Read TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Online
Authors: Sydney Jamesson
B. X
P.S. Enjoy the song: These words from my lips to your heart.
I’m skipping around my kitchen with a song in my heart and a smile on my face: God I love that
man. Granted, he’s hard work but when it’s good between us, it’s the best. Actually being told by
someone they love you to the exclusion of everyone else is an amazing feeling and, believing it to be
true, takes it to a whole new level. On what universe does someone like me end up with a man like
him? Just as I’m about to turn out the light my laptop pings.
From: [email protected]
Date: 28th October 2012 05.00a.m.
Subject: NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY GIRL!
Love to Love you Baby: Donna Summer
How the fuck do you expect me to get any work done when you send me an email like that and a
song with a woman groaning all the way through it? You’re a sadist!
Just you wait missy. We’ll discuss this when I get back!
Sleep well.
Love
A. X
I switch off the lounge lights and stride into my bedroom, giggling to myself. I say a silent good
night to the stunning Alenka. You’re history, lady.
The
newly fitted bolt on my bedroom door slides into place; I feel safe and unreachable. Sleep casts
a kindly shadow over my eyes and I fall into a much needed slumber.
All his life Dan has struggled to find his place in the world; to discover that one thing that gives his
life meaning, purpose and direction. He’d been forced to leave the boxing ring due to injury. He’d
been asked to leave the army due to misconduct and now he’s being denied the one thing that matters
in his life: his princess. He had found her and come within feet of staking his claim, and that bastard
Stone came along and cocked everything up.
“Fuck you Stone!” His words are a self-contained roar.
He’s taken root on the staircase, yet again suffering the indignation of relegation, left for dead. The
combatant has become the observer: watching, listening, waiting. He’s been sitting for almost an hour,
following the movement of shadows as they turn from grey to charcoal black and creep across the wall
like witnesses to his failure. He’s a dead weight and feeling the kind of disappointment that tears at
his insides and comes to rest in his mouth like bad beer.
The oppressive darkness smothers him and signifies his mood. He tugs at the knife tucked away in
his waistband under his shirt and pulls it out; the blade catches the light as he twists it in the same way
he turned the key but, unlike the key, this blade moves: west to east, or is it north to south? It catches
his silhouette and the distorted image speaks to him. “You’ve had the wind knocked out of you Danny
boy. It’s time to roll with the punches, take a breather. You’ve earned it.”
With that he stands and descends, pausing only to check the occupants of 53a are not about to leave.
He keeps moving, closes the security door quietly and makes the fifty yard walk over to his car,
passing a uniformed man dozing in the front seat of a silver Rolls Royce.
With his spirits lifted after his pep-talk, Dan puts his foot down and makes straight for Harrow
town centre. It’s 1600hrs and it’s only a hunch, but he may be able to meet up with a couple of old
‘acquaintances.’ All that sexual frustration has to be channelled somewhere and it might as well be in
their direction. He’s not in the habit of frequenting wine bars, especially not the kind where the prices
are ridiculously high, but needs must.
Once he seats himself on a stool at the bar, the young girl on duty recognises him. “Hello again,
didn’t you come in a couple of days ago?” She hands him his pint of over-priced lager.
“Yeah, moved into the area and just finished work; thought I’d have a couple before heading
home.” He forces a smile and checks out the clientele. The bar is quiet and there is only a young
couple who are so wrapped up in each other they hardly know what day it is. By the window a pair of
forty something shoppers are sipping wine and emptying their purchases out onto the seat between
them.
“Elise usually comes in around four thirty, if you were hoping to catch her,” states the young
bartender, placing glasses into a dishwasher.
Dan looks up startled. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d already seen her once today for
lunch and what a surprise that was, her knowing Stone and all. But, he has no intention of looking like
some fucking stalker.
“Yeah, thanks. I said I might call in.”
She’s too busy to continue the conversation, which is just as well as Dan’s ‘acquaintances’ have
just walked in. He plays it cool and ignores them, pretending to read the newspaper left on the stool
next to him. Rather than finding seats, they hover by the bar. He’s got their attention and it only took
thirty seconds. It takes another thirty seconds for one of them to find the courage to speak.
“Hey, weren’t you in here a couple of nights ago mate?”
It’s the featherweight with floppy black hair and a crew neck sweater. Dan turns on his stool. Even
seated, he is virtually eye to eye with the twenty something chatterbox.
“Are you talking to me?” He holds his attention with a fixed stare.
“Yeah, you broke two fucking bones in my mate’s hand and he’s got it in plaster. He’s had to take
time off work with it.” He holds up his hand like some kind of invalid.
“And what the fuck do you want me to do about it? Kiss it better?” He returns to his drink, knowing
his words will inflame his challenger.
“You want to watch yourself mate, going around injuring people like that. You might get hurt
yourself. You know what I’m saying?”
Dan has to give it to him; he’s a brave little bastard. He stands. “Is that a threat? Because from
where I’m sitting, it sounded like a threat?”
Intimidated by Dan’s size and demeanour, the young man backs off and takes an actual step
backwards. “No. I’m just saying. He’s in a bad way, that’s all.”
Dan leans into him. “Well, he should learn to keep his fucking hands off ladies who don’t want to
be mauled then, shouldn’t he?”
“I s’pose. I’ll pass on your message.” The young man sips his drink and prepares to make a hasty
retreat.
Dan sits back down. “And send him my love, will you? Tell him to get better soon.”
At that, one of his other ‘acquaintances’ takes offense and edges forward. Dan checks his watch,
wanting to be long gone before Elise steps through the door. He finishes his drink and takes heavy,
self-assured strides towards the door, purposely bumping into one of the group on route.
