Chapter 48
“Oh my goodness, what a pair of decrepits!” Emma commented as she helped Rohan negotiate the miniscule space between the cars. He swivelled on his only leg and pushed his backside into the car, falling backwards across the gear stick. Emma clanked his crutches and shoved them on the back seat as Rohan managed to get himself seated. In the driving seat, Emma turned to him. “Definitely buckle up. This ain’t gonna be pretty. You’ve only got enough feet to press the brake and I’m working up to another puking session.” She exhaled slowly and touched her stomach lightly. “We’ll have to have all the windows open.”
Rohan snorted. “We don’t even make up one decent body between us.”
“Speak for your bloody self!” Emma slapped his arm, groaning at the jarring of her body. “Ooh, not good.”
It was a slow and painful journey back to Market Harborough and Emma parked out front on the road. “I’m pretending I parked out here for you,” Emma grumbled, “but actually it was more for me. I don’t think I can make it up the garden without decorating everything on the way.”
“It’s fine.” Rohan spoke softly, stroking Emma’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. He glanced up at the house. “Now we just have to work out how to get indoors, seeing as neither of us can help the other.”
“If it wasn’t so tragic, it’d be funny,” Emma groaned, leaning her head against the headrest.
The neighbours may have been momentarily shocked by the sight of the handsome Russian on crutches with a flapping, empty pants leg blowing in the breeze. But they were far more entertained by Emma’s spectacular decoration of the hedge, followed by the pot plants either side of the front porch. “I love how you treat my foliage with scrupulous fairness,” Rohan commented as he hopped on one leg, trying to get his key in the lock.
“Hurry up, or the next lot goes in your shoe,” Emma threatened as she clutched Rohan’s right trainer in her fingers. As the front door opened and Rohan hopped back for her to pass, Emma made a beeline for the downstairs cloakroom, taking her husband’s shoe with her.
They snuggled on the couch in a blanket later, Emma clutching a cup of milk which seemed to be miraculously curing her sickness. Rohan sat with his phone in his hand, peering at the tiny writing, his reading glasses in his other hand, resting against his bottom lip. “They work better on your face,” Emma sighed, wrinkling her nose as the milk mixed with the taste of toothpaste.
Rohan looked up. “It says here that morning sickness is the stomach’s way of telling you it’s empty but the hormones mess up the signal. That’s why the milk’s working. It’s satiating the hunger.”
“Please don’t tell me you plan to Google every sneeze, Ro.” Emma stopped herself adding, I’ve done this before. She kept the cruel rejoinder to herself and switched to another knotty issue. “What was that call when I was in the bathroom. Was it about your mother’s case? Has she worked out a way to kill her guards yet?”
Rohan shook his head at Emma’s jibe and folded his glasses carefully flat, slipping them into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Don’t, Em.” He glanced at her. “Do you think you’d be alright to light the fire now? I can tell you where everything is.”
“Please don’t make me?” she groaned. “Why can’t you just get a gas fire like normal people? Then you can press a button and heat pops out.” Emma silenced herself at the memory of the cold gas fire at her house in Lincoln, which she never afforded to light, even when snow dusted the ground outside. Rohan misinterpreted her silence as a rebuke.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and Emma snuggled into his chest, the milk tipping dangerously sideways. Rohan took it from her fingers and balanced it on his thigh.
“Stop changing the subject,” Emma muttered, pressing her face into his shirt and inhaling his familiar scent. A different feeling began in her stomach, a gentle stirring desire which filtered up through the other signals to her brain. Emma popped one of the buttons and kissed Rohan’s blonde chest hair, feeling the fire ignite under her. Rohan’s snuff of laughter made her realise her error. Now she was the distraction. “Tell me then? I’ll keep quiet, I promise.”
Emma shifted position so she faced the back of the sofa and laid across her husband’s thighs, her face pushed into his hard stomach. It felt deliciously comfortable and daytime-decadent. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling Rohan move slightly as he balanced her mug on the arm of the sofa. She sensed his soft breath on her cheek as he looked down at her and his long fingers sifted through her curls, selecting one and then twirling it. The first time he did that, Emma was six and he was nine, lined up in front of the new matriarch in terror as she ranted about some misdemeanor. The tiny Emma was so scared, she almost wet herself.
“Tell me about Alanya.” Emma heard the hardness in her voice.
