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Chapter 10 Part 3
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2024-10-29 19:42:56January 6th, 2013
Morning
I’ve been staring through the tiny window all morning. I saw a single magpie on the way here. It tailed us in the car. Swooped down like we’d stolen its babe. Flew off into the distance like some mysterious harbinger of death. I waited for another. Even two. I think I would rather death than sorrow. At least death would put me out of my misery. Not give me another reason to want it. “I thought you might need this.” I hadn’t noticed he was even close. I’m a shotty receptionist. Damon is leant over me. His elbows on the counter. A disposable cup in his hands.
“What is it?” I lift the lid. Foam. Dark foam. Coffee?
“Cappuccino.” He’s smiling. He’s got to know I’m not impressed. “I know. No coffee with milk in it. Just try it, won’t you?”
“Will it make you happy?” I’ve been struggling with the lid. I don’t know how the baristas get them on.
“Very.” I take a
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“What?” Now I just want to hide back behind him. Damon seems to know. He steps in front of me. “You can’t search her; you’ll need a female officer to.” “I can search her; I just can’t take her clothes off.” Again, with that smug smile. He claps his hands together. Peers around Damon’s shoulder to me. I was right to hope for two more magpies. “Now, shall we do it here, or do you have a more private place you would rather.” “Show me your warrant.” Damon seethes. “I was hoping you would ask.” I can see him fish into his pocket. “Finished my two-year probation yesterday.” “Did you know about this?” Suddenly, Damon turns to face me. Thrusts the card toward me. Looks a bit like a student ID in a fancy wallet if you ask me. With a stupid, god-awful photo of this git rather blow-up. “Know about what?” “He’s a detective, Sasha!” He shouldn’t be yelling that; I can only imagine the things it woul
Foster Chapter 10 Part 5
January 6th, 2013 Evening “If you can’t even move that couch, I don’t think you’ve got much chance with your hands.” I dig in my heels a little harder. I’m determined. Besides, it can’t be that heavy. “I’m not getting a gun—I don’t ever want to fire one.” “Pepper spray?” Begrudgingly, he joins in—with a small huff and the roll of his eyes. His shoulder brushes mine. I’ve pretended not to see his eyes. Or to have heard the huff. I suck in a breath. Put my weight into it. “No weapons. I don’t want to have to count on anything.” “Okay. I get it.” I think he does all the work. The couch slides towards the dining table like it’s on wheels. Moves, nonetheless. That’s all I wanted. “This should be enough room.” I step into the centre. The rug is nice and plush. I don’t think it will hurt too much if incoordination victimises me. It will. I just know it. “What do I do?” I’m not too
Foster Chapter 11 Part 1
January 25th, 1997 Morning Chloe Want to test your marriage? Move back home. Rather, your husband’s home. On your first wedding anniversary, no less. Practically to the minute. I know, I should be sympathetic. His mother has cancer. Still, I thought I had married a man who despised small towns as much as I do. At least, that’s what he told me. He hadn’t lived until he’d seen London. Got amongst its busyness and decrepit charm. Yet we’re northbound, and rather quickly. Sat in a rental truck that feels it will topple over if we round a corner too suddenly. The provincial furniture rocking in its rump so blissfully. It has no idea it’s headed straight to its grave, never to be looked at by anyone of note again. He promises we’ll be back to the city when she’s better. Healthy as a horse, he thinks. Loins of steel. Built like a machine. She acts like one. Has never cared all that much
Foster Chapter 11 Part 2
January 25th, 1997 Midday Chloe I hadn’t even seen the house until now. Crazy, I know. It’s an old Victorian, I would assume. I’ve never cared much for architecture. A little boxy and castle-like, overgrown with ivy. Two-storeyed, he’s probably hoping to get some babies out of me. All paid for with my money, I presume. The sold sign is still up. The whole village has got this medieval look about it, completely surrounded by this lush, sweeping countryside. Far enough from London to lose the smell of the city. I’m sure every house has a vegetable patch in their yard. They’ve probably got a committee for everything. I’m sure a “homeowners committee” will come knocking down the door with a list of injunctions for the city folk set up shop across the road. Lawn too long. Car too loud. Moving truck too much of an eyesore. Ivy too modest—should cover the whole house! God, it ought to be the first thing to go. Just
Foster Chapter 11 Part 3
February 28th, 1997 Evening Chloe Todmorden isn’t half as awful as I thought it would be. Part of me is sure I’m just in the honeymoon stage. As long as I’m undressed and ready by the time he gets home, Damon is especially pleasant. I haven’t had to spend a moment with his dreadful mother. Though, at times, I do feel a bit like a caged bird. Existing only to look pretty and sing a nice song when spoken to. The kind of bird that gets its wings trimmed should it try to fly too far. The town does know how to have its dinner parties. More than they do in London. A bunch of hippies, apparently. Damon never liked the parties. Especially not three glasses of wine in when the ladies start to get a little loud. Though, he didn’t seem to mind when I was making out on top of the table with one of the women from Todmorden Unitarian Church. I don’t think she ever told me her name. If she did, I certainly don
