Chapter 43
It was nice to meet Kate yesterday. She seems cool. I don’t quite get what she’s doing with a workaholic buttface like you, but whatever.
Message from Logan to Henry
Kate
I stared at the cast-iron gate. I hadn’t been here since my mum’s funeral.
Over the last few months, I had kept vowing to visit her but had never been able to bring myself to go, always finding new excuses to delay my visit.
But now here I stood, my heart pounding, holding a cheap bunch of flowers and trying to pluck up the courage to step into the cemetery.
The clouds had given way to a steady drizzle shrouding London.
The gate to the cemetery swung open, and a woman dashed off towards the parking lot and her dry car. I wished I could also be somewhere dry. I wished I was at The Darlington. I wished I was with Henry. But I had to be here—there was no way around it.
Determined to get it over with, I opened the gate set into a sandstone wall.
It creaked slightly. To the left, there was a small chapel, behind which lay the cemetery.
The unpaved paths were slippery, and the wind had blown the autumn leaves from the trees.
I made my way past the graves—some of them new, others so old that the gravestones were crooked.
Although I had only been here once before, I had no problem finding the small, inconspicuous grave at the edge of the cemetery’s grassy area.
Since I couldn’t afford the funeral, the city had organised it.
Randell had stayed out of it. He hadn’t even had the decency to show up on the day, which made it abundantly clear how much my mum had really meant to him.
He hadn’t loved her; he’d loved the way he could control her.
I stopped at her grave and felt the lump in my throat grow bigger.
“Hey, Mum,” I said. My voice was hoarse and barely audible, but that didn’t matter. I could have yelled and she still wouldn’t have heard.
I crouched down in front of the grave and laid the flowers down beside it, although I knew they would probably freeze during the night.
There was no headstone, only a wooden cross.
It already looked weathered, and I could hardly read the inscription on it anymore, but perhaps that was also due to the tears that blurred my vision.
I wiped my eyes, and for a brief moment, the world seemed a little clearer, despite the rain.
Rebecca Hamilton
8th August, 1986—15th November, 2023
I stared at the engraving until it blurred again, and finally, the lump in my throat gave way to tears.
I let out a soft whimper as they fell, then collapsed onto the ground.
The cold dampness seeped through my jeans, but I barely registered it.
All I could feel was a heavy pressure in my chest, as if the grief were crushing my heart.
“Shit,” I murmured. I gasped for air and tried to stem the flow of my tears, but they continued to stream down my face relentlessly, silent sobs racking my body.
I felt an urge to hold on to something, but there was nothing here to anchor me.
I clutched my stomach in desperation, holding on to myself—holding myself together—but it only made me realise that the one person whose arms I wanted to feel around me right now would never hug me again.
Sometimes I forgot how final death was, because it was easier to repress the thought of it than confront my grief.
But now the pain hit me, and it was unstoppable.
I missed my mum. I missed her voice and her dark sense of humour.
I missed cooking with her in the cramped, shabby kitchen in our old flat.
I missed sitting on the sofa with her in the evenings, drinking tea together before bed.
I pressed my hand against the cold ground, hoping to feel a little closer to her, but my fingers met only damp soil.
The worst part of it all was knowing that the version of my mum I mourned had been gone long before her death.
And when she died, the last shred of hope that things could ever return to how they were before Randell came on the scene vanished.
He had taken her away from me bit by bit, until there was nothing left.
Suddenly, I heard the squelch of footsteps behind me. I blinked away my tears and glanced around to see who else had braved the cemetery in the rain. A chill of terror ran down my spine at the sight of a dark figure. I leapt to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I snarled. Was it a coincidence that the scumbag was here? Or had he followed me? I thought back to my lunch at The Meridian yesterday, and how I had thought I’d seen him. Had I not imagined it, after all?
Randell smiled, baring his teeth. “I’m visiting your mum.”
I glared at him. “Piss off!”
He ignored me and came closer. His pupils were dilated, as if he were high, and there was a fresh scrape on his eyebrow. Had he got into a drunken brawl, or was he in serious trouble?
