Goodbye, Kate, page 26
“I love you, S-Sophia.” Her name splinters on my lips after working its way through my throat, which is clogged with emotion.
“You…you’re telling me this now? While you’re driving, and I can’t look you in the eye…or touch you.” She sounds frustrated, maybe even a little annoyed. Definitely not wooed, flattered, or reciprocal.
We’ve been driving for a while. The port isn’t far. I should really keep going but I sense she needs this moment. I’m getting better at that, I think, realising what she needs from me. I stay silent, which I suspect isn’t doing me any favours, until a break in the traffic becomes available and I can veer onto an exit.
Once the car stops, I turn to her. Her eyes are wide, ready for my explanation.
“It would seem this is becoming our ‘thing’,” I say, wondering why she doesn’t return my smile. “Stolen moments at the side of the road.”
As always, she’s going to make me work for her understanding. This is why emotions make no sense to me. Love is a good thing, yes? Before pulling over, I’d basically just told her how much I cherish her, how much I trust her with those three words…and she’s fucking annoyed with me.
“I realise you have heard those words leave my mouth countless times before,” I begin. “But they were a lie.” Shit. I’ve just absolutely crushed her without meaning to.
Her jaw starts to clench, making her bottom lip wobble.
I reach out and take her hand, bringing it to my chest. “You know this already. You know I lied to you. Those words weren’t mine. I…I didn’t even know what they meant. But before we reach home, before I have to…” Jesus Christ. The word gets stuck in my throat. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. She’ll get herself killed without me. “Leave you,” I choke out. “I need you to know that I do know now. At least, I think I do. Shit, I’m not very good at this. I’m sorry.”
Sophia shakes her head, slipping her hand from beneath mine and reaching up to cup my face. “You’re doing just fine.”
“I have nothing to compare what I feel for you to. All I know is that I would die protecting you, Sophia. I can’t see another purpose for my existence other than to keep you safe. There’s no future, at least no worthwhile future, without you in it. I have never given much thought to why I’m here, why life dealt me the hand it did, but now I believe the reason is you. It feels like I was sent to master all the wrongs in the world so that I could shield you from them when your hand was finally dealt. I don’t know for certain if that’s love, but it’s the best I can offer.”
Her beautiful eyes start to glisten and a tiny tear clings to her lashes just below her left eye. Fuck. I’ve hurt her again without even trying.
“You know, all the times I said it back, those weren’t lies. I meant it every single time.”
“I know.” I swallow down the lump of guilt in my throat, forcing it into my chest. It stays there, heavy like a rock. I don’t know how to get rid of it. I don’t deserve to get rid of it.
“But this feels different. I’m not saying I didn’t love you, Simon, whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “I guess there’s no way to talk about before without sounding insane. But you, Lincoln, have really fought for me. You’ve saved my life.” Dropping her hand from my face, she waves it through the air. “Let’s just pretend you weren’t planning to end it in the first place.”
I tip my head back and laugh. It’s beyond inappropriate, but she’s right. This, us, it’s preposterous. Wonderfully, unbelievably, preposterous.
“You’ve taught me things about myself I didn’t know existed. You might have called me your tough girl, and I might’ve told myself that was true, but we both know it wasn’t. I’ve never been strong. I’ve never had courage. I’ve never been able to stand up for myself. You, and the situations I’ve been in, have made me believe in myself. I’ve realised you can’t be brave when you’ve only ever had good things happen to you. Sure, I would’ve rather gone through a few hours of talking therapy in a cosy chair to find that out, but you gotta take it where you can get it.”
“Those situations…I put you there. You were strong because you had to be.”
“Wow. Way to knock a girl’s self-esteem, Lincoln.” She’s teasing, thankfully, evident by the grin on those delicious lips of hers. “And stop flattering yourself. You didn’t put me in any situation. I was born into it. I’m a Fletcher. My rose-tinted glasses would’ve been punched right off my face sooner or later, with or without you in my life.”
