Scarred by You Page 28

  I eat the shitty aeroplane chicken and pilau rice, and I manage to sleep for an hour or two. I’m wrecked when I land back at Heathrow, but I still head straight to Teddy and Yvette’s before work.

  I knock on the door of their Notting Hill terrace. Teddy answers in a pair of silk boxers, purple with pink love hearts. For the first time in what feels like forever, I laugh. “Jesus, Ted, what the fuck are you wearing?”

  “I’d find you amusing except it’s six a.m and you’re banging my front door down.”

  “Sorry, I’m a little wired. I had a lot of coffee on the plane.”

  “Beats your usual Jack, I suppose.”

  I scowl as I follow him to the lounge.

  “You want more caffeine?”

  “Ah, probably not. I’ll get going, I just want you to be the first to know. I quit.”

  He takes a seat on the sofa and turns on the large flat-screen, holding a fist over his mouth as he yawns. “Quit what?”

  “Layton Oil. I’m done. I’m out. I’m resigning today.”

  He blinks slowly then turns off the TV and meets my gaze. “Well, fuck.”

  “WHY ARE YOU dressed like that, Rach? I thought you were coming round for a Saturday night in.”

  Rachel holds up two bottles of wine, swaying them in front of her tight LBD with a goofy grin on her face. “I changed our mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Rach, but I’m just not up for a night out.”

  She comes inside, kicking the door closed with one of her favourite Gucci heels that she’s already had re-soled more than once. She heads straight to the kitchen, dumping one bottle of wine in the fridge and attacking the other with a corkscrew.

  I stand across from her, my arms folded over my chest, but she continues going about her business, pretending I’m not here. Once she’s poured two glasses, she pushes one across the breakfast bar to me and raises her eyebrows. “Well, go get ready.”

  “Ra—”

  “Listen, you’ve been miserable all week. This… all of this… it isn’t going away, and you have to do what you’ve done in the past. You have to build a bridge a—”

  “And walk over it. Using my line on me?”

  She winks. “Damn straight. Go.”

  I shower and dress in pretty decent time, even with Rachel sitting on the bed talking to me while I do my make-up and blow-dry my hair.

  “I feel semi-human,” I tell her once I’m ready and sipping wine on the sofa.

  We finish both bottles of wine, like old times, and head out to Kensington just after ten. After the week I’ve had, I’m on the drunk side of tipsy already, and I know I shouldn’t have more than one or two while we’re out.

  We step out of the cab outside Heist. Rachel struts straight to the front of the queue while I pay the cab driver, and by the time I get there, the doorman, Rachel’s cousin Darrell, is holding open the red rope barrier. We slip inside, to the dismay of the waiting crowd.

  “If I wore a dress like that I’d be in already!” some guy shouts behind us.

  I smile back across my shoulder at Darrell and mouth “thank you”.

  I follow Rachel upstairs to the rooftop, which is being warmed by patio heaters under the clear, star-studded December sky. We head through the packed bar to the VIP area and perch on two stools at the end of a table of four guys. I laugh as Rachel pays them close scrutiny and winks when one of the guys clocks her running her eyes over him.

  “Hey, did I just make you laugh?”

  “I’m laughing at you,” I tell her.

  “I’ll take it.” She smiles affectionately, and I squeeze her hand as a waitress comes over and takes our order of two Hendricks’ with slimline.

  We talk about trash, people in the bar, old stories, gossip we’ve heard — well, gossip Rachel has heard — lately. We avoid anything that would shatter my mood, something I’m eternally grateful for.

  “Thank you,” I talk-shout across the table. “Maybe I did need to get out.”

  “You were festering. I thought you were going to start growing a beard and getting fungal infections.”

  I throw my head back as I laugh. “Why would either of those things happen?”

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her second Hendrick’s.

  A hand touches my shoulder, making me turn my head. A guy is far too close to my face. I pull back to get a look at his stubble-covered jaw. Actually, he’s not bad. Like, a seven out of ten. “Do you come here often?”

  I glance at Rachel, and we both start howling. “Ah, I come here sometimes. Listen, you’re a good-looking guy, so I’m going to help you out. Why don’t you try your lines on her?” I dip my head in Rachel’s direction, who smiles and bats her eyelashes.

