Twice In A Lifetime

“Surgery?”

“She is going to need a hip replacement but after that she should be right as rain.”

“OK. I will be on the next flight.”

“Your grandmother said you would say that. She told me to tell you, and I am quoting here, ‘Dinnae be daft, hen, I am fine. She said if you came to the hospital she would be livid, insisted you wait until she gets out of hospital because she did not want you to see her without her hair done. She also said to say hello to the prodigal son. I am not sure what she meant by that,” the nurse said.

Sarah knew what she meant. That was what Granny called Liam. She was always adamant that Liam would come home at some point. For some reason, Granny still had a soft spot for him, even though he had done nothing to justify it. Sarah put down the phone and sat on the bed. Her pulse refused to slow. She didn’t know what she would have done if Granny had died. “She is fine,” she repeated over and over again, but it did not change the fact she was eighty-five. Sooner or later Sarah was going to have to deal with the inevitable.

And then she would be alone.

It was hard to breathe again. The massive room seemed too small. She concentrated on slowly filling her lungs. She was being stupid. She was nearly thirty; she was fine. When her grandma died, she would be fine. But she knew she wouldn’t. Her granny was her rock, the one person in her life that never failed her, never left her. Everyone else left, but not Granny.

Leslie said Sarah had intimacy issues, she never let anyone in, but thank God for that, if it hurt this much, and she would much rather be alone than be dependent on someone else for her happiness.

Sarah didn’t hear Liam come into the room. “Dinner is here.” He crossed the room to her. “Sarah, what is wrong?” He wiped away a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t even realised she was crying.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said. She turned away from him so he could not see the steady stream that was running down her face. Just her luck—she couldn’t remember the last time she cried and now she couldn’t stop. Trust her to do it in front of Liam.

“That seems to be your battle cry. You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.” He gently cupped her face in his hands.

“No, really, I am fine. I am tired—must be jet lag.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what is wrong,” he commanded.

His voice was so confident, his hands strong. It was easy to feel safe with him. Once upon a time, this was her safe place, in his arms. Nothing could touch her when he held her. He gazed at her with an intensity she could feel to the tips of her toes. His blue eyes had grown dark, almost completely engulfed by the dark pupils, leaving only a sapphire rim around the black centre. This was how he had looked right before he kissed her.

Her lips parted. Her muscles had memory she could not fight. Her body wanted to be connected to his. He seemed to feel it too or at least understand what she did not have the words to say. His head lowered to hers.

His mouth pressed against hers, hot and searching, his tongue teased her lips further apart, and she opened to him. She wanted to taste him and feel him. Her hands went to his sides and pulled him closer. She was desperate to close the space between them, and it had been too long. She heard a moan escape her. The dressing gown fell from around her shoulders and she did not try to pull it up. This felt right and utterly wrong: they were wrong together; she could never trust him, but their bodies fitted together as if they were made for each other.

Suddenly Liam pulled away. His breathing was ragged; she looked at him with a combination of shock and suspicion. Her mind registered a phone ringing from the other room. She pulled frantically at the dressing gown to cover herself.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself. Of all the stupid things she could do, kissing Liam took the cake. What was she thinking? She wanted to shout at herself. He left you when you needed him most. He was quite possibly the least emotionally available person on the planet. If she was going to work on her issues, it was best she did it with someone who would not leave as soon as things got hard.

“That is not going to happen again.” She said it for her own benefit. “Please don’t kiss me again. I am here because I want to help Sam.”

“Fine.” Something in Liam’s mind snapped at the mention of Sam’s name. Christ, why had he kissed her? His arms dropped to his sides, suddenly leaden. He left her sitting on his bed, and he didn’t turn back. He did not breathe until the door closed into place. Shit. He wanted to punish her, make her realise the bad choices she made, but when he saw her crying something strange happened. In that moment he did not want to hurt her; he just wanted to comfort her the only way he knew how.

Luckily she was kind enough to remind him of the point of all this. He would make her regret what she had done. But first he had to sort out the mess Sam had made. Sam had managed to fuck things up on yet another continent; he was almost prodigious in that respect. And now Liam was sucked into the cesspool. Like it or not he was stuck wading through a shit storm he wasn’t even sure he could handle. He had spent years cultivating friendships and securing allies and now he was going to have to call in every favour owed to him if he was going to save Sam’s ass. And why was he doing it? God only knew. He should have told Sarah a few home truths and sent her on her way. But apparently even after all the shit that had gone down between them, she still had some pull over him. But Christ was it tempting to let Sam go down; sort him out once and for all.

