Rainfall (17 page)

Please God let him calm down and continue
.

Much to my disappointment he looks relieved and immediately seems calmer. 

“Yes, please,” he murmurs, his voice almost breaking. “I would prefer it if we stop now.” He looks so young and so insecure that I smile wider, patting his hand.

“Of course, Jacob.
Whatever you're comfortable with. Thank you for confiding in me.” I rise and move across the kitchen to switch on the kettle and make us some tea. Jacob is no doubt exhausted – I am surprised he has managed to hang on for so long, normally he would have withdrawn by now. 

I have no sooner had the thought than I hear the nasal, whining voice ringing out behind me.

“Oh, hello Paige,” Simon manages to pronounce my name as if it is a four-letter word too.  “What progress have you made?” His brisk, straight-forward approach annoys me immediately. I roll my eyes, not even bothering to turn around, but I do switch the kettle off.  I'll be damned if I'll make coffee for Simon but my manners dictate that if I make myself I have to make for him. I know I am spiting myself, but I would rather die of thirst than make Simon a cup of coffee. 

I also suddenly feel a spiteful urge not to share this new development with him. 

“Nothing new,” I snap, “other than you interrupting a romantic evening for two.” I reach for a bottle of red from the wine rack. Unfortunately this blatant reference to my intimacy with Adam does not send Simon back to where he came from and I am rewarded with a very obvious eye roll and a frantic puckering of his lips showing his disapproval.

I pour myself an enormous glass of wine. I sigh and hold the bottle out at arm’s length, swilling it from side to side and raising my eyebrows in question. 

“No, not for me,” he sniffs at my implied question. “I don’t drink cheap liquor,” he scoffs, peering at me as though trying to make his point in case it is not already crystal clear. 

“Of course you don’t,” I retort. I take a huge swig and then set the glass down.

“Simon,” I begin, stepping around the butcher's block and crossing the lounge to the passage entrance, “I hope you enjoy your evening I'm going to bed.” I take two steps down the passage, then remembering something I retrace my steps. I lean across and swoop up the bottle of wine and, raising my glass in a toast to him, I smirk and make my way to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Once in our room I snatch up a magazine and fling myself down on the counterp
ane trying to distract myself. I hate that Simon always gets to me, he is just so irritating. Ten minutes later I hear a door slam and I sit bolt upright.
What the hell
? I open the door and peer down the passageway. Maybe I imagined it.

“Simon?” I call hesitantly. I am greeted with nothing but the
very muted sound of music coming from next door.

“Simon!” I shout, louder this time.
Still no answer. There is no way he hasn’t heard me. I rush down the passage, round the corner and gasp in panic. A quick sweep of the kitchen and my worst fear is confirmed. He is not here. Simon has gone.

Chapter 21

I've been searching for hours. I'm exhausted but I'm still driving around searching the streets of Manhattan
. I've been to all of Adam’s favourite places but there is no sign of him.  To be honest, I didn't really expect to find him at any of our favourite haunts – Simon is so different to Adam it’s highly unlikely that he would ever go to the same places.

My mobile phone rings and I snatch it up, gripping the steering-wheel tightly with my free hand.

“Carl! Have you heard anything?” I answer.

“No, nothing.”
The doc is so calm under pressure; I wish I had the same restraint. “I assume you haven’t had any joy?”

“No.” I secure the steering-wheel for a second with my elbow so that I can wipe away the tears that are blurring my vision.

“Paige, listen to me.” His soft, gruff voice steadies me slightly and I focus on his instruction, hoping that it will somehow lead me to Adam. His words, however, are not what I expect.

“There's nothing more you can do. You need to go home and get some sleep. He’ll come back when he’
s ready. Not before.”

“What?” I snap, shaking my head. That's ludicrous. How does he expect me to go home when Adam is out there, somewhere?

“You heard me,” he answers firmly and I shake my head again, even though he can’t see me.  “Go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” I answer, still frantically scanning the streets.

“Paige, this is Simon we're talking about.  If it were Jacob I would understand – Kyle, even, for that matter.” There is an awkward pause and then he continues, “The point I'm trying to make is that Simon is responsible. Probably even more so than Adam himself.  He's cautious and careful by nature. I don't believe Adam will come to any harm. All we can do now is wait. You should go home.”   

“Yeah, sure.
I’ll do that,” I answer insincerely and I jab at the 'end call' button, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. I will find Adam and I will not rest until I do.  While I'm driving I have plenty of time to think. Too much time. I find myself obsessing over the situation with Simon. He gets under my skin so badly; my biggest fear is that Carl is unable to integrate Simon. He is certainly becoming stronger and more present. The thought of Adam and I having to share our lives with Simon is too much to bear. He would drive me insane, with his holier-than-thou attitude and his obsessive-compulsive behaviour.