I study her face, analysing every inch of her expression. She watches me back, looking me square in the eyes. I know her, but I don’t understand her. Not one bit. “You really don’t see it, do you?” I say. “The badness inside me, the things I’ve done, the things I will do.”
“Oh, I see it. I just love you despite it. Love is knowing someone’s weaknesses and not taking advantage of them. It’s not expecting someone to make no mistakes, but to help them clean up when they do. It’s about accepting their sorrow and pain, as well as their smiles and tenderness. Love is giving someone the power to destroy you but trusting them not to. I trust you, Lincoln. I love you. I will take your pain. I’ll clean up your mistakes. I’ll make you smile, and laugh, and feel. And now I know that you’ll do the same for me.”
My heart is racing, pounding against my ribs. Sophia is right here with me, but she’ll never be close enough. Taking her face in my hands, I pull her mouth to mine and run my tongue across her lips. Closing my eyes, I commit the taste of her to memory, knowing I might not get to feel the softness of her skin, smell her sweet scent, hear her precious moans, for a while once we arrive on British soil.
God. I can’t bear it. How am I supposed to leave her?
Breaking the kiss, I drop my forehead on hers. “Remember everything you’ve learned,” I tell her. “Whatever you think about your father, you cannot trust him. Trust no one. Make sourcing weapons your first priority. He will have plenty. Find them. Don’t take them until you need to, but learn immediately how to access them. Do not let his words dampen that fire inside you. I know it’s still in there, quietly sizzling. You need it. Do you hear me? I will not be there to save you.”
“I’ve got this. I promise. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You can trust me.”
“I do.” A part of me can’t believe it, but it’s true. “I trust you with everything I am, and you have no idea what that means for me.” Yet, surprisingly, it’s not all that hard. Trusting Sophia is…effortless.
She parts her lips to respond but I pull away quickly and interrupt. “We need to get back on the road.” It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to throw myself over her like a shield and never let go. If we don’t leave now, I fear we never will.
And so, pulling back out into the traffic, I carry on towards the port, ready to throw the woman I love to the wolves.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophia
Stepping onto home soil feels like treading into another world. Like an old dream, vivid enough to remember being part of, but distant enough to not be real. I find no comfort in the familiar roads with their English signs, the typical drab weather, or the knowledge that I’m breathing the same air as people I have known all my life. Weirdly, I feel like an imposter. I may recognise these streets, understand the language, but I don’t belong here. Not anymore. This isn’t my home now. Sophia was born in Italy. I am here to do a job so that I can continue with my life, my new start. Our new start.
Pressure balloons in my chest when we reach territory that is particularly well known to me. We travelled by train from Dover to Preston before ‘acquiring’ a car to drive us to our old house. The area hasn’t changed. Buildings still stand, people still bustle up and down the pavements, the flowers inside the roundabout next to our local supermarket continue to bloom. My absence didn’t matter. I’m just not that important in the grand scheme of things. The thought doesn’t make me sad or pitiful. If anything, it reaffirms the fact that there is nothing left here for me. There’s nobody to miss, nothing to fight for. The only person I need is sitting right next to me…and he’s going to leave me soon.
“There are cameras on our street,” Lincoln announces when we’re minutes away from our destination. “When we reach the house, I will need to drag you out of the car. I will be as gentle as I can, but your father will check for footage to corroborate your story, most likely behind your back.”
I’m beginning to feel a little queasy. This is harder than I thought and I haven’t even done anything yet. “It’s okay. I understand. Be as convincing as you need to be.”
Lincoln’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Clearly, he’s as apprehensive as I am, though he’s trying not to let it show by tossing me small smiles and squeezing my knee every so often. I’ll be okay, I’m sure of it, but I have only faith that Lincoln will make it back to me. I have zero connection to Rosemary and Arthur Cowan. They are, in effect, complete strangers. Unpredictable. My hope lies in Rosemary. She’s a mother. There must be a part of her, however small, however deeply hidden, that is capable of forgiveness and compassion. Lincoln just needs to find it.