  “I would,” he says to Rachel, leaning between us so we can both hear. “You’re beautiful. But my mate has been eyeing you up all night.”

  “Well tell him to come say hi. I don’t deal with shy guys,” Rachel tells him.

  I watch him walk back to his group of friends, but my eyes are torn away by four different men walking out to the terrace. Teddy. Jay Hamilton. Spencer. Clark.

  “We need to leave.” I climb off my stool and take hold of Rachel’s wrist.

  “What the—? Oh, fuck.”

  It’s too late. We stand side by side as, one by one, all four men clock us. I’m sure I’m standing on my legs but I can’t feel them. Clark is rooted to the spot. He’s in jeans, shirt and a blazer, looking tired but sexy as hell. He pulls Teddy’s shoulder and says something to him.

  He wants to leave.

  I snap out of my trance when Rachel tugs my arm. “No point now, he’s seen you.” She hops back onto the stool she left, and I step backwards onto mine.

  “Please tell me this wasn’t a set-up.”

  “After everything that’s happened, Dayna, you don’t even have to ask me that. Teddy won’t let him come over either, not unless you tell him to. So let’s just have another, okay? You’re going to bump into him from time to time.”

  Teddy must tell Clark something similar because the four men give us a wide berth and find a table at the back of the VIP area.

  I glance over my shoulder as they take a seat. Clark isn’t looking at me, and as ridiculous as I know it is, that disappoints me.

  “Hey, look at me. Let’s get another drink,” Rachel says.

  I nod and fake a smile. “Yep. Hendrick’s.” Screw one or two.

  Mid-drink, I have to make a toilet trip. I end up bouncing from one foot to the other as I wait in a queue for one of three cubicles, unsure why I let it get to this desperate stage.

  Finally, six million hours later and business taken care of, I head back to Rachel. I can see the back of Spencer’s head leaning towards her. Clearly the concept of a one-night-stand in Verbier wasn’t as definite as Rachel made out.

  I can’t stop my eyes flicking to Clark as I make my way across the bar. He’s talking to Jay, oblivious to me. As I shuffle my way through the crowd, I feel a tug on my hand.

  “Dayna Cross, right?”

  A guy with designer-styled, side-swept dark hair and a square jaw stands in front of me.

  “Ah, yes. And you are?”

  “Tom Cranston. From St. Mary’s? We used to play tennis together. Well, in the same group.”

  I search my memory but still can’t place him. “I’m so sorry, I must seem rude but I can’t — Oh wait, you were most improved player for three weeks running in summer camp.”

  He laughs. “Never best player, always most improved.”

  “Gosh, it’s nice to see you. Do you live in London?”

  I don’t catch his response and tell him so. He leans into my ear, tugging my arms so I fall slightly off balance in my heels and have to steady myself with my hand on his chest.

  “I live with my girlfriend in North Finchley. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve had enough, thank you.”

  “You always were sensible,” he says, into my ear. I notice Clark out of his seat, his bod
y tense, his eyes trained on me.

  Jay puts his hand on Clark’s arm, and I watch him slowly retreat. I’d really like to go home, but I glance over to see Rachel and Spencer in full flirtation mode.

  “You know what, I will take a drink, Tom.”

  We chat at the bar for five minutes with a drink, then I make my way back to Rachel and Spencer. I really have had enough to drink and enough time out of my burrow.

  I have no idea whether Spencer knows what’s going on with Clark and me. I don’t know whether he’s aware that his father is a murderous bastard.

  I don’t speak first.

  “Hey, Dayna, how are you?”

  He has no idea.

  “I’m okay, thanks, Spence. How are you?”

  He responds, but I don’t hear him. I’m watching Clark make his way towards us. My blood pumps harder. My chest tightens. I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.

  He moves in to me, his hand on the small of my back, his scent filling my nose. “Can we talk?”

  Rachel is off her stool and moving between us, planting her hand on Clark’s chest. “Whoa, whoa, Clark, leave her alone, alright? We’re having a night out to take her mind off everything. She doesn’t need this.”