Hours later I stifle a yawn and rub my eyes. It's no use; if I carry on driving any longer I will be in serious danger of running my car off the road. The faint pink of the approaching dawn is visible on the horizon and, as I glance at the green glow of the digital clock on the dashboard, I'm amazed to see that it is almost 5 a.m. Twenty minutes later I pull the Audi into the lot and make my way upstairs. I am hoping against hope that Adam will be back, although I have checked in every few hours; but the locked door assures me that he has not made his way home yet. His keys are inside the apartment; Simon left them behind in his hasty departure.

I shuffle across to the kitchen and switch on the kettle. It feels like a lifetime ago that I last switched it on to make myself a cup of tea. I had switched it off because of my intense dislike for Simon. I stifle a sob and shut my eyes tightly to hold back the tears. I cannot believe I would let Adam suffer because of my feelings for Simon. Maybe if I had just been civil and friendly Simon might not have left. I behaved like a child and now Adam is suffering the consequences. I stuff my fists into my eyes and bite down on my lip, trying not to let the hysteria take over. I was such a fool! Letting out an audible, animal sob I make my tea and head to the bedroom. Stepping out of my clothes I spend ten minutes in the shower and then I make my way back into the bedroom, burrowing under the covers and breathing in the familiar smell of Adam’s aftershave on the pillow beside me. I lie awake for a long time before eventually, of their own accord, my eyes close and I fall into a restless sleep.

The nightmare is so real. Kyle is laughing at me, pointing at my face and clutching his side. 

“Seriously!” he howls and his laughter increases, “You thought I could love you? You! You were just something I wanted to take from him!”  He screws up his face and tears of mirth roll down his cheeks. I cannot say anything – I feel my cheeks flushing, and even more so when Kyle’s blonde friend from the pool approaches from behind him and wraps herself around him like an eel. Kyle kisses her lustily and gropes for her breast and I scream in denial, shaking my head. Another woman appears and curls her arm around him, smirking at me and the lusty blonde disappears.

“I tried to tell you, Paige,” Simon’s voice now says, “
it was always Lizzy. You just didn’t want to believe it.” He holds her as tenderly as one would a rare jewel and gazes down at her adoringly. I take a few steps backward but they loom over me filling my vision and I cannot escape them.  

The vision morphs again and Jacob is standing over a dead dog, both covered in blood. Jacob has a wicked looking knife in his hand and as I watch helplessly, he plunges it into the soft black fur over and over again. I let out a blood-curdling scream and Jacob glances up curiously. 

“I found him, Paige,” he exclaims, “I found Fergus.”

“Paige!  Paige!” Now it is Adam’s voice, but he sounds so far away and so desperate, I don't know how to help him, how to save him and I scream again and again.

“Paige! ...Paige!” Adam’s voice becomes clearer and more urgent and I realise he is shaking me. I blink and take a huge, panicked breath and then I clutch the front of his shirt, taking in the rumpled bedsheets and the light filtering through the curtains.

“Adam!” I'm so filled with relief but my body is still wracked with sobs. I cling to Adam desperately and he holds me until my weeping subsides.

“How did you get in?” I ask eventually, my voice hoarse. 

“Spare key behind the extinguisher on the landing,” he murmurs, and I simply nod to let him know I have heard him.

The after-effects of the nightmare linger. I feel weak and I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I cannot shake. Adam explains that when he came to he was standing in the middle of Times Square. He has no recollection of what he was doing there and no memory of the past 12 hours, but he was holding two cups of Starbucks coffee – two. It is highly unlikely that Simon has a caffeine fetish, so now we have yet another riddle to solve – as if we do not have enough to deal with already. Who was the second coffee for? And if Simon was meeting somebody where did the person disappear to? And, more importantly, where is he or she now?  

With all these questions spinning around unanswered in my head I slip into a fitful sleep, Adam curled tightly around me. A few minutes after 7 o'clock, I ease myself out from under the covers as gently as possible so as not to wake him. He needs his rest. The sun rose a few moments ago and I decide that there is no point in trying to sleep. I have probably had two hours of fitful slumber, but there is no way I am going to be able to fall asleep now so I figure I may as well try and get some work done.

Henry had asked me to interview a local celebrity who had appeared on
Masterchef
and I was quite excited to do it – it would certainly be a welcome break in my monotonous routine of Adam-Simon-Jacob. The 'Celeb' in question lives in New York and is having an open interview on Friday – just two days away. All pre-approved publications, of which
The Vine
is one, are permitted ten minutes private questioning so long as their questions are submitted beforehand.  I still cannot fathom how in the world Henry has landed himself on the approved list – ours is such a small, insignificant publication – but Henry has a lot of friends in the industry and I can only assume he has called in a favour in an effort to increase our dwindling circulation.  Henry’s envelope, which arrived by mail yesterday, is full of articles and references that I can use to prepare and so, having made myself a steaming cup of coffee, I curl my legs underneath me on the settee and settle down to read.  

