Goodbye, Kate, page 1
Goodbye, Kate
Nicola Haken
Contents
Dedication
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Titles by Nicola Haken
Goodbye, Kate
Copyright © 2018 Nicola Haken
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Beta Read Credit to Leslie Copeland at LesCourt Author Services
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Edited by Rita Roberts
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are created from the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
For Keeley.
I’m living this dream because of you. You are the Bella to my Eddie. Love you forever.
Your Pidge.
Preface
I’m dying. Of course. This is what death feels like.
Beautiful, really. Serene. The pain is gone. I can’t feel the blood trickling across my skin anymore, but the warmth from the wound remains, spreading over my body like a comforting blanket. I feel sleepy now. It’s taking over. Like those final moments when you’re lying in your own bed, on a mattress moulded just right, on a soft pillow filled with plump feathers…just before you slip into a wonderful dream. You know you’re awake, but you can feel your consciousness slinking away. It’s too late to stop it now. And I don’t want to. Nothing hurts. The bad memories are fading. There’s only one name left in my mind and I refuse to let go of it.
I will see you soon.
Chapter One
Kate
I am twenty-four years old. I have a fiancé, a mortgage, and seven fish. I’m responsible. An adult. Yet, today feels like the most grown-up day of my life as I get ready to start my new job. My first job, really. At least, it feels that way. Before today I’ve only ever waitressed in one of my dad’s restaurants. I enjoyed it, it paid the bills, but I never considered it a real job – one I’d earned myself. I grew up helping out there. The rest of the staff are like family to me. Today, I’m breaking out on my own, going after something I’m genuinely interested in rather than taking an easy ride from my father. I can’t carry on leading such a mundane, pointless life. I need to get out there. Have some fun, make memories, experience things.
“Bun or ponytail?” I ask with a fistful of brown hair in my hand behind my head, making eye contact with Simon, my fiancé, in the full-length mirror as he sneaks up next to me.
Moulding his body to my back, he grabs my wrist, making me drop my hair. “Down. Flowing over my balls while you suck my cock,” he whispers into my ear.
We’ve been in a relationship for two years, living together for seven months, and he can still send tingles shooting between my legs with only words. But I’m responsible, remember? Which means I can’t be late on my first day, so I arch my bum and push him away before swatting his arm. “You’ll crease my uniform.” The smile on my lips betrays my serious tone.
Simon pouts. “Spoilsport.” Plucking a bobble from the dressing table, he passes it to me and adds, “Bun. Don’t want you getting pulled into the shark pool by any loose strands.”
The fact he thinks he’s funny makes me laugh more than what he actually said. He’s such a nerd at times, bless him. My official job title is Guest Liaison Officer, which is fancy-talk for helper should anyone need any assistance during their visit to the aquarium. My job entails walking around, being visible, and answering – or getting answers to – any questions visitors may have. I’ve taken a small hit in the wages department and it’s not my dream role, but it’s in my dream field and so I’m choosing to see today, and the position of Guest Liaison Officer, as the first rung on the ladder I intend to climb. Maybe someday I can go back to college, work behind the scenes with marine life. That’s the goal.
First, however, I need to start at the bottom, and as I twist the navy blue bobble around my bun for the last time, securing it in place, nerves start popping in my belly. I don’t like the feeling. My stomach feels full, so full it’s not giving my heart enough room to beat so it has to do it faster. Ugh. I think I might actually feel sick.
“You’re going to do great,” Simon assures, rubbing over my shoulder.
I turn to face him when he pulls me towards him at the waist, looking up into the blue eyes that always seem to calm me. “I’ve got no friends there.”
“You’ll make friends.”
I tilt my head and cock one eyebrow. He knows I won’t make friends, not easily anyway. I just…don’t know how. I’m socially awkward. If people don’t approach me first then we’ll simply never speak. I don’t really understand the concept of polite conversation. Is chatting about the weather actually a thing? If it is it seems pointless.
“I’m not sure I remember where everything is from my induction last week.”
“Then you’ll ask someone.” Simon’s smile is consoling. He understands how my mind works, that I overthink everything. “You’re new, they’ll understand.”
“What if—”
“Kate…” He cuts me off, placing a gentle finger over my lips. “You’ve got this. I believe in you.”
Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath through my nose and let it out as a long sigh before looking at him again. “Thanks,” I say, nodding. I’m a grown-up. Responsible. I can do this. “I’m being silly.”
