Chapter Eight
Five thirty and London was sluggishly waking up. Following the milk float down the street, Daniel pulled to a halt in the nearest parking spot and turned to watch Olivia dozing next to him. She didn’t wake when he switched off the ignition. The painkillers must have kicked in.
Studying her face in the early morning light, he traced the outline of her chin, the high cheekbones and long fair lashes resting on her skin. He’d known her for so long, he took her attractiveness for granted but now, looking at her uninterrupted, he realised how gorgeous she was. That bastard, whoever he was, had better appreciate her. It should have been him there last night, holding her, wiping away her tears, distracting her from the pain. Did Olivia realise that she’d settled for second place and that it would always be like this? A wave of sadness gripped him and he wanted to scoop Olivia up into his arms and hold her, tell her that he would look after her. Like he had last night.
She stirred, her face screwing up with pain and muttering. He gave a self-derisory half-laugh at his stupidity. Strong, capable Olivia, she always knew what she was doing. Who was he kidding? She didn’t need rescuing.
He gave her a prod, perhaps harder than necessary and she jolted awake. Yes, he was a jerk, an out-of-sorts jerk. Lack of sleep probably. It had been one hell of a long night. Glancing at his watch, he figured he could grab an hour and a half’s kip before having to get up. Being his own boss might mean he could pick and choose his hours, but it also meant that too many people were relying on him. Since taking over the organic nursery from his dad, business had gone from strength to strength and they were now supplying a couple of supermarket chains with salad produce. A slew of meetings today meant hehad to go in. He could have delegated but at this short notice it was hardly fair.
‘Come on, sleepy head. Let’s get you inside.’
With dopey eyes and drooping eyelids, she looked at him, confusion clouding her expression. Sleepy, adorable and totally trusting. God, he was a sucker.
He got out of the car and stomped round to the passenger door. Olivia all but fell out. Sighing to himself, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the street to the front door. Her hair tickled his nose as her head snuggled into him. It smelled of apples and sunshine. Just shampoo, he told himself.
‘Mmm... D’nel... thaaa...’ she slurred, her breath warm on his neck. She felt limp and soft and he tightened his grip, worried she might slip right through his arms. Holding her as he reached the door, he realised neither of them had a key. Tough, he’d have to wake Emily to come down and let them in. At least she’d had some sleep.
* * *
There was nowhere to put Olivia but on the sofa, bundled up in an old sleeping bag that Emily managed to sulkily produce.
Daniel gritted his teeth as he stood in the doorway of Olivia’s bedroom looking at the blood-soaked bedding. Shit, what a mess. Some, but not all, of the dark red stain had faded to brown. Exasperated, he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Why should he have expected Emily to sort it out?
He strode to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of black bin bags.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Emily in a plaintive voice. ‘It’s nearly six in the morning. Come to bed. I’ve got to go to work soon. I need some more sleep.’
‘We can’t leave Olivia’s bedroom like that.’
Emily shrugged, her hands fluttering as if that might make the mess magically disappear. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s not going to make much difference now.’
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. It would have made a difference if someone had at least stripped the bed a couple of hours ago instead of letting the blood seep into the mattress. He stomped back to the bedroom.
He stuffed the sheets straight into the black bags. No point trying to save them or the double duvet. Hopefully Olivia wasn’t too attached to them. If it were him he’d want new. These were stained with nasty memories and you couldn’t be sure you’d get all the glass shards out. The glass in that window must have been quite old.
He could order her a new duvet today and it could be delivered tomorrow. The mattress he’d sponge as best he could and then she could always turn it over and she had spare bed sheets.
He hoisted the black bags over his shoulder and took them down the fire escape and through the shared yard at the back of the junk shop, to the wheelie bins arranged in a neat row like sentries on guard. He didn’t hang around, the enclosed yard was full of dark corners and shadows.
Olivia had fallen asleep again, scrunched up on the sofa, her head at an odd angle. He went over and shifted the cushion under her head. She didn’t stir but she looked a bit more comfortable now.
Half past six. No point in trying to go to sleep and he didn’t want to disturb Emily again... no, not strictly true, he wanted to avoid her, avoid saying something that would upset her. His hands clenched, tension rocking up his arms into his shoulders. Tiredness had scoured out his eyes and they felt gritty and sore.
Making a cup of tea, he sat in the kitchen staring out of the window. How had life suddenly got so complicated? He rubbedat the stubble on his chin; things felt different but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was that had changed.
* * *
‘Olivia? Do you know where my house keys are? I can’t find them.’
These were the first words Emily addressed to me the following morning as I lay on the sofa, bundled up in a sleeping bag. Had she forgotten I’d been at the hospital half the night? Of course I hadn’t seen her bloody keys. She was always losing them.
‘When did you last have them?’ I asked patiently. Irritatingly, she stared at the ceiling as if mentally retracing her steps.
‘Can’t remember. You used your key last night after work. The night before that I was home after you — so you let me in. I thought they were in my handbag.’
‘Tried your coat pocket? Changed handbags?’
‘No, they were definitely in my bag. My new one.’
