by Esme Devlin
“Can we stay over?” Ross asks. Brunette Two saunters over to him like she hasn’t just been rejected, and he grips her arse with his free hand. I give him thirty seconds before he’s back chugging on the dildo and drops it though.
“Go for it,” I tell him, blowing out smoke. “But I’m working in the morning so you need to make yourself scarce.”
Craig laughs from across the bar. “Fuck you working on a Saturday for?”
“What do you do?” Brunette One asks from her spot next to Craig.
“He makes shit,” Craig tells her. “What’s so important you need to work on a Saturday?”
Nothing is so important. I just like it. I like the smell of the wood and the varnish much better than I like fucking cherries anyway.
I shrug at him. “Just something I need to finish.”
He nods, sensing this is not the night to push me for answers that would just need to be said in riddles anyway.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce. “Clean this shit up when you’ve finished, will you.”
I don’t turn around to check that they’re agreeing. They will. They fucking better, or Maggie will have every one of their balls for a necklace.
Closing the door, I head down to the kitchen for a glass of water to take ben the room. Lucia’s sitting in the living room, legs curled up on the sofa under her, phone pressed to her ear.
“Mal, is that you?”
Fucking hate when she calls me that. It’s not exactly asking for world peace to add the last two syllables is it, lazy bitch.
“Aye. Just getting a drink,” I shout through.
She’s probably checking it’s not one of the boys, bless her little cotton socks. Lucia despises them, which is nuts because she likes me fine and I’m probably the worst one out the lot of them. I suppose I don’t look at her like I want to fuck her though, which helps.
I’m running the taps waiting on them to turn cold when she appears in the kitchen door, phoneless. “Are they still upstairs?”
“I said they could stay. They’ll be away early in the morning.”
I watch her while she nods. She’s in her housecoat, legs bare to just above her knees, make up off.
She looks young without the slap on. Too young to be married to my dad, but I did my judging five years ago. It doesn’t help that I age every year while she stays more or less the same. I’m sure she was twenty-five on her last birthday, something like that anyway.
She’s still standing there.
“Do you want something?”
She clears her throat and walks across the kitchen floor towards me, her bare feet slapping against the marble tiles, and stops when she gets close. Her hands rest on the polished quartz counter and she looks up at me.
“I don’t like being in the house alone with them.”
She’s petting her lip.
I hate that more than I hate the word Mal.
“Fucks sake, they’re setting about a bunch of eighteen year olds who are laying it on thicker than butter. Believe me, sweetheart, they’re not interested in you tonight.”
I fill up my cup. She lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh but could be a huff, and I glance over at her to check which one it was.
“I’d still feel better if I knew you weren’t in bed. Can’t you just sit up with me for a little while? Until they fall asleep?”
If I genuinely thought they’d do anything to hurt her, then maybe I would have considered it.
I also might have considered it if I thought there was any chance of them actually falling asleep.
But since both of those are negatives…
“Can’t. Working tomorrow.”
I take my glass of water and walk out of the kitchen. She’s not even scared, she’s just fucking lonely. It’s sad, but it’s not my problem.
She was the one who signed up for this. She knew what she was getting into with my dad, and now she’s woken up, realized she’s twenty-whatever years old and her life consists of shopping, lunch-dates, and lonely nights.
That’s what marrying a rich man twice your age is, doll.
Locking my bedroom door behind me so that Brunette Two can’t get any bright ideas, I put the glass of water on the side of my bed and strip off.
The room is too big to be warm, even the fireplace in the middle of the back wall struggles, but it’s not bothered me since I was a kid. I like the cold. Keeps you alert. And between the thick duck-down duvet and the curtains that drape around the four-poster, it never gets too cold for sleep.
Other things might stop me from sleeping, but never the cold.
I don’t let anyone in here, not even Maggie.
Even if I’d taken Brunette Two to bed tonight, it wouldn’t have been this one. I don’t like people much anyway, but I especially don’t like them when they’re all up in my shit.
And there’s a lot of shit in here. Well, a lot of shit people would judge me for. But that’s what people do, they judge first and ask questions later.
I’m well fucking versed on how that works.
And just like that, my thoughts drift back to the little lass in the dressmakers. I’m not going to lose sleep over her tonight though, I did enough of that when I was young.
Her attitude annoyed me, but it was clearly defensive. Judging by the state of the place, the paint peeling off the walls and the black mould covering the ceilings in the back room, she doesn’t have it easy. Her clothes were barely fit for a charity shop for fucks sake. And judging by her black hair being pulled up messy, and the bags under her eyes, I’m guessing sleep doesn’t come easy to her either.
I know, shouldn’t judge. But people do. And I’m judging that her life isn’t a good one.
And that makes me happy.
I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll never get justice. I stopped caring a long fucking time ago.
Nah. Just picturing her downtrodden little face will bring sleep easy to me tonight. That’s enough for me.
The universe always finds a way to serve its own justice.
Chapter 3
Grace
“So… Malachy Hunter came into the shop yesterday.”
“Whaaaaaat?” Kate’s voice drags out dramatically through the speakers on my phone. It’s propped up in a holder on the dashboard, since there’s no Bluetooth in my mums old Honda.
“Yup.”
“Well, that is a blast from the past,” she says. “What did he want? Did he say anything? And were you like… okay?”
“It was fine! I mean, I got a bit of a fright when he first walked in, but I think I was just caught off guard.”
I stick my indicator on to turn right, forgetting that the thing doesn’t even work anyway and then remembering we have until October to get it fixed, else it’s failing its M.O.T.
Shit.
“He didn’t really say anything. In fact, what he did say was rude as fuck, and he left about five minutes after he came in. He was with his new step-mum. Well, I’m assuming she’s new — she didn’t look old enough to be… old.”
