Unveiled (Page 38)

He remained wrapped around my whole body the entire night, limiting my ability to wriggle and fidget, so we woke in the exact same position come morning. We didn’t speak a word while we lay there as the sun rose. I knew he was awake because my hair was being twisted and his lips were pressing into my neck. Then his fingers drifted down my thigh and found me ready and willing for some worshipping. I was taken from behind, our bodies spooned, and there was still no murmur of words, just consistent laboured breathing. It was peaceful. It was calm. And we both came in unison on breathy gasps.

I was hugged fiercely while Miller bit into my shoulder, jerking within me, then released and pushed to my back before he settled on me. He still didn’t speak and neither did I. My hair was swept from my face and our burning gazes held for an eternity. I think Miller said more through that intense look than he ever could have with words. Not even the elusive I love you would have told me what I saw in his eyes.

I was captivated.

I was under his potent spell.

He was speaking to me.

After ghosting his lips delicately over mine for a few moments, he peeled himself away from me and went for a shower while I tangled myself in the sheets, thoughtful. His goodbye was a tender kiss in my hair and a drag of his thumb across my bottom lip. Then my phone was swiped from the bedside table and he played with it for a while before placing it in my hand and kissing each of my eyelids before he left. I didn’t question him, letting him leave before I glanced down to find my Internet open on YouTube and Jasmine Thompson on the screen. I pressed Play and listened carefully while she sang “Ain’t Nobody” to me. I lay there for a long time after she’d finished and the room fell back into silence. After finally convincing myself to get up, I showered and spent the morning cleaning the house, listening to the song on repeat.

Then I went to see Nan. I didn’t protest when I found Ted outside. I didn’t complain when he shadowed me all day. I didn’t bite William’s head off when I found him leaving the hospital on my arrival. I didn’t retaliate when Gregory gave me another ticking off for implicating him in my crimes. And I didn’t ignore any of Miller’s text messages. But I did sag under the wave of disappointment when the consultant visited Nan and told her that she wasn’t being discharged until tomorrow – something to do with sending her home with the right medication. She, of course, kicked up a stink, but not wanting to bear the brunt of a Nan-style tongue-lashing, I kept quiet the whole time.

Now I’m home, it’s past nine, I’m sitting at the table in the kitchen, and I’m longing for the familiar scent of a hearty, stodgy meal. I can hear the low hum of the television from the lounge, where Ted has set up base, and I’ve heard the frequent sound of his mobile phone before he answers promptly and speaks in a low whisper, no doubt assuring either William or Miller that I’m here and I’m fine. I’ve made him endless cups of tea and chatted idly about nothing in particular. I even gently broached the subject of my mother again and got nothing, only a sideways glance and Ted’s observation that I look just like her. He’s told me nothing that I didn’t already know.

My phone rings. I look down at the table where it’s laid and raise surprised eyebrows when I see Sylvie’s name flashing up at me.

‘Hey,’ I answer, thinking I’ve masked my hopelessness well.

‘Hey!’ She sounds out of breath. ‘I’m running for the Tube but wanted to call you as soon as possible.’

‘Why?’

‘A woman came into the bistro earlier asking after you.’

‘Who?’

‘Don’t know. She left pretty quick when Del asked who was asking.’

My back straightens in my chair, my mind racing. ‘What did she look like?’

‘Blonde, stunning, very well dressed.’

My heart catches up with my mind and commences to sprint. ‘Around forty?’

‘Late thirties, early forties. Do you know her?’

‘Yeah, I know her.’ My palm finds my forehead and my elbow rests on the table. Sophia.

‘Rude cow,’ Sylvie spits indignantly, and I huff my agreement, but what the hell is she doing tracking me down?

‘What did you tell her?’

‘Not much, just that you no longer work at the bistro. Who is she?’

I take a deep breath and sink back into my chair, injured at Sylvie’s reminder that I no longer have a job. ‘No one important.’

Sylvie laughs through her exertion – an insulted, disbelieving laugh. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Anyway, just thought you should know. I’m at the station so my reception is gonna die any moment. Swing by next week. It would be nice to see you.’

‘I will,’ I agree, though there is no mistaking the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Stupidly, I don’t want to see my replacement handling the coffee machine with precision or delivering the shop’s famous tuna melts.

‘Take care, Livy,’ Sylvie says softly, and then cuts the call before I can give my assurance that I will. That reply wouldn’t have been any more convincing than the previous agreement to swing by sometime.

I go to dial Miller but freeze when an unknown number illuminates my screen. I stare at my phone in my hand for a long, long while, trying to fathom the deep-seated sense of anxiety riddling me, telling me not to answer.

Of course, I ignore it and go right ahead and connect the call. ‘Hello.’ I sound timid and nervous. I am, yet I don’t want whoever’s on the other end of this call to know that, so when I get no response, I repeat myself, this time clearing my throat and forcing confidence into my tone. ‘Hello?’ There’s nothing, no reply, no sound in the background. I draw breath to speak again, but I catch a familiar sound and end up holding the air that I’ve just inhaled. I hear words. A familiar voice with a foreign accent, all husky and low.