Rohan exhaled, shifting Emma’s head as the gush of air left his body. “She’s been moved to a secure unit. At the moment she seems like a normal, level headed fifty-six year old woman, but the cops noticed significant agitation when asked about your father, in particular.” Rohan paused, his words seeming hard to form. “The detective in charge told the lawyer he didn’t believe she was a cold blooded serial killer, but actually someone who has...issues.” He swallowed. “She seemed to think she was genuinely helping people, showing them love and nursing them. She’ll have a mental health assessment and go back to the court when it’s complete. I’m leaving it to the lawyers to sort out.”
Emma wrapped her arms securely round Rohan’s waist and nestled in, trying to infuse him with love and comfort. The bleakness of her childhood threatened her from its forbidding darkness and Emma squeezed her eyes tightly shut to avoid its onslaught. Alanya affected them all in different ways. Anton became cunning and sly, overtly flamboyant yet protective of his siblings. Rohan switched his mind off and blocked out the bad times, excelling in school and throwing himself into activity and love with Emma. Sighing, Emma reached out with her mind and tried to touch the glowing threads of her stepmother, allowing herself to truly feel her inner emotions about the woman.
For years there was dread and terror but now? Emma stretched her mind to allow Alanya’s face to appear, severe, autocratic and dictatorial. She stared into the blue eyes in her imagination and saw something else; a woman haunted by herself, tortured by a spirit of death, always seeking thanks and acclamation but causing only misery and grief. She exhaled and opened her eyes. “Ro?” Emma slid her body up his chest, her breasts banging against every button on the way up until their eyes were level.
Rohan smiled sadly at her and his pupils dilated with attraction, looking huge in his glittering blue eyes. “Da?” he replied. Emma reached over and took the remains of her milk from his right hand, sliding the contents down her throat quickly in warning to her delicate stomach not to try any funny business. She put the mug on the floor and putting her arms behind her, seized the edge of the scratchy blanket, pulling it up over her head and Rohan’s and sealing them into a grey, secret world.
“I feel better now,” she whispered. “Wanna play ‘Let’s Pretend’ with me?”
Rohan snorted softly. “Hey, I was honourable. I waited until you were sixteen and got the marriage certificate in my hand. I’m a good Russian Orthodox boy.”
Emma shifted closer, deliberately pushing herself against him and feeling his arousal under her body. She touched her lips to his and gently nipped his bottom lip. Then in deference to the beautiful Anton, who schooled her in a fake Russian accent until she made him cry with laughter, Emma lowered her voice and said, “But I give you good, strong sons, comrade. And you vill find me very bad Anglican.”
It was too hot under the blanket, which became discarded in the freezing living room, but Emma found some creative ways of warming them up. Rohan’s shirt buttons were the only casualty fortunately, but as Emma hunted around for them on the floor, shivering and naked, her husband deliberately sent her in the wrong direction so he could o
gle her longer. “You’re lying!” she complained, snatching at the blanket and meeting the resistance of Rohan’s strong fingers. “Count how many are missing. I’ve got four here.”
Rohan ignored his gaping shirt and kept his eyes fixed on Emma as she pouted. “You are krasivyy. I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered. His eyes were narrowed and sultry and Emma sat naked on the bare floorboards holding his gaze, wishing she could bottle the moment for harsher times. The buttons clinked in her palm and Rohan’s exposed chest was muscular and defined. The blanket covered his modesty, unlike her, and only one sock rested on the cold floor, accentuating the loss of his other foot. Aching for him, Emma kneeled up and tumbled the four tiny buttons onto the blanket, resting her body against his knees.
“You call me krasivyy, beautiful, Ro. But I have stretch marks from Nicky and I’m bound to get a whole lot more soon. Breastfeeding ruined my boobs and I avoid trying to look at the state of my ass in the mirror.” She tugged at the blanket between them, seeing Rohan’s fingers clench over the edge in refusal to let go. Emma allowed him to hold on but pushed it aside so his thigh and knee were exposed, Emma’s breasts resting against the skin above the gauze stocking. The buttons piled gleefully to the floor again. “You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met, Ro. Women stare at you and girls like Felicity fixate on you. It drives me crazy and I hate it.” She rested her hand on the gauze and felt his muscles tense beneath it. “I love you, Ro. I’ve never known anyone else and this...doesn’t matter.” She slipped the top of the stocking back with questing fingers and kissed the exposed space above Rohan’s knee. She watched his stomach flex and a storm of emotions dance across his face. Emma pushed the stocking down to his knee cap and kissed the flat bone, careful not to disturb the packing further down which guarded the painful, sensitive wound.
