| Episode: 54
“Dark Souls and Sinister Hearts” By Darren Rowe Brock & Isabelle’s Residence 20 Spencer Street As Christmas Eve dawned over Spencer Street Isabelle stood in the doorway of the guest room and peered in at Jack through the darkness. Never in her life had Isabelle been as scared as she was when she came home yesterday evening to find Jack taking to his wrists with a sharp blood splattered shard of glass. The haunting image was now permanently ingrained in her mind and as much as Isabelle tried to reassure herself that things would get better, she was beginning to think that telling Cabot the truth was a catastrophic mistake that now only had one devastating outcome. “How’s he doing?” Brock whispered softly into Isabelle’s ear as he appeared behind his pregnant fiancée and lovingly wrapping his arms around her waist until his fingers interlocked over her ever-expanding baby bump. Isabelle surrendered herself to Brock’s tender embrace. The feeling of comfort and support she got from Brock’s touch seemed to reinvigorate her and remind her that she wasn’t all alone in this battle. The past two weeks had been the most drama filled of Isabelle’s life and while she felt should be sitting back and enjoying the final months of her pregnancy, all Isabelle seemed to be doing was running around after her family and friends. While she would never complain, a small part of Isabelle was beginning to resent the fact that she was the one expected to listen to, and help solve, everyone’s problems. “As well as can be expected after trying to kill himself,” she sighed, unsure of just how to help Jack deal with the devastating news that Cabot wasn’t his father. There seemed to be no answers to his questions and no way of helping lift him from the dark and soul destroying clouds of depression that hung over Jack, slowly sucking the life from his body. Brock watched Jack from the doorway of the gust bedroom as he slept. He felt for Jack, but for the life of him couldn’t understand why Jack would want to kill himself. “What was he thinking?” “He wasn’t.” Came Isabelle’s weary reply as she slowly closed the door of the guestroom and turned around to look face Brock. “I guess we can only be grateful I got home when I did. Who knows what might’ve happened if…” Isabelle’s voice trailed off as the painful and devastating thought of losing her brother well before his time played out in her mind. “You have to tell Diana,” Brock encouraged Isabelle as he gently curled her golden blond locks behind her ear. “No.” Isabelle pulled away from Brock. If there was one thing she simply refused to do it was let Diana feed Jack any more of her poison and lies. The longer Isabelle could keep Diana away from Jack the better. There was nothing Diana could say or do that would make Jack’s situation any better, in fact, there was the distinct possibility Diana would only make things worse. “No way.” Brock’s shoulders sunk as he let out a defeated groan. “Her son slit his wrists, Belle.” Brock said as Isabelle stormed off downstairs with Brock quickly giving chase. “She has a right to know.” Isabelle spun back around and stared back at Brock. “Firstly it was a wrist,” she said, immediately shutting down Brock’s incorrect observation. “Singular, not plural, and secondly, she lost whatever rights she had when she chose to lie to him instead of tell him who his real father is.” “She wasn’t thinking straight, Belle,” Brock continued as he followed Isabelle down the stairs and into the living room. “And you can’t keep something like this from her.” “Whose side are you on?” Isabelle frowned at Brock, detecting the early stages of a most unpleasant alliance emerging between her fiancé and mother, as she picked up a roll of garish red and lime green Christmas wrapping paper from the coffee table, the only remaining sign of her impromptu insomnia induced early morning gift-wrapping session. “I’m not on anyone’s side, babe.” Brock continued as he watched Isabelle flutter about the living room like a butterfly on speed, dusting the shiny gold and red glass Christmas baubles that were dotted sporadically around the lush green Christmas tree and tidying up the many bits and bobs that lay strewn around the normally immaculate living room. “This, what’s happened and what’s going on in Jack’s mind, is bigger than any of us can understand and as much as you might hate to admit it, deep down you know that giving Diana and Jack the chance to sit down and talk is what’s needed here right now.” Realising that Brock may be right; Isabelle stopped and looked back at her fiancé. Although she was loathed to admit it, letting Diana and Jack sit down and actually talk things through might be just the thing to help kick-start Jack’s road to recovery and acceptance. Sensing he was getting through to Isabelle, Brock stepped toward his fiancée and took her hands in his. “For once, Isabelle, be the bigger person.” He smiled softly, knowing how head strong and stubborn could be when she wanted to. “Put all the differences between you and your mother to one side, even if just for an hour, and let her speak to Jack. I get that you’re trying to protect him and that’s admirable, but he’s a big boy, Belle, and he deserves to get some answers.” With a deep exhale of breath, Isabelle could do nothing but concede defeat. “Why do you always make sense?” she smiled back at Brock, wondering what she ever did to deserve a man as good-natured and warm-hearted as Brock. “It’s a gift.” A broad grin crossed Isabelle’s face as she leaned in and sweetly kissed Brock on the lips. For the first time in a very, very long time Isabelle felt complete. She was loved unconditionally and while everything around her was collapsing, Brock stood tall as the shining beacon of goodness and hope in her otherwise dark and oppressive world. “Go on.” Isabelle patted Brock’s chest as they parted. “You’ll be late for work.” “I’ll be home about eight.” Brock collected his black leather satchel from the sofa and slung it across his torso. “And you’ll be okay?” “I’ll be fine,” Isabelle said, unsure whether she even believed herself. While she’d weathered many a battle with her mother and stood her ground in the numerous arguments and fights that had beset the Miller dynasty, never had