by Raquel Lyon
“A couple of months now. She’s something, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.” She was something, all right, but Kendrick had yet to determine what. It hadn’t been his intention to talk about Yvonne. She wasn’t the girl who interested him, so he tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “She’s friends with Molly, isn’t she?”
Rhys readied to take a shot. “What of it?”
“Molly’s pretty hot. Why don’t you give me the low-down?”
Straightening up to watch the balls settle, Rhys said, “Not your type, bud.”
“Try me.”
“She’s not into the scene, man. Yvy drags her around ‘cause they’re friends from way back, but Molly always has that face that says she’d rather be anywhere else.”
Yeah, he’d seen that look. “So how come she ended up with Barbie?” With one shot, two balls flew into pockets.
“You know him. He sees something he wants; he takes it.”
“But they’re not a couple?” It wasn’t that Kendrick didn’t believe Molly, but somehow he needed the confirmation.
“Does it matter? If Barbie has his eye on her, he’ll find a way to get her.”
Not if I have anything to do with it.
Pulling his phone from his jacket, Kendrick noted the time, as he waited for Rhys to take his turn. Eight forty. Hmm. Perhaps his charm was wearing off, and Molly actually wasn’t interested in him? The thought stabbed at his insides. Why did he care? She was only a girl. It wasn’t as if there weren’t any more. Why was he letting this one get to him? He bent down to line up another shot. So you’ve been stood up. So what? The ball bounced off the cushion and onto the floor. Fuck. Now she was affecting his game too. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”
“Not a clue. Our paths only cross in the college canteen.”
“Oh? What’s she studying?”
Rhys paced around the table, contemplating his next move. “All this digging ain’t gonna make her a better bet,” he said, finally making a decision.
“Subject?”
“Something to do with music.”
That figured. The arts classes took place in a totally different part of campus to the vocational ones. No wonder he’d never seen her around.
The last ball dropped into the bowels of the table as Johnny appeared.
“Thanks for the game,” Rhys said, “but I gotta get going. See you around, bud.”
Johnny leaned in as he watched him leave. “Mate of yours?”
“Nah. Just some loser.”
“From where I’m standing, it looked like you were.”
“So I lost. Don’t rub it in,” Kendrick said, placing the cue in the rack. “I hope you did too.”
Johnny patted the breast of his jacket. “Nope.”
“Aw, bro.” Kendrick sighed and shook his head. “What have you done?”
Chapter Eight
Molly
Sitting in the college canteen, Molly stared at the bottle of water she’d refilled from the tap, that morning, thinking. Had she done the right thing by staying home last night? Her heart was dying to see Kendrick again, but her head knew that, even if he could get past her constant cuts and bruises, it would be stupid to start anything destined to end in disappointment. Relationships would have to wait for a different life. Not that Kendrick was the type to have relationships, and she wasn’t into one-night stands. Still, she couldn’t help imagining how the evening might have gone.
Meeting Kendrick had stirred up feelings she’d thought she had under control, but now they’d crept back into her dreams. All night, visions of being in his arms and of his lips descending upon hers, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes firm and demanding, had filled her every sleeping and awake moment. Of course, she knew what it felt like to kiss a boy. In the years when her mother was still around, her relationships had been the same as any other teenage girl. Only circumstances had put a stop to any desire she might have had of having anything more permanent. She longed to be normal, to be part of a normal couple, but she had to stay focused. Concentrating on her studies and securing a good job was the only way she could escape her present life, and maybe get her father the help he needed. It wasn’t his fault he was like he was, and she hadn’t lost faith he could be fixed, but it was getting harder to picture it with every day that passed.
“I hope you’re not on a diet.” Yvonne’s voice startled her from her daydreaming. “If there were any less of you, you’d waste away.”
“No. I’m not that hungry,” Molly lied. In truth, she had yet to buy the groceries, and the scrambled egg tea followed by her late night craving for toast had ensured the cupboard was well and truly bare by morning, and she wasn’t about to waste what little money she had on canteen prices.
Yvonne sat down in the opposite chair and peeled open her sandwich, before looking up. “Fuck.” She gasped. “What happened this time?”
“Huh? Oh.” Molly’s hand shot to her mouth. “I was putting the rubbish out, in the dark. I walked into a branch.”
“You know, you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met, always tripping over and bumping into things.”
And you believe it every time. She considered, for the millionth time, confiding in Yvonne, but as usual, the words wouldn’t come.
“Maybe you should see a doctor? You might have some sort of balance disorder.”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t have a balance disorder. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look fine,” Yvonne said, her sarcasm evident, as she stared at the cut a little longer than necessary. “Listen. I have a favour to ask you.”
“Sure. I’ll cover for you. Are you staying over at Rhys’s again?”
“No. It’s not that.”
Molly picked at the label on her bottle, as the aroma drifting over from Yvonne’s sandwich made her tummy rumble. “Well, you know I’m broke, so if you’ve got your eye on another baby upgrade, you’re out of luck on the loan front.”
“Now who’s being silly? You know I’d never ask you for money. Could you just listen for a minute?”
“Fine. Go on.”
“I need to make a video for my coursework,” Yvonne said through a mouth stuffed with bread and tuna.