Grinning, he leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose. “There’s my tough girl.”
Tough girl. The name makes me smile…this time. Sometimes it pisses me off, depending on the situation. He gave me the nickname not long after we started dating, when I took playful offence to being called ‘Princess’. I have a hard enough time being called the term by my dad, but he’s my dad so I suck it up. I’m not a damn princess. I’m not a girly-girl who needs a big strong man to rescue me or shower me with pretty things. Well, not all the time. Sometimes I do need a big strong man, like the time I tried to mount the bedroom TV on the wall myself and ended up on my arse with the TV landing only inches away from my head on the floor. I wasn’t such a tough girl then. I wasn’t much of a princess either when Simon called me out on it and received a “Fuck you, arsehole,” in response.
“Good luck,” he adds, and then he sweeps his lips over mine, absorbing some of my nervousness, before releasing me. “I’ve got to leave now.”
I nod in understanding. Simon has to get to work too. He works in construction and his firm is currently building a new set of offices for the council on the other side of town. I love it when he’s on jobs close to home. His firm take contracts up and down the country and sometimes he has to go away for days at a time. He calls and FaceTimes but it’s not the same. I always miss him.
“Oh, wait!” I call after him. “Don’t forget to pick up a loaf of bread for Mrs McKinley on your way home!” Mrs McKinley is our next door neighbour. She’s lived alone since her husband passed away many years ago and she doesn’t have visitors that I’ve ever seen, so Simon and I look out for her.
“I won’t!”
After saying, or shouting from separate rooms, our goodbyes, I finish applying my make-up – nothing fancy, eyeliner, mascara and dabs of concealer over the two spots on my chin.
I’m driving to work less than ten minutes later and for a moment I start to wish I was on my way to the restaurant, but then I mentally slap myself. I only want that because it’s familiar. I certainly don’t miss the heat, the demanding customers, the blisters on my feet. No, I need this, I want this, and I’ll be good at this.
Need. Want. Good. Need. Want. Good. I chant that in my head throughout the drive. Well, until the words start getting muddled up in my brain and I realise I’m turning a little cuckoo over the whole thing. Grown-up, I remind myself. Just a regular grown-up, starting a regular job, like regular grown-ups do every day.
Jesus. I’ve arrived. Now, I really feel sick. It’s stupid and irrational, I know. I like to think of myself as fairly intelligent and a fast learner, so there’s really no reason for the day not to go well. That’s what I force myself to focus on after leaving my car in the staff car park, plastering the confident smile I’d been practising on my face as I press the buzzer to be let into the huge building via the staff entrance.
“Morning…” Thank God for name tags, “Rick.”
“Gooooood morning,” he says, so cheerfully it’s almost songlike. He reminds me of my Uncle Maurice with his old-and-wise, life’s-too-short, seize-the-day vibe. I wonder if he’s got the embarrassing uncle dance moves down, too. He’s certainly got the same kind eyes and potbelly hanging over his belt. At least, the same as I remember. A sad smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I miss Uncle Maurice. He’s the only family I have on my mother’s side and because he lives in Italy I haven’t seen him in…wow…nine years, since he last visited home. Still, he rings me every couple of months to check in and catch up.
“Kate?”
The sound of my name snaps me back into the real world and a flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. “S-sorry,” I mutter. “I, uh…you just remind me of someone.”
A smug grin tickles his mouth as he nods. “George Clooney. Don’t worry, I get that a lot.”
He makes me chuckle… and relax. Suddenly, I have no idea why I’ve been so nervous all morning. “Yep, you guessed it. A much hotter version, of course.” That wasn’t so hard, I tell myself. I just had a conversation with a virtual stranger and didn’t make a complete tit of myself.
“I like you,” he says with another grin. “Jack’s waiting for you upstairs.”
“Thanks, Rick. See you later.”
With a deep but less nervous breath, I turn for the lifts and make my way to the office floor. I was told last week to go to the conference room upon arrival, which is easy to find because it’s directly opposite the lift when I step off it.
Jack, my manager, is indeed waiting for me when I push open the heavy door. “Ah, Kate!” He speaks my name with the same enthusiasm he did during my induction and tour. I think he really loves his job, which is actually pretty great to see when you’re starting out in the same company. “Here’re copies of your contract and everything you signed last week,” he adds, handing me the white file he was reading when I entered the room. “You’ll also find your name badge in there and a key to your locker in the staffroom.”
“Great, thank you.”
