Page 28 of Save You

I hang up before he can say anything else. Then, I let it all out, a low howl of tears as I sob over all the responsibility hanging over me while the ones I love are in danger, something I never thought I’d ever have to deal with at eighteen years old. I let myself have this for a good twenty minutes or so, then begin walking around, lecturing myself to try and stay strong, to take care of the little family I have inside of the cabin behind me. I also decide that it’s probably best not to mention any of this to Beth. She needs to concentrate on herself and the baby. The last thing she needs is any more stress, and I know she’ll only blame herself for all of this.

Chapter 11

Southampton, England, 1973

Rosalie

I’ve never been to a pub before. I once heard Carl talking to a business associate, who had come to dinner one evening, about going to English pubs when he traveled over here a few years ago, but I was only ever half-listening. I was always too terrified to say or do something that wasn’t in keeping with Carl’s impossible standards of being a Mayfield wife.

Now that I’m in one, I greedily take in all the people going about their own business, laughing with friends, sharing gossip, and relaxing over their drinks, generally contented to not be working. The smell of cigarette smoke had hit me like an invisible wall, but I’m already used to it and the aroma no longer bothers me. Having said that, I am glad Tom doesn’t smoke because whenever Carl puffed on one of his awful cigars, it used to make me gag, which is usually how I earned my cigar burns. I’ve lost count over how many there are on my body, but at least they’re mostly hidden from view.

At about nine o’clock, a band begins to play live music and people get up to dance. I enjoy watching some of the more talented couples get up and jive to the jovial beats. They leave me looking up at them in awe, wishing I could be half so gifted at something as they are at dancing. I’ve never danced like that. I was taught how to dance for my wedding, the more traditional ballroom Foxtrot kind of stuff, but otherwise, it wasn’t encouraged.

When I look back at Tom, he’s grinning at me in such a way I have a horrible feeling he’s about to drag me out of my comfort zone.

“Come on, beautiful,” he beams and gets up to hold his hand out in invitation.

“No!” I gasp as I wave my hand at him. “I can’t dance. I wasn’t allowed to listen to music like this!”

“Well, now the beauty of being a woman is, the man leads,” he explains as he pulls me to my feet, “and I can dance, so just let me lead the way.”

Before I can argue, he begins walking through the crowd of dancers, with my hand still firmly inside of his. I nervously take in the throng of dancers, all looking amazing at something I’ve never even attempted before. When we come to a stop, right in the middle of the dance floor, which is just like Tom, he turns and spins me around so fast, I feel like I’m flying. I wobble into a fall against his chest, but before anyone can notice I haven’t a clue what I’m doing, he grabs my hands and begins to move me about like we’re a couple of professionals.

Tom pulls me against his body, holding my hand out in his, and throwing the other over his shoulder while he swings, spins, and twirls me around the wooden floorboards. It’s the most invigorating and exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life. Pretty soon, we have an audience, all watching as Tom expertly throws me around the room. I get so lost in it, I actually begin to enjoy myself and let my body succumb to the dance. By the end of the song, we’re both laughing and throwing ourselves about like a couple of loons.

As soon as the music stops playing, the crowd clap and cheer us on, which is only made all the louder when he pulls out and theatrically leans down to kiss my hand. We then laugh at one another and take a bow for our surrounding audience.

The music, thankfully, turns slow, so Tom spins me around again before letting me land against him. His cheek leans against mine as I drop my chin to rest on his shoulder. We hold onto one another tightly and just let the music take us with a gentle, lazy sway. I don’t need him to direct me through this, I already know the steps.

“How am I doing?” he whispers inside of my ear. “Do you think I’m in with a chance for a second date?” I take a moment or two to giggle over his playfulness.

“You’ve scored a lot of points so far, but…” I wiggle my hand, leaving him hanging like he’s on shaky ground.

“But what? Tell me, please, beautiful, it can’t end like this!” He laughs cheekily in my ear.

“Well, it all depends on the kiss at the end of the night,” I tease, “I can’t be with a bad kisser!”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem, trust me!” he replies, acting beyond sure of himself.

“Oh, really?” I lean back and arch a brow just to tease him again.

It is but a challenge to someone like Tom, so I’m not surprised when he removes his hand from mine, leaving it hanging rather awkwardly in the air, and cups my cheek, ready to prove himself right. His soft, puffy lips cushion mine gently with slow, lingering movements. His tongue moves against mine as we sensuously explore each other, just as he pulls me in even closer. My awkward, hanging arm, instinctively moves to meet my other hand around his neck. The whole room has become muffled, the band nothing but white noise, as I focus all my attention on him. In this moment, I cast it to memory, hoping it will be one I can hold onto until I die.

“Sure of us, Rose!” he whispers before we pull back to stare at one another, looking completely unaware of anything or anyone else in the room.

“Take me home, Tom,” I just about murmur, “you’ve got yourself a second date!”

The twenty-minute walk home is full of laughter and playfulness as Tom dances me practically the whole way, only stopping to kiss me. But when we reach our house, the same sanctuary that has kept me hidden and safe for nearly two years, we both stop dead. Something isn’t right and we both have a sense of dread that’s easy to see all over our stunned faces. The door is wide open, and the lights are all switched on, even though it’s late and they should have been turned off hours ago.

“Mal!” I gasp, snapping us out of our horrified stupor, and making us run toward whatever hell, we’ve just come home to.

As soon as I step inside, I let out a high-pitched cry over the scene before us. Mrs Topple is lying face down on the floor, clearly unconscious, while Sadie is slumped over in the armchair with a large bloody gash on her forehead. I’m sure she’s still alive, but she is just as out of it as the poor old lady beside my feet. My head drains of blood, but when I finally manage to look up, I almost pass out altogether, for there before me is the stuff of nightmares - my mother!

Suddenly the bloodcurdling scream of a baby in pain rings out, making me swivel around so fast, Tom has to catch me before I fall. Once steady on my feet, I bolt for the door like my life depends on it, but once there, I’m blocked from exiting by a rather weighty, mean-looking bodyguard with arms as thick as tree trunks. His expression simply says, ‘Fuck off!’ without him having to utter a single word.

Tom tries to push at the wall of a man, but not even he can budge him out of the way. My heart is thumping wildly, cracking, and breaking as I am forced to listen to my darling little boy screaming from upstairs. My mother remains rigid, unphased by his crying for his mama. She looks at me with such coldness, I’m surprised my blood doesn’t turn to ice on the spot. Her immaculate, albeit old-fashioned appearance, is as stony as she is, and I shudder over the thought of having to be like her.

“Mother!” I shout, “What the hell is going on? What are they doing to my son?”

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