With gentle fingers, Emma replaced the stocking and felt Rohan relax. She laid her chin on his knee and repeated the words of the registrar at Gretna Green a lifetime ago, when presented by two teenagers and a naive and burning love for each other. For some reason on that day, instead of performing his usual speech, he stopped and looked at the kids before him. ‘I feel like today, I should say this to you both.’ He smiled, grey hair wafting in a breeze from an open doorway. ‘Marriage is for life, a covenant between both of you and God himself. You will be required to love each other through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty. But this is for keeps, no matter what comes your way.’ He smiled at them, a benevolent father approving of a secret marriage known only to Anton.
“Have you ever wondered why he said that?” Rohan asked, his voice hushed with reverence.
Emma nodded, her cheek moving his leg with the motion. “Yeah. I have, often. He was just a registrar and we paid for short and sweet. Well, you paid. But with hindsight, it seems so relevant.” She smiled up at him and Rohan stroked her hair back from her face.
“Happiest day of my life,” he whispered. “And for the record, I love every one of your stretch marks.” Emma gave him a poignant look and raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah!” He cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.
Emma pressed her lips against her husband’s thigh and gave him a beatific smile. “I’m hungry now, Ro. But after we get Nick from school, please can I drive us somewhere special?”
Rohan cocked his head sideways in curiosity and smiled at Emma. She hugged herself like an excited child, although gooseflesh rose on her arms in the cool temperatures. “Do you want to go out for lunch?” he asked, although his jaw tightened in fear of her answer.
“I got the impression you wanted to hide here until your prosthetic was fixed?” Emma asked, laying her cheek back on his knee.
Rohan studied something outside the French doors, his gaze fixed on things Emma couldn’t see. He nodded slowly and sighed. “It’s what I feel like doing and pretty much what I did when it first happened. But it’s not what I should do, is it? I need to face people. Apparently fear is an illusion. But I am scared.”
Emma stood up and pushed herself into his lap, covering them both with the blanket and laying her head on his shoulder. “What are you scared most of?”
“Moy syn.” Rohan’s answer was immediate, listing his son’s opinion as his biggest fear. “Him thinking I’m ne polezno.”
Emma inhaled and fondled the soft downy hair on Rohan’s chest. “He’ll never think that, Ro. Not of you. ‘Useless’ isn’t in his vocabulary where you’re concerned.
“What do we do? How do we deal with this?” Rohan asked. “I can’t stand in the playground with everyone pointing and staring and casually inform him I’ve only got one leg.”
“No, I know.” Emma sat up and looked down at her husband. “How about you let me worry about Nicky?”
Rohan opted bravely to accompany Emma out for lunch. He directed her to a village public house to the west of Market Harborough and sat in the car, twisting his fingers with nerves. “My driving that bad, baby?” Emma asked, putting her fingers over his to stop the writhing.
Rohan looked up and inhaled. “Bloody shocking. Dunno why I let you drive my damn car.” His eyes flared and he bit his lip. “Let’s get this over with then.”
“We can go to the drive through at McDonald’s if you’d rather?” Emma offered.
Rohan shook his head. “What, after you helped me dress so beautifully?” He waved a hand at the three quarter pants revealing one, blonde haired leg, its foot stuffed into a trainer. The other pants leg hung over the seat, the absent leg creating a strange illusion.
Emma shrugged. “It looks better than full length jeans. I’m not sure why. But hey, you can wait in the car when I go for Nicky. Then I’ll drive you somewhere nice and we’ll just hang for a while as a family.”
Rohan nodded and Emma got out to hand him the crutches which took up most of the back seat. He used the door to lever himself out, waving away Emma’s help with a small look of exasperation. She watched him expertly make his way to the pub door and lower himself down one step and then the next, a look of pride on her face. This man is truly awesome, she smiled inwardly, the expression of adoration giving her complexion an ethereal glow.
Emma flanked Rohan to the bar and picked up two menus, waiting for him to order the drinks. He leaned a crutch against the wooden bar and pulled his wallet awkwardly from his pocket, balancing with enormous skill as he handed over his card in payment for the drinks. Emma wordlessly picked up the soft drinks as the barman handed Rohan the receipt. “Grab a seat over there, mate. Order at the bar when you’ve decided what food you want. Kitchen closes at two o’clock.”
