Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1)

by Gina Dickerson

  I noticed Mr Cool lean back in his chair and cross one leg over the other, trouser leg rising to show a glimpse of leg above his sock. I found it weirdly sexy. It was hard to focus on the matter in hand when all I wanted to do was rub mine over Mr Cool.

  Daughter shrugged and I tried to frown without unattractively creasing my face. Difficult. ‘I’m really cross,’ I told her.

  Daughter fidgeted. ‘I didn’t want to eat my sandwich crusts. Miss James told me to eat them because you’d be angry if I didn’t. She said she was going to stand there until I ate them. Even if I had to stay all lunch time. So I used the F-word because I was mad at her.’

  ‘I’ve already reprimanded her,’ said Mr Cool. ‘This is serious, if it happens again it will be put onto her permanent record. I’ll have to internally exclude her but it will remain off-record this time.’ He rose from his seat.

  ‘I understand.’ I stood to meet him.

  ‘Collect your bags,’ Mr Cool instructed Daughter.

  While Daughter sloped off, Mr Cool held out his hand once again. ‘We’ll have to keep in contact to stamp out this behaviour,’ he said, still holding onto my hand. ‘I understand this is a difficult time for you.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Mr Cool released my hand and showed me to the door. ‘Your daughter told me she spent last night with her father in his new house.’

  ‘Oh, did she?’

  ‘And he wasn’t the only one there,’ said Mr Cool pointedly.

  ‘I won’t let it affect her schooling,’ I replied stiffly.

  ‘I wasn’t implying that. If you need to talk, Saze.’ Mr Cool’s voice lowered and I liked the way my name sounded as he said it. ‘I’m a good listener.’

  I walked out of his office on feet of air and a bubble of hopeful elation carried me home but promptly burst once I entered the kitchen to find the cooker had disappeared.

  15:10

  I sent Daughter to her room before she could realise anything was wrong and was in the middle of speed dialling Mr Him when a key turned in the lock. The door swung open and Mr Him sauntered in, accompanied by three younger men whom I recognised from his work place.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Mr Him asked in amazement.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I shot back.

  The other men looked uncomfortable. ‘You’re supposed to be working,’ Mr Him accused. ‘I’ve come for my stuff.’ His stubbly chin jutted out.

  ‘You said you’d collect it at the weekend.’

  ‘I need it,’ said Mr Him. ‘Sam’s staying over tomorrow night.’

  ‘The two girls will be sharing a room, will they? Have they a bed each or do you expect them to share?’ I snarled.

  ‘Piss off, Saaayze,’ Mr Him retaliated. ‘You’re an argumentative bitch.’

  I wanted to murder him with his lying tongue. I wondered: was it possible to strangle someone with their own tongue… hmmm probably not, Mr Him’s was far too fat, it’d be easier to ram it down the back of his throat. ‘You should’ve arranged with me when you can come in.’

  ‘It’s my stuff!’

  ‘What a bitch!’ interjected a voice from the hallway.

  Anger turned me around to face the three helpers. ‘Pardon?’

  The Insulter turned a vibrant shade of puce and stared at his trainers.

  ‘Well?’ I kept my voice low.

  The Insulter sent pleading looks to his co-helpers.

  ‘We’re just having a laugh,’ offered another.

  ‘At my expense and while you’re in my home? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you helped yourselves to my food.’

  The third one shrugged and attempted to shove a half-eaten muffin into his pocket. ‘Ain’t anything to do with us. We’re helping out a mate.’

  ‘Well, keep your opinions to yourselves.’ I pointed at The Insulter. ‘And you can get out.’

  Mr Him reached me in four bounds. ‘Don’t pick arguments with my mates.’ His spittle stung my cheek. ‘Shut the fuck up!’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do!’

  Mr Him’s face contorted, his brows knitted together and his eyes narrowed to flint shards. ‘SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.’

  I shrank back from his darkness. ‘You’ll upset our daughter.’

  ‘What’s she doing home at this time?’ His face loomed closer.

  I explained to him briefly and told him I’d ask Mr Nice to look after Daughter because I didn’t want her witnessing her father in such a temper.

  ‘You’re shagging him, aren’t you?’ Mr Him questioned with a snarl.