“Are you ready?” Lincoln asks. We’re almost there.
For the part I need to play? Yes. To let him go? Absolutely not. “Mmhmm. You?”
“Don’t you worry about me. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
I laugh a little bit, even though I’m fighting not to cry.
“My number. Do you remember?”
I nod several times, going over it yet again in my head. I’ve been memorising it for the last twenty-four hours, and I have known it off by heart for twenty-three of them. “Yes, I remember.”
“If anything goes wrong, if something doesn’t feel right, if you need me for anything…call me. I will come for you. Trust your instincts, Sophia. If they tell you to get out, you get out.”
I should feel reassured, especially knowing he will be close by now I know that his fake parents don’t actually live in Scotland but just over an hour away. But the proximity doesn’t matter when I’m so determined not to make contact until I have everything he needs. I refuse to rely on him. He has his own job to do, one far more dangerous than mine. I can take care of myself. I can sweettalk my dad. I’m his little girl.
Approaching our street, Lincoln slows the car. Shit. This is it. I’m not ready. I don’t want to leave him.
“Turn away from me,” he instructs. “Don’t acknowledge me while I talk to you.”
My heart speeds up and I start breathing like I’ve run all the way here.
“Stay safe. You stay alive. That’s a fucking order. Do not take unnecessary risks. If this doesn’t work out, we will find another way. You’ve changed me, Sophia. You better come back to me so I can prove it to you.”
“I haven’t changed you. I just found the man hiding behind the killer. You were there all along.” I don’t care if I’m not supposed to speak. I don’t look at him, but I can’t just ignore him when my heart is cracking like overheated glass. “You come back to me. That’s my order.”
He swallows so hard that I hear it and then I realise the car is no longer moving. “Never forget that I love you.”
I don’t get a chance to say it back before his door swings open and I see him running around the front of the car. It doesn’t matter that I know who it is and why he’s doing it, a streak of genuine fear races down my spine after he yanks my handle and grabs my arm. I squeal in protest automatically, wincing at the pain shooting through my arm. His grip is tight as he drags me from my seat and physically throws me onto the curb.
I land with a thud onto the cold concrete, sparking memories of the stone cell. Shit. More bruises. I should write my own musical. Sophia and her Amazing Technicolour Birthday Suit. For a moment, I’m paralysed, torn between sobbing while I stare after Lincoln as he speeds away, or crying while I crawl up my garden path and play the part. Before I’ve finished deciding, Lincoln is already gone…
Grabbing onto the small wall that separates our terraced house from the pavement, I clamber to my feet. I make it to my front door before I remember I don’t have a key. I don’t have anything except the clothes on my back. Crap. I try the handle anyway, unsurprised, yet still irritated when it doesn’t budge. Then, I try peering through the living room window, to see what I’m not sure, but it’s too dark even with the glow from the streetlights.
I take a moment to consider my options. I know I wouldn’t have left any windows open but I’m almost certain people will have been in our house since the last time I was here, either my dad, or Arthur Cowan. Maybe they opened one? Or smashed one.
Oh! I could smash one! The idea gives me a burst of energy. I’m more pleased with myself than I probably should be. I’ve done it before, after all. Breaking in is probably easier than breaking out. I’m not being chased, for starters, and I can use one of the loose bricks from our back garden wall instead of scrambling for kitchenware to break the glass.
I creep back towards the pavement and scurry to the end of the street before turning into the ginnel that leads to the back of our row of houses like a thief in the night. I couldn’t look more suspicious if I tried, tiptoeing between the fences, barely breathing in case I disturb the dog who lives next-door-but-one.
The iron gate securing our back yard is also locked, but I decide it shouldn’t be too difficult to climb. To aid my act of breaking and entering, I borrow a neighbour’s wheelie-bin that’s been left near the ginnel and, lining it up against the gate, I use it to get a step-up. Standing on a bin is not as easy as it looks. It feels unstable under my feet, the plastic lid buckling with my weight. My fingers curl around one of the metal bars in front of me, holding me steady while I figure out where to place my foot, but my movements set off next door’s security sensor, flooding the alley with light and exposing me for the criminal I have become.