Emma watched her husband struggle over to a small table for two, dropping his crutches down the side next to the wall and shifting into his seat. She felt torn between wanting to smack the barman in the face for his thoughtlessness and kissing him for treating her husband like everyone else. She decided the latter was preferable for Rohan and reached across, taking her husband’s fingers in hers. “Want me to order the food?” she asked, trying not to make assumptions about how Rohan might be feeling. He shook his head and smiled up at her, peace beginning to burgeon in his eyes.
“I’ll do it. What do you fancy?” Emma shot him a coy look and Rohan squeezed her fingers. “Stop that!” he whispered, biting his bottom lip and looking away. Emma smirked and chose her food, sticking to the soup and some ciabatta bread to help her ailing stomach. Rohan hefted himself to the bar to order and periodically glanced back at Emma, narrowing his eyes at her as she watched his gorgeous bum move across the distance between them. She blew him a sultry kiss, smirking as an elderly lady nearby gave her the thumbs up. Emma snorted out loud and covered it with a fake cough.
Observing the crowd in the snug dining room, Emma watched them glance at Rohan by the bar. Without exception, they all took a longer look as he balanced on his crutches. Nobody screamed, fainted or ran out. They studied the odd gap at the bottom of his trousers as though processing a complicated jigsaw puzzle, then made the pieces
fit and moved on mentally, choosing to look elsewhere without concern. They weren’t deliberately cruel, just curious in a human nature sort of way. But for Rohan, it was paralysing.
Emma watched her husband turn and battle his way back to the table, a laminated sign gripped between his lips bearing the number seven. His upper body strength exuded power as he wielded his crutches and his striking good looks drew more than passing glances from all the sexually active women in the room, including the little old lady who winked at Emma through sparkling eyes filled with naughtiness. The pub was olde worlde, dating back hundreds of years. The ceilings were beamed and low and the ambience timeless and calm.
Rohan pushed himself back into the seat and went through the palaver with his crutches again, fitting them back down the side of the table.
“Ro,” Emma started and he looked up at her, exhaustion showing in his face already. It was more than just a physical tiredness though, it was mental and emotional fatigue which leached from slightly glazed eyes.
“Yeah?” He sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Remember that night when I came to you?” Emma fiddled with a packet of sugar between her fingers. Rohan waited for her to go on. “Did you just not want me in bed with you, or was it because you didn’t want me to know about your leg?”
“My leg,” he replied immediately. “I wasn’t ready to tell you. I heard you bang the crutches by the bed and lost my nerve. I sent you away and spent the whole night regretting it.”
“I cried myself to sleep,” Emma said, feeling guilty at the look of misery which immediately darkened Rohan’s face. She reached across and clasped his fingers. “It’s ok,” she smirked across at him. “You can make it up to me.”
After lunch, Emma drove to the school and parked up on the road. She leaned back in her seat and yawned. Rohan turned sideways and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Tired, dorogaya?”
Emma nodded and he massaged the back of her neck with strong fingers. She sighed with pleasure as he teased the stress knots and aching nerve endings with a firm, kneading action. “I could get used to this,” she joked, her energy levels plummeting the nearer it got to meeting Nicky.
Rohan stayed in the car as agreed and Emma walked to the playground to fetch her son. Mel and Allaine stood waiting, tapping their feet on the concrete to keep their toes warm. “How’s the job going?” Emma asked Mel, gratified by the happiness which flooded across the beautiful face. Mel’s newly beaded affro shimmered and shook in the bland daylight. “It’s amazin’!” she gushed. “Such nice people I work for. I’m lovin’ it. You should come in for one of ma special coffees,” she encouraged. “People are tellin’ me how nice ma drinks is.”
“I’d like that,” Emma smiled, pulling her sweater more snugly round her torso.
“How are you doing?” Allaine asked in a low voice as Mel turned to speak to another parent about a play date for Mo.
“I’m ok,” Emma replied and smiled at her friend. “Lots to deal with in the last couple of days but I’m doing alright.”
“What about the, you-know-what?” Allaine whispered and Emma rolled her eyes in an exaggerated motion.
“Which one?” Emma hissed back. “There’s more than one to choose from.”
“Oh.” Allaine cringed and looked at Emma with concern. “Anything I can do to help?”
Emma leaned in so she could speak without being overheard. “Well, Rohan knows about the baby and is fine, excited actually. His mother’s currently undergoing mental health assessments for a form of disorder which leads her to poison people so she can appear to help them get better.” Emma paused, not wanting to gossip about Rohan’s health issues without his permission.
“Want coffee after this?” Allaine indicated the children bursting from the main door with an outstretched hand.