  I laughed. ‘Why would you even care? You’re shagging his wife.’

  The men had already loaded the chair into their van, which was conveniently parked outside the main door, on the “Keep Off The Grass” frontage. Signs obviously did not apply to house-clearance thieves. They were mid process of removing the kitchen table and chairs whilst Mr Him was stuffing things into a large box in the lounge when I returned from depositing Daughter with an accommodating Mr Nice.

  ‘Finished?’ I peered into the box Mr Him had filled to the brim. ‘And that’s mine.’ I pointed at the CD in his hand. I rifled through the box, alleviating him of half a dozen CDs and three DVDs.

  ‘God, Saaayze, do you ever stop moaning?’

  ‘And that album’s mine.’

  Mr Him looked at the disc in his hand. ‘I arranged for the local radio to play this song for you.’

  ‘But it’s MY CD! You’ve taken everything else. Put the CD down.’

  ‘Is it any wonder I got bored with your moaning?’

  ‘Put the CD DOWN!’

  Mr Him tossed it to the floor. ‘Grow up, there’s no need to shout.’

  I bristled. ‘Grow up? You’ve taken the cooker away from your child.’

  ‘I paid for it. It’s mine. You earn more than me; you can afford a new one.’

  ‘While taking out a loan to pay the twenty grand to you? Actually I’ll be working part time soon.’ I didn’t add the money was better.

  ‘I won’t pay you a penny more than I’m supposed to,’ Mr Him replied in an uppity voice. He closed the box. ‘Just because you’ve decided to be a lazy cow and work less.’

  I envisioned the box having guillotine flaps, perfect for shoving his inconsiderate head into. ‘A penny would be better than what you’ve paid so far. Have you always been so selfish?’

  Mr Him rolled his eyes. ‘Kelly told me you’d try to screw me for everything.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with her!’

  Mr Him nodded. ‘Is.’

  ‘OUR daughter has nothing to do with that whore!’ The words gushed like vomit from my throat.

  Mr Him’s hands grabbed my arms in an iron-like grip. ‘Don’t call her names.’

  ‘What you going to do? Hit me? You’re such a hard man, aren’t you?’

  Mr Him laughed. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Call the police on me?’

  I wrenched myself from his grip. ‘Get out and keep your tart out of matters involving my child.’ I screamed as Mr Him’s fist crashed into the wall next to my head, biting into the plaster.

  ‘I’m warning you.’ Mr Him slammed his hands either side of my cowering head. ‘Say another bad thing about her and I’ll rip your fucking head off. Got it?’ His nose pressed against mine, his eyes swirling pools of black anger.

  I didn’t dare breathe, his weight pinning me against the wall terrified me. ‘Leave,’ I whispered. ‘Get out.’

  Mr Him moved his hands from the wall and dropped them onto my shoulders. ‘Don’t mess with me, Saze. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

  Heat radiated from his palms. Hot scald tracks marked their ascent from my shoulders to my throat. Thick fingers slowly squeezed. I gasped, clawing at his hands, and he laughed.

  ‘Apologise.’ His fingers tightened, his eyes seemingly dancing with relish.

  I couldn’t swallow properly, my neck bulged. ‘I apologise,’ I managed to utter the words.

>   With a smirk, Mr Him lowered his hands and squeezed my breasts hard. He laughed before letting go. Lifting the box into his arms, he headed for the front door.

  ‘Key,’ I said, holding out a shaky hand.

  ‘You haven’t bought me out yet.’

  I heard the footsteps of the upstairs neighbour in the corridor above and realised the front door to the flat was open, all I had to do was shout and there would be a witness. Emboldened I refused to give in and kept my palm outstretched.

  Mr Him stalked down the hall and threw the key back towards me. ‘Shove it up your arse!’ he screamed. ‘You fucking self-righteous bitch.’

  Posted: 16:10 4 Sazements

  SxyGrrl: I’m packing my weekend bag and reading this on my phone! That bastard has made me mad!

  GeoffBD: Let me send a solicitor to you to wipe the floor with that weasel. “SxyGrrl”, the car can be with you in an hour.

