Dirty Bad Secrets (28 page)

“Oh yeah?” I hissed. “Didn’t think it worth mentioning? Was it funny? Watching me run around trying to win back my place in this club, knowing full well you’d already fucking taken it from me?!”

“It wasn’t like that!” he snapped. “It’s just a fucking title, Faye, it doesn’t mean shit. Don’t go off on some crazy fucking drama fit over this. You nearly got fucking raped by that cunt out there, this bloody piece of paper means fuck all. The title means fuck all.”

“It meant enough for you to fucking steal it from me!” My eyes were welling, and my breath was shallow, the shakes coming in hard after Vincent’s assault, but I couldn’t leave it.

“I didn’t steal it. I amended the listings, you’re still a fucking shareholder, Faye, you still own fifty fucking percent of a club you didn’t do shit for.”

“You lied,” I cried. “
Partners
, you said,
real
partners!”

“And you can be a
real
fucking partner if you want, I’ll just change the fucking registry back, it’s one form, Faye, one stupid form.”

“You can’t just do that,” I hissed. “You can’t just take my directorship from me!”

He threw the form at my feet. “Well, guess what, Faye? I was a bit fucking angry. You’d deserted, bailed into thin fucking air and left me with a club to run. So I took control, big deal, it was the sensible option.”

“Don’t try and justify this!” I spat. “Don’t you get all super professional and pretend this was some nothing thing you did that doesn’t matter. It matters. It matters to
me
.”

“You bailed,” he said. “I took control. End of.”

“I hadn’t bailed! Look at the fucking date, Andy, I hadn’t even been gone three fucking months, you didn’t even fucking know I wasn’t coming home!”

“I knew you weren’t coming home,” he snarled, and he was angry, so angry. What fucking gall.

“You couldn’t have known that,” I laughed, an angry laugh. “
I
didn’t even know that.”

“You knew,” he seethed. “That was perfectly fucking obvious.”

“How can it have been?” I rolled my eyes. “You’re full of shit, Andy. I left because I couldn’t handle how I felt about you, alright? That’s why I fucking left, and you didn’t even give me chance to come home before you cut me out! You cut me fucking out, Andy!”

“You’re full of shit, Faye,” he snapped. “We’ve both got fucking secrets,
pretty bird
, don’t pretend we don’t. And don’t fucking rewrite history, either. You weren’t coming home.
You
know it, and
I
know it.”

I shook my head, dumbstruck. “How can you say that? You don’t have any idea what I was and wasn’t planning on doing!
You
just did what
you
wanted, as fucking always!”

He grabbed my shoulders, and it stopped me in my tracks, stopped my tears dead.

“I can say that quite fucking confidently, Faye, believe me, because I was right fucking there.”

***

Andy

“What do you mean you were right there?” she demanded. “How can you possibly have been there?”

I couldn’t hold back the laugh, it was cold, chilled to ice. “You aren’t the fucking only one who gave a shit, Faye. You may have been the one who got all pissing flighty and dramatic about things, but that doesn’t mean you were the only one who cared.” I sighed. “I came after you. I came to Italy to talk some sense into that flighty fucking skull of yours and bring you fucking home.” I scowled at her. “I didn’t know you had feelings, and you didn’t fucking show them nearly as clearly as you seem to think you did. But
I
had feelings. I wanted you back, Faye, I wanted you to come back to
our
club, to
me
.”

Her face was a picture, a pretty picture at that. “How did you even know where I was? You didn’t contact me, I didn’t even see you!”

“He’s not fucking hard to find,” I said. “Christ, Faye, everyone around those parts knows where his seedy fucking sex camp is. I drove halfway up the hill, to the wooden gates, I presume you know the ones.”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“I didn’t want to press the bastard buzzer and do a load of explaining, so I ditched the car and climbed over the fence. It was a walk, but I managed it. I even thought it would be fucking romantic, charging in there like some sappy fucking idiot and demanding you come home.”

