CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

VIOLET POV

My heart hurts and I feel sick.

      “You’re so kind…”

 He takes Ben from my arms and finds his missing leg. My poor, poor Ben. His battered body breaks my heart. My voice is all choked up as I ask Spencer the question.

      “Do you think you can save him?”

 “I’ll give it my very best shot,” he tells me, and I believe him. He looks around my bedroom. “There’s nothing else worth saving,” he says. “I’m sorry, Violet, we’ll have to get a new one.”

 “But I don’t…” I cough to hide the embarrassment. “I don’t have any money… not enough… not even if I did have my purse…”

 “You don’t need to worry about that.”

But I am. I am worried about that. He’s done far too much already, and I tell him so. I tell him I can’t take any more from him, that he hardly even knows me, but he waves his hand, won’t hear any of it.

 “I’ll call a locksmith when we’re back at home,” he says. “Some cleaners, too. They’ll salvage anything that can be saved.” He runs a hand down my chipped paintwork. “I think we’ll need a decorator, too. They’ve done a real number on the place, vile little cunts.”

 I gasp. It shocks me so much to hear him swear like that.

“Sorry,” he says when he sees my open mouth.

 But I like it. I like the way he sounds when he’s angry. He sounds so strong… so fierce…

      “I just can’t believe there are people like this out there,” he snaps. “Low-life scum.”

      “They didn’t do all of this…” I admit. I point at the chipped paint. “That was already there.”

      “We’ll get the place spruced up,” he says. “I promise.”

      I smile, say yet another thank you, and I even try to sound convincing.

      It’s not that I’m not grateful, because I am. It’s not that I’m not aware how lucky I am that I ran into the road and into Spencer’s path, because I’m very, very aware of that.

      It’s because I know that when we leave this house, and all the tattered broken things in here, I’m never ever going to want to come back.

      He digs out a box from the garage. It’s sad that one single box is going to be more than enough to contain the remnants of my life.

      I’m relieved to find my college work intact above my wardrobe. I pack up my folders and text books, and place Ben on top, being careful with all his frayed pieces.

      That’s just about everything I can save. Everything I want to.

      Everything that matters.

   Spencer carries it out to the car. He loads my measly possessions into the back and smiles as I slip into the passenger seat and buckle myself in. He closes the front door and locks it, and I wait in the car as he calls at the neighbours on either side.

      He says nothing about what they tell him, and I’ve never much liked the neighbours anyway, so I don’t ask.

      I don’t want to know what happened here. I already know enough. 

“I still think we should call the police,” he says as he reverses away from the house.

  “No point,” I reply. “They won’t care anyway.”

      “Of course they’ll care, Violet. They’re the police. It’s their job to care.”

      “And this is a dead end street. There’s always crap going on around here. They’ll probably think it was a party I had myself while my mum was away. A party that got out of hand, and now I’m trying to cover my tracks before Mum gets back.”

      “They won’t think that.”

      “They will,” I insist, and he doesn’t argue. I guess he knows it too.

      We head back towards Brighton, and the further away from Newhaven we get, the more relieved I feel. He parks up at a multi-storey in the middle of town, and I look at him curiously as he gestures that I should follow him.

“You need things,” he explains as we head for the exit. “New clothes. Toiletries. A phone.”

  “But I…” I grasp his wrist and he stops. “I can’t take all this from you. I just can’t.”

 He sighs. “Violet, I’ve more than enough money. It’s nice to have someone to spend it on.”

 I think of, West. I think about all the people a man like Spencer should have in his life. A wife maybe. Friends. Just… people.

 It’s on the tip of my tongue to say so, but his hands are on my shoulders before the words are out.

  “Please, Violet. It’s my pleasure. Allow me to enjoy it.”

      “Just a few bits…” I say. “Just to tide me over… and I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

      “No,” he says. “You won’t.”

 He takes my hand, and his fingers are solid. He walks quickly, and I have to take two steps for every one of his. It makes me feel so alive, to be rushing along at Spencer’s side. I let the sensation wash over me.

He leads me into the first clothes shop we see, one of the lovely little boutiques on the front. Everything looks expensive, really expensive, but he doesn’t seem to care. He heads for a section at the back, with loads of pretty pastel colours, and I’m pleased. It’s where I’d have headed myself.

