“Yes. And I risked everybody and brought her home anyway. Somehow I convinced myself that it would be okay. Simon had got over it. He got it when he went to London to get Colin’s kids. I knew a few others who had got over it. At least I wasn’t stupid enough to bring her into the house.”
“We have to try, don’t we?” Chris said. He shuddered as an image of Jenny came into his mind. He hadn’t been able to tell Pauline, but Brian would understand. “In London, there was a girl. She was fourteen. She’d been kidnapped, and they’d traded beer for her and couldn’t decide who got her first. I managed to convince them to give her to me. I kept her safe for as long as I could, but when they realized that I didn’t want her for—for sex, one of them broke into my room and raped her.”
“Shit,” Brian whispered.
“I tried to kill him. Nearly managed it. Too many of them, though.”
“So you had to leave.”
“That’s the short story, yes. There were a few good people in London, caught up in a bad situation. They got the girl away, got her home.”
“At least you know she’s safe.”
“Yes, at least.”
“I’d kill to defend my family, if it came to that.”
Chris nodded. “I hope you never come to it. It’s harder than you think.” He looked up. “London is hard to talk about.”
Brian nodded. “Okay.”
“I know I didn’t handle it so well, on the bus.”
“I didn’t, either.” Brian took a drink, then a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re here, Chris. We all are. If there’s any place in this screwed-up world you belong, it’s here.”
Chris ran his hand across his hair. He wasn’t sure of that at all.
“Or is it?” Brian asked.
Chris didn’t answer. He gazed away toward the church. The clock’s hands had not moved. He drank the last of his beer, handed the bottle back to Brian, still without looking at him.
“Jon is here,” Chris said finally.
“Right. Well,” Brian said, pushing away from the wall. “We should get back. Supper will be ready soon, I expect.”
Chris jumped down lightly. He put his hands in his pockets and followed Brian as he made his way through the gravestones toward the road.
* * *
After dinner, Jon took Chris up to his room.
“I’ve got some boxes of stuff here, from my flat and Mum’s. You should have a look, take what you want.”
Several cardboard boxes sat on the floor and a couple on the bed.
“They’re yours, Jon. You saved them.”
“I don’t need it all. It’s family stuff. Your family. You should have some of it.”
His hand shook as Chris opened the first box on the bed.
“That one on top is the picture album I made after that trip in September, when Mum and I came to visit you.”
“You sent me one.”
“Yeah, I made three. One for Mum. It’s in one of those boxes on the floor. That’s Mum’s stuff; this is mine.”
Chris picked up the dark-green album and opened the cover. The first picture took up the whole page. It was another shot from the same studio session as the one Fiona had given him. They were all three smiling at the camera. He stared at it, heart pounding, then turned the pages, one after another. The book was filled with candid shots of Chris, Sophie, Rosie, and Mum, some in black-and-white, some in color.
“These are a little different from the ones I had, I think,” Chris said.
“I made them all just a bit different, yes. Here, this is from your shows that month, at that little bar in Soho.” He handed Chris a black book.
Chris flipped through it, then put it back in the box. “I don’t need it.”
“It’s fun to remember, isn’t it?”
“I want to see the albums from when we were kids.”
They spent the evening going through the old albums and boxes of photos, laughing and remembering. They talked about Kevin. Chris swallowed past the tightness in his throat and gave Jon more details about London: what had happened after he went to Kevin’s flat, how he’d got away. He told him about Marcus, mentioned Beryl, but didn’t tell him what had happened to her, or Jenny. He didn’t want to travel down that dark path again just yet. Some other time.
Later, Laura knocked softly and stuck her head in the door. “It’s late, boys,” she said and grinned.
“Oh, do we hafta go to bed already?” Jon said in a mock whine.
“Haying tomorrow,” Laura said. “Good night.” She pulled the door closed.
Chris gathered up the small pile of photos he had set aside. “Thanks, Jon, for these.”
“We’ll do this again,” Jon said, putting stuff back into boxes. “You’ve got so much to tell me. I want to hear it all.”
