The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street Read online

  She wasn’t sorry! She had loved kissing him. It had felt like a slap in the face, a great big slap in the face to wake her up. She had just stopped living lately, and she knew it. Sam looked at her, and opened his mouth to speak. She held her breath.

  ‘Iain,’ he uttered. Shit. Trust her to get the hot sexy fireman with morals of steel. Maybe if he was a bit of a cad, they wouldn’t be talking at all now. They would still be kissing against the sink. Which was better, she couldn’t possibly answer reliably at this moment in time.

  ‘Iain, I know. I’m married, and that’s complicated, bu—’

  ‘Iain’s here.’ Sam looked downward, brows pulled in towards his nose. ‘His car is outside the cottages.’

  Lucy turned around and could just make out his outline getting out of his car. Damn it, he must have left work early and come straight to them. He was still in his suit, by the looks of things. She turned to speak to Sam, but he was gone.

  Sam ran till his lungs almost burst, his stomach protesting at his body being pushed again so soon after being fattened up by Gary’s cooking. He ran up past the fire house, waving at the lads as he went. The shout must have worked out well, judging by their expressions. You can tell a bad job from a mile off, just by looking at the men who stand in the fires next to you, watching your back. He wished he could talk to them about how he was feeling, but he didn’t know them well enough. He wasn’t that guy anyway. Buttoned up, his mum used to say. You’re all buttoned up, my boy. Just remember, not everything stays that way. Sometimes, you have to let things pass.

  What was Lucy though, on that scenario? Something to button up against, or let in? There wasn’t just her either, there was Xander to consider, and Iain. A boy needs a father. He would never live with himself if he was the instrument of someone losing theirs, especially when his heart ached to find his own. He’d lived without a father, and an absent one was better than nothing. He couldn’t be a part of that, he needed to stay away. He kept running, till the burn in his lungs and the beating of his hurt heart drowned out the voice telling him to go to the cottages and tell Lucy what he thought.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Lucy asked as she headed to the cottage, pulling her keys from the strap around her waist.

  Iain was looking tired, and more than a little crumpled. He looked like a wad of paper in a wastepaper basket, scrunched up and discarded. He had been, in a way. She felt a pang of guilt, and squashed it down. Just standing here, she couldn’t help but look back the way she came, half expecting to see Sam. Probably for the best that he had left. She had to sort things out, once and for all. Iain pushed himself off his car, where he had been leaning, and tugged on one of his ears distractedly.

  ‘I came to see my wife and child, I want you to come home. It’s been three weeks, it’s time.’

  ‘Run out of clean shirts, have we?’ She threw the words at him, tiny grenades of pain and anger. To his credit, a guilty look came across his face before he screened it off, back behind his mask of wounded perfect provider. ‘’Cos I know that shirt you’re wearing is your least favourite. If that’s been paroled from the back of the wardrobe, I know things are bad.’

  Iain blinked rapidly, taking a step forward. She opened the gate and walked through it, shutting it behind her and keeping it as a barrier between them. His knees bumped against it, and he glared at her.

  ‘Going to be like that, is it? I’ve driven from Sheffield to be here, we had some client thing, and instead of driving home, I came to you.’

  ‘For a laundry service, probably.’ She folded her arms, keeping the ball of her left trainer propped up against the wood of the gate. ‘It’s closed sadly, so you can leave. You can make it home before dark.’

  ‘Lucy, stop this!’ He leaned forward to open the gate latch, and she took a step back. ‘You can’t just do this! You can’t just leave me! I’ve got people asking me what the hell’s going on. I know you don’t have much family, but I do, and they’re all wondering what the fuck is going on!’

  He was breathing in short, fast breaths now, his face a blanched palette of reds and whites, shock, worry and rage fighting for supremacy across his features. ‘I need to know, are you coming back?’

  She stood there, on the path, staring at her husband and not having a damn clue what to say to him. He didn’t understand at all.

  ‘Lucy!’ he boomed, and went to grab her hand. He closed his fingers around her wrist and started to pull her towards him. ‘Enough now, it’s enough!’

