CORAL - Fallen (A Romance Trilogy, Book 2) (31 page)

“Why don't you stay darling?” Gladys asks
for the fifth time.

“I’ll get you home early tomorrow,” Malcolm
adds.

I plaster a fake smile across my face. “I’m
fine, really I am,” I say, wondering who I’m trying to convince. When the taxi
arrives, Malcolm walks out the house and waits by the taxi.

“Bye Gladys, thank you again.” I say as I
hug her tight.

“You are more than welcome my sweetheart.”
Gladys kisses my cheek several times.

I reluctantly walk down the pathway to the
waiting taxi. Malcolm opens the door for me.

“Thank you Malcolm.” I lean up and kiss his
cheek then slide inside. I watch him lean inside the open window and pay the
driver.

“Make sure she gets back safely,” he says
in a firm tone.
Oh!
Tears pool in my eyes. How sweet, I love that
Malcolm is being so protective of me.

“No problem.” The driver answers. Then I'm
hit with a wave of melancholy – I wish he had met Gladys earlier, and he had
been my Dad. I swallow hard. I can't think like that right now.

The taxi pulls away and I wave heartily to
them both, and for the first time tonight, I'm hit with the enormity of what
they have told me. They are leaving…and I’ll never get to have this when they
are gone.

I push back the tears that threaten, the
last thing I want to do is start blubbering in front of a complete stranger.

AS WE REACH THE MARINA,
I
thank the driver, step out the car and head down the concourse. I don't know
why – maybe it’s because it’s dark – but I feel nervous, apprehensive, I can't
stop looking over my shoulder. I have the strangest feeling that I'm being
watched. Reaching my studio, I unlock the door, step inside and lock it behind
me. It’s dark inside, and I can hear the faint noise of a television.
I
guess next door is up late!

Flicking the main light switch on I stare
at the room, it feels so empty without Tristan here. Shaking my head at myself,
I walk over to the sofa and place my bag down with my keys securely inside it.
Taking off my wedges, I head over to the kitchenette. As I lean down to open
the fridge, I notice something odd, something that shouldn’t be there.

Standing back up I eye the empty bottle of
beer, cocking my head to the side, I stare blankly at it, I try to work out if
I had one yesterday and I’ve forgotten about it.

Reaching my hand out, I curl my fingers
around the bottle –
Fuck! It’s cold!

I whip my head around and stare blankly at
my studio. There’s no sign of a break in, no windows smashed. So why is there a
bottle of beer on the side? Then it hits me – Bob!

I sag with relief, yes, it’s bound to be him.
He has a spare key, and I’ve always told him to help himself if he ever wants
anything, he’s too old and doddery to go walking all the way up to the shops
for just one bottle of beer, and he has helped himself to a one before.

Laughing nervously at myself, I open the
bin and throw the empty bottle inside. Then I go back to the fridge, pull out a
bottle of wine and pour myself a glass. I know I shouldn’t, but all the alcohol
seems to have left my system on the drive home – I feel stone sober.

I take a sip of wine and look up at the
clock – 11.45pm – I should call Tristan, tell him my news, but I don't want to,
not yet.

I need to get changed, relax myself with a
glass of wine, and then get cosy in bed so I know I’ll sleep dreamlessly. I
take a gulp of wine, put down my glass and head up the stairs.

Halfway up, I glance into my bedroom and
freeze –
Fuck!

The A4 photographs that Tristan had printed
of us are scattered under my bed – What the hell! – I swallow hard, I know for
definite that I had them stowed away in my top bedside drawer.
Fuck!

Ok, ok, ok. Let’s think about this
logically.
Maybe I’ve looked through them and thought I put them away?
I
tentatively walk up the last few steps and look around my bedroom, nothing else
seems out of place. See, there’s always a logical explanation.

I shake my head and walk over to the bed.
Getting to my knees, I stretch under the bed and gather all the photos
together. Standing back up I put them on the bed, they seem a bit dusty –
Oops!
Guess I better get the vacuum out tomorrow!

As I'm placing them all back inside the
folder, I realise something’s not right. Frowning deeply and blaming my bad
counting skills on the wine I have had this evening, I count through them again,
horror laces through me –
There’s one missing!

