Blood and wings (A Shaded Rose Series Book 1) Read online

  Why weren’t we spontaneous? I ask myself. I know this is something I’ll always regret. We should have taken the moment, grasped it. Gone with our hearts and thought fuck it, worried about the consequences later. I wonder to myself what our little girl would have looked like, but then I close my eyes and think of him and I know instantly. She would have had the same caramel complexion and her hair would have been thick and long. She would have been a pretty little thing named Coral, after his gran, and the shame of it is we’ll never get to meet her. She can only ever be a what-if, a dream, and as for our baby boy…

  My thoughts pause as a shiver runs through me and a cool breeze lifts my hair. My head is pounding. I try, but I can’t think any longer, I can’t stay here any longer. It’s as if I’m being suffocated, eaten up by grief. I jump to my feet.

  “Goodbye, Jai, until tomorrow,” I call over my shoulder, turning back briefly as I weave my way carefully between scattered ashes of the dead.

  I gaze down at the remains of people I have never met, yet still I feel an attachment, a need to show them respect. They were just like me once. They had a life, friends, family who loved them. It’s uncanny, for it is where we are all heading; we have time, but from death there is no escape. We cannot bribe death, and wealth and fame hold no meaning; we all stand on this earth as equals. No matter who we are, it’s only a matter of time before our number will be called.

  I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, for both time and reality have run away from me. It had completely slipped my mind that Tristan would be waiting outside the cemetery gates. His last words were that he would meet me at one o’clock. I glance down at my gold watch; guilt creeps in, for it is way past that. He said he was going to walk me back to the flat, and we’d spend the day pigging out on junk food and lie on the sofa and watch daytime TV.

  I amble past a small flowing stream and a row of tall green conifers. Beyond the final tree I catch sight of him, a glint of blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

  “Tristan,” I call.

  He is wearing a pair of navy-blue jeans and a black fitted T-shirt. His elbow props him up against a weathered stone wall. As he sees me a smile lights his face and he walks over to meet me. As he nears, his steel-grey eyes soften and narrow, and creases appear. He has a kindness to his face quite contradictory to his rugged looks and ripped torso.

  I feel his arm as it wraps around my shoulder, creasing my blue T-shirt, which I straighten with my hands.

  “Are you okay, Rose?” he enquires.

  I can hear the concern in his voice as he hugs me tightly to him. I tense; I feel so out of place standing in the arms of another man.

  I can sense his eyes as they drop down towards me. My own eyes are lost elsewhere and my mind wanders back to well over two years ago. I can see myself as if it were only yesterday. This is one memory I choose to forget, though for some reason my mind begins to replay it. I’m in the flat standing before the oval mirror in the bathroom with mascara-smudged eyes. It is a vague recollection, but I can still hear those voices calling out, telling me to jump. They repeated themselves over and over in my mind, turning my sanity to madness. The voices finally stopped when they became thoughts of my own. I would join Jai, find the bridge in the forest, and then I would jump. I had an overriding urge to fall, to let go of my life and watch year by year my existence flash before my eyes. When my twenty-one years were all played out, it was Jai’s face I wanted to see, into his arms I wanted to fall. Surely death would have given us back the life we had lost?

  Fate played her hand and someone saved me that night. It was a man, a stranger; he walked onto the bridge out of nowhere. As he neared, I fell, but his strong arms reached out to save me. But whoever the stranger was, he muddied the waters of my mind and death became less of an option. It made me think again, that maybe life was something that should be cherished and shouldn’t be given up so readily, and if there was such a thing as undying love, in my heart I knew when my time came that Jai would be there waiting.

  “I’ve got a box set, thought it would kill a few hours,” Tristan pipes up.

