Goodnight (Broken Heart Series)

Goodie limped towards the tree slowly, then paused above five feet away. Her chest constricted painfully as she looked up at the lights twinkling over the entire massive eight-foot monster erected in the Chambers’ living room. For over twenty years she had successfully avoided all reminders of Christmas. One of the memories she hadn’t been able to leave behind was the reflection of the Christmas lights in her mother’s lifeless eyes that night. She looked down at the floor for a moment and took a deep breath in as she felt someone take the hand that wasn’t leaning on her stick. She looked over at her sister and saw that she not only had tears in her eyes, but some were streaming down her face. Tasha squeezed her hand and Goodie nodded, closing her eyes for a brief moment and shifting her hand so that it was gripping Tasha’s wrist. The steady pulse under her fingers helped to calm her.

They were here; they were alive; that was what mattered.

It was the first time the sisters had been together at Christmas since that night. Tasha had of course tried to make it happen after they were back in contact, but Goodie absolutely refused. Back then she simply couldn’t risk the emotion it was likely to provoke. But now … now she had a family for herself and that she could give Tasha. Now she needed to bury the past. She needed to be strong. Her hand went down to her stomach and her mouth set in a determined line. By next year avoiding Christmas would definitely not be an option.

‘Anya, darling,’ Goodie’s gaze snapped to Claire and the box of baubles she was holding out to her. ‘Do you mind helping out? We’ve got a lot of tree to cover by dinner.’ Goodie’s hand actually shook as she took the box from Claire, whose concerned eyes flashed to Tasha’s tear-stained face. Tash gave a quick shake of her head as Goodie moved to the tree.

‘What ho!’ The living room door crashed open as Bertie barrelled in, closely followed by the rest of them. This included Nick, Monty, Uncle Giles, Auntie Rose, Tilly, Arabella and Ed.

‘The tree!’ shouted Arabella, shoving her way through the adults and skidding to a halt next to Goodie. ‘What are you doing just standing there, slow-Jo?’ she said, tugging Goodie’s hand out of Tasha’s and dragging her forward. ‘Let’s get baubling!’ Bels let her hand go when they were next to the tree and started rifling through the box of decorations. ‘Hurrah!’ she shouted, holding a lump of dry clay encrusted with glitter and other festive detritus. ‘This is one of my creations. Can you believe I made it when I was only three?’ Goodie looked at the misshapen lump, then at Arabella’s face, shining with excitement. She wasn’t sure that the creation of this object was much of an achievement at any age and she didn’t like to lie to children, so she smiled instead.

‘Mummy says I’ve always been extremely talented artistically.’ She shoved the lump into Goodie’s hand. ‘I’ll let you put it on the tree,’ she said, her voice very serious to communicate the gravity of this honour.

‘Tasha?’ Bertie’s worried voice caught Goodie’s attention. She looked back to see that Bertie had curled her sister into his side and was wiping away her tears.

‘What’s up with Auntie Tasha?’ Arabella asked, peering around Goodie to look at the couple.

‘Your Aunt Tasha is allergic to Christmas trees, squirt,’ Nick said, ruffling her hair and then wrapping his big hand around the back of Goodie’s neck. ‘You okay?’ he whispered in her ear, stroking the side of her neck with his thumb. She nodded, reaching up with an unsteady hand to hang the sad-looking lump off one of the branches. When she was done Nick pulled her back into him, wrapped both his arms around her chest and rested his head on top of hers. She closed her eyes slowly, the beating of his heart reassuring against her back, and reached up to curl her hand around his wrist.

‘Gosh, how awful for you,’ Arabella said to Tash with real feeling. ‘Christmas trees, of all things. Do you swell up like a puffer fish?’ She tilted her head to the side and eyed Tasha expectantly.

Tasha laughed. ‘No, honey.’

Arabella’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. ‘Ed swells up around the horses,’ she said. ‘It makes him look super-weird. But he says he’s accli … acclimatose … acclimat –’

‘Acclimatizing,’ Ed put in, smiling down at Arabella with lips that were still slightly swollen. Ed’s attempts to spend time with, and win, Tilly and Arabella would either succeed, or result in some sort of horse-induced anaphylaxis by the time he was through. Goodie had caught Tilly watching Ed when she thought nobody was looking. The fact Arabella adored him was also a big plus point in his favour, but Clive had done enough damage to Tilly’s self-esteem and her ability to trust that it was looking like she’d never give Ed a chance. ‘Right, chaps,’ Ed said, clapping his hands together. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there, I’d best be off if I’m to make it to Essex without the old girl freezing up on me.’

Despite the success of cold fusion, Ed was still at a loss when it came to material possessions. He would not upgrade his ancient beat-up Ford Focus until it literally spluttered its last. The fact that his security team travelled in an infinitely better car than him was seemingly irrelevant. He bent down to give Arabella a hug. After she had squeezed him tightly, she pulled back to peer into his bloodshot eyes and lift his swollen eyelids.

‘I think the acclimit … acclimitoesing is working,’ she told him, giving him a huge smile and kissing his red cheek.

He chuckled. ‘Sure it is, love.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Tilly’s voice cut through the relaxed atmosphere, a pitch higher than normal.

‘Yes, Tils,’ Ed said softly.

‘But …’

Goodie turned to see that Tilly was frowning as she swallowed and took a step towards Ed. ‘But I thought …’ She trailed off and glanced at the rest of the family, obviously concerned by how much she was giving away. ‘I mean, is it safe? You driving this late in that heap? Can’t you just …’ She took another step forward and reached out to touch his arm. ‘Can’t you just stay?’

