Second to Cry (28 page)

‘Did you remember to take your tablets this morning?’ she added, wanting to show him how much she still cared about him, what a good, loving wife she could be.

‘I will only ask you once more,’ he told her, his voice as hard and cold as the look in his eyes. ‘And God help you if you lie to me.’

‘Sam, I don’t know—’

‘Who is Davis’ father?’ Samuel delivered the question with a fierce force and it stuck in Deena’s chest like a spear, causing her to catch her breath and struggle to speak.

‘Answer me.’ He ordered her, not as a husband to his wife but as a farmer to a slave. There was no respect in his voice, no love, only anger and a desire to be obeyed.

‘Sam,’ Deena opened her mouth and it remained that way as she shook her head. Panic began to well up inside her. She wanted to lie; she needed to lie to protect Davis. She briefly thought of him outside in the pool, playing happily with his brother. She couldn’t allow his world to shatter. But who had been to see her husband? Who had turned the blade of suspicion within them to the point where it could carry out a killing blow?

‘If you won’t tell me, then how about I tell you?’ Samuel suggested.

‘Please…’ Deena began to weep, wishing he would show her some compassion, some love for knowing she deserved none. She had deceived him in the worst possible way. She would accept any punishment he sent her way, but she couldn’t face seeing her son suffer. It would be too unbearable, too obscene.

‘I know about Brandon White.’ Samuel looked away from Deena as he said this and seemed to become even smaller, as though he was sinking in on himself. He reached out for a nearby chair and placed a hand upon it to steady himself. Deena noticed how the skin on his hand had become so paper thin that she could clearly see the web of veins within it. She reached out to support him but he pushed her away with force, reminding her that despite his feeble appearance he retained some of his previous strength. Enough, at least, to hold her at bay.

‘Will you at least admit it?’ Samuel asked, still not looking at her. ‘Don’t you think you’ve lied to me long enough?’

It was Deena’s turn to shrivel and wilt and the air around her suddenly lost its heat and she shivered. She moved past Samuel and sat upon the leather couch which was opposite the chair he had previously been occupying. She crossed her legs beneath her and placed her hands together in her lap. She appeared less like an elegant wife and more like a timid school girl preparing to receive a punishment.

‘Sit down, please,’ she pleaded with her husband. Despite the tension she found herself worrying about his lack of strength. He needed to rest. She’d already taken Davis from him, she refused to be responsible for any detriment to his health.

Samuel grunted in disapproval but obeyed anyway. He walked over and took his seat on his chair, gratefully absorbing the warmth of the nearby fire.

‘Please, Deena, the truth,’ he asked, finally able to look at her. His expression no longer seemed set in stone, if anything, it seemed to have melted by the fire to reveal a sad old face, the line of his mouth dipping in despair at the ends.

Deena had always been so fearful of his reaction to discovering who Davis’ real father was that she never considered how her past indiscretions would have hurt him. She had gone along with the world, who considered the irrepressible Samuel Fern to be made of steel. He was seen as a shrewd and ruthless businessman who would always come out on top. She had been blind to the truth, a truth which she had seen each and every day since they wed. He was just a man, and now an old man. Though he had a steely demeanour he was not made of it. His thin skin and weakening bones could feel pain as easily as the next person.

‘I’m sorry,’ Deena spluttered, not knowing what else to say. ‘I was young and I was a fool.’ She was almost sobbing, working hard to get her words out between the heaving bursts of tears.

‘So you admit it?’ Samuel asked, wanting clarity. ‘You admit that Brandon White is Davis’ father?’

Deena sighed, not wanting to say the words and give them the credibility Samuel desired but knowing she had no choice. Her hands trembled in her lap, unable to wipe away the tears which gushed down her cheeks in a torrent and fell upon her shoulders.

‘Brandon White is Davis’ real father,’ she whispered the words and waited for the ensuing sound of wood snapping and concrete falling as her world would surely begin to crash around her.

Samuel squeezed his eyes shut as he absorbed the words, feeling their acrid sting as they entered his worms and burnt their way down to his heart.