  I jump from my thoughts and manage a half smile. His choice of words couldn’t have been more apt. I look down at the cracks in the pavement as we walk back in the direction of the flat. The footsteps we take are in unison. I can feel myself edging away from his hold; it feels wrong … we are far too close. I’ve never felt more in need of my own space, though Tristan makes no attempt to move his arm from my shoulder; it feels so out of place, like a scarf worn around one’s neck on a warm summer’s afternoon. I know he is trying so hard to please me, I see it in his eyes. The way he looks at me each morning, I can’t help but love him as a friend. I can’t deny that I enjoy his company, and if he were to leave, the flat would feel empty without him. I think he was the lift I needed in my life when he moved in. I would say that the day I saved him he saved me right back. But he is not Jai, and that special little something that love brings he unfortunately lacks.

  We enter the building. I hear the usual ringing in my ears as my heels click against the steps’ metal beading. I prise the key out of my jeans pocket, and upon reaching the door feel the grip of Tristan’s hand slip from my shoulders, taking with it a huge weight. I take a breath and open the door to the flat. As I enter I am choked by a haze of smoke lingering in the air. I constantly ask Tristan not to smoke, or at least to open a window, but he either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to. His response is that it makes him feel more alive, but whatever he means by that I have no idea.

  “More post…” I sigh as my eyes drop to the letters littering the hallway floor.

  Before I can retrieve them, Tristan bends down and picks them up one by one. He places them on a heap of bills on the glass-topped telephone table. The white envelopes now wear a red stamp and are labelled urgent. I don’t lift them or put my finger under the seal to open them. I know what they are, yet more reminders, but with very little money it is better that I don’t see and then maybe they will go away. But no, that’s only wishful thinking. I know Tristan does the best he can, the odd cash-in-hand job here and there, but it’s not enough, nowhere near. I’ve got to try and pull myself together, get off my arse and get a job… But not today or tomorrow, maybe next week.

  “So how was it?” he asks.

  I scrunch up my nose.

  “Jai’s birthday,” he remarks. “Are you coping okay?”

  “Yeah, fine thanks.” I break eye contact.

  He had remembered it was Jai’s birthday, which was nice I suppose, though I don’t want to talk about it or share my grief with anybody. I look into his face and watch as he brushes his ash-blonde hair from his steel-grey eyes in a similar way to how Jai used to. I pull back from his tight squeeze as he passes me in the hallway and feel him place his hand on my arm.

  “I’ve gone one better,” he pipes up. “Wasn’t it cookie dough?”

  I freeze. That wasn’t just any ice cream, it was special to me and Jai. For that split second it felt as though Tristan was trying to take his place, mimic our special nights in together. How could he know? Only once I remember mentioning our favourite ice cream; surely he wouldn’t have remembered that. It had been no more than a passing statement.

  “Damn, it’s like bloody water now…”

  I hear the crackling of one of the bags he is holding.

  “Suppose I could always re-freeze it,” he jokes, looking up from under his eyes.

  I watch as he bites down on his bottom lip. I think my unappreciative glare answers his question. He throws me a smile, turning sideways in an attempt to pass, but our bodies are far too close. I can feel myself take a deep breath against the brush of his clothing. Most days I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but then any other day wouldn’t have been Jai’s birthday. A heat rises into my throat, which I am quick to swallow back. I feel a warmth in my cheeks and I know he’s seen me blush.

  It is the first emotion other than grief that I have felt in a l
ong while. I am scared by this feeling, and so flick my head away to avoid Tristan’s gaze, squeezing past him in the narrow hallway. I can’t help but notice the tight fit of his jeans, how they cling so nicely to his ass as he bends down over the pedal bin and discards our melted afternoon treat.

  “You’ll always be mine…” I hear him utter.

  I look away from him; surely I can’t have heard him right.

  “You what?” I babble, stumbling over my words.

  His chiselled face turns towards me, looking quite unperturbed.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I imagine that he has seen the colour drain from my cheeks, turning them from a rosy-red to dead-pan white.

  “Did I hear you right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, think so.” He nods. “Which DVD do you fancy?”

  He lifts two from the kitchen worktop.

  “Your choice; it’s either You’ll Always Be Mine or The Notebook.”

  I realise what an idiot I’ve been. How do I always manage to read things so wrong? But then, there is no smoke without fire. I know Tristan wouldn’t take a lot of encouragement, and I think he knows I know.

