Blink Read online

  BLINK

  Caroline Easton

  OTHER CONTEMPORARY NOVELS BY CAROLINE EASTON

  Dancing in the Rain

  The Risk Series

  Taking a Risk

  Worth the Risk

  Copyright © 2015 by Caroline Easton

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the Author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental and not intended by the Author.

  Cover Design: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Editor: Murphy Rae Hopkins, Indie Solutions, www.murphyrae.net

  Follow me on twitter: @carolinelou70

  Website: http://carolineeaston.wix.com/author

  Chapter One

  Flynn

  Standing here, in the enclosed wooden dock, inside the old courthouse, I feel small. Very small, and worthless. I haven’t lifted my gaze from the floor for the last fifteen minutes, not because I’m afraid to, but because he is sitting in the public gallery. I can feel his gaze burning into me, willing me to look up. Willing me to tell him that everything is going to be just fine. That’s what our mother would want me to do; she would want me to reassure him. How can I though? I can’t bring myself to lie to him. I know that my life is far from fine right now. At this very moment in time, everything is wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Today may be the last day that I see Jacob, my twelve-year-old brother. I know that, more than likely, he will be placed in some foster home with normal people who can give him a normal childhood. That’s what he deserves. He deserves to have a stable home life, something that I have failed to provide for him since our mother died two years ago.

  God knows I’ve tried. She made me promise to take care of him. No matter what life threw at us, she wanted us to stick together. Of course, I had given her my word, but then again, I would’ve promised her the earth. She was my world, the one person who always stood by my side. My protector, my defender, my inspiration in life. The day she died, my life went to rat shit.

  As I stand here, with my hands clasped tightly in front of my body, I close my eyes and I can imagine her standing beside me. If I concentrate, I can feel her delicate touch on my forearm. The scent of her perfume floating around me, enveloping me in some imaginary cocoon of safety. She’s giving me the strength I need to get through the next few minutes of my life. The strength to stand tall and accept whatever punishment is thrown at me. Although it’s not me that I’m worried for. It’s him, my little brother. The kid I promised to protect and nurture. Some brother I turned out to be.

  I’ve let him down.

  If that didn’t hurt enough…I know I’ve let her down too.

  The shuffling of papers and conversation inside the courtroom comes to a sudden halt when a door to my left opens and shuts. The silence is deafening now. I can see, in my peripheral vision, the judge take his place behind the sizable wooden desk. He isn’t wearing one of those stupid, curly white wigs, and this surprises me. He looks normal, like someone’s grandfather, except he’s wearing one of those black gowns over his suit. I want to study him. I want to see the face of the man who is about to decide my fate, but that would mean lifting my gaze from this spot on the floor, the spot that I have studied intently for the last fifteen minutes. It also means I’d have to look at Jacob, and I’m not ready for that yet.

  Judge Greenhough calls for the lawyers to come forward, and there is hushed conversation that I’m not privy to. I tilt my head slightly as I strain to pick out their words, anything to give me a clue as to my fate. I know that I will, more than likely, get a custodial sentence. My lawyer took great delight in spelling that out to me. Apparently, stealing food to sell or eat isn’t looked upon that favourably these days.

  Rocking back and forth on my heels, I stretch out my fingers before clenching them together again into a tight fist, trying to relieve the ache in my knuckles, the ache I have created by squeezing my hands together in the first place. As I struggle to eavesdrop on the conversation between the Judge and counsel, I hear my name spoken from the public gallery.

  “Flynn!” How come I can hear him almost whispering my name, but I can’t decipher a single word The Suits are saying? “Flynn, I’m here!” There he goes again, begging for the reassurance he needs. It’s hard to remember he’s just twelve sometimes. He’s had to do a lot of growing up in the last few years. We both have. Only he seems to be better at it than I am.

  If I look up at him, I’ll lose it. I won’t be able to hold it together for him. I can feel my heart beating faster, pumping the blood around my body so quickly it’s making me light-headed. My palms are sweaty and clammy, my whole body uncomfortable. I don’t care what happens to me, I’m only concerned about Jacob.

  Lifting my arm, I scrub my fingers over my buzz cut before I form the okay sign with my thumb and forefinger, gesturing to him that I am okay. It’s all I have to offer right now. I hear him let out a long, slow breath, and it calms me. I want so badly to make this up to him. I didn’t want him to see me standing in the dock, awaiting sentencing. It’s not the ideal situation for him to be in. He should be in school, not sitting in this stuffy old courtroom, watching his scumbag of a brother pay the price for his stupidity.

  I really wanted to be the sort of brother he could look up to. I wanted to inspire him, offer him guidance, but I guess I screwed that up early on. The last thing I want for him now is to be like me. He can be so much more. He is so much more.

  With my eyes closed, I raise my head and push my shoulders back, taking in a deep, steadying breath, my large frame puffed out to its full potential. For what it’s worth, I offer up a silent prayer to the Big Guy. A lighter sentence in exchange for a change in my ways. A promise to be the brother I should have always been.

