TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (31 page)

exasperation and moves over to the window to reminisce alone.

“Oh, that’s not true. I let you think it was but you always had a special place in my heart.”

Ayden is touched by her words and turns to face us, positioning himself on the edge of the desk.

He’s happy to watch us together. I wonder if I’m the only lover she has met? Continuing to make a

fuss she takes me by the hand and sits me down on the small sofa with her.

“Now, tell me about yourself Elizabeth. What do you do?”

“I’m an English teacher …”

She is quick to interrupt. “… Did you hear that Saphir? She’s a teacher. She won’t take any of your

Tom Foolery.” She makes us both laugh with her antiquated turn of phrase. “You must have so much

in common. Has Saphir told you how he used to steal books from the library? He didn’t realise you

could borrow them. He’d sneak them out and sneak them back again hoping no-one would notice.”

Ayden comes to his own defence. “I knew you could take them out, I just didn’t want the other boys

to know I was doing it.” He shrugs his shoulders and readies himself for her next disclosure.

“I believe that’s why he got into so much trouble, so he could spend time in the library reading.

Isn’t that so?” She looks to him for an admission.

“You got me there.”

Her attention shifts to me. “And you Elizabeth, are you planning to continue teaching once you are

married or do you want to start a family quickly?”

How does she know we’re engaged?

“Whoa! Hold your horses Winnie. Beth’s not even tried on a wedding dress yet.”

I explain softly. “I’m not sure. That’s something we’ll need to sit down and talk about.”

“Of course it is. But such a beautiful couple should have a family of their own.” She slaps her hands

on her chubby thigh. “Listen to me, telling you two what to do. Anyway Saphir what brings you to

Bright Hill? Checking up on us are you?”

Ayden explains. “No. We were in the area. I introduced Beth to Sylvia and Patrick.”

She turns to me. “Just listen to him using their names. He always was a stubborn little boy.” She

tuts disapprovingly, forcing Ayden to look away, boy again, chastised. “Do you know there was a time

when he was so determined to prove another boy wrong that he nearly drowned.”

“Drowned?”

“Yes, remember?” She turns to Ayden who can do no more than roll his eyes; he’s heard this story

before. “A simple swimming lesson and he said he could hold his breath the longest and – what did he

do – remained underwater for so long that he had to be resuscitated.” She glares and waggles her

finger at him. “I said that he’d either be a brawler or a business man. I’m so glad he made the right

choice.”

“So am I.” I look over to Ayden lovingly, sensing an imminent departure.

He rattles his car keys. “Anyway, I think we’ve heard enough about Saphir for one day. You must

have better things to do than sit here ruminating over my transgressions?”

Winnie purses her lips. “Listen to him and his clever words. All those books must have gone to his

head.” She claps her hands together in gleeful recognition of his advancement. “He’s done so well.”

She inclines her face to mine. “He hates being talked about, likes to think that his life began the day he

left here. He doesn’t realise that we are all products of our past.”

He calls out from across the room. “I can hear you …”

She grasps my hands firmly, preparing to share a confidence or solicit one from me. I look into her

warm, chocolate coloured eyes and read her thoughts. “Yes.” I answer. “I do, with all my heart.”

I feel her hand against my cheek. “Good. That’s all I need to know.” She stands and organises her

full skirt. “I can’t be sitting around here all day chatting with you young lovers.” Once again, she

opens her arms to Ayden and he comes to her willingly. “Come here.” They hug each other and, like

me, she is overcome with emotion; it’s building and bubbling under the surface, we’re fighting to hold

it back.

“You were always my favourite Saphir and you’ll always be my beautiful boy,” she declares for the

world to hear.

Ayden looks down at her with so much love that merely witnessing it makes my chest hurt. “I know

Winnie. And you were always mine. Thank you.” He kisses her forehead softly, reverently.