  He looks from Rachel to me. “You don’t have to. I don’t want to upset you.”

  That lump I’ve become too familiar with is back in my throat, and I can’t speak past it, so I nod. I see Teddy rise from his seat in the distance, but I hold up a hand to tell him it’s fine. My protectors are out in force. Maybe I’m not as alone as I’ve let myself believe.

  We move to a corner of the rooftop where it’s quieter but where the heaters aren’t as effective. I fold my arms across me, and before I can rub my skin, Clark’s blazer is over my shoulders. “Thank you.”

  He’s looking down on me, despite my heels. “I just want to know how you are.”

  “How do you think I am?” I snap and instantly regret it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve been through the mill. Thanks to my family.”

  I glance away from him because I can’t bring myself to look when I say, “My father hurt your family, too.”

  He scoffs. “It doesn’t compare, Dayna. So I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to apologise.”

  I find myself watching my toes curling in my peep-toes, because I can’t look in his eyes. It’s too painful, too dangerous. “I, ah, I didn’t bid. I guess you know that.”

  He lifts my chin. “Don’t look down, baby. You’re not that woman.”

  My breath catches at his use of the word “baby”, or maybe at the force of those silver-blue eyes.

  I’ve had a drink. Too much to drink. I have to get out of this situation.

  “I know, and I’m pleased. It must have been hard for you to withdraw. I know how much the well meant to you, but I… I couldn’t protect you the way I wanted. This is for the best. Kahn got his well, and he paid way over a safe price for it.”

  I nod twice. “He’ll make a loss.”

  “It’s not enough for you, is it?”

  “I can’t answer that, Clark, not for you.”

  “Because now you want revenge against him and my father.”

  I don’t speak. Clark takes his hand from my chin, and I feel absurdly bereft at the loss of contact.

  “For what it’s worth, I’ve quit the business. I’ve cut every tie I can with him. If you… if you wanted to try to press charges against him…”

  I pull his jacket off my shoulders and throw it at him. “I always fall for it, don’t I? You want to know if I’m going to press charges, Clark? No. Think about it. If I had evidence against Kahn, I would have used it by now. Every research study about the explosion says my father is to blame. It rubs his name in the dirt, says he was a cost-cutter who killed people. I’d like to see your father behind bars. More than that, I’d like to rip his fucking head off. But I can’t. So there’s the answer to your question, now fuck off back out of my life.”

  I barge past him, only to be pulled back, his grip so tight on my arm it hurts. “That’s not what I’m doing, Dayna. Listen to me.”

  I glance around, feeling the stares from people around us.

  “I want nothing to do with him. I’ve walked. I’ve left everything I’ve ever known and worked for because I hate who he is and I hate what he’s done. I came to talk to you to see how you are.”

  I struggle, trying to pull away but he keeps hold of me. “Now you know, Clark. I’m better off without you and your fucking shit. I already knew you left Layton Oil. It’s industry gossip.”

  In a flash, Teddy is between us, pushing Clark away from me and pulling back his fist. Clark does nothing to defend himself; he just looks at me.

  I grab Teddy’s wrist. “Stop it, Teddy. Enough. I’ve had enough of it all. Everything. I’m done.”

  Teddy pulls back but stays in between us as Clark speaks. “Dayna, please.”

  “You know what the joke is, Clark? I thought…” I sigh and shake my head then turn and leave.

  I hear Clark shouting. “You thought what, Dayna?”

  Rachel makes a beeline for me. “Rach, it’s okay. I’m okay. Stay with Spence, please. I really just want to be on my own.”

  I make it into a cab before I break down.

  Outside my apartment block, I fumble through my purse trying to find money to pay, which is difficult through fogged eyes. The driver huffs and tuts as he waits for the money, huffing and tutting his way out of a tip.

  I slam the cab door behind me and try to find my keys, dropping my bag on the floor. I bend to my hunkers, putting everything back inside. At least I found my keys.

  When I stand, I’m face to face with the man I love. “You thought what?” His voice is smooth, calm and deep.

  “Go home, Clark.”

