His Vampyrrhic Bride

  ‘Looks?’

  ‘You’ve got some of those, too. Ears, nose, and mouth, just where they should be.’

  ‘So I’m no Picasso portrait?’

  ‘You mean with a nose on your forehead and ears for lips?’ He shook his head. ‘Your face is just how I like it.’ He grinned. ‘It’s there right at the front of your head where a face should be.’

  ‘Is that a compliment?’ She laughed.

  He liked the sound of that pleasant laughter. It felt like a nice tickle inside his heart. ‘You are beautiful. Sexy. You know –’ he thumped his chest as he drove ‘the heart-pumping sexy.’

  ‘Thank you. You can give me compliments like that anytime you want. I like ’em.’

  Tom drove slowly now the storm had well and truly broken. Nicola chatted away. She seemed in an unusually good mood. He found himself driving even more slowly, because he wanted to stretch out these pleasant moments of them being together.

  Even so, the journey was over all too quickly. Tom pulled up outside Mull-Rigg Hall. The moment he switched off the engine, Owen opened the front door.

  ‘Hurry up,’ yelled the boy. ‘We’re going to get you packed off to France!’

  ‘France?’ echoed Nicola in surprise.

  Owen shouted, ‘Can I have that chocolate in the fridge, if you’re not taking it with you?’ With that, he charged back into the house.

  Nicola’s happy expression switched to one of fury. ‘You’re going to France?’

  ‘I’ve got a job there, working on some industrial units.’

  ‘You’re going to France and you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘There wasn’t time . . .’

  Nicola face registered utter disappointment. ‘A few minutes ago,’ she began, ‘I asked you what I meant to you.’

  ‘You do mean a lot to me.’

  ‘Actions speak louder than words, don’t they? You’re going to France without even telling me. So what does that say about how you feel?’

  ‘Nicola, I planned to tell you.’

  ‘What, after you’d got me into bed?’

  ‘Nicola—’

  ‘Thanks for nothing, you bastard.’

  ‘Nicola, I love you.’

  Tom said the words to a closed car door. She’d slammed it shut as he’d opened his mouth. She’d not heard the Nicola, I love you. Already, she was running away through the pouring rain.

  He climbed out of the car. ‘Nicola!’ Thunder roared. ‘I love you!’ He slammed his fist down on the car’s roof in frustration. The thunderstorm seemed determined to prevent him from conveying those three words that had acquired a blazing importance.

  Everything was conspiring against him. Nicola, jumping to conclusions, then racing away before he could tell her he loved her. And now the thunder, drowning out his voice. As he headed down the driveway after her, his father hurried out of the house. The man held a jacket over his head to ward off the deluge.

  ‘Tom, wait!’

  ‘Dad, I won’t be a minute.’

  ‘Jack Greensmith’s on the phone. He needs to arrange where he’ll meet you when you get to France.’

  ‘Tell Jack I’ll call him back.’

  ‘I can’t do that. He’s on his way to Frankfurt. He needs to speak to you now.’

  ‘Damn it!’

  ‘Tom, what’s wrong?’

  Then Tom made a fateful decision. He decided to face this mega problem head on.

  ‘Tom, hurry up! Jack’s at the airport. He’s about to board the plane.’

  ‘No.’

  His father reacted with surprise. ‘Tom, didn’t you hear? Jack wants to arrange a pick-up time from the station in Paris.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re not making sense, Tom. What’s all this “No” nonsense?’

  ‘I’m saying “No” to France.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Thunder muttered angrily in the clouds.

  ‘I’m not going to France.’

  ‘Of course you are, it’s all arranged.’

  ‘I’m not going. I’m staying here.’ Even as Tom spoke the words he felt such a sinking sensation in his chest. The expression of dismay on his father’s face was incredible.

  ‘Tom . . .’ His father couldn’t even bring himself to keep holding the jacket over his head. He let it drop down. The rain immediately struck his head, slicking down the hair. ‘I practically begged Jack to give you that job. I did everything I could to persuade him that you were the best man to do the welding.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Don’t do this to me, son. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to let my friend down. He needs your help to get those buildings ready.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m not going. I need to stay here.’