  She was halfway out of the gate, arm pulled out in front of her, tugged along by a now ranting Iain, when they both heard a voice.

  ‘Let go of her. NOW.’ It was spoken in a calm, authoritative voice. Iain flinched but kept heading to the car, Lucy still in his grip.

  ‘This is private business,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘All fine, just leave us alone.’

  Lucy stamped on his feet in her trainers, grinding the soles into whatever parts of his shiny black loafers she could.

  ‘Let go!’ she bellowed, kicking him in the leg as hard as she could and scratching at his hands with her fingernails to release his grip. He let go, making a hissing sound and examining his hands for wounds.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Iain screamed. ‘Get in the fucking car, and let’s go home!’ He turned around and looked straight into the wall that was Sam, who was standing at his own gate, arms crossed, expressionless. ‘Will you piss off, it’s nothing to do with you!’

  ‘Sam …’ Lucy started, bitterly embarrassed and feeling the effects of being yanked in her shoulder. She rubbed at it, wincing, and Sam’s eyes flicked to her, narrowing with concern.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said, a different voice this time. One with emotion in, his soft voice. Sam’s voice. He stood aside and opened his own gate. ‘Go to my house, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She was just glad that Xander was still with Marlene and the girls, and didn’t have to be a witness to this. If he had been standing there with her, would he have been dragged to the car too, shouted at? She thought back to the moment. The slap, his face when he realised that he had been hurt, and who had done the deed and she got angry again. Heading to the gate, she waited till she was halfway down the path and turned back to face her husband.

  ‘I am never coming back, Iain. If you come here again, I’ll go to the police and file a restraining order, for me and Xander. Please, just go, and leave us alone.’

  ‘I’ll never leave you alone!’ he countered. ‘You can’t just run away, you need to come home. I have work to do, Xander has school …’

  Lucy laughed then, a hollow, bitter laugh that burned when she released it. She felt it warm the blood in her veins, make her hands and legs shake. It felt like white hot lava, oozing around her body.

  ‘You really don’t have a clue, do you? He hates school! He hates every minute of it!’

  She kicked at the paving stone in frustration. ‘You don’t know your own son, Iain! Do you even care what he’s been going through? You never come to appointments, you make him do clubs he doesn’t want to, just to fit in with your stupid bastard work mates, he’s miserable!’ She started to cry now, every feeling of frustration and isolation bubbling up. ‘You don’t know your own son, and you left ME alone!’ A huge sob racked through her, and she wiped at her face, not even realising that her face was red from the tears she was shedding. ‘You left us a long time ago, Iain. The only difference between then and now is that we are not waiting for you to come home and grace us with your presence any more.’ She turned away, and headed into Sam’s cottage. Shutting the door, she saw Sam still standing there, one eye on her, one on Iain. He was just standing there, a first-hand witness of just how much of a mess her life was. What a day.

  Sam waited a moment or two before heading to his house. Iain was standing against his car, head in his hands.

  ‘You were out together, weren’t you?’

  Sam stilled. ‘We went for a run, ye
s.’

  Clang! Iain pounded on the roof of his car with clenched fists. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot! Did she come here with you?’

  Now, if Sam wanted to be a dick, he could be here. He had the knowledge, the opportunity, and the articulation to tell this simpering bully of a man just what happened from that first day to this. He could tell him that not hours before, he was kissing his wife, and that mere days ago, he had seen her naked. That they had all travelled down on the train together from London. He could obliterate this man just by speaking the condensed truth. He didn’t of course, but it took every fibre of his being not to, just for once, be the one to cause trouble.

  ‘I rent the cottage next door. We went for a run. I work around here.’

  All true, and it still produced a sneer from his rival. Was he Sam’s rival? Could you have a rival for your own wife?

  ‘Pretty chummy, running with someone else’s wife.’

  Sam laughed. Once, short. ‘Last time I checked, women could run with friends, and vote, and drive. It’s almost like she has her own mind, despite being shackled to a jackass who puts his hands on women.’