She takes a handkerchief from her sleeve and wipes her nose. “Oh listen to him, using his charm

again.” She looks up to him glossy eyed and caresses his cheek. “At last! You’ve found her Saphir,”

she states.

“I have.”

I know they’re talking about me and I couldn’t care less. I’m happy to be on the outside looking in

on this tender moment.

“I’m so proud of you. You have a good heart, always did and always will. You do so much for us

for so little in return.”

Ayden’s mouth forms into a flat smile. “You can’t put a price on a life Winnie, and you gave me

that.” He takes a step backwards. “Besides, it’s all tax deductible.” His roguish grin melts her heart.

She throws her hands up in the air. “Oh, Elizabeth! What are we going to do with him?”

I stand and move over to them both. “I’ll think of something.” I cannot conceal my pleasure.

Simply witnessing this affectionate display has made my day.

With a swish of her skirt she’s gone, hot footing it across the office and out onto the landing, not

needing to turn back. Her work here is done.

When I turn to Ayden he’s still caught up in his memories. It seems a shame to shatter them. I go

back to my place on the sofa and sit waiting patiently for him to return to the present. I don’t have to

wait long.

“Shall we go?”

We make our way out of the building towards the gate, hand in hand. “Do you pay for the upkeep of

this place?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Yes?” He reaches for the exit button and the gate clicks open.

“That’s a lot of money.”

He clicks it shut, leaving his past behind him; locked away from prying eyes. “Like I said it’s tax

…”

“… Deductible,” I interject. “Yes, I heard. And what about the computers, and the paints, and the

playground out back? Is that tax deductible too?”

“I’m not sure about the playground,” he says smugly. “You’d have to have a word with my accounts

department about that. Should I get them on the phone now for you? I’m sure they could clear up any

queries you have about Capital Allowances and Corporation Tax, donation to charities and that sort of

thing.” He actually has his phone out and is pretending to scroll through his numbers.

“No. Don’t bother. I don’t have the stamina to face another chapter.” I give him a wry smile and

reach for the door handle.

“Thank God. Neither can I.” He starts up the engine and reverses out of the cul-de-sac, punching my

address into the Sat Nav before picking up speed:

75 miles
-
one hour fifty minutes.

A couple of miles into the journey, Ayden speaks first. “Do you want to ask me anything?”

I rest my hand onto his on the gear stick. “No. I’m just thinking about things.”

“And …?”

“And …” I turn side-on. “Thank you Ayden.”

He reaches over, pulls me to him and kisses my hair, leaving his hand on the back of my neck,

under my hair line. It feels good to be touched affectionately. “You’re welcome,” he whispers. He

retrieves his hand and hits warp factor eight. In less than six seconds we’re soaring through traffic and

low flying on the M25 homeward bound.

Leaving the other cars for dead, he presses a number into his iPhone slotted into the dash and clears

his throat preparing to speak.

“Mr. Stone,” Lester answers on the third ring.

“Lester. Beth and I are on our way back to her apartment, and I need you to pick up something for

us to eat when we get back.”

“Of course.”

“Ring ahead and ask Georgio to prepare the usual for two. Just tell him it’s for me and he’ll have it

waiting for you.”

“And wine?”

“Order a bottle of Montellori Chianti 2002. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“I’ll get right on it Mr. Stone. What time will you be arriving?”

“In one hour forty, give or take a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll make sure everything’s ready… and Mr. Stone…”

“Yes, Lester?”

“Everything else you requested has been arranged at Miss Parker’s apartment.”

“Good. Hold on there until we arrive.” He clicks off the button and settles himself into the seat

“Who’s Giorgio?” I ask curiously.

“He’s the owner of Piccola Italia in the city. I order my food from there if I can’t get into the

restaurant. I hope you’re hungry because the food is second to none.”

“I could eat something.”

“Good. You won’t be disappointed.”

I move on to a more pressing question. “And what are the other things you requested for my

apartment?”

He squeezes my knee softly. “Nothing much … you’ll see.”