  Tom would have preferred his father to fly into a rage; instead, he stood there looking so wounded. Sheer hurt bled from his eyes.

  ‘You needed the money for the dive school. I thought this is what you wanted?’

  ‘Dad, I’ll find the money some other way.’

  ‘So you want me to tell Jack that you’re turning his job down?’

  ‘Dad, our family doesn’t always have to put everyone else first!’ The floodgates had opened. Tom stood there in the pouring rain and those issues that had festered since childhood came gushing out. ‘You did amazing work in Africa, digging those wells, piping fresh water to the villages. You saved thousands of lives.’

  Tom’s words, as much as the anger, baffled the man. ‘What’s that got to do with working in France?’

  ‘Nothing . . . No! Everything. Every damn thing!’ Tom wiped the rain from his eyes. ‘Don’t you see? I grew up hearing people tell me you were a saint. You and my mother put everyone else first. But don’t you see? You were putting what strangers wanted before what I needed. Dad, I haven’t said this before, but sometimes it was so hard to be your son. I was just a child; I wanted to be selfish sometimes and have you and my mother just to myself. But it reached the stage where I couldn’t enjoy my birthday presents, because I thought other people were more deserving. I felt so damn guilty asking for anything. Even your time! My blood would boil with sheer guilt if I asked you to play football with me, because I knew you needed to be out there: finding water, digging wells, saving lives.’

  ‘You resented me doing that work?’

  ‘Not now. I know you did amazing, miraculous things. You brought freshwater to villages where children were dying because they didn’t have clean supplies. But back then, when I was eight years old, I couldn’t handle it. Inside, my heart was breaking. And I hated myself, because I thought I was being a selfish brat.’

  His father spoke softly: ‘Is that why you want to hurt me by not honouring this commitment to work for my friend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, why are you staying here?’

  Tom took a deep breath. He didn’t plan to say what he did. The statement even took him by surprise. ‘I’m getting married.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘I’m marrying—’

  ‘I know who you’ve been seeing.’ His dad’s voice wasn’t so much calm as strangely flat. ‘You’ve been seeing Nicola Bekk. I’ve heard about her.’

  ‘And that’s who I’m marrying.’ Now he’d made that astonishing, surprising and spontaneous statement it seemed the most natural thing in the world. As if deep down he’d known all along. ‘Nicola Bekk will be my wife.’

  ‘No, she won’t, Tom. You might hate me for saying this, but I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent her from becoming your wife.’

  Owen appeared at the door. ‘Hey! Mr Greensmith is shouting over the phone that he’s got to get on the plane.’

  Tom’s father said nothing more. He turned and walked through the rain to the house. He’d have to tell an old friend that Tom would be breaking his promise to work on the industrial units. After all the sacrifices I’ve made for you, Tom. And this is how you repay me. Tom could all too easily read the man’s body language. You’ve let
me down, son. You’ve let me down badly.

  Storm winds surged through the trees. From the sky came the angry bark of thunder.

  For a moment, Tom Westonby was stunned. His father must be disappointed by his decision not to take up the job offer. But why the hell has he said that he’ll do everything in his power to stop me marrying Nicola?

  And do I really want to marry Nicola? I’ve not mentioned anything of the sort to her. Was it something I said in the heat of the moment to draw Dad’s attention away from the rest of the world for once? And to make him notice me properly?

  What had been done in the last ninety seconds couldn’t be undone. He sensed his life would change in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  Tom started to run. Because he needed to have an important conversation with Nicola Bekk – the kind of conversation which just couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Water fell from the trees in great splotches. The leaves must have collected the raindrops until there was enough to tip out around a cupful in one go. Tom Westonby ran through the forest. Every so often a dollop of water burst on his head. He didn’t even notice. All he wanted was to catch up with Nicola Bekk.