  The chatter in the courtroom is called to a halt by the swift striking of the wooden gavel upon the solid desk. It’s time. Just a few more minutes and I’ll know my fate. Jacob’s fate. Swallowing hard, I find the courage to lift my gaze to the public gallery. My eyes scan the sea of faces, searching for my brother. When I find him, I muster up the strength to offer the faintest of smiles. He grins bravely as I wink at him. The adoration in his eyes makes me feel ashamed of who I am.

  Jacob is wearing a shirt and tie. He told me this morning that I should wear the tie, but I opted for a casual look instead. I have no use for a tie where I’m headed anyway. I have no idea where he got the shirt from, and I don’t want to think about how it came into his possession. The tie I recognise as one the man who I am supposed to call my father left behind. He lost the right to have me call him that the day he upped and walked out of our lives. The tie has been sitting in a box of crap in Jacob’s room since the day our father left. My brother clung to the hope that he would return one day, but he never has. Not even when Mum died, when we needed him most.

  I think the shirt and tie is Jacob’s way of proving that I am looking after him better than I am. It’s pitiful, really, and shameful.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a unanimous decision?” The judge addresses the twelve good men and woman, who have been supposedly chosen at random, to assist with condemning me today. Although, as I scan the jury, I’m pretty sure they were anything but randomly selected. In fact, I’m sure they were specially selected to ensure my fate was sea
led. Ten men, two women, all well-dressed, middle-class and law-abiding citizens.

  A smartly-dressed middle-aged woman with greying hair stands and coughs to clear her throat. The piece of paper she’s clutching is shaking violently in her hand. Why is she nervous? I’m the one being sentenced. All she has to do is assess the degree of my misdemeanour, and I’m pretty sure it’s clear-cut: I’m guilty. “Yes, sir, we have.” She coughs again, and I begin to wonder if she has asthma. Jacob has asthma and he coughs a lot, even more so when he’s nervous.

  “Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?” Judge Greenhough raises one eyebrow quizzically as he studies the woman. I think I’ve stopped breathing; my chest feels tight and the room is beginning to swim around me. Lifting my eyes, I try to focus on Jacob. He looks so small, seated in the gallery, surrounded by all those other people. It’s only now I notice Pete, our social worker, seated next to my brother. That’s not a good sign. That makes me think that Pete already knows the outcome. I’m not going home today, and neither is Jacob.

  My attention is pulled directly back to the woman in the jury as she coughs, yet again. This time I think it’s only to clear her throat, in order for the words to come out of her mouth. I watch her intently as she turns towards me, offering me a small half smile as she tilts her head softly. It’s almost as though she’s apologising for what she’s about to say.

  I smile back at the kind-looking woman. It’s not her fault I’m standing in the dock. I look every part the thug she has been led to believe I am. I fit the bill perfectly: shaved head, broad shoulders and slightly unkempt. It’s the persona I adopted in order to fit in. It’s not really who I am inside. She shouldn’t feel bad for what she’s about to do. It was my decision to do what I did, sure. I did it because we needed the cash. Jacob needed the cash. I don’t need anything; I just need to provide for my brother. Turning jobs was a way to do that, until I got caught once too often.

  “Guilty.” I nod at the aging lady, indicating that she made the right decision. I am guilty.

  “Is the verdict unanimous?” the judge asks.

  “Yes, your honour.”

  I can hear Jacob’s sobs drowning out the rest of the legal jargon that’s being spouted around between my lawyer and the judge. Jacob knows as well as I do what this means for him. As I turn to look at my brother, he has his head buried in Pete’s chest. It’s Pete who acknowledges me now, fixing me to the spot with his fiery eyes burning right through me, reminding me just what a screw-up I am.

  “Mr Sullivan, you will return here on Monday 17th June, when you will be sentenced. Is that clear?” My lawyer is by my side, talking at me over the noise in the courtroom. Over the sound of Jacob sobbing. I can’t bear to hear him cry; it shatters my soul.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I heard you. Can I take my brother home until then?”

  “I see no reason why not, for tonight. Jacob will have a foster placement arranged, just in case you get a custodial sentence. Which, to be honest, Flynn, I’m pretty sure you will. You need to prepare Jacob for the inevitable. Do you have any further questions?”

  Shaking my head, I indicate that I’m done. I just need to get to Jacob. Pete’s poisonous little mind is working overtime right now. I can hear the cogs turning from where I’m standing. The last year has been spent with him telling me I’m not what my brother needs. He’s probably already lined up the perfect placement for my little brother.

  Well, not tonight.

  For tonight, at least, Jacob stays with me.

  Chapter Two

  Harper

  “Bluebell Hill really is, in my opinion, the best option for Harper now.” Doctor McGuire rifles through all the paperwork on his clipboard, scanning each sheet as he goes. “The MDT met yesterday, as you know, and there really is no further medical intervention that we can offer Harper. All her scans show that the damage caused by the accident has healed well. She isn’t in any pain, as far as we can tell, and as such we are currently withdrawing all of her pain medication. The next few hours will tell us if what we believe is correct.” The middle-aged man sighs as he places all the paperwork neatly back down on the table at the foot of my bed. “I really am at a loss as to why Harper isn’t responding to stimulation, why she isn’t talking or walking again yet, because medically speaking, she should be. The only explanation we can offer is that maybe this is a psychological response to her accident. Some patients withdraw mentally following an accident of such severity.”

