Dirty Daddies

by Jade West

  All the years of making excuses for him in the name of love seem so stupid now. All the lies I told to protect him. All the lies I told myself because I wanted to believe he loved me.

  But love isn’t like that. Eli doesn’t love me and never has.

  I wouldn’t reply even if I did have any credit on my phone. I wouldn’t go looking for him if he was on fire and I had the only bucket of water.

  I hammer the last of the nails into the plank I’m holding and then I stop. The countryside that felt so open and free feels too open now. I feel too exposed here. Far too exposed.

  I gather up my things and head back to the house, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve only got a few hours left before Jack and Michael get home.

  Maybe tonight I’ll finally reach out and talk. Maybe tonight I’ll tell them everything.

  I just have to trust they’ll still look at me the same way if I do.

  For the first time since I’ve been staying here, I bolt the back door behind me. I never lock it, not even when I’m in the fields, but today’s not like the other days.

  I dump my new boots on the mat and tell myself that TV might not be so bad for one afternoon, just until Jack and Mike get home.

  I’m just grabbing myself a coffee when I feel the shiver in the air. It’s not cold. It’s different to that.

  A sixth sense. A shudder in my mind.

  And then I know. I sense him before I smell him, and smell him before I see him, a waft of weed hitting my nose from the dining room doorway.

  He props himself in the frame like he owns the place, hood up high so his eyes look even darker than usual.

  “Made me fucking come for it, didn’t you?”

  I play it cool, just like always. “Had no fucking credit on my phone, nor bus fare either.”

  He looks about the room and I hate how he ogles everything. “Landed on your feet here. Fucking some posh guy so I hear. Whole shitty town is talking about it, a silly old bitch directed me right to your door.”

  “I’m working here,” I tell him. “I’m fixing fences.”

  “Fixing fences and sucking dick,” he sneers. “Have you missed mine? I bet you fucking have, you filthy little bitch.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap.

  “Shame,” he says and takes a step forward, “since you owe me pretty big, I’ve been charging interest.”

  “I’m not paying you interest,” I say calmly. “I’ll give you your fiver and the money for the food when I have it, but I don’t have it, so you’ll have to fucking wait, Eli. You’ve wasted your fucking time.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asks and I fold my arms.

  I flinch as he clears the kitchen island with one sweep of his arm. The fruit bowl tumbles and smashes on the tiles, the bottle of olive oil crashing into a stool and dribbling its contents everywhere. “Whoops,” he says and laughs as I can’t hide the horror.

  “Don’t!” I hiss. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

  “Just a job, is it? Doesn’t look like just a fucking job to me.”

  He takes the clock down from the wall and smashes it under his foot. Swings a stool against the wall until the plaster chips and the legs buckle.

  I clench my fists and then I go for him, screaming blue murder as I launch myself onto his back. I rip down his hood and claw at his scalp, my legs gripping him tight as he tries to shake me off.

  When he throws us both to the floor I lose my advantage. He’s so much bigger than me, pinning me down as I wriggle. His grip is tight on my wrists, his fingers digging in so tight I know he’ll leave bruises, but I struggle all the same.

  “I came for my fucking money,” he snarls, “but you can pay with your dirty cunt if you like.”

  “I don’t fucking like,” I hiss. “You can fuck off me.”

  “You fucking want it,” he says, but I don’t.

  Not anymore.

  I don’t even think I ever did.

  I used to think Eli was just a boy, but the body bearing down on me is anything but.

  He holds my wrists in one hand and tugs down his waistband with the other, and it’s so tempting to close my eyes and pretend I want this.

  Pretend I’m the dirty girl he always said I was.

  But I can’t.

  I’m Michael and Jack’s girl now, and only theirs.

  I only want to be theirs.

  I get one chance to strike and I strike hard, shunting my knee up full force into his crotch.

  It works. He rolls to the side with his hand over his dick, cursing at me as he flaps around like a fucking fish.

  “I’m your brother,” he wheezes. “Your fucking brother, Carrie. I’m the only one who fucking loves you. The only one who fucking cares.” He rasps another breath. “You think this guy here loves you? You think he fucking wants you like I do?”

  “He wants me more than you do,” I tell him. “He loves me. Properly. Not with a pathetic little sausage dick like yours.” I point to the front door. “Now get the fuck out before I call the cops.”

  He staggers onto his knees. “You fucking wouldn’t.”

  “I fucking would,” I say. “Don’t fucking try me.”

  He laughs. “Just as well I already found what I’m looking for. You took your time getting back.”

  My heart drops when I see the envelope in his hand. I already know what’s inside there, but I open the kitchen drawer anyway.

  “Give that back!” I hiss, but he slips it back into his pocket.

  “For my time,” he laughs, but it’s so much more than that.

  That envelope is thick with money. Thick with Jack’s money.

  “Give it!”

  “Fuck you, Carrie Wells,” he says. “No wonder Mum and Dad hate you, you’re nothing but a filthy little cunt.”

  Tears prick. Stupid fucking tears.

