by Lilly James
“That’s not a sight Evey wants to see in the morning.” Cheryl scowled at him.
“And getting woken up at half seven isn’t something I want to do on a Saturday morning, either,” he argued lightly, pulling out the chair from the kitchen table. I tried to sneak into the living room to get out of their argument, as it was way too early for it.
“Did you not see or hear your daughter last night?”
“Which one?” He stretched his arms above his head.
“Which one?” she shrieked. “Ella came home paralytic, and you slept right through it.”
“She did?” I questioned but was ignored.
“Well, you should have woke me up,” Kevin said. “I’ll see her when she gets up.”
“Not before I get to her, you won’t.”
I decided to take my tea upstairs and peeked into Ella’s bedroom. I saw her sprawled out under the duvet, her blonde hair scattered over her pillow. I didn’t hesitate to walk in and greet her. “So you got drunk last night?” I asked, slouching down at the end of her bed.
She sat up a little shaky and pulled her hair away from her pale face. “Hey, Evey. Mum said you were coming down.” She couldn’t look at me.
I took a sip of my tea whilst figuring out what to say. “Ella, you’re worrying your mum to death.”
She laughed at first, but when she saw I was serious, she wiped the smile from her face. “We were drinking four-pound cider. It’s lethal.”
Yelling at her wouldn’t make a difference, and it wasn’t my place since I wasn’t her mother, but I was disappointed. “Why are you suddenly drinking?”
She groaned, lying back down on the pillow. “You sound like Mum.”
I smacked her leg playfully. “I do not. I’m just worried about you.”
“We were at the park.”
I stopped myself from scowling and telling her how stupid that was, because who was I to tell her that? I would have been a complete hypocrite. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“My friends,” she mumbled, picking at the corners of her blanket.
“They don’t sound like friends to me if they’re letting you get in the state you did last night.” I took another long sip of my tea.
“They were drunk too. You should have seen Bradly. He was—”
“Wait, who’s Bradly?”
“My boyfriend.” She smiled dreamily but then panicked. “Please don’t tell my mum.”
“I won’t.” I was trying to keep an open mind and come across as casual. “And how old is this Bradly?” I took another sip of my tea.
She winced before telling me. “Nineteen.”
My blood shot to the temperature of my tea. He was nineteen? What the hell did he want with a sixteen-year-old girl?
Ella sat up abruptly and took hold of my arm. She knew I was consumed in calm rage by my facial expression.
“It’s only three years, Evey. Please don’t look like that.”
How could I not look pessimistic? “You haven’t slept with him, have you?” I crossed everything that could be crossed and mentally prayed she hadn’t.
“Not yet.”
I thought I was going to faint, and I wasn’t even her mother. I stood and carefully placed my tea onto her desk, then knelt beside her bed and took her cheeks into my palms. “Listen to me, Ella. Boys that age are only after one thing, and when they have it, they move on to the next girl. Please don’t feel you have to do this because the other girls you’re hanging around with are sleeping with boys or because he’s pressuring you.”
“It’s not like that.” Her teenage defence barrier came up, so I closed my eyes and wished I could give her every single ounce of my own knowledge.
“On very rare occasions it isn’t, but more than most, Ella, it’s exactly like that. You must do it when you’re completely ready, babe.”
“But I am,” she moaned, acting like I hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.
My heart sank as I sighed painfully. I wanted to find Bradly and rip his balls off.
I knew she wouldn’t listen to me, or anyone, so the least I could do was try and give her some advice, wanted or unwanted. “Then make sure you use protection, Ella, that’s all I ask. Because the next thing you know, you’ll have disgusting genital warts all over your foof and no one will want to go near you.”
Yes, that scared her a bit. Her mortified features told me she would definitely be using protection. “Are you serious?”
I wore the most deadpan expression I could manage. “Deadly.” Tenderly pushing her hair behind her ear, I sighed. “I know I’m not around as much as I used to be, but remember, you have my number if you need to talk.”