  He reaches out to my face and rolls his thumb across my wet cheek. “I don’t want to see you cry anymore, baby.”

  “Please don’t call me that. It messes with my head.”

  “Dayna, I’m not trying to mess with your head. I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I was a dick for four years. I’m sorry I never stood up to my wanker of a father. I’m sorry he ruined us. I’m sorry for every time I’ve hurt you and made you cry. But what your father did, what my father did — they aren’t our demons. I walked away from Layton Oil because I’m not like him. I’m not my father, and I don’t want to become him. You want to know if I did it for you. That’s what you thought.”

  I lean into his palm reflexively.

  “The answer is yes, Dayna. I could have stayed, fought for the company. Eventually, had my father’s tribe follow me. But I don’t want that anymore, because I know it means I can’t have you.”

  “Clark.” I whisper his name but no other words materialise.

  “I can’t change who my father is. I can’t change the fact I’m a Layton. But I can make sure it doesn’t have to ruin our future.”

  I open my eyes to his. “Clark, I’m drunk. I can’t do this.”

  “I know.” I notice for the first time that his cab didn’t leave. “I’m going home because you need time and space. And I’m going to give it to you, on your terms. I don’t want to have you for one night anymore, Dayna. No more. I can’t do it to either of us. I want you, all of you, forever.”

  He pulls me to him, and I wrap my arms around his back. He holds my nape, keeping my cheek to his chest so I can hear his heart racing. He kisses my brow then lets me go.

  “Go inside,” he whispers. “I’ll wait until you’re in.”

  I leave him and head in to my block, glancing back to see him still watching me as the door closes behind me.

  SHE WON’T COME tonight. I know that. I sit up anyway, listening to music in the dark, staring across Hyde Park, waiting for the sun to rise.

  What could I have said? What could I have done to convince her?

  At six thirty, I pull on my jogging bottoms and a t-shirt and head out for a run. On Sunday morning
s the streets of London are quiet. Partygoers are in bed. Professionals have left the city for the weekend. Tourists aren’t awake. I pound the streets, music drumming in my ears.

  The way she looked at me. She’s fighting herself. She’s hurt. She wants nothing to do with my family. But I think she might want me.

  By ten thirty, I’m showered and dressed with nowhere to go. Nowhere I want to go. So I wait for her. A call. A buzz on the door.

  At two o’ clock, I make pasta. At two thirty, I eat pasta, watching rugby re-runs. By four p.m., I’m thinking she won’t come today.

  When the hour hand strikes six on my kitchen clock, I think about doing something constructive. Like considering what in the hell I’m going to do with the rest of my life now I don’t have a job.

  Five minutes later, I give in. The only thing I can think about is her. I can’t see a future without her in it.

  Kathryn Facetimes me around eight, and I speak to Izzie because she refuses to go to sleep until I’ve spoken to her. A delaying tactic if ever I heard one. When I hang up, I wonder if I could use the two-year-old’s plan on Dayna. Perhaps I should call her and tell her I can’t sleep until I’ve spoken to her.

  At quarter past ten, I stand under the shower, my hands braced on the tiles in front of me, my head down, watching soap swirl away from my feet towards the plug.

  At midnight, I’m still lying awake on top of my bed sheets, thinking about Connie and how the thought of leaving her made me sad, but it never made me feel like a slow and painful death would be better than being without her.

  Dayna didn’t come.

  FOR THE FIRST time since I can remember, I’m woken on a Monday morning by the light of day, instead of an alarm clock. The fact amplifies the question lingering in the back of my mind. What the fuck am I going to do?

  I check my phone. Nothing. I look out of the window, as if she’ll be walking towards my apartment block. Of course, she’s not.

  I drink a protein shake, pack a bag and head to the gym.

  Sam is training with a kid, maybe nineteen or twenty, probably at uni. Sam holds up pads as the kid lands three punches, right-left-right. I strip down to shorts, lace up my boots and strap up my hands, ready to go on the bags, then I watch the kid. Jealous. University was easy. If I could go back and tell my teenage self just how easy it was, I would. I’d also tell myself to go travelling, get away, break free of Harold Layton, never step foot in Layton Oil.