she endured something as challenging and possibly catastrophic as what she was currently witnessing. “Love you,” Brock smiled sweetly at Isabelle before leaning down and running and caring hand over her pregnant stomach. “And I love you even more.” “‘Bye.” Isabelle kissed Brock goodbye and watched him take his coat from the coat stand before opening the door and walking outside into the freezing morning. As the front door closed with a loud thud, Isabelle picked up the metallic silver cordless phone from its cradle on the sideboard and held it in her hand, agonising over whether to call Diana or not. While she wanted Jack to get the answers he so desperately needed, she also didn’t want to make the situation worse by forcing Diana upon him too soon. Quickly dialling a number, Isabelle pressed the phone to her ear. “Mum, it’s me.” – spencer street – The Hudson Residence 23 Spencer Street Sat at the circular oak meals table in the middle of her kitchen, Georgia’s eyes scanned the pages of The Somerset Gazette absorbing the last twelve hours of local, national and international news, current affairs and gossip. While she loved her job, there was nothing quite like the Christmas holidays where she had the luxury to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted and reading the paper in peace while enjoying her first coffee of the day was in Georgia’s mind, the definition perfection. “Morning.” Georgia smiled at Adam as she caught sight of her brother entering the kitchen. “Morning.” Adam yawned in reply, scratching his naked torso and stomach as he shuffled his way across the cold tiled floor of the kitchen to the toaster. Turning the page of her newspaper, Georgia took a sip of her coffee as her eyes continued to scan the numerous stories about the economy, war and the latest happenings in Hollywood and beyond. “You must’ve gone to bed early last night. Calvin and I got home and nine and we didn’t hear a peep from you.” “It was a long day.” Adam shrugged, taking a few slices of bread from the bread bin before dropping them into the toaster and turning it on. “I was beat.” Looking up from her paper, Georgia watched Adam stretch his arms high above his head and let out another, louder yawn before turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter. “What happened to your face?” Georgia asked, spying a deep gash across Adam’s left cheek. “Oh…I…err,” Adam quickly stumbled, covering the inch long gash with his hand. “I walked into a branch. You know how that tree out the front blows about in the wind?” Georgia nodded in agreement, not buying Adam’s explanation but deciding the conversation was best left at that. While Adam had been in Somerset for nearly six months, Georgia was yet to have a proper conversation with her brother about life and his time in prison, but she didn’t want to pressure him. She felt that Adam would come to her when the time was right, but with each passing day, Georgia couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that Adam was sliding back into his old ways. “So…” Georgia continued, trying to save the conversation before it disintegrated into a long, awkward silence. “Got much planned for the day?” Adam sniffed as he ran a thumb under the elastic waistband of his white cotton boxer shorts. “Um, a bit of Christmas shopping but nothing major.” “I was thinking maybe you could come with me and pick up mum from the airport later?” “Oh, I don’t know.” Adam turned back to collect his toast as it popped up. “It’d be a lovely surprise for her,” Georgia said, trying her best to persuade Adam to join her. If she had to endure the car ride back from the airport with Elizabeth regaling her with tales about London and her noisy neighbours, then it was only fair that Adam had to suffer through it as well, he was after all Elizabeth’s son too. “I think I’ve got something on later,” Adam lied as he collected the butter from the refrigerator and began to butter his toast. “Like what?” “Just stuff. You know, odd jobs and shit.” “Oh okay.” Georgia took another sip of her coffee. While she didn’t buy Adam’s excuse, she didn’t exactly want to push the issue either. “So this is it.” Calvin groaned in reference to Elizabeth’s arrival as he entered the kitchen. “D-Day.” Pursing her lips together, Georgia shot Calvin a look of disapproval before returning her attention to the latest story about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. “Oh don’t be like that, Cal,” Adam smiled at his brother-in-law as Calvin joined him at the toaster. “You know you love mum really.” Calvin shot Adam a friendly yet sharp glare. “What time is Cruella arriving?” he asked, deciding it was best to ignore Adam’s last comment. “Her plane lands at six.” Georgia said with a raised brow as she continued to read the sensationalised story about how the Jolie-Pitt clan were reportedly planning on adopting yet another child. “Well thank God you’re here this year,” Calvin said jovially as he gently slapped Adam on the back before dropping two slices of toast into the toaster. “There’s nothing I hate more than picking that up from the airport.” Georgia cautiously looked up from her newspaper, readying herself for the inevitable explosion they were all about to witness when Calvin found out he would be the one joining Georgia on her little expedition to the airport. “Actually…” “No!” Calvin said shaking his head as he whipped around and looked back at Georgia. He’d made his position on picking up Elizabeth quite clear for the past few days and there was no way in hell he was being dragged to the airport kicking and screaming to pick up his mother-in-law. “No!” “Adam’s busy.” Georgia shrugged, flashing Calvin a polite smile to try and smooth over the situation. While she knew Calvin would be less than impressed with the announcement, she couldn’t help but find the situation a little funny. “Doing what?” Calvin looked at Adam, failing to see what could be so important that it required Adam to miss picking up his own mother from the airport. Adam took a bite of his toast and looked at Calvin. “Just stuff,” he smiled cheekily in reply, loving the sight of seeing Calvin get so worked up over something as trivial as picking Elizabeth up from the airport. “Oh no!” Calvin looked back at