Page 5

Old Scars

Apparently, laying soaking wet on top of someone who pulled you from a river resets any previous awkwardness you may have had, because sitting quietly with Ben in the smaller cottage whilst Lucy put the kids to bed, I felt strangely content.

“Why did you stay? What happened to make you leave like that?”

Ben asked.

I exhaled slowly, heavily, as I considered how to respond. “I guess, because they were my family. It’s complicated. I always hoped things would get better; I suppose I had to. But, then, they didn’t. They got worse. If I had waited, I would have changed my mind.”

I sipped my wine, allowing the liquid to ease into my bloodstream, welcoming any relief it could offer. There was something about the smaller size of this property that made it whimsical; cosy. I’d finally warmed up, but Ben had still thrown a few logs onto the black wood burner in the corner, just in case.

“If you have family in Hampshire, why didn’t you go there before?”

I looked down at my jeans. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell him, I just didn’t want to say it out loud. If I said it out loud, it would be exposed for how ridiculous and big-headed it was – to dream of being someone so important.

Whether due to bravery or exhaustion, I tried anyway. “Do you remember Maeve White? She was on the news a bit, I think?”

He looked at me, his cool tone and impassive expression unchanging. “The girl who got abducted when she was little, you mean?”

“Yeah, her. Well… umm… I’m planning to visit her parents.”

He raised an eyebrow in question. “Why?”

I sighed shakily. “Well, I found Maeve’s photo.”

Ben stilled.

“We had this fight, me and my parents. I found out they paid off my ex, Sam, to leave me and I guess I… snapped. I saw my mum throw something, and when I went back to look what it was, I found an old photo of Maeve.”

I watched him, waiting for him to react. Instead, he just stared at me.

Shakily, I continued. “I discovered that the Whites are still searching and I guess… I felt compelled to tell them. And, well, maybe…”

I paused again, the next words being the hardest to admit. “Well, then things started to feel odd. Like how I had no baby photos or memories of being young. How they were so strict with me staying on the site. I know this sounds crazy, I know you’re probably thinking I’m totally delusional, but it’s like the more I think about it, the more it could fit. Whenever I wanted to do something for myself, other than work on the site, they said I was a ‘waste of effort’ or a ‘disappointment’. I was always the outsider no matter how hard I tried.”

I stared down into my empty wine glass, swirling round the last drop. The glow of the small fire reflected off Ben’s fixed expression.

“I have blonde hair, naturally. They always made me dye it. When I questioned why, they told me that blondes attract attention and that I wasn’t pretty enough to pull it off; that I’d embarrass myself. I always had to blend in. I know this all sounds ridiculous but… if it’s a stupid, childish notion that gets me out of that place, maybe it doesn’t matter.”

I felt my breath stretching my lungs to their limit, my pulse thumping in my throat, my toes curling.

“She had a scar,”

Ben stated, startling me.

He hadn’t questioned me. He hadn’t laughed. He’d just listened. Did he believe me?

“Maeve?”

I asked. The crackling logs suddenly sounded very loud.

Ben nodded. “It was all over the news. She had a scar behind her shoulder, or maybe a birthmark? The picture was drilled into us all: a figure of eight shape. Small but noticeable.”

My blood ran cold. I could feel it racing around my body.

Blinking at him, I stood up slowly, as if the silence would actually shatter if I moved too fast. I slipped my arm out of my new pink hoodie robotically. Calmly, Ben stood too, taking two steps towards me like we were speaking telepathically, acting out some sort of dangerous dance. Pressing past my t-shirt sleeve, I ran my fingers over the bumpy skin behind my left shoulder.

I hadn’t read that part of the story.

Turning to face the kitchen window, I pulled the material so he could see, watching the reflection of us against the dark garden as he stepped closer.

Ben looked down at my shoulder, slowly moving his hand towards the patch of exposed skin. I watched his fingers flinch as they grazed the sensitive scar. His touch was gentle, cautious, as he brushed soft strokes over the mark.

“They told me I’d splashed hot tea on myself when I was a child, but when I was twelve or thirteen, the skin started to even out. Then Marcus burnt me on a hot pipe; he shoved me against it in a rage, shouting that I’d left the gate open and that the horses had gotten out. I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done that.”