  She’d stormed away from the car believing he preferred time in France to her. Now Tom had gone and opened a Pandora’s Box. He’d released all kinds of terrible and exciting things that couldn’t be put back. Tom had just told his father (who was a kind and loving man) that he’d felt neglected as a child. Tom sensed the man’s shock. The words must have hurt so much. The truth was that the young Tom Westonby had felt neglected while his parents had devoted their lives to finding fresh drinking water for those people in Africa who were forced to drink, let’s face it, filthy slops from the bottom of a muddy hole.

  Tom felt terrible at making the confession. Yet he felt relieved, too. The guilt at wanting at least a little of his parents’ attention had festered inside him for years. But then how could it be wrong for a young child to want to spend happy times with Mum and Dad?

  Then he’d sprung the big surprise on his father. He’d told him he was going to marry Nicola Bekk. And his father had sprung an even bigger surprise. He’d promised to fight the marriage as hard as he possibly could. The man was determined to prevent Nicola becoming Tom’s wife. So has Dad been listening to gossip about Nicola in the village?

  Tom’s mind was in turmoil. The last ten minutes had seemed life-changing. He’d always got on well with his father; now he wondered if they’d end up hating each other.

  He ran faster along the forest trail. Storm winds clawed at the trees. Leaves were falling even though it was midsummer. Briefly, a flash of lightning pierced the branches. Immediately, there was a savage thump of thunder. This storm wants blood, he thought grimly. People are going to die today.

  When he barrelled around the next bend in the path he nearly collided with Nicola. She stood with her chin raised in defiance. Her blonde hair dripped water down the skin of her bare throat.

  ‘This is how we first met,’ she told him in a hard voice. ‘Are you going to use your fists this time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve been attacked. The month before you moved into Mull-Rigg Hall I was waiting for the post office to open – I get there early to avoid trouble – only, this time I wasn’t early enough. One of the men from the village hit me in the mouth. I could taste blood for a week.’

  The shock of her confession made his heart lurch. ‘Did you report it?’

  ‘To the police? It was the policeman’s son that hit me.’

  ‘I’m not here to attack you. I’m here—’

  ‘For what? To say goodbye, because you’re going to France?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘What do you want from me, then?’

  Thunder rolled across the forest as he spoke. ‘To tell you that I love you.’ Damn it, the thunder had drowned out what he said once more. Was he doomed never to be able to reveal his true feelings?

  ‘I said,’ he began again. ‘I said—’

  ‘I know what you said.’ Her eyes filled with tears. For a long time she said nothing then rested her hand on his chest. ‘You know it’s impossible, don’t you?’

  ‘Everything’s possible.’

  ‘You don’t know what people are like here. They’ll stop you getting close to me. They’ll break us up.’

  He kissed her. She didn’t resist, but there was sadness there: a fatalism that this couldn’t last.

  Tom whispered, ‘Sometimes I’m arrogant. I can do stupid things, too.’

  ‘So you’re just playing stupid now, when you say that you love me?’

  He shook his head and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘What I’m trying to say is that although I can behave like an idiot I’m also determined when I want something. You might say: unstoppable. When I was fifteen I decided I’d swim to the bottom of a lake, which everyone said was a hundred feet deep. For some reason it became so hugely important for me to make that dive. I didn’t have an aqualung back then. So it would be just me, an old rubber mask, and as much air as I could cram into my lungs. One day, I went for it. I swam out to where it was deepest, took a deep breath, then kicked my way down to the bottom. The lake bed was covered with white stones. I grabbed hold of a pebble – my prize. And when I swam back to the surface I felt so . . . I don’t know . . . The feeling was more than being ecstatic. It felt as if I’d achieved something important. Hugely important. A rite of passage. That adventure made me into someone who could do the impossible.’

  ‘Do you see me as a white pebble at the bottom of a lake? If you win me over, will you feel as if you’ve won a prize?’

