Repeating History (History #1) (5 page)

“It suits you,” he is smiling politely at me. I imagine that Landon Peters is a difficult man to get to know, “Oh and Merry Christmas Clara.”

“Thank you Landon,” I smile at him, “Merry Christmas to you too.”

“Do you have plans?” Landon asks me, now more engaging but still remote. He’s a confusing man.

“I’ll probably visit my father,” I tell him, “You?”

“My mother is having a party tonight,” Landon is frowning, I get the impression he isn’t excited about the idea of a party, “my girlfriend and I will be going together and then we’ll be spending Christmas with our respective families.”

“Sounds nice,” I smile.

Landon grins at me, “it’ll be a lot nicer once Aurora’s plane lands.”

“Aurora? Your girlfriend?”

“Yes. She’s in L.A. with her father at the moment. Her plane is due to take off any moment.” Landon checks his phone once more. He types into it quickly, “They are boarding the plane.” He’s grinning massively now. That explains his earlier rudeness. I guess I can let it slide.

I’m just preparing to leave for the day when Andrew barges into my office, like usual. “Andrew, not now,” I complain as I pull my coat on. I glance up at him. He’s got another green apple in hand. I’m tempted to lean over and take a bite, just to see if it’s as juicy as it looks. My mouth waters at the thought. His clothes are as perfectly fitted as ever, much to my irritation. How does anyone look that good at the end of the night?

“Just wishing you a Merry Christmas,” Andrew smirks at me, but I try to ignore him as I wrap my scarf around my neck, “it’s Christmas Eve you know.” He takes a bite of the apple and I watch as he chews and swallows it. My eyes are focused on the line of his jaw. I can’t look away. At some point he has moved across the room and now he is stood right in front of me. Why does he always stand so bloody close to me? He smells so good, I breathe in his rich scent. It’s spicy; almost like cinnomen and something darker, almost like woodsmoke. It’s strange. He smells like an outdoorsy type and so seeing him in an office like this seems to go against his very being, but I think I love the sight of him in a suit. Not that I’ll ever tell him. Everything inside me feels pulled towards him but I refuse to give in. I step back.

“Obviously it’s Christmas Eve,” I frown at him. I hate how stupid he can make me feel. “I’m delighted I won’t have to see you for two whole days.”

“It’s okay,” he’s grinning like the bloody Cheshire cat, as he steps closer to me again, placing his hand on my arm. Even over my coat the touch of his hand is like fire. I’ve never felt anything like it. I gasp in shock. If he hears me, he doesn’t comment, and for once I’m grateful to him, “there’s still facebook and email.”

“I don’t plan to reply,” I tell him as I pluck his hand off my arm and drop it disdainfully. I’m frustrated with him for making me feel this way and angry with myself for feeling attracted to him at all. I’m not seventeen any more. I grew up a long time ago.

“I know,” he nods almost solemnly, “won’t stop me trying though.”

“Of course not,” I almost laugh. I wouldn’t expect anything less.

“Let me walk you out,” he smiles almost to himself, “what are you doing tonight?”

“Avoiding you,” I tell him honestly.

“Is that all,” he’s smirking. I can tell. I’m not willing to look at him but I’m almost certain that he is smirking at me. “No parties. No time with your family. Your friends.”

“That’s not the point,” I tell him irritably.

He’s no longer smirking. He’s not even smiling. All the humour in his eyes is gone. “For Christ’s sake Clara,” he’s angry with me, “I’m trying here.”

“I haven’t asked you to try,” I tell him stubbornly. He’s stepping closer once more. He pulls me closer to him; his hands burning into my forearms as he holds me tightly. His eyes are bright like angry fire and I’m scared I might get burnt.

“I’m no longer the boy that used to tease you, Clara. Believe it or not, I grew up years ago.”

“You might have changed, Andrew,” I sigh, “but you can never change what has happened.”

“Perhaps not,” his eyes are softer now, his tone gentle, “but I am sorry.”