I felt Ben’s fingers, the pressure on my skin, my nerves firing the messages to my brain to remind me they were there, so gentle, and still moving across the ugly, raised scar. A memory of the searing pain as I’d ripped myself from the pipe shot through my mind. I scrunched my eyes shut, smelling the burning. My mind fled back to Ben’s touch: it felt intimate, comforting.

I glanced back at the window, at the two of us standing there. His eyes met mine in the glass, his warm breath tickling the hairs on my neck. I savoured the moment, the seconds before everything was about to change. It was too dangerous to hope.

“I mean… it must just be a coincidence.”

My voice sounded loud after so much quiet as Ben continued to stare at me in the window. “It couldn’t be, that would be…”

“Horrific.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I twisted to reach for my hoodie, wanting to cover back up, moving away from him.

Ben grasped my arm gently, stopping me. “If you are her…”

He struggled to find the words. “If you are her… then it would be—”

“Elle?”

Lucy suddenly appeared in the doorway, fracturing the moment.

Ben’s hand flew back to his side. “Show her.”

Lucy sat beside Ben on the small sofa as I attempted to explain again, showing her the scar that I had always owned but never paid much attention to.

“What do we do?”

she asked.

I shrugged. “I was just going to go knock on their door.”

“Knock on their door?”

Ben scoffed.

“I don’t have a number to call. I wouldn’t know what to say. I thought maybe if I saw them, I’d know. If I felt something then I could try and tell them? If it was just a stupid mistake then I could walk away and make a new plan, start fresh.”

Lucy frowned. “All on your own?”

I thought it a strange question. My eyes darted to the wood burner as a log crashed down, sending sparks into the glass door.

“I had no one to tell before. Saying it out loud to you has made me feel even more ridiculous. I mean, everyone with shitty parents would want to be that little girl. It’s a desperate dream.”

“It’s not desperate, Elle, it’s brave,”

Lucy said softly.

Brave. I scoffed in my head. I wasn’t brave. A brave person wouldn’t have stayed for so many years.

“Are you saying no one questioned any of this? Didn’t you have a boyfriend?”

Lucy shot her brother a look.

“Yeah, Sam, but that was all a huge mess.”

I needed a break from this conversation. Maybe to go and lie in a dark room for a while…

“We’ll help, whatever happens,”

Lucy assured me. “You aren’t alone anymore, Elle.”

My mind rejected her sentiment. “You’ve already helped me. Enormously. I can’t ask for anything else. I won’t. I just… I need to see this through.”

“What about the police? There must be someone you can call,”

Ben insisted, leaning forwards.

“The police aren’t an option for me. It’s something I need to do on my own. It truly is probably just a coincidence.”

“What if it’s not?”

Lucy pressed.

“I don’t think it’s worth thinking that far ahead.”

I pulled down my sleeves, attempting to hide and shrink. “I can’t.”

A cry from Sophie interrupted us. Lucy looked at me apologetically, but selfishly I was glad for the break as she went to check on her.

Ben and I sat silently, both deep in thought.

“Elle,”

Lucy yawned, once she’d returned after soothing Sophie, “I need to turn in, I’m sorry. I need to be with Sophie for a bit, she’s pretty shaken up, and I know if I lie down, I’m going to fall asleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Get some rest. We will help. We’ll try and… process everything. Ben, can you make sure she has what she needs?”

“Of course.”

After saying a warm goodnight to Lucy, the two of us were left alone, suddenly unsure of what to do, or say. Small talk seemed inappropriate, but it was easier than discussing my past again, or the bed situation.

“So, what’s your story?”

I cringed as I said it out loud. What do you expect him to say to that? ‘Once upon a time’?

Ben laughed. “What do you want to know?”

He leant back into the sofa, as if there was nothing I could ask that would trouble him.

“What do you do for work?”

I tried, keeping it simpler this time; attempting to match how relaxed he suddenly looked.

“I own a company, a finance consultancy.”

“Oh wow, that sounds stressful. Did you move up through the ranks?”