Foster Chapter 11 Part 4
March 1st, 1997 Morning Chloe God is testing me. Shamelessly, at that. Chris moved-in across the street. Replaced the same-sex couple I can’t say I liked all that much. They droned on about installing art pieces village-wide in the town meetings. The young children on the street don’t need to be perverted by their sins. The air already feels clearer without them. I can throw back my curtains without worrying my attractive husband will be gawked at on their morning speed-walks. All was right in the world. Until that moving truck showed up. It's almost like he followed me here. I couldn’t blame him if he did. I suppose he transferred, Damon mentioned working alongside his old boss now. I had to feign ignorance. Lest Chris know I’ve noticed. I would rather have had a little more time to build intrigue—I’m no longer that mousey-brown city seductress he knew back in London. I’ve changed. I’m the fun r
Foster Chapter 11 Part 5
“Ah…” It’s the only sound I can make, half-hidden by a gasp, hands through his hair. And he pulls back. I’m just soaking. I can feel it. “That—that little sigh you do and your fingers in my hair.” And his lips are trailing from my sex down to my knee. Until he draws back. And sucks my big toe between his lips. Mouth hot. Tongue soft. I just want him to have me already. He draws back again. Lips drawing a line from my knee, dangerously northbound. I can’t take it. “I just love it when you come. I can’t get enough of it.” I can’t help it. Another “Ah…” escapes me as his mouth clamps down on me and his fingertips brush my clitoris. It seems to embolden him, encouraging him needlessly to rip me to shreds on the bathroom counter like he should have that first night. And I hate the fact he’s memorised everything that drives me to the edge, if only to bombard me with until I feel my heart could give way. “That shower is still running.” I’m talking
Foster Chapter 1 Part 1
You know the Fosters. Everyone does. From the beautiful Victorian on the bend. A stone’s throw from the canal. Damon was a policeman, back in the day. Discharged on pension. Went on to become a cardiologist—best one within a reasonable drive. I hear they pay him a fortune. Sasha is Sasha. Quiet. Beautiful. Flaming red hair. Skin the colour of bleached parchment. A tall one, she is. The ladies at the church told me she works reception at the hospital. Same one as her father, I think. Women like that do not have much direction. I mean, they have the looks to not need it. They will find a husband. A decent one. Marry into some money. Have a few babes. She was a Ward of Court, staying at a care home just on the edge of town. Not many people went there. The edge of town, that is. Until Damon did. And one day, Sasha crawled out of that luxury four-by-four of his. Waddled up to the door of the Victorian on the bend. Their life seemed perf
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“Ah…” It’s the only sound I can make, half-hidden by a gasp, hands through his hair. And he pulls back. I’m just soaking. I can feel it. “That—that little sigh you do and your fingers in my hair.” And his lips are trailing from my sex down to my knee. Until he draws back. And sucks my big toe between his lips. Mouth hot. Tongue soft. I just want him to have me already. He draws back again. Lips drawing a line from my knee, dangerously northbound. I can’t take it. “I just love it when you come. I can’t get enough of it.” I can’t help it. Another “Ah…” escapes me as his mouth clamps down on me and his fingertips brush my clitoris. It seems to embolden him, encouraging him needlessly to rip me to shreds on the bathroom counter like he should have that first night. And I hate the fact he’s memorised everything that drives me to the edge, if only to bombard me with until I feel my heart could give way. “That shower is still running.” I’m talking
Foster Chapter 11 Part 4
March 1st, 1997 Morning Chloe God is testing me. Shamelessly, at that. Chris moved-in across the street. Replaced the same-sex couple I can’t say I liked all that much. They droned on about installing art pieces village-wide in the town meetings. The young children on the street don’t need to be perverted by their sins. The air already feels clearer without them. I can throw back my curtains without worrying my attractive husband will be gawked at on their morning speed-walks. All was right in the world. Until that moving truck showed up. It's almost like he followed me here. I couldn’t blame him if he did. I suppose he transferred, Damon mentioned working alongside his old boss now. I had to feign ignorance. Lest Chris know I’ve noticed. I would rather have had a little more time to build intrigue—I’m no longer that mousey-brown city seductress he knew back in London. I’ve changed. I’m the fun r
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February 28th, 1997 Evening Chloe Todmorden isn’t half as awful as I thought it would be. Part of me is sure I’m just in the honeymoon stage. As long as I’m undressed and ready by the time he gets home, Damon is especially pleasant. I haven’t had to spend a moment with his dreadful mother. Though, at times, I do feel a bit like a caged bird. Existing only to look pretty and sing a nice song when spoken to. The kind of bird that gets its wings trimmed should it try to fly too far. The town does know how to have its dinner parties. More than they do in London. A bunch of hippies, apparently. Damon never liked the parties. Especially not three glasses of wine in when the ladies start to get a little loud. Though, he didn’t seem to mind when I was making out on top of the table with one of the women from Todmorden Unitarian Church. I don’t think she ever told me her name. If she did, I certainly don
