The One Awakened: Book 1 in The One Trilogy (43 page)

Cringle’s Chemist is open. That's a good start!
 

I breathe a sigh of relief as I park the Audi directly outside its doors. Perfect for a grab and dash. The Chemist itself is tucked away in a small courtyard, to the right of the Holdgate Village Square. Its Tudor styled exterior and chocolate box window merchandising is cosily inviting and away from the madding crowds and I am instantly put at ease. This Chemist is so unlike the local one in Bodley, where a neon red sign flashes DUREX, placed strategically next to the huge Pampers display in the window! No this place was the perfect foil for my faux pas.

A woman with rosy cheeks and Dame Edna red glasses welcomes me as I enter. The shop is empty. At least there wouldn’t be the added embarrassment of others overhearing my intimate information. Gazing around, I’m in awe of the items of produce available. On the same shelf you could purchase a bottle of Head & Shoulders, hair clips, Tena Lady pads, nail polish remover, Vaseline, bum gloves (perfect for fake tanning) and a pair of socks? I try to focus on the reason that I am there. This was obviously what came with an independent village pharmacy. I’ve come to the right place if I need something to treat dandruff, incontinence issues, fix my manicure, moisten my dry lips, need lubrication for other areas, (oo err!) and need to cover my cold feet. Furrowing my brow in disbelief of the freakiness of the place I head to the counter. Vintage was too modern for this place!

With all this paraphernalia for sale, surely they could provide me with the
I fucked up and got fucked without fucking protection
pill!
“Good afternoon. How can I help?” her smile is comforting and I feel my shoulders relax their tightly arched position. I muster the courage, feeling like a naughty teenager and just go for it.

“Yes. I’d like to purchase the morning after pill?” My voice sounds calm but inside I feel sick and I haven’t even taken the bloody thing yet. I wince in apology.

“Oh OK.” The bubbly lady is perhaps a tad more judgmental? Or that could be my own insecurities. Sally, as her name badge advises me, disappears to the back of the shop and returns in seconds with two boxes.
 

“Right – we have two types of pill, Levonelle and Ella One.” She holds each box up respectively, flashing one forward and giving it a quick shake, before switching it up and thrusting the second option in my face, so close the text blurs. I nod in all the right places; the first brand name, Levonelle, must have been the one Abby took; it definitely sounded like the guy from Duran Duran.

“Which one you take is dependant upon how long it has been since you had unprotected sex?” Her gaze is serious and questioning over her red comical readers but her matching pillar-box red lips relax in a close-mouthed smile, encouraging me to open-up to her. I mentally calculate the length of time since our kitchen sex session and outwardly feel myself blush.
 

“I’d say just over twelve hours? Give or take. (Boy did I give and take!) It was Sunday night,” I add and want to kick myself at my honesty. Why not just tell her you were both too overcome buy passion to consider slipping a condom on his enormous orgasm delivering cock?

Her face appears sympathetic however and she goes into great detail about the best option. “I think you’ll be fine with the Levonelle tablet. This is to be taken within 72hours of the
accident…,
” she whispers this in the same way that the famous Manchester born comedian Les Dawson used to day
Lesbian
, like it is a dirty word and gives me another
whoops
eyebrow raise. “… and you are well within that timeframe. The other pill can be taken up to 5 days after
the event
but the sooner the better is my advice – Ella One is relatively new to the market so the decision is entirely yours but if it were me I’d go with the first choice.”
I spend the next few minutes listening to the many horrendous sounding side effects and issues I could expect to come with this type of emergency contraception medication and inwardly die at the thought of my stupidity. One soapy wet embrace and a few neck nuzzles and I’m spread eagled around a certain God’s hips and bouncing allover his cock.
“Scuse me Miss are you OK?” Sally interrupts my daydream gently.

I shake my head in annoyance at my own ditzy attitude. “Sorry yes I‘m fine. Take it tonight, with food. If I’m sick within 3hours I need a second dose from the Accident & Emergency department at the local hospital. Got it.”

I hand over my debit card to pay £25.99 – the exorbitant price for unrestricted passion.

“Much cheaper than weekly nappies.” Sally quips, reading my mind whilst punching in the necessary information on the PDQ machine. I nod weakly and enter my pin.

She discreetly wraps my item, in a Cringles branded paper bag and passes it to me. “Don’t worry love. We all make mistakes. In a few days this will be a distant reminder.”

I flinch at her words. The reality is whilst I need to take this pill - an unexpected pregnancy is not the way forward at present - I can’t help but hope that it won’t put a stop to all new beginnings. I don’t want Sunday's amazing sex to be seen as a mistake or become a distant reminder.
 

I jump as the sound of a bell chimes over the door and turn to see who’s entered but there
isn’t
anyone there. How odd?
 

Perplexed I return to focus upon red glasses lady and frown as she says, “Young people today you are all in too much of a hurry. No patience anymore.”

My confused face is evident and she hurriedly corrects herself. “Oh not you Honey, sorry. No I meant the blonde girl with the black fur coat that was waiting in line behind you. More interested in her phone than anyone else.”

Oh God I hadn’t even noticed that someone had entered the shop. I had been so involved in my Scoobydoo strategy of obtaining the dreaded pill; I’d not turned around once.
 

“Thanks for all your help,” I nod again.
 

I wish I’d gone to Lloyds now; they served you, hardly spoke and kept their personal opinions to themselves. Trust me to visit a Pharmacy with Yorkshire’s equivalent of Claire Raynor & Ruby Wax rolled into one! Her comment about distant reminders has definitely touched a nerve. I remind myself as I leave that she was only trying to help, even if it wasn’t really received.