“No, I started it. I was always good with numbers.”

His face lit up as he spoke. “I worked a few jobs, made a few contacts, but I always thought I could do better.”

I placed my empty glass on the table. “How did you know you could do it?”

“What do you mean? The numbers?”

“No, how did you know you could start a business, be good enough to be in charge?”

He shifted in his seat. “I just did, I suppose.”

Draining the rest of his wine, Ben rose to take our glasses to the sink. I followed him, busying myself by picking up a stray mug.

“What do you do, Elle?”

“Well, I don’t think I can say now.”

“Why?”

he asked quickly, eyebrows twitching.

I paused and looked at him, trying to read his expression. “I do – did – the accounts for the site, a few other local businesses, stuff with the horses, and some other domestic bits.”

Ben smiled. “Well, that’s not what I would have guessed.”

“I dread to think what you would have guessed.”

“I thought you were a fraudster.”

“Thought? I’ve finally convinced you, have I?”

I joked. “Or am I sleeping with one eye open tonight?”

“I guess we’re both sleeping with an eye open.”

We shared a laugh. It was half-hearted, but it was there. Why did it feel so easy to make eye contact?

Ben reached over the wooden countertop, “There’s another bottle here, it would be a shame to waste it.”

“I don’t know if I can stomach much more talking about my life today. About anything else... serious.”

My body was exhausted from the unexpected swim; my brain from, well, everything else.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I’m actually a bit sick of talking all together. Sorry, that sounds rude. The past few days have been so intense, and tomorrow will be... a day.”

He tilted his head, giving me a quizzical look. “There’s a bench at the bottom of the garden if you fancy getting some fresh air?”

I nodded gratefully, following him over the lawn to a beautiful little arbour that shone a chalky blue in the light from the kitchen window. The wooden bench overlooked a small stream and a collection of sweeping fields. Above them was a beautiful starry sky, and the waning moon lit up the grass, highlighting the dewdrops, making them look like fallen stars. We sat there for a while, looking out, sipping. It was the head space I was greedy for; I felt my battery filling by one percent, then two as I soaked in the fresh night air.

The sound of nature was soothing. I absorbed it all, focusing on the rustling of the wind, the hooting of owls, drowning out everything else. We sat beside each other in a uniquely peaceful silence.

“We loved it here as kids,”

Ben mused.

“It’s a beautiful place,”

I replied softly. I sensed his energy change as he sunk down into the wooden seat. “What happened to your parents?” I asked, looking at the side of his face. The moonlight bounced off his dark glasses.

“I thought you wanted to be quiet?”

“Sorry, I do. Maybe. It’s been a weird day. I’m trying not to think about myself.”

He took a slow inhale of breath.

“You don’t have to answer,” I added.

“My dad died at work when I was young, and my mum couldn’t live without him,”

he explained, as if he’d said it a thousand times. “It’s always hard being back here, with Lucy so stressed. I wish she had more people.”

“What was your dad’s job? Don’t you have more family?”

“He was a fireman. I always knew it would end badly. He couldn’t stop himself from helping people. He cared for everyone unquestioningly. Time after time, fire after fire, he just ran in. He didn’t care if it was a prison or a school, he never looked back. Then, one day, one fire, he didn’t come out.”

I held my breath in the silence, waiting for him to continue, swallowing my own sorrow at his story.

“My mum’s parents are in a home together; they found it hard. My dad’s died. I used to get so angry with him going out to work. I would stay up at night listening to Mum talk to him on the phone, just to comfort myself that he was alive still. I don’t know why she let him do it. They were so in love. They would sit here together, holding hands, watching us play in the stream.”

My eyes followed the rhythmic stirring of grass in the distance. Two deer danced and bounded away into the thick bushes. I wondered if they were the same ones from the side of the road the other night, coming to check on me. The breeze lifted a few strands of my hair as I searched my mind for a suitable response. Ben was hard to read; pity didn’t seem appropriate.

“I’m sorry, that must have been awful, especially being so aware as a child.”

I paused. “What happened with your mum?”