Flinging them all back on the bed, I pull
my hand to my mouth to stop the garbled noise from becoming a scream, and fall
against the chest of drawers. Sinking slowly to the floor, the hideous,
sickening truth screams loud in my head –
Someone was in here!

Ok Coral! Keep it together
– DO NOT PANIC!

I slowly turn my head to my built-in
wardrobe, as I do I notice the door is cracked open.
Fuck!
I always
shut the doors!

I silently crawl across the floor and pick
up the baseball bat. Then being careful not to make the floorboards creak, I
slowly rise to my feet. I hold the bat in my hand, ready to swing it as hard as
I can.

“Hey!” I shout, whacking the door with the
bat. It leaves a really big dent. “I know you’re in there!” I shout, my voice
cracking as my heart pummels against my chest –
Deep calming breaths Coral!

When I don't get a reply, I take a step
back and bash the door again – No one jumps out trying to surprise me. Deciding
to be brave, I take another step back and using my balance I lift up my leg,
wrap my toes around the handle and slowly pull the door open.

All my clothes are there, where they should
be, nothing seems out of place. I move my position, but I keep the bat in my
left hand, just in-case. Switching on the bedside lamp, I notice a mark on my
bedside cabinet, a round wet mark, like condensation.

Getting to my knees, I lean forward, it
looks like a...I suddenly realise it looks exactly like the bottom of a beer
bottle –
There’s no way Bob would have been up here, no way!

Reaching my shaking hand out, I use the tip
of my forefinger and press down on the mark, it’s cold and wet and definitely
fresh.
Holy fuck! –
Someone has been in my studio, drank my beer, been
up in my bedroom and stolen a photograph, without breaking in!

My teeth clamp together in anger, because I
think I know exactly who it is! Launching myself up, I run down the stairs,
baseball bat still in hand, get my keys, unlock the patio door, yank it open
and take the couple of steps needed to Bob’s door. All the lights are off,
Crap!

I don't want to wake him, or worry him. He
might fall down the stairs trying to hurry to me, but at the same time, I want
to know if he saw anything suspicious tonight?
Damn it!

I walk back inside my studio and lock the
door behind me. Then I set the magnetic door sensors. Evidently they alert you
if someone gets in and you’re home, but if you’re not inside you can’t set them
– Maybe I need some sort of alarm?

As I pace the room, wondering what to do, I
suddenly notice something else, something odd.

The cushions on my sofa are not in their
usual place? I always have two at each end, but one of them has been moved,
it’s in the middle of the sofa.

I cock my head to the side, and as I
continue to scan the room, I notice one of the cupboards on my large elongated
wooden T.V unit, hasn’t been closed properly. Stepping forward, I walk over to
the unit, get to my knees, and carefully pull the door open.

This is the cupboard I keep my photo albums
in, I’ve been meaning to get them all scanned so I have a digital copy of them
all, some of them are so old. Gladys always insisted on lots of photos, not
just for birthdays or Christmases, so I have a very large stock of photographs.

The first album is from when I moved in
with Gladys, to starting senior school. The second is from the age of eleven up
to my 21
^st
, including the birthday party she threw for me, and the
third is all the photos I’ve taken since then.

As I stare at the albums, I notice they are
not in their usual place either. Why would someone have been interested in a
bunch of old photographs? I frown deeply, pull them all out of the cupboard and
open the first album up, it’s the one from when I moved in with Gladys.

I never told Gladys this, but when I was
taken away from my mother, I had a photograph that I kept of my old family, I
was four when it was taken, I remember it well. It was Kelly birthday, we’d all
gone out to Alton Towers for the day, someone took a photo of the four of us. Mom,
Dad, Kelly and I are all smiling together, we all look so happy.

I don't know why I took it with me, and I
don't know why I still keep it, a reminder of a happier time maybe? Reaching
into the secret compartment of the album, I slip my finger inside. I frown hard
as my fingers search for something that is evidently no longer there.

I gasp aloud. “No!” I grab the album and
shake it upside down, hoping that the photograph will fall out but it doesn’t.
I place it on the floor, and frantically start flipping through the pages, I
don't stop until I reach the last page –
It’s gone!

