They Won't Believe You (Scottish Dark Romance Book 1)

by Paisley Alice Quinn

  “Leave some for the rest of us!” Lachlan heckled.

  She turned and saw him sitting across from Ainsley, both of them sipping steaming hot coffee from a new-age place Kylie had never been to. Had he really replaced her so easily? They were eating shortbread biscuits, too. She watched as Ainsley dipped one in her coffee. The sight made her mouth water.

  She tried not to listen as Lachlan told Ainsley his best anecdotes. Kylie had heard them all before, the one about gate-crashing a celebrity wedding, and the other one about his epic biking holiday, when he and three mates had ridden from John O’Groats to Lands’ End. He didn’t tell her the one about the bullfrog though. That was Kylie’s favourite. Perhaps he was saving it.

  Ainsley lapped up the attention. She threw back her head and laughed every time he said anything remotely funny. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, showing off the sparkly purple mascara she was wearing. Kylie wondered if she actually liked him, or if she merely wanted a distraction from work. It was hard to tell. And if she noticed the triumphant look Lachlan shot her way, she didn’t comment on it, but she knew full well what it meant:

  See, other women find me attractive. It’s you who’s messed up, not me.

  She waited until the two of them got to their feet, depositing their plastic cups in the bin on their way out, then she inched over to the bin and peered inside. The packet of shortbread biscuits sat at the top, the last biscuit uneaten. She stared at it for a moment, then reached a shaky hand inside. She grabbed it quickly and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth.

  “Morning, Kylie!”

  “Marc!”

  She held her hand over her mouth as she attempted to swallow. Crumbs tickled her throat, making her cough.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t speak. The biscuit had become a ball in her throat, and she could not make it go down. There was nothing for it but to spit the whole thing back into the bin. Marc, to his credit, did not comment as he made himself a cup of chamomile tea and she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

  “I’ll have your cup back to you Monday,” he said, stirring his tea.

  “Thanks,” she said, her throat now clear of obstructions. She waited until he had finished at the sink and poured herself a tall glass of water, knowing that it would have to do until lunch.

  Much to her dismay, the money still wasn’t in her account at lunch time. She plodded miserably up and down the street, feeling a little sick now, though she wasn’t sure if it was down to hunger or the biscuit. She wouldn’t have another chance to get the cash out until she finished for the day and Muriel had warned her that she wanted the database up to date.

  She sat at her desk, typing in the notes Muriel had given her. It was a long, laborious task, but probably better than stacking shelves, considering how weak she felt. Every so often she went out into the main part of the library and looked around, hoping to see a familiar face. If Craig was here, he might have some sandwiches or something. But alas, there was no sign of him. She would have to wait a little longer.

  Most of her colleagues had left by the time she finished her work. Half of the lights had gone out with nobody to activate them, and she found it a little creepy walking through the empty rooms on her own. She was glad to get out into the open air.

  The short walk to the cashpoint felt like forever and she sucked in her breath as she punched in her PIN. What if there had been a mistake and she hadn’t been paid after all? What if she had to go the whole weekend without food?

  You could ask Flora or Craig for help, said a little voice inside her head, but she ignored it. The only person she could rely upon was herself.

  The screen swam into focus and she stared at her balance. Money! She had money! She wanted to do a happy dance like Dexter, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Her hand hovered over the options and before she knew what she was doing, she drew it all out, the whole lot. Notes came spewing out and it felt like she had won the lottery. She held the money tightly in her fist, aware of how vulnerable she was if someone wanted to mug her. Hurriedly, she stuffed it all into her purse and kept moving.

  Further down the street, a man jostled her elbow. She jostled him back.

  “Sorry!” he said, sounding surprised.

  She picked up her pace, adrenaline fuelling her aching limbs. The supermarket was just across the way, its lights shining bright. She ran out into the road, with just a cursory glance at the traffic and skidded into the shop.

  She shopped like a woman possessed, filling her basket with food. She grabbed chicken, crisps, apples and scones. Anything that took her fancy. She tore into a Danish pastry, demolishing it in a matter of seconds. The woman on the checkout gave her a dirty look as she handed in the empty bag but Kylie outstared her.

  “I’ve got money,” she said pointedly. Who the hell was she to judge?

  She hit the pharmacy on the way home and bought pet shampoo and flea spray. It cost a small fortune but at least she’d be rid of the fleas.

  Flora was pegging out laundry on her balcony when she returned, trousers and skirts swinging in the breeze.

  “Thought I’d make the most of the fine weather,” she called. “Forecast says it’s not going to rain.”

  “Is that so?” Craig said, arriving right behind Kylie. “Well that’s a cause for celebration, if ever I heard one. How about a few drinks at the Balcony Bar? I’ve bought you a fresh bottle of grenadine.”

  Flora heaved a sigh. “Can’t, sorry. I’m working in a minute. I’ll take the grenadine though.”

  Craig frowned. “I thought you were taking the weekend off?”

  “That was the plan, but they’re really short staffed.”

  “It’s not good, Flora. You need a rest.”