“I want to hear about you, too.”
“I have nothing to tell. I’ve been here. Milking, planting, harvesting. Dull, dull, dull.”
“It’s not so dull,” Chris said. Jon shrugged.
Lying in bed, Chris couldn’t get the images of Jenny and Beryl out of his head. He’d done his best, just as Brian had done. Had it been failure? No. The little girl, Alice, hadn’t died alone, and Jenny had known someone cared enough to try to keep her safe. She knew that not all men were bad. In the end, she’d got home safely. Beryl had known the risks. It wasn’t his fault.
But what if—?
No. No more what-ifs. Focus on the now.
Did Jon find his life so dull? Did that mean he might want a change? Of location, if not occupation? Plenty of opportunity for a single man in Breton. And then Pauline invaded his head, holding him hard, crying.
Come back.
Chris gasped, sat up. A dream? He hadn’t been asleep, had he? His heart pounded and other parts of him, too.
Shit.
How had he managed before now, year after year?
You didn’t let yourself fall for anyone, much less a beautiful, intelligent, caring redhead; that’s how, you idiot.
Chris curled up, clutching his pillow, and counted backwards.
CHAPTER 25
C
hris came down the stairs, hearing an odd noise. For a moment he couldn’t place it; then it struck him what it was, and he looked into the sitting room in amazement.
Laura was hoovering. She had her back to him and was working her way across the floor evenly. She was getting close to a small table next to the couch. Chris stepped in and picked up the table for her. She flashed him a smile and pushed the vacuum under the legs. He set it down and tilted the couch onto its back legs so she could get underneath. They did the whole room that way, with never a word between them. She turned off the vacuum when they had finished.
“Thank you,” she said. “Hoovering is such a chore. That made it much easier.”
“Happy to help,” Chris said.
She wound up the cord while watching him.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing really,” she said. “You never did that, before, you know.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No.” She smiled.
“I haven’t seen anyone vacuum in years. It must have been the shock.” He smiled back at her.
“David would never have thought to do that.”
That seemed the sort of remark best left unanswered. “Is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, no,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you have to go out, with the rest of the men?”
“I’ve been politely asked to find something else to do.”
“Oh, that’s just ridiculous. God, these people and their stupid blood tests!”
“You can’t really blame them. It is a matter of life and death.”
“But it’s all for show. You know that, right? The damn card is pointless after a week.”
“I’ve seen people go down in a day, and dead the next.”
She blinked. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
“Anyway, it gets me out of the hard work. I get to help the ladies.” Chris grinned at her to lighten the mood.
“You’re no stranger to hard work, from the looks of you. You look good, Chris. Healthy.”
“Chopping wood for cooking and heat, shoveling muck, pitching hay. Not as many machines as you’ve got here, I expect.” He curled his arm with a mock-serious expression.
“You must have killer abs.”
Chris grinned again and pulled up his shirt. Laura’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, my. Where’s that cute little pudgy belly I remember?”
“Starvation took care of that,” Chris said without thinking about it.
Laura’s expression changed, and guilt washed over Chris.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he said.
“When were you hungry, Chris?”
He couldn’t get Pauline’s expression out of his mind, that day he’d told her about the rats. He didn’t want to do that to Laura, too. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you?” she said, and she got the same look on her face—the distressed look—that Pauline would get.
He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, tried to decide what he should tell her.
“It might help, to talk about it, don’t you think?”
He sighed. “I have done. There was someone I could talk to in Breton. I’m okay, really.”
She stood there, crossed her arms, and drew her eyebrows in. “Who did you talk to?”
Nearly any question still made him want to clench his jaw and take a step back. He’d worked hard to get over that in Breton. Apparently it didn’t transfer to here, to Hurleigh, to this room and this woman he’d lived with so long ago. No reason to keep secrets, though, right? Deep breath. “A psychologist. I was in therapy basically.”
Surprise showed in her face. “Oh. Good. Man or woman?”
“What does it matter?”
“A woman.”