Georgia, still shaking his head as he refused to give in. “If I can’t get out of it with the ‘stuff’ excuse then neither can he!” Strumming her nails against the tabletop, Georgia flashed her husband a warm smile. “You, my darling, didn’t have any ‘stuff’ on, but Adam apparently does, so…” “Fine!” Calvin snapped, throwing his arms up in the air like a little kid throwing a tantrum. “But I am not carrying her bags. Every year it’s the same ‘Calvin, be a dear and get my bags’. Well not this year!” “Oh Calvin…” Georgia frowned, finding it fun to rub salt into her husband’s wounds. “No, George. I’m serious! The devil can carry her own bags this year.” Calvin barked before storming out of the kitchen like a stroppy two-year-old. “Ah Christmas,” Adam chuckled to himself as he took another bite of his toast. “Gotta love it.” – spencer street – Spencer Street Somerset Relishing her end of year break from university, Chelsea casually strolled down the oak lined Spencer Street on her way to collect a pipping hot cappuccino from Bella’s Coffee House to perk her up and warm her soul on what was a bitterly cold winter’s morning. As she sauntered down the quiet street in her new Stella McCartney boots, treading carefully to avoid the ice patches on the sidewalk, Chelsea’s mind swirled with thoughts of Matthew and just why April was so insistent on breaking them up. She wasn’t sure if April was doing out of pettiness or jealousy or spite, or possibly doing it out of some sort of love in a bid to protect her from being hurt. Chelsea just didn’t understand it and while she wanted answers, she wasn’t about to back down and become best friends forever with her father’s girlfriend. “Chelsea!” Came Paige’s shrill screech as she burst through the front door of her modern townhouse and tore across the icy street towards her friend. “Hey.” Chelsea smiled at Paige as she turned around to see the impeccably dressed columnist slipping and sliding her way down the icy sidewalk in her Gucci pumps like a great dane on roller skates. “Omigod!” Paige panted as she approached Chelsea, lucky to have made it to her without slipping over and breaking her neck. “What are you doing right this very second?” “Talking to you.” “Well obviously,” Paige sighed with a roll of her eyes. Why people always felt the need to be smart and state the obvious answer to that question, Paige didn’t know but it annoyed her no end. “But I mean what are you on your way to do?” Chelsea frowned, beginning to realise that Paige wanted her to do something and was about to ask Chelsea for her help. “Get a coffee.” “At?” “Bella’s.” Paige clutched a hand to her white Prada blouse and breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Good, nothing important. Wanna come shopping?” “Not really.” “Oh please!” Paige whined, begging her friend to join her on her last minute Christmas shopping expedition. Every year Paige vowed to start her Christmas shopping early and every year she was running around like a headless chook with less than 24 hours to go, grabbing anything with a designer label and deciding who it was for later. “I need someone to bounce ideas off of and everyone else is busy.” “Well so am I.” Chelsea resumed walking east down Spencer Street towards Bella’s Coffee House, her craving and yearning for her first cappuccino of the day intensifying with every passing minute. “Coffee is so not busy, Chels,” Paige said, carefully clip clopping along behind Chelsea whilst trying to slip over on the icy sidewalk. “I can’t. I’ve got no money.” “Hello? Credit? Who has cash nowadays?” Chelsea stopped and looked back at Paige. “My credit card’s maxed,” she lied. Chelsea could see there was no way out of this without giving in to Paige’s demands. “Well get another one or up your limit or something,” Paige said with a wave of her hand as if it were nothing to sign up for yet another credit card. “Just please come. Christmas is tomorrow and I’ve got, like, no presents. I was thinking of like designering it up this year. You know, like, going with a theme of D or something. Dior for the guys and Dolce for the chickies?” Chelsea couldn’t help but marvel at the wonder that was Paige Ashton. In designer terms, she was a one of a kind. Chelsea had never before known anyone like her and had no doubt she’d never meet anyone like her again. “Paige,” Chelsea began, folding her arms as a biting winters breeze blew down the street. “You are aware of a thing called the credit crunch, right?” “Oh please,” Paige frowned, immediately dismissing Chelsea’s last comment. “I haven’t done breakfast cereals in, like, five years.” “Economic downturn ringing any bells?” Paige took a deep breath. She was tired of hearing about all the doom and gloom in the world. While markets around the world stumbled, Paige felt she was doing her part in stimulating the economy by pouring hundreds of dollars every months into the pockets of Westwood, Ford, Lagerfeld and McQueen to name just a few. “If people are poor, Chelsea, I can’t help that. They should’ve been wiser with their purchases.” “Like you are?” Chelsea smiled. If there were two things Paige was good for it was a laugh and her somewhat warped views of the world. “Chanel is timeless,” Paige said, a seriousness suddenly engulfing her as she defended her wardrobes full of designer garb. “An investment that lasts a lifetime. Longer than a lifetime! Chanel will never go out of style.” Listening to Paige rant and rave about Chanel and the economy, Chelsea could help but laugh. “Are you laughing at my theme idea?” Paige frowned, a hand yet again dramatically clasped to her chest as she stared back at Chelsea. “No, I…” “You’re right,” Paige agreed, tapping a finger against her chin as her mind raced through a million and one new theme ideas for her Christmas gift giving. “Maybe D’s not the way to go. What about C for Christmas? You know, Calvin for the guys and Chanel for the girls? See Chelsea, this is why I need you. I can think so much clearer when you’re around.” Chelsea looked back at Paige in silence, surprised that she thought she could think clearly at all, let alone when Chelsea was around. Chelsea loved Paige with all her heart, but she certainly wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box. “So you go get