled milk gathers at the base of one of the mugs and I remind myself to take that one. Before moving on from the kitchen, I steady myself. My hands are shaking. For months and months, I’ve imagined this moment. Tom walking into the cottage, well fed and healthy, willing to talk to me. Willing to let me back into his life. Wanting to stay here with me. But now that it’s happened, I almost don’t understand how I’m reacting, as though my life has been turned upside down. Him leaving is what turned it upside down, this should be righting it again. Why doesn’t it feel like that?

  “Here we are.” I place the tray down on the coffee table and hand over the mugs. “I’m sorry, Dominic, I forgot to ask if you take sugar.”

  “This is perfect, thanks.”

  “I still have your Imagine Dragons mug. Do you still like them?” My fingers grip the rim of the mug so hard I think it might shatter into a thousand pieces. Tom quietly takes it from me.

  “I’m more into dance music now.”

  I perch on the edge of the chair next to Seb, not wanting to sit by Tom so that we’re side by side. I want to see his face while we talk. “Oh. Well, maybe we can find a Skrillex mug.”

  Dominic laughs politely, but Tom barely cracks a smile.

  I rub my palms against my knees, longing for the right words to start this conversation. To find a way in, like navigating an overgrown part of the forest, or a winding path through a steep ravine.

  “I’ve missed you loads, you know. Every day. And I’ve been looking for you. In fact, DCI Murphy found an address, I think it actually is your address, and we were going to drive there tomorrow.” I’m tempted to dig out the paper from the bureau, but in the end I don’t bother.

  “Right,” Tom says.

  “Why did you leave, Tom?”

  Seb places a hand on my knee. A gentle reminder to take things slow.

  “I needed space.”

  I want to ask him why he couldn’t contact me and at least let me know that he was okay, but I don’t, I give him time.

  “Did you heal okay?” he asks.

  For a moment I’m confused, and then I remember the three-inch scar on my abdomen, the temporary colostomy bag I’d needed while my bowel was resected after surgery.

  I place a hand over the scar. “Yes. Everything’s fine now.”

  “I’m sorry I left you in the hospital like that. There was a lot going on in my head and I needed time alone. I knew if I stayed that I’d be part of the investigation. That I’d be giving evidence and forced to go to more therapy, and I was sick of talking about it.”

  “I get that.”

  His eyes meet mine. “You do? You love therapy. You’re the queen of therapy.”

  “I think it’s important, yeah. But I understand not wanting to talk about things for a while. I get sick of it too.”

  “I didn’t know you felt like that,” he says. “I guess a lot has changed since I left.”

  “Well, we can get to know each other again.”

  Chapter Eight

  Leah

  Even though it’s an odd thing for a person to do after meeting their boyfriend’s family, Dominic is happy enough to go with Seb to the farm and help set up the pumpkin patch opening, leaving me and Tom alone. We decide to get out of the house and stroll around the moors, looking out at the view across Hutton village.

  “You look well,” I note. “Are you still going to the gym?”

  “Not really. Money was too tight for a gym membership, but I learned a load of body weight exercises.”

  “Like the plank challenge?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Are you still going to self-defence?”

  “Whenever I get time.”

  The conversation goes on for a while, skirting around the edges, never quite straying into dangerous territory. We remain civil, if somewhat detached. Tom tells me that he learned how to make crepes on a stall at a county fair in Lincolnshire before they moved to Newcastle where there were more jobs. He worked on the stall last summer before getting the bricklayer job. He promised to make me crepes with chocolate sauce in exchange for allowing him to move in for a while. Neither him or Dominic have much money at the moment.

  “Dom’s parents are old fash
ioned. They’re strict Christians who don’t believe homosexuals go to heaven.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “That must be hard.”

  “It just means that we can’t stay with them.”

  The comment stings. Am I forced to admit to myself that I was Tom’s second or third choice? That I’m his last resort when it comes to potential homelessness?

  “Is that the only reason you came back? Because there was nowhere else to go?”

