TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (29 page)

together …” When I look into her eyes they are overflowing with love.

Unexpectedly, I find myself tearful; I sniff and try to blot away my tears from the corners of my

eyes with my fingertips but my emotional outburst has not gone unnoticed.

“Oh Beth.” Sylvia pulls me to her and I find myself resting my head on her shoulder and wrapping

my arm around her waist; it feels good to be enveloped in lavender, mothered and cherished.

“Please don’t, Beth, you have each other now; you have no idea how long he’s been searching for

you.”

Feeling more like myself, I take a minute to compose my face and my mind. It takes another length

of kitchen roll and a couple of mouthfuls of champagne to put me back together. “He’s been searching

and I’ve been waiting. For him.”

As if on cue the very man himself comes striding towards us, giving me a strange
have you been

crying
look as he enters the kitchen, seemingly oblivious of the extent to which he is loved by us both.

“We’d better start making tracks,” he says, washing his hands under the hot tap.

With his back to me I creep up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, feeling his heart

beat quickening ever so slightly as I press against him, resting my cheek on his broad back. Behind

me, his mother gives a stifled gasp, uncertain of his reaction to this overt display of physical affection.

But I have no such reservation. What’s mine is his and what’s his is mine, and that includes his

heavenly body: he belongs to me.

Rather than loosening my grip, he turns around and is happy to stand his ground, reaching only for a

tea towel to his right to dry his hands. Looking into my eyes he makes an unexpected declaration. “I’m

going to marry this little genie, if she’ll have me.” He raises his eyes to Sylvia behind me who, I

suspect, is so flabbergasted she cannot speak. “I’ve already been given one blessing today. Will you

give us yours?” His eyes return to me and I give him a well-done smile. Asking for anything does not

come naturally to him; he’s doing this for me.

She approaches us and I feel her reaching over my head to stroke his hair, in true motherly fashion.

“With all my heart son,” she says, swallowing back tears.

I look up to him, willing him to say the one word she needs to hear. The one word
he
needs to say

on this memorable day. He takes a lingering look at my face and sees the plea in my eyes, and kisses

my forehead softly with lips that are preparing to part with that single word.

Reaching over to her he caresses her cheek with his left hand, the wide band of platinum on his

middle finger glinting in the sunlight like a beacon on a lighthouse, leading him to one conclusion.

She
is
his mother.

I feel his chest heaving as he breathes deep and long. “Thank you mum.”

She wraps her arms around us both and gently weeps with unadulterated joy.

When he can take no more of our melodrama, he frees us both and I watch as his hand edges

towards the back of his neck; this is a case of emotional overload for him. Time to depart, I think.

“I’ll make a quick call before we leave,” I say, giving them some privacy and some alone time to

process what just happened.

When I return I hear them talking, but the tone is less than jovial. It stops me in my tracks, making

me prick up my ears to catch each and every word.

“
… But she deserves to know Ayden, my love. She’s going to be your wife. God damn it.”

“You shouldn’t haven mentioned her …”

“You said to show her your things and to tell her everything. I did. You can’t have a go at me for

that. Don’t you think you’ve suffered long enough son? It’s time to let go.”

“I know. And I will. But not yet.”

I sense my cue and saunter into the kitchen, feeling refreshed but unsure about what I heard. Who

the hell is ‘
she?’

We say our goodbyes and promise to come back soon. Ayden can do little to hold back his mother

when she hugs him and I don’t even try.

I sit in the car and wave to them, glancing back at their three bedroomed family house, with a

strange feeling of coming home. From his expression, Ayden is still mulling over his declaration of

love for the two of us and coming to terms with his mother’s disclosure.

Me? I’m doing exactly the same.

It takes a lot to keep Dan Rizler away from his locker at break time; his rendezvous with his girl is

part and parcel of his daily routine. So when Mr. Crowther asks him and Ernie to carry the tables into

the exhibition hall for the scheduled Careers Convention, he has no way of knowing how or who would

reshape his day.

“You take the tables and I’ll take the chairs,” Ernie instructs, panting his way across the wooden

floor to the far end of the enormous hall. “Excuse me, coming through,” he yells, parting the row of

self-absorbed students like the Red Sea. “Can’t they see we’re trying to work here?”

“Not got a clue what’s happening,” Dan announces, with the table legs wrapped around him like

some kind of human force field. “They’ll get the message when I break a couple of ribs with these

fucking tables.”

Stopping to catch his breath, Ernie takes hold of his arm. “Better not champ. You’ll end up doing

yourself more damage than them, if you know what I mean?”

Dan stands firm, he’s Ernie’s resting place and he knows it. “I’m only messing. I’ll settle for a

couple of digs. That’ll do the trick.”

“Fair enough.”

As the students disperse Dan spots a familiar profile, an old adversary: Blue Jeans. His eyes graze

his face so abrasively he almost leaves a scuff mark. With both hands intact, he’s overflowing with

confidence and pound for pound the stronger man.

As the room fills with more tables and more chairs, Career’s Advisors from Commercial, Industrial

and Creative conglomerates arrive, laying out tablecloths and pamphlets, plugging in laptops and

opening up easels. It’s manic.

Dan is a couple of paces behind Ernie, his rear guard, when Blue Jeans makes his move.

He sticks out a foot and Ernie takes a tumble. “Watch your step there granddad,” he roars, much for

his own sadistic pleasure as for the amusement of his audience.

Ernie is winded and clearly injured; he has fallen heavily on his knees and is finding it difficult to

stand.

“Here, take my arm,” Dan tells him. “Go and sit down over there and get your wind back. I’ll deal

with this.”

Knowing what’s coming, Ernie squeezes his arm with what’s left of his strength. “Let it go champ.