“Yes. Pauline.” Deep breath.
“George’s sister. She lived on the farm you worked on.”
“Yes.” Right, he’d mentioned all that the night he arrived. She’d always had a good memory.
“Did you have a relationship with her?”
“No. That’s not proper.”
“Why are you so tense?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Don’t get cranky.”
Chris took a step back and turned away from her. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re doing what you used to do. You’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, so you can tell me what to feel instead. So you can tell me what I’m doing wrong. So I’ll start thinking what you want me to think.”
She didn’t reply, and Chris turned back to her. She stood gripping the handle of the vacuum, her knuckles white, her eyes big.
“That’s not what I—is that all you remember?
That?
”
Chris sagged, rubbed at his face. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Crap.”
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “I know you well enough—”
“No, you knew me a long time ago,” Chris cut in. “I’m not the same person. At all. You don’t know me.” He started to turn away toward the door.
“Wait,” she said. “Please.”
He turned back. “What?”
Laura stepped close to him, hesitated, then put her arms around him.
“I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t, either,” he said and hugged her back.
“You’re hurting, Chris. Aren’t you?” She loosened her hold just enough to look up into his face.
Chris was ready to end the hug, but she didn’t let go. He’d feel like an ass standing with his arms at his sides while she held him, so he kept them around her. He avoided her eyes.
“You need something. Someone.”
Why was she always right? How could she know that? A thought struck him. Chris looked at her face, her dark eyes, her lips. They’d been so close for so long. She’d known him so well. Hell, she still did.
Distance
, he’d said to Pauline. Distance might make it clearer. And what else? Someone else? Is that what he needed to get Pauline out of his mind? Did he need to let someone else in?
Laura put a hand up behind his head, pulled it down to hers, and kissed him. Like she used to. There’d never been anything wrong with the sex. Chris pulled her close. Kissed her back. It was good. But...
wrong
.
“Stop,” he gasped, disentangling himself. “What about David?”
Laura stood, breathing hard. She licked her lips. “It’s been iffy for a while. I’ve been afraid to leave him.”
“Afraid of David?” A little surge of anger started in Chris’s gut.
“No, no.” She shook her head. “No. Afraid of being alone again.”
Chris blinked. “I’d be a nice substitute, is that it?”
Laura put her hand up to her face and moved to one of the chairs. “No, it’s not just that. Really.” She sank down and took ragged breaths. “We were so happy, once, you and I. I remember that. I want that back. I want to be as happy as I was with Stephen.”
“I’m not Stephen.”
“I know.”
“I’d be a substitute.”
She looked up at him from the chair, her eyes wet. “Couldn’t we at least try?”
Chris couldn’t be angry at her. He couldn’t blame her. Circumstance.
Again, dammit.
“No. I’m sorry, Laura.”
She turned her face away, nodded.
“You’re right, though, about one thing. I do need someone. But not you. I’m sorry.”
She nodded again, wiped her eyes, looked back at him. “Pauline?”
He held himself stiffly and didn’t answer.
“Why did you leave then?”
“To find Jon and Brian. Like I said. I had to know.”
Laura sat up straighter, and her mouth opened, as if she’d had a thought. “Are you going back? Is that why—?”
“How can I leave Jon?” Chris said, his voice hard.
She saw it all then. Her eyes opened wide again, and she stood. “Do you think you have to choose—” she started, but Chris didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to have to explain.
“Forget it, okay?” he said. “Please, just let it go.” He left her, went to find Fiona so she could give him a job to do while the rest of the men worked the fields.
* * *
He ended up working all morning in the kitchen with Fiona and Vivian.
“We got behind in preserving the last few days, with so many pickers and all those cakes to make for tea,” Fiona said.
Chris did odd jobs around the kitchen: moving large pots of water and baskets of vegetables, peeling and slicing, hauling peels and cut bits out to the hogs. Laura came in just before lunchtime and went out to the field with a big basket of sandwiches. Fiona went along with two clean buckets of cold water. Chris offered to carry them.