Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 49

Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

She’s gone.

What now?

I stare out of the window of the apartment I bought for her, overlooking the harbour with its yachts and pleasure boats, ice-cream kiosks and artsy-craftsy shops. Sunshine glints outside on the water, gleams on fresh paint, blue and white, and on polished timber decks, then spills into the room. But there’s no warmth in it. Tugging my jacket around me, I hiss as pain stabs through my hand. Gashed flesh swollen and heated, seeps blood.

I should dress it…

…

Later…

I thought I had it.

I thought I had her.

I really did.

…

…

It’s so cold.

Walking through to the kitchen, I limp a little where my ankle twisted as I fell…

Would he really have run me down?

… then clumsily, working with one hand, I make coffee, splashing in a hefty measure of whiskey, then more until the cup teeters on overflowing.

You had me fooled, Larry. You really had me going. When you left, I was coming to see you… and then I saw them…

Returning with the drink to stand in the scant heat of the sunshine, I watch holidaymakers and tourists going about their moronic activities. Hot alcohol and caffeine sear a trail down my throat but still, there’s no warmth inside me.

She was coming to see me…

Coming to say she’d be with me…

Shivering, I drain the dregs.

Bitter as bile, churning and toxic, regret wells up inside me…

Enfolds me in its harsh embrace…

Overwhelms me…

There’s not enough air. Pain draws a band around my chest, tighter; ever tighter.

Dropping to my knees, I cover my face.

Hide from the world…

Is this all there is?

Hide from myself…

She ran to him…

From me and to him…

Conners...

Inside, something flickers; a flame fanning up to burn hot and bright and toxic…

… Lighting the darkness.

The pain eases and I can breathe again. Inhaling, I draw one deep lungful after another, sucking at the air until my head clears and I'm able to stand. Using the window ledge to support myself, I pull myself upright again, plunging hands white with cold into my pockets…

…where something brushes against them; small, cold and metallic.

?

Fingers stiff and swollen, I pull out the strange object. A butterfly dangles from its chain, twinkling silver as it spins in the sunlight.

How…?

?

?

My fingers grazing her skin… snagging on something which strains and pops to dangle from my fingers…

… blood streaming from sliced fingers and palm. Digging into a pocket…

She was wearing it.

His gift…

Rage boils inside me. Fists clenching, the pain lances through me, waking me, making me feel alive again.

Conners.

*****

James

David leaves. Michael considers the slip of paper in his hand. Richard and Beth sit in silence, listening loudly.

“So… what do we tell Charlotte?” I say.

“Nothing.” Michael stuffs the paper into a pocket. “I’m going to drive across there tomorrow and see what the area looks like. I don’t want a repeat of last time; going all the way there to find nothing but a car park and a supermarket. It would break her heart.”

“You’re not planning on knocking on the door?”