  He moved to walk into the house, not trusting himself to talk to the bloke a moment longer.

  ‘I’ll come back you know. It’s not over yet. I love her.’

  Sam dipped his head to enter the cottage.

  ‘Funny, that’s not how I show love to people. Safe trip home.’

  He closed the door and headed into the kitchen.

  ‘Good job I left the door unlocked eh?’ he quipped, for lack of anything else to say. ‘Forgot my keys this morning.’ Because I was so eager to go for a run with you. She was standing there in the window, obscured from view from the outside by the blinds up at the window. Sam stood next to her, and they both watched as Iain kicked out at the driver’s door panel of his car, making a dent in the bodywork. He groaned and grunted, kicking it again and sagging against the car momentarily before wrenching open the door and throwing himself into the driver seat. He peeled off without a backward glance, and the street was quiet once more.

  ‘I’ll go now, Xander will be home soon.’ She went to move to the front door, but Sam blocked her exit, taking a step backward towards the door jamb.

  ‘I’ll not stop you going. I wouldn’t do that, but I think that you need to sit down for a bit, maybe have a drink. I can call Marlene, see if she can keep Xander a little longer. You have your phone, right?’

  She nodded numbly, taking it out of her pocket space and handing it to him, her thumb lighting up the screen. On the display screen was a photo of her, standing with a class of schoolchildren, Xander standing at her side. He looked at the picture, at the face of Lucy, so happy and beaming. Xander next to her however wasn’t smiling, and he was tucked tightly into his mother as though he thought the lens was a black hole, waiting to suck him in. He motioned towards the lounge.

  ‘You go and sit down, you know where the bathroom is if you need it. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

  He didn’t want tea. He wanted a Scotch, and a frickin’ medal for not punching the douchebag that called himself Lucy’s husband. He dialled Marlene’s number and her cheery hello made him smile.

  ‘Hi, darling, everything okay? Xander’s fine. Did you have a good day?’

  He could hear the jovial excitement and affection in her voice, and felt grateful that Lucy had people here. It was why she came, and she had made the right call.

  ‘Hi, Marlene, it’s Sam. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to ask what time Xander would be coming home?’

  Marlene hesitated for a second or three before she answered.

  ‘Had a visitor, have you? Have they gone now?’

  Sam’s brows shot up. This lot didn’t miss a trick. She could hear laughter in the background, one of the voices being Xander. He sounded happy.

  ‘Yes, they’ve gone. We just … er … need a minute.’

  Marlene cursed, and covered the phone. He could hear her speaking, firing words out rapid-fire, others speaking back.

  ‘Tell Lucy that Xander can sleep here tonight, we’re watching a movie about little bricks, so he’s happy. Dot’s staying over, so we’ll be fine.’

  Another murmured voice in the background, followed by Xander shouting, ‘Go, Emmett!’

  ‘I’ll ask.’ Another muffled exchange. ‘Okay, Dot, keep your hair on!’

  Sam could hear Xander asking Dot why her hair needed to be kept on, and where else it would be, and felt a flutter in his chest. The boy was so innocent, so curious about a world he didn’t fully understand or relate to.

  ‘Sam,’ Marlene said, her voice saccharine sweet, ‘will you be there?’

  He turned to look at the lounge door, but couldn’t see Lucy. There was a soft glow from the lamp in the corner of the room, lighting up the comfy chair.

  ‘Well, she’s at my house at the moment, but yes, I’ll be here all night. I’m not on shift till tomorrow.’

  Marlene muttered something to Dot. ‘Okay, Sam, thank you so much. You have my number now, if you need it. Save it in your phone, just in case. We’ll be round in the morning, around ten. That okay?’

  Sam agreed, then put down the phone and made them both a cup of tea. Normally his mother would be in his head, telling him to bring out the teapot and cups and saucers, but this was his pad, his ways. Sorry, Mum, man’s not got a pot.

  He took the cups through to the lounge, putting them down on the coffee table. Lucy was asleep, sat propped up against the pillows. She looked so tired, even in sleep. He sat down in the comfy chair, bringing his tea with him, and picked up the open book laid across the arm. I’m here, Lucy, if you need me.