She smiled warmly and wrapped her arms around my neck. “You’re the best, Evey. Shall we go do something today?”
“You’re not doing anything for the rest of the year.” Cheryl barged into Ella’s room like a raging bull. Ella’s eyes widened at the intrusion of her mum, and I knew I had to step out of the room and not get in the middle of a mother-and-daughter argument.
By the time I got to my room I was hearing screaming from both parties. Soon, Kevin entered and tried to calm them down. I couldn’t believe the two youngest had slept right through it. I wish I did.
An hour later Cheryl discreetly called me into the kitchen. “I gave Ella a lecture on what could happen if she carries on binge drinking with her so-called ‘friends.’ I told her what a mess you used to get in, so I hope she got the message.”
I remained silent. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about Cheryl telling my little cousin about my past. She spotted this and was quick to apologize. “Sorry, Evey, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” I shook my head. It wasn’t a problem if it helped her. “I should really speak to her about it. Maybe it would put her off.”
“I hope so.”
I could sense Cheryl’s concern, and I felt for her. I knew she was catastrophising, thinking that her child was going to turn into an alcoholic, when really she was just acting a curious teen.
I sank into the kitchen chair, and Cheryl lowed into the one next to me. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother’s home?” Her voice was laced with emptiness and the disgust she felt towards her sister.
“I don’t know.” I rubbed at my tired eyes. “My dad is the biggest mug alive. Then again, so am I. She asked me to give her another chance.”
“And you said yes?” Cheryl wasn’t remotely surprised. I looked at the fruit bowl in the middle of the table, trying to avoid the look she was giving me. I didn’t want to feel even more ashamed than I already did.
“Yes, but the difference is I don’t expect anything from her anymore, Chez. But I thought she would at least try and make it up to me, you know? But I haven’t heard from her since.”
Cheryl groaned in irritation. “Oh you’ll hear from her all right, when she wants money for her next fix. I don’t know how she’s even my sister.”
I glanced into my lap, continuing to talk deep. “I spoke about Nan yesterday.” There was a pause, so I glanced up and saw the pain in her expression. It was a tough subject for her too, but she knew how little I talked about my nan, because it brought out a vulnerability I didn’t want to show. “Elvis came on in Pa—” I stopped myself just in time. “My friend’s car, and it sent me straight back to her and Granddad.”
“‘Suspicious Minds’?” She smiled fondly.
“That’s the one.” I chuckled with a hint of sorrow. “You know, I miss her so, so much.” I knew my continuing to talk must have been a shock to Cheryl, but I wanted to let her know how much I really did miss her, even if I’d never said it.
“Oh, Evey, I know you do.” She squeezed my hand a little more.
“I just feel bad.” I pushed my hair away from my heated cheeks. “I was already on the path of destruction, and with Nana passing, it just pushed me further. I let her down.” I frowned, feeling angry with myself all over again.
Cheryl shook her head painfully. “But y
ou never grieved, Evey. At the funeral, I told you it was okay to cry, it was okay to let it out, but you were being so strong. If you cried for Nana, maybe you wouldn’t have grieved the way you did.” The bad way, she meant.
I looked across at her, feeling exhausted. “You think I never cried for her? I cried harder than I’ve ever cried in my life, Chez, but I did it alone, where no one could see me.” I shrugged. “Let’s forget it.”
We left it at that before the conversation got deep. I didn’t like speaking too much about Nana, because I would become angry and irrational. So the sooner it was forgotten, the better.
“Come on,” Cheryl urged. “Let’s take the kids to the beach.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday morning Kevin drove me to the train station, even though Cheryl begged me to go by bus because of his dodgy car, but apart from the hot-dog smell coming from the heaters, it ran well. Darcy hated that I was leaving. She said she wanted me to stay forever, and Ralph said the same, until Cheryl distracted him with a packet of chocolate buttons. I really did love spending time with the only family I had, so it was sad to say good-bye.
