Next morning Lenina woke to a sensation like fire writhing through her gut. She lurched out of Nick’s arms and stumbled into the bathroom just in time to lift the seat off the toilet and hang her head over it. Her heaving stomach strained to return its contents, but there were none.
Dry-retching, tears streaming down her face, Lenina clung to the bowl and waited for the spasms to pass.
An eternity later, she flushed the toilet and sat back on her heels, wiping drool from her mouth.
Nick appeared in the doorway, his hair sleep tousled. ‘What’s wrong?’
She shook her head.
‘I heard you puking.’
‘Nothing came up,’ she gasped. ‘Get me some water please?’
He passed her a plastic cup.
Sipping the water eased her throat somewhat, but the pain continued. ‘God . . .’ she murmured.
‘You okay?’
‘Stomach ache. Headache.’ She touched each location in turn. ‘Even my teeth hurt.’
‘Maybe you should stay off today.’
Lenina sighed. ‘I can’t. The samples from Cairo arrive this afternoon. I’ve got to log them.’
‘Someone else can do it. You’re not the only curator in the place.’
‘I’m the only one who knows anything about Egypt.’ She tried to stand but her knees wobbled before she made it halfway. Tumbling down, she sat on the mat, legs akimbo. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Rough night. It’s catching up with you. Come on.’ Nick tucked his hands beneath her arms and pulled.
She swayed, but eventually managed to stand without help. ‘Thanks. Let me clean my teeth.’
‘Go ahead. Don’t mind me.’ Grinning, he stepped past her and fumbled with his boxers. Seconds later, as she squirted toothpaste on to her brush, she heard the thunderous gush of his morning relief.
‘Aaaah,’ he moaned.
‘Gross.’
‘You love me anyway, né?’
Shaking her head, she noted that she did. Playful banter like this was one of the many reasons she’d agreed to married him.
Lenina watched her reflection as she cleaned her teeth. She spat and watched pink-tinged froth slide down the plug hole. ‘My mouth is bleeding.’
‘Don’t brush so hard.’ Nick planted a kiss on her cheek and washed his hands. ‘See you downstairs.’
His reflection vanished from the mirror.
Lenina looked at her face again.
Her features remained the same, despite the horrific events of the night before. Somehow, she expected that her experience would stain her but the only visible change was the scratch on her cheek. And the bite marks between her neck and shoulder.
She touched the fresh bandage, wincing as the light contact sent an ache racing up and down her throat. For the first time she considered that the hospital might not be such a bad idea.
A phone rang, making her jump. Leaving her reflection behind, Lenina ran back to the bedroom and snagged her mobile from the dresser. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, chuck,’ the bright voice echoed against a backdrop of road noise.
‘Daddy?’
‘Yeah, how are you?’
She glanced at the clock. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘No.’ She froze. ‘Is everything okay? Mum? Jordan . . . ?’
‘They’re fine. Don’t worry.’
She exhaled. A long breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. ‘Not that I don’t love hearing from you, but why the early morning wake-up call?’
‘I’m in the neighbourhood. Can I stop by?’
‘Now?’
‘Sure.’
She carried the phone downstairs. ‘What are you doing in Leicester?’
‘Work meeting. I had to stay over.’
‘You drive buses.’ She chuckled. ‘What sort of meeting brings you all the way up here?’
‘Important ones.’ His voice became guarded. ‘If you don’t want to see me, just say so.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s just early. I’m tired.’
‘You don’t sound yourself. Everything okay?’
She paused. Her breathing quickened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You sound different. Stressed.’
‘Switch off your radar, Daddy. I’m fine.’
‘Can I come over? I’m ten minutes away.’
Lenina caught up to Nick in the kitchen. She smiled her thanks as he handed her a mug of tea. ‘Seriously?’
‘I’m at the Holiday Inn.’
Nick raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Dad,’ she mouthed at him.
He nodded and returned his attention to the toaster, snatching the slices from the air as they popped up. He took a large bite from one before adding a generous slather of honey.
‘You can if you want, I suppose.’ She glanced at Nick. He shrugged.
‘Becalm your enthusiasm, chuck. You’ll bowl me over.’
‘Funny. See you soon.’
He hung up.
Lenina put the phone beside her mug and ran her hands through her hair. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘What, babe?’
‘Don’t know. I feel weird. And now Daddy’s coming. He’ll freak out.’
‘About last night?’ Toast crumbs flew. ‘Don’t tell him.’
She pointed to her neck.
He shrugged. ‘Like you’ve never had to hide a love bite before.’
Anger surged through her. ‘This isn’t a love bite.’
‘Sorry, sorry, I know. Calm down. Look, you don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want, but it would help, né? And how do you think he’ll feel if he finds out another way? You know how he gets.’
‘That’s exactly why I don’t want to tell him.’
‘Your choice, babe, but he’ll know for sure if stay I home.’
She stared at him.
‘You really think I’d leave you after last night? They can manage without me for one day. Just like the museum can manage without you. We’ll skive off together.’
‘I don’t want to stay off work. It’s important to me.’
‘They’re just bits of broken pottery.’
She scowled. ‘It’s not just broken pottery. It’s my career. Don’t dismiss it. I don’t do that with your stupid interviews or sports commentary.’
‘Dismiss— what?’ He put down the toast. ‘Where’s this coming from?’
‘You! Making jokes . . . this is a big deal. What if that guy is outside our house? What if he’s following me around? What if I’m sick?’
He looked vague.
