Chapter 5 Magic
When Tom was around nine or ten years old, he broke his mother’s antique vase. He’d been playing a game he wasn’t meant to, in a room from which he was forbidden, and when the football made contact with the blue and white china, causing it to topple before it came crashing to the ground with an almighty smash, Tom felt sick. That vase had come from Europe, a priceless heirloom from France. When Tom’s great-grandfather had fled the continent during the ravages of World War Two, he’d taken a small trove of treasures with him, this vase included. It made Tom’s stomach churn and skin pale to think that the priceless antique had survived a perilous journey across France, with an army not two steps behind it, a dangerous transatlantic crossing and then eighty years sat in this draughty room, before being felled by the clumsy antics of a bored child.
Guilty and scared, Tom had run from the room in a panic, then hid in his bedroom for the rest of the day. When he was called down to dinner, sick to his stomach, his small heart beating fast within his chest, his mother stared at him. Her eyes were dark and posture bone rigid, and Tom had to look away from the unflinching accusation in her eyes. She knew, he realised. She knew about the vase.
Sick with nerves, he waited for the yelling to begin. He waited for the recriminations, the punishment, the verbal dressing down his guilty heart told him he deserved. He waited to be sent to bed without supper. He waited for his mother to speak, to say something, anything, and end the miserable guilt he’d carried from the moment the vase had hit the ground.
But Marnie remained silent, picking at her food, the only sounds in the echoing dining room that of her fork scraping across her plate, and Corentin’s inane chattering. Tom, his appetite destroyed, picked at his food, conscious of his mother’s eyes upon him, watching closely, waiting — Tom instinctively knew — for him to crack.
It took four days before he did. Four awful days and four uncomfortable nights before Tom, wracked with guilt and fear and misery, went to his mother’s office and confessed all, crying on her shoulder.
Marnie, surprisingly, was gentle with him. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and the hair from his damp forehead.
“Thank you for being honest with me,” she said softly. “That’s all I ask for, Tom... honesty.”
Sitting in his hospital bed now, his mother glaring down at him, Tom was reminded of that moment. His mother stood rigidly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, one foot tapping restlessly on the clinical linoleum of the hospital floor.
“I want to know, first and foremost, about the woman you met back when you were calling yourself Tom Miller.”
Tom swallowed hard, watching his mother with nervous trepidation.
“There was no woman,” he lied with a shrug, trying his luck.
“Stop,” Marnie interjected, her tone so full of vinegar it was caustic. “That was a lie.”
“There was never any woman,” Tom said again, indignant at his mother’s presumption that he was lying, even though he was.
“You really expect me to believe you went years without female company?”
“Well, there might have been one or two nights where...” Tom began, before shaking his head. “Mom, I do not want to have this conversation with you. My sex life is my own business.”
“Absolutely,” Marnie agreed. “But I’m not asking you about your sex life. I want to know about the relationship you had with a woman back when you were Tom Miller — when you stupidly went off the grid for years, draining your trust fund to nothing.”
Tom flushed a dull red. “Yeah, well, I did a lot of stupid things back then.”
Nodding, Marnie slid into the plastic bucket seat next to Tom’s hospital bed. It was the fluid movement of a snake ready to strike. Nervous, Tom leaned away from her.
“So,” Marnie began calmly. “Was Ari one of the stupid things you did back then?”
Instantly, Tom’s hands felt clammy, and his stomach dropped. His heart began to beat faster, as it always did whenever he heard Ari’s name, and his mouth ran dry of moisture. He stared at his mother, his mouth hanging open, stunned into momentary silence.
“Where did... Where did you hear about Ari?” Tom finally croaked, and he watched as his mother sat back in her chair, snapping open her bag and pulling out — of all the fucking things — her knitting.
“Never you mind about that,” she said shortly, her needles clacking together. Knitting was a hobby Marnie had taken up in her retirement, something to keep her hands and mind busy, and although she was terrible at it — sending Tom and Sasha crooked tea cosies and sweaters so ugly and itchy that Tom became convinced they were meant as instruments of torture — she seemed to enjoy it immensely. “I told you, I’m asking the questions today.”
“But . . . But Mom—”
“No lies,” Marnie reminded him. “Tell me about Ari.”
“I . . . Ari was just . . . She was just . . .”
“Just what? A one-night stand? A quick fling?”
“No,” Tom snapped sharply, a flare of protectiveness running through him. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Marnie looked up from her knitting, a sudden interest filling her eyes. “She was more to you than that?”
Tom swallowed uncomfortably. “Yeah. She was more to me than that.”
“Care to clarify? If she wasn’t a fling, what was she to you?”
