The Braille Club (The Braille Club #1) (12 page)

Chapter 22

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Bonded Zone XY and XY; Patrons and Assignees have no such indecision; they know each other and what is expected of them. The testosterone charged air is expectant as if their pride, as well as their pleasure, is at stake. Flexing their muscles, Patrons move into position, and in this zone everything is hard and taut.

Siena, 16 years old

The weeks following the loss of Leo were the worst I’d ever experienced. My mother, driven crazy with grief, blamed first my dad for denying her those last precious moments with Leo, and then me. She berated us both for this lost time. I could only say sorry, my guilt and pain unbearable.

The funeral was for close family only. My father held the tiny coffin in his arms; the last time he would carry his son. My mother clung to him while I stood alone, my face contorted with grief, sadness making my shoulders shake as my sobs echoed through the small chapel. Then we travelled to the graveyard. Leo would be put to rest in the family plot reserved for my parents. My mother finally lost all remnants of control as her son was lowered into the ground. She collapsed as my dad and grandfather rushed to support her. They carried her to a waiting car. The remaining mourners dispersed and gathered at my parents’ home.

My grandparents took over, seeing people had something to eat and drink; I just wanted them gone. After what seemed like hours, at last the house emptied. Crawling to bed that night, I was wide awake, utterly shattered but unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Leo’s face, his tiny body wrapped in a blanket. I remembered his warmth and sweet, sweet baby smell and my eyes would fly open. The tears would start, my grief all-consuming, as I wished it had been me. I would have gladly given up my life for him, ten days old and already he owned my heart; his eyes had seemed to look right at me when I spoke to him.

My mother was drugged up to the eyeballs and felt nothing; I envied her. My father fussed around her, desperate to make amends for that night. He admitted Leo had been restless, that the doctors were concerned, but he’d tried to stay positive. He’d been appalled he’d fallen asleep in the chair. The nurses, seeing Leo’s condition worsening, had gently woken him around the time my mother and I had arrived at the unit. Everything had happened so quickly, but that was often the way with premature babies. Infection was the biggest killer, their underdeveloped immune system was unable to respond to the threat. It had killed Leo in a matter of hours; ravaged his tiny body even with the antibiotics. The doctors had been powerless, unable to save him, and he just seemed to slip away. They said they’d done everything medically possible, but still it wasn’t enough.

When I did fall asleep, it was to be tortured by nightmares; I was holding Leo and he would open his eyes and smile at me. That’s when I would wake up with a jolt, my heart racing with hope only to realise, of course, he was still very much dead. As clichéd as it was, I started drinking, anything to dull the pain. My life at school turned to shit; I went from hero to zero. Over the last few months, I’d excluded all my friends, and I hadn’t been nice about it, either. My grades started to tumble, but I didn’t care, and my parents didn’t seem to, either.

Surprisingly, my mother seemed to be making progress. I could detect slight responses from her beneath her fog of drugs. I still envied her; my pain worse than ever. No one understood. Subconsciously I realised on the surface I appeared fine, but I’d stopped eating; what was the point? I disguised my bony frame in baggy clothes, but it was taking too long.

I decided killing myself was the only way to escape my grief. Once I stumbled onto this path, I knew it would be my salvation. I berated myself for not choosing it sooner, it was so obvious. How had I missed it? The perfect day arrived; my chance to be alone. My parents were finally going out, and it was the housekeeper’s day off. My mother had asked me to call a friend and I had agreed. I’d no intention of doing it, but knew she would feel happier if I had company. She’d checked her watch anxiously as I told her to go, explaining my friend had texted to say she’d be late. Reluctantly, she joined my father in the car, and I waved them off with a huge smile on my face. It wasn’t an act; I was happy, happy that after today I would be gone.

I took the vodka and Coke upstairs to my room, along with a knife and pills. I used alcohol to get me to sleep. Sometimes it worked, and I would manage the odd five hours completely blacked out. But other times it made me sick, and I really had to force it down. I’d put my father’s big jumper on; it hung around me like a tent, but I felt he was closer to me. I missed him; he had taken a lot of time off after Leo and his business had suffered as a result. He was never around now, except to drive my mother to her therapy sessions, and have dinner with her on the nights she was awake—not comatose with sleeping pills.