Her eyes were welling up. “So many secrets,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

“Everyone’s got secrets, Faye, our dirty laundry’s just spilling over the fucking basket, that’s all.”

“You didn’t find me,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t need to, you were right there, on the fucking terrace. With him.”

I saw the realisation flash in her eyes. “
With
him?”

“Yes, Faye,
with
him. Prosecco and twilight and your sweet little snatch around his perverted fucking cock.”

“You could have said something.”

“Could I fuck. How fucking awkward? Hi Faye, sorry to butt in on your little fucking sex fest, but I could really do with you back at the club. Oh, and by the way, I love you.” I laughed to myself. “It wasn’t exactly the scenario I’d played out in my mind.”

“You loved me?”

“Piss off, Faye, of course I fucking loved you, I loved you way before we got this pissing club. Nobody else would have convinced me to take this much of a gamble with my fucking money. Not a fucking chance in hell.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Clearly.” I sighed. “So, that’s my second dirty fucking secret. You ran, I ran after you. Then I came back with my sorry tail between my legs, and I took your name off the directorship because I was so mightily pissed. That doesn’t make it right, I know, but Jesus, Faye, have a bit of fucking tolerance, will you?”

A tear ran down her face but she brushed it away. “It’s not about that,” she said. “It’s that you didn’t tell me.”

“And when was I supposed to tell you exactly?”

“Before I was in your fucking bed might have been a good time.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Pissing hell, are you for fucking real?”

“You lied!” she hissed.

“We both
lie
, Faye. We both hide things, we both kid ourselves, and knock heads, and think our hands are sparkling fucking clean.” I paced away from her, only to turn back again. “You’re so keen to know when I would have told you about that stupid fucking form, how about when you were going to tell me why you ran away from fucking Italy? From that fucking tosser?”

Her mouth dropped. “That’s different.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“Totally!”

“So, you read my secret on a stupid piece of paper, I read yours on Vincent fucking Blackthorne’s website. What’s the fucking difference?”

“His website?”

“Yes on his poxy website. His disgusted
fans
dissing the cunt for selling his fucking
magpie
.”

“Oh God.”

“
You
should have fucking told me.”

“I was going to tell you!”

I laughed. “No, you fucking weren’t.”

She slammed her hands on top of the flogging bench. “I was embarrassed. Humiliated. Ashamed.”

“You could have told me, Faye, I would never have judged you.”

“Now
you
can piss off,” she snapped. “You were
always
fucking judging me! Always full of condemnation! I’ve hardly been able to do anything fucking right since I’ve been back.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Is it really, Andy?”

“Totally!”

And we’d gone full fucking circle.

I put my head in my hands, exhausted. “He sold you for sex, Faye, that’s a disgusting thing to have gone through.”

“Yeah, well, the whole thing was disgusting. You have no idea what filthy shit went down out there, Andy. No fucking idea. The line between where I wanted it and where I was being whored out is pretty fucking blurry. But he sold me, and that’s disgusting, and wrong, and an absolute betrayal. I don’t like betrayal, Andy.”

“Like anyone does, Faye, get off your moral fucking high horse.”

“You stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal shit from you, look at you, bold as brass in the club you bailed on.”

And then came the tears. Stupid dramatic fucking tears, not about being assaulted, or whored out, or locked in a playroom in her own fucking club, none of that seemed to matter to Faye Devere, because she’s that kind of highly-fucking-strung. No, the tears were about Andy fucking Morgan and what a fucking cunt he was for taking her name off a fucking online register. Typical fucking Faye Devere.

“Stop it,” I said. “Don’t make this a big fucking problem.”

“It is!” she wailed. “This isn’t my club!”

“We’ll fill in the paperwork right pissing now if you want, you’ll be back on there again sooner than my fucking ass stops hurting.” I was hoping for a laugh, but I didn’t get one.

“I want to go,” she said, and she was all sniffly and pathetic.

“That makes two of us,” I said. “Let’s sort this out at home.”