He’s doing it on purpose to rile you. Give me a minute. I’ll be OK.”

“I know you will, but I won’t. Not until I’ve had my say.” He leaves Ernie to catch his breath and

returns to the scene of the piteous crime. Blue Jeans has surrounded himself with his crew and is

posturing like a peacock on parade. Dan draws on years of training and remains totally calm, he knows

killer punches come from a centred mind. No point getting worked up. He’s better than that.

“Excuse me. Can I have a word?” He coats his request with saccharine. “I believe you owe Ernie an

apology.” Using his height to its best advantage, he lifts his chin and faces him off.

“He’s the one who should be apologising for being so fucking clumsy.” So malevolent is his grin

that Dan has to take an extra lungful of air to extinguish a raging urge to hit him so hard, his teeth will

disappear down the back of his throat, leaving him no option but to slurp soup for the next 30 days.

This guy is seriously pushing his buttons.

“Maybe we should have a whip-round and get a collection together, buy him a fucking white stick.”

That’s it. Dan’s heard enough. In a flash, he has one hand around his neck and is forcing him

backwards into a side room. Blue Jeans is caught off guard and is being bulldozed backwards, falling

over his own feet and grasping, searching for something to hold on to. Once inside, Dan slams the

door shut behind him. There they stand, eye to eye. He releases his grip.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Dan snarls between gritted teeth. “Do you want to end up with a

face like chopped liver or are you ready to say you’re sorry because, either way, you’re going to

apologise to Ernie and even send him a fucking get well soon card.” He leans forward, saliva coating

his lips, sparks leaping from his eyes. “So what’s it to be?”

Realising he has met his match and more, Blue Jeans looks away. “I suppose accidents happen.”

Dan’s not satisfied with that and moves into a boxing position, fists clenched, eyes focused. He

holds off on a punch.

“Okay! I’ll say I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Nervously, he moves to side-step Dan.

“Not so fast. That’s not good enough mate. I don’t think you heard me right. I said he deserves a

real apology, not some make-shift, fucking half-hearted, accident bullshit.” He grabs him by the scruff

of the neck. “Now get your arse out there and apologise.” Using all his might he pushes him head first

into the door.

The two of them step out onto the corridor, flanked by other maintenance staff and students, all

hoping for a brawl. Dan takes his counterpart by the arm, crushing it on route until he is standing in

front of Ernie who, by this time, has regained his second wind. “This gentleman has something to say

to you Ernie,” Dan says in a devil may care voice that chills the air. His grip tightens.

“Aye sorry there mate, me and my clumsy feet must have got in your way.” He holds out his hand.

“No harm done, eh?”

Ernie glances at him, at Dan and back again. “Sure. No harm done. Accidents happen.” He takes his

hand and they shake briefly.

Sensing the show is over, the crowd begin to disperse and Blue Jeans turns to leave. Still holding

onto his arm, Dan mutters in his ear. “And about that card? Tomorrow. Don’t forget or I’ll have your

balls in a sling by lunchtime.”

His victim visibly wilts, looks about him for witnesses and leaves the scene, sulking.

“Alright Ernie. Time for lunch, I think.” He bends over and gives him a helping hand, using the

same heavy hand used to inflict pain only a minute ago to take the weight of a good friend.

“A nice mug of tea, that’s what you need and you’ll be as right as rain, and tomorrow you’ll get to

open your get well card.” Dan feels a shaky hand on his lower back and lifts his head high. That’s his

good deed done for the day.

12

After
ten minutes of excitable brain activity I’m brimming with questions. I find Ed Sheeran on my

iPod and punch in Lego House, planning to join in with the chorus. As the chords circle our heads I

confess my love through the words of a song.

After only one chorus, Ayden turns to me, probably so I won’t sing along anymore. He gets the

message. “I like the song,” he says, throwing me a sideways smile. I see him beginning to thaw. “Do

you mean it?”

“What?”

“The line you’re singing? You don’t think I’m fixated on my mother, after what you’ve heard and

… after what Sylvia showed you in my box of stuff?” Unfalteringly, his eyes are focused on the road.

I link my arm around his and hold tight, feeling the muscles on his biceps flexing as he shifts gears.

“Of course not. You were driven even then.”

His smile broadens. “You think so?”

“Yes, you were. Although, I was surprised to hear that you have a sister …”

The tensing of muscles signals a sudden shift in gear. He’s indicating, moving through the lanes

and coming to rest on the hard shoulder with a screech. I jerk forward as he halts abruptly, sending a

cloud of gravel up into the damp, afternoon air.

What the hell …?

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” I ask, releasing my safety belt from my chest and

fussing with my dress.

He flicks off his seatbelt and turns to face me. “And …?”

“And what?” I’m straightening out the material that has gathered around my stomach. When I turn

to him, I’m arrested by a stare so probing I feel he may be reading my thoughts.

“And what did she tell you about my
sister?”

I’m tempted to play for time but he‘s clearly not in the mood for games. “She said you and Elise

were close.”

Not even stopping to reach for his neck, even though I can tell he wants to, he holds up his finger to

make a point. “Firstly, Elise is not my sister. Secondly, she was only at Bright Hill for a short while

and … thirdly Sylvia has no business discussing this with you.”

I weave my fingers together to make a neat pile on my lap. “And is there a fourthly?”

He sits back in his seat. “No. I can’t think of one at the moment.”

“Good. Then if Elise is of no consequence, why did you pull over into the pit lane to discuss her?” I

tip my head to one side, the way I do when I’m waiting for an answer.

Now his hand reaches for his neck as he prepares to explain himself. “I wanted to set the record

straight.”

“What record? There’s no damn record, apart from what I gleaned today. If it wasn’t for your

mother, your past would remain a mystery to me and clearly that’s how you want to keep it.”