 I baulk at the price tags, tell him it’s all too much, but he won’t hear any of it. He’s gathering up clothes more quickly than I can look at them, pretty shades of pink, and bright whites, lovely purples and teals and pale blues. He’s chosen the smallest size on the rack, and he’s right.

      “Choose whatever you want, Violet,” he says. “Anything you like.”

But he’s already chosen everything I like. I tell him so and he smiles.

 “Great minds,” he says, and heads for the changing rooms. I follow him, a little lamb dancing along behind such a powerful man. Everyone is looking at us. At him.

The sales assistants are whispering. They beam as he shows them the collection, and then they chivvy me along to an empty cubicle at the back.

He waits for me, and I feel so self-conscious, trying on such beautiful clothes under harsh lighting. My skin looks pasty and pale, my eyes look tired and my hair looks wispy and fine. But the clothes. They look gorgeous.

  I show him a tight pink cami over a pair of white jeans, and he likes them. He tells me so.

      I try floaty dresses over tights, and he likes those more. I do a little twirl for him and he claps his hands, smiles at me.

      He fetches me a fluffy white cardigan and it feels so soft against my skin.

      He fetches me a winter duffle coat that makes me gasp when I see the price.

      He fetches me a scarf, and a cute winter hat with a pom-pom. Boots, too, and a sparkly pink pair of flats that make me feel like a little princess.

  And then he makes me take everything, and I can’t, I really can’t. It brings tears to my eyes.

    “My pleasure, Violet. Mine,” he says, and I have no words for that. Nothing other than another thank you, and it always sounds so lame.

      I’m still staring at the items in the basket when he piles more in. Nightdresses, socks and more packs of knickers. He hovers by the bras, and I realise he’s waiting for me to tell him my size. I feel my cheeks burn as I pick out the very smallest one they do.

      “I don’t have… much… up top,” I say, and try to make light of it.

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

      I laugh a little. “Isn’t it?”

      “No,” he says. “It isn’t. You’re perfect the way you are, don’t you dare ever think otherwise.”

      My tummy flutters.

      He thinks I’m perfect.

      And I know it’s probably just a figure of speech, I know he’s probably just being nice, saying things to make me feel better, but I wish he wasn’t.

      I wish he meant it.

      I picked out some bras, just plain white with a bit of lace. It’s what I usually wear, and I regret my decision for a moment, worried I’ve made a bad impression, that I should’ve chosen something more sexy, more… grown up.

 “Anything else you want, Violet? Anything at all?”

      I shake my head, manage a smile. “I think you’ve just about covered it. So many things… so many beautiful things…”

      He seems so pleased.

      I can’t bear to watch as he pays. I stare at my pumps instead, anywhere but at the total balance as he hands over his card.

      He carries the bags, and asks me if we should carry on shopping. He’s worried, he says, worried that I won’t have enough clothes for the time being.

      He has no idea that he’s already bought me more than I ever had in my wardrobe at home.

      I tell him no, I tell him thank you, I tell him that he’s already done more for me than I can ever repay, and he settles on toiletries, leads me around the beauty shop until I’ve placed everything I need in a trolley.

      I hope he’s forgotten about a phone, but he hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t.

      It’s the first time I really dig my heels in.

      “Please,” I say. “It’s too much!”

    “You have to have a phone, Laine,” he insists. “How will I be able to contact you otherwise? How will I know you’re safe?”

      If I’m safe.

      I shrug. “I’ll borrow Maggie Connor’s, if I need to.”

      “Wrong answer,” he says, and marches me straight inside the shop.

      The phone he chooses is ridiculously superior to the one stolen from me. It makes me cry stupid tears again, and I feel so overwhelmed, my belly full of this churning something. I can’t straighten it out.

      “You can’t…” I say, and he takes my hand, squeezes it tight until I look at him.

      “Do you like the phone, Violet?”

      “The phone is amazing…”

      “Then it’s yours, my treat.”

      “But I…”

      He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Violet, I want you to listen to me, can you do that?”

      I nod. I could listen to him forever.