Deena watched him with frantic eyes. It amazed her to see how he suddenly didn’t seem like an old man. His expression, when he looked at her, was one of boyish bewilderment. The resentment which usually sat behind his eyes was gone, replaced by confused hurt.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Deena whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She had anticipated an angry rebuttal on her husband’s part. She’d expected him to lash out, to label her a whore and an unfit mother before perhaps even delivering a physical blow. But instead Samuel just looked small and hurt.

‘Was I not good to you?’ he finally asked her. There was no malice in his tone, only pain. His voice trembled as he spoke, as did his hands. He struggled to keep them still within his lap.

‘You were so good to me! Too good!’ Deena declared passionately.

‘Did I not give you everything you desired?’

‘Samuel, you gave me the world,’ Deena’s tears fell more silently now, like a constant stream upon her cheeks.

‘Why would you do this to me?’ he looked up at her with wide, vulnerable eyes and Deena wanted to scratch her own eyes out. She felt utterly wretched for what she had done. The shame clung to her skin like a vile coat, engulfing her in a putrid cloth of regret.

‘I was young and stupid,’ Deena admitted, wishing she had a more meaningful response to give him, something which made her sound less like the vacuous gold-digger she had once been.

‘He was fun and charismatic and he…’ she faltered on the final part of her admission. The age gap had always remained an unspoken issue between them. Deena was accepting of the fact that he needed the assistance of Viagra but after a while it made her feel less and less desired, knowing her husband needed to take a drug before he could make love to her. Brandon White was young and, when they were together, he was insatiable. He made her feel wanted. All the lavish gifts in the world could not compensate for that and both she and Samuel had always known that. It had been the constant elephant which hung around in the room with them.

‘He wanted me,’ Deena managed to conclude, not wishing to be any more vulgar on the subject than she had to be.

Samuel nodded to himself and looked back at the fire. In the reflected light of the flames she could see the soft residue of tears collecting in his eyes. Deena almost choked as a brick suddenly formed in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her husband cry.

‘Were you sad when he died?’ Samuel continued to watch the fire, his hands still trembling.

‘I thought it was a sad situation,’ Deena began. ‘But I was not sad about it personally.’ She had cried perpetually for three days after he died, insisting to Samuel that she was suffering with PMT.

‘I’m glad he’s dead,’ Samuel coughed. ‘I know that is a terrible thing to say but, were he not already in the ground, I’d be visiting him now to drive a blade in to his chest myself.’

Samuel’s hands ceased trembling for a moment as they formed angry fists.

‘You have every right to be angry.’ Deena whispered to him. ‘But, please, find it in your heart to still love Davis. You mean everything to him.’ She began to sob again at the thought of her family being torn apart. It was more than she could bear.

Samuel watched her with sad, tired eyes. His boyish demeanour had faded away and his usual gravitas had returned. He straightened in his chair and clicked his neck. The tears which had formed within his eyes had been dried by the warmth of the fire before they even had chance to fall.

‘Davis is my son,’ he told her gently.

Deena looked up at him, her eyes open with shock. She held her breath, not daring to even inhale.

‘Davis will always be my son,’ Samuel continued and Deena exhaled, her whole body trembling with relief.

‘Do you…do you mean that?’ she could barely speak, the brick of emotion once more lodging itself within her throat.

‘Davis’ paternal father is dead so he poses no threat to us. I will continue to raise the boy as my own.’

‘Samuel!’ Deena was lost for words. She’d never known that her husband could be capable of such compassion and humility, which made her betrayal even more unbearable.

‘And you are, and will always be, my wife.’ He clipped his words out in a matter-of-fact manner before coughing awkwardly, his old-fashioned sensibilities struggling in the face of such raw emotion.

‘We don’t need the scandal this revelation would bring us,’ he continued. ‘I want us to carry on as a family. Davis is to never know the truth. The name Brandon White will never again be uttered in this house.’

Deena nodded manically in agreement at his terms.

‘Yes, yes of course,’ she uttered, still in shock.

‘You should never have kept this from me,’ Samuel told her, his voice taking on a darker tone.

‘I know,’ she lowered her eyes in shame.

‘A wife should tell her husband everything.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I forgive you.’ Samuel managed to smile and Deena rushed over to him, momentarily forgetting his frailty and ill health. She launched herself into his arms and began covering his face in small, appreciative kisses.

