by Esme Devlin
The problem is though, that no matter how tempted by the fantasy I am, no matter how much I’m thinking that leaving will hurt him — and I don’t want to hurt him — I don’t have time. The wedding is booked. The flowers are ordered. He won’t delay it, not again.
Even if he wanted to, it’s not his choice.
This goes beyond what either of us want. Maybe if we’d had a year — even six months — I would have stayed, at least for a while. But the noose is tightening, the clock is ticking, and I don’t have a choice.
On Tuesday at school, I seek out Kieran like a lioness prowling the halls. I’ve kept up my end. I’ve done everything right. Tommy gave me my car keys back on Sunday when he dropped me off. He’s starting to trust me. I feel worse than I should about having to shatter that trust again, but in time I hope he realizes that I had to do it, and deceiving him was the only way.
I find Kieran at the bottom of the main stairs with a group of his friends, and I give him the “I need to talk to you” eyes. He looks around, most likely checking that Tommy isn’t lurking around a corner, but I already checked — he’s in the canteen with his friends.
“Shelly, we can’t talk here,” he says.
“Do you have a better idea?”
He has another look around, eyes flitting between both the doors beside us and up the stairs to his right. “I’ve got it sorted. Thursday night. Midnight. Pick me up at 104 Braeburn Terrace. I’ll bring everything we need, you just need to get the key. Can you do that?”
I nod in reply. “Midnight. I’ll be there.”
And just like that I turn around and leave. Thursday night. I don’t know how much cash my dad leaves in the shop overnight… hopefully it’s enough and he doesn’t need to take jewelry too. Jewelry takes time to sell, even at rock-bottom prices. There are pawn shops, but I’d just be leaving a little trail of breadcrumbs behind me. Cash is cleaner. Cash is what I need.
Since I have my car, there is no real reason to see Tommy. He’s not picking me up in the morning, or waiting for me outside the doors of the school. He doesn’t seek me out at lunch and he doesn’t stalk me along the halls.
I think he’s giving me the space I made it obvious I needed… and I feel empty.
I’d got so used to having his attention that it became the normal. I didn’t have to worry about when I’d see him again, because I knew it was never far away. Now I find myself scanning the corridors between classes, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
I know it’s just a human reaction. You don’t want what you’ve got until it’s gone. And now he’s gone, now he’s giving me the space that I wanted, I want him back. I want us back fighting and playing our game. I want that feeling of my heart racing every time he comes close. I want to feel his words, like knifes, mincing my stomach.
Why? Because it’s exciting. He turned the most mundane things — like standing with a towel on in my bedroom, or sitting in Mrs Hopkins lesson — into something twisted and reckless and thrilling.
This week has been boring. I’ve gone to class, I’ve gossiped with the girls at lunch, and I’ve come home. Now the only excitement in my life is when the bell rings to move lessons and I wonder if I’ll catch a glimpse of him on the stairs.
But as much as I miss him, this is probably why leaving is for the best. I’m falling for the fantasy, not the reality.
And I still know the difference.
On Thursday I come home to an empty house. I assume that somewhere, my dad must have a spare key for the shop, but I don’t have a single clue about where to look for it.
So I bide my time, and I wait until he’s home. I cook dinner for one, a packet of instant noodles, and I watch an episode of First Dates Hotel while I eat, to stop me from watching the clock. Then I take a long bath, get my pajamas on, and curl up on the sofa with a book. I do everything I would normally do, and this is where my dad finds me when he gets home.
“Where’s mum?” I ask, when he comes and takes a seat on the sofa opposite me.
He shakes his head and shrugs, opening a can of beer as he sits back in the chair. “She mentioned something about a spa day at that… the spa place…. What’s it called again?”
“Hytheswood?” I suggest.
“Aye, that’s the one. Assumed it was just a day thing, but she must be staying over,” he says, looking at his watch.
I nod.
He nods.
I go back to reading my book, and he goes back to drinking his beer. The pair of us sitting in our nice living room, in our nice house, together but at the same time completely and utterly alone.
I glance up at him and see him scrolling through the channels on the TV mindlessly searching for something that’s not advertisements, or just completely unbearable to watch.
And I want to ask him… is he happy?
I think him and my mum were happy together, once. Maybe when we were well off enough to afford a nice house and holidays, but not so well off that my mum started filling her face with plastic and having secret affairs with my dad’s AMEX.
That’s what the arrangement with Tommy’s father did to us.
“Dad…”
He looks up from the TV and I swallow.
“Was it worth it?”
He doesn’t answer straight away or ask me to elaborate. He watches my face and I know he knows what I’m asking.
I want to know if he could go back now, would he do it again?
Would he trade a wife who loved him for who he was, for a wife who’s now only capable of loving items and material things? Would he trade a daughter who once believed he was the best man in the world, for one who’s no longer capable of believing in anything?