“Just leave it please,” I’m almost begging him to drop it. I don’t want to keep dwelling on the past. He’s so close. My heart is racing. I want him to touch me again but every time he reaches for me I pull away.

His voice is harsh, “I want to kiss you.”

“You can’t,” I whisper.

“I could,” is his only reply as he places a hand on my cheek. I don’t speak. I have no idea what I am supposed to say in response.

“But you won’t.”

“But I won’t,” he nods in agreement. He roughly drops his hand from my cheek and steps away from me. His eyes look remote and distant as he turns away. He closes my office door quietly behind him and I am left feeling bereft and empty, standing there in the sparse office with a tingling cheek. This is not supposed to be happening. I need to keep this professional. I pull out my phone. I need a drink. I need a friend. I send Mike a text;

Had a bit of a shit day. Can I come over? X

Sure. We’re going to be wrapping presents all night for Amelia.

But you are welcome to join us. There will be wine. X

Fantastic. I’m just leaving work now. I love wrapping presents.

Is there anything I can bring; food? Take away? X

Sarah says Indian would be great. See you shortly. X

“Has my brother left already?” Maya barges into my office without knocking.

“I can’t say that I know what your brother is doing,” I reply almost coldly.

I think my words might have upset her, “sorry. I just thought he was with you.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask her. She’s getting the brunt of my bad mood when really it should be directed at myself and perhaps her brother, but mostly me.

“I thought I saw him come in here.”

I consider denying it but that wouldn’t help my cause, “he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. I thought he was going to give me a lift home.” Her face is disappointed, “we’re supposed to be going to our mother’s house for Christmas.”

“Perhaps you should check his office,” I suggest.

“Yeah...” Maya smiles happily a me, “have a good Christmas Clara.”

“You too,” I smile back at her, I shouldn’t be taking it out on her, “I need to go.”

“Yeah sorry for keeping you,” she follows me out of my office just as her brother thunders angrily towards us.

“I’m waiting Maya,” he squares his shoulders angrily; at least I’m not the only one feeling this way. “We need to go.”

“I was looking for you,” Maya’s responding posture is unafraid. She doesn’t take shit from her brother by the looks of it. Andrew hasn’t so much as glanced at me. His eyes are focused solely on his sister. He’s still angry with me. No matter how much he might want to kiss me, he still doesn’t like me.

I follow Michael into the kitchen of his London town house where Sarah his wife is washing the dishes. They really are ridiculously domesticated. The house is so homely. They are so lucky to have each other. Sarah has short blonde curls that stop at the base of her neck, brown eyes and a wide smile. For a mother of a two year old, she is looks amazingly awake. There are no bags under her eyes or anything and I almost want to scream at her, how do you do it? Instead I give her a massive hug, “I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve missed you too,” Sarah smiles as I pull away, “I want to hear all about living in Liverpool.”

“There’s really not much to say,” I laugh bitterly. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided to come see them.

The school teacher in Sarah picks up on the lie immediately, “sure there isn’t and I’m Pocahontas.”

“Liverpool was great, my job was good...”

“But what happened with Stephen?” she’s on the pursuit of information and she won’t let up. There’s a reason she was always popular in school. I’m pretty sure it was because she was so good at getting information out of people. It made sure she always knew the gossip. We hadn’t been friends then. She’d always laughed when Andrew teased me. She’d apologised since but it was still sometimes hard to remember how different things used to be between us. I used to be jealous of her. She had Andrew. They’d only ever been friends; but I’d have loved to be his friend.

“Nothing worth hashing over now,” I tell her coolly.

Her eyes are sad as she looks me over. She’s so maternal, it’s a shame that her and Mike had never managed to conceive naturally. She was born to be a mother and Amelia Vincent was the luckiest little girl alive in my opinion. “We’re here,” she places a caring arm on my shoulder, “if you want to talk.”

“Thank you.”

“You brought dinner?” her tone is bright, making it clear that she’s dropping the subject at least for the moment.

“Indian as requested,” I grin at her.

