by Jade West
They’d just think I was up to no good if they did catch me, so it’s our little secret, Harry and mine.
Michael’s place looks small and clearly has no garden. There would be no birds singing and no fields to walk in and no Harry, and loving those things is in my blood, being Romany and all, but even so, I’d still consider giving up my dreams of a wagon and the open road if he’d let me stay with him.
I hear Bill and Rosie in the kitchen downstairs loading up the dishwasher. My stomach rumbles, but they don’t offer me anything to eat, and I don’t expect them to.
I missed dinnertime.
I’ll have to sneak downstairs when they’re in bed and grab something from their pantry. They’ve started hiding stuff from me these past few weeks, but I know Rosie keeps some chocolate in her sewing tin.
They’ve already got a kid lined up to replace me, I heard them on the phone to the agency talking about it. I think he’s called Leo.
I hope he’s a better kid for them than I’ve been, and I hope he likes this place as much as I do.
The thought of leaving here makes me feel more upset than it should. I ball my hands into fists and choke back stupid tears that I don’t deserve.
I could’ve stayed if I was better.
I could’ve stayed if they hadn’t seen the bruises on my arms and thought I was into drugs or self-harm, or a load of other things that made them look at me in those ways I hate.
Pity and fear and disappointment.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been such a bitch to them then.
I’m not into drugs and I’m not into self-harm, I’m just sick of telling people that when they never believe me anyway.
I have to wait a long time for Rosie and Bill to go to bed, and when they do I find Rosie has moved her chocolate stash from the sewing tin.
There’s a note on the side, scrawled out for me.
If we don’t deserve respect enough for you to join us for dinner, you don’t deserve to eat our food.
She’s left a couple of slices of bread out for me, but I can’t even find the butter. She’s hidden it. She’s hidden everything.
The tears sting, but I don’t let them fall.
I’ll be gone before morning, eighteen be fucked.
And I won’t even be sad.
I pack up a backpack of my clothes and my few stupid trinkets, and I kiss Harry goodbye before I leave. I have to ditch out of the living room window because the front door is locked, but I’m as quiet as I can be, as quiet as a mouse.
And then I’m gone.
Chapter Four
Jack
I wait for a text from Michael letting me know he’s done dropping his drunk infatuation back home where she belongs, but it doesn’t come. I despair for the guy and his midlife crisis.
This thing with Carrie Wells, it isn’t like him. Mike is responsible and considered. He plays by more rules than he should in life, certainly more than I do, and if there’s one he should choose to break it’s definitely not this one.
I’m about to call the crazy sonofabitch when I hear his car pull up outside. He’s had the same car for over a decade, I’d recognise the sound anywhere.
I’ve already opened the door when he reaches my doorstep. He brushes past me without a word, and I follow him on through to the kitchen to grab the beer we didn’t manage at Drury’s.
I hand him a bottle and he slumps himself against my kitchen island.
“They’re going to throw her onto the streets,” he says, and I sigh.
“Not. Your. Problem.”
“I’ve been working with her for over five months,” he tells me, like I don’t know already. “I can’t just turn my back on her, not like that.”
“So refer her to someone who can help. Again.”
He takes a swig of beer. “I doubt she’ll co-operate. She doesn’t trust anyone.”
“You tried. That’s all you can do.”
“I guess you’re right.”
He doesn’t believe me, and I know it. It’s written all over his face. In Mike’s sweet deluded mind he’s on a one-man mission to eliminate all youth problems in our poor rural county. He thinks I work hard, but I have nothing on him. I leave my work at the office every evening, he lives his 24/7. He never forgets those kids on his books, never forgets a face or a sad story.
For all my sighs and grimacing and talk of cold, hard reality, I admire him for it. My work is based around simple risk analysis, working out the right insurance premiums for the right clients. His is emotional, turbulent. Difficult.
Yet I’m the one who lives in the big country pad with a Range Rover. Go fucking figure. Society has this shit upside down.