  SukIt: U deserv 2 hav ur head smashed against the wall. Ur the skank whore. U putting it out all over the place.

  GeoffBD: Good afternoon, “SukIt”. Is that your doorbell? What’s that, can’t reply because you’re answering the door? Not quite so foul mouthed now are you?

  ***

  Saturday, 2nd March 2013

  Saturday’s Sorrow.

  Daughter jangled her key as she hung it up on the hook in the hall above the dresser. ‘Can I have breakfast? Sam’s dad only had brown bread,’ she shouted. ‘Brown bread is gross.’

  I finished combing my curls and raised my voice so she could hear me, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute!’ Quickly, I pulled on my jeans and a sweater.

  Daughter’s footsteps padded down the hall to the kitchen. Cupboard doors opened and closed. ‘Waarrghhh!’

  Fearing an impalement or severed body part, I ran from my bedroom to the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong?’ I peered worriedly at the floor expecting twitching fingertips.

  ‘Someone’s stolen the cooker!’ Daughter pointed at the gap in the kitchen units, her eyes wide and bewildered. ‘And the kitchen table!’

  ‘Your father’s taken them.’

  ‘But how are you going to cook?’

  ‘I’ll buy a new cooker.’

  ‘But I wanted cheese on toast now!’

  ‘I can pop some bread in the toaster,’ I offered. ‘Or there are the rolls I made yesterday.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Daughter stomped through to the lounge. ‘Where’s Dad’s chair?’

  I followed. ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘But he already has a leather sofa and a chair just like that,’ Daughter said in confusion. ‘He has a cooker in the kitchen, it’s in a cupboard and has three parts. One’s an oven, then there’s a grill, and the top bit for saucepans,’ Daughter continued. ‘It’s posh and shiny.’

  ‘Really?’ I couldn’t believe it.

  Daughter nodded. ‘Yeah, his kitchen is so big it has a sofa in it and four glass windows to the garden which fold back like a huge door.’

  ‘He needed a kitchen table though?’ I asked innocently. ‘He took our one.’

  ‘He has a table in the kitchen and it’s well nice but it’s not very big but it don’t matter ‘cos there’s a massive dining table in the dining room. You should see the telly in the lounge. It’s like a cinema screen!’ Daughter laughed, her eyes agog.

  ‘It sounds like he has a nice lot of stuff.’ What had he done with the furniture he had taken? Sold it or taken it to the tip?

  Daughter continued, ‘I have a cool bed and a desk and a chair!’

  ‘Do you and Sam have one each?’ I asked, knowing I shouldn’t.

  Daughter nodded again. ‘Yeah, we have exactly the same. We have a bed, a telly, a DVD player, and a laptop!’

  ‘Don’t you share a room?’

  Daughter shook her head. ‘No, we don’t share. I have a bedroom and so does Sam. Only Dad and Kelly share. Can I have a cheese roll for breakfast if I can’t have cheese on toast?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t realise your father’s house has three bedrooms.’ Jealousy twitched my lips. For some strange reason I wanted to laugh.

  Daughter skipped back to the kitchen, her response choking me. ‘It’s got four!’

  Posted: 09:10 8 Sazements

  GeoffBD: Unbelievable!

  Saze Monnivan: Hello, *wink wink* how was the date?

  SxyGrrl: The date was fantastic… we’re still on it I’ve posted a pic on my blog of the totally amazing shoes he bought me! (That’s not the only reason the date is going swimmingly!)

  GeoffBD: Let me send you my solicitor!

  Saze Monnivan: “GeoffBD”, you’re kind but we don’t even know each other! I’m pleased you’re both enjoying yourselves. Now get off my blog and go have fun!

  SukIt: Sorrey I wos rude.

  Saze Monnivan: “GeoffBD”, is that your influence? Makes me think your comment to “SukIt” yesterday wasn’t actually a joke.

  GeoffBD: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe it was a kid who had a case of guilty conscience, or his mum found out.

  ***

  Mr Him + Mr Dry = Headache.

  18:00

  I received text from Mr Him: “Will pick Daughter up at 7.”

  I thumbed in a quick response: “Call her and explain. She’s been ready for ages, no doubt excited about spending the night watching the big screen.”

