Chapter Five

Felix

I didn’t get out of bed until midday on my first two days of freedom. Whether it was a fuck you to the prison system who demanded you were up and ready to start the day by eight, or simply not knowing what to do with myself, I couldn’t have said.

On the third day, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling just wasn’t doing it for me. I heaved myself out of bed, dressed, and went downstairs to find my mother, who’d always been an early riser, sitting at the kitchen table with a breakfast of toasted bagels and coffee.

She lifted her head when I entered the kitchen as an acknowledgement of my presence, but said nothing. Barely a second passed before she returned to her study of the newspaper spread out in front of her. I took the seat opposite her at the kitchen table and stared at the top of her bowed head, her hair color the same dark blond as mine where my father had been darker. “You haven’t been around much for the last couple of days. ”

“No.”

No. Was that all I was going to get? No excuses. No elaboration. Just no. The huge house had seemed empty without her in it, the number of rooms complete overkill when I’d grown used to a space no bigger than ten square meters for the past seven years. She’d taken Samson with her, so I hadn’t even had the dog for company. “I hope you haven’t been avoiding me?” My aim of making it sound like a joke didn’t pan out. Instead, I sounded sad. Sad and lost. Like a child who needed their mother.

“Of course not.” Her words were brusque. “I had things to do. You didn’t expect me to cancel everything and stay home, did you?”

Had I? Maybe I’d thought she’d take a day or two away from the charity events she was involved in to make sure I was okay. But I got it. I was here under duress. She hadn’t wanted me here, and now that I was, she had every intention of pretending I wasn’t. Something I’d made really easy for her in the last couple of days. She probably hated me gatecrashing her breakfast. I’d thought by giving her space, it would give her time to adjust to the idea of me being here, but all it had done was cement the frostiness between us.

I picked at a rare crumb on the pristine white tablecloth. Everything in this house was pristine, a cleaner coming in twice a week, so my mother didn’t have to bother herself with it. “You got rid of my things.”

That comment earned me a sharp look, and although it was spiteful of me, I was glad to have shaken her out of her peaceful bubble. She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the rim of her mug. “Did you expect me to keep them forever? You should have taken them with you when you moved out if you wanted them?”

That was a crock of shit, and we both knew it. My bedroom had stayed the same when I’d left home at eighteen, even down to the Katy Perry posters on the wall put up during a time when I’d thought I might be straight, such was the strength of my adolescent crush on the popstar. Either my mother had gotten rid of it all while I was in prison or before I’d been sentenced. “What did you do with it all?”

I crushed the crumb between my fingers while I waited for her answer. Perhaps it had been boxed up and put in the attic. If so, I could spend the day going through things and wallowing in memories. I could put some of it back in the bedroom to make it look lived in. Not the Katy Perry posters; they could stay in a box. As far as I was concerned, Orlando Bloom was welcome to her. My tastes ran more in his direction these days. But there was probably other stuff I could use. Some figurines I’d painted during my teenage years, or a football scarf. Anything but bare walls and surfaces.

“I gave it to charity. I didn’t know if you were ever getting out.”

So before I went to prison, then. When there was still talk of pinning a murder charge on me, so that just like Julian, I would have received a life sentence. “All of it?”

“’All of it,’” my mother echoed. “Most of it was tat, anyway.”

My clothes. My exercise books from school. My report cards. The scrapbook I’d put together on exotic places I’d wanted to visit one day, meeting Julian putting paid to that. And a hundred other things I probably couldn’t even recall, but that had been in that room and I would have been glad to see again. All reduced to “tat” in my mother’s eyes. An ache started in the center of my chest. One that I refused to give her the satisfaction of giving in to.

While I’d been fighting my emotions, my mother had gone back to reading her newspaper like the conversation had never occurred. “We used to be close,” I said. No accusation in my words. No emotion. Just a statement of fact. We had been close. Back when my father had died, we’d been all we had, propping each other up and acting as the other’s emotional support system.

What happened to us?

Except, I knew the answer to that. Julian had worked his magic and manipulated me into seeing less and less of her. And then, as a final blow, had accused me of aiding and abetting in the murder of a sixteen-year-old girl. I’d gone to prison for it, and my mother had believed the word of the court over that of her son.

My mother still had her gaze fixed on the newspaper, but I knew she wasn’t reading it. When she lifted her eyes to mine, she looked wounded, like I’d shot an arrow into her heart. “I never went anywhere, Felix. I’ve been here the whole time.”

She had. Living here. Helping the same charities because she was rich enough that she didn’t need to work—my father’s life insurance policy setting her up for life. Before Samson, there’d been another dog, a terrier called Zeus. And before Zeus, a Jack Russell called Ralph. “You moved out,” she said, her gaze fixed on me. “And at first it was okay, but then he came along.”

Julian. And like many abusers, he’d separated me from my friends and family, but done it in such a way that it had looked like it was my decision. I’d canceled meet-ups, missed birthdays, and been absent from occasions I really should have been present at. All to stop him from flying into a rage. And the damage he’d done was still in effect years later.