I rapidly shake my head, refusing to
believe that. I go through the same process with the second and third album,
only to find nothing.
No!

I fall back, my bottom hitting the hard
flooring, and clench my hands into fists. Tears bubble to the surface, so I
fight them back. I shouldn’t be so upset about it, I don't know why I am. I
should be more concerned with the fact that someone has been in here, taken it
from me, but I’m devastated – It was the only photo I had of us all.

Heavy sorrowful tears escape me. I don't
know how long I sit there for, trying to sooth myself by rocking back and forth,
but the pain I feel at loosing it, is something I can't describe and don't
understand. Falling to the floor, I curl up into a ball and rest my cheek
against the laminated flooring.

I cry deeply for what I have lost, for my
father, for my mother, and for Kelly. I’ll never get to see them again, not
like that, never again...

MY MOBILE BUZZING IN MY BAG
pulls me out of my stupor. Sitting up, I slide along the floor,
still choking back the tears, and take my mobile out to see who it is – Tristan
–
Shit!

Now is not the time, but I know I’d better
answer it, or he’ll just keep calling.

“Hey,” I croak then sniff loudly. I really
need some tissues.

“Coral?” Tristan’s voice sounds twisted.
“What’s wrong, what’s happened?” he sounds alarmed. I try to think of something
to say that will placate him, I can't tell him the truth, not yet. Then I remember
my news from this evening –
They are leaving!

“Gladys and Malcolm are leaving,” I choke
out, sniffing loudly.

“I-I thought you already knew that baby,”
he says, his voice a soothing tune.

“Um...no, I mean yes I did, it’s just....”
I take in a ragged breath. “They are all leaving Tristan, to Spain.” I hear his
sharp intake of breath and swallow hard trying to stop the tears.

“I'm coming to you baby, I’ll be a few
hours but’ – “No!” I bark loudly.

“Why not?” He softly says.

“Because it means you’ll have to go back
next w-week,” I choke out.

“So’ – “I don't w-want y-you to,” I cry.

“Coral!” Tristan admonishes. “You’re upset.
I want to be there for you,” he adds.

“I…I know you do,” I warble. “But please
just stay, get what you need done then you won't have to go back...y-you can
b-be here with m-me then,” I croak, squeezing my eyes shut –
I want him here
with me!

Tristan sighs heavily. “If that’s what you
want,” he says reluctantly.

“Y-yes,” I stutter.

“I don't like it,” he tells me firmly.

“I know,” I sniff, trying to calm my
erratic breathing. “T-tell me about your day,” I add.

“Coral’– “Please, it will take my mind of
things,” I croak.

“Fine!” He huffs. I instantly picture Tristan
pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. I smile weakly. Just hearing
his voice, picturing his face makes me automatically feel better.

Tristan tells me all about his meetings, funny
moments that happened and how much he has missed me. I feel a wave of
melancholy hit me again. I swallow hard, and try to fight against the feeling.
I try to swing my emotions towards love instead, how I will feel when I see
Tristan again, but it’s no good, no matter how hard I try I truly ache for him;
so much so that it feels like physical pain.

“Better?” Tristan asks when he is finished.

“Much better,” I answer trying not to sound
too
sombre
.

“I still want to come and see you,” he
whispers.

“Don't,” I tell him firmly. “We only have
one more night and two days,” I add trying to comfort him, or me, I’m not sure
which.

Truthfully, I want him here with me right
now. I want him to drive down, run towards me and wrap me up in his arms. But
on the other hand if he does come back, it means he has to go away again next
week, and in all honesty I don't think I can do this again – I would have to go
with him, even if it meant quitting my job I would, if it meant we weren’t
apart.

We talk for a little while longer. I feel much
calmer as the minutes, hours, I’m not sure tick by. I don't know how he does it
– how this calming affect works on me – but by the time we say our goodbyes, I
am already up the stairs and curled up under the quilt, listening to him hum
Some Enchanting Evening to me...

THAT NIGHT I DREAM
of
Susannah stalking my place when I'm not in, I try to work out what she’s
looking for, but I can't put my finger on it. Then I dream
I am
Susannah.