  “The Notebook,” I call over my shoulder, attempting a smile as I disappear into my bedroom to change into something a little more comfortable.

  I kept everything of Jai’s, apart from our double bed. I couldn’t lie in it every night without him, so purchased a single bed for a single girl. It’s not nearly as comfortable and I know there is something missing, but it will have to do. The thick mattress sinks beneath me as I sit down. The red and white floral wallpaper catches my eye; it was our first attempt at decorating. Due to Jai’s illness, we never finished it, and the two sheets by the window are just beige plaster with the odd crack here and there. I pass a nonchalant sigh; the wall looks much like myself—incomplete.

  Our wedding canvas hangs opposite the bed, and I smile up at it. I catch him smiling back at me and can hardly face opening the door and spending the evening with Tristan. I can’t deny he’s been the pick-me-up I’ve needed, but I know he wants more.

  I can’t help a slight guilt creeping into my thoughts, for he is so good to me in so many ways and it would be easy on my part to make the mistake, to willingly slip into his arms, but it would be the wrong thing to do and for all the wrong reasons. I know I’d regret any intimacy we shared, and once we’d crossed that line our friendship, which means so much to me, would be left in jeopardy.

  Apart from the odd job Tristan finds himself, we’re together almost 24/7. I need to get out of here, I need some me time, some breathing space. As I’m thinking, I’m also scrolling down my phone looking through the classified section of a webpage. An evening job may be the answer. My eyes notice the many bars that need staff in Nottingham town centre. I stop at one vacancy in particular, more so because the name jumps out at me: The Silken Kite. It’s not only a bar, but a club, so the working hours would be longer. If I were to get the job Tristan would surely be in bed when I returned home. I don’t allow my mind the time to talk myself out of this decision, but hurriedly press the link to the number. My call goes straight to voicemail.

  “Hi, my name is Rose,” I stammer, “Rose-Mae Cunningham. I’m twenty-three, and live locally.”

  I can feel myself growing in confidence as there is no one on the other end, just me talking to a machine.

  “I’m just enquiring about the barmaid job … erm, okay, thanks, bye.”

  I hang up. Shit! I didn’t even leave a number for them to get back in touch with me. I’m not ringing back. I curse again, feeling like a complete fool. This evening of all evenings I am not looking forward to watching melancholy romances with Tristan.

  I run the brush though my long dark hair and tie it back with an elastic-band. I slip out of my clothes and into my more comfortable blue onesie, and put on my warm slippers.

  Not wanting to appear rude, I walk into the lounge. Tristan is sitting at the far end of the room, perched on the window sill with one leg crossed over the other. The window is slightly ajar, and I watch as cigarette smoke billows from his nostrils and the breeze outside lifts up the netting. He flicks the nub from between his fingers.

  I presume he hears me enter, as he swivels round to face me. My eyes wander to his T-shirt strewn over the back of the black leather settee. I tremble as indecent thoughts jump around my head. I think it is due to looking at a man’s physique with the sun beating down upon it, as this isn’t the first time I have seen Tristan undressed. He doesn’t seem to think anything of it, and often gets out of the shower and walks round with only a towel draped around his waist. He’s never really left much to the imagination, but saying that, I’ve never really looked.

  Lifting my shoulders, I smile to myself. My thoughts confuse me; it feels as if Jai’s birthday is allowing me to move on, as if he is giving me his blessing. Brick by brick, the wall I have built around myself is beginning to crumble and make way for me to live my life.

  My eyes follow Tristan’s physique as he meanders across the lounge towards the settee and sits down. He picks up the remote control and presses the play button. I hear the intro to the film, and watch as he lifts his free hand from his lap and taps the cushion beside him. I can never imagine myself looking at him the way I used to look at Jai. My gaze follows his hand as he lifts his arm and scratches his side. I pause on seeing his slim tapered waist and prominent arm muscles, and something inside me awakens. I know in time I do want somebody, a man in my life.