  Chapter 11

  Iain flew along the stupid, windy country roads, heading out of the podunk town his wife and child had chosen to hole up in, rather than their brand new London home. Taking a corner on two wheels, he saw a man stood outside a florist’s shop, shaking his fist at him, ushering a woman inside the shop. He ignored his rantings, blasting a raised finger their way before leaving them in his dust. Bloody villagers, they had no idea about the real world.

  Lucy was mollycoddled. Always had been. Her mother died when she was barely out of her twenties, and everyone had treated her differently since then. Well, not him. He was sick of pandering to her. What was he doing, flying up and down the country to try to sort them out? He was working his arse off to pay for everything, and she was renting some love shack next to some meathead who looked like he was chiselled from stone. God knows what was going on there, but he knew he didn’t like it. She could find the time to palm her kid off on other people to go running with another man, but she couldn’t find the time to support him and his career? The other wives were always there at the company events and nights out, their kids well groomed and quiet, the wives looking perfect and happily chatting to each other. Why did he have to have the ungrateful one?

  Teaching wasn’t exactly earning her big bucks when they met; sure she had money, but look at her now. She’d even given up her job to look after Xander, to be there 24/7. It was probably what caused half his drama. He was a mummy’s boy, through and through.

  He hit the outskirts of the village and roared down the road, heading to the motorway and home. He was wired, tired from a busy week at work, travelling and running around like a blue-arsed fly after her. Clicking a button on his dashboard, his car kit started to ring out.

  ‘Gerald, hey!’

  ‘What’s up, my dude! You out tonight, or the ball and chain got you by the marital balls?’

  ‘Heh,’ Iain said scornfully. ‘Not a chance, mate, I am out – I’m still driving back. Can you make it for ten?’ He looked in the rear-view mirror, mentally kissing goodbye to Westfield. ‘I’m in the mood to get utterly shitfaced. You in?’

  The hoots from Gerald gave him his answer. ‘First pint’s on you.’

  ‘Mate, the day I’ve had, the first bottle’s my pleasure.’

  Marlene was in her element. She was
exhausted sure, her knees creaked a little as she bent to kiss Xander’s head, but she didn’t care. They’d had a lovely day, hanging out in the village, speaking to all her friends, introducing them to Xander. The boy was pure joy, all wrapped up in a little anxious brunette bundle. He looked the double of Lucy, thank God, and she kept catching herself remembering the little things that a younger Lucy had done over the summers. To have Xander here, happy and laughing, settling himself into her world, made her heart fit to burst.

  When he had first been diagnosed, Lucy had been devastated and proven right in one foul swoop. She had known from an early age that something was different from other children around him in the play groups, baby massage, nursery. He’d almost been expelled from nursery for fighting, biting other children and hiding under tables and chairs. He’d run Lucy ragged, but then again, what little boy didn’t? The realisation that he was autistic had been a relief in some ways, an answer. The thing was that the problem couldn’t be solved. You couldn’t magic cream away his struggles, so they learned to find ways to connect with him, to learn what made him happy, and what didn’t. Autism was a puzzle with no answer, a riddle that no one had solved, and every autistic person had their own patterns and designs. The problem was, Iain had no intention of learning the patterns. He wanted to cut his son from cloth that just didn’t fit, and he tore them all apart.

  Looking at him now as she tucked him into her bed, Lego figures lined up on the bedside table, he was different than the boy she met off the train that day. He was calmer, less anxious, and she had never heard him laugh like he had today, not in all the years of talking to him on the phone, of hearing about his life. Now he was here, in the flesh, and she wasn’t about to let anyone hurt her cubs. Mama Bear Marlene was well and truly prepared to get her claws out.

  ‘Right, you have everything you need?’ She plumped up the pillows for the fiftieth time, Xander already dwarfed by the frilly bedding. He nodded, snuggling down.

  ‘Your bed smells lovely.’ He stroked the quilt cover. ‘It’s really soft, I like it.’