your coffee and I’ll go tizzy up a bit and I’ll meet you at Bella’s in about ten?” “Okay.” Chelsea agreed. While she didn’t mind battling the thousands of last minute Christmas shoppers with Paige, all Chelsea really wanted to do was spend time with Matthew before the awkward Christmas dinner she, Matthew and April would have to endure tomorrow evening. “Super fantastic!” Paige enthused, suddenly as excited as a puppy with a ball. “So I’ll see you in ten.” Chelsea nodded in agreement and resumed her march towards the beckoning wafts of freshly brewed coffee blowing down the street from Bella’s. “Oh, Chels,” Paige called back. Chelsea turns and looked back at her friend who was now on the opposite side of the road. “Lovin’ the boots by the way. Fierce.” Chelsea smiled back at Paige and struck her best Kate Moss-esque pose before strutting the rest of the way to Bella’s Coffee House as if she were one of the world’s top supermodel’s on a runway in Milan. Paige let out a raucous laugh before doing the same as she headed home to get ready for her shopping adventure. – spencer street – Imperial Suite, Hotel Ritz Paris, France Overlooking the place Vendôme, Cabot stood in a sad silence gazing out of the towering French doors of his luxurious suite at the majestic and enchanting city laid out before him. The fashion mogul had been alone in Paris a million times before, but never had he felt as alone as he did now. While he wanted nothing more than to be back in Somerset trying to explain things to Jack and work through the crisis his family was facing, Cabot had no choice but to meet with an array of potential investors in the desperate hope of keeping his faltering multi-billion dollar fashion empire from the grubby hands of administrators. The past few years had been a disaster for Miller Incorporated and unless an investor could be found within the next 48 hours, Cabot would be forced to file for bankruptcy. With his eyes beginning to burn with tears, Cabot turned his back on Paris and walked across the grand, verging on ridiculously over the top, imperial suite and took a seat in one of the antique Empire armchairs upholstered in vivid red and gold silk. Opening his laptop, Cabot once again set about trying to juggle the finances of Miller Incorporated to save it from going under, all the while thoughts of Jack and the pain and confusion he must be suffering through polluted Cabot’s mind. – spencer street – Brock & Isabelle’s Residence 20 Spencer Street “Jack?” Diana said softly, slowly opening the door to Brock and Isabelle’s guest room and hesitantly walking in. While surprised to hear from Isabelle, Diana was eternally grateful to her daughter for giving her the opportunity to see Jack and talk things through with him. There was silence. The heavy curtains remained closed, shutting off the outside world and leaving Jack locked in a cocoon of darkness, anger and sadness. “Darling it’s me, mum.” “What do you want?” Came Jack’s gruff reply from underneath the tangled mess of sheets and blankets on the double bed. Diana cautiously made her way over to the bed and looked at her son. “To talk,” she replied softly, her heart tearing in two as she caught sight of a dishevelled and virtually lifeless Jack entangled in the mound of linen. “No thanks.” Jack rolled onto his side, turning his back on his mother. The last person in the world he wanted to see right now was Diana. He didn’t want to hear whatever excuses or explanations she had to offer. All Jack wanted was for things to be back the way they were. For everything to be back to normal, but sadly, Jack realised things would never be normal again. Perching herself on the edge of Jack’s bed, Diana looked at her broken son. While she hated herself for telling Isabelle the truth, a small part of Diana was relieved that everything was now out in the open and although Jack was drowning in a dark sea of hate, uncertainty and anger, Diana was determined to help her son through the ordeal. As her eyes filled with tears of shame and regret, Diana rested a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Isabelle told me about what happened,” she said quietly, a tear breaking free from the corner of her eye and rolling down her cheek as Jack violently shrugged off her hand, desperate to avoid any contact whatsoever with his mother. “I never meant to hurt you, darling.” Sitting up in the rather uncomfortable double bed, Jack coldly glared back at his mother. Looking into Jack’s eyes for the first time since he learnt the truth was like a dagger in Diana’s heart. The immense pain and hate was almost too much for her to bear. Gone was the kind and carefree Jack everyone loved and in his place sat an unshaven, depressed, bitter and angry young man. “I meant to tell you, I just…” “You meant to tell me?” Jack snarled at his mother as his stomach churned at her lame excuses. “Like it was something on your to do list?” “No, Jack, I…” “I’m having a hard time trying to feel any sympathy for you right now, mother.” Jack couldn’t bear to listen to anymore of his mother’s excuses or vapid attempts at an explanation. She had lied to him from the day he was born and as far as Jack was concerned, Diana was dead to him. “I’m not asking for your sympathy, Jack.” Diana’s chin quivered with emotion as she slowly began to realise she was sitting face-to-face with a man who clearly hated her with every fibre of his being. “I’m asking for your forgiveness and understanding. I’ve done wrong, I get that.” “Oh good,” Jack mocked, pleased that Diana ‘got’ the fact that she’d done wrong, as if it were something she should be congratulated for. “I’m glad you get that.” “Jack, please.” “I don’t even know why Isabelle let you in,” Jack snarled, his cold reply a thousand daggers through Diana’s heart. “I don’t want to see you mother. Not now, not ever.” “Jack, please…” Diana pleaded as another tear rolled down her cheek. While she and Isabelle had always had something of a tempestuous relationship, the thought of loosing Jack forever was more than Diana could handle. He’d always been her pride and joy and now the thought of being cut off for good left Diana verging on a total breakdown. “Get out!” “Jack…” “GET OUT!” Jack’s booming roar immediately silenced Diana as she