“She lived a year for us, then she started drinking. She didn’t know how to be on her own. One day she went out to the shops and didn’t come back. They said she’d been drinking; said the tyre marks didn’t make sense, like she’d tried to hit the lamppost head-on.”

He didn’t flinch. I tried to squash the feeling in my throat, my heart speeding up. I tried to calm it, to match his nonchalance.

“You seem so… together. So strong. You own a business, you’re present for your family, you have a nice car… how did you do it? Recover like that and still go on?”

There was a long moment of silence as he considered his reply. “I saw the pain my mum had caused her parents, Dad’s parents, her own children. Me and Lucy promised each other we would always be there for one another – we wouldn’t quit, no matter what – so I just tried to fill my life with things to stay busy, hence the business. My father always said he wanted me to be a firefighter too, which made me so mad. I still don’t understand how he could put other people before his family. Risk his life… our life. I think he did it for the ego trip. God, he was so selfish.”

His tone spiked a little and he glanced over at me, agitated by his own words. “I know how bad that sounds. How it makes people feel.”

I looked back at him, avoiding giving him the sympathy he would resent, even though I felt it surging through me. Picturing that little boy, all alone, over-tired, waiting to hear his dad was alive night after night. My parents always seemed to hate me; I was a drain, an annoyance. But to have that warmth, that safety, that love, and lose it? To feel it was preventable? For his mother to choose to leave him and Lucy like that? I’m not sure what’s worse.

“It makes me admire you.”

His brow twitched in response. “That’s a new one.”

“I mean, what happened to you, to Lucy, it’s awful. But to live through that like you have… I doubt I would have had that strength.”

“Seems to me like you’ve lived through your fair share.”

I realised we were sat fairly close, the gentle warmth from his body wafting towards mine through the night air.

“Well, yeah, I mean, there was this dick who yelled at me yesterday,” I joked.

We locked eyes again, and I noticed our hands were resting on the bench a few centimetres from one another.

He grinned. “I bet you held your own.”

I liked the sound of his voice; I liked the feeling of him looking into my eyes; focusing on me. I wasn’t sure whether it was the wine, or the drama of the day, but I suddenly needed to move. I stretched my jaw into a yawn, dragging my eyes away and standing up slowly. Ben reciprocated as I took one long look out into the darkness.

“I’m really tired,”

I confessed, blinking away a tear, styling it out.

He tilted his head toward the kitchen and we walked in side by side.

Ben locked the door, leaving the peace of the night to the half-moon, and I went to brush my teeth and gather my stuff from the bed. I didn’t have any pyjamas; I would just have to sleep like this on the sofa. The night before I’d slept in my knickers and shirt, but that didn’t feel appropriate. Not that it should have mattered, not in the context of my life; I was sure Ben had seen more than his fair share of legs.

I headed down towards the lounge to find him waiting. Even that he did with purpose.

“You can’t sleep on the sofa, or in jeans,”

he informed me with smooth confidence as he turned his back to me and climbed the steps.

“I don’t have much else to wear, and you won’t convince me to take your bed. There is a whole spare room next door.”

He appeared at the top of the mezzanine, leaning over the banister, holding a pair of loose fit, checkered blue boxers and a white t-shirt.

“I don’t sleep in the same bed I did as a kid.”

He extended his arm, offering me the neatly folded garments. “These will be a bit more comfortable, I imagine?”

I was low on clothes for tomorrow.

“I can’t wear your clothes…”

“Yes, you can.”

He smiled – a face-altering, goosebump-initiating, swoon-worthy smile – tossing them down towards me.

I stepped back to catch them, fumbling: the wine had clearly confused my reflexes alongside everything else.

I shot the fox-shaped draught excluder a look, sensing silent judgement from its beady plastic eyes at the thoughts that were tempting me. I looked back up, but Ben had walked away from the edge.

“Are you sure?”

I asked, repeating you’re better off alone in my head.

I kept doing this, getting lonely and distracted by men, Sam having been the most disastrous.

Just as I was garnering an ounce of self-respect, Ben’s words emptied my mind again.

“I am. Is there anything else you need?”