“Everything,” Tom replied honestly, his fists clenching. “She was everything to me.”
Marnie’s face suddenly softened, and she nodded. “So, there was a woman then.”
Tom sighed. “There was a woman.”
“Ari,” Marnie said softly. “Her name was Ari.”
“Ari Lightowler,” Tom informed her, his tongue slipping over the syllables, relief flooding through him at finally saying out loud the name that had tortured him internally for years. “She was from London, although I suspect you already knew that.” He gave his mother an inquisitive glance.
Marnie shrugged. “It isn’t about what I know, it’s about what I don’t know. So, this Ari... How did you meet her?”
“At an airport,” Tom said softly, looking down. “Keflavík, in Iceland.”
“I forgot you went to Iceland.” Marnie dropped her knitting for a moment to stare at him. “Why did you go there again?”
“Why not go there?” Tom shrugged. “It doesn’t even matter why I was there.”
“And Ari?”
Tom clutched the bedsheet in his hand. “She was travelling. She’d just finished a course in art and design. It was meant to be her round-the-world adventure before she settled down to work. She wanted to be an artist. She was going to paint landscapes. When she held a brush in her hand and stood before an easel, something inside of her... She just lit up. It was like looking at a candle flickering in the dark, like watching a...” Tom trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. He caught his mother’s eye, and realised she was looking at him oddly, her eyes soft and almost woebegone.
“An artist?” she asked him, and he nodded, looking down again.
“Yeah. I hope it happened for her.” He cleared his throat around a sudden lump that had risen. “I hope she still found time for it, even with—” Abruptly, Tom stopped, shaking his head as a painful memory reared forth.
“Even with what?” Marnie asked sharply, but Tom only shook his head once more.
“No. It doesn’t matter.”
Marnie gave him a look that showed she didn’t believe him. However, she picked up her knitting again, the needles clacking lightly as she spoke.
“So, you met at an airport?”
“Yeah. Volcanic activity meant all the flights leaving Iceland were grounded. I was on my way back to the States, she was headed to Norway. She was sitting on the ground by a window, her bag next to her, and I was playing cards nearby.”
“You were playing with Marie Leszczyńska’s cards?” Marnie asked in disbelief. “In an airport?”
Tom nodded. “Yeah. I just... She was so pretty, and her eyes were so blue, and when she smiled at me—” Tom stopped, giving a rueful sigh. “The first time she smiled at me, I was gone for her. That was it. I was a lost cause. We played cards for a while — kept each other company. I showed her a magic trick.”
Tom closed his eyes, suddenly feeling suffocated by the memory of that night, and the pang of regret that followed and threatened to consume him. Next to him, he could hear Marnie’s knitting needles still moving, just as he could hear the bleeps of nearby hospital monitors, both noises grating on his fractured nerves. He missed Ari so much sometimes that he could hardly breathe.
When he opened his eyes again, Marnie was rolling her eyes. “Magic tricks and card games,” she huffed. “You’re your father’s son, all right. Those were the sort of lines your father used on me, back in the day.” She scowled. “And on a dozen other women too, I bet.”
“Let’s leave Dad out of this,” Tom said painfully.
Marnie shrugged. “Fine. So, you played some magic tricks on this poor girl and caught her attention. What happened next?”
Tom sighed. “We spent the night in the terminal, just talking. At around five, maybe six in the morning, I bought her breakfast. Croissants and coffee,” he reminisced with a smile. “Jam on the pastry and sugar in the drink... Ari liked everything to be as sweet as she was.”
The knitting needles paused once more, and Tom looked up, catching his mother’s eyes.
“You really loved her, didn’t you?” Marnie asked, and Tom nodded, a catch in his throat.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I really did.”
“Do you still love her?”
Momentarily, Tom’s mind went blank as he blocked a painful memory from rising. He gripped the bedsheets, the bones of his fingers showing white under his skin as his hands clenched into fists.
“I’m marrying Sasha,” he said simply.
“That wasn’t an answer to my question, Tom.”
“It’s the only answer I’m prepared to give right now,” Tom retorted. “Look, I don’t even see what business this is of yours. Why are you even asking me about Ari? Why now? What’s going on?”
Marnie eyed him sharply. “There’s nothing going on. There are just massive gaps in your life story that I’m trying to fill. I told you, I’m tired of lies and unanswered questions.”
“Mom—”
“You had breakfast,” Marnie interjected, dismissing Tom’s attempt to lead the conversation. “Then what?”
Tom swallowed hard, a flush of red rising to his cheeks.
Marnie paused, appraising him sharply. “Then what?” she asked again. “What happened next?”