I am walking around my darkened studio. I
walk up the stairs and across the bedroom, I see myself asleep in bed. I see
something glisten in my hand. I look down and see it’s a knife, a really big
Rambo style knife. I grip my hand around the handle, and pull it up ready to
plunge it down on myself, but another hand appears, grabbing hold of my wrist.

I glance to my right. My mother’s warm eyes
from when she was well, healthy, glare back at me. “Leave her alone!” She
growls, and hits me hard around the head. I fall to the floor in pain.

Suddenly I'm not Susannah anymore, I am me,
in my bed. I look down and see Susannah knocked out on the floor. My mother
comes and sits on the edge of the bed with me. I notice she looks strange in
the darkness, like a ghost, she smiles tentatively at me.

“I'm sorry” she whispers, tears filling her
eyes, then she glances at Susannah, turning back to me she leans forward and
kisses my forehead. “You’re safe now baby girl. I’ll protect you,” she
whispers.
Baby girl!
She always used to call me that.

I stare up at my mother she looks so
healthy, so normal. “Sleep now,” she softly tells me, stroking my hair, making
me feel sleepy, safe, loved.

I close my eyes and let the protective feeling
wash over me...

WHEN I WAKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING,
I'm aware of how strangely calm I feel. I sit up in bed for a moment
reliving the dream of my Mother – That was weird, weird because of how
comforting it felt to have her near me like that, have her protect me in that
way.

Shaking my head at that thought, I think
about coming home last night, about someone getting into my place. My instincts
are screaming its Susannah, and I know in that very moment that I will kill her
if she harms one hair on Tristan’s head.

I know this instinctively. I can’t help
myself. It sounds over-dramatic and a little crazy – I know that – but like it
or not, Tristan has a crazy person – that may or may not (most likely has) got
access to my home and taken possessions of mine – and she’s working in close
proximity with him. I will annihilate her if she so much as looks at him.

With that thought in mind, I get out of
bed, wrap my robe around me, head down the stairs and go straight into the
shower. I don't have the energy or the inclination to swim today. All I can
think about as I’m showering is Susannah. I am bristling with rage!

God help me, how am I supposed to work with
her today? I hope she calls in sick. I hope her supposed migraine is still
going on. Then I think if she is in, I hope she has an accident or something on
the way to work, not to kill her, I want that part –
Coral!

Ok, ok! You’re scaring the shit out of
yourself. I sigh heavily. I just...I don't want her there today, that’s not so
much to ask is it? Then I think maybe
I
should ditch, but I know Joyce
will think I'm avoiding her, and I want to protect Joe, she’s not as tough as
me, in-fact she’s a sweet little walk over that Susannah will no doubt continue
to threaten. No, I have to be there.

Switching off the shower, I wrap my hair in
a towel and dry myself off. As I'm creaming my skin, I make more plans. First
thing first, as soon as I'm in work, hopefully crazy lady won’t be in yet, I’ll
go straight into Joyce tell her about Susannah threatening me, about my keys
and my notepad going missing, and my late night visitor, who has stolen
belongings of mine. I know I need to check with Bob when I see him if it was
him, but I already know it wasn’t him.

I feel my soul die a little again, whoever
it was took the only photograph I have of my old family, tears threaten again –
I push the thought out of my head and try to get back to what I need to do.

Right – Secondly, I need to figure out a
way of telling Tristan all of this without him flipping out; after all it is
going to be my word against hers. I think for a moment about heading into the
police station before work, tell them what happened, but I already know what
they will say. No evidence, so they can't really do much about it.

I shudder slightly, the very thought of her,
or whoever it was being here when I wasn’t...I shake my head to try and push
the sickly feeling away. I towel dry my hair, run my brush through it then my
Coconut Oil. Grabbing my hair bobble and pins, I make a bun and smooth it over
so it looks neat. Next, I start on my make-up. As I'm applying my mascara, I
wonder how I'm supposed to keep calm if she is there, the amount of venomous
anger I have flowing through me right now is…overwhelming!

It’s going to take all my strength not to
blow up at her.
Think logically Coral.

Yes. I must. I must think like Spock. If I
blow up it will make me look like the crazy person, not her, and she will have
achieved what she wanted.