I was glad he was still out of sight, because I took a step back, faltering, gripping his soft clothes.

Is there anything I need?

At Henworth, I wasn’t permitted anything as indulgent as needs for myself. I’d been in survival mode for so long that his simple question shook me to the core.

I was a human being. I was a person. In my own right.

“Elle?”

Ben appeared, leaning over in just his jeans, his toned pectorals casting shadows against his tanned chest. Why couldn’t he have been gross? I would have settled for a poorly-inked tattoo, or patchy chest hair – anything to make walking away from him easier.

I cleared my throat. “Can you please just let me sleep on the sofa? You’re stressing me out.”

“Stressing you out?”

“You’re bossy.”

He laughed.

“Intimidating too. Like you have total confidence in your every move,” I added.

I’d said too much, exposed a little part of that human inside me that was distracted by the thought of wearing his clothes.

“It’s an illusion, I promise,”

he assured me, smiling warmly, seeming to have enjoyed my comment. “But you are going to sleep in the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

“You can’t sleep on the sofa—”

“You want me to sleep in the bed with you?”

he interrupted, turning back into the bedroom and busying himself with searching for something, as if his comment was nothing.

I wondered if his words were intended as a deflection. They had certainly stopped me blabbering and over-thinking. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch.

Narrowing my eyes I walked halfway up the stairs, gripping the cool, metallic rail. “I want you to sleep in the bed.”

“You will be sleeping in the bed,”

he replied. “I guess we’ll just have to see who’s more stubborn.”

I walked up the rest of the stairs to object, but he stepped into the bathroom.

I stood there, feeling utterly flustered for a minute, before pulling on the clothes he’d lent me. They were even more luxurious than I’d thought, and the smell of him enveloping me? That aftershave…

I looked down as I walked towards the bed, watching as the material shifted, the fabric creasing as I moved. Of course he ironed his boxers.

Standing there, I suddenly realised exactly how much wine I’d had. The carpet felt plush, like wool that was still attached to a sheep; the wooden banister looked like it was moving, growing roots.

My feet separated as I fought to steady myself.

When Ben re-emerged, he stopped in his tracks, looking at me with amusement.

“What’re you doing?”

he asked casually, strolling past me to climb under the white cotton duvet.

My eyes followed him. This was ridiculous, was he drunk too? He must be, he was smiling too much. It was a decent amount of wine. I hoped he was drunk, otherwise this would be even more embarrassing.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Just get in the bed.”

I scowled at him to make my feelings clear as I eased myself onto the soft double bed. When I slipped under the fluffy duvet, I felt his heat drawing me in. My caravan had always been freezing; I would stay up late to avoid the lumpy bed, wrapping myself in an old duvet and unzipped sleeping bag, just to try and catch a few hours of rest.

Ben casually flicked off the light and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I lay awkwardly on my back, not daring to move. The bed, at least, wasn’t moving as much as the floor had been. Being in this bed, smelling of Ben, being warmed by his body… it was dizzying. We were silent for a few minutes as my mind raced.

I was just about to make my escape to the sofa, hoping he had fallen asleep, when he broke the impasse. “Your ex, Sam, did he give you the bruises?”

My breath caught. “No.”

“Why won’t you ask for help?”

The mattress moved as he turned to look at me, a waft of his clean scent drifting over. “You didn’t have to lie the other night. Why won’t you speak to the police?”

I sucked on my top lip. “The police were part of the problem. It’s complicated. I just need to do this on my own. Even telling you and Lucy feels wrong, like I’m some sort of crazed fantasist. Hell, I probably am.”

I rolled to face him. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please, Ben.”

He hesitated as my eyes searched for him in the dark. “Okay, but that’s another stupid decision, you realise that, right? I’m not sure what tops the list, actually. Breaking down in the dark, jumping into a river—”

“Stop,”

I whined, picturing his smug face. “Promise me?”

“What are you, five years old? Want to do the little finger thing?”

I scoffed and rolled the other way. “I really don’t like you.”

I fought my smile as he laughed, shaking the mattress.

“I know.”

“You’re wrong,”

I teased. “Getting into bed with you was the most stupid decision by far.”