* * *
By three in the afternoon, they’re both exhausted. They’ve been together all night and day, laughing and chatting, but caffeine and adrenaline can only do so much, and now they’re both tired. Tom feels dirty, sweat pooling under his shirt, while his feet ache within his shoes. Ari looks tired, dark circles developing under her eyes, and Tom can sense she’s close to tears when the airport announces that all flights are suspended for at least another twenty-four hours, and that baggage claim is likewise closed.
“I’m just so tired,” she tells him, resting her head on his shoulder, making his body warm with content happiness. “I just want to sleep. Clean clothes, and a sleep.”
They queue for two hours to speak with a harassed airport official, who sighs when he opens a laptop and begins to type frantically.
“I’m sorry, we have very few hotel rooms left,” he apologises. “I can get you a room, but it’s basic, and you’ll have to share.”
Ari shakes her head instantly. “We literally just met,” she protests. “We can’t share a room, we can’t—”
“She can have the room,” Tom announces. “I can sleep on the airport floor. It’s not a problem.”
The man nods, and Ari turns, looking up at Tom keenly. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Yes, you can,” Tom replies, before he turns back to the official. “Book her the room.”
He escorts Ari to her hotel room, pausing awkwardly once she’s turned the key in the lock. “Well, Ari, it was nice to have met you.”
She nods back, chewing on her lip. “You too, Tom.”
It was better this way, he tells himself. He’s not meant to be falling in love. It’s best not to get close to anyone. Best not to reveal too much. Best to keep evidence of his existence so small it was almost like he didn’t exist at all.
Tom Miller is a fallacy. Tom Miller isn’t real. But this moment with Ari is, and Tom wants to make it count.
Before he can think twice, he leans down, pressing his lips to Ari’s and marvelling at their softness.
“Goodbye,” he whispers against her skin, and he feels a soft sigh issue from her mouth.
“Tom,” she whispers. “Don’t go yet. Stay with me a little while longer.”
And she pulls on his hand, drawing him into her room.
* * *
Marnie’s face is like stone. “You slept with her? After what... twelve hours of knowing her?”
Tom felt indignation pulse through him. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Well, what was it like? Because, I have to say, this whole story sounds seedy. A young girl trapped in an airport, seduced by a trickster with a fake name. I knew when you were playing your role as Tom Miller that you did some shitty things, but this...”
Tom sat up taller in his hospital bed. “It wasn’t like that, I told you. What Ari and I had was special. And that night was special. That night was the moment that changed my life. That night was the—” He stopped, taking a moment to catch his breath. “That night was the best of my life.”
* * *
She lets him use her shower, and the water on his skin is like a balm to his soul. Both excitement and trepidation run through him concurrently, because he feels like he is walking on the precipice of something incredible. And that feeling both excites and terrifies him, because he’s tired of drifting. Tom knows that Ari can change his life. He’s known her a little under a day, and already he’s doubting his previous life decisions.
For her, he’s ready to live. For her, he’s ready to change.
And that makes him want to both jump for joy and shake with fear.
He dries off with a towel, and is considering putting his filthy clothes back on when he hears a tremulous knock on the bathroom door. He opens it, and Ari is there, a hotel robe wrapped around her. Delicate ankles and smooth calves peek out from under the faded terry cloth, and she plays with the sash nervously.
All the blood in Tom’s body rushes south at the knowledge that under this robe she’s naked, and he jerks his eyes to the floor, taking deep breaths.
“Um, I thought we could give our clothes a quick rinse in the bath,” Ari explains awkwardly. “And then hang them to dry on the shower curtain. It means we won’t have to, um, that is—”
“No, it’s a good idea,” Tom replies, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. “I’ll, uh, wash mine first. Then, when they’re dry, I can get out of your hair and let you sleep.”
He feels a shaking finger run across his jawline, and he tingles at Ari’s touch. She pushes his chin up so that he’s forced to look her in the eye, and she smiles at him softly.
“You don’t have to rush,” she tells him. “I kind of like having you in my hair, magician man.”
They scrub at their clothes with cheap hotel soap, and when they’re wrung out and hanging on the shower rail, Tom sits nervously on the edge of the bed.
“What now? More magic tricks?” He’s trying to joke, but Ari’s face is thoughtful, and she licks her lips once more.
“Ari?” he asks nervously, and she shakes her head.
“I’m just contemplating something,” she replies.
“Oh, okay, well—”
But Ari’s mind is made up. In one fluid movement, she pulls the robe from her body, and moves towards him, straddling him firmly. Instantly, Tom clutches at her, his heart pounding wildly, relishing the feel of her naked skin under his fingertips. She runs her hands into his hair, looking down at him.