Foster Chapter 11 Part 2
January 25th, 1997 Midday Chloe I hadn’t even seen the house until now. Crazy, I know. It’s an old Victorian, I would assume. I’ve never cared much for architecture. A little boxy and castle-like, overgrown with ivy. Two-storeyed, he’s probably hoping to get some babies out of me. All paid for with my money, I presume. The sold sign is still up. The whole village has got this medieval look about it, completely surrounded by this lush, sweeping countryside. Far enough from London to lose the smell of the city. I’m sure every house has a vegetable patch in their yard. They’ve probably got a committee for everything. I’m sure a “homeowners committee” will come knocking down the door with a list of injunctions for the city folk set up shop across the road. Lawn too long. Car too loud. Moving truck too much of an eyesore. Ivy too modest—should cover the whole house! God, it ought to be the first thing to go. Just
Foster Chapter 11 Part 1
January 25th, 1997 Morning Chloe Want to test your marriage? Move back home. Rather, your husband’s home. On your first wedding anniversary, no less. Practically to the minute. I know, I should be sympathetic. His mother has cancer. Still, I thought I had married a man who despised small towns as much as I do. At least, that’s what he told me. He hadn’t lived until he’d seen London. Got amongst its busyness and decrepit charm. Yet we’re northbound, and rather quickly. Sat in a rental truck that feels it will topple over if we round a corner too suddenly. The provincial furniture rocking in its rump so blissfully. It has no idea it’s headed straight to its grave, never to be looked at by anyone of note again. He promises we’ll be back to the city when she’s better. Healthy as a horse, he thinks. Loins of steel. Built like a machine. She acts like one. Has never cared all that much
Foster Chapter 10 Part 5
January 6th, 2013 Evening “If you can’t even move that couch, I don’t think you’ve got much chance with your hands.” I dig in my heels a little harder. I’m determined. Besides, it can’t be that heavy. “I’m not getting a gun—I don’t ever want to fire one.” “Pepper spray?” Begrudgingly, he joins in—with a small huff and the roll of his eyes. His shoulder brushes mine. I’ve pretended not to see his eyes. Or to have heard the huff. I suck in a breath. Put my weight into it. “No weapons. I don’t want to have to count on anything.” “Okay. I get it.” I think he does all the work. The couch slides towards the dining table like it’s on wheels. Moves, nonetheless. That’s all I wanted. “This should be enough room.” I step into the centre. The rug is nice and plush. I don’t think it will hurt too much if incoordination victimises me. It will. I just know it. “What do I do?” I’m not too
Foster Chapter 10 Part 4
“What?” Now I just want to hide back behind him. Damon seems to know. He steps in front of me. “You can’t search her; you’ll need a female officer to.” “I can search her; I just can’t take her clothes off.” Again, with that smug smile. He claps his hands together. Peers around Damon’s shoulder to me. I was right to hope for two more magpies. “Now, shall we do it here, or do you have a more private place you would rather.” “Show me your warrant.” Damon seethes. “I was hoping you would ask.” I can see him fish into his pocket. “Finished my two-year probation yesterday.” “Did you know about this?” Suddenly, Damon turns to face me. Thrusts the card toward me. Looks a bit like a student ID in a fancy wallet if you ask me. With a stupid, god-awful photo of this git rather blow-up. “Know about what?” “He’s a detective, Sasha!” He shouldn’t be yelling that; I can only imagine the things it woul
Foster Chapter 10 Part 3
January 6th, 2013 Morning I’ve been staring through the tiny window all morning. I saw a single magpie on the way here. It tailed us in the car. Swooped down like we’d stolen its babe. Flew off into the distance like some mysterious harbinger of death. I waited for another. Even two. I think I would rather death than sorrow. At least death would put me out of my misery. Not give me another reason to want it. “I thought you might need this.” I hadn’t noticed he was even close. I’m a shotty receptionist. Damon is leant over me. His elbows on the counter. A disposable cup in his hands. “What is it?” I lift the lid. Foam. Dark foam. Coffee? “Cappuccino.” He’s smiling. He’s got to know I’m not impressed. “I know. No coffee with milk in it. Just try it, won’t you?” “Will it make you happy?” I’ve been struggling with the lid. I don’t know how the baristas get them on. “Very.” I take a
Foster Chapter 10 Part 2
January 5th, 2013 Midday “I think we need a redo,” When he walks back over, he knows better than to come empty-handed. A cup of steaming coffee threatens to spill with each step. A stupid, playful grin is the only warning I’ll get. I think I have a good enough idea what he’s after. I lean forward. Prop my chin up in the palm of my hand. I’m ready. “Of?” He sits on the same un-cushioned chair he did last time. The halls are quiet, Tami tapping away happily at a keyboard is the only sign of life for kilometres. It’s the palliative care ward, after all. His chair is just as disagreeable when he scoots closer. He reaches forward again, rakes the hair from my face, and I can’t help but lean in because at this point, it’s all become instinct. His lips brush mine at first. The other winding through the back of my hair. And I don’t care that we haven’t spent a moment together alone since Tuesday. That I worr