“You have to let this go, Mike,” I say and the guy practically flinches.
“I’ll let it go when I know she’s safe.”
“And if she isn’t safe? If she ends up clearing off back to Gloucester and slumming it on the streets?”
He shrugs. “Then I’ll keep trying.”
“You’ll follow her around the back alleys like a stalker? Bring her a hot soup every evening?” I stare at him. “Or smuggle her into your bedroom and hope your neighbours don’t talk?”
His eyes flash with disgust. “I never would.”
I can’t help but smirk. “If you say so. That girl’s all woman, Michael. She’s definitely all of eighteen, in spirit as well as in body, give or take a few measly days.”
“She was my client.”
“A pretty one, if a little uncouth.”
I’m underplaying it. For all I’ve heard about Carrie Wells over the past few months, the descriptions didn’t do her justice. She’s stunning. Even a grotty bomber jacket and grubby boots can’t hide that. Her eyes are pale and piercing, her nose has a pixie quality about it that matches the rest of her. She’s fey and feral, and totally not the kind of girl either of us old farts should be ogling.
“She’s beautiful,” Mike says, and his eyes have this worryingly wistful quality about them. “It’ll get her into trouble.”
“More trouble.”
He groans. “Eddie Stevens is a waste of space, we both know it. She’d have ended up in his bed tonight if I hadn’t stepped in.”
“You don’t know that.” I take another swig of beer. “And Eddie Stevens is a waste of space, but he was another one whose corner you were fighting a few years back. You don’t always win the fight and you know it. She’s another one, you just gotta let it go.”
“Eddie Stevens was different,” he tells me. “Eddie still had his family. Eddie’s problems weren’t nearly so marked as Carrie’s.”
I’m talking to a brick wall. Mike’s whole body is tense. His brows are heavy and his shoulders look rigid. I’m never worried about him, not really, because he’s the kind of guy who never does anything crazy. I’m the one who makes the impulsive decisions. I’m the risk taker. But right now, looking at him, I’ve nothing but dread at the prospect of leaving for a conference in Berlin tomorrow.
“Are you gonna be alright?” I ask him. “I can cancel…”
He holds up a hand. “Of course I’ll be alright.”
“I can go next year if you need me around. I’ll send Tom instead of me.”
He shakes his head. “Christ, Jack, don’t be so fucking melodramatic. I’m sure I’ll survive without doing anything too radical for the ten long days you’re away.”
I hope he’s right.
I could send Tom Holland, my product manager, but I’ve already lined up seminars I want to attend, plus the networking opportunities are going to be good this year. This conference is for proper business, not just a jolly out of the office. I’m still not feeling entirely easy about the prospect of leaving, though.
Michael doesn’t have all that many friends. He has his work and he has his colleagues – a drink out with them for birthdays and Christmas and leaving parties, but that’s about all. Being with Molly for so long cut off his already limited social circle, and to be honest, I’m surprised they did
n’t survive long distance since the two of them were so ingrained in their relationship. I thought they’d be together forever, for better or worse. The split came as a shock.
I thought he was good with it, and good with being single, but this thing with Carrie leads me to believe he’s not so happy with his life outside work after all.
He’d say this is ridiculous, and he’s perfectly happy with his lot. He’d say he’s too engrossed in his work to socialise all that much outside of it. Plus, he’d say he has family. He sees his folks every month down in Devon – they surprised us all when they opted to retire to the coast, not least Michael – but I guess the weekend trips are a good change of scene for him.
If you traced both of our family trees back through the ages they’d have this place right through them. We’re from these parts, my parents are still down in Coleford, just a few miles away. Michael’s got cousins here, and an elderly aunt and uncle at the care home in Lydbrook, but besides that it’s really just us for him here now.