“So?”
“A music video.”
“And you need my help, how?”
“I need your music. Well, one song, anyway.”
Mine? No way! She couldn’t be serious. “Oh, no. No, I’m sorry,” Molly said, shaking her head, “but I don’t want everyone listening to my stuff.”
“Aw, please. Mr Bennett said we’d get a better mark if we used a song that didn’t already have a video made for it.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. My songs are all notes on scraps of paper, anyway.”
“Not the one you did for your coursework. You had to record that one.”
“Yeah, I know, but…”
“Pleeease. Don’t you want me to get a good grade?”
“Of course, I do. It’s just that… Well, that song is personal.”
“And I promise to treat it with extra special care.”
“You haven’t even heard it.”
“Yes, I have. A couple of weeks ago, you were practising it when I came round to pick you up. In fact, you were so loud, I think the whole street heard it.”
Molly buried her head in her hands. “Oh, God. What must people think?”
“That you’re great. Like I do. Have I sucked up enough, yet?” Yvonne slid the other half of her sandwich over the tabletop and under Molly’s nose. “How about a bribe?”
Molly stared at the triangular packet, before snatching at the contents and taking a huge bite. “This is taking the best friend thing too far, you know.”
“I know, but you’re going to say yes, right?”
Her stomach groaned with thanks. “This sandwich is very persuasive.”
“Great!” Yvonne tilted her head and bit her lip. “There’s jus
t one more thing.”
“Such as?”
“I need you to sing too.”
Molly almost choked on her last mouthful, but managed to swallow it just in time. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve already shot some basic scenery stuff, but I need someone to mime the lyrics,” Yvonne said. “It’s your song. Who else would I ask?”
“I can’t. I’m not an actress.”
“I don’t need an actress. I need a singer, and besides, I’ve seen the way you dance. It’s perfect for what I have in mind. You’re not working tonight, are you?”
“Tonight?” Molly wiped her mouth and winced slightly when her fingers ran across her burst lip. “No, but I look a mess.”
“It’s nothing a dab of concealer and some airbrushing won’t fix. I’ll pick you up at ten.”
“It’ll be going dark by ten.”
“Exactly.” Yvonne retrieved her bag from beside the chair and stood up. “I’d better get going. Class starts in five. Ten o’clock. Don’t forget.”
Molly sighed and ran a finger around the inside of the empty packet to retrieve a couple of stray bits of tuna. What the hell had she just agreed to?
Chapter Nine
Kendrick
One dice with death was clearly not enough for Johnny. As far as Kendrick was concerned, returning to the game tonight was nothing short of madness. Around these parts, there were only two reasons anyone entered that back room: a rite of passage to prove you weren’t afraid of the famous Schofield brothers, and stupidity. There were far safer ways to pad your wallet, even if they were harder to come by. Johnny must have had some sort of brain freeze to think he could make his fortune in there.
Talking of which… Leaning against the bar, he pulled out his phone and checked his most recent text. According to the message, Liam should be arriving right about—
A hand fell heavily on his shoulder and a familiar face peered over it. “Missed me so much you need to have my words burned onto your eyes?”
“Just eager to know the details of the job, bud.”
“Yeah.” Liam drew out the word. “About that. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit longer. I don’t have them myself yet,” he said, shaking the rain from his sandy locks. “All I can tell you is, Barbie knows someone waiting for a flashy import in need of a rush job.”
Barbie? Fuck. “You could have mentioned we’d be working for him.”
“It’s not for him. He just gave me the lead. Work’s work, isn’t it? Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”
“No. No problem.” Apart from the fact, even the mention of Barbie’s name got him riled up, and if it wasn’t for his pressing need for money, he’d tell Barbie exactly where to stick his lead.
Pete stubbed his cigarette into an ashtray near Kendrick’s elbow. “Table six is free, if you’re looking for a game while you’re waiting.”
Liam eyed Kendrick suspiciously. “Waiting for what?”
Kendrick shrugged. “Johnny’s in the game.”
“Is he now? Initiation?”
“Return visit.”
“Sucker for punishment, huh? You know, if he’s got money to burn, I hear Paul’s looking for a buyer for his Toyota.”
Kendrick slammed the beer mat he’d been twirling in his fingers onto the bar. “Aw, man. Seriously? That’s a sweet ride. It’d be perfect for me. Man, it blows being skint.” A swirl of smoke blew across Kendrick’s vision as he spoke. The fucking barman chain smoked like it was going out of fashion.
“You want the table, or not?” Pete asked.
Attempting to keep his frustration under control, Kendrick cocked a chin at Liam’s companion. “Rhys. Fancy a rematch?” A slice of payback might just calm his mood.
Rhys scratched the skin behind his ear. “Nah, man. I only came to pass on some information.”
“Information that might lead to me having some cash in my back pocket?” he said irritably.
“Information as to the whereabouts of a certain lady.” Rhys winked.
Kendrick shook his head at Pete to decline his offer. This was more like it. Something he actually wanted to hear. Pausing to take a cigarette from its packet and light it—when in Rome, and all that—he said, “I’m listening.”
“She’s at Crown Point.”