“Someone will be here to show you around soon. You’ll be able to shadow them for a few days until you get a feel for the layout of the place, see how things work. Until then…” He pauses to wave his hand around the room. “Grab a drink from the machine, pick a chair, or have a nap,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Whatever you do, enjoy your last few moments of quiet before the buses full of school kids start arriving at opening time.”
I’ve always thought I’d be pretty good with kids, but I’m not experienced enough for the position of Tour Guide yet anyway. Still, I laugh at his joke because he expects me to. Then, when he leaves, I take a seat, pin the name badge which says Kate Fletcher ~ Guest Liaison Officer ~ in place, and look through the papers in my file to pass the time.
Now I’m here, I think today’s going to be great.
Nine hours later, as I wave goodbye over my shoulder to Rick, still on shift at the desk, I rate my first day a solid eight-out-of-ten. I’ve knocked two points off for my lunch hour. I sat alone, not brave enough to go and hijack anyone else’s table and conversations, and when no one had approached me fifteen minutes after finishing my lunch I left the cafeteria and spent the rest of my break in the toilet so I didn’t look like the awkward saddo with no friends…which I was, of course.
Tomorrow, I’ll pluck up the courage to make the first move and talk to someone. Maybe. Either that, or I’ll take a packed lunch so I don’t even have to enter the cafeteria and can hide out for the entire hour in the staffroom instead. I’m undecided.
On the drive home, I decide to call my dad to see where he is. He’s been so busy lately securing new premises for another restaurant to add to his chain, that we haven’t seen each other in over a week. For us that’s a long time.
Pressing the voice-command button on my steering wheel, I say aloud “Call Dad.” I decide before it even rings that if he’s close by I’ll pop over for a visit. Often, he’s miles away at what he considers his ‘hub’ restaurant in Kent. I don’t know why because he started his business here, in Lancashire, back in the eighties, but I suppose down south is where the money is. I’ve only been there once when I was very little, so I don’t remember much about it, but the two restaurants he owns up here are designed to be visually identical on the inside, so I imagine that will be the same.
“Kathryn, what can I do for you?” His tone is a little more curt than usual as it comes through the stereo speakers.
“Hey. I miss you. Thought I could come over?”
“Sorry, princess. I’m a little—” he pauses mid-sentence but returns quickly, “Caught up with something. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He sounds a little breathless, or frustrated perhaps, but I decide it’s best not to pester him about it on the phone. It’s probably just business. My dad isn’t a chef, he’s the money man, the brains behind the operation. He works too hard, that’s his trouble. He should be slowing down now, preparing for retirement, but knowing my dad the day he slows down will be the day he dies. Honestly? I think this is the only way he can live without my mum. She was killed in a car crash on the motorway when I was nine. From then on, I was brought up by countless different nannies while my dad worked every hour he could. I remember my mum, but not as much as I’d like. Some days she’s all I think about, others she doesn’t cross my mind at all. I hope she doesn’t know, wherever she is now, that I forget to think about her sometimes. The thought makes my chest heavy with guilt.
“Oh,” I reply, unable to conceal the disappointment in my voice. I suppose I’d hoped he’d want to hear all about my first day at work. I shouldn’t be too surprised, really. He never wanted me to leave the restaurant, although he didn’t say that directly. The reluctance was clear on his face. He offered me more money, told me for the millionth time that I didn’t need to work at all because he is more than wealthy enough to provide for me. I know it’s out of love and concern, but I don’t want to rely on him. I want to make my own way, pursue my own dreams, leave my own legacy, just like he has. Everyone else my age is climbing their way up their respective career ladders now. Some are married, starting families. I need to do that. Grow up, finally. Take care of myself. “Okay. Speak tomorrow. Love you.”
He doesn’t speak another word before hanging up. Jeez, someone must’ve really pissed him off. I hope he’s okay. Well, straight home it is. Our two-bedroom terrace is a twenty-minute drive from the aquarium when there’s no traffic but, unfortunately, I hit the middle of rush hour and it takes me almost fifty. Thanks to the warm weather we’ve had, the house is stuffy when I open the front door, so the first thing I do is open the living room and kitchen windows to let a gentle breeze blow through. I think about starting dinner next, but the twinge in my neck and the ache in my feet convince me to sit down in a comfy spot for half an hour first.
Something tickles me and I bat it away before pulling my cold arms closer to my chest. The something, whatever it is…laughs?
“Wakey, wakey.”