  “You don’t need to tell me. But it will all be worth it once I’ve saved enough to buy a bar of my own.”

  “And when will that be?” Kylie asked.

  Flora scrunched up her forehead, as if she was doing a difficult calculation. “In about forty-five years at the rate I’m going.”

  She smiled in sympathy and began making her way up the stairs.

  “Wait! You still got the dog?” Flora called after her.

  “Of course, I have!”

  She wished she’d stop asking. She kept going, fragments of conversation floating up to her as she went.

  “How are you getting on without your phone, Craig?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Huh. Well, I bet you’ll be running down to the phone shop in a few days. Hey, you can report it stolen and get another one on the insurance!”

  “I’m all right, cheers.”

  “You could give the money to me if you don’t want it.”

  Kylie glanced back in time to see a dark expression flash across his face.

  “It’s not always about the money, Flora.”

  “It’s always about the money,” Flora said.

  Kylie put the ready-cooked chicken in the oven to warm, then took Dexter for a quick walk up the street and back. The aroma of roast chicken filled the flat on their return, and she filled her plate, devouring the delicious meat in five minutes flat. Dexter finished up whatever she couldn’t eat and then she bathed him again, washing his fur with the flea shampoo. Next, she set to work vacuuming the flat. She went for every black speck she could find, chasing them up the walls and around corners. The vacuum felt warm once she’d finished and it smelt of burnt rubber. It was an old model, too old to be worked so hard.

  Afterwards, she gathered up her bedding and set off for the launderette. It wasn’t the most exciting way to spend a Friday evening, but it had to be done. She’d be glad when she got to climb into clean sheets, knowing the flea problem had been solved.

  The launderette was like a second home. She visited it every week when she had the money. Having stuffed her washing into the machines and posted coins into the slots, she pulled a comic book from her bag and sat down to read. She must have read the same page thre
e times. The words wiggled around, jumping about with the vibrations of the washing machines. A couple of the other machines were whirring, so she knew other customers would be in at some point, but for now, she had the place to herself. She glanced towards the window. The sky was melting over the hills now, and the street had taken on a golden glow. The darkness, when it came, snuck up on her, the light fading gradually until there was no more.

  She set down her book and went to the window, gazing up at the night’s sky. She was sure she remembered more stars from her childhood. They were gradually disappearing before her eyes. There were still people milling around outside on their way out to the pubs and clubs. Most of them stopped at the cashpoint, drawing out notes for the night ahead. Money burned a hole in people’s pockets. None of them would have it for very long.

  “Fuck you!”

  His words hit her like a hammer to the jaw. She knew that voice.

  Across the road, a bouncer guarded the back entrance to a nightclub. His face was calm in contrast to the man jabbing a gnarled finger at him. A second, larger bouncer came out, and together, they blocked the door.

  “I’m sorry sir, this club is for a younger clientele. Ain’t you a little old to be chasing teenage girls?”

  The punter let out a bitter laugh. “You ain’t never too old else you might as well be dead.”

  “Well I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in.”

  “Why the fuck not? It’s fucking discrimination, that’s what it is! I’ve got as much right to go in there as those young fuckers.”

  He took his rage out on the brick wall before stomping off down the street. He walked as if one leg was heavier than the other, and when he stepped under the pale glow of the street lamp, she saw that his face had become as leathery as his jacket. It was him though, definitely him. And he was way too close for comfort.

  After the discovery of the headlice, Kylie had rushed down to Boots and bought a box of nit shampoo. It had cost all her lunch money for the week, but she had needed to get rid of them. She had come back to the empty changing rooms and washed her hair in the showers. The nit shampoo had a strong smell, but she had needed to get those things out of her hair.

  “What’s that stink?” Mairi had said when she came out of the pool. She’d wrinkled up her nose in disgust.

  Kylie had kept her head down and her mouth shut. There were similar comments when the other girls came out, all except Ruth who offered her a sympathetic smile.

  “Missed you in the pool today,” she’d said, squeezing her shoulder.

  “Missed you too.”

  A tear had dripped down her cheek. She’d felt stupid for crying, it was only headlice for heaven’s sake. She had dealt with it now; the shampoo would do the trick. But it wasn’t just the nits, it was the humiliation. They all knew thanks to Coach, and she felt the team moving away from her. It made her feel dirty.

  Her head was still itchy that night and when she’d combed her hair the next morning, she’d found more nits. She’d washed her hair at home this time even though it made her late. She didn’t want Mairi going on about the smell again.

  When she had arrived for practice, the others were already in the pool. Quickly, she had changed into her swimsuit and walked out onto the poolside, where Coach was barking commands at the rest of the team.

  “Go to my office,” he’d said when he saw her.

  “But, Coach!”

  He had pointed towards the door.

  Cheeks burning, she had plodded down the hall. It was cold waiting there in just her swimsuit, and she wished she’d thought to grab her towel. There were a couple of chairs, but she knew better than to sit down. Instead she had stood there shivering, wondering how many laps her teammates had already swum. She was almost as fast as Mairi now, almost the best swimmer on the team. She couldn’t afford to miss training; Coach should know that. And yet he kept her waiting.