Liam put his hand against the cool wood of the closed door. Sarah Campbell was in his bedroom. She was in his bed. His entire adolescence centred around making that happen. Now she was there, but never had there been less chance of actually sleeping with her. The sixteen-year-old version of himself would not have been very happy with that result. The thirty-year-old version was none too pleased either, if truth be told.

Chapter Four

Liam hesitated before he dialled his lawyer. He could not ignore the temptation to forget about Sam and let justice take its course. He tapped his fingers against the arm rest. He considered his options. There were a few ways this could play out. The easiest and most tempting was for him to do nothing. He would tell Sarah he did his best and she would be none the wiser. Or he could put himself on the line for a man he detested. The choice would be simple if it weren’t for Sarah, and the last remnants of Liam’s conscience. Sam deserved to be punished but he did not deserve to be killed.

“Hello, Sayid. I have a situation,” Liam said when his lawyer picked up at the other end.

Liam explained the circumstances in detail. Sayid told Liam he would make some enquiries and phone him back when he knew more.

Liam went into work and waited for his lawyer to phone. He used the time to research options for Sam and make phone calls. Sayid was the best corporate lawyer money could buy, but he did not have much cause to bone up on criminal law. Liam ran a hand through his hair and swore. It was a bloody mess.

Sayid did not phone back until after ten.

“How long does it take to locate one detainee?” Liam asked when he picked up the phone.

“A while when that detainee is being interviewed,” Sayid said.

“You mean being interrogated?” Liam asked, although he knew the answer.

“That is one way to put it. I would suggest the police would say they were helping him divulge pertinent information.”

“Save it, Sayid. Where is he now?”

“They are taking him to a police station.”

“Great. Send me the address. I will meet you there. I need fifteen minutes to speak to him. Make it happen.”

The police station was inhumanely hot, the only air conditioning being a free-standing fan. The heat served to heighten the intense smell of urine, while the fan played its part by making sure the scent reached everyone’s nostrils undiluted.

Sayid greeted the police officer, exchanged pleasantries, and offered the man a manila envelope. The officer opened the packet and counted the notes before he nodded and pointed to a corridor. “At the end.”

Liam walked to the end and looked into the cell. At first he could not see Sam. He was lying in the dark, his back to him. Liam could just make out his form. A presumably once white shirt was lying beside him, covered in what appeared to be dirt and dry vomit.

“Sam,” Liam said. When he didn’t stir, Liam called his name louder.

“And the torture begins,” Sam said. He sat up and slowly moved his legs over the side of the rusted bed frame.

Liam’s breath hitched when he saw him. He could not have been prepared for the change in his once best friend. Liam had seen plenty of addicts before, but he couldn’t remember anyone as ravaged by drugs as the shadow of a man in front of him. Sam was a pathetic sight. He reminded Liam of a mangy dog, beaten and left on the side of the road. His anger became laced with a strange sadness that he could not understand.

Liam couldn’t be sure how much of Sam’s appearance was down to withdrawals and how much was from years of abusing his body. Sam was the same height as Liam, but weighed at least three stone less. His cheeks were hollow and black circles encased his eyes. His short black hair was matted to his head. His arms were covered in the telltale blue ink of prison tattoos. They were layered, one on top of the other, bleeding into each other, creating the effect of one continuous stain on his limbs. And on his chest, scribbled above his heart, was the name “Sarah”.

Liam clenched his hands into fists, his anger rekindled. He didn’t care what Sam did with his life, but he was going to make sure he stopped dragging Sarah into it. “Fucking up in Scotland wasn’t grand enough for you.”

Sam smiled, but only half his mouth rose. He had appreciably less teeth than when Liam had seen him last.

“Sarah called you? Knew she would. She’s my doll, always sees me right.” He patted her name above his heart.

“Why can’t you fuck up on your own and leave her out of it?”

“You were always jealous of me. Not my fault she picked me, man.”

“You are pathetic.”

“Aye, but I got her. You got your money and your fancy job but you don’t have her. That’s what you always wanted, all that cash, and she picked me. Must have been pretty shit in bed for her to come running to me when it was done.”

Liam squeezed the iron bars between his fists until his hands drained of colour. “You are facing the death penalty. They want to kill you.” Liam thought of the expression about not wishing things on his worst enemy. He was looking at his, and he realised all the things he wished on Sam he had done to himself.