I’m sure I will …

I scroll through my iPod and select an appropriate tune. Ellie Golding sings
Lights
and I watch

darkness fall; the headlights of the cars on the opposite side of the motorway are merging onto streaks

of white lightening and our dashboard is illuminated, creating a soft glow throughout our private cock

pit. I slide my hand up over his bicep and across his shoulder, until it comes to rest in his hair. The

dark curls fold over my fingers and the heat from his skin warms my hand. I can’t stop looking at his

sculptured profile.

He feels my eyes on him. “Assessing again Miss Parker?”

“No. Enjoying Mr. Stone,” I reply. “Always enjoying.”

For a split second, our eyes meet in the twilight shadows before returning to the road ahead. I tear

myself away and sing along …

13

Dan
pushes open the bright red door and some kind of buzzer sounds in a back room. The sign

above the counter reads: THE INK SPOT. He’s come to the right place.

On every wall are pictures in frames, photographs, illustrations and hand drawn sketches of tattoos.

Some are delicate, insignificant; others are brash, statement pieces that shout out ‘look at me.’

The love of his life has already made her mark on him; the scar on the top of his left hand is now

the colour of crushed blueberries. It’s about an inch and a half long and tattered on all sides. It’s a

permanent reminder of how close he came and of how far away she still seems. He wants to keep her

close; to make it personal, permanent. What he needs is her name tattooed across his heart as a

constant reminder of what she means to him. When their time comes, he’ll remove his shirt and she’ll

see. She’ll know she’s his.

A young man with artistic tendencies greets him, outstretches his gloved hand. “Alright? What can

I do for you mate?”

You can stop calling me that for starters…

“Yeah. I want my girlfriend’s name tattooed here.” Dan taps the left side of his chest.

“Sure. I can do that.” He points to an old wooden chair alongside a small desk. “Going to be a

permanent fixture, is she?”

You what?

Dan screws up his face in disgust.

“I…I mean, do you plan on being with her a long time? I’m only asking because they’re there for

good, you know?” He taps his forefinger on his arm, drawing Dan’s eye to the dragon’s tail wrapping

itself around his wrist.

“I know that.” Dan begins to unbutton his shirt, unselfconsciously. “It’s not like I haven’t had one

before.” He throws his shirt onto the back of the chair and turns around, slowly.

“Fuck me!” The artist leans in and follows the lines of colour on Dan’s back. He traces the outline

of a young woman’s face; her chestnut coloured locks, her smile. He notices how each letter has been

lovingly etched into skin in a gothic style.

“So who’s Saint Frances?” he asks light-heartedly.

“She’s not a fucking saint,” Dan snaps. “She’s a princess. Can’t you tell?”

Realising his mistake, he makes a quick recovery. “Ah, yes. I can see it now; the gold leaf and the

crown. There’s not a lot of demand for regal imagery around here,” he mumbles.

“Does that mean you can’t do that kind of work?”

“No … I can do it. Once I’ve created a stencil, I’ll be able to do it, no bother.”

Dan reaches for his shirt. “How much? Just across here, four letters?”

“Same style?”

“More or less but smaller.”

“Mm … say 150 with the number of mags I’ll have to use and the time to prep and bandage.”

“When?”

“Whenever. I can get started on the stencil today. Let you have a look at it and, say, show it to you

Saturday. If you like it, we can get started soon as …”

“Sounds fair enough. I’ll call back on Saturday around 3’oclock to see your handy work.” Dan turns

and prepares to side-step the artist standing in his path.

Unsettled by his size he moves to one side, allowing Dan to pass. “I’ll need money up front mate,”

he calls out after him.

Dan turns slowly. “How much?”

“£75 deposit.” He offers a sheepish grin

“Now?”

“No, no. I mean, when you come in on Saturday and when I start working on it.”

“Right. I’ll bring it all with me. Anything else?” He waits for more bad news.

“You’ll need to shave. You know the area?”