“Fantastic! Michael, grab some plates,” she tells her husband, “I’ll pour the wine.”

I stand there watching them move around the kitchen together. I notice the hidden touches. The way Sarah will lean across Mike to get something off the counter and graze her hand across his arm or the way Mike will place a hand at the base of her back as he opens the cutlery draw. They are about as in love as it is possible to be. They are all the proof I need to know that not all marriages end like my parents’. “Mike told me that you are working with Andrew,” Sarah begins a new line of questioning.

“Yeah,” I nod, gulping down a finger or two of my wine, “it was a bit of a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Do you want to eat in the living room? Or in the dining room?”

“The lounge is fine,” I smile, “thank you Sarah.”

“You are welcome,” she replies hospitably.

We each carry our plate through to the living room. Once we are all settled, Sarah continues our conversation as Mike turns on the TV and begins to scan through the channels. He stops on the BBC news and the wind is knocked out of me, because there on the screen is a picture of my boss and his girlfriend, Aurora Stone.

“That’s my boss,” I blurt out, cutting across whatever Sarah is saying about Andrew.

Mike turns up the volume. Mike is part of the reason I got an interview at TRW in the first place. Landon is a really close friend of Mike’s brother, Jack. I’m not the only one with an invested interest in the outcome of this news report. I’m shocked to hear the reporter say that Aurora’s plane has crashed. It’s difficult because I don’t even know the woman but I was talking about her just this morning. “Holy shit,” I pull out my phone and automatically send an instant message to Andrew;

Have you seen the news?

Yes. Can’t talk. Landon has gone to L.A.

I’m working with the guys at P and P to organise a press release.

His response is a surprise. It’s more than I’d expect from him. He really is dedicated to his job at TRW. In the meeting this morning with the other directors, I’d also gotten the impression that he and Landon were sort of friends.

Is there anything I can do to help?

Is there anything you need?

No. I just need you to enjoy your Christmas.

What about your Christmas? Aren’t you going to your mother’s?

I’m cross with myself as soon as I press send. I’m giving more away than I’m sure exists. He’s going to think I’m interested now.

My family will forgive me being a bit late. The circumstances are exceptional.

Will you let me know when you hear something?

I don’t know why it matters so much to me. I don’t know the woman. She’s just my boss’s girlfriend but I need to know she is okay. Landon has the potential to be the best boss I’ve ever had and I want to know he’s okay. He’s certainly better than Cathy already; he’s definitely not going to sleep with my boyfriends.

It might be late before I hear anything.

Trust Andrew to be thoughtful now, when it’s completely unnecessary.

I’ll be awake. I’m at Mike and Sarah’s. We’re wrapping presents for Amelia, their daughter.

Mike knows Landon pretty well – I’m not the only one here who will want to know.

Okay. I’ll message you as soon as I hear anything.

I’ve got to go. The guys from P and P are here.

Okay. I hope you manage to get everything done.

You and me both. X

I’m surprised by the kiss at the end of his message. I don’t know how to respond so instead I just lock my phone and turn my attention back to the TV. I take a sip of wine, “Andrew is working on a press release for the company. He says he’ll let us know as soon as he hears something.”

Mike nods his head, not taking his eyes off the screen. “They are saying that someone’s dead.”

“Aurora?” I ask

“I don’t think so,” Mike is shaking his head, “it’s not confirmed but they are saying it’s one of the pilots. Someone else is still trapped inside.”

“Shit,” I ignore my plate of food that is resting in my lap as I wait anxiously for news.