  Tom seems to flinch at that. He looks away, over the moors. “No, it’s not the only reason.”

  I decide not to probe any further. The more we talk, the more Tom’s body tenses, and now his shoulders are hunched up and his arms are folded tightly across his chest. I suggest that we head down to the field and help Seb’s family with the new event, because we can’t talk through all of our issues in one morning.

  “Seb doesn’t strike me as the pumpkin patch kind of guy.”

  “He’s not.” I roll my eyes. “To say he’s unhappy with the situation would be putting it mildly. But his mum is adamant that this is the way the farm will survive. And to be honest, I think she’s right. The farm shop Christmas gifts section outsells the meat. People want to come here for a day out, and if they’re willing to pay, why not? I’m going to try and convince Seb to do weddings next.”

  “You should make him officiate. It would be the quickest wedding in history.”

  We both laugh, and finally, my freezing inner core begins to thaw. Tom is home. The words feel strange. I move them around my mind, shuffling the letters, seeing how it feels. I take in the angles and colours of him, his birthmark, the creases on his knuckles. The dry skin at his hairline. My son. I can’t believe it.

  “The only thing is, if Donna and Josh convince Seb to help with weddings, it might mean us moving out of the cottage. Donna wants to convert it into a holiday cottage for the wedding party.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Maybe that’s for the best. Do you want to continue living in the place that reminds you of Isabel?”

  “I love the cottage, but some days are hard.”

  “Well, we won’t be staying long. As soon as I find a job and get a steady wage.”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and no doubt failing. Ahead of us, the farm is in full view. There are tents, and bunting. Local vendors have their stalls set up. The bungee cord ride has turned on its music. Pumpkins of all colours are lined up along trestle tables, and others spread out among the fields. Everywhere smells like dropped leaves, and the scent of coffee drifts from the refreshments tent.

  Dominic’s face lights up when we approach, and I watch Tom carefully to see his reaction. It could be the emotional exhaustion of the day, but it seems to me that Tom is more mechanical. His face almost always impassive. Whereas Dominic is the exact opposite, his heart on his sleeve, his expressions belying any attempt to hide emotion. He’s an open book.

  “Seb showed me the biggest pumpkin,” he gushes. “Honestly, Tom, you won’t believe the size of it. You could hide in it.” He turns to me. “Don’t you think this is gorgeous? It’s like being in an American movie.”

  At first, I laugh. And then I remember the film, and Jess, and the new actor who has been cast to play Tom, and now I know that I have to tell him. But I can’t predict how he’ll react. I clear my throat and turn to Tom.

  “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you. There’s going to be a film made about Isabel at Crowmont.”

  “A film? What, a documentary?”

  “Not a documentary, no. A proper acted film. I’ve met with the actress who will be playing me, but I haven’t met the director. The director emailed me and I told him that it was a stupid idea. But it seems as though they’ve started shooting recently.”

  “Are you serious?” He runs his hands through his hair and stares out into the distance. “What the fuck?”

  I wring my hands together, my throat dry, frightened of the sudden change in tone. Perhaps it was a bad idea to bring this up now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “So, in a year or whatever I’ll be watching myself on screen? Watching Isabel torture us? Watching her living up in our cottage attic, waiting for us?”

  “Actually, they’re changing the plot. Instead of Isabel kidnapping us, she’s going to be caught and taken back to Crowmont.”

  Tom kicks a sod of earth with the toe of his boot. “What gives them the right to change our story? That’s our story.”

  “Hey, hon.” Dominic places a hand on Tom’s arm. “Hey. Come on.”

  Tom does seem to relax slightly but continues toeing the mud.

  “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I’m not happy about it either.”

  “You’re meeting with the cast, though! Don’t you think that sends a message? Look, you can’t speak for both of us, Leah. You can’t meet up with these people and not expect them to take advantage or think that they can do whatever they want.”

  “Tom, that’s not what’s happening. I’m not speaking for you. And, incidentally, I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t know where you were.”