He worked from home at the weekends as well, closing his study door while I stayed in my room, my own private cell. Pouring myself a generous measure of vodka, I topped it up with Coke and started to drink. Warmth began to spread through me, and suddenly I felt tired. Everything was foggy; I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten. Our housekeeper would leave dinner for me in the microwave or the fridge. I would often just put the food onto my father’s plate, putting my empty one in the dishwasher; it was quite easy. He never noticed or commented on these huge portions. To be honest, I don’t think he was eating, either. Like me, his clothes hung on him, his body thin and gaunt, the lines of his face etched with sadness.

I filled up my glass again, surprised I had finished it so quickly; this was going better than I’d hoped. Propped up in bed, I popped the pills I had been collecting from all around the house and sipped the vodka. I was starting to feel very drunk as I picked up the knife and looked at my wrist. I quickly drew the blade hard across my skin. It hurt, and it stung like crazy. Crying, I gulped down my drink and dropped the knife. I was bleeding all over the bed, I thought vaguely, as the tiredness seemed to overpower me and then nothing; I blacked out.

It was my mother’s screaming that woke me, my father’s arms lifting me and then the slamming of doors, movement, my mother sobbing; then the blackness. The voices were annoying and insistent.

“Siena, can you hear me? Siena, what have you taken? Can you tell us?”

The voice was relentless, it was playing on a constant loop in my head, but I couldn’t speak. My mother had scooped up my pill stash, giving the doctors all the packets including the empty ones.

Having your stomach pumped is hideous; I don’t ever want to repeat that experience! My fatigue had saved me apparently; I had blacked out before I could consume the necessary amount of pills required to end my life. I was put straight into therapy and barely saw my parents; I hated it. It appeared my type 2 diabetes hadn’t liked what I’d done to my body, either. It had been picked up by our paediatrician when I was ten. I was overweight. I used food as my comfort blanket. Although it had been a shock, he assured us it was completely manageable through diet, and it had been, up until Leo’s death. Not anymore; my diabetes had escalated. Lack of food in combination with alcohol and sugary drinks was responsible. I would live with the consequences for the rest of my life. The doctors were brutal, pull a stunt like that again and I would die; no question. Everything I’d been experiencing; the tiredness, the thirst, the fog, was my body shouting for help, and I had missed all its cries. My parents, deeply shocked, signed my care over to Nick Waters; I was sixteen years old and deeply troubled.

Chapter 23

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Patrons have four sensory devices at their disposal; The Wand, The Lapel, The Belt and The Braille Chair. The sensory suit was central to them all. It magnetically connected to the devices, causing the fabric to indent, giving the wearer the sensation of touch all over their bodies, in the most intimate and sensitive areas, without the Patron ever touching them.

London, 2012

Benedict

Benedict paced up and down his office, listening to Matt on the phone. Siena’s husband had called him; in fact, Matt said he’d mentioned ringing Benedict’s mobile several times too. Benedict remembered the unknown number now; he hadn’t answered it because he was driving. He had clicked off his Bluetooth to save battery and had forgotten to switch it back on, meaning his hands free function didn’t work.

“What did he want?” Benedict asked.

“Information, I guess,” said Matt. “Look, Ben, I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”

“What did you tell him?” Benedict asked coolly.

“Just that Siena had invited us to dinner; I went alone because you were unwell. That I’d left with the others around eleven, and I was sorry to hear she was in hospital.”

“Did he believe you?” Benedict asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Matt paused…“well, even if he didn’t, it’s the truth.”

Benedict breathed out; he must speak with Siena. Just like that, his office phone started to ring.

“Okay, Matt, thanks for letting me know. I’ve got to go,” said Benedict, ending the call.

“No prob; speak soon,” said Matt, but Benedict had already hung up. His phone rang again.

“I have a Mr. Waters on line three; are you free at the moment?” asked his secretary, sounding annoyed. “He’s quite insistent he speak with you.”

“Can you take his number, Trish? I’m still playing catch up. I’ll call him when I’m done,” said Benedict, his voice calmer than he felt.

Trish hesitated; she had already told Mr. Waters this fact. It was Benedict’s routine after he’d been absent to spend the first couple of hours dealing with emails, post, and phone calls until he was up to speed.

“Right, I’ll tell him,” she sighed, sensing a battle. She was right. Mr. Waters would not take no for an answer and insisted he was happy to hold for as long as it took. It was almost an hour later an exasperated Trish buzzed Benedict to tell him that Mr. Waters was
still
holding.