“You showed me a trick earlier,” she tells him. “Maybe it’s my turn to show you a trick or two.”
“I don’t think this is a trick, Ari,” Tom whispers, moaning gently when Ari takes his hands and places them across her breasts.
“No?” she asks, kissing the pulse point in his neck, making him writhe beneath her. “What is it then?”
Tom snakes one hand into her hair, pulling her lips towards his. “Magic,” he whispers, before silencing them both with a kiss.
* * *
Marnie had apparently been rendered silent, and Tom shifted uncomfortably in his bed.
“It wasn’t seedy, like you think,” he said, his voice almost hoarse. “It wasn’t planned, or... I don’t know, a seduction . We were just two kids who fell in love.”
“Are you still in love with her?”
“I told you, I’m marrying Sasha,” Tom snapped. “Now can we talk about something else? I’ve told you about Ari. Let’s talk about another topic. The wedding planners, I know I missed them. Were they okay or not?”
Marnie gave an ugly laugh, shaking her head at Tom incredulously. “Trust me,” she muttered. “You don’t want to talk about the wedding planners.”
“Fine,” Tom retorted sharply. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t want to talk about the wedding planners. Sasha can have whatever she wants — whatever makes her happy. I don’t give a shit. I don’t care.”
“Because you don’t really care about Sasha,” Marnie added blandly, and Tom felt a jolt of anger run through him.
“Don’t do that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Why not?” Marnie shrugged. “As today has proven, you never tell me anything. I might as well fill in the blanks for myself.”
“I told you about Ari,” Tom said again. “There isn’t anything else to add.”
Marnie stared at him. “Except that somehow you lost her.”
Once again, Tom’s hands clenched. “Yeah. I did. But that’s my business. You asked about Ari. I told you all you need to know. Why we ended things—”
“You mean why you left her,” Marnie interjected, and Tom’s eyes snapped at once to hers.
“How did you know I left?” he asked, his voice full of suspicion.
“I told you, it isn’t about what I know,” Marnie stared at him for a long moment. “Did you try and go back for her? Ever?”
Tom took a deep breath, an old painful memory rising to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispered, his voice broken. “Mom, please, let’s talk about something else—”
But Marnie was unrelenting. “Did you ever try and go back for her?”
Tom nodded bleakly. “Yeah. I did. Two years after I left her in Germany. I tracked her down. Searched every Lightowler listing I could find in South-East England. Know where I found her? She was in London, in this — this fucking upmarket apartment in a good part of the city. She was doing well for herself,” he sneered. “She’d gone up in the world since me.”
“You sound bitter,” Marnie remarked, her words cutting.
“I was bitter.”
“Are you still bitter?” Marnie asked sharply.
“Of course not,” Tom retorted. “I have Sasha, don’t I? And Ari has her baby and her perfect—”
At his words, Marnie was on her feet, her knitting falling to the floor with a loud clatter. She was pale, each breath a snarl, her fists as clenched as Tom’s. She was livid, Tom realised.
“Do you mean to tell methat you knew about the baby?”
“Yeah,” Tom muttered. “I knew about the baby.”
For a moment, Marnie stared down at him. There was real anger in her eyes. Tom felt a sliver of unease run through him.
“Mom—”
Marnie shook her head. “I don’t think I can be around you right now. I don’t think I can even look at you.”
She picked up her bag and turned on her heel. Tom sat up, staring at her retreating form.
“Mom!” he shouted. “What the actual fuck? Why do you care about Ari and her baby?”
As soon as he’d spoken the words out loud, a thought came to him, so horrifying and unbelievable he felt panic rise in his blood.
“Mom!” he yelled louder. “You’ve got it all wrong! The baby isn’t mine!”
Marnie was gone though, the sound of her heels disappearing into the noise of the hospital. Tom sat back in his bed, thoroughly confused and more than a little worried. Why was his mother talking about Ari? Where had she heard of her?
He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, clearing his mind of all thought. Thinking of Ari was painful. Thinking of Ari’s baby, on the hip of an attractive man who could only have been the father — Ari’s husband , Tom reminded himself painfully — was worse.
He needed to get the hell out of this hospital and get back to his mother’s house, he decided. He needed to get back to Sasha and the scraps of a life that were left to him.
As he stood, calling for a nurse, he stepped onto the sharp needle of his mother’s knitting. In her hurry to leave, she’d abandoned it. Frowning, Tom picked up the skein and needles, a small section of something bright in his hand.
This was no ugly sweater or crooked tea cosy, Tom realised. No, this was pink and soft and small and the perfect size for a child.
Whose child?
Tom swallowed hard.
He needed to get home. He needed to get home right away.