  ‘I’ll know I’ve won the most important prize of my life. Does that sound too slushy?’

  ‘It does without a physical action to reinforce the sentiment. Does that sound too highfalutin?’

  Tom held her tight, kissed her . . . Her blonde hair cascaded over his arm. He felt the rain-wet strands on his skin. Before he could kiss her again, she caught hold of his face and gently pushed his head back.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said.

  ‘I want to. After all –’ he smiled – ‘I . . . love . . . you.’

  ‘It won’t be an easy relationship. My mother will be against us.’

  ‘My father will be, too.’ Half-jokingly, he added, ‘So what have we got to lose?’

  ‘If we’re not careful, we’ll lose everything.’ Her eyes were deadly serious. ‘Absolutely everything.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  After Tom and Nicola had reluctantly gone their separate ways, he returned home. He approached the house with the distinct feeling that the time had come to face the music. He’d disappointed his father by backing out of the job in France. Russell Westonby had gone to a lot of trouble to get Tom that work.

  Tom knew that plenty of frosty silences lay ahead. His parents would make polite small talk. They’d go out of their way to show that they didn’t hold a grudge. Even so, you might as well paint ‘THIS IS A GRUDGE-FILLED HOUSE’ over the front door.

  That particular door, however, didn’t open. He tried the handle again.

  Locked.

  Hell, they’ve kicked me out. So much for saintly parents. They’ve turned me out on to the street.

  As he fished the keys from his pocket he saw himself sleeping in his car tonight. But a quick turn of the key proved him wrong. They’d not bolted the door to keep out their suddenly troublesome son.

  ‘I’m home.’ His voice echoed back coldly. ‘Hello? Anybody?’

  That echo possessed a sense of emptiness. Even abandonment.

  When he saw the note on the hallway table he realized that his parents had left. They’d taken Owen with them, of course.

  ‘Owen, the dutiful son they never had.’ Tom bit his lip. That line seemed just too snide. Owen’s a good kid. Don’t bring him into the Son v Parents war.

  The message proved
that his parents were diplomatic to an unusual degree. They didn’t want a repeat of today’s upsetting confrontation between father and son. Instead of waiting to talk to him, or even phoning, his mother had written:

  Dear Tom,

  We’re both so sorry that ‘words’ were said this morning. We love you. Neither of us want to fall out with you over a girl. Dad asks if you will talk to Chester about Nicola Bekk. He thinks you need to hear from a good friend about some of the problems Nicola’s had. Nicola might seem a lovely girl. As you get older, however, you’ll realize that people aren’t always what they first appear.

  A couple of lines were thickly crossed out, so he couldn’t read what had been written. No doubt some vile rumour concerning Nicola had been recorded there before being self-censored by his mother’s diplomatic heart. Perhaps it was common knowledge locally that Mrs Bekk suffered from the lunatic delusion that her daughter had been fathered by the Viking god, Thor. No doubt that caused the regulars at the George and Dragon pub to collapse into thigh-slapping bouts of laughter. Mrs Bekk’s madness must be a source of boundless hilarity.

  Villagers clearly didn’t care how much Nicola had suffered because of her mother’s mental condition.

  Tom’s fist tightened in anger until he was scrunching the paper. He took a deep, steadying breath and read the rest of the letter. After the crossed-out lines, his mother had added in a matter-of-fact way that they were returning home for a while to pack up the rest of their things, that the fridge was stocked with plenty of food. They’d even left his wages, which they paid by the week, for his work on the house.

  You’ll find the money under the blue elephant in the lounge. Love, Mum, Dad and Owen xxx

  Guilt money, he thought. Just who’s the guilty party, though?

  His phone announced a call by hollering, ‘Your air tank’s run out! You’re gonna die!’

  He answered. ‘Hello, Chris. How’s life in Greece?’

  ‘Hot, sunny and totally short of cash.’

  ‘I’m doing what I can to raise the money.’

  ‘So you’ve enough for the rent? Because I was thinking I could get the dive school signs ready for—’