This was different, though, right? We weren’t in a prison meeting room surrounded by people who could hear what we were talking about. We weren’t on a prison phone, where rules dictated calls had to be kept short. It was just the two of us in a kitchen.

No one to interrupt us. No one about to stand up and start the domestic of all domestics that would require a guard to tell them to sit down or he or she would take them back to their cell and cut the visit short. No one to tap me on the shoulder and ask how much longer I was going to be because they were waiting for the phone. Just us.

“Mum…” I wanted to reach out and take hold of her hands, but I wasn’t brave enough, curling my fingers into my palms to resist the temptation. “Things back then weren’t the way they seemed. Julian was…” God, how did I describe the nightmare my life had become? If only I hadn’t hidden the bruises. If only I’d made leaving him stick for longer than a couple of days.

The ridiculous thing was that I’d always had this place to come back to. I hadn’t because it would have meant admitting that I couldn’t make a relationship work, that Julian wasn’t the angel I’d made him out to be. I’d let pride get in the way of common sense, and boy, had I paid for it. “He wasn’t that nice a person.” The words sounded pathetic, given he was currently doing a life sentence for murder. “Before, everything else, I mean…” Why was this so hard? “He wasn’t that nice to me. He…”

My mother deposited something on the table in front of me and I stared at it, the words I’d been going to say drying up as I stared at the rectangle of plastic with my name on it. “I set this up for you,” she said. “I figured it would be a few weeks… maybe even a few months before you can get your life back on track. I’ve put a decent amount in there. You can get yourself a phone, some clothes… some stuff for your room to replace the things I got rid of.”

I pulled the bank card closer to me and continued to stare at it. In many respects, it was a nice gesture. I needed money. I had some from prison—money that I’d earned from my job in the prison garden—but it would be gone before I knew it. “Thanks.”

My mother stood, our conversation apparently over. “Probably best not to think about the past,” she said .

I laughed. It probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but I couldn’t stop myself. Right. Just forget about the man who’d hit me, harassed me, and then convinced the world that I was guilty of the heinous crime he’d committed. My mother’s face clouded over and I regretted not having more restraint. How did I always make things worse while trying to make them better? If there was an award for it, I’d surely have earned it several times over.

My mother pulled on a jacket and picked up her handbag before retrieving Samson from his basket and tucking him under her arm, every move clearly broadcasting her intention to leave. I nodded at Samson. “You can leave him with me, you know.”

My mother considered it for less than a second before shaking her head. “It’s fine. He’s used to coming with me.” Her gaze strayed toward the breakfast things on the table, half her bagel still sitting there like she hadn’t been able to force herself to finish it once I’d foisted my presence on her. “If you want to be helpful, you could clean those up so I don’t have to come home to them. And you could run a hoover around upstairs.”

“Sure.” The word sounded flat, but I wasn’t up to imbuing it with any sort of life. I said nothing as my mother headed for the door without saying goodbye. I sat and pondered my attempt at opening up to her for a long time after her departure. Did she know, and she just didn’t want to hear it? Or had she thought I was going to say something else? Could I have made her listen?

I doubted it. Not unless I was prepared to tie her down. It seemed we were going to act like strangers until I found somewhere else to live, my mother no doubt counting the days. I let my head fall forward onto the table, the bank card digging into my forehead as I gave in to a dose of self pity.

Leaving the house felt like a much bigger deal than it should have done. I kept my head down as I locked the door, refusing to look left or right to see if any of the neighbors were around to notice my departure. You should change your name. Recalling Darien’s advice had me smiling ruefully. Yeah, but I couldn’t change my face, could I? Not without extensive plastic surgery. Perhaps I’d ask him next time I saw him if he had one he could recommend. Not because I had any intention of getting any done, but just to see his face if I suggested it. No doubt he’d get all earnest and sanctimonious and lecture me on learning to love what I had.

I went to the cash machine first, my mother also having provided me with the pin number for the card. A few button presses brought the balance up on the screen, and I let out a low whistle. No one could accuse my mother of not being generous, the vast sum of twenty thousand pounds staring back at me. Had she agonized over how much money to put into the account? Was it a deliberate ploy to give me enough money to move out? Because I could with that amount. If I moved out, we’d never fix things, though. And despite how badly the attempt to do just that had gone this morning, I still wanted to. I only had one mother, and she only had one son. And if I didn’t manage it, it would mean Julian really had taken everything away from me.

After withdrawing a few hundred pounds, I jumped on the C11 bus, the bus wending its way through the familiar streets of West Hampstead and Cricklewood before reaching Brent Cross. My first purchase from the shopping center was a phone, just as my mother had suggested. Then I bought clothes—her second suggestion. Nothing fancy, just some new underwear, some plain T-shirts that fitted my bulked-out physique better, some jeans, and some new trainers.