My dad clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Michelle, it was a different time. There was a recession, people were barely able to put food on the table, never mind afford jewelry. I had people relying on me, not just you and your mum. I had employees, I had responsibilities, I had loans to pay and wages to provide. I had orders from overseas buyers and I had no money to fulfill them. When Heenan came to me, what was I supposed to do? Tell him no thank you? Sit back while the business went under? While we lost the house?”
I shake my head at him, because to me, the answer is pretty fucking obvious. “You could have made him a deal that didn’t involve selling your daughter?”
“Don’t you think there were a hundred other struggling businesses who would have happily jumped at his offer? He came to me because he could see the potential. He could see that he had the supply, and I had the demand. He could see that he had a son, and I had a daughter, and that together you pair would have it all. Together we would build something that would last longer than us, longer than you and Tommy, longer than your children.” His tone has changed now, where before he was defensive, now he’s accusatory. “We paved the way for the both of you, Tommy stepped up. Tommy became a man. Tommy learned the ropes. What have you done other than sulk and feel sorry for yourself? You could do a lot worse in this life than inherit an empire.”
I’m momentarily stunned, because this is the first time he’s told me explicitly in words what he thinks of me, and what he thinks of Tommy. “It’s not always about money, Dad. Look at what it’s done to Mum? Look at what it’s done to me?”
He stares me straight in the face and when he speaks, he barely moves. “It’s not about money for you because you’ve always had plenty of it.”
I watch him for a moment, sitting there still as a rock, looking at me with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. And then he turns away and goes back to flicking through the channels, and I know he’s ended the conversation.
Is he right though? Tommy said something similar, and I was convinced he was wrong. I’m not spoiled. I’m a victim. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for it… but maybe a part of me enjoyed it without even knowing it. Maybe I am just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s staring her in the face.
I’m not naïve enough not to
know that this goes on in the world all the time. People are arranged to marry. I’m not the first, I won’t be the last. At least Tommy is my age. At least he is young and in good health. At least I’m attracted to him.
But why am I aiming for “at leasts”? Just because it does happen, doesn’t mean it’s right.
“I’m going to bed, goodnight Dad,” I say, picking up my things and leaving the room.
“Aye. I’ll not be far behind you,” he shouts after me, but I’m already at the bottom of the stairs.
Good.
104 Braeburn Terrace. It’s 00.07, slightly late but his keys weren’t in the bowl in the entrance hall like normal. They were in the kitchen. My heart was hanging out of my arse for a good few moments while I looked for them, but I’m here. I’m nervous as hell, scared it won’t work, terrified that it will work… but I’m here, as promised.
I switch the lights off on the car so I don’t draw attention to myself in the street, and a minute later I see Kieran Townsley slip out of his house, wearing black jeans and a black hoody.
“You’ve got the key?”
That’s the first thing he says to me. Not “how are you doing,” no fannying about. Just straight to the point.
I like that.
“In the glove box,” I tell him, nodding while I switch the lights back on and pull the car away. “Did you get everything sorted at your end? The security cameras? The alarm system?”
Kieran nods. “I was in there at the weekend looking for a birthday present for my mum. That’s why we had to wait. I had to check out what I was dealing with and I couldn’t do it on the same day. It’s sorted now though… I know where the cameras are pointing, and I have an override code for the alarm system. And a balaclava,” he says, nodding his head down to the backpack resting on my trainers at his feet.
I made sure to have trainers this time, in case I have to run again. Still couldn’t bring myself to drive in them though, it felt weird even trying.
“Okay,” I say, smiling. “And… thank you. I appreciate what you’re doing for me, I know you don’t have to.”
I watch him in the corner of my eye while he shrugs. “I wanted to.”
Kieran tells me to park the car across the street, just along a little from where my dad’s shop is located. Apparently there is CCTV outside the jewelers, and the electronics shop two doors down, so parking here avoids those places.
“Leave the engine running,” he tells me as he gets out of the car. “I won’t be long.”
I seriously hope he’s not because my heart is already hammering. I’ve never done anything illegal before, unless you can count doing 78mph on a motorway to overtake a lorry.
There’s a lump in my throat and an even bigger one in my stomach.
He disappears across the road and I watch him head around the back of the shop. Then I look around, even though I don’t know what I’m looking for. A passing police car? A pedestrian? Any car that’s driving too slowly for the time of night?
Imagine Tommy drives passed?
Why do I always do this to myself? The all too familiar sick game my mind plays where I think of the worst possible thing that could happen, and I linger on it.
What would he do? The last time, he wanted to leave me overnight, tied to a post on a freezing cold beach while the tide came in. I don’t think for a second he would have let me drown, but he would have made me suffer. He would have made me beg.
What the fuck will he do if he realizes he gave me my car back, and I’m using it against him. I’m robbing my father’s business, the business that will one day be his — ours, and I’m using it to ensure that it never will be.
What would he do?
I try to stop thinking about it and I turn the radio on instead, hoping it’ll be a distraction. I listen to the advertisements with my eyes fixed on the spot where Kieran should appear any time now. The alarm isn’t going off. I don’t hear any sirens. These are all good signs.