Surprised and annoyed, Benedict took a moment to compose himself before picking up the receiver.

“Benedict Harrison.” There was a long pause, he could hear someone breathing and then the line went dead.

That was the second time that bastard had hung up on him. He buzzed Trish.

“Could you get Mr. Waters back on the line? I seem to have lost him.”

Trish hesitated again. “I’m sorry, Benedict, but Mr. Waters did not leave his number.”

Benedict knew this before Trish even said it. It was like he’d only wanted to hear his voice…of course, the phone call; how could he have forgotten? Mr. Waters appeared to be calling everyone, trying to identify the voice he had spoken to over the phone the night Siena had collapsed. That’s why he had called Matt. Little beads of sweat popped onto Benedict’s forehead; he desperately wanted to speak with Siena. He did feel a little guilty, but as he hadn’t known Siena was married, he also felt angry. He knew he should forget about her and either give up the project, or assign someone else to manage it. He picked up the phone and asked Trish to bring him all the files for Villa Negra. She arrived five minutes later with the files in one hand and a coffee in the other, and he smiled at her gratefully.

“Sorry about earlier,” she said. “What a rude man.”

Benedict scrutinised her; Trish did not ruffle easily. He had not employed her for her looks but for her ability to handle even the toughest situations with a calm and reassuring manner. Thanking her for the coffee and putting her at ease about the call, he opened the file. Firing up his computer, he began to search for information about Nick Waters. It was proving difficult, as he had never met him and didn’t know what he looked like. Frustrated, he decided to change his search to Siena and…bingo! She was an heiress to the Green fortune, and there she was, pictured with her arms around Nick Waters. Benedict spent the next hour reading everything he could find on the couple. He suddenly realised he would probably have Siena’s contact number. He rifled through the papers until he found it and her address; it was here in London.

Picking up the phone, he punched in the number and held his breath, he heard it connecting, and the phone started to ring.

Chapter 24

THE BRAILLE CLUB

Braille Club, London, Present Day: Patrons lift and fit the devices either over or around the bodies of Assignees. They look at the centre of the room, where the Braille clock continues to count down; when it reaches zero, sixty minutes flashes three times. Patrons and Assignees alike should be ready as the clock starts to tick ominously. All the patrons move to their controls, flicking on the switch as the clock starts to count time.

London, 2012

Siena

Siena arrived home late last night, and still felt exhausted. Nick had packed everything from the villa. She worried that Benedict may have left something behind, but thankfully he hadn’t. The villa had been cleaned, and the bed remade. She heard the phone ringing, but didn’t get to it in time before her answer machine picked it up. She examined the screen, but all it said was private number and she dropped it back on her desk and sighed. Everything was such a mess; away from Marbella in the cold, harsh reality of her life in London she couldn’t believe she’d been such a fool. Nick had been relentless with his questioning, repeatedly asking over and over who had found her and who had called him. She had no answers to give him; well not unless she wanted to end her marriage spectacularly. Married for nearly ten years now, Villa Negra was their anniversary present to each other.

A memory of Benedict flashed through her mind, his mesmerizing eyes as he bent his head to kiss her, and her pulse quickened.

She had not fallen for Nick straight away. In fact, she’d positively hated him in the beginning. She’d refused to take his recommended medication or to answer his probing questions, but she began to realise Nick was determined. He did not give up or give in to her, and eventually, tired of the constant battling, she started to open up. By taking the medication, she had hoped to zone out, but instead began to feel calmer and more relaxed. Siena desperately wanted to go home, but knew she still wasn’t well enough. She attended grief counselling twice a week with her parents as they worked through their shattered emotions. The first time she had been so ashamed, cringing at how her little stunt had hurt them. But they had no recriminations, they just held her; she may be broken, but she was their only child, and they loved her.

Together they started to rebuild their lives. Siena became their focus again and Leo, never forgotten, reminded them that Siena was alive and needed them. By eighteen, she had grown into a stunning woman and was head over heels in love with Nick Waters. Carl Green had been opposed to Siena dating Nick, who was some fifteen years older than his daughter, and he didn’t trust him. On the other hand, she was no longer his patient and Siena was outrageously happy when she was with him, even Carl could see that. He’d drawn up a complicated and watertight trust fund for Siena, his biggest fear was her being used to get to his money, and he didn’t want his daughter to be vulnerable to those predators.