“You lied to me. I saw the photos of you and your boss,” he said, his lewd tone sending a chill through me. “When you said you worked for him, I assumed you were cleaning at the hotel, not sucking his dick. But once a whore, always a whore.”
I ignored his insult. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because you’re an ungrateful bitch,” Randell replied, licking his lips, which were so chapped they looked like he’d sandpapered them. “I took you in after you and your mum lost everything. Without me, you would have become a dirty whore much sooner. You owe me for that.”
“So that’s why you’re here? You want money?” I asked, my voice heavy with disdain.
Randell stared shamelessly right back at me. He nodded.
“Forget it!”
“Kate . . .”
“You’re not getting a single penny out of me,” I hissed. How dare he ask me for money? Here, of all places? Especially after everything he’d done to me and my mum. “Leave me the fuck alone, you prick.”
Scorn flashed in Randell’s eyes, but instead of leaving, he stepped closer.
I took a step back—and another, and another, until eventually I bumped into the wooden cross that marked my mum’s grave and could go no further.
Randell stopped an arm’s length away from me.
The earthy scent of the rain mingled with the acrid stench of stale smoke.
He studied me. I hated the feel of his eyes on me.
“Does your lover boy know you suck dick for money?”
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t waste my energy answering or correcting him. He wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“What would he think of you if I told him?”
“Stay away from Henry!” I spat. I couldn’t let Randell near him—he would ruin everything.
Henry was already surrounded by the wreckage left behind by his dad.
There was no way I would let Randell destroy even more.
Henry had done so much for me already; I couldn’t ask him to deal with Randell as well.
“What if I don’t?” His lips curled into a sneer, and he stepped even closer. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and with every word he spoke, he exhaled alcohol fumes into my face.
I felt nauseous. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“I’ll leave you alone when you give me what I want.”
“I don’t have money,” I insisted.
“But your boyfriend does. Call him.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Call. Him.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“For fuck’s sake, call him, you miserable bitch!” Randell roared, and I was sure I felt his spittle join the drizzle on my face. “Call him, or you’ll regret it.”
My stomach clenched as memories of all the fights we’d ever had flooded back. Each one had started this way. Any moment now, I would feel the sting of his blows—I was certain of it. But I had to stay strong. For Henry.
“No,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly and steeling myself.
Instead of hitting me, Randell pulled out a switchblade from his jacket pocket. Fuck! The blade snapped out with a click. My eyes widened as he pointed the gleaming metal at me, a smug grin plastered across his face. “I warned you.”
Randell tested the weight of the knife in his hand. Panic rose in my throat, and I wondered if I could run fast enough to escape before he managed to plunge the blade into my stomach.
“Call your boyfriend!”
“Randell, please.” I hated how my voice was suddenly trembling. My rage had vanished, replaced by fear. My eyes locked onto the knife hovering just centimetres from my body. One stab, and everything would be over. I would bleed to death. There was no one here to save me. “Let me go.”
“Are you deaf?”
“Haven’t you caused enough damage?”
Randell pressed the knife into my stomach. He didn’t stab me, but I felt the sharp point pierce the fabric of my clothes and press against my skin. It wouldn’t take much more for the blood to start flowing. “Do you want to die?”
I shook my head.
“Then call him!” Randell screamed.
I stared at him, frozen. I could smell my own fear—a mix of sweat and something salty.
Unshed tears burnt in my throat. I didn’t know what to do.
I couldn’t think, my head clouded by the fear that I might die.
I wasn’t ready. But the thought of dragging Henry into this mess made my stomach twist. If Randell ruined Henry’s life too, I would never forgive myself. I had already let him ruin my mum’s.
“Let her go,” a sharp voice suddenly hissed.
Henry!
Relief and panic crashed over me. I glanced sideways, not daring to move. Henry stood just a few steps away, gripping an umbrella and fixing Randell with a withering glare. I had never seen him this furious, not even with his father or when I had told him about Mr. Fleming. How had he found me?