  Not just for the hold he keeps over me, but for the money I know he’s going to be walking out of here with unless I want to risk him slamming me down and taking my body along with it.

  “I hate you,” I hiss.

  “You love me,” he laughs. “I’m your brother. I’ll always be your brother. And I’ll always be your first. Don’t ever forget that!”

  I hate that he’s my brother.

  I hate that I ever fucking landed in his family.

  I hate him even more when he trashes everything he can on his way out. He pulls a knife and slashes at the sofa in the living room, the curtains too. He kicks at the display cabinet and glass showers the floor along with the new piece I’d bought for Jack. He puts his foot through the big TV and laughs when he does it.

  And I stand and watch without fight, because for the first time in my life I have something to stay in one piece for, even if they’re going to hate me for what they think I’ve done to their house.

  He smashes the mirror in the hallway on his way out. “See you around, slut,” he says and slams the door behind him.

  I don’t even know where to begin with cleaning up this mess, so I don’t.

  I don’t even know how I can begin to explain what happened here, so I think about leaving before they come back, but I can’t bring myself to do that either.

  So I sit.

  Sit and wait and think about all the reasons I hate my twisted brother.

  I don’t move when a car sounds on the drive a few hours later.

  And I don’t move when someone steps inside either.

  I’m done.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jack

  My crazy idea for Mike’s career wouldn’t let go once it started. That’s why I called the bank today and set up an appointment. That’s why I marched in there with a hastily drawn up plan and opened a new account all ready to start.

  It’s crazy but perfect. Perfect for both of them.

  I can’t fucking wait to fill them in on the news.

  I’ve got more money than I’ve ever known what to do with, and more than enough time around work to help with the practicalities of set
ting up something like this. I make sure I’ve got my folder of ideas on the passenger seat as I buckle up and head for home.

  I know I’ll be earlier than Mike, I’ll just have to keep my mouth shut until he gets there.

  There’s a crunch of glass under my foot as I step inside. My brow creases as I stare down at it, and it takes me a second to realise it’s the mirror from the wall, smashed to pieces.

  What the fuck?

  Memories of walking in on Carrie for the very first time come flooding back to me, and I guard myself against any incoming crows. But there are none.

  There’s chaos like I’ve never seen it, but no bird in sight.

  I stare open-mouthed at the carnage. My TV’s been put through and my sofa’s been slashed to shit. A kitchen knife is sticking out of the cabinet and the frames I replaced just days ago are smashed all over again.

  What the holy living fuck?

  A stool’s been smashed apart in the kitchen, another has oil and glass all over it. My fruit bowl is in pieces amongst it all.

  I don’t want to look inside the dining room but I do it anyway. The display cabinet doesn’t have a single whole piece of glass in it, not in the windows and not inside either.

  My breath catches in my throat and stays there at the sight of my new glass sculpture in pieces on the floor.

  It takes me a moment to see her, curled into a ball by the back door in her new boots.

  “Carrie–” I begin, but she shakes her head.

  And I don’t understand it. I really don’t understand it.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, racking my brain for an explanation other than the obvious, but fuck knows what that could be.

  She shakes her head again, and I wonder what the fuck’s gone down here.

  Nothing’s happened but the boots.

  Surely it can’t be the fucking boots.

  Surely one little gift can’t spin someone out that bad.

  I crouch at her side but she shuffles away from me.

  My voice is harsher when it comes out next. “Carrie, what the fuck happened here?”

  She shuffles further but I grab her wrist. It’s easy to see the bruises with her pale skin against my fingers.

  I heard about the bruises. Self-inflicted, so they say.

  “Talk to me,” I say. “Carrie, you’ve got to fucking talk to me.”

  Her eyes are wild and wide when they land on mine. She chokes over a couple of words, her nose wrinkling as she fights back tears.

  “What happened here? Did someone do this to you?”

  My heart drops when she shakes her head.

  “It was me,” she said. “I did it.”

  It feels like she’s kicked me in the fucking gut. “But why? Why would you do this?”

  She looks anything like the brash girl who trashed my house the last time around. Where once she was cocky she looks broken. Where once she was full of backchat she has nothing.

  She shrugs and that’s all.

  One fucking shrug.

  I don’t even know what to say.

  “I thought you were happy,” I tell her and she shrugs again. “I thought you liked it here. I thought you were happy with us.”

  She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say a word.

  “This was your home, Carrie. All of ours.”

  Was.

  She flinches as I say it.

  And with that she dashes from her spot, racing through the house so quickly I have sprint to catch her. I grab her at the front door, pulling her back inside just as she’s about to launch herself from the front doorstep and bail on me. Bail on us.

  I’m so fucking hurt I don’t know how to handle it. My whole world spinning at the thought I could’ve got this all so wrong.

  But I didn’t.

  I know I didn’t.

  “Why?” I ask, and my voice is raw. “Just tell me why!”

  “Because I’m trouble,” she hisses. “Because I bring trouble on everyone.”

  I shake my head because I won’t believe it.