Siena lost some education time through her illness but she’d always been a bright student; she not only caught up but went on to qualify in accountancy. At the age of twenty, she’d married Nick, much to her parents’ dismay, her father furious with her, thinking she was too young for marriage. But Siena had learned a lot over the last few years. Unbeknown to her father, she’d drawn up a prenuptial agreement. She used Nick’s tactics; she didn’t give in, and she didn’t give up; she would only marry him if he signed.

Nick eventually did, as the terms were both fair and extremely generous. He’d not only look a fool if he didn’t, but sensed he might lose Siena, and that would be unthinkable. Nick suggested the small wedding be held at her parents’ home, and it had been beautiful, exactly what they’d both wanted. Their honeymoon was spent exploring Spain. That’s what Siena loved about Nick; he didn’t do the usual. Sceptical at first, she’d quickly fallen in love with the country; their culture and passion for life were new and exotic to her.

Benedict flashed through her mind again; the way he’d stood there and undressed her, his touch burning her flesh. She shivered, had she ever experienced that with Nick? They’d decided at the beginning they did not want children. Haunted by her past and Leo, Siena knew she could not go through that again. This arrangement suited Nick, who had no desire to share Siena with a demanding child. He saw enough messed up kids through his job as a psychologist to convince himself that children were a no go.

Siena joined her father’s firm, starting at the bottom in the accounts department. She loved it, and was popular amongst her colleagues. Using her married name gave her a little anonymity, and she flourished. Nick decided it was time to go into private practice, and they both spent the next ten years building their careers. Those years were happy and full of excitement.

Through Nick’s introduction, Siena experienced those special parties in Spain. She couldn’t really explain why they fascinated her, but she felt she needed to experience a deeper level of feeling, which she did at the parties. It wasn’t that Nick wasn’t a good lover; he was, but after the parties their connection became more intense, making Siena more alive. But Nick wasn’t aware she had attended one party without him. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it. She’d become friendly with one of the other patients during her time in therapy, and they had exchanged numbers. They were roughly the same age and both came from wealthy backgrounds. Her friend was English, outrageous, and made Siena laugh till her stomach ached. They met up for a long weekend in Marbella. Emboldened by her friend and trying to impress her, she took her to an impromptu party, the only thing she’d kept hidden from Nick.

He hadn’t encouraged the friendship, but couldn’t say no to Siena meeting up with her friend once or twice a year. One of those times had brought her into contact with Benedict, so young and angry, she had never forgotten him.

When her father decided to sell his company, Siena knew it was the right decision. Ten years of hard work had seen her promoted through the company ranks until she held the title of financial director and her father’s second-in-command. She’d been instrumental in brokering the best deal possible for her father. The company sold for a record sum, and she won the respect of all those involved. Flattered to receive a job offer to remain in her role, she’d given it serious consideration, but Nick was hinting about a new clinic. She mentioned London, and he agreed. His business had gone from strength to strength, and now this new venture seemed the perfect excuse for them to travel and spend time together setting it up. He left his Malibu practice in the capable hands of his partner, who consented to his absence while he opened a new practice abroad.

Siena had never wanted to be involved in Nick’s business, but she was content to scout for locations with him. She oversaw some of the financial aspects, but was more than happy to hand it over to his competent team. She eventually turned down the job with her father’s company, feeling she should move on. They told her she would always have a job with them should she reconsider, but for her, the timing was wrong.

One of her contacts called about a property just on the market in an exclusive location, sadly a repossession, but as soon as she saw it she knew it was perfect. Nick had his new project, and now she had hers. Recently though, she sensed something was missing in her life. Thirty this year, her mind kept wondering about kids. Was her biological clock on overdrive? She’d taken lots of risks with Nick during their marriage, but had never fallen pregnant, so why the tinge of regret lately?

She had told her parents there would be no children, and they had accepted this and her reasons with quiet disappointment.

Her phone started to ring again and this time she answered it.

“Can I speak with Mrs. Waters?” said Benedict coolly and her heart began to race. So he knew…

Taking a deep breath, she replied “Benedict, it’s Siena. We need to talk.” She sensed his hesitation, his reluctance, but most of all his anger.

“Yes, I’m just calling to say under the circumstances I can no longer work on the villa,” his voice was cold.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” replied Siena just as coolly. “I would be grateful if you could confirm this in writing and if you could recommend a suitable replacement.”

