Unveiled
Page 65
I believe him. It’s easy to, because through all of this heartache and torment, one thing is obvious, and that’s the feelings both William and Miller have for my grandmother. They love her, too. I swallow and nod, just as the driver’s door swings open and Miller falls into the seat.
‘You OK to drive?’ William asks, giving Miller a wary glance.
‘Perfect.’ He starts the car, rams it into first, and we’re skidding away from the kerb faster than is safe. Miller drives like a demon. Under normal circumstances, I’d be holding on for dear life, maybe even telling him to slow the hell down, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Time is of the essence. I know it, William knows it, and Miller knows it. After listening to each man talk about Charlie, plus the added bonus of having had the pleasure of his company myself, there’s no element of doubt in my mind that any threats he makes – directly or indirectly – will be seen through. This is a man with no morals, heart, or conscience. And he’s currently sipping a good old cup of English tea with my beloved Nan. My bottom lip begins to tremble and Miller’s manic driving suddenly isn’t fast enough. I look up to the rearview mirror when I feel the familiar sensation of blue eyes burning into me, finding fear reflecting back at me. His brow is a sheen of wet. I can see he’s desperately trying to instil some calm into me, but he’s fighting a losing battle. He can’t conceal his own dread, so trying to ease mine is pointless.
It takes years to weave the streets of London towards home. Miller performs endless illegal manoeuvres – reversing out of traffic-jammed roads and driving up one-way streets, constantly cursing profusely while William points out shortcuts.
When we finally screech to a stop outside my house, my belt is off and I’m running up the path, leaving the car door open behind me. I only vaguely register two pairs of dress shoes pounding after me, but I’m more than aware of strong arms capturing me and lifting me from my feet. ‘Olivia, hold your horses.’ Miller speaks quietly, and I know why. ‘Don’t let him see your distress. He feeds off fear.’
I wriggle from Miller’s arms and press the tips of my fingers firmly into my forehead, trying to push some sensibility past the fog of panic that’s rampant in my mind. ‘My keys,’ I blurt. ‘I haven’t got my keys.’
William almost laughs, drawing my attention to him. ‘Do your thing, Hart.’
I frown as I look to Miller, seeing him reach into his inside pocket on a roll of his eyes. ‘I told you we needed to sort out security here,’ he grumbles, producing a credit card.
‘Nan probably just invited him in!’ I snap, but he doesn’t bless me with a disdainful look; he just goes about slipping the card past the wood by the lock and jiggling it slightly, putting some weight behind him. It’s two seconds flat before the door is open, and I’m pushing past Miller.
‘Whoa!’ He catches me again and pins me to the wall in the recess of the front door. ‘Damn it, Olivia. You can’t just go charging in there like a tank!’ He’s speaking on a hushed whisper, holding me in place with one hand while slipping his card back into his pocket.
‘OK, let’s just wait until we hear her screaming, shall we?’
‘Just like her mother,’ William mutters, pulling my outraged eyes away from Miller. His eyebrows are raised in a Yes, you heard me right kind of way; then his head cocks to follow that up with a You going to argue with that? look. I hate him.
‘Get me to my nan,’ I grate, burning through William’s powerful presence with fiery eyes.
‘Lock down that sass, Livy,’ Miller warns. ‘Now isn’t the time.’ He releases me and sets about the ridiculous task of straightening me out, except now I don’t let him find the calm he’s seeking through perfecting me. I bat him away, hating myself when I take over his stupid ways by finishing what he started. I brush my hair from my face and straighten my dress. Then my hand is claimed and I’m pulled through the front door.
‘Kitchen,’ I tell him, pushing him down the hallway. ‘He was going to make tea.’ Just as I utter the information, a loud crash rings out and travels down the corridor towards us. I jump, Miller curses, and William pushes his way past us before I can send the instructions to my legs to move. Miller takes off after him, as do I, every fear amplifying.
I fall into the kitchen, colliding with Miller’s back, before putting myself in front of him. Gazing around the open space, I see nothing, only William staring blankly at the floor. My eyes are rooted on him, watching for any further facial expressions or reactions, my mind not prepared to confront what has his attention.
‘Drat!’ Nan’s polite curse creeps past the wall of fear and has my eyes slowly travelling to the floor, where she’s on her hands and knees with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up scattered sugar and a broken dish.