realised there was nothing more she could say or do. Jack wanted her out of his life and as hard as it would be, Diana was left with no choice but to oblige. Silently rising from her spot on the edge of the bed, Diana looked into Jack’s eyes for what could possibly be the last time. “I love you,” she whimpered, heartbroken at what she’d done to her son. “I always will.” Turning her back on Jack, Diana walked back across the darkened bedroom towards the door. As her hand grasped the doorhandle, Diana felt herself go weak at the knees as she struggled to leave Jack behind. “Oh and Merry Christmas, mother,” Jack said crudely, void of any genuine emotion or love as he watched Diana struggle to walk out of his life. “I hope you’ll have a happier day tomorrow than I will.” As Jack’s cruel words rang in her ears, and with mascara stained tears streaming down her face, Diana walked out of the guest room and closed the door on Jack for the last time. – spencer street – Somerset Police Station Somerset The pale blue doors to the staff lunchroom swung open as Brock entered to begin his lunchbreak of 2008. With just twelve hours left until he embarked on three weeks of holidays, Brock had been tying up all the loose ends before he went away and unfortunately that meant enduring a morning of nothing but paperwork. Walking across the soulless and cramped canteen towards the less than hygienic looking cooks scattered behind the heated bay marie’s, Brock glanced around at the clusters of cliquey groups dotted around the cigarette smoke filled room. “Lasagne, thanks.” Brock smiled friendly at a young cook who looked like he was fresh from prison. Although he usually avoided the lunchroom at all costs, Brock was starving and couldn’t be bothered heading down to the nearest McDonalds or Subway when the canteen was just downstairs from his office. Collecting his tray of less than appetising lasagne, Brock grabbed a can of cola and made his way towards one of his colleagues, a Senior Constable named Anthony. “‘Sup?” “Have you read this bullshit?” Anthony, a portly, middle-aged police officer with curly black hair, nicotine stained fingers and stale coffee breath grumbled as he pushed his copy of The Somerset Gazette across the table towards Brock. Placing his tray down on the small circular table and taking his seat, Brock’s eyes scanned the front page of the newspaper. Government To Legalise Gay Marriage. “Since when was that on the agenda?” Brock asked, playing up to the bravado of his colleague, Anthony. “Fuck the agenda! This is an attack on our religious beliefs!” Anthony barked as he snatched back the paper and continued to pour over the story that had so infuriated him and insulted his Christian beliefs. “Gay marriage? What a load of rubbish! Next they’ll be claiming that Muslims aren’t terrorists or some shit.” “Well that’s a bit extreme,” Brock replied as he caught sight of Hamish at the table just behind Anthony. Stabbing at his lasagne with a fork, Brock suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as he caught Hamish’s eye. Shifting in his seat, Hamish leaned forward slightly, positioning himself so as he could hear Anthony’s furious rumblings better. “You can’t seriously tell me that you think this shit should be legalised?” Anthony looked back at Brock with fierce intensity, his emerald green eyes almost hypnotic as he stared at Brock, waiting for a response. “Well…” Folding his arms across his chest, Anthony leant back in his seat and frowned at Brock, his beady green eyes looking Brock up and down. “What are you gay or something, Brock? A big ol’ pansy boy?” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Brock laughed nervously with a shake of his head as he looked back over Anthony’s shoulder at Hamish. “It makes me sick. The thought of two guys doing it…its just wrong.” Hearing Brock’s response, Hamish finally realised why Brock was so loathed as to admit he was gay, let alone come clean to Isabelle about their affair. “And don’t even get me started on gay marriage,” Brock continued as he looked back at Anthony whilst stuffing a forkful of lasagne into his mouth. “A man and a woman, that’s the way God intended.” “Damn straight!” Anthony nodded in agreement as if Brock were preaching some sort of gospel. “It’s Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.” “What people do behind closed doors is their own business, but two guys…that’s just messed up.” “Really?” Hamish rose from his seat and walked over to Brock’s table. “‘Cause I think two guys is hot!” Brock looked up at Hamish from beneath his brow, his heart pounding in his chest as thoughts of exposure paralysed him with fear. “What did you say?” Anthony growled, looking up at Hamish as the young police officer stood proudly and confidently over them. Hamish cleared his throat. While he was never one to go on about gay rights or flaunt his sexuality in other people’s face, Hamish was suddenly filled with a strong confidence that made him want to stand up for his rights and give Anthony, the bigot that he was, a piece of his mind. “I said two guys being together is hot. Do you have a problem with that Anthony?” Threatened, Anthony slowly rose from his seat and stood face to face with Hamish. “As a matter of fact I do, Hamish,” Anthony snarled, his eyes firmly locked on Hamish’s in a threatening and hate filled glare. “Its sick, its wrong and its evil.” Brock sat in silence as he watched Hamish stand up to Anthony, one of the toughest and most closed minded guys in the station. He hated the way Anthony went about things and intimidated those he deemed lesser than him, but Brock knew that if he spoke up in Hamish’s defence there’d be hell to pay. Hamish stood his ground, his stare unwavering from Anthony’s. “Well,” he began, swallowing nervously as he summoned up all his courage. “That may be your opinion, but…” “Are you a faggot, Hamish?” Anthony snarled as the canteen quickly fell silent. “I beg your pardon?” Anthony repeated himself, his stare narrowing and his face pulling closer to Hamish’s with every word. “Are. You. A faggot?” Hamish looked down at Brock out the corner of his eye. The fact Brock sat there, saying and doing nothing, spoke volumes to him. Hamish had never seen Brock as a coward, but