Jack & Kayla (Imperfect Love Series)

by Ruby Molloy

He flinches.

  I let myself out and close the door behind me. The corridor seems longer than usual, the light in the elevator more harsh. And outside, the traffic is deafening.

  Back home, the air in my apartment is stale. I fling open the windows, feeling empty, like I could float away on the breeze that’s tugging at the curtains.

  Chapter Six

  Hardcore

  KAYLA

  I don’t get offered the waitressing job. Turns out the restaurant is struggling and they have to let some of the existing staff go. They tell me this after I attend the interview. It feels like life is kicking me in the teeth. I need to go lick my wounds and I can’t think of anywhere better to do this than back home with mum.

  Traffic queues on the motorway prolong my journey. It takes almost six hours before I reach her apartment and it’s dark when I arrive. The block is a new build; a tower of brick and glass surrounded by lawns and trees, with views over the park.

  Mum still has a taste for Spain. Her sofas are dark oak with scrolled feet and luxurious burgundy upholstery. There are gold throws and tasselled cushions. And the huge oak dining table, that’s bigger than my bedroom in London, seats ten―twelve at a push.

  I offer up my key fob to the sensor and pull my suitcase through the lobby, its wheels leave a dull streak along the polished tiles. Guess that’s what happens when you buy cheap luggage.

  Mum’s apartment is on floor nine. There’s no floor ten, which means mum’s apartment is the penthouse. It has acres of space, a sunken living area, and an enormous wraparound terrace with views of the park and lake.

  I let myself in and call out, “I’m home.”

  Mum’s voice is rich with a lilt of Ireland. “In the study, Sweetie.”

  Of course. Where else would she be at ten o’clock on a Sunday night? I make my way down the hall and into the main living space. It’s dimly lit, lamps in every corner shedding a warm glow over wood and fabric. It’s beautiful and quaint, a more luxurious version of Grandma Sophia’s home in Spain.

  The light in the study is bright. Carpeted in forest green, it’s cosy though the oak desk is business-like being half-obscured with papers and text books. Mum’s dressed in soft navy PJs, her hair piled messily on top of her head, her signature tortoiseshell glasses perched halfway along her nose.

  “Hello, darling. Long journey?” She sounds happy, but tired.

  “You have no idea.”

  Her eyes are still on her laptop. I lean down to embrace her from behind, my chin resting on her shoulder as I gaze at the screen. “Hmm, legal jargon.”

  Her hands reach up to cup mine. “The worst kind of legal jargon, unfortunately. I’ll be working for another hour, I’m afraid, but there’s chicken casserole in the oven and a bottle of red on the side. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, I’m famished. I’ll let you get on. Talk to you later.”

  “Thanks Sweetie.”

  I know she has deadlines and clients that are in the worst kind of situations, persecuted in their own countries, seeking shelter in ours. She’s often their last hope and I know it takes its toll, but it’s also her passion.

  The smell in the kitchen is divine. I slip on the oven gloves, dish up the casserole―Spanish style with chicken thighs, chorizo and beans―and help myself to a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Aside from being a legal hotshot, mum’s a great cook and something of a wine expert.

  With my tray balanced on my lap, I turn on the TV, keeping the volume low. It’s a rerun of a quiz show; not a very good one, but that’s okay because not only am I eating my dinner and watching TV, I’m texting too. I have group messages from Frankie and Nora, making plans for their visit in a couple of weeks. Ella’s coming too. We’re going to hang out for the weekend and hit a bar or two. I need something to look forward to. Not that drinking the night away will fix my life or anything, but it’ll be a temporary reprieve if nothing else.

  I haven’t told them what happened between me and Boyd. I figure I need to move on and it’ll be easier without everyone knowing. Frankie would only end up telling Mason and it would get blown into something more than Boyd simply wanting to get laid.

  In quiet moments like this it hits home how much my life sucks; no job, no income. No Boyd.