Maybe it’s going to be okay?
After what feels like an eternity, Kieran appears from the corner of the building and my heart soars. I sit up on my seat and put the car in gear, flicking the radio off and unlocking the doors. He jogs across the road, looking both ways and I’m already pulling the car out before his arse even hits the seat.
“Did you do it? What happened?” I can’t help myself. I’m half watching the deserted road in front of me and half looking at him, trying to see if I can gauge an answer from his face.
He looks… happy? Not happy exactly. Smug.
“I did it. There wasn’t any cash, like you’d hoped. But I took enough to ensure you’ll never have to marry that cunt. I have a guy coming to my house tomorrow.”
“You already have a buyer sorted?” I glance over and he looks at me, nodding.
This is good. I wanted cash, but that was because I thought we’d have problems selling the stuff. If someone buys it tomorrow, then it’s not an issue.
“I’ll come over again tomorrow, same time?” I ask him. I can have a bag ready and make Kieran’s house the last stop before I leave.
My dad will notice he’s been robbed tomorrow morning, and all hell is going to break loose. I’ll go to school, then I’ll go straight to Lawrie or Ada’s before going to Kierans. Whatever I do, I’ll avoid the house. That way I don’t have to be around for it.
“That’s fine. I’ll text you and let you know when it’s done… slyly, obviously. Just in case,” he says.
He’s smart like that. “Yeah… say it’s like… the newsletter or something.”
We exchange numbers when I stop the car outside his house, and he gets out, sprinting up his driveway before slipping into his house.
I sit there for a minute watching him and wondering if there will ever be a time in my life when all my hopes and dreams don’t lie in the hands of a man I barely know or trust.
Chapter 19
TOMMY
I’ve barely seen her all week, other than in the passing.
Doesn’t stop her invading my thoughts though. Even when I’m not intentionally thinking about her, she’s there in my head the whole time, like a silent presence waiting in the shadows for me to acknowledge it.
When I returned her keys, she made it clear she wanted space, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve kept away from her completely. No texts. No lifts to or from school. No turning up at her house.
I miss her, though.
And my friends have noticed I’ve been a mopey bastard all week.
“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Jody says as we walk out to the car park after school.
I glance over at him, the corners of my mouth turning to a smile. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
Jody shrugs. “It’s what normal people do. You know, people who aren’t engaged before their tenth birthday. People who don’t start wars with their betrothed because they’re bored and rich.”
I can’t help laughing at him. “That’s not what happened and you know it. My hate was genuine.”
Jody shrugs. “And now it’s gone, just like that. You like her.”
I shake my head. “I don’t like her. I like the idea of her. I like fucking her. Doesn’t mean I want to go all out with rose petals and candlelit dinners. She wouldn’t want that, anyway.”
I think I’m lying to him, but since I can’t be 100% sure it doesn’t feel like a lie. I do like the idea of her and I enjoy fucking her. There’s still a big part of me that doesn’t trust her. And if I did put myself out there with flowers in the pouring rain, she’d probably throw it back in my face.
That would hurt.
I’m not someone who gets hurt.
“What else you going to do tonight? She’s right there, go and fucking speak to her. I can’t deal with your sour-faced moods all weekend.”
I look over in the direction Jody was nodding and see her standing with Lawrie and Ada. She must feel my eyes on her because she glances up and catches me watching.
Our eye
s lock and something shifts in my stomach.
What the fuck is happening to me.
But I do miss her. I do want to speak to her.
Before I’ve even made the conscious decision, my feet are moving in her direction. She excuses herself from the group and comes to meet me halfway.
Thank fucking god, because I’ve no clue what excuse I would have made if I’d had to do it in front of Lawrie and Ava. I mean Ada.
We stand there face to face and I don’t know what to say.
“How have you been?” she says, cool as a fucking cucumber.
How have I been? If only you knew the half of it, princess.
Small talk is for pansies.
“Come out with me tonight,” I tell her. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact.
“I was going straight to Lawrie’s after school… we’re going to get some food and…”
She lets her voice trail off, probably remembering what happened the last time she told me she was going to Lawrie’s house for food.
“Fine.” I tell her. “We’ll go out this afternoon and I’ll have you back for your food by dinner time. Pick you up at 2pm,” I tell her. It’s 12.15pm now, thank god for half-day Fridays. Two hours for a shower and a shave, four hours with her, and then she can have her girls night or whatever it is she’s doing. Everyone wins.
She nods her head and I turn and go back to my car, passing by Jody and his smug bastard grin, I shoulder him.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
No… but the asking was the easy bit.
Her car is parked on the street outside Lawrie’s house and half of me is tempted to get out and peer into the back seats, just to make sure there’s not a packed bag sitting on them.
But I need to stop being an idiot.
She’s had the car all week; if she was going to run she would have done it on Monday night.
And she wouldn’t be sleeping with me, or letting me take her out on dates.