But she shook her head. “Not your home,” she cried. “I don’t belong there anymore. It’s
yours
, just like this club is.” She stood up, all bloody melodramatic and got her little pout on. “I’m going,” she snivelled. “It’s your club, and you can fucking keep it, Andy, just like you wanted!”

Jesus fucking wept.

***

Faye

We gathered up our things and left Topaz and Demelza to lock up. The taxi ride was uncomfortable, at far ends of the backseat while I cried quietly and he kept brooding. I wanted to reach out, wanted to talk it through and unravel the knots, untwist the lies and the secrets and, I don’t know,
feel
like this mess would somehow be ok again. But I didn’t feel like that. The twitch was already starting, too much pressure, too much awkwardness.

He knew my dirty bad secrets, and I knew his.

How could we look at each other the same way now?

That’s what kept me crying, all the way back to his. And it was
his
again now, not
home
, not
ours
. Nowhere close. I opened the door and left him to pay the driver, then waited while he led the way upstairs. He held the door open and I crossed the threshold of the place I’d come to belong in.

I never belong anywhere for long.

I always have to run away too soon.

I went into the guest room, pulled out my case from under the bed, and he was right there, in the doorway, his hands behind his head in disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Going,” I said. “I need to think.”

“Bailing, you mean?”

I shrugged. “Think what you want.”

“We’re going to go through this again now, are we? The going gets a bit fucking tough and Faye Devere gets fucking going? Where are you going to fucking run to this time, Faye?”

I shrugged again. “My parents’, Karen’s.”

“Do you really have to be like this?”

“Like what?” I snapped. “Hurt?”

“How can you stand there and condemn
me
for hurting you? You just escaped a filthy fucking psychopath, and you’re accusing
me
of being the fucking bad guy here. Lord give me fucking strength.” He strode about the place, and then he got angry, I could see it in his eyes. “Fine. You think I’m the fucking bad guy, I’ll be the fucking bad guy. Go, fuck off, do whatever you want. Just don’t come back expecting open arms next pissing time around.”

“I won’t, Andy, don’t you worry.”

“One crappy piece of paper and everything’s the end of the pissing world. Grow up, Faye, put your big girl fucking panties on and stay the fucking course, will you?”

“You don’t even care!” I hissed. “You don’t think this is a big deal to me! It’s a big deal!”

“
You’re
a big fucking deal to
me
, Faye.
I
wouldn’t fucking bail on
you
this quickly, it’s pathetic.”

“Except you did,” I snapped. “You did bail on me, after three months when you stole my directorship from me without me knowing.”

“Fine,” he said. “Have it your fucking way.”

And then he slammed the door.

My heart smashed, it fucking smashed, and it wasn’t because of Vincent, or Italy, or even because of Andy Morgan’s secrets, it’s because I knew I was fucking myself, running when I should have been standing and fighting. But I was too far gone, too committed, too fucking
me
.

I opened the wardrobe door, started piling my clothes in heaps, and I was already calculating my get-out route, down south in a cab to Mum and Dad’s, and from there who knows? A fresh start. Another fresh fucking start.

A slip fell from its hanger, pooling at the bottom of the wardrobe, I cursed as I went for it. The slippery little piece of crap had fallen behind a load of Andy’s storage stuff, some old records, and a framed map and something else in a frame. I pulled it out to free some space, and it knocked me sideways.

It was me and him. A print in black and white,
and I was smiling. Opening night. He had his hands on my waist, and his lips to my cheek and I was grinning happy. So happy.

I’d loved him then. I’d loved him so much I could hardly fucking bear it. I’d loved every minute I’d spent with him, and then it wasn’t enough anymore. It was never enough.

I had no idea he’d loved me, too. No idea.

But I did now.

A sob in my throat, and I dropped to my backside, just me and that picture and my stupid dramatic bitch of a heart.

“I’m still here.” His voice came through the door and he was right on the other side. He tapped the door to illustrate, and the sound was low down, lower than the handle. I pictured him there, sitting on the floor, his legs up to his chest in the corridor. I scooted along with the picture, propping myself against the other side. Just a couple of inches apart. So close and yet so fucking far.