CHAPTER four: Andrew

I’m sat in the conference room at work. I’d gotten the call about the crash barely moments after I’d left the building. I hadn’t even pulled my car out of the car park. Landon’s assistant Lisa had been the one to call me, asking that I oversee the press release and potentially deal with the day to day running of TRW until Landon’s return to Britain whenever that might be. I hadn’t hesitated to say yes, even though it would mean delaying my Christmas break. As I had spoken to Lisa on the phone, I registered the look of disappointment on Maya’s face. She’s always loved Christmas, ever since she was a little girl hiding under the Christmas tree waiting to catch Santa in the act of delivering her presence. She took it to be her own personal mission to discover the identity of Santa Claus. She’d been incredibly disappointed when she had learnt at the age of eleven that Jacob and I were actually the ones depositing her presents under the tree. Not only was she disillusioned about St Nick that year, it was also the moment she realised just how disassociated our mother was. Our mother had nearly died that Christmas so the idea of not having her whole family there to celebrate Christmas is unimaginable for Maya. I’d hung up the phone and apologised, before promising that I would be there for Christmas Day.

I’ve called my brother Jacob to get him to pick up Maya and now I’m sat surrounded by a bunch of idiots from P and P International as they argue over what to tell the press as if it isn’t pretty obvious. They keep over thinking their choice of words. I’m beginning to get cross with their indecision, “it’s simple,” I tell them angrily as I write a short statement out on a piece of paper. I clear my throat and read them what I have written; “Everyone at P and P International and TRW Advertising is deeply troubled at the news of the plane crash in L.A. Landon Peters, our Managing Director, has travelled to L.A. today to be with his girlfriend, Aurora Stone and her family. We are waiting to hear confirmation as to Aurora’s medical condition. We will keep you informed and Mr Peters appreciates your support and respect of his privacy at this time.”

There is a general murmur of consent around the board room. I think more than anything they are just grateful that they are my words; they can’t be blamed if this turns into a shit storm. They all nod their head in acceptance before one of the P and P guys turns almost grey, “who is going to be our spokes person?”

“Seriously?” I’m as close to losing my cool as I’ve ever been.  How the fuck does Landon put up with these plonkers. “I’ll do it myself. Lisa, can you inform the press I’ll be ready to receive them in about half an hour?”

“Yes Mr Contius,” she smiles at me. She’ll be glad when we can get the P and P guys out of our building. I can’t really say I blame her. They are getting on my last nerve too. Not to mention my mother keeps texting me to ask why I’m running late.

“Thank you,” I smile back at her, “has Ashley gone home yet?”

“No sir,” Lisa tells me, “She was waiting to hear if you needed anything else.”

“Tell her to enjoy her vacation and to go home. Can’t have her little Jackson missing out on Christmas because his mum didn’t get home in time to wrap the presents.” My assistant Ashley, is one of the most hard working women I’ve ever known and to top it off she’s a single parent. She makes my bohemian mother seem ludicrous by comparison, the way she manages not only her career but her home life. Her organisation skills are a sight to behold whilst my mother can’t even remember my birthday. She’s a wanderer. A hopeless romantic. She’s the epitome of everything I’m not. She draws. She paints. She used to sing me to sleep. She’s the reason Jake hates the word creative. To Jake and I, to be creative is to be fickle. To be easily swayed and easily broken. But maybe that’s just mum.

“Yes  sir,” Lisa nods before leaving.

I sigh as I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and glance at the screen. Clara hasn’t replied. Perhaps the kiss was too much. I decide to send her a quick message. I don’t know why I’m doing it. It’s not like I have news for her.

Hey, we haven’t heard anything new yet.

Having a press conference in half an hour.

I consider leaving it there. I wait to see if she replies, my thumbs hovering over the screen.

Looks like I’m going to be on TV. The guys from P and P are a waste of space.

Sorry. I was wrapping a teddy bear.

Do you know how hard it is to wrap a teddy bear?

No. I have no idea.

I’m smiling now. She’s amazing; the way she can just brighten my mood with a few choice words. She doesn’t have a clue what she leaves me thinking. Just thinking about her clears my mind for what I know is coming.

Easily. If you want to do it badly.

But of course, you don’t want to do it badly.

No. So for me it’s a bloody difficult task.

You haven’t heard anything yet?

No. I wish I had.

Do you think the fact we haven’t heard anything is bad news?

I hope not. I really hope not.

In fairness, Landon will still be in the air.

It’s a long flight to L.A. even by private jet.