Laden down with shopping bags, I took the escalator upstairs and bought a coffee from Starbucks, drinking it while I set up my new phone, things not having changed that much in seven years that I couldn’t work out how to do it. Once it was done, I sat and stared at it. Who the fuck did I have to call?

There was one person. And he’d told me to call if I needed anything. Although, I doubted he’d had me just needing to have a conversation with someone in mind when he’d said it. It was probably just one of his stock phrases. Well, there was only one way to find out if he’d meant it. I rooted around in my pocket until I found the scrap of paper that Darien had scrawled his phone number on.

After carefully inputting his details into my phone—how fucking sad that I had one contact and it was my probation officer—I pressed call. A woman stared at me from the other side of the coffee shop while I listened to the phone ring. Did she recognize me? If she had a good enough memory, it was possible, given my photo had been all over the newspapers and the news. Not as much as Julian’s had, but enough that she might be trying to work out where she’d seen me before. Either that or I was paranoid. Whichever one it was, she averted her gaze as soon as I looked her way.

The flush that came to her cheeks said she’d been checking me out. I needed to remember that whatever the rest of my faults, I wasn’t bad to look at. And that wasn’t me being modest: it was a fact.

“Hello?”

Darien sounded stressed, something about that making me smile for the first time that day.

“Hi.” I said nothing else, just letting the single word hang there.

A long pause. “Who is this? ”

“Are you at work?”

“Yeah… Look, really, who is this?”

“I’m wounded that you don’t recognize my voice.”

“Well, I don’t. So either tell me who you are or I’m going to hang up.”

“Don’t hang up!” I cringed at the slight note of desperation in my voice, hoping it hadn’t been apparent to the man on the other end of the phone. “It’s Felix. Felix Church.”

“Felix.”

To my surprise, there was no note of irritation in Darien’s voice when he said my name. Would there have been in his expression if I’d been able to see it? I wished I could, Darien handsome enough that looking at him had been far from a chore on the two occasions when we’d met so far. “I have a new phone,” I said, conscious that I was coming up with an excuse for having called him when I hadn’t intended to use one. “I thought you might need the number.”

“Yeah? Great. That will give me an easy way of getting in contact with you when I need to. The number came up when you rang, so I can just add it. If you’re not in a rush, I can do that now?”

“I’m not in a rush.” That was an understatement. Now that I’d done the shopping, I had nowhere to go except home. Either that or just sit here.

About a minute passed before Darien came back on the line. “Done. How are things going so far?”

“Things are…” I had no idea how to finish that sentence. Was I supposed to lie and say things were great?

“Have you got out of the house at all?”

“I’m at Brent Cross.”

“Yeah?”

“You sound surprised. ”

“Well… I will admit to having had clients that found stepping outside their safe bubble difficult. Especially when they’re living in a private residence and they don’t have a job to go to. It’s good to know you’re not one of them. Makes me worry about you less.”

“You worry about me?”

A slight pause. “I worry about all my clients.”

I dropped my voice to a seductive purr. “That’s a shame. I thought I was special.” Silence. “Don’t you have anything to say to that?”

“What? Sorry. I got distracted by something in the office.”

I was ninety-nine percent certain that was a lie, that I’d flustered Darien enough he hadn’t known what to say. “Aren’t you meant to tell me I am special?”

Darien’s laugh sounded far from natural. He definitely wasn’t immune to my charms. With that realization, came a pang of something. Even if Darien didn’t reciprocate, flirting with him made me feel alive. It made me want more. It made me want to take his statement that he preferred women and show it for the mockery it was.

It would be a horrible thing to do to set out to seduce my probation officer. But it wasn’t like I had a reputation to ruin. Everyone already thought I was scum, so what did I have to lose? And the more I thought about it, the more delicious the thought was. I’d spent seven years in prison for something I hadn’t done. Wasn’t I due for some fun?

“Felix?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought we’d gotten cut off. You went quiet.”

Too right I had. My mind had been too full of how far I could push him. “I was thinking about our meeting in a few days?”

“Yeah?” There was a caution in Darien’s voice. “What about it? ”

“I know we said I’d come to your office, but is there any chance you could do a home visit instead?” I could almost hear Darien’s frown.

“Any particular reason?”

Because seducing you in your office seems like too difficult a feat. I took a sip of my coffee while I tried to come up with a credible reason. “It’s like you said, it’s hard to get out of your bubble. I did it today, but I’m not gonna lie and say it was easy. If it’s a problem...”

“It’s not a problem. I might have to switch the time, though. Make it my last appointment of the day.”

I grinned into my coffee. Even better. “That’s very accommodating of you, Darien.”

“I’ll text you the time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

When he ended the call, I spent ten minutes waiting for a burst of conscience to hit. One that would remind me that Darien wasn’t a plaything. When it didn’t, I got up and left. I wasn’t planning to do anything terrible to him, just to spice up his life and bend his moral compass a bit. Besides, for all I knew, he’d resist temptation and it would all come to naught.

I couldn’t wait to find out.