Breach of Faith (31 page)

“What did you tell him?” Martha’s voice was sympathetic.

I made a face, “everything.” We stopped outside the gate, just as the breeze caught it, slamming it back against the old, wooden fence.  I grabbed it to prevent any more damage. “I thought I’d closed this. I told him about the dreams, the lies … everything.”

“Bloody hell, you don’t do things by half, do you.”

I smiled, “if we’re going to have a chance at any sort of relationship again we have to start with the truth. No more lies.”

“Are you going to try again?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “maybe. It’s going to be a long process, though, especially with the birth just around the corner. Only a few weeks to go now.”

Martha smiled, “I’m really looking forward to it.” She studied my face, “you go and get your rest, you look buggered.”

I laughed, “I’ve got a perfect evening planned. The kids are staying with Will so I have a date with a hot bath and all my ghosts and memories.”

“Ghosts? Has Frank been … here, you know, since?”

I shook my head, moving through the open gate and closing and latching it firmly. “No but some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling might be because he’s trying to communicate. I can always hope.”

Waving to Martha, I wandered up the path and unlocked the front door. My blood still ran cold every time I did this; such a simple act which held such bad memories. Would I open the door this time and find Frank crumpled at the bottom of the stairs? Sometimes I imagined he
was
there when the door swung open, lying still and lifeless, waiting to die, the screams of my children echoing in my ears.

“Pull yourself together, woman,” I muttered and pushed open the door.

Is he here?

When would Frank’s ghost finally find a way to come? That he would, I had no doubt, it was just a question of when.

Is he here?

Was that a noise in the sitting room?

Trying not to get too excited, I hurried up the hallway, frowning as I noticed the open back door through the kitchen beyond. Should be more careful, anyone could get in.

I stared with eager anticipation into the room, “Frank?”

“Get out my fuckin” way, bitch.”

I gasped, automatically taking a step back, out of the doorway into the hall. The man was pointing at me, menace in his stance, insanity in his eyes. I froze as I took in the scene before my, the whole room had been trashed. Drawers emptied, coffee tables overturned, photos broken.

In shock, I let out a cry of anger and took a small step into the room. My photo, the photo of me and Frank taken not long before his fall and rapid demise.

The only photo I had of the two of us, together.

This bastard had wrecked it, ground the heel of his boot into the glass. I stared into his bloodshot eyes. “You bastard. Get out of my fucking house, you arsehole.” I took another step towards him.

I had never been an impulsive person before. These last few months had probably been the most spontaneous of my life and stepping into that room was likely the most impetuous thing of all.

And the most stupid.

Too late, I realised the desperation of the man before me. The finger he was pointing, waving from left to right in time with the man’s nerves, was not a finger at all and as the barrel levelled directly at my chest, I had a sudden rational thought:
he’s got a gun and I’m going to die
.

I heard the bang, sharp in the silence of the room, the bullet shoving me backwards, turning me as I stumbled against the wall. Someone screamed, in pain? In shock?

“Oh fuck. I told ya. I told ya, bitch, don’t get in my way.”

Through the shock and pain I felt someone push me hard, heard the footsteps disappear down the hall as I bounced off the wall, landing painfully on the stairs behind.

There was one final moment of rational thought as the heat from the bullet wound was joined by another, much more ominous, hot wetness between my legs.

I’m going to die
, I thought again and, surprisingly, the idea wasn’t entirely unwelcome. What did concern me was something I was willing to fight to my last breath.

I’m going to die and Frank’s baby is going to die too …

18 May

When I was sixteen, I did something I had never done before, and had never contemplated doing since.

I asked a boy to dance.

Matthew had said yes but he’d been a bloody awful dancer. Frank, on the other hand, was one of the best dancers I’d ever had the pleasure of holding.

I looked up into his eyes and once again I was drowning; sinking deeper and deeper into Frank’s fathomless blue eyes, seemingly never to emerge again.

The ballroom was grand, old-fashioned in style, with huge pillars around the edge and a magnificent dance floor. A large staircase wound it’s way up to the first floor from one corner of the room. It reminded me of a beautiful palace, and I was guest of honour.

Frank led me in a waltz, covering every inch of the floor, my stunning red ball-gown swishing prettily, encasing me in silk and lace. We made a very fine couple, me in my full-length gown and Frank in his jet black tuxedo. A very fine couple indeed.

The waltz music ended, momentary silence filled the room as Frank loosened his hold on me slightly. “Are you tired? Would you like to stop for a drink?”

The lone pianist on the other side of the large room ignored us as he lost himself in another tune, not a waltz this time but a beat I didn’t recognise, a stunningly haunting piece that sent a shiver up my spine. I nodded and Frank linked his arm in mine, leading me to a single table in the corner beneath the staircase. On the table was a bottle of champagne and two crystal champagne flutes, glinting in the glittering lights.

With a boyish grin Frank pulled out one of the chairs, waiting for me to be seated before pouring a drink and sitting down himself. With a raised eyebrow and half a smile he held up his glass.

“To your health,” he murmured, softly touching his glass to mine with a chime of crystal clarity.

“You
are
beautiful, Kate.” He reached across the table and took my hand, running his finger lightly around my palm, the touch turning my bones to liquid. I was ready to melt. This was the best dream ever.

The bottle was nearly empty when Frank made his move. Pushing back his chair he stood up, moving around behind me, and leaned over my shoulder. “Come on,” he whispered, his breath tickling my cheek. “I’ve got something to show you.”

His aroma was champagne and cinnamon, pine cones and summer days, clean and fresh just as I remembered. He led me up the staircase, his arm slung around my waist, holding me tight. When we reached the top he stopped outside a heavy, wooden door.