The news hasn’t said anything new for ages. One dead. One still trapped.

Yeah. That’s all we know too.

No names or anything.

One of the P and P guys taps me on the shoulder, “it’s time.”

It’s time for the press conference. Wish me luck.

You don’t need luck. The camera loves you. X

Her kind response amazes me. I hadn’t expected that. I had thought she’d consider me vain for worrying about what people might think. Not to mention the fact that she gave me a kiss. That kiss almost cleared all the clouds in my sky.

Thank you, Clara. X

Just as I’m wrapping up the press conference things turn manic. The press are all talking amongst themselves before one of them turns to me, “do you have a TV?”

“Sure,” I’m surprised by their behaviour, “in the next room.”

The press start barging through but the one who had spoken to me turns and says, “You’ll want to see this.”

I follow the hoards of press into Landon’s office. One of them has turned Landon’s TV on and the headline automatically catches my attention, Plane Alight – Publishing Heiress Pulled Out Just In Time. I automatically pull out my phone. I want to call Clara but I don’t have her number. “Lisa!” I shout out.

She pops her head through the door and takes in the sight of all the reporters and what is on the screen in front of us all. “Can you get me a contact number for Clara Delos, please?” I ask her.

“Yes sir,” she rushes back out of the office. She isn’t gone long. In less than a minute she is stood in front of me with a memo sticker. There is a mobile number written on it in rushed biro.

“Thank you, Lisa,” I look at the fifty something year old woman, “if you want to go home and rest you can, you know.”

“No.” Her voice is clear and resolved. “I will stay until I know that Aurora is okay; until I know Landon is okay.” She is a very maternal woman and she’s incredibly protective of Landon. She’s been his assistant since his very first day in the TRW building. She’s been with him since day one.

I nod before walking back into the conference room. I dial the number that Lisa has given me and wait patiently as it rings. It barely rings twice before she answers, “Clara Delos.”

“Clara,” I sigh. The sound of her voice is soothing. All the tension that hasn’t left my body for hours seems to just wash away and my mind clears of the fog that had filled it seconds ago.

“Have you heard anything?” she sounds anxious.

“Only what is on the news,” I tell her, “there was an explosion and they got Aurora out just in time.”

Her breathing is harsh down the line of the phone, “Landon is still in the air?”

“Yeah... will you distract me for a little while?” I sound harsh. I don’t know why I’m asking her for a favour. She doesn’t owe me anything and we’re certainly not friends but she’s the person I need right now.

“How?”

“Just talk,” I suggest.

“About what?” she sounds unsure.

“Anything... your plans for Christmas...”

“Erm... I’m planning on going to visit my father.”

“What about your mother?” I ask gently.

Her tone is soft, “she’s not around. Hasn’t been for years.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her honestly. I hadn’t heard that. Over the years I’d listened closely to even the smallest snippet of information about her life that our mutual friends disclosed and yet there is so much I don’t know. So much I’ve missed.

“No. She’s not the sort of mum you miss so don’t be sorry.” That’s a sad sentence to hear and it leaves me with more questions than answers.

“I’m still sorry. You have siblings right?”

“Yes...”

I don’t let her continue. I want to prove to her that I pay attention. That I know at least something about her life. “Two brothers – Luca and Gabriel.”

“Yes...”

“They are both older than you.”

“Yeah,” her word is barely a whisper. I’m hoping I’ve surprised her.

“Why didn’t they ever beat me up for teasing you?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. I deserved at least a punch for what I’d done to her.

“Gabriel is eight years older than me and had left home by the time you started bullying me and Luca wasn’t interest... he was more interested in girls.”

I laugh but it’s almost a sad laugh because I know that if anyone had treated my sister the way I treated Clara growing up I would have done everything in my power to destroy them. “Bullying seems like a strong word... I prefer teasing...”

“Teasing?” I can’t tell if she’s angry again or laughing. I hold my breath.

“Teasing... bullying... either way, you were mean.”