now, seeing him just sitting there in silence, he realised just how big of a coward Brock really was. Re-focusing his attention on Anthony, Hamish let out a deep exhale of breath. “If you’re asking whether I’m gay or not, Anthony, then the answer is yes, I am.” For a moment Anthony was silent as he processed Hamish’s admission. Slowly taking a step back, Anthony turned around and faced his silent colleagues. “Hear that everyone?” he asked, addressing the fifty or so officers that were crammed into the small lunchroom. “Lil’ Hamish here has just told me he’s a faggot. A big ol’ gay boy.” Hamish’s eyes moved from one person to the next, each one just staring at him in silence. He didn’t know what to say or do; he was just frozen to the spot as Anthony outed him to the entire station. “So be careful when you drop the soap in the showers, if you know what I’m sayin’.” Anthony continued with a hoarse laugh, laughing as if he’d just cracked one of the funniest jokes of his life. “Anthony…” Brock said softly, trying to get his friend and colleague to stop. “Did you know he was a pillow biter?” Anthony asked Brock as he looked back at his silent friend. Feeling Hamish’s eyes upon him, Brock looked down at his lasagne. “No,” he mumbled in reply as if ashamed by the lie that slipped from his lips. “Well how does it feel to know you’re best buds with a fag, Brock?” Slowly lifting his head, Brock looked back at Hamish. What could he say? Looking into Hamish’s eyes, Brock could see Hamish’s disappointment. “Sick,” Brock said in response to Anthony’s question. “It makes me sick.” Hamish slowly lowered his head, disappointed in Brock for giving in to Anthony’s archaic way of thinking. He didn’t understand how Brock could sleep with him yet still have such a twisted and homophobic way of thinking. A gay homophobe, Hamish thought to himself as he made eye contact with Brock once more. Who would’ve thought? “Awww, poor little fag boy,” Anthony teased as he resumed his seat, proud with himself for outing Hamish and humiliating him in the process. “How about you run along home and watch Queer Eye or some other fag bullshit?” “I’m more a Sex and the City guy, actually.” Hamish replied with an acid tongue as he shot Anthony one last glare before turning and storming out of the lunchroom as a wave of whispers and sniggers followed alongside him. “Damn fags are everywhere,” Anthony grumbled under his breath as he poked at his egg and lettuce sandwich like a vulture pecking at a dead carcass. “And now I’ve completely lost my appetite.” Brock looked back at Anthony in silence before forcing a soft smile. – spencer street – The Hudson Residence 23 Spencer Street The Hudson home stood still but not silent as muffled whispers and giggles floated down the staircase and swirled about downstairs. “Calvin!” Georgia giggled loudly from upstairs. “Calvin stop it!” The doorbell rang and the house immediately fell silent. There was a loud knock at the door before Georgia came bounding down the stairs, desperately trying to tie her silk robe together before opening the front door. “Mum!” Georgia gasped, started by her mother’s sudden appearance. “Hello sweetheart.” Elizabeth smiled, giving Georgia a kiss on each cheek before entering the large Hudson family home. “Not interrupting am I?” “No of course not.” Georgia lied, holding her robe tightly closed as she shut the front door. “What are you…? Your plane wasn’t due in until this evening.” “Yes I know,” Elizabeth turned and looked back at her daughter, noticing her distinct lack of clothing. “But there was an earlier flight and I thought, why wait?” “Great.” Georgia smiled; panting slightly before looking up the stairs, praying to God that Calvin didn’t come bounding down the stairs in the nude. “Fantastic.” “Calvin not around?” Elizabeth asked as she walked into the living room and placed her handbag down on the sideboard before checking her hair in the mirror above the fireplace. Georgia followed her mother into the living room, all the while desperately clutching her robe closed. “He’s just upstairs.” “Really, sweetheart,” Elizabeth began, looking at her daughter in the reflection of the mirror while checking her appearance. “If it’s a bad time, I can go and have a coffee or something.” “No, I was just um…” “In the shower?” Elizabeth smiled, providing Georgia with a plausible excuse, although Elizabeth was all too aware of what she’d interrupted. “Yes.” Georgia smiled, flashbacks of her teenage years suddenly flooding back. Satisfied with her flawless appearance, Elizabeth turned and looked back at Georgia. “And Adam?” “He’s out doing some last minute shopping.” The sound of heavy footsteps bounding down the wooden staircase fill the living room as Georgia realised what was about to happen. “Where’s my sexy…Beth!” Calvin shrieked as he jogged into the living room completely naked, only to be confronted by his mother-in-law. “Hello, Calvin. Nice to see you dressed for the occasion.” Elizabeth smiled, before looking Calvin up and down. Suddenly realising his nakedness, and over the initial shock of seeing Elizabeth, Calvin snatched a cushion from the sofa and quickly covered his manhood, his face as red as a tomato. “I think I’ll go and have that coffee after all,” Elizabeth winked at Georgia before looking at Calvin and smiling, barely unable to stop herself from laughing at the situation she found herself in. “Okay.” Georgia nodded, dying a million deaths inside as she realised her mother now knew what she and Calvin had been up to before they were sprung. “I’ll come over and join you…” “Preferably once you’ve dressed,” Elizabeth replied as she collected her handbag from the sideboard. “Of course.” Georgia could do nothing but smile at her mother, because really, it was quite funny being sprung in the act by her mother at her age. As Elizabeth walked back into the foyer and opened the front door, she looked back at Georgia and Calvin. “Oh and Calvin?” Embarrassed beyond belief, Calvin slowly turned and looked back at his mother-in-law. “Be a dear and collect my bags from the taxi. The driver’s eastern European and, well, we all know what they’re like.” As Elizabeth walked out of the house, closing the door behind her, Calvin looked at displeased. “Don’t say a word,” Georgia