  *****

  After three days of feeling sorry for myself I went out and found a job in a bar. There was only so much self-pity I could tolerate and lying in bed all day wasn’t helping, so I showered, ate a banana for breakfast and went job hunting. The bar’s decked out in more oak than mum’s apartment. Beams run across its ceilings, boards cover the floor joists and tables with ring stains pack out the huge square floor. It was an immediate start with training on the job and I don’t know if it was the surfeit of oak, but I felt at home right away.

  It’s loud and it’s hectic, with local bands playing their hearts out every night. I love it here. I love the friendly chaos and the rowdy customers. But the thing I love most is that it keeps me busy. I don’t have time to dwell on Boyd, to wonder if he’s missing me the way I miss him.

  When Frankie, Nora and Ella arrived two hours ago it was all I could do not to mention Boyd. I’m not sure what Boyd and I had exactly, but whatever it was, it was powerful and I guess I’m not going to forget him any time soon.

  Frankie and co are currently four rows back from the stage, watching the heavy metal band. The lead singer spends more time in the air than on the ground. It’s like an aerobic workout for metalheads. His clothes and long brown hair are damp with sweat and even his arms are glistening.

  I started my shift at two, which means I finish at ten. At which point I aim to catch up with the girls and do my absolute best to avoid any mention of Jack Boyd. Right now I’m serving a guy with a beautiful dark beard and several piercings, including black plugs. He’s hot. Hotter than the leader singer who thinks he’s God’s gift. Bearded guy pays with a note, but holds onto it when I go to pull it away.

  He leans over the bar and asks me my name.

  I think about brushing him off, but he’s hot and I need to move on. “Kayla.”

  He smiles and says, “Dougie.”

  “Hi, Dougie.”

  “You here all night?”

  “I’m working ‘til ten.”

  He leans in, eyes warm and mellow. Too mellow. He’s stoned. “Wanna meet up when you get off?”

  “Sorry, I’m meeting up with friends.”

  He rolls back slowly and straightens. “That’s a shame. Another time maybe.” He releases the note, brown eyes watching me. “Keep the change,” he says.

  I’m caught up in his eyes. He might be another Jono, but he’s beautiful. It takes me a while to snap out of the moment and put the cash in the till.

  The hours pass so fast I don’t know where they go. I never saw myself as someone who’d enjoy working behind a bar, but it’s fun. The staff are around my age, a fifty-fifty mix of guys and girls with just as many piercings as the regulars. The uniform consists of a black t-shirt with ‘Hardcore’ scrawled in white across the front. That’s the name of the bar. It kind of fits.

  When my shift ends, I grab my bag from out back and peer in the shabby mirror, reapplying my red lipstick. Done, I head out front.

  Ella has a drink waiting for me. It’s a garish-looking cocktail and I’m pretty sure I’ve not seen this one yet. “Thought you might want to catch up,” she says, “seeing as we’re on number four.”

  “Five,” corrects Frankie. The shortest and cutest of my friends, she’s a regular imp in adult clothes. She’s sweet and funny, the glue that holds us all together. Her journey back from sepsis has been a long one. She’s not drinking tonight, but Frankie doesn’t need alcohol to have fun.

  “Okay,” I say, staring down at my drink and back up at Ella. “You know my history with cocktails, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why d’you think we ordered The Bomb?”

  “Oh God, I can see how tonight’s gonna end. Just make sure I get home safe and don’t let me do a
nything embarrassing.”

  Frankie bumps my arm with her shoulder. “We’ll look out for you and you can always go back to Coke or something when you’re done.”

  I shoot her a look. “Uh, you know I have no willpower, right?”

  She laughs and pushes the cocktail towards me. “Go on. You only live once.”

  “You’re such a bad influence.” I raise my glass and toast the night ahead. The sound of clinking glasses gets lost under the pained wail of the lead singer. If he hadn’t been making that noise all night, I’d think someone had just squeezed his balls real tight. And even though it’s only an act, it still feels good to know someone else is suffering.

  I drink my cocktail too fast, after which the shots begin rolling on in. This, and the fact I skipped dinner, means I’m rapidly heading towards drunk. The dance floor is rammed but somehow we create enough space to dance. Frankie gets a guy dressed in black to take our photo with her phone. I can’t tell if it’s the photo or my eyes, but it looks blurry as hell.