“Yeah; I was. I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. It’s the most clarifying truth my heart has ever known. I’m sorry.

“I know.” It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even acceptance. It’s just awareness but I’m amazed by my reaction to it. It’s like there is a lion inside my chest, roaring in arrogant smugness at her awareness of me. Hoping that awareness can be a precursor to something more. I’m probably deluded but I feel a bubble of hope. It’s small but that doesn’t make it any less real. For the first time since she came back into my life I think I might be able to win her over.

“How long do you think it will be before we hear anything?” she’s asking.

I wish I could give her a definitive answer but I can’t, “I have no idea.”

“Poor Landon.”

I nod my head and sigh before replying, “yeah...” I really have nothing to say. I can’t imagine what Landon is going through.

“I better go,” she sighs quietly, “I’m still at Mike and Sarah’s...”

“Yeah. Wish them a Merry Christmas for me, would you?”

“Sure.”

“Merry Christmas Clara.”

“Merry Christmas Andrew.”

“Come on Andrew,” Maya is smirking at me, “get off your phone.”

“Yeah little brother! It’s Christmas Day!” Jacob laughs as he goes to grab my phone.

I pull it away just in time. Mother looks at me with concern. She’s wearing a flowing patterned skirt and a jumper. She’s bare foot and carrying a tray of roast potatoes through from the kitchen. “Maya, Jacob leave your brother alone.”

“Do you need some help mum?” I ask, putting my phone down. Aurora is okay. She’s been out of theatre for a while now but she’s still asleep. Landon has decided to stay in L.A. until Aurora is well enough to come back to England. He’s asked me to watch over TRW and my phone is a constant buzz of messages from all the other directors asking after Aurora and Landon.

“Oh no darling,” she shakes her head, “It’s all ready.” I love my mum. She’s amazing. She’s goodness personified but she’s also weak. She’s fragile. I spent most of my childhood trying to protect her. Protect her mostly from herself. She’s never been scared to love, but that love that she always gave so freely was never freely returned. My father might have been the only man to ever truly love her but he had died. He’d left her. Left her broken and incomplete. She’d tried to heal herself, mend her broken heart. She’d started hobbies; one after another they all proved incapable of filling the void. As lonely as she always had been, she’d never been alone. She’s had more great loves than I can count but each and every one of them took something away from her until she was just the shell of the woman she once was. I take in the sight of her. She’s thinner than last time I saw her. She looks tired. I wonder if she’s been sleeping. Christmas is always a difficult time for her. Dad died on Christmas Day fourteen years ago. It’s never been an easy time of year for our family. My mother usually spends most of it crying or in her bed, whilst we all try desperately to distract her. I remember a time when it was different. It’s a distant memory. I’m not even sure it’s real or if I’ve just made it up in the back of my mind. But things used to be different. Christmas used to be different. The house would smell like mulled wine and cinnamon. Mum loves cinnamon. We’d always have the biggest tree and a ridiculous number of perfectly wrapped presents under it. But then dad had died, he’d had a heart attack on Christmas morning and after that mum always forgot to get a tree. The first Christmas that followed we didn’t have a tree or presents. Mum spent the whole of two week vacation in bed. After that Jacob started buying the presents. He would save up his allowance all year so that we could have presents even if we didn’t have a tree. I wasn’t much younger than him, barely three years, and so I’d cottoned on quickly and together we acted as Santa for the Contius household. It wasn’t until I was sixteen, four years after my father died that our mother tried to take her own life. Jacob and I were downstairs, it was the middle of the night and I think she thought we were all asleep, but Jacob and I were wrapping presents. Maya had crept down the stairs in search of Santa. We hadn’t heard her. She was so small and quiet, amazingly stealthy for a eleven year old. When she saw us, she cried out in shock. She’d had no idea there was no such thing as Santa. Before waiting for an explanation, she’d ran up the stairs and into our mother’s room. That’s when she found her lying unconscious surrounded by her own blood. I can still recall the sound of her blood curdling scream as I ran up the stairs after her.