Outside the air is damp and there is the smell of car fumes and autumn in the air. He decides to take
a walk before going to his car which is, literally, yards away. The boys need time to regroup, plan their
approach and launch an attack. He mutters under his breath, “Come on boys. I’ve not got all day.”
Behind him, there’s the sound of hurried footsteps. When they stop, he turns and what a surprise!
‘The boys have decided to take a pop at old Danny boy.’ The idea of it makes him smile.
“Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?” He folds his arms, egging them on.
With the backing of his company, the dark haired spokesman goes for broke. “You can shut the
fuck up for starters.” He swings a right handed punch at Dan and it misses by a mile, so much so he
loses his balance and falls over, landing heavily on his arm.
Dan swerves and doesn’t even bother to unfold his arms. “Please tell me you can do better than that,
I’m catching a fucking chill out here.” He sneers at his own words.
The tallest of the group edges towards Dan and lets loose; a barrage of right and left handed
punches rain down on Dan but he’s mentally prepared, fired-up and is able to block each one with his
forearms. In retaliation, he hits him with a single punch to the stomach and sends him flying across
the pavement.
Challenger number three moves forward and his feeble efforts are counter punched into next week.
The two remaining contenders hold up their hands but Dan doesn’t believe in leaving a job half-
finished and it’s the thought of the one that continues to get away that spurs him on. He’s not finished
with these comedians yet. He lets a right hook fly and it connects with a chin. There’s the sound of
breaking bone. Before the last man standing can run, he floors him with an uppercut that lifts him
three feet off the pavement.
He leaves five grown men writhing in agony on the pavement as he makes his way to his car.
“Don’t forget to get better soon ladies,” he calls out, with no more than a cursory glance backwards.
“Fucking amateurs.”
3
I
hear a distant ringing sound: it’s my phone. “Hello,” I mumble, barely conscious.
“
Hey, good morning sleepy head. Are you still in bed?” Charlie is wide awake.
What time it?
I glance at the bedside clock. Jumping up, fearing my eyes are playing tricks on me, I call out,
”Shit, it’s eleven o’clock.”
“
No shit Sherlock. You really did need to catch some zees didn’t you?” She is laughing at the other
end of the phone. “Get yourself a pen and paper. I’ll wait.”
I stagger to my feet, rubbing my eyes, scraping back my hair and looking left and right for a pen
and paper. I grab an unopened envelope and snatch a pen off the kitchen table. “Okay, what do you
have for me?” I hold back on a yawn.
“I’ve had a chat with the delectable Dominic and guess what … he’s been to a Christmas party at
Alenka’s and I have the address for you. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“24, Oxford Gardens, Kensington. Did you get that?”
“Yes, nice address ...”
“Very. Now, let’s get down to more serious business, namely your engagement. I’m reading about
it now in the Sunday papers. Did you know your Mr. P. has issued what reads like a press release?
I’ve emailed it to you. When I saw it hon, I cried because you look so beautiful and so happy together.
Do I have your attention now?”
“Yes, I’m awake. I’ll take a look. Thanks for the address. I’ll pay her a visit later.” I take a look at
myself in the mirror. My God, what a mess. I’ve never slept for 10 hours straight before. Making
myself presentable will be like raising the dead.
“No probs hon.”
“By the way, did your personal trainer give you a good work out?” I snigger at the prospect of her
reply.
“Let’s just say he was able to reach the parts other trainers could not. I may need to include him in
my weekly fitness regime.” Her laughter is so wicked, I hear her purring with satisfaction.
“You’re a bad, bad girl Char. I bet he didn’t know what hit him?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t have to tie him down. In fact, I actually believe he thought he was seducing
me.
Bless.” She chuckles softly to herself.
“I believe it.” I lick my lips, in need of some kind of refreshment. “I’m going to go caffeinate
myself. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay, hon. Good luck. See ya.”
“Thanks I’ll need it. Bye.”
I sprint into the lounge and boot up my laptop while the coffee percolates, bubbling and dripping
into the hot jug. The aroma fills the room and awakens my senses to the possibilities of elation or
disappointment. Trembling with anticipation, I sit myself down and prepare to be stunned into
consciousness.
The headline reads:
‘Teacher Wins Heart of Stone’
and I need not read another line. I know
instantly those are his words; no-one can understand the significance of them more than me. I spot the
emotive verb used in the headline; he’s not so much accepting defeat as letting me win. He has no
defence. The truth be known, neither do I.
I look closely at the photograph of us on the terrace. For the first time in my life I cannot recognise
myself: who the hell is that beautiful woman by his side? I’m pressing the fingers against my lips,
holding back the gasps that come from knowing every dream I have ever had begins and ends with
Ayden Stone. It’s 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. in Hong Kong, surely he must be out of his meetings by now.
His phone rings and rings and goes to voicemail. I leave a message:
“Hi, I slept in so have only just seen the press release. You said brace yourself and I did but there
was no need. It’s beautifully written and the photograph of us is perfect. You were right about issuing
it and I’m sorry I made such a fuss. Call me when you get a minute. Love you.”
Having bathed, shaved, moisturised and styled my hair to within an inch of its life, I begin the
laborious process of choosing clothes. What does a 27 year old woman wear to meet her fiancé’s ex,
supermodel girlfriend? I want to feel comfortable and look good but not as if I’m trying too hard. It’s
a difficult act to pull off.
I check myself before leaving; pale blue skinny jeans with a navy blue T-shirt and blazer, courtesy