  His eyes narrow. “You do resent me for leaving. I knew it. I knew this was all pretend, this nicey-nicey act.”

  “There’s no act, Tom. I’m glad to see you and know you’re safe, but you have to know that what you did had consequences. You left me. You disappeared and left me in hospital recovering from a major stab wound. If Mark hadn’t been there to help me, I wouldn’t have even been able to go back to the bungalow. I had to be wheeled around in a wheelchair for a week!”

  Tom turns around and walks away. I start to go after him when Seb catches my arm.

  “Give him a bit of time.”

  “I’ll go,” Dominic says.

  I watch as Dominic catches up with Tom. They stop, exchange words, hug, and then Dominic comes back.

  “He’s fine. He wants some space for a while.”

  I let out a long sigh, watching him head out towards the moors. All eyes are on him. Donna stands with her back straight as a rod, hands on her hips. Recognition flashes over her face, and I can tell that she doesn’t approve of Tom’s arrival. She doesn’t like her son being involved with us – the family tainted by unseemly tragedy. For a moment it hits me that some tragedies leave a stain. There’s acceptable loss and unacceptable loss. Cancer, road accidents, unusual diseases: acceptable. Mental illness, murder, violence: unacceptable. We’re the stains currently blighting the Braithwaites.

  Forcing those thoughts away, I help Dominic arrange pumpkins in one of the tents, learning more about him as we work. He’s twenty-one and recently dropped out of an engineering course at University. It was his father’s passion, not his, and a couple of years away from his parents made him comprehend that. Since he dropped out, he came out as gay to them, only to be rejected and asked to leave.

  “It’s not their fault,” he says. “It’s the way they were raised. They can’t see past the sin.”

  “You were raised that way too,” I point out. “But you’re not closed-minded like them.”

  He shakes his head. “I was for a while. I tried to repress it, prayed that I was wrong. I even started self-medicating. It was Tom who helped me.”

  His words make me smile. My Tom, helping others. “Yeah?”

  “He’s been through so much and he’s trying so hard to get better.”

  “Getting better?”

  “Yeah,” Dominic says. “What with the drug addiction and everything?”

  I stop what I’m doing and stand up straight. “Drug addiction?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

  “No. I know nothing.” My voice breaks and I try to pull myself back together before I crack even harder. “What kind of drugs?”

  “Cocaine mostly,” Dominic says. “And some alcohol abuse. That’s actually how we met, in a narcotics anonymous meeting. Tom’s been clean for several months now.”

  My eyes prick with te
ars. To think that Tom was going through all of this on his own. Addiction, meetings, his first love as well. I was there for none of it.

  I clear my throat and make my apologies, the tent suddenly lacking air. I run my fingers through my hair and try I catch my breath. While I’ve been here with Seb, still haunted by Isabel and our father and everything else that has happened, Tom has been out there alone in the world. And I can’t decide what’s currently hurting me the most, the fact that Tom has been in pain and I haven’t been there to help him, or the fact that he seems to have pulled himself back from the brink without my help.

  Because what am I currently to him? A mother? A sister? A friend? I’m not convinced I feel like any of those things.

  I set off walking in the vague direction I saw Tom leave. Seb is busy at a stall with his family, setting out a pumpkin carving station. It’s 9am and people are beginning to filter in. Somewhere in the distance is the sound of a child’s laughter. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying not to think about how I used to make Tom laugh to distract him from our father’s rages. A creeping cold sensation worms its way through my body when I think of those years, of the people who were our parents, of the things we went through. Seb was right, Tom is the only one who understands, and in some ways, it feels like he’s chosen Dominic over me. But I have no right to think that. Dominic is obviously a very nice young person and I should be glad he and Tom found each other.

  Finally, my clenched muscles begin to relax. I’m happy for him. How could I not be happy for him? And as I think that, I’m overwhelmed by the desire to pull him into my arms and hold him tight. I call his name as I climb the hills, slightly breathless, skin tingling from the cold air.

  “Tom?”