‘Weren’t you listening? I told Tristen that the guy bit me.’
‘Who?’
‘The detective! The homeless guy bit me, but then I bit him back and got blood in my mouth. What if I caught some horrible disease?’
Nick swore, another of the few phrases in Afrikaans she really recognised. He continued in English, speaking as he might to a petulant two-year-old. ‘You had a whole conversation with the detective upstairs, remember? While I was down here defending you to his domkop partner. I didn’t know about the blood. We’ll go to the hospital—’ she stamped her foot. ‘Fine – the GP – and get all the tests you want. But you need to calm down.’
‘I am calm.’
‘Then why are you shaking?’
Lenina looked down at her hands. A tear slipped free and traced a stinging path along the scratch on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. I feel so . . . and the wedding . . . look at me! I’m a mess. All this won’t heal before the ceremony. And you look like you’ve been in a boxing ring. It’s a complete disaster.’
‘It’s not. We just have to take things one step at a time. We’ll go to the GP. We’ll talk to the make-up artists. Both of us can wear make-up if we have to. Your bridal consultant will be thrilled.’
‘You’d wear make-up for me?’
‘I’d do anything for you. You must know that.’
She st
ared at him, drinking in the softness in his eyes, the downward tilt of his lips. ‘I do. I’m sorry.’
‘Come here.’
Lenina ran to him and let him put his arms around her.
For the first time since the attack it felt right to be there. His warmth, his strength, even the shape of his muscles beneath his dressing gown.
‘Let me call Donna,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll tell her you threw up this morning.’
‘Don’t you dare. She’ll be picking out cots and babygrows before you know it.’
A smile further brightened Nick’s features. He pressed a light kiss to her uninjured cheek. ‘Would that be so bad?’ he whispered. ‘Pregnant? A baby? You wouldn’t like that?’
‘It would ruin our honeymoon.’
Nick’s laughter filled the kitchen. He kissed her again, harder this time. ‘Is that all you think about?’
‘Yes. And my dress.’
‘Bimbo.’ After one last squeeze he left her. ‘Don’t forget to call the doctor. I need the appointment time if I’m coming with you.’
She hesitated, toying with the rim of her mug. ‘No, you go. Daddy can come instead.’
‘I thought you didn’t want him to worry.’
‘He doesn’t have to know why I’m going.’
‘Your funeral.’ He carried his plate, toast and all, into the living room. Moments later, Lenina heard the sound of the local news from the TV.
In the still of the kitchen she sipped her tea, thinking back over the night before. The pain in her stomach had subsided somewhat, but the headache remained. Sharp. Piercing. Each time she glanced through the window to the garden outside, bright shafts of watery sunlight made the feeling still worse. Squinting against the glare, she stood and pulled the blinds down. As artificial twilight fell on the room, the pain receded slightly.
‘Great,’ she murmured.
Fishing in a drawer unearthed a blister pack of ibuprofen and she swallowed two with another glug of tea.
While waiting for the drug to kick in she heard the trill of the doorbell. Nick grumbled from the other room. Seconds later, two voices floated through, one light and playful, the other deep and strong, like a drill sergeant. The second voice came closer.
A quick swivel on the chair had Lenina facing the door in time to see her father plough into the room. Tall, broad and dark in faded black trousers, and a battered leather jacket. His white shirt was open at the neck, framing a flash of gold jewellery against his hairy chest.
For all that his clothing was neat and tidy, his face didn’t match. A worn, tired look lived in his eyes and his forehead showcased a liberal collection of wrinkles. More so than the last time she saw him.
He shrugged off the jacket, wiped both hands over his shiny bald head then swept her up. His massive arms curled around her body, lifting her off the floor. Her toes scraped the tops of his shoes.
Gasping, she turned her face sideways to free it from his chest. ‘Daddy?’ she wheezed, ‘put me down.’
He squeezed harder. ‘I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.’
Lenina groaned, making a mental note to flay Nick for his wagging tongue. ‘I’m fine. I’m not hurt.’
‘Hurt? Why would you be hurt?’
Her feet hit the ground so hard her teeth knocked together. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘The wedding caterers? They pulled out.’
She stumbled then righted herself, tilting her head to get a proper look at her father’s face. ‘When?’
‘They didn’t tell you? They phoned me yesterday because the company’s gone into administration.’
The sick sensation returned to Lenina’s stomach. ‘How am I going to get new caterers at this point? I knew this would be a disaster!’ She gnawed her thumbnail. ‘Maybe I can go back to that place on Harrow Road. If we offer them extra they might be able to squeeze us in . . .’
‘I’ll handle it, chuck.’
‘But we were going to have vol-au-vents and canapés.’
He chuckled. ‘Any caterer in the East Midlands can handle that.’
‘But they need to be gluten free. And what about the main course? I’ll have to go through all the allergy details again. There’s no time.’
‘I said I’ll handle it. Why don’t you tell me what you were talking about?’
Lenina returned to the table and hid behind her tea. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Chuck . . .’ His voice deepened. Took on that warning edge she remembered from her childhood years.
‘Honest, Daddy, it’s nothing. You’re going to make me late for work.’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Is this a morning tea party or something?’ Nick’s agitated voice carried over the low drone of the breakfast news. Lenina glanced towards the living room then back to her father. She opened her mouth, ready to speak again, when Nick put his head around the door.
‘Nina, the detective is here again.’
She looked at her father. Saw the frown on his face deepen.
‘What detective? What’s he talking about?’
She sighed. ‘Coming . . .’
Chapter Seven