  “Is this because of the boots?” I ask and all her aggression shrivels to nothing. “Is this because you don’t think you deserved them? Fuck, Carrie, you more than fucking deserved them.” My breath is ragged. “But I don’t deserve this!”

  She shrinks from me, backing into a wall as her lip quivers.

  “Tell me you didn’t do this,” I say, but she won’t. “Please, just make me understand. You’ve got to help me understand.”

  But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say a thing.

  I’m lost. Floundering. Sick to the stomach as the whole world comes crashing down around me.

  And then, before I’ve even managed to find my bearings and get some of this shit cleared up, I hear Mike’s car on the driveway.

  Carrie

  I want to tell him but I can’t. Even now I can’t let them throw Eli in prison. He’s my brother. He was there for me when no one else was.

  My heart is breaking worse than Jack’s, even though I can’t show him. My heart is breaking because I know I can’t come back from this, because no matter how much Jack’s eyes say he wants to forgive me, I know he won’t.

  I know he can’t.

  I know he’ll never trust me again.

  I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I can’t. Even though I can’t bring myself to land my brother in the shit, I can’t bring myself to confess all this either.

  Jack’s glaring right at me as I hear Michael’s car pull onto the drive. I want the ground to swallow me up and never spit me out again, but I’m standing right here with nowhere to run and no one to turn to.

  Michael doesn’t even notice the destruction as he steps through the door. He sees me before Jack but he’s already got questions of his own.

  “Kevin Baker was asking directions to your house in town earlier, why?”

  He has to crunch on glass before he comes to his senses. I watch his eyes widen in horror.

  “Kevin Baker?” Jack asks. “Who the fuck is Kevin Baker?”

  I have no idea who Kevin Baker is. No idea at all.

  “He was on my books a few years back,” Michael says. “From a broken family in Gloucester, a nasty piece of work. Violent.”

  Jack looks at me but I can’t meet his eyes.

  “What was he doing asking for you, Carrie? Do you know him?”

  I shrug, because I know I’m going to have to say something. “Never heard of him.”

  He looks so confused. “Was he here? Is that what happened to the place? It’s not the first time he’s resorted to breaking and entering. His criminal record is a mile fucking long.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” I repeat again, and I haven’t. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

  He doesn’t believe me, I can see it in his eyes, and I’m so fucking angry that these people want to see the best in me, even when I’m lying to them. Even when all the evidence is stacked and I’m standing right in the middle of the home they think I destroyed today.

  “Well, are you sure?” Mike tries again. “He’s tall, stocky, wears a hoodie with a dragon on the sleeve. He has a tattoo under his right ear, of a–”

  “A snake,” I say, and I don’t understand. “But that’s not Kevin Baker.”

  He tips his head, smiles just a little. “That’s definitely Kevin Baker, Carrie. I’d recognise him a mile off. I saw him skulking back along the lane a few minutes ago. I’d a good mind to pull over and demand to know what the fuck he’s doing round these parts.” He pauses. “But I think I know now. I think it’s pretty obvious. So why don’t you just tell me how you know him and we can get this mess straightened out?”

  Even now his eyes are so kind and calm.

  “Tell us what the fuck’s going on!” Jack barks, and it brings me to my senses.

  I look from one to the other and know there’s no running from this.

  “That’s not Kevin Baker,” I whisper. “That’s my brother, Eli. The first brother I remember.”
<
br />   Jack’s eyes widen but not as wide as Michael’s.

  “How long have you known him as Eli?”

  “He is Eli!” I yell.

  “How long, Carrie?”

  I shake my head, trying to block out everything. All of this. “Since I was fourteen,” I admit. “He found me, came looking for me. Said he was still my brother.”

  “Carrie,” Michael says and his voice is so calm. “That’s not Eli, I swear. I have Kevin’s case file, and I have Eli’s too. He came for help with socialisation skills nearly a decade ago. I knew you used to live with his parents, I saw it in your file when you first arrived. He’s at law school now, in Birmingham.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Yes,” he says. “I swear I wouldn’t lie to you, Carrie. However Kevin knows you, it’s not because he was your brother.”

  “What the fuck?!” Jack snaps, and his eyes soften. “Did he hurt you? Is that sonofabitch the one who bruised your wrists?”

  Michael’s eyes go straight there and I can’t pull my cuffs down quickly enough.

  “It was him, wasn’t it?” Michael asks. “It was Kevin, all those times they thought it was you, it was Kevin.”

  “Eli,” I whisper. “It was Eli.”

  But Eli isn’t Eli and I know that now.

  I think back to how we met.

  I think back to bumming a smoke from a guy in an alleyway, and he looked so similar, so fucking similar.

  And that’s when he told me he’d been looking for me. That’s when he told me he knew me and offered me inside.

  I knew he was Eli, I just knew it. I called him Eli and he said it was him.

  He said he was my brother, and I believed him.

  I believed everything he said.

  Because I wanted to.

  I wanted to believe he really was looking for me, and I wanted to believe he really loved me.

  I slip to the floor, not caring if there’s broken glass there, not caring about anything.

  And then I tell them everything.

  Finally, for once in my life, I tell someone everything.