Page 57 of Knights Game

Rolling away from her, getting up I throw on a pair of boxers before leaving her to sleep and head to my office and close the door.

I pour myself a large scotch, and light a cigarette, flopping into my large leather chair and sit in silent darkness. The twinkling light from a sleeping London my only company.

“What are you doing, Luca?”

I let the nicotine filter through my lungs and sip the scotch rubbing my hand over my face.

I’ve not felt like this before.

Like I’m dancing along a line about to lose control, I know what’s causing it, it sleeps soundly in the room next door.

I don’t know what’s around the corner…it could be a turf war; it could be from an enemy I can’t see coming.

But one thing I know for sure, is that woman, she’s mine, and no one is taking her away from me.

20

Luca

Her screams bring mefrom zero to alert in a second. My empty glass still sitting on my desk. Papers strewn across the wood, including newspaper clippings and every other item Roman has been able to pull together in a file of Layla’s life, past and present. I grab the first thing my hand connects with as a weapon and launch out of the study.

I fall through the door and see her in the same position I left her in, but she’s curled into a small ball, the covers over her head.

It’s 4 a.m.

Nightmare time.

“Layla.” I slowly approach where she’s bundled up. No answer, and the little ball moves up and down as she cries.

I feel so useless. I gently sit on the bed and look down at the object I picked up. A fountain pen.

I relax my grip as the bed shakes with Layla’s silent sobs.

“You don’t have to hide from me, sunshine. We all have demons.”

She remains quiet, I climb up the bed and lean against the headboard, my hand hovers over the cotton sheet she hides under, the physical barrier and cocoon she needs in that moment and I’m not going to be the one that takes it away.

“When I was a boy, and I’d had a shit day, and was upset. My mum, she used to find me in my bedroom under the covers. Not dissimilar to you now. She would sit down; she would hold my shoulder.” I gently reach out and rest my hand on her shoulder and squeeze softly, the weight of my hand hopefully grounding her, like it used to do for me. “And she would tell me all the things about her life that I didn’t know. How she met my father, how she missed him every day, how that sometimes when no one was watching she would look up to the sky and talk to him like he was still standing right next to her.”

Her shuddering movements have stopped, and I know it’s because she’s listening. I used to do the same.

“As I grew up, I stopped hiding, and I stopped crying, but she knew when I was angry or upset. A mother’s intuition. She never pushed, she just sat next to me. Because she knew that even at your worst, that just by having someone around, can be enough to share the burden. Whether you tell them about it or not. Just being together is enough.” I smile sadly, looking over the lights of London. “She died when I was 18.”

“What happened to her?” Her small voice comes from underneath the covers.

“She was hit by a car.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I’m just going to sit here with you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah. That’s okay.”

I rest my head against the headboard and close my eyes, my hand still resting on her shoulder.

“Luca.”

“Hmm.”

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