‘Give it to me!’ A pair of hands appear from nowhere, wrestling with her fingers. ‘I told you, you silly old woman. I’m in charge!’ Gregory snatches the pan from Nan’s hand and turns exasperated eyes onto William. ‘All right, geezer?’
‘Fine,’ William replies, looking back and forth between Nan and Gregory. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She –’ Gregory points the dustpan’s brush at Nan, and she knocks it away – ‘won’t do as she’s told. Get her up, will you?’
‘For the love of God!’ Nan cries, slapping her palms on her lap. ‘Put me back in that prison they call a hospital because you lot are driving me crackers!’
My body feels like it’s turned to mush from the overwhelming sense of relief. I cast my eyes to Gregory. He’s giving William a look. A serious look. ‘You should get her settled.’
William snaps into action, scooting down to collect Nan. ‘Come on, Josephine.’
I feel a bit useless as I watch him help Nan from the floor. I’m relieved, confused, worried. It’s like he was never here. I didn’t imagine that call, and I definitely didn’t imagine Nan’s chirpy tone in the background. If it wasn’t for the telling look that Gregory just chucked at William, I would be questioning my sanity. But I caught that look. He was here. But he just left? Gregory looks shaken, so why the hell doesn’t Nan look like she’s been terrorised?
I flinch when I feel a soft warmth brushing up my arm, and look down to see Miller’s perfect hand cupping my bare elbow. It’s only now I wonder where the telling signs of internal fireworks have gone. It’s been too long since I’ve felt them. They’ve been drowned out by too much fretfulness. ‘Maybe you should,’ Miller says, bringing me back into the kitchen where Nan is now on her feet with William’s arm around her shoulder.
I cough the lump from my throat and take over for William, leading Nan away, while I’m sure Gregory will be filling William and Miller in on the events that have recently transpired. As we enter the room and settle on the sofa, I notice the TV on mute. It spikes a clear mental image of her sitting on the couch with the control in her hand, listening when Gregory answered the door to Charlie.
‘Nan, was someone else here with you a little bit ago?’ I set about tucking blankets in around her, refusing to meet her eyes.
‘You must think I’m as daft as a brush.’
‘You OK to drive?’ William asks, giving Miller a wary glance.
‘Perfect.’ He starts the car, rams it into first, and we’re skidding away from the kerb faster than is safe. Miller drives like a demon. Under normal circumstances, I’d be holding on for dear life, maybe even telling him to slow the hell down, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Time is of the essence. I know it, William knows it, and Miller knows it. After listening to each man talk about Charlie, plus the added bonus of having had the pleasure of his company myself, there’s no element of doubt in my mind that any threats he makes – directly or indirectly – will be seen through. This is a man with no morals, heart, or conscience. And he’s currently sipping a good old cup of English tea with my beloved Nan. My bottom lip begins to tremble and Miller’s manic driving suddenly isn’t fast enough. I look up to the rearview mirror when I feel the familiar sensation of blue eyes burning into me, finding fear reflecting back at me. His brow is a sheen of wet. I can see he’s desperately trying to instil some calm into me, but he’s fighting a losing battle. He can’t conceal his own dread, so trying to ease mine is pointless.
It takes years to weave the streets of London towards home. Miller performs endless illegal manoeuvres – reversing out of traffic-jammed roads and driving up one-way streets, constantly cursing profusely while William points out shortcuts.
When we finally screech to a stop outside my house, my belt is off and I’m running up the path, leaving the car door open behind me. I only vaguely register two pairs of dress shoes pounding after me, but I’m more than aware of strong arms capturing me and lifting me from my feet. ‘Olivia, hold your horses.’ Miller speaks quietly, and I know why. ‘Don’t let him see your distress. He feeds off fear.’
I wriggle from Miller’s arms and press the tips of my fingers firmly into my forehead, trying to push some sensibility past the fog of panic that’s rampant in my mind. ‘My keys,’ I blurt. ‘I haven’t got my keys.’
William almost laughs, drawing my attention to him. ‘Do your thing, Hart.’
I frown as I look to Miller, seeing him reach into his inside pocket on a roll of his eyes. ‘I told you we needed to sort out security here,’ he grumbles, producing a credit card.