At The Ashton I pull up next to a black Ford Ranger pick-up truck, emblazoned with the Silver Construction logo. That’s a good start at least. I smile to myself; Sebastian and I had designed the corporate identity together for a degree typography project; that was so long ago. I am suddenly immensely proud of everything that he has achieved in such a short space of time. After Uni we’d both graduated and gone our separate ways in business but remained a constant in one another’s lives through friendship and work.
I much preferred to contract any building works I may require out to Silver Construction, and in the early days, when I was making my way up the corporate chain, grabbing every grain of experience I could, I’d put in a good word for him with my bosses and Sebastian would more than prove his worth. This reputation of quality and innovation, combined with his good head for marketing, had meant that the company had expanded fast and fiercely, and the smaller jobs tended to take a backseat. Now he was wheeling and dealing with the alphas, all over the world, with fingers in many of the high-end construction project pies, he was involved with. His Dad had out into the business initially, helping him start out, which had been a real help but the rest was all Seb. Financially he was set for life.
 

He’d fast become a real entrepreneur and I realise how fortunate I am that Sebastian has rearranged projects to ensure there was a slot in the diary for me on this brief. Everything had to be perfect at The Ashton, to ensure we get more business from James Marcell, and his many cultured contacts.

I head up to the honeymoon suite and am pleased to see that the construction-team have not wasted anytime in prepping for the ensuing weeks. All manner of protective materials shroud the room; from plastic sheeting to dust sheets and the customary site radio, flecked with paint and plaster, sits pride of place on an up-turned bucket. Work is already beginning on the bathroom and to the front of the room a hole is being created to house the new fireplace.
I count two workmen; one cheeky apprentice who introduces himself to me, with a tip of his baseball cap as
Danny
, whilst he sips his coffee and another quiet soul, who is at present screeding the en-suite floor to level it, ready for the new surface covering. I feel for his knees, which are encased in pads for protection.
I need to re-measure the window spaces for the curtain fabric, to supply the window dresser, one last time. As Sebastian always says, “
measure twice, cut once.
” It appears that at every turn, I am reminded of him.

Jumping slightly, I feel a hand in the small of my back, my brain sends a signal of hope as to the owner of the hand but I instinctively sense that it is not
him.
 

It is not his touch, there’s no electric buzz shooting up my spine
.

“Lucia, I didn’t know you were popping in!” I hear Chris Booth’s confident voice behind me, and slump. Today of all days I could do without his prying eyes and overzealous comments.

“Hi Chris - yes I thought I’d come see that all is as it should be.”
 

I side step an abandoned toolbox and walk out of Chris’ close proximity – the man really does give me the creeps.

“All is indeed in order! Sebastian asked me to come oversee things today onsite as he’s away again.”

My mind and body freeze at the words. He hadn’t mentioned working away had he - he’d only just got back Friday night? I am filled with a huge sense of loss and disappointment and even though I had no intention of discussing the fact that I’d procured the morning after pill to wash away the risk of any mistake from our passionate encounters, I realise that I am now truly alone.
“Oh – where’s he gone?” I ask, hoping to appear casual.

“London for some big suits meeting – bout the Jannah?” he supplies me, almost cocky with his knowledge.
“I fancied tagging along; we grafted on that job together you know, but he needed someone to
manage shop
whilst away and who else could he trust with his favourite female friend?” I’m niggled by the way he seems to be placing himself in Seb’s shoes, in his absence.
“I wonder if he’ll be meeting that Manchester lass Stacey whilst there – he doesn’t like to travel empty-handed, if you know what I mean – or single for that matter and I know Toni isn’t with him this time!” he winks, elbowing me a little roughly in the side. I swallow in distaste, nausea bubbling at the ready.
Chris ignores my now pale complexion and continues rambling.
 

“Yeah, think he’s back in a week? Not sure really. Hey but you’ve got me and we’ll be able to get down to it,” he grins mischievously. In that second I decide to snap out of things and take Chris for what I think deep down he probably is, a misunderstood guy who is probably lonely and likely harmless enough. I seriously hope that is the case anyhow. I actually think he is a little thick or maybe just thick-skinned?

Why would he mention Stacey though? She was the woman they apparently met in Manchester about the chain of restaurants Silver Con were tendering for. She wasn't anything to do with the Dubai hotel - was she?

I retract my black Prada frames from my briefcase and slide them on, pushing the glasses back with one finger to sit over my nose and cheeks comfortably. They were unfortunately a necessity since the birth of Finn, when my eyesight had altered from long to shortsightedness but the fact that they looked the part and made me feel business-like, was an added bonus.
 

“Right, so then let’s get to it - 1) The bathroom floor; the tiles should be with you by Wednesday - 2) The tiles for the walls on Friday - 3) The plastering is to be done Wednesday also so that the decorator can begin next week…” I tick each item off with my fingers as I read through my detailed plan of action.

“Whoa, Whoa, slow down! Seb said you were organised to a fault but give a bloke a chance to keep up!” he blusters, raking a hand through his fashionably styled barber’s quiff.

I laugh, relaxing a little. “Sorry. When I‘m in the zone God help us. I’ve sent all the proposal times for work and deliveries to Toni via email, but I can '
cc'
you in for future reference - if you’d prefer?”
 

He nods, his icy blue eyes concentrating in thought. “Yeah that works - or you and I could mull over some suggestions over drinks sometime?”

Oh no, I knew it.
It’s true what they say, an unhappy woman is not appealing but a woman with an aura of '
just been fucked'
and the men crawl out of the woodwork.
“Oh I’m not sure that’s such a good idea Chris – mixing work and pleasure.”
 

That’s it. Well done, stop there.
 

“But you could always have a cuppa at mine sometime,” I add feeling sorry for him.