I pick up my tablet and thumb through my emails, checking my flights again for tomorrow. My schedule is rammed, back to back meetings in London before I fly late evening. I’m seriously considering firing an email off to Tom to get him to take my place at everything when Mike sighs at me.
“Seriously, Jack, what do you think I’m going to do? Elope with her? She’ll be at Rosie and Bill’s for a few days and then I’ll do my best to hook her up through the proper channels.”
“And that’s it? No ridiculous maverick stunt moves? No smuggling her into your apartment?”
He smiles like I’m a crazy man, but he’s the crazy man these past few months. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hold things together until you get back.”
“Fine.” I put my tablet back on standby then finish up my beer. I open the fridge as he finishes his. “Are you having another? A goodbye drink before I head overseas?”
It’s nice to see him relax a little. “As long as you don’t mind an overnight guest.”
I hand him a fresh beer. “When have I ever minded an overnight guest? Stay the whole week if you want, keep an eye on the place.”
That would suit me well enough and he knows it. This place is too big to be empty, not so much in that I’m worried of a burglary attempt, it’s just old. A little rough around the edges. Places like this need to be kept an eye on.
He pulls his keys out of his pocket and my front door key jangles on his keyring. “I’ll make myself at home. Scope out your porn subscriptions on your big screen.”
He’s not even joking and it makes me smile. “Might as well get the best out of them, I pay enough. At least it might keep you out of trouble.”
Somehow I doubt that.
Call it instinct, but there’s a niggle in my gut. Something that tells me I’m walking away from a disaster about to happen.
It eases off a little as we move to the living room and kick back with beers as usual. Talk of Carrie eases up, and it leaves me no reason to red flag my travel plans.
So I keep my schedule intact.
We drink and make the same old in-jokes we’ve always made. We talk through the same old stories we’ve relived a thousand times, and at the end of it all, when it’s past two sensible men’s bedtimes on a work night, we head upstairs and I finish up my packing for Germany.
I’m gone before him in the morning, and I hover one last time on the driveway. I fire off a text before I drive away, one last passing message before he’s on his own for the next ten days.
Don’t do anything bloody crazy.
I just hope he heeds the advice.
Carrie
I walked for hours before I was too tired to keep going. I wake up feeling groggy, my neck stiff from using my backpack as a pillow. It takes me a second to remember where I am.
Shit.
I’m in one of the old bike sheds at the back of Lydney Primary School. My arms feel stiff as I stretch them and my feet are like blocks of ice in my crappy boots. I’m starving hungry, too. My belly rumbles the minute I sit up, and I have to fight back the panic as I realise I don’t have either food or money to help fill it back up again.
Part of me wants to go back to Bill and Rosie’s and say sorry. Maybe if I asked kindly enough, maybe if I begged… but there’s no way I’m gonna beg those dicks. No way.
They hate me and I hate them. I can take care of myself, just as my ancestors did.
I get to my feet and shake them out a bit, trying to get back the feeling. I’m not scared of the outdoors, it’s in my blood to belong here. I’m not scared of being alone, either. I’m not scared of anything.
It’s just… I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why one night away from a warm bed makes me feel so weak and small, but it does. I fucking hate that it does.
I take my bottle of water from my backpack and I’m disappointed to find there’s only a couple of sips left. I’ll need to find a tap and fill it up, and then I’m going to need to find something to eat and work out a plan to get out of here.
There’s only one place I can head, and it’s going to take some walking, but I can make it. I’ll need to stay off the main roads in case Bill and Rosie call the cops and tell them I’m missing, but I can’t imagine they care enough to do that.
She’s a fucking nightmare. A disgusting, vindictive little shit.
They’ll probably be glad I’ve gone. They’ll probably hope I’m dead in a ditch somewhere just so I never show back up there.
We’re right in the middle of woodland here, and I’m sure I can keep off the main routes as I head back towards Gloucester. It’s got to be twenty miles away at least, and my boots aren’t the best for long distance, but I’ll need to get there before dark if I want to call on Eli. Like I said, I’m not scared of anything, but the alleys around his place after dark sure make me edgy.