“Looks like you can save yourself the phone call,” Randell sneered.
“Get away from her!” Henry demanded. “Now!”
Randell didn’t move. “What if I don’t?”
“Randell, please . . .”
He ignored me.
Henry’s hands clenched into fists. “Then we have a problem.”
Randell gave a crooked grin and shifted his weight, making sure Henry saw the knife pressed dangerously close to my stomach.
Henry’s jaw tightened at the sight of the blade, but instead of the fear I had expected, his fury only deepened.
Contempt darkened his expression, his anger burning even brighter.
Ignoring my head shake, Henry stepped closer. “If you hurt Kate, I’ll kill you.”
“Henry, get away from him!” I pleaded.
To my relief, he stopped moving.
“I want ten thousand pounds,” Randell demanded.
Henry raised his eyebrows. “You want money?”
“Yes. Cash.”
Henry didn’t reply, seeming to contemplate the demand.
He couldn’t give Randell money. I didn’t want to be even more indebted to Henry—but more importantly, I didn’t want Randell to get ideas.
Today it was ten thousand pounds, tomorrow twenty thousand, and then thirty thousand.
Drugs were expensive, and he would always find new ways to blackmail Henry once he realised he could.
“I have a better idea,” Henry finally said.
Randell raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I’m calling the police.”
Randell stiffened beside me but quickly masked whatever fear the threat had stirred in him with arrogance. “Go for it. By the time they get here, I will have stabbed you both.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Your tiny knife doesn’t scare me. But if you so much as leave a single mark on Kate, I will destroy you. I’ll hunt you down, wherever you are, and make your life a living hell. I’ll make sure you never feel safe again.”
Uncertainty flickered in Randell’s eyes—he hadn’t anticipated Henry’s threats. But he stayed where he was, keeping his knife pointed at me.
“If you think I’m bluffing, you’re mistaken,” Henry continued. “This isn’t a threat—it’s a promise. Unlike you, you pathetic son of a bitch, I have unlimited resources to ruin your life. So let Kate go and put the knife away. Do me that favour. And more importantly, do yourself that favour.”
I felt and heard my heart pounding in my chest as my eyes flicked between the two men.
Randell returned Henry’s withering look, but he said nothing.
For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still—and then Randell finally stepped away from me.
He retracted the blade with a click. At last, I could breathe again.
“Good decision,” Henry said. “Now fuck off!”
Randell hesitated. I could see how much he hated this.
He was used to getting his own way, forcing his will upon people like me and my mum, who couldn’t stand up to him physically.
But Henry was different. Still glaring at him, Randell moved away from me.
I was afraid his retreat was a ruse and that he’d lash out at any moment, but he seemed to grasp that the situation wouldn’t end well for him if he did. He turned and fled.
I didn’t dare move. The blood was still thundering in my ears.
I felt movement beside me—Henry. I lifted my head and met his eyes. His expression was steely, but beneath the rage, I saw his concern. I must have been a mess—damp, dirty, and tear-streaked.
“Are you OK?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as he held his umbrella over my head.
“Yes,” I croaked, fighting back a whimper, but the relief was too much.
Tears spilled down my face, and I threw myself into Henry’s arms. He caught me instantly, pulling me close.
I clung to him, burying my face in his chest as sobs wracked my body.
I couldn’t believe Randell had threatened me with a knife.
He would stop at nothing now. “I was so scared.”
He stroked my back, his proximity calming my racing heart. “I know. But you’re safe now.”
Thanks to you.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head, and Henry relaxed slightly.
The rain intensified, but he didn’t move, keeping me in the safety of his embrace.
For a moment, I simply soaked up his reassuring presence, then he placed his hands on my shoulders and gently held me at arm’s length to examine me.
His blue eyes were clouded, as if he were struggling with his emotions too.
“Shall we get out of here?” he asked.
I nodded, eager to leave.
He took my hand, and we left the cemetery together. I cast one final glance over my shoulder at my mum’s grave. Our footprints—mine and Randell’s—were still visible. Not even in death was she free from that monster.