What the fuck? He’d expected some information to make him feel better, not work him up further. There was only one reason anyone went to Crown Point, and it wasn’t to check out the scenery. If that bastard, Barbie, had somehow got Molly to agree to go there with him, he’d… he’d… Kendrick’s body stiffened, as he asked, “Who with?”
“Yvonne.” Rhys grinned. “I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had to work on her assignment. When I said we could study together, she told me where she was going.”
“It's not a fucking library up there.”
“Yeah, puzzled me, too. But she said she was shooting a video with Molly.”
Liam suppressed a laugh. “A video? At Crown Point? What is it, a porno movie? Might be difficult to get a decent shot through the steamed-up windows.”
“You’d know, Mr Home Movie,” Kendrick said.
“Hey, don’t dis the wank bank,” Liam laughed, “and give me the low-down on this chick who’s got your nuts in a vice. Who’s Molly?”
Before Kendrick could say a word, Rhys chipped in, “Only the girl Barbie’s been itching to pork, too.”
Liam’s smile remained fixed as his eyebrows rose. “Must be some chick, but seriously, dude. You gotta enjoy disappointment. That… or a kick in the head.”
“It’s not a big deal. You know me,” Kendrick said. Liam might be his mate, but no need to divulge how much of a deal getting to know Molly was becoming.
“Yeah, I do. Fuck anything in a skirt that offers you a smile.”
Rhys nudged Kendrick’s shoulder. “You’re the man.” His simplistic enthusiasm was beginning to grate on Kendrick’s nerves.
“Maybe you should mark this girl down as one challenge to give a miss,” Liam said. “Your dick’ll forgive you when it’s presented with an alternative.”
His dick probably would; his heart, on the other hand, was screaming to see her again. “Either of you two losers brought wheels?”
Chapter Ten
Molly
Hoping Yvonne had changed her mind, Molly surveyed the meagre contents of her wardrobe. What the hell was she supposed to wear for a music video? Yvonne hadn’t requested she wear anything in particular, so it probably didn’t matter. But still, if this thing was going on permanent record, she didn’t want to look a complete hobo. She thought about her song—a mixture of melancholy verses and I don’t-give-a-shit choruses, written after a particularly bad bout of her father’s state two. It was a fuck-you song that deserved a fuck-you outfit. Taking out her denim skirt and noticing a small stain on the front, she quickly hung it back up. The day had been overly warm with a cloying humidity the rain hadn’t shifted, and denim was too thick anyway. What she needed was something to keep the air flowing. So opting for comfort over style, she pulled on a loose, sleeveless T-shirt, long enough to be a dress, and found a pair of heels without too many scuffs. At least, if the camera dropped from her face, her legs would look good.
Deciding to leave her hair down, she dabbed foundation over her cut, added an extra layer of mascara, and stared at her reflection.
Deep breaths, Moll. You can do this. She’s your friend. Your only friend. You have to do it for her. Just pretend you’re someone else. It can’t be that hard.
The sound of the window scraping open jolted her from her inner monologue. “We do have a door, you know,” she said out loud.
“I know,” Yvonne said, climbing through, “but then your dad would give me the evils and act as if I was dragging you out to work the streets, or something. I swear he doesn’t like me much.”
“Don’t sweat it. He doesn’t like anyone much.”
Yvonne sat on the bed and leaned over to rest her head on her elbow. “
He’s getting worse, Moll. Surely, you must see that?”
“It’s depression. Mum leaving hit him bad, and then losing his job… He needs help, but he won’t see anyone, and I can’t force him to.”
Molly could feel Yvonne’s gaze burning into her cheek, but she didn’t meet her eye, as she searched her bedside drawer for the disc holding her song, and found it between numerous scraps of discarded lyrics. Looking down at the shiny circle, she steered the conversation away from her father. “How long is this going to take?”
“Why? Have you got a hot date I don’t know about?”
“Of course not. I was only wondering.”
“Well, it depends. I mean, I only need a couple of minutes of film for the end product. I’d say maybe half a dozen takes from different angles should do it. It’d be great to get the basics done tonight. The deadline’s Friday, and I’ll need a few days to edit.”
“Okay. Let’s get it over with, then.” Molly grabbed her phone from the dressing table and wrapped the headphones around it. “Do I look okay?”
“Like a doll.”
“I hope you don’t mean the blow-up kind.”
Yvonne jumped up. “Nope. The porcelain kind. You’ve such great skin. I’m so jealous.”
“Thanks. It takes a lot of work to look this pasty.”
“I wouldn’t say pasty. Pale, maybe, but not a single zit in sight. Like a perfect English Rose.”
“Hmm. Well, don’t get too close with the camera, or I’ll look like a ghost.”
“Actually, the tortured-soul look works for me. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Molly said, pushing Yvonne through the open window. “I’ll meet you outside.”
Managing to sneak past her father, sitting with his eyes glued to the television, she was almost at the door when he shouted, “Where do you think you’re going, dressed like a tart?”
“I’ve worn this T-shirt, loads of times, and you’ve never commented before.”
“You weren’t flashing half your tits and ass to the neighbourhood before,” he said, burping loudly.