warned Calvin with a cheeky grin before walking out of the living room and heading back upstairs to get changed. “Not a word!” – spencer street – Somerset Plaza Somerset With the final hours of Christmas trading rapidly winding down and the shopping mall’s Christmas CD on its fiftieth run of the day, Paige and Chelsea waded their way through the sea of frenzied last minute Christmas shoppers packed into the sprawling Somerset Plaza shopping mall like sardines, each one as frantic and stressed as the last. “Okay. Speak soon,” Paige said as she held her diamante encrusted cell phone to her ear while Chelsea struggled along side her, piled high with bags bearing the labels Calvin Klein, Chanel, Prada, Gucci, Vivienne Westwood and Dior. “Yeah, love you. Ciao.” “Who was that?” Chelsea asked as pushed her way past a pair of young women battling it over the last pair of Victoria Beckham jeans. “Chloe.” Paige dropped her phone into the oversized Guess handbag hanging from her elbow and powered through the frenetic shoppers like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Melt down central apparently. They’re doing this big joint Christmas thing between the Hudson’s and Goodwin’s and, well firstly, it’s been handbags at twenty paces between Chloe and Nicole recently so she’s major stressing about that sito and now she’s going all Britney over whether she has to get Georgia and Calvin etc presents. I was like, ‘Babe, chillax. Just get a bit of designer for Georgia and Calvin and all’s well.’ I mean, Sarah’s hardly likely to show her face and there’s no one else of importance, right?” “Right.” Chelsea agreed wearily. She’d spent the past six hours following Paige around from designer store to designer store and her feet were absolutely killing her, although her new Stella McCartney boots may have looked good that were torture to wear. “So,” Paige looked back over her shoulder at Chelsea as they continued through the throng of crazed shoppers. “What’s going on with the dishy lecturer?” “April knows.” “Omigod!” Paige stopped dead in her tracks and looked back at Chelsea horrified. “I know.” Chelsea winced in pain as her feet throbbed in her boots. While she didn’t mind helping Paige out, a ten-minute rest break wouldn’t go a miss. Paige rubbed a sympathetic hand up and down Chelsea’s arm before a shimmery Dolce & Gabbana gown caught her eye in a shop window across the mall. “To quote one of the best bands of all time, the Bee Gee’s, ‘tragedy’!” As Paige powered across the mall towards a quaint boutique, Chelsea followed close behind. “She’s trying her best to break us up.” “Well of course,” Paige said as she entered the store and cast a critical eye over the flowing gold-fringed dress. “He’s like, what? 50?” “50?!” Chelsea shrieked, horrified at Paige’s assumption. “He’s 36.” “Well you’re lucky,” Paige back over her shoulder at Chelsea as she removed the dress from the rack and held it up against herself before admiring it in the mirror. “Its once they get over 40 that they struggle to rise to the occasion, if you know what I mean.” “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Chelsea sighed wearily as she placed the dozens of designer bags down on the floor and stretched her arms high above her head. “I don’t know whether she’s just doing it ‘cause she can, or whether she’s trying to protect me? I just…I don’t know.” “Well have you tried talking to her?” Paige asked as she returned the Dolce and Gabbana dress to its rack and cast an eye over the other expensive offerings in the store. “We just argue.” “Babe, she’s your stepmother.” “No she’s not!” Chelsea barked, horrified at the thought. While she didn’t really mind April, the thought of her being seen as the stepmother so soon mortified Chelsea. Paige looked at Chelsea and smiled. It was obvious Chelsea hadn’t fully accepted April yet and while she was carrying on with Matthew, that wasn’t likely to change. “Well good as you can’t argue with the stepmother,” Paige said, offering up her own unique brand of advice. “It’s the first rule of step-childage. Hate her, yes, but argue, no. Marriage trumps child every time. Play nice. If she’s trying to be nice then just go along with it and if she’s as bad as you make her out to be then she’ll eventually come unstuck and you’ll come out smelling like Chanel No 5.” As Paige stormed out of the store and back into the crowds of shoppers, Chelsea collected Paige’s purchases and quickly followed. “But what if she’s having an affair?” “What?!” Paige once again stopped dead in her tracks and stared back at Chelsea. While not getting on with April was one thing, accusing her of having an affair was another and the fact that if true it was one of the most scandalous pieces of gossip all year tantalised and titillated Paige to no end. “Her and Ronan.” Chelsea looked at Paige. “I saw them.” “Coffee guy?” Paige looked off into the distance as she thought about Ronan for a moment. “He’s cute in a drought breaking kinda way.” “This is serious, Paige.” “Well what are you going to do?” Paige asked as she resumed forcing her way through the massive crowds, desperate to seek out every last piece of designer wear in the mall. “What can I do?” Chelsea sighed as if the weight of the world, and not just Paige’s bags, rested on her shoulders. “Whatever I say, she’ll just deny it and dad’s completely besotted, so I’m screwed.” Paige stopped and looked back at her close friend. “You know what you need?” she smiled warmly, trying her best to cheer up Chelsea and help her out of her situation. “A private investigator?” Chelsea joked, almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion of Paige’s marathon shopping spree. “Oh no, something far better.” Paige’s warm smile widened into a broad grin before she stepped aside to reveal to Chelsea a glittering jewellers. “Every girl’s best friend…Tiffany’s.” Chelsea’s eyes widened in wonder as she looked at the iconic jewellery store. “Come on.” Paige said, taking Chelsea by the hand and dragging her inside. “They’ve got the cutest bracelet ever! I saw it the other day and immediately thought of you.” – spencer street – Brock’s Office Somerset Police Station Sitting at his desk, Brock stared mindlessly at the blank Microsoft Word document on his