I take several deep breaths and calm myself
down. I think about Tristan coming home and how I’m going to feel. I have had
my second hypnotherapy session with Cindy, so I should be able to wear my new
dress on Friday. A nervous bubble ripples through my stomach, and I'm pleased
it’s half nerves, half excitement. I know the excitement part is what Tristan’s
reaction will be when he sees me in the dress, hopefully I’ll get a good
reaction, the nervous part is me freaking out. The bubble ripples again making
me smile. I want to look sexy for him.

I start to feel a little better. The anger I
feel for Susannah seems to be dissipating so I carry on with the positives – I
am now two hundred and fifty thousand pounds richer, I feel a strange flutter
head down my spine.
What the hell am I meant to do with that amount of
money?

I turn and look out into the living room of
my tiny studio – I guess I could get a bigger place? I shake my head at that
thought, I can't really think about that at the moment. I put my mascara back
in my make-up bag, adding a little lip gloss I nod at myself – You are ready.

Putting my robe back on, I march out the
bathroom and pour myself a large vegetable juice to take to work with me.
Marching up the stairs, I hang up my robe and dress in my work clothes. Black
trousers and my light blue short sleeved fitted blouse. I slip my feet into my
black wedges and head back down the stairs, noticing as I reach the bottom step
that my photo albums are still sprawled across the floor.
Damn it!

I swallow hard against the lump that’s
formed, take a deep breath, bend down and put them away. Switching off the
air-con, I pick up my handbag and my keys from the sofa and head out the patio
door, locking it behind me.

“Morning,” Bob pipes up cheerfully. I try
to smile, but it just doesn’t happen. I pull my sunglasses out and pop them on;
at least they will hide my eyes.

“Got a little thirsty last night?” I ask as
chirpily as I can.

Bob puts his paper down and looks up at me
quizzically. “You’ve lost me?” he says.

“The bottle of beer,” I say half laughing,
trying to make light of it all.

“What beer?” He counteracts –
Fuck!

“Oh it’s ok, it must have been Rob,” I say,
my voice wobbling.

“What beer Coral,” he asks again.

“The empty bottle that was left on the
kitchen sink,” I say putting on a fake smile. “Not to worry Bob, I’ll call Rob
later,” I say and turn to walk away.

“Well it was probably that friend of yours,”
he says matter-of-factly.

I freeze then slowly turn back to him. “S-sorry?”
I stutter.

“I heard something last night...let me think...yes
about nine-thirty it was. I thought it was you, so I came out to see if you
were ok, and there was this blonde girl unlocking your door. She said you’d
asked her to pop in and pick up your music player or something....” Bob says
waving his hand. Holy fuck!

I blink rapidly at Bob. I feel frozen in
place. That’s why my keys went missing. Susannah got copies. Then I think about
my MP3 Player, shoving my hand in my bag I feel it’s shape between my fingers.
Not wanting to panic Bob, I try to smile and nod my head as though I’d
forgotten.

“Oh right yeah…” I say. “I remember now,” I
add. Bob rolls his eyes at me and goes back to his paper. “Well, I’ll see you
later,” I say, my voice low and quiet.

“Are you alright darling?” he questions
looking up at me. I nod silently.”Sure?” he adds.

“Yes,” I whisper, tears pooling in my eyes
–
God damn it, my make-up!

“Alright then,” he smiles and goes back to
his paper.

“See you later,” I squeak.

Bob nods and smiles at me. I turn, feeling
like a complete zombie, and start walking down the concourse. All I can think
about is the fact that my suspicions were right, it has to have been Susannah. I
don’t have any friends and the only other blonde I know is Debs, and there’s no
way she would have been in place without telling me, besides, she doesn’t have
keys.

I grit my teeth as I try to think of a way
of getting my photo back, as odd as it sounds, that’s all I care about. I don't
care that Susannah broke in. I don't care that she took one of the photos of
Tristan and I, and I don't care that she drank one of my beers – I just want my
photo back!

As I’m walking to work, I decide I have to
think more logically. I can't allow my emotions to override any rational
thoughts. So I decide the moment I'm in work to locate a locksmith, I need to
change all the locks, then I think if I keep them as they are and buy some sort
of CCTV, I might be able to get some evidence of her breaking in. Deciding that
is my best option, I head into work with renewed
vigour
and a spring in my step.