“Your room awaits, my lady,” he bowed in mock chivalry and opened the door to a sight that took my breath away; a chamber so magnificent that I stopped on the threshold, struck dumb by the beauty before me.

“Silk,” I murmured finally and turned bright eyes to Frank. “Silk everywhere.”

Frank nodded, his smile lighting up his handsome face. “Silk and gold, crystal and platinum, and the most comfortable four-poster bed you’ve ever rested your tired bones on.”

Tears were threatening and I gave him a wonky smile, “it’s beautiful, Frank.”

“It’s all for you, my love, all for you,” and he swept me up into his arms, carrying me over the threshold and into the elegant room.

I giggled in surprise, ducking my head as we glided past the door frame. Frank kicked the door closed, dropping me on the bed making me grunt. “It’s like being on our honeymoon, don’t you think? And you know what newly married couples do on their wedding night.” He winked salaciously and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Now, my lovely bride, it’s time for a glass of something bubbly.”

I smoothed my gown down over my body, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

“A little tipsy, maybe.” Grinning, Frank took his jacket and tie off, throwing them on the end of the bed, loosening his collar in obvious relief. He turned towards the bedside table where another bottle of champagne awaited us. “You won’t get drunk.”

Taking a glass, I sipped the icy drink as Frank sat beside me. I could feel his thigh pressing lightly against mine, feel his movements as he lifted his own glass to his lips. I could sense his eyes on me, caressing me with warmth and love.

I turned to him. “What happens now?”

He disposed of my empty glass and took my hand in his own as I leaned against his shoulder. I closed my eyes, feeling his lips plant a gentle kiss onto the top of my head.

“That’s up to you, Kate. We could stay here like this all night; sitting, talking, drinking champagne. Or,” he smiled, “we could get naked and do unmentionable things to each other.” He ran his fingers through my hair, tilting my head back, then kissed me.

My muscles turned to jelly.

“So, what’s it to be, beautiful lady?” Frank murmured, his mouth hot on my ear, and my nipples tingled in anticipation. He shifted position, his lips now brushing my cheek. “Shall I pour another glass? Or …”

His hand was on my back, slowly drawing down the zip on my dress. I moaned softly as his mouth engulfed mine once again, catching his flicking tongue with my own. The tingle in my nipples had spread and was now entertaining itself in a place a bit lower down.

Not releasing my lips, Frank slid the straps of my dress off my shoulders exposing my black satin bra. I wriggled out of the dress as Frank’s hands roamed across the curves and contours of my body, following the line of hip and breast, caressing my satin nipple playfully.

My shaking fingers began to undo the buttons on Frank’s shirt; I was finding it difficult to breath, the arousal threatening to consume me.

Shrugging off his shirt, Frank reached around to unclasp my bra. “Let me see you, Kate. Let me see
you
one last time.” He released my breasts from their satin prison, holding them, massaging their soft plumpness. I moaned again as he took one of my nipples into his mouth, doing things with his tongue that I’d only ever dreamed about.

As I lay back onto the bed with Frank’s naked body above me, I began to understand what pure ecstasy really was.

This was the most realistic dream EVER.

*

Frank poked me playfully in the ribs, making me giggle in surprise. “Are you warm enough?”

Most of the bed clothes had ended up on the floor, only the sheet remained and I snuggled closer to Frank’s hot body, my breasts squashing against him still glistening with a layer of sweat. “I feel like I’ll never cool down again,” I joked.

Frank was stroking my back and I sighed in bliss. “Does this ever have to end? Please tell me we can be like this forever.”

Frank’s hand stilled and he kissed my curls. “Be careful what you wish for, Kate, it might just come true.”

I lifted my head off his shoulder, “what do you mean?”

Frank looked sad, “I was hoping for a little bit longer before this happened.”

I propped myself up on my elbow and frowned. “What do you mean?”

Frank sighed heavily and kissed my forehead. “Lie down, Kate, on your back. That’s right. Now look up, straight up at the ceiling.”

I did as I was told and studied the ceiling rose high above me, then grinned and turned to Frank, raising one eyebrow in query. “Is this just a sordid ruse to get me flat on my back so you can have your wicked way again.”

Frank answered my smile with one of his own but it didn’t reach his sad eyes. “Kate, if you think I can manage
that
again after our last effort then you are sadly mistaken. Now, look up, woman, and concentrate.”

So I shrugged and looked up, my eyes opening wide at the sight that awaited me. Risking a glance towards Frank lying close beside me I gestured vaguely up at  the ceiling. “What is
that
?”

It was amazing, pictures were moving over the bed, as if someone was projecting them onto a screen, like at the cinema. Except the screen was a ceiling and the projectionist had to be Frank, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t me.

I sensed, rather than saw Frank’s smile. “You don’t have to whisper, they can’t hear you.”

“How are you doing that?” I squinted at the ceiling, trying to make out more detail.

“Just relax,” Frank advised, “it’ll get clearer if you stop trying to force it.”

It was one of the weirdest situations I had ever found myself in. The image was fuzzy but I could make out a hospital room, expensive machines surrounding the single bed. I was watching from above, as if sitting on the light bulb or floating on the ceiling. In the bed lay a body; dead? alive? I didn’t know.

It felt like I was spying on the hazy figure and forced the thought from my mind, trying to relax further. Frank’s fingers were searching for mine under the sheet and I grabbed and held on hard. As the image slowly sharpened, the floating feeling intensified and I shivered with mild vertigo.

“Who is it?” I whispered.

“You’ll see,” Frank’s voice sounded loud in the silence of the room.