  “Well don’t just stand there, it’s starting.” His laugh holds a touch of sarcasm, followed by a rather large grin.

  I’m too lost in my own imaginings to answer, so I simply oblige and sit at his side. I sink into the cushion and my eyes roll as I feel his arm wander around my back, his hand resting loosely on my shoulder. His skin exudes the scent of tobacco. The bitter aroma and our closeness almost choke me, for smoking is not a habit I like. I gaze up at him from under my lashes, looking for any flaws to his face, but there appear to be none. Even the dark stubble he fashions sits perfectly across and under the line of his jaw. His olive complexion is one undisturbed by even the slightest blemish, so perfect in fact that his skin could have been made of plastic. Throwing my memories back further to shopping as a young girl, he is more like the doll I chose as a partner for my favourite Barbie when I was about six years old. I look more in depth and have to admit that Tristan is almost his double. I giggle to myself; I happen to be sharing my flat with a life-size Ken doll.

  “If you want to take a picture, you can.” It is now more of a smirk than a smile he wears. “But saying that,” he continues, “no, stay where you are, I quite like this up close and personal.”

  He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and unwraps foil from a strip of chewing gum which he pops into his mouth. One of his dark eyes relays a slow wink. I feel the looseness of his arm around me tighten and his fingers as they walk themselves down my arm, and he manoeuvres me closer into his chest. His minty breaths play upon my brow, and all that prevents our lips from meeting is the slight lift of my head.

  I sense the room fall into silence, though Tristan’s hands have not once moved towards the TV control to mute the volume. He has not released me. Questioning this I frown and cannot help but glance around; everything is still. The actors on the TV are motionless, though I cannot see the pause button displayed on the screen or the VCR. The breeze lifting the netting only moments before also seems to have ebbed. I gaze up at Tristan, who is now sitting straight-faced and devoid of emotion. He resembles no more than a cardboard cut-out. I feel as if I am the only breath of life sitting within an unexplainable stillness. It’s like the room has been transformed into a 3D photograph. No, it’s more like the remote has been pressed, magically pausing the lounge.

  “Tristan?” My voice quakes, but as I utter the last syllable of his name I feel his lips, soft and moist, against my own.

  My eyes wander to the open window and I notice the breeze slipp
ing back into the room, slightly lifting my hair, accompanied by the volume of the TV. Could it be that an invisible hand has hit the play button and returned the room to how it was only seconds before? My eyes widen as I take a glance at Tristan, whose eyelids are closed, his face in mine. I can still feel his lips pressed against my own, but my lips do not oblige, and stay closed. In an instant I feel him pull away.

  “Why don’t you kiss me back?” he asks, sweeping his finger across my cheek.

  I can see every crease in his brow.

  “Have I misread the signs?”

  I can hear the tone of his voice lower as he tilts his head, and I’m sure I can see a twinkle in those grey eyes of his as they goad me to want him back.

  “Signs?” I ask. I think back, but I’ve never led him on or given him any encouragement. “Tristan, I don’t understand…”

  “Couldn’t I make it more obvious?”

  I break eye contact.

  “Yes, maybe you have,” I snap without meaning to. “I’m sorry, you know how it is…”

  “I love you, Rose. Please let me in and allow me to make you happy. I know I can’t replace Jai, I’m not trying to, but maybe in time…”

  I can see the top of his crown as he lowers his head into his hands, his voice escaping between his fingers.

  “I’m hoping one day you can love me back…”

  Again he lifts his eyes to meet my own.

  “If it’s only a fraction of how much you loved Jai,” he continues, “then I’ll settle for that. No matter what, I want you.”

  His hand settles against my temple. He holds my gaze, and on this occasion I don’t look away. I could kick myself, for this moment was one I was trying to avoid; I didn’t want this intimacy. I guess Jai was right when he said you can’t be best friends with someone of the opposite sex; it gets too messy. Yet without Jai here with me I feel so alone, and yes, I do need a friend. Tristan has no idea how much I need him, though without complication. He’s been my rock, and I can’t imagine life without him. Once again, his breaths near and mingle with my own.