Caught off guard, Benedict was silent for a moment.

“Yes, of course. My colleague James would be suitable, or if you prefer I can recommend several other firms.”

“No, James sounds fine.” She hesitated before saying in a softer voice, “I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me.”

“Siena, I got you to the hospital that night, do you not think I deserve an explanation?” Benedict exclaimed.

“Yes…” her voice trailed off, and she jumped when she saw Nick standing in the doorway. “I’m afraid now’s not a good time; I’m just home, can I get back to you?”

Benedict heard the change in her tone; she sounded anxious, like someone had walked in on her.

“Of course, you have my number,” he replied and ended the call.

“Who was that?” Nick’s voice whined.

“God, I wish you wouldn’t creep up on me,” Siena said, annoyed.

Nick stood in front of her and repeated his question.

“I asked you who that was.”

“Our architects,” said Siena, annoyance in her voice.

“You know I spoke to the hospital, and they said a man accompanied you in the ambulance, Siena. Who was it?”

“For God’s sake, Nick, for the hundredth time I don’t remember. Will you stop this constant interrogation?”

“Please don’t raise your voice,” he said calmly, and Siena immediately wanted to scream.

“I’m anxious to thank this hero of yours; he was in the right place at the right time, such a coincidence. He saved your life, after all. Why wouldn’t I want to speak with this mystery man?” he said calmly but Siena knew Nick was angry.

“Nick, please, we have been over this,” Siena sighed.

“Was it Mr. Harrison you spoke to?” asked Nick, changing the subject.

Alarmed, Siena tried to remain unaffected as Nick observed her closely, his psychologist’s eyes searching for those tell-tale signs Siena knew only too well. It’s how he determined someone was lying.

He would establish a line of questions to build-up a patient’s trust, noting their eye movements, asking their name, age, etcetera, building up a rapport, watching their eyes slide to the left as they answered these basic facts. When his questions became more probing, he would often see his patient’s eyes slide down and to the right, a direct indicator of a lie. He would quietly note these down before moving on to the next question. He would then return to all the questions he decided were lies and try to establish the truth. It was his job, and he was very good at it.

“Yes,” Siena whispered.

Her mind went into free fall and then the phone started to ring again. She saw it was a private number, and her heart almost stopped. Nick snatched it up and answered it.

“Yes,” he barked.

“Can I speak with Mrs. Waters?” Benedict asked, his voice firm.

“I’m sorry, she’s not available,” snarled Nick.

“Is that Mr. Waters?” Benedict persisted.

When Benedict didn’t get a denial, he plunged ahead.

“Mr. Waters, I think we were cut off yesterday; I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“Really,” said Nick sarcastically. Benedict ignored the barb.

“Yes, I do apologise; I told my secretary to hold all calls, things were a bit backed up, and I didn’t realise you were still on the line.”

“I found your wife unconscious; we had an early breakfast meeting that day. Siena had invited me to a meeting the previous evening, but I was unwell, so I re-scheduled. I knocked and got no reply, so I looked through the side window and saw her lying in the hall. Fortunately, the door was unlocked.” Benedict’s lies sounded convincing, and Nick was beginning to relax as he pictured the scene.

“It was pure chance I spotted her bracelet,” said Benedict, which was the truth. “I’ve had some experience with diabetics in my family.”

“Yes, I kept telling Siena that charm bracelet wasn’t obvious enough, that more traditional medical bracelets would do a better job,” said Nick, his voice calmer.

“I went with her in the ambulance and well, you know the rest,” finished Benedict.

“Yes, yes,” replied Nick. “That all makes sense, Mr. Harrison; I can’t thank you enough for helping my wife.”

“I was glad I was there to help,” he said quietly.

“Look, I’d like to take you to dinner…as a thank you,” Nick said.

“Mr. Waters, I don’t really do dinner and I feel bad for turning you down under the circumstances, but I won’t change my mind. Your thanks are enough. Now I must get back; I have a busy day, I’m afraid. If you have any queries regarding the villa, please don’t hesitate to call, goodbye.”

Siena had been hovering nervously throughout the entire conversation and could tell from Nick’s voice that Benedict had put his mind at rest, but she had no idea how.

“Why didn’t you say you had a breakfast meeting with Mr. Harrison,” Nick demanded.