Despite his discomfort, Samuel enjoyed the embrace. It was the closest physical connection they had shared in months and, whatever its origins, he was keen to make the most of it.

‘You’re such a kind, forgiving man,’ Deena whispered, her breath heavy between kisses.

‘I know.’ Samuel raised a no longer trembling hand and began to caress his wife’s curvaceous form.

‘Can I ask who told you?’ Deena suddenly straightened, pulling away from him, the floral scent of her perfume still dusting the air between them.

‘It was Aiden Connelly’s wife, Isla,’ Samuel hurriedly answered, eager to resume making up.

*

Aiden thanked Betty for his coffee and began checking his emails. There weren’t many which required any sort of immediate attention.

He was due in court that afternoon to represent a couple of clients of the firm who were charged with drink driving offences. Edmond would also be going along, insisting it would be good experience for them both to be there. Lately, Edmond was adamant that the two of them tackle more cases together, Aiden feared that the older man had spent the better of his weekend watching one too many buddy films.

‘I mean, there is always a good one and a bad one,’ Edmond was saying as he eagerly tucked into a Danish he had sneaked in to work that morning.

‘Like good cop, bad cop?’ Aiden asked, half interested in the conversation but more focused on his work, so he remained watching his computer screen, scrolling through his inbox.

‘Exactly,’ Edmond pointed at Aiden, speaking with his mouth full of crumbs.

‘But we’re not cops,’ Aiden gently reminded him.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Edmond rolled his eyes. ‘But I still think the premise would be useful.’

‘And we can only take the bench one at a time,’ Aiden added.

‘All right, all right, so the good cop, bad cop thing was a bad idea.’ Edmond chuckled to himself and washed down the last of his sweet treat with some coffee.

‘Moving on,’ he made his hand rotate in the air as a gesture to move past the topic. ‘How’s the paternity case going?’

‘All sorted,’ Aiden smiled confidently, glancing over at his colleague. ‘I’m actually in the process of finalising all the paperwork and it will be done by the end of the week so Betty can commence sorting the billing.’

‘Excellent,’ Edmond rubbed his hands together in mock greed. ‘The billing is always the best part,’ he chuckled.

‘And you’re all set for this afternoon?’ his tone was more serious now.

‘Yeah, I’ve looked through the files and I’m sure it will all go smoothly.’

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ Edmond declared. ‘We don’t need any flies in the ointment to ruin our Friday afternoon!’

‘Exactly.’ Aiden smiled. He was glad it was Friday. He still felt that he hadn’t caught up on the sleep he had lost during his travels so he was looking forward to a restful weekend. He and Isla planned to take Meegan out for a picnic so long as the weather held up. Aiden was making a concerted effort at being more involved in both his marriage and his family. Whilst he’d had no more dreams of Justin, the sense of duty he’d had since the accident had become more acute.

‘Mr Connelly,’ Betty’s voice emanated from the intercom, ghostly and unattached to anyone in the room.

Aiden raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Edmond clicked the intercom on his desk and answered, ‘Yes, Betty, what do you need the young Mr Connelly for?’

‘He has a visitor.’ Betty replied.

‘Can you be less vague, Betty?’ Edmond asked. ‘You know how much we hate suspense in here,’ he teased.

‘It’s Deena Fern.’ Betty voice was crackled by the sound system but clear enough to deliver the information.

Edmond frowned at first the intercom and then at Aiden.

‘Wonder what she wants?’ he pondered aloud. ‘I thought everything was sorted with the paternity case?’

‘Yeah, it is,’ Aiden was equally as bemused as he rose from his desk. ‘I’ve no idea what she wants.’

‘Best go find out,’ Edmond instructed. ‘It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.’

‘We need to talk,’ Deena was not waiting patiently on the couch, instead she was hovering anxiously near the office door and almost pounced on Aiden the second he walked through it.

‘Okay, sure, calm down,’ Aiden told her, noticing the frantic look in her eyes.

‘Not here,’ Deena pulled at his sleeve, directing him back to the I where they had previously met. She didn’t even pause for Aiden to order a drink, instead sitting straight down at the table at the back.