  Twelve months ago I had to be cut out of the racing car I’d been driving. The tyre blew out on the last bend of the circuit, sending me hurtling at frightening speed into the crash barrier that was supposed to protect the crowd. As one of the most successful female drivers in my age group, I was well respected and expected to move up to a professional level in the next season. Sponsors were constantly beating down my mentor’s door with unbelievable financial offers for me to consider. Now, the only decision left for me to make is whether or not I want to recover.

  “Doctor McGuire, please be honest with us. Is this as good as it’s going to get for Harper now? Or can Bluebell Hill really make a difference to her recovery?” My mother, Suzanne Lawrence, quizzes the man she believes holds all the answers to my wellbeing. “Forgive us for continuing to go over old ground, but we need to know the bottom line.”

  “Mrs Lawrence, I cannot make you any guarantees in life. What I can say is that Bluebell Hill will give Harper the best chance possible at making a full recovery. Medically speaking, there are never any guaranteed results. Harper is displaying signs of psychological damage rather than physical damage now. I honestly think this is the best option for your daughter. The rehabilitation unit is better equipped to help Harper through the psychological healing she needs now. Alongside this, they will devise her an individual therapy plan, which, given time, may assist her mobility.”

  “Well, how soon can we get her moved?” Michael, my father, asks directly. “Let’s do this as soon as we can. We’ve wasted enough time hoping for improvement.”

  My doctor nods in agreement. There is nothing more he can offer me now. “At least in the rehabilitation centre, Harper may decide to co-operate with the staff there. I’ll make the necessary arrangements today, and we can hope to move her in the next few days.”

  My parents stand to shake the doctor’s hand before he heads out of my room. “I want my daughter moved as soon as possible. Today if we can. Money is no object, as you know, Dr McGuire. Just tell me who I need to speak to in order to make this happen.”

  My father is the CEO of a hugely successful telecommunications business he started in college. His brusque nature makes him ruthless in the business world, propelling him forward at an alarming pace. My mother was his childhood sweetheart—well, that’s the way she tells the story, anyway. She looks good on his arm and is happy as long as she has the right car to drive or the right circle of friends to lunch with. When my brother and I came along, she was happy to live her life vicariously through us. Sebastian arrived first, I followed eighteen months later. Compared to my brother, I’m the so-called problem child. Not content with frilly dresses and ballet recitals, I much preferred to climb trees, or roll in the mud or just generally destroy things in order to find out how they worked.

  Sebastian gradually disappeared into the background as we grew up, leaving me to command every drop of attention from my parents. He didn’t mind; it left him the space to indulge his own hobbies in relative peace.

  At ten years of age, I begged to join a local karting club. Being the only girl there didn’t bother me, it only made me more determined to prove my worth. At fifteen, I secured my full competition license and won every race I entered into. The sponsors soon began to sit up and take notice, thanks to my mentor, Phil.

  Phil Braxton, is an ex professional racing driver and one of my father’s oldest friends. He took me under his wing from the very beginning, watching my skill develop rapidly once I found my place on the track with the boys. Being
naturally competitive, there was no such thing as second place as far as I was concerned. Phil drilled into me daily that anything other than pole position was losing in his mind. There was no patience for losers. The grit and determination he could see in me when out on the track must have reminded him of his own career. He said I was formidable, and the boys in the club soon realised I was a force to be reckoned with.

  I worked hard to gain their respect, and it didn’t come easy. They never let up with the teasing, making sure I remained grounded, but, to be honest, it only made me more determined than ever to succeed.

  The day I turned seventeen was eventful, to say the least. The phone rang off the hook from dawn to dusk, the sponsorship deals just kept rolling in. Then there was the brand new vehicle that sat at the track, courtesy of my mega-rich father’s connections. Racing isn’t a cheap, easily attainable hobby or career, but with me being one determined cookie, Pops was more than happy to throw money at it, as long as it exonerated him from further parental duties such as spending quality time with his children.

  I know watching me lie motionless in the hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery, sends almost visible icicles down my mother’s spine. Pops can usually fix anything, but even he’s been unable to work his magic on my little blip, as he refers to it. My accident has put an enormous amount of pressure on their already fractured marriage, and still I can see no end in sight.

  “Harper, sweetie, can I get you anything? Tell me what you need, sweetie. Please.” Crossing the stark-white clinical room, the heels of her Jimmy Choos click annoyingly against the tiled floor. My eyes blink closed slowly at my mother’s approach. “Are you tired, sweetie? Well, that’s alright, why don’t I just sit here and read to you while you drift off? That’ll be really nice, won’t it? You know how I enjoy reading that story you love so much.”

  Mum picks up the battered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and begins thumbing through the grubby, curled pages until she finds the last paragraph she read. I think she feels like it’s one of the few things that keeps us connected while she waits for her baby girl to return to her, whole.