Completely absorbed over an hour later, it takes a moment before I even register the gentle knocking on the front door. I hear Adam stirring in the bedroom and, jumping up, I hasten to open the door before the persistent knocking wakes him. Swinging the door wide open, I see a pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman standing in the corridor.  Her eyes are wide and she looks so nervous that I smile automatically, trying to put her at ease. Her eyes are enormous in her heart-shaped face and she is very petite. She looks about 18 and I wonder if she has the wrong room. Another part of me is praying desperately that this astonishingly pretty girl is not looking for Kyle.

“Hi!”  I say brightly. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” she says timidly and I see there is a tiny gap between her front teeth.  I am so fixated on her face and so lost in my own musings as to what she could be doing here, that it takes me a second to register her answer as she continues, “My name is Elizabeth Gabriel I’m looking for Simon, is he here?” I blink three times before I manage to recover my composure.

“I’m sorry,” I start hysterically, “what did you say your name was?” 

“Elizabeth,” she murmurs and I recoil physically, hanging onto the doorframe for support. 

“Lizzy?” I ask, although it is not really a question. 

Her face lights up as she beams and nods her head enthusiastically.

“Yes!” she sighs in relief, oblivious to my turmoil. “I’m Lizzy!  Is Simon here?” She peers past me into the empty room behind me, looking slightly confused when she realises that Simon is not in there.  I close my eyes, gathering my thoughts and thanking God that Adam is closeted in the bedroom. 

“Please,” I begin, moving aside and motioning to her to enter the apartment. “Come in.”

I head towards the kitchen and she follows me, surveying the apartment curiously and smoothing down her slightly windswept hair. I wordlessly make two cups of coffee, handing one to her and wondering where to even start. This is not a situation I ever dreamed that I would be in.  I feel so infinitely sorry for this wretched girl – I have been in her shoes. The only difference between us is that she has no possibility of a happy ending.

I sit down at the breakfast table and she sits opposite me.

“How old are you?” I blurt out. Even under the harsh fluorescent kitchen light she looks incredibly youthful. 

“I’ll be 24 next month,” she answers and I almost choke on my tea.  My hand flies to my mouth and I cough and splutter as
Lizzy looks on in alarm.

“Are you all right?” she asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine,” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you don’t look anywhere near 24 years old!” I explain, disbelievingly, and she smiles shyly.

“I know, I get that all the time,” she mumbles, her cheeks reddening. There is an awkward pause and I decide to take the bull by the horns. 

“So you know Simon from the orphanage I assume?” I ask and she nods emphatically. “So where have you been all this time?” I ask rather too harshly and her face falls. 

“My parents moved us away.” It is barely more than a whisper.

“You weren’t in the orphanage with him?” I ask, wondering how on earth Simon and Lizzy would have known one another if no-one at the orphanage was aware of her existence. She mentioned her parents, so she certainly didn’t grow up in the orphanage.

“I lived next door,” she says, taking a small sip of her coffee. I stay silent, sensi
ng there is a lot more to come. “I was five years old when I met Simon for the first time.  He was eight.  I was playing down at the bottom of my garden – our house bordered on the back of the orphanage. Before then I had never seen any of the other children; they stayed away from the woods but Simon liked to be alone.  He didn’t have many friends.” Her obvious concern and affection for Simon is evident and I feel a pang of guilt that I am allowing this to continue. I should tell her the truth immediately but I just cannot bring myself to do it.  My morbid curiosity wants to hear the rest of the story. 

“He heard me singing and he climbed a tree so that he could look over. We started talking,” she smiles, lost in
her own memories. “As time went by I became more crafty and I would steal the ladder from my dad’s shed. I used to climb over and spend whole afternoons with him.” 

I can just picture the younger
Lizzy; a grubby, beautiful little urchin and I find that I am smiling despite myself.

“As we got older, I found that I wanted to be with him more and more often.” She reddens slightly. “I started skipping school and my parents became suspicious. Simon and I have a connection,” she suddenly blurts out and her face is now magenta. She takes a deep breath and has another sip of her coffee then shakes her head and forces a sweet laugh. She is enchanting and I find myself wondering what she sees in Simon. It is obvious that at some point their relationship became romantic. It is a moment before I realise that she is still talking.

“Anyway, they caught us eventually; my parents,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. I was 15. They were horrified. Simon was almost 18. He was about to leave the orphanage and we had planned that we would keep seeing each other until I was old enough to do as I wanted. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve, particularly with his background.  They were quite well-to-do and worried what others might think.” She bites her lip. I think of my own mother and I completely sympathise.