  No return text from Mr Him but the landline rung and I assumed it was Mr Him from Daughter’s responses. How could he afford such a big house? I’d been a mug for allowing to him take all that he did. He took the things to hurt me. I tapped out another message on my phone.

  “I fancy a drink with you tonight… oh no, I just fancy you but a drink as well will do!”

  Before I could reconsider I clicked on send and off it flew to Mr Dry.

  19:15

  The buzzer rung continuously for what felt like an eternity.

  ‘It’s Dad!’ Daughter shouted happily. ‘I’ll answer it!’

  ‘All ready?’ I heard Mr Him ask. ‘Is your mother in?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Daughter replied. ‘She’s in the kitchen making meringues.’

  His voice sounded hopeful. ‘Are they finished?’

  ‘No, silly,’ Daughter said with a laugh. ‘She’s only just started and she’s got to take them next door ‘cos we haven’t got a cooker yet.’

  I switched on the whisk and obliterated their departure, wondering if a whisk would pass clean through Mr Him’s earhole and come out the other side.

  21:45

  After baking the meringues in Mr Nice’s oven, then filling them with cream and jam, I was bored. The flat felt lonely without Daughter in it. I’d tidied the lounge, the dining room, and my bedroom but I was restless. Mr Dry hadn’t responded to the text and I felt foolish for having sent it.

  It was drizzling when I stepped out into the night, although not particularly cold. The street outside was empty. I passed the darkened green over the road and turned towards the town. It wasn’t a long walk and I was in the town centre within twenty minutes, by which time the drizzle had turned to full-on rain.

  The town centre, in contrast to the area I lived in, was bustling. People huddled under the bus-shelters in the square opposite the library. The bars and restaurants that were still open all looked warm and welcoming as I passed them by. Outside some of them, smokers huddled in the doorways or under umbrellas, trying to keep out of the rain.

  Not having brought an umbrella with me, my hair was plastered to my head and water ran down my nose, dripping off the end. I stopped in front of “Viola’s” and studied my reflection in its glass frontage. What a mess. Close to the glass I could see inside. The place was busy and there didn’t appear to be any seats, not even at the bar. I thought about going inside, after all I used to work there. It would be easy to pop in and shake off my leather jacket, hang it on one of the hooks under the bar and order a glass of something nice. A cocktail maybe. My feet refused to move. I had stood in the same spot many, many times over th
e years, on the outside looking in. Hoping for a glimpse, just one look… I jumped as, inside, Smith moved through the throng of people and stopped opposite the windows. My heart beat furiously. As he began to move towards the door I ran over the road, not even stopping to look, and hid in the mouth of the alleyway opposite, shrouded in shadows.

  Smith stood on the pavement outside “Viola’s”, the rain soaking his white shirt, and looked up and down the street. I shrank back against the wall as he looked over towards the alleyway, afraid he could see me. He stood there for a long minute before turning and going back inside.

  I waited for a full ten minutes before working up the courage to sidle out of the alley’s shadows. Hurrying past “Viola’s” I didn’t dare look inside again. Rain plummeted from the dark sky but for that I was thankful; no-one would be able to see my tears.

  Posted: 19:50 0 Sazements

  ***

  Sunday, 3rd March 2013

  Sunday Sighing.

  11:30

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had laid in. I stretched to full star-shaped capacity without hindrance. Mid-stretch I decided the bed was too old and plain to feature in my new life. I wanted a sleek, modern bed.

  Mr Dry would look good in a trendy bed. My bed.

  There was not one text message on my phone. I wondered if it’d stopped working. I’d have to ask Mr Nice to send a test text message. On second thoughts that’s sad.

  11:45

  The buzzer interrupted me mid-coffee. Not wanting to have Mr Him inside the flat I made him wait outside and went to open the main door to the building.

  ‘You’re early,’ I said.

  Outside, the grey sky erupted into a rumble and drops of water pelted down.

  Mr Him turned up the collar of his coat and tried to huddle under the slight porch overhang. ‘You knew I was bringing her back at lunch. I’ll pick her up tomorrow evening.’ He kissed Daughter goodbye.

  I waited until Daughter was safely inside the flat. ‘At six?’