I got home late Sunday night and walked into the flat to the sound of Steph howling from her bedroom like she was starring in a porno. I then noticed Mathew’s trainers on the living room floor and thanked God it was him she was sleeping with. I kept having horrible visions of finding her shagging Julian one day.
I placed my holdall on the sofa and glanced over at the sink, where I spotted the mountain of dirty dishes, piles of dirty washing on the floor, and mess everywhere. Jesus, I had only been gone the weekend. I couldn’t deal with her messy shit, so I headed to bed.
I was getting angry with myself as I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I had thrown off my duvet and thrown it back on countless times and punched my pillow to make it more comfortable. I knew it wasn’t my bed that was making sleep impossible, it was my damn mind. I reached for my smartphone and saw it was three a.m. Fuck’s sake, I had to be up in three and a half hours. Rolling my phone in my hand, I hovered over the message button. Should I or shouldn’t I? No, I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop yawning whilst getting dressed for work that morning, and it took me ages to finally choose a red pencil skirt and a black, strappy top with a black blazer. I pushed my feet into black heeled pumps, got my work bag together, and headed outside.
When I got there, I was taken aback a little by the sight of an empty street. Okay, maybe Cleaver was sick? It didn’t matter. I made my own way to work, like I always did, picked up my Starbucks order, and got in on time.
“Did you enjoy your weekend, my girl?” Clarke asked whilst setting up his computer.
“Hmm,” I said, aware I sounded distracted.
We had a productive morning. I busied myself with work so as not to leave any room to think, but when it was almost lunchtime the office door opened and in walked Parks. My gaze shot straight back to my computer screen as he headed in my direction. My intention was to ignore him, but that failed.
“No Cleaver today?” I immediately felt Clarke glance sideward questioningly, but he remained mute.
Parks was back to being aloof and withdrawn. The look in his eyes wasn’t the one I was used to, and his body language was more acute. “No,” he said simply. I hadn’t spoken to him since I asked him why he went cold on me after the sex we had in his car. Maybe I hit a nerve? His focus was on Clarke now, not me. “Clarke, I understand you’re taking a vacation from Monday onwards?”
“Indeed, Mr. Parks. I have already lined someone up to cover me as temporary. He is the same gentleman I will be training as my junior this coming summer. We could discuss?”
“Go ahead.” He gestured for Clarke to lead the way up to Parks’s office.
“Jolly good.” Clarke clambered to his feet whilst tapping my hand in a reassuring gesture and walked out of the office. Parks didn’t give me any kind of look when he followed, and I was pissed about it. Then I was pissed off for being pissed off about it.
Lunchtime came, and instead of going out, I jumped into the lift and rode up to Parks’s office. Two older men came out of it when I arrived on the top floor, so I went straight in after them. Ignoring Joanna at her desk, I closed the door on her voice.
“You’re ignoring me now?” I barked. He was sitting behind his desk, wearing that infuriating, sexy, concentrated scowl. His laptop was open in front of him, and it took him a few seconds to take his eyes away from the screen to focus on me. It was like he wasn’t the least bothered I was standing there.
“Ignoring you?” he said almost cryptically. I didn’t reply. “Isn’t that ironic?” He grinned sardonically.
I didn’t have a clue what he was insinuating. “What is?”
He closed his laptop, sat back in his black leather chair, and clasped his fingers. “I try to do nice things for you, Evelyn. I try to get you to ride in Cleaver’s car every morning. I try to take you out. I complement you. I tell you what I want. But you…nothing. However, the day I don’t send Cleaver, the day I ignore you, you notice.” He laughed like he couldn’t believe the conversation we were having and rubbed his forehead before standing.
I shook my head in complete denial. “No, I was just worried Cleaver was ill.”
“Cleaver is not sick, no.” A breath later, he stepped towards me, so I took an involuntary step back, which made him clench his fists at his sides in irritation. “The message you sent me, Evelyn, is playing on my mind. Your concern about me turning cold on you after sex in my car Friday is the same concern I have every time you’re with me. So I will ask this of you.” After a pause to breathe, he stopped my heart with one simple question. “What do you want from me, Evelyn?”