  She had been beginning to think he had forgotten her, when he finally walked into the office.

  “Why do you not respect my time?” he had demanded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Have you got rid of the nits?”

  She had bitten her lip. “I washed my hair again this morning. That’s why I was late.”

  He had yanked at her hair, pulling it this way and that.

  Clearly he didn’t find any because he would have said so.

  “You’re disgusting, Kylie. You know that?”

  “I should be getting to college...”

  “Bend over, Kylie.”

  “What? No!”

  “It will hurt more if you don’t.”

  Before she had had a moment to respond, he had brought his hand down hard on her backside. She had been so surprised that for a moment she couldn’t believe he had done it.

  “Bend over!”

  The second blow had been so hard it had made her howl.

  She had tried to dodge past him, out of the room, but he had landed a third blow and blocked the door.

  “Coach!”

  He had slammed the door shut, and the whole wall had vibrated with the violence of it. It was a wonder the glass panel didn’t break. He had placed a hand on the doorknob to keep it shut.

  “Bend over, Kylie.”

  She had cowered in front of him and stuck her bottom out a little.

  “More.”

  She had positioned herself at a right angle, and he had hit her more softly this time. It still smarted, but not as much as before. He became almost gentle, the smacks turning to strokes that lingered on her bottom, his fingers caressing her through her swimsuit, making her wet. He had lingered there while her legs had trembled beneath her. She didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement, and when he had probed deeper she had felt like she was going to wet herself.

  “Please stop.”

  “What? I barely touched you.”

  She had clenched her buttocks tight as he resumed the spanking. Slap, slap, slap! The pain had come in waves, rising and falling. Then he had slowed down and she had waited, her body tensed for more. A part of her had wanted him to touch her again, to explore deeper into her wetness. She was almost disappointed when he didn’t.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” he had said.

  Then he had delivered one last smack that was so hard it almost knocked her off her feet. She hadn’t waited for him to dismiss her, just darted out of the office like a startled rabbit. She had run into the toilets and locked herself in a cubicle, her fingers finding her clit and rubbing it until she found a release. She felt as dirty as he had always said she was, and yet, a part of her wanted more.

  11

  Craig turned the music up a little louder. He had been lifting weights for some time now, and his muscles were feeling the burn. And yet he kept going, needing the release, because when he was lifting it made him feel stronger, and the stronger he felt, the more he was able to face the day.

  He had always thought of himself as a brave person, never one to shy away from danger. He had got into his share of fights over the years, and mostly he had won. When it came to relationships, he had always thought honesty was the best policy. So why was it so hard for him to tell Kylie how he felt?

  He was afraid of rejection, that was why.

  What if she only dated preppy twats in knitted vests? Men who treated her badly and made her cry? He set down his weights and felt his heart pump in his chest. How could he convince her that he was good for her, that if she would just let him, he could be the one to make her happy?

  The fleas were still there in the morning. More of them than ever, brazenly hopping around the flat. Kylie took Dexter out for his walk then made thick, creamy porridge, just like her dad used to make.

  Dexter wolfed down his food, then stood behind Sinister, waiting for scraps. He edged a bit too close and the cat swiped him with her paw. He let out an indignant yap.

  “Come on, Dexter. Let her finish,” Kylie said, dumping her bowl in the sink. She filled the cooking pot w
ith hot, soapy water. She would tackle the dishes later.

  After a quick shower, she let Sin out and took Dexter down to the communal garden round the back. The garden wasn’t big enough for him to have a proper run about, but it was secure, having been designed for the previous tenant’s children to play in.

  Upstairs, she sprayed every inch of the flat with flea spray, remembering at the last minute to close the windows so that Sinister couldn’t get back in. She would have to take Dexter out somewhere because there was no way she was letting him breathe in those fumes. She had planned on a bit of shopping now she had some money in her pocket. Perhaps she could treat herself to some new jeans and a piece of cake at her favourite café.

  She and Dexter caught the train into town and wove their way through the swarm of tourists who descended upon Edinburgh each summer. She stopped in front of a shop window displaying mannequins in shorts and T-shirts, sparkling sandals on their feet. How she would love a pair of sandals. She glanced down at her old, battered trainers. Muriel had been on her case lately, telling her they weren’t appropriate for work. She couldn’t see why. They were really comfortable, and she was on her feet for most of the day. What did it matter what she looked like?

  Still, now that she had some money, maybe she ought to buy some work shoes. Something sensible and boring to shut Muriel up. She scooped up Dexter and walked inside. A shop assistant materialised in front of her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, er… Do you have any cheap court shoes? Something in black or navy blue?”

  The woman champed her lips together, like a pony chewing grass.

  “I don’t think you’ll find anything cheap in this shop. We’re a quality brand.”

  “Don’t you have any sale items?”

  She looked at her with disdain. “You might find what you’re looking for at the back. I must ask you to leave your wee dog outside though. Dogs are not permitted in the shop.”