“I can’t stay,” I cried.

“You can,” he said. “You just have to want to.”

“But everything…” I sobbed. “It’s such a mess.”

“I can’t undo taking your name off the directorship, but I can put it back on there, in a flash. And as for Vincent, and whatever other crap there is to work through, we’ll do that, too. None of it fucking matters if you’re here, Faye, we can work it out. You just have to stay. Have to want to stay.”

“I don’t know, Andy…” And the tears kept coming. “I found your picture… of us…”

“Which one? I’ve got quite a few.”

“Opening night, black and white.”

I heard him laugh. “That doesn’t narrow it down much, Faye. I’ve got quite a few of them, too.”

“You’re kissing my cheek. I’m wearing that dress with the buckles.”

“Ah, yes. It used to be in the living room, above the dining table, far wall.”

“Why did you take it down?”

“Besides the fact that you’d bailed to fuck some other guy and leave me with a club to run on my own, you mean?”

“Yes, besides that.” The slightest relief in my chest, the slightest flutter of something nice.

“I was trying to move on. It’s not much of a pussy magnet believe it or not. Puts the chicks off.”

“Does it?” I bit my lip to stop a giggle.

“I wouldn’t know, to be honest it never really came to that, it was just pre-emptive. You ruined me for anyone else, Faye.”

Oh my heart. It jumped a mile. “I did?”

“Yes. You did.” He sighed. “Can you please open this door? Can we just talk, Faye? Please. I just want to talk to you.”

I brushed the dust from the picture frame and looked again at my smile, and I knew, I knew how I felt then and I knew how I really felt now, and it was worth fucking fighting for. Worth staying for.

“I love you,” I said.

“Sorry?” his voice was nothing but shock. “What did you say?”

I sighed. “I said I love you. I should have just said it before I went running off.”

“Or
I
should have.”

“Yeah, you should have.” I pressed my head to the door.

“There’s those fucking secrets again,” he said. “I think we should try and avoid them in the future, don’t you?”

I grinned, laughed, just enough that I heard him moving. “I think it would be for the best, yes.”

His hand on the door handle, I could hear it, and I was up, on my feet, my hand on there too.

“Can I come in, Faye?”

I took a breath. “It’s your fucking apartment, Andy.”

The door swung open and he was there. His face a picture I’d never forget. Sorry, and relieved, and angry, and pissed off and sore and scared and all of those things at once. “
Our
apartment, Faye. It’s been our apartment since you got here. You don’t need a piece of fucking paper to tell you that. It just is.” He smiled, and he was more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “Stay,” he whispered. “Please just fucking stay with me, I don’t want to do this without you.”

“You did it just fine already,” I said. “You didn’t need me, Andy, you did just fine on your own.”

“I did need you. I just made do. And now I know just how much better it is with you back here I don’t want to do it alone. Please, Faye, just fucking stay. I’m asking you to stay.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to fucking beg, is that it? Because I’ve got a pretty sore fucking asshole, and my knuckles are pounding like a bastard, and I’m tired, and fucking achy, and my back is covered with fucking war wounds.” He rolled his eyes, “But I
will
beg, if that’s what it will take to get your crazy fucking ass back in my bed where it belongs.”

“Beg,” I whispered. “On your knees.”

He sighed. “You’re pushing your fucking luck, Faye Devere.”

He knelt for me. Andy Morgan knelt at my fucking feet, and he brushed his fingertips up my thighs, and pulled me close. “Stay,” he said. “Please, for the love of God and everything fucking sacred, for my sake, for your sake, for our fucking club’s fucking sake,
please
just fucking stay with me.”

I laughed, and it was a good laugh. A happy laugh. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

So fucking tight.

It felt so fucking right.

“Is that a yes?” he said.

“It was a yes ten minutes ago.” I smiled. “I just wanted to hear you beg.”

***