My brows furrowed in confusion. That was a good question. Sex? Punishment? What did I want? “I can’t answer that.” I looked away from him, consumed with indecision, and I wanted to hide it.
“You can’t answer or you won’t answer?” His voice was extremely calm, but I knew he was concealing rage.
“It’s the same thing,” I spat out with exasperation.
He shook his head slowly, like he was about to give me a lesson. “That’s where you’re wrong, Evelyn. If you can’t answer me, that would imply you do not know the answer, but if you won’t answer, that tells me you don’t want to admit your feelings.”
His words bit at me, whipped me, and pulled me into that moment where he made me think about what I wanted from him, when I didn’t want to, when I never wanted to. His words hurt like I knew they would, because someone pointing out the obvious to me was my failure, and I would instantly climb back under my rock and hide.
“I don’t have feelings,” I breathed, trying to get him to understand. I watched him trying to figure me out, trying to unravel me, but I stayed bound up tight.
“For me? Or at all?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling cold. “For anyone.”
Shaking his head again, he leaned back against the desk, crossed his ankles, and slid his hands into his pockets. The way he was watching me with so much intensity and hard curiosity was sinister. “Now that’s where you’re wrong again. I understand you’re a little withdrawn, Evelyn, but when you spoke about your grandparents the other day, the feelings, the emotion I felt from you were raw. They were real. Any fool could see how much you felt for them. Is that not feelings? Is that not love?”
I knew I would stammer if I answered him, so I remained quiet and absorbed what he had just said. I’d never looked at it that way. I had always put myself into the cold, cruel, hard-faced bitch category; the category where nobody liked the woman who spoke her mind and didn’t express her feelings. I never did show my family love, or at least, I never thought I did, because I didn’t know how to show it.
“So I will ask again.” He straightened up and took a step towards me. I didn’t move when he reached me or even when he slid his palms onto my cheeks and turned my head so I was forced to look at him. “What do
you want from me?”
I closed my eyes, not allowing tears to form and not allowing my gaze to get drawn in. “Nothing.”
He inhaled in resignation, bending down to line his lips with mine. “You want nothing from me?”
I inhaled his rich, masculine scent, almost tasting that watermelon he enjoyed sipping on his lips. But I wouldn’t and didn’t allow myself to throw out the rope for him to catch and then tug me in. “No,” I snapped, pushing him away from me. “Just leave me alone.”
I got my things together, made my way out of the building, and headed towards town.
I needed a drink.
***
I ended up in a bar I attended regularly before I become sober. Mark the barman did a double take when he realised who I was. “Evey?” His eyes were wide but pleasant. “Long time, no see.”
I plastered on a fake smile. The last thing I wanted to do was give out small-talk bullshit with someone who pretended it was nice to see me. I was the girl who could make a crowd disappear when I entered a room because I would make their night a disaster. “Yeah, almost a year. Could I get a large red and a double shot?” I said impatiently.
“Vodka?” he rightly guessed, though his tone was uncertain.
“Yes,” I sang sarcastically, rubbing at my forehead.
While I was in recovery, Steph embarrassingly went around to all my local pubs and bars and told them not to serve me. But that was a while ago now, so apparently they had forgotten.
Three wines and four double vodkas later, I was swaying on the barstool with another glass of wine in one hand and singing along to a song about someone being that piece of my heart I wished I didn’t need. As I turned to the side, still singing, I spotted a familiar figure strutting towards me. He looked stunned at first but put on a broad smile as he approached.
It was an ex. Not a boyfriend ex, but a sex ex, someone I had slept with a few times and nothing more. My gaze drifted down his toned, gorgeous caramel-skinned body that was covered in tattoos. He was wearing ripped jeans, biker boots, and a loose tank top that read Rolling Stones. His dark afro was half-covered with a grey beanie, making him look as cool as ever.