“Kate?”
“Oh!” I’ve never slaughtered a piglet, but I imagine the sound one would make in its last moments wouldn’t be dissimilar to the grunt-squeal-cry that just catapulted from my mouth. “Mrs McKinley! Um, hi.” I have no idea how I’m going to play this as I start to climb down to face my next-door neighbour. The last thing I want is for her to call the police, even if it’s just to report me as found and safe. But then…does she even know I’ve been ‘missing’? I don’t know what’s occurred in my absence.
I need to find out. “I’ve misplaced my keys.” Keeping my voice upbeat and songlike, I smile and roll my eyes at myself.
She flexes her painted-on eyebrows, temporarily smoothing the deep crows’ feet around her tired eyes. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
That’s…interesting. I wonder how to make her elaborate without incriminating myself. Luckily for me, I don’t have to just yet because she pats my back and carries on talking.
“Come on into mine. I’ll brew up while you use my phone. Not sure if there’ll be any locksmiths around at this hour, but do you know anyone with a spare key? How about your Simon?”
“He’s…away.” I keep my smile in place as I nod gratefully. “My dad has one though. Thank you.”
“Why on earth didn’t you knock in the first place?” she asks, leading me through her yard and into her back door.
“It’s getting late. I didn’t want to disturb you.” The excuse is a lie, but it does make me wonder why I didn’t go next door for help. On reflection, Mrs McKinley was always bound to find me, no matter the hour. She spends half the night and even more of the day twitching her curtains to spy on the comings and goings of our street.
Stepping into her kitchen, I take a seat on one of the wooden chairs at the little round table after she pulls one out for me. The layout of the room is exactly the same as ours, only I don’t think her kitchen has been updated in forty years. The floral wallpaper is brown and peeling around the edges and some of the cupboard doors are missing, exposing the same flowery wallpaper folded up and lining the shelves beneath her tins and jars.
“What’ll it be?” Mrs McKinley removes two mismatched mugs from the cupboard. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea please.” Outwardly, I’m the picture of politeness, but inside the pleasantries are killing me. I haven’t got time to sit around here, drinking tea and listening to her usual gripes, such as how late the postman arrives these days. “And if you could point me to your phone, I’d be very grateful.” It feels cheeky to remind her, but I could be waiting until a week on Sunday for her to remember by herself.
“Oh! Silly me.” She shakes her head and puts the jar of teabags back down on the counter before handing me a cordless phone from the windowsill. “My Bertie always said I’d forget my nose if it wasn’t stuck to my face. Bless him.”
I offer a small smile.
“It’s good to see you, Kate. Barely recognised you, what with the new hair.” She swirls her hand around her own head. “I was a little upset you two just ran off and didn’t tell me you were moving.”
Moving. Right. I wonder who told her that story. Hearing my former name, although not alien to me, makes me feel uncomfortable. As does being here, in Mrs McKinley’s kitchen. This isn’t my life anymore. It’s difficult to believe it ever was. It’s amazing how adaptable the human brain is. How it can alter your whole being, your entire sense of self, just to keep you alive. I’m not sure whether my brain chose to adapt during infancy in order to keep me naïve and protect me from the truth, or just recently to make me strong enough to survive the truth. Was Sophia always inside me? Is Kate really gone? I don’t suppose it really matters. Once I reunite with Lincoln I’ll have the rest of my life, our life, to figure out who I want to be.
“Moving.” I nod, going along with whatever illusion Mrs McKinley is under. “Right.” I busy myself with the phone’s keypad, typing in my dad’s number while hoping she’ll forget her train of thought after I’ve excused myself. “Do you mind if I go into the hall?” With my thumb hovering over the green call button, I rise from my chair.