  At some point Nora leads us back to the bar, chanting ‘more shots’. This, apparently, is tonight’s theme. I’ve had every kind, from sour to sickly-sweet. This one’s tequila and for some reason it seems like the best idea, ever. My memory gets a little foggy after that.

  I think I bump into the guy from the bar again―the one with the beautiful beard. Dougie, that’s his name! I think we slow dance and maybe he buys me a drink or two. Come the end of the night I’m in his arms on the dance floor and his hands are way too friendly. Frankie pulls me away and all four of us head back to mine in a cab. That’s pretty much all I remember.

  I wake with the mother of all hangovers. It’s kind of compulsory when you go to Hardcore and it’s not anything I haven’t been through before. The pounding quietens a little when I down a glass of water along with two ibuprofen. Frankie’s still asleep in the bed next to mine. I leave her be, knowing she needs the rest. She’s gained a little weight since she left hospital, but she’s still way too thin and there are faint purple bruises under her eyes. Ella and Nora are sitting round the kitchen table. It’s oak – surprise – and it’s currently covered with puffy pastries, fresh fruit and glasses of overly bright orange juice.

  I stare down at the feast in amazement.

  Ella waves a pastry in the air and says, “I love your mum.”

  “Me too,” agrees Nora, her words distorted by the wedge of melon she’s holding up to her mouth. “What a way to get over a hangover. This is so cool.”

  “Totally,” agrees Ella.

  “Is she home?” I never know with mum. It’s the weekend and she packs a hell of a lot into her Saturdays and Sundays.

  “Out running,” Ella confirms. “She left about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Okay, she should be home in an hour or so then.”

  Ella appears interested. “That’s some distance she covers.”

  “Yeah, distance is her thing. She runs about three marathons every year.”

  “And she’s how old?”

  I shrug. “Forty-seven.”

  “Wow, I hope I’m still running at her age. Can’t ever imagine giving it up. Do you run too?”

  “No, swimming’s my thing. I go almost every day when I can, but it’s been a while, working for Boyd and all.”

  “I love swimming too,” says Nora, as if it’s the most exciting thing ever.

  Ella barks out a laugh and strawberry juice runs pink down her chin.

  Nora glares behind her melon. “What? It’s true. Since Carred built the indoor pool I swim all the time.”

  “Really?” Ella eyes her doubtfully.

  “Yeah, really! That’s why he built the pool in the first place. He knew I loved swimming.”

  “He built you a swimming pool?” I ask, gobsmacked.

  “Yeah.” She smiles and shrugs. “What can I say? He kinda likes me.” She drops the melon onto her plate to reveal a face that’s saturated with happiness.

  It’s too much for my drink-raddled brain to handle. “Oh God, you’re one of those girls who have it all,” I groan. “Dating the lead singer of a rock band, living in luxury with an indoor pool at your disposal.”

  Nora laughs. “Yeah, that’s me and I love it.”

  Ella relaxes in her chair with a smug smile that I can’t help but acknowledge. “Yeah, you too, Ella, I know. And now Frankie.”

  “What about Frankie?”

  Our gazes swing to where Frankie’s making her way towards the table. She looks tired and I wonder if last night was too much for her. She’s dressed in her PJs and her curls are spiralling in every direction.

  “Oh my God, who laid on the feast?” She pulls out a chair and reaches for a Danish.

  Ella and Nora simultaneously ring out with, “Kayla’s mum.”

  “Hmmm, scrummy.” Her lips are now lined with cinnamon and crumbs of puff pastry. “How’s everyone feeling this morning?”

  “Fine,” says Nora.

  “Average,” says Ella.

  All three heads turn my way, waiting.

  “What?”

  “You have fun last night?” Ella asks, brown eyes twinkling.

  They’re swapping glances, grinning as if they know something I don’t. That’s when I think maybe they do. My memory of last night is hazy, to say the least. I know we stayed in Hardcore all night; I know I drank and danced, but after that, there’s nothing. “Oh God, what did I do?”

  “You might wanna check your phone,” Frankie suggests, ducking her head a little and scrunching up her nose. I can’t read her expression. What is that? Regret? An apology?