Ed smiled, a new light of determination firing in his eyes before he pulled Tilly in for a hug. ‘I’ve got to spend it with my family, love,’ he said as he pulled away to study her disappointed face.

‘Right, yes, of course. Jolly good. Bloody silly of me,’ she bumbled on, pushing against his chest to move away.

‘I’ll come back,’ he told her, his arms staying tight around her body.

‘You will?’ she breathed, stopping her struggles.

‘I promise,’ he said, and in front of everyone he gave her a brief kiss on the lips before moving away.

‘Gross!’ yelled Arabella, but Goodie noticed she was smiling and her cheeks were pink with pleasure.

Goodie watched the ten-year-old and sighed. Warm, happy, loved, secure; no worries other than school and homework and maybe keeping her room clean. This was how life should be; this was how Goodie would make life for her child; how she would keep life for the Chambers family. Nothing would touch them; she would make sure of it.

*****

‘Have you ever met her?’ Bill asked Martin as they walked up to the huge front door of the Chambers mansion. ‘I mean when she was active.’ Bill was ten years younger and had only been with the service for the last three, having been recruited straight after his finals at Cambridge where he’d come top in the year, his exam scores setting actual records and putting him on M16’s radar.

‘I was on clean-up after her once,’ Martin said, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck as he strode forward. ‘Messy.’ He shuddered and shoved both hands into his pockets.

‘Yeah, I’ve read the reports.’ One of Bill’s strengths was research and one of his obsessions was Goodnight. He’d read everything he could lay his hands on about her; it was part of the reason he was here with Martin for this assignment.

‘Jesus,’ Martin whispered as he looked up at the imposing stone building, ‘she’s landed on her feet at least.’

‘Goodnight has enough money of her own,’ Bill mumbled as he started up the stone steps. ‘There must be something else holding her here.’

‘Or someone.’

Bill frowned. ‘That just doesn’t fit her profile. She doesn’t do … attachments.’ By the time they had reached the top step the door had swung open. A slender, breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman, leaning heavily on a walking stick, was framed in the doorway.

‘Hello, boys,’ she said, her voice low and even, not betraying a shred of surprise.

‘Uh … hi,’ Bill stammered, feeling weirdly intimidated, despite her obvious physical weakness.

Martin sighed and stepped forward, holding out his hand for her to shake. ‘Mrs Chambers, we are so sorry for the intrusion. My name is –’

‘I know who you are and where you are from,’ she cut him off, her cold expression making him drop his hand back to his side.

‘Darling, what are you …?’ A tall, well-built, dark-haired man came up behind Goodnight and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. ‘Oh.’ He frowned as he looked down at Bill and Martin. ‘Er … hi there.’ Bill almost let out a nervous laugh as the man he recognized from his pictures in the press pulled Goodnight back and slightly behind him as if he was protecting her: totally bizarre.

‘Mr Chambers,’ Martin addressed him and extended his hand for a second time. This time it wasn’t left hanging, but the force behind Nick Chambers’ grip almost made Martin wish it had been. ‘I’m Martin Lacey and this is my colleague William Shepton. So sorry to intrude on your evening but we were wondering if we could talk to your wife briefly.’

‘Well, that would depend,’ Nick said, pushing Goodnight even further behind him before planting his feet wide and crossing his arms over his chest, ‘on who you are and what exactly you’re doing on my doorstep at nine o’clock at night.’

‘We’re civil servants, Mr Chambers,’ Bill put in smoothly.

‘Oh, right then,’ Nick said, ‘thanks so much for clearly that up for me. Not at all vague.’

‘There were some government contracts that your wife was involved in, and we’re here to discuss them.’

‘Is my wife still involved in any contracts?’ Nick asked, both his eyebrows rising.

‘Well …’ Martin shifted uncomfortably on the step, flicking a glance over to Bill who was staring at Goodnight with his mouth slightly open: no help there. ‘Not that I know of.’

‘Okay,’ Nick lifted a hand to the door, ‘so there seems to be precious little to talk about then.’

‘Mr Chambers,’ Martin said again, putting his hand out to block the door that was rapidly closing on his face. ‘I really must –’

‘Let them in, Nick.’ The door opened fully again and all men turned to look at Goodnight. She had one hand wrapped around Nick’s wrist and was looking up at him with a determined look on her face. ‘If they wish to talk to me they will do it. Putting them off tonight won’t make a difference.’ Nick’s jaw clenched for a moment as he searched his wife’s face, and his grip tightened on the door. Just as Martin thought he would slam the door in their faces anyway, he saw Nick’s grip relax and he stepped back, giving both Martin and Bill a curt nod to enter.

‘Follow us,’ Nick said, starting down the corridor. Instead of striding ahead, as you would expect, given the type of man he was, he shortened his stride, checking that his wife, who had a pronounced limp and was still leaning heavily on her stick, was keeping up. He pushed open another huge oak door leading them inside a vast living room. There was an old man sitting by the fireplace, his hand poised over a chessboard.

‘Dad,’ Nick said, ‘these chaps need a quick chat with Anya. Do you mind …?’

‘I see,’ the man said, rubbing his beard and eyeing Martin and Bill with curiousity. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ He stood and walked past them, pausing at Goodnight to kiss her cheek and squeeze her hand. ‘Let me know when it’s safe to come back and finish the game, sweetheart,’ he muttered, giving her a brief smile and narrowing his eyes at the two imposters before he slipped out of the room.

The message that both Nick Chambers and his father were both trying to send was obvious: she is ours, she is protected, she is family. Martin rubbed his hands down his face. It looked as though Bill’s research for once had fallen short. If the last ten minutes was anything to go by, Goodnight had formed attachments left, right and centre: strong ones, and with powerful people.