‘Nan probably just invited him in!’ I snap, but he doesn’t bless me with a disdainful look; he just goes about slipping the card past the wood by the lock and jiggling it slightly, putting some weight behind him. It’s two seconds flat before the door is open, and I’m pushing past Miller.
‘Whoa!’ He catches me again and pins me to the wall in the recess of the front door. ‘Damn it, Olivia. You can’t just go charging in there like a tank!’ He’s speaking on a hushed whisper, holding me in place with one hand while slipping his card back into his pocket.
‘OK, let’s just wait until we hear her screaming, shall we?’
‘Just like her mother,’ William mutters, pulling my outraged eyes away from Miller. His eyebrows are raised in a Yes, you heard me right kind of way; then his head cocks to follow that up with a You going to argue with that? look. I hate him.
‘Get me to my nan,’ I grate, burning through William’s powerful presence with fiery eyes.
‘Lock down that sass, Livy,’ Miller warns. ‘Now isn’t the time.’ He releases me and sets about the ridiculous task of straightening me out, except now I don’t let him find the calm he’s seeking through perfecting me. I bat him away, hating myself when I take over his stupid ways by finishing what he started. I brush my hair from my face and straighten my dress. Then my hand is claimed and I’m pulled through the front door.
‘Kitchen,’ I tell him, pushing him down the hallway. ‘He was going to make tea.’ Just as I utter the information, a loud crash rings out and travels down the corridor towards us. I jump, Miller curses, and William pushes his way past us before I can send the instructions to my legs to move. Miller takes off after him, as do I, every fear amplifying.
I fall into the kitchen, colliding with Miller’s back, before putting myself in front of him. Gazing around the open space, I see nothing, only William staring blankly at the floor. My eyes are rooted on him, watching for any further facial expressions or reactions, my mind not prepared to confront what has his attention.
‘Drat!’ Nan’s polite curse creeps past the wall of fear and has my eyes slowly travelling to the floor, where she’s on her hands and knees with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up scattered sugar and a broken dish.
‘Give it to me!’ A pair of hands appear from nowhere, wrestling with her fingers. ‘I told you, you silly old woman. I’m in charge!’ Gregory snatches the pan from Nan’s hand and turns exasperated eyes onto William. ‘All right, geezer?’
‘Fine,’ William replies, looking back and forth between Nan and Gregory. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She –’ Gregory points the dustpan’s brush at Nan, and she knocks it away – ‘won’t do as she’s told. Get her up, will you?’
‘For the love of God!’ Nan cries, slapping her palms on her lap. ‘Put me back in that prison they call a hospital because you lot are driving me crackers!’
My body feels like it’s turned to mush from the overwhelming sense of relief. I cast my eyes to Gregory. He’s giving William a look. A serious look. ‘You should get her settled.’
William snaps into action, scooting down to collect Nan. ‘Come on, Josephine.’
I feel a bit useless as I watch him help Nan from the floor. I’m relieved, confused, worried. It’s like he was never here. I didn’t imagine that call, and I definitely didn’t imagine Nan’s chirpy tone in the background. If it wasn’t for the telling look that Gregory just chucked at William, I would be questioning my sanity. But I caught that look. He was here. But he just left? Gregory looks shaken, so why the hell doesn’t Nan look like she’s been terrorised?
I flinch when I feel a soft warmth brushing up my arm, and look down to see Miller’s perfect hand cupping my bare elbow. It’s only now I wonder where the telling signs of internal fireworks have gone. It’s been too long since I’ve felt them. They’ve been drowned out by too much fretfulness. ‘Maybe you should,’ Miller says, bringing me back into the kitchen where Nan is now on her feet with William’s arm around her shoulder.
I cough the lump from my throat and take over for William, leading Nan away, while I’m sure Gregory will be filling William and Miller in on the events that have recently transpired. As we enter the room and settle on the sofa, I notice the TV on mute. It spikes a clear mental image of her sitting on the couch with the control in her hand, listening when Gregory answered the door to Charlie.
‘Nan, was someone else here with you a little bit ago?’ I set about tucking blankets in around her, refusing to meet her eyes.
‘You must think I’m as daft as a brush.’