computer screen, the events of earlier that day playing over and over in his mind. While he hated himself for not standing up for Hamish, Brock knew that in doing so he would’ve committed career suicide and completely alienated himself from the rest of the station. Brock’s cell phone suddenly beeped in quick succession while flashing up at him. 1 new message. Picking up his phone, Brock opened the text message and read it in silence. Bella’s. 20 minutes. Hamish. – spencer street – The Hudson Residence 23 Spencer Street Night settled over Somerset as children right across the sprawling metropolis hung their stockings above the fireplace, laid out their milk and cookies for Santa and were tucked into bed, their stomachs all a flutter as the excitement over unwrapping their presents bright and early tomorrow morning became almost to much to bear. With a warm fire crackling away in the fireplace and the living room illuminated in a dull glow from the flashing lights of the Christmas tree, Elizabeth and Georgia sat on the sofa, glued to the television, enthralled in the explosive Christmas Eve episode of EastEnders while Calvin sat in an armchair near the fireplace reading the newspaper. “You know its not going to be his baby,” Elizabeth whispered to Georgia as the mother and daughter watched Sean and Roxy’s paternity storyline play out on screen. “Oh hello,” Georgia replied, her eyes still firmly fixed on the screen but her head turned towards her mother. “Who didn’t see that one coming?” The Hudson’s doorbell suddenly chimed. “Calvin, be a dear,” Elizabeth looked at her son-in-law and smiled. “Our stories are on. Besides, its probably just carollers.” Calmly placing his newspaper down, Calvin let out a soothing breath as he fought back the urge to give his loving mother-in-law a piece of his mind. “What did your last slave die of?” Calvin mumbled to himself as he rose from the armchair and walked out into the foyer and opened the front door. “Surprise!” Margot said with a broad grin as she dropped her carry bag and held her arms out ready to hug Calvin. “Mum!” Calvin smiled as he wrapped his arms around his mother in a loving embrace. “Boy am I glad to see you!” – spencer street – Bella’s Coffee House 48 Park Avenue Nervously flicking through the latest copy of trashy tabloid, Gossip, Hamish took a sip of his latte as he awaited Brock’s arrival. As the first snow of the season slowly began to fall outside, the automatic doors to Bella’s slid open and Brock stepped out of the freezing night and into the inviting warmth of the popular café. “Hey,” Hamish closed his magazine and smiled at Brock as the handsome detective joined him at the small window table. Removing his snow-covered coat, Brock placed it over the back of his chair and took a seat. “I can’t stay long; I’ve still got an hour to go on my shift.” “Don’t worry,” Hamish reassured Brock with a smile, “this won’t take long. I’ve been doing some thinking…about us.” “There is no us, Hamish,” Brock insisted softly as he looked around the café to make sure no one was listening. After what had happened earlier in the lunchroom, Brock suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable about being seen out in public with Hamish for fear of being labelled gay by association. “How many times do I have to say it before…?” “You know that Isabelle’s invited Paige and I to spend tomorrow with you?” “Yeah.” Brock looked back at Hamish. He hadn’t believed Isabelle at first when she said she’d invited Hamish and Paige to spend Christmas with them, but now they had agreed to come, Brock could do nothing but pray that the day would fly by and Hamish would keep his mouth shut. “Well,” Hamish continued. “I was thinking about what was said the other week and, um, well you’re right. Telling Isabelle’s not the right thing to do. Not now, anyway.” Brock frowned slightly as he looked back at Hamish in a stunned silence. He didn’t know what to say. This was the last thing he was expecting Hamish to say and although pleasantly surprised, Brock still felt a little cautious. “Today made me realise a few things about us…about myself.” Hamish said before taking another sip of his latte as the snow outside began to fall faster. “Anthony was out of line,” Brock said as he began to nervously play with a napkin. “Yet you said nothing.” “What did you want me to do, Hamish?” Brock hissed quietly, trying to keep his conversation with Hamish as quiet as possible. “Stand up for you? Come out? I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, I’m not gay.” “I know.” Hamish agreed. “Like I said, I’ve been doing some thinking and I realise that you’re not. But I think to give up what we had…have, would be foolish, Brock.” Brock was hesitant to believe Hamish had done a complete 180 on the situation, but there was something genuine about him that made Brock begin to believe him. “I don’t know.” Brock said with a deep sigh. It was all so messy and complicated and while Brock really enjoyed his time with Hamish, he didn’t know if he could do it all again. “I love you, Brock and I’ll do whatever you want,” Hamish said softly, trying his best to make Brock see he’d come around to his way of thinking. “Just so long as I can be with you.” Brock looked at Hamish unsure of what to do. “I do love Isabelle,” he said genuinely. “Of course.” Brock ran a hand over his mouth as he thought about Hamish’s proposition. While he loved Isabelle, Brock had to admit that he’d found it incredibly difficult to get Hamish off of his mind. “Let me have some time to think?” “Whatever time you need.” Hamish smiled Brock, realising he’d finally got through to him. Rising from his seat, Brock collected his coat from the back of chair and smiled at Hamish. “I’ll give you a call later?” “Okay.” Hamish smiled in reply. As Brock turned and walked out of the café, Hamish’s warm quickly faded. Taking another sip of his latte, Hamish knew he had Brock right where he wanted him and it was now only a matter of time. As Hamish sat processing the conversation he’d just had with Brock, at a table nearby Holden lowered the newspaper that he’d been reading, and which had conveniently concealed his identity, and looked at Hamish in silence, stunned at the scandalous conversation he’d just overheard. |