I’m edgy around him after dark, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hopefully he’ll have something for me to eat at least.
If I had any credit left on my mobile I’d consider calling ahead, but I don’t. It’ll be a risk showing up there without something to give him, but Rosie hasn’t left any cash around for weeks now. I’ll have to turn up emptyhanded and there’s fuck all I can do about that unless I take to breaking and entering before the morning’s out.
I dip into the public toilets on the way through town to fill up my bottle.
It’s still early and I’ve hardly slept. My face looks pale and drawn and my eyes look sunken. My hair is a crazy mess and looks little better for me running my fingers through it. It’ll have to do as it is.
I try to keep my spirits up as I set off. I’m going to take a route across the countryside, so at least there’s that to look forward to. I conjure up crazy fantasies as I walk, imagining that I’ll run into a travelling community with traditional wagons. Maybe one of them will be a distant relative and there could be a big happy reunion. Maybe they’ll cry and say they’ve been looking for me my whole life. Maybe they have dogs, too. They’ll surely have dogs, and horses.
I’m happily lost in the fantasy as I stumble upon Michael’s apartment block. I hold my breath as I pass the entrance to his car park, and all thoughts of my long-lost traveller family disappear at the prospect I could knock on his door for real and ask if he really can help me after all.
My heart will almost let me. Almost.
I’m almost at the rear door of his block when I think better of it.
He’ll just take me back to Bill and Rosie’s.
Once I realise that cold fact, it’s easy to turn away, even though I don’t want to.
It’s only when I’m on my way out again that I register there’s no sign of his old blue Ford. I guess he didn’t come home last night, and I don’t know why I feel so miserable at the thought of him being with a girlfriend somewhere, but it quickens my pace as I power on.
Of course he has a girlfriend, why wouldn’t he?
He’s old. Older than me. He must be at least forty, and tha
t means he could be married or anything for all I know.
Maybe he laughs about me with her. Maybe he tells her I’m just a fucking nightmare, and a vicious little bitch. Maybe that’s why he was always so cool and calm when I asked him disgusting questions in his office.
Most people hate that, it makes them uncomfortable. Bill left the house and slammed the door behind him when I told him I knew he wanted to lick my pussy, but not Michael.
Maybe Michael doesn’t give two fucks about my pussy, because he’s riding some gorgeous bitch of his own every fucking night after work.
What nobody gets is that this crap is all talk with me.
I’ve messed about with guys, but nothing serious. I’ve had boyfriends, but they were only stupid young pricks who didn’t mean anything.
I’ve not been anywhere near an actual man, and I nearly crapped myself the one time Bill finally did answer my question and told me that yes, he did want to lick my pussy. He hated me even more after I laughed in his face and told him I was gonna tell Rosie and call the cops.
I didn’t do either, but that didn’t matter to him. He’s been gunning for me ever since.
My phone starts bleeping in my backpack when I’m a couple of miles outside Lydney. One incoming call and then silence. I check out the handset and find the voicemail icon, but I haven’t got enough credit to listen.
It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m on my own now, on the road and happy for it. I’ll only stay with Eli a short while, just enough time to try to earn a bit of cash and find a way to join some travellers somewhere.
He always promised we could go together one day, but over the past few years – since he’s been dealing drugs – I don’t think he has any intention of really coming with me. He never says he gives a shit about me anymore either.
I wonder if it was always all just a load of empty words. Promises made out of thin air meaning sweet fuck all.
I have to double up on socks by lunchtime, and my belly is rumbling worse than ever. I pick some blackberries from a hedge but they don’t do shit to stop the hunger. My water runs out not long after and fuck knows where I’m going to find another tap to fill it back up. I consider knocking on someone’s door and asking to borrow their bathroom, but I’m too worried they’ll call the cops on me.