  I run to my room and fetch my phone. It takes a while to locate, but eventually I find it tucked up inside my pillow case. The LED is flashing blue. Sitting back down at the table I see that there are multiple notifications. I click on the first one. It clicks to a photo of me and a bearded guy, kissing. I glance up at their grinning faces, searching for clues. When nothing’s forthcoming I glance back down at the picture, memories from last night finally filtering through.

  “Dougie,” I say out loud.

  “Dougie,” they chant.

  Beneath the photo is a multitude of comments, a few of them crude. Thank God mum doesn’t use social media.

  “What does Jack’s comment mean?” asks Nora.

  “What?”

  “Jack. Here.” She takes my phone and scrolls down.

  Boyd’s comment reads: busy month.

  “Yeah, I wondered what that meant too. Is he insulting you?” Ella asks.

  I stare down at his words, each one imprinting on my brain like tiny lesions. “Something like that,” I say, staring at his profile picture, feeling hurt and hating myself for missing him.

  “Kayla?” My name filters through and I look up, startled. Frankie’s frowning, her gaze missing nothing. “What’s going on?”

  That’s the thing about having friends. There’s no hiding, no privacy.

  “Boyd and I ...”

  All three exchange rapid glances.

  “We, uh ...”

  Frankie’s gaze focuses back on me, her grey eyes suddenly fierce. “What’s he done?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t ...”

  “I don’t believe you, Kayla. It’s written all over your face.”

  I offer up a pathetic smile. Ella fills my glass with orange juice and holds it out to me as if it’s vodka.

  “Honestly, guys, nothing happened. Nothing much, anyway. We just kinda got tangled up, is all.”

  “Tangled up? As in physically?” Frankie asks.

  “No! Yes. Kind of.”

  “You had sex with Jack?!”

  “No, not sex. More like making out. It was good, but there were arguments and then in the end I think maybe he wanted more and I couldn’t give him that.”

  “More? As in sex more, or relationship more?” she asks.

  “I’m pretty sure he meant sex.” I lift my gaze, uncertain. “I haven’t forgotten how you told me he was a player.”r />
  Frankie appears flustered and her cheeks become pink. “I said that?”

  I lean back in my chair, a little shocked she’s forgotten. “Uh, yeah.”

  “When did I say that?” she asks a little desperately.

  “I don’t know. Months ago.”

  “Oh God!”

  “Jesus, I feel like I’m watching a soap.” Ella pours another glass of juice, pushing this one towards Frankie. “Don’t stop now. Keep going.”

  Frankie takes a swallow and looks at me, her words running fast when she says, “I can’t believe you remembered that. He changed, Kayla. Jack stopped sleeping around and quit the one night stands. Mason told me.”

  I feel light headed. “He did?”

  “When?” asks Ella.

  Frankie’s eyes grow round. “Around the time he first met Kayla.”

  A hush falls over the four of us, our gazes skipping from one to the other in rapid succession.

  Nora overrides it first by saying, “I think he likes you.”

  Frankie takes a quick swallow from her glass. “I know for a fact he does. He, uh ... he told me so.”

  Nora and Ella’s exclamations echo round the kitchen. “Keep going,” Ella urges.

  “It was the day Sid ...” Frankie looks up and we all nod encouragingly, each of us knowing this is difficult for her. “We were in the car, me and Jack, travelling to mine. Mason had to go to work and he didn’t want me on my own, not after the anonymous ‘bitch’ messages. Jack was pissed that he’d be spending the night babysitting me―it was his birthday and he’d planned a night out. I mentioned that Kayla would be coming over.” She glances my way. “I’d seen him watching you and I thought he was interested, but I wasn’t sure. He admitted it was true and I said I’d put in a good word for him. But then Sid ...” She trails off. We all know what Sid did to her. “I was going to tell you, but with everything that’s happened, it slipped my mind.”

  There’s a pressure inside my ears, as if they’re going to pop at any second. I rub my forehead trying to make sense of Frankie’s words. Boyd quit his one night stands because of me―maybe.

  Frankie clears her throat and says, “Uh, there’s more.”