Emma touched her arm in thanks but shook her head. “I’ve just got something else to deal with, but tomorrow would be good if you’re free? Maybe after I drop Nicky in the morning. I wouldn’t mind a bit of help with his wise man costume for Friday.”
Allaine snorted. “You’re lucky. A granny nightie and a tea towel will do Nicky. Pity both of us. Mrs Clarke is gonna regret these particular wise men ever being given air time, let alone a stage!”
“Definitely” Emma agreed. “Well don’t lose hope. I think I’ve just the thing for Kaylee in the suitcase I brought from Lincoln.” She smirked. “I’ve got all Lucya’s old nighties.”
“Thank goodness for that!” Allaine groaned. I can’t make Kaylee understand the small fact that wise men didn’t turn up to see Baby Jesus in fairy outfits!”
Emma laughed, but the happy expression faded from her lips as Nicky’s eager face appeared on the steps. “Here goes,” she muttered, as much to herself as to Allaine. Her friend looked at her with curiosity, distracted by Kaylee splatting into her stomach armed with several wet paintings. By the time Allaine looked back up, Emma walked slowly towards the play park, her arm around Nicky. Both looked serious.
“Nick, I need to talk to you about some grown up stuff,” Emma said, forcing an unthreatening lightness into her voice. Nicky’s shoulders automatically drooped as he trudged along next to her. They sat on a wooden bench near the lane out onto Scotland Road and Nicky stared at the floor.
“We’re leaving, aren’t we?” he asked, sounding far too old for his years.
“No, baby,” Emma replied and he looked up at her in confusion.
“Well, what other grown up stuff is there then?”
Emma sighed and bit her lip. “This is to do with Rohan,” she began, frustrated by Nicky’s interruption.
“Is he leaving?” His eyes widened in horror, tears pricking at the corners.
“No! Nicky, this is important. I need you to listen to me.” Emma huffed, wrestling with her exasperation, reminding herself he was only six. “Many years ago, around the time you were born, Rohan had an accident in the army and he lost his leg...”
“Can we help him look for it?” Nicky asked, his little face so sincere, Emma found it hard to be cross.
“There’s no point. It was badly damaged so the doctors gave him a special one. Unfortunately it got a bit broken over the weekend and it’s gone to the menders.” Nicky studied his mother with his full concentration, wide blue eyes boring into her face. “So,” Emma bit her lip. “He’s only got one leg and he’s worried you might not...”
“Might not help ‘im up the stairs?”
“No, might not...”
“Might not fetch him fings?”
“No, might not...”
“Might not get ‘im cuppa teas?”
“No Nick!” Emma put her head in her hands. “Might not like him!”
“Oh.” Nicky seemed genuinely stunned. “Why would I fink that? I love ‘im. He’s my daddy. Look, I done ‘im a picture of us all. That’s you, look.”
Emma glanced down at the A4 sheet with the stick men splatted on it. There was a tall blue one and a small blue one and a large green one, which Emma assumed was her. In view of her morning sickness, it was an appropriate colour. A black splat sojourning on the bottom of the page denoted Farrell’s fuzzy body. He was bigger than everyone else. “Beautiful,” Emma smiled. “Well, Ro’s in the car so let’s go and get him, shall we?”
“Not Ro!” Nicky corrected her. “Daddy!”
Emma opened the door for her son and he slid into the back seat. “Belt up, love,” she told him.
“Nice crutches, Daddy!” Nicky complimented Rohan on the metal apparatus straddling the foot well. “These isn’t the ones from under your bed, is they?”
Emma shook her head and started the engine, noticing the look of amazement on Rohan’s face. She glanced at Nicky in the rear view mirror and saw him rub his eyes and look miserable. “What’s the matter, Nick?”
He shifted in his seat, squirming like he had fleas. “Well, I do walkings about in the night sometimes wiv my pen torch and I seen Daddy’s pretend leg in the bathroom in his ro
om. I only touched it though, just a little stroke.” Nicky rubbed his eyes again and tears squeezed out and ran down his face. “I didn’t mean to break it!”
Rohan peeped through the centre between the two seats offering reassurances and Emma climbed in the back and held her son. “It wasn’t you, funny boy,” she soothed. “It was a different sort of accident and it broke real good. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I just wanted you...oh, it doesn’t matter.” She held her son, glad of the tinted windows as other children filed by on their way home.
Darkness gripped the land in its firm fingers and Emma sighed as all hope of her trip to Anton’s place in daylight faded.