We don’t speak.
There comes a point where words are useless and now, with my ejaculate leaking from her and our limbs entwined, there are no words.
A shared language can be silent.
We write what we feel on our bodies. The scars, marks and cuts. The tense muscles and tender touches.
The way we fall asleep in another’s arms.
And a heartbeat.
We keep on breathing.
Chapter Two
The sun doesn’t rise on the second day of January. It hovers just below the horizon in a shroud of white, any light stolen by harbingers of bad news.
I wake with Blair in my arms, her breath warm against my skin. The thick curtains at the windows are pulled back, because we forgot to close them before we lost ourselves in each other the night before and snow is piling up on the sills.
Outside everywhere is dressed in innocent white.
A knock at the door sounds and a low Scottish voice gives warning he’s coming in. Franklyn appears at the door, holding a silver tray with a pot of tea on it and mugs that I know are Blair’s favourite.
His face is etched with thunder and I don’t know if it’s because I’m in her bed or whether it’s because Ben isn’t.
She stirs as if she senses a change in the atmosphere. “You’ve brought tea.”
For a moment all is well with the world.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Franklyn only looks at her.
She sits up, the blankets pooling around her waist, her tits covered by the single sheet she holds in front of them.
“Please. How’s my father?”
It’s the first question she asks every morning, apart from the morning when Ben wasn’t there.
“He’s had a good night. Slept well.” Franklyn smiles, his eyes softening.
“Does he know about Ben?”
The air grows thicker at the sound of his name. “Not yet. Your mother does. There’s been no sign overnight. Maybe you should both check your phones.”
I’ve already checked and there’s nothing. The message I’ve sent hasn’t been received. It’s white noise. Untranslated.
“Has Micky heard anything?” There’s a hint of desperation in her voice.
Franklyn puts the tray down on a table and starts to pour. “Not from Ben.”
“But you know something.” Her eyes narrow.
Franklyn looks up, glances towards me. He’s wearing the mask I’ve seen before, one which disguises every thought and opinion. Good staff or someone who can camouflage themselves too easily.
“Micky’s up and about if you want to speak to him.” He nods a bow and turns to go.
“Franklyn, you need to tell me what you’ve heard.”
“Not for me to say, m’lady. Now, excuse me and I’ll provide you with breakfast. I’m assuming a little of everything will go down well.” There’s no edge to his tone, no judgement.