“I didn’t even know his mum and dad divorced. I suppose we wouldn’t though, would we? Did Scott ever see him again?”
“I asked him last night… he said he bumped into him at college a couple of years ago but they didn’t speak, and that was that.”
“He goes to our college?”
“Supposedly, yes.”
“Huh. Well, I guess you couldn’t have avoided him forever anyway, so maybe it’s a good thing you got it out of the way in the shop.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, got to go — I need to measure up for a client. I have my Mum’s car so I’ll head over to yours when I get done.”
“Okay, see ya later.”
“Bye.”
Pushing the red button, I end the call. I’m about three minutes away from Mrs Hunter’s house and I don’t want to miss the opening. I only checked the scribbled on receipt to confirm they hadn’t moved in the last ten years, and indeed the
y haven’t.
We used to live on the other side of the forest that surrounded the house, so I know the area well enough.
After the accident, we moved to the opposite end of the town. Mum said it was so we could be closer to the business, but I knew it was more likely because of that forrest. I was terrified of it. It haunted my dreams and even when I was awake, just the sight of it through the window or the rustle of trees when I left the house would bring on a panic attack.
We didn’t move schools, since the school we all attended was about halfway.
Malachy did though.
One day he was there, kicking a football around in the playground with my brother and his friends, and the next day he was gone.
I never really thought about what happened to him, because the moment I started thinking about him was the same moment I’d see the trees, I’d hear the thunder, and the panic attacks would start.
Spotting the opening in the gray brick wall that surrounds the forest, and the house, I wait for a break in the traffic to get turned.
Immediately, the car is drenched in shadow as it rolls over the leave covered dirt road. Trees on either side of it block out almost all the sun’s dying light, and I slow the car down quickly while I flick the headlights on and try to remember what way you push for the main beams.
The car rolls forward and I attempt to unclench my hands from the steering wheel and slow my shallow breaths. The feeling of dread which I’ve been suppressing for years returns at an overwhelming intensity.
I had worked myself up into a frenzy before I left the house.
I knew I’d have to drive through this, but I tried to convince myself to just think of the money.
Think of the money.
I put my foot down on the accelerator and the automatic gears take a second to catch up with the action, but within moments I’m speeding up the long twisty road at a decent pace. Fast enough that most of my thoughts are focused on maneuvering, and not on the dark spindly branches at either side of me.
The house appears up ahead. Even though we played in these woods as kids, I never got a proper look at the house before.
The thing sprawls out around me in an L shape, with a huge circular turret connecting the two sides. Full height double windows and doors lead onto balconies that jut out, carved in stone and looking far too heavy for gravity to have kept them up all these years.
I swallow as the thought of one of them coming crashing down on top of my head plays through my mind. This building is old, it looks more like a castle than a house, and thinking about just how many spiders probably reside there makes me shudder.
I don’t know why I do this to myself. I’m literally sitting here working myself up into a frenzy over impossible/ maybe-possible worst case scenarios.
I need to get a big massive grip.
Still watching the balconies cautiously, I cross the gravel courtyard and tap the big cast iron knocker a few times before spotting the electric doorbell at the side of the door.
Of course they have a fucking doorbell.
The door opens a few moments later and an older woman greets me. Her silvery hair is cut short into a pixie crop, and despite her black uniform there is nothing dull about her. Her red painted thin lips smile at me as she looks down from her vantage point three steps up.
She’s delightful.
“You must be Grace McCormack?”
“Yes. Mrs Hunter — I mean Lucia — she’s expecting me.”
She nods a few times and stands back from the door. “I’m Maggie. Come in, pet. She’s just showering, but she’ll be down in a second.”
“Thanks.” I smile back to her as I pass by and stand in the hall while she locks the door.
I was correct, this is a castle. Not only is she poised and elegant and everything I will never be, she lives in a fucking castle, too.
But I barely get a second to take in the surroundings as Maggie sweeps past me and raises her arm to indicate I should follow.
So I follow.
She leads me into what appears to be a formal sitting room and stands at the door watching me. There is no TV, just Louis-the-whatever style champagne couches dotted around the room in a circle.
“Can I bring you a refreshment?”
I clear my throat. “Uh, no, I’m fine, thank you.”
“She won’t be a moment,” she tells me before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
The place is lit softly with chandeliers above my head, and when I spot the grand fireplace in the middle of the back wall, I make my way over to it. It’s a cold evening for September, and may even be colder in here than it was outside.
The logs crackle, and I toast my hands while I watch the flames dance, my vision clouding over from the heat.
A few moments later the door swings open, and Lucia enters the room in her big fluffy bathrobe. “Oh, it’s freezing in here!” She rubs the top of her covered arms and exhales a shivered breath, her cheeks puffing and her lips pursing. “Robert told me years ago I’d get used to it — I’m still waiting. Are you okay with this? We could move to my bedroom if it’s unbearable?”
“I’m okay, it won’t take long,” I tell her through a smile, backing away from the fire and shoving my hands in my back pockets so she doesn’t think I’m lying. “Are you ready?”
She smiles and crosses the room towards me. “You tell me. Is this suitable?” She slides out of the bathrobe, looking herself up and down and letting out a giggle.
“Yeah that’s perfect. Well, for accuracy,” I correct myself, feeling my cheeks flush at the thought of just calling Lucia in her underwear ‘perfect’. “Hang on I’ll grab the tape.”
My bag is resting on one of the couches and I fish around inside it for the measuring tape.
When it’s not where it’s supposed to be, I sit down on the sofa and put the bag on my knees to get a better look.
“Is everything alright?” Lucia asks.
“I think… Jings. I think I’ve left the measuring tape in the shop.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I know I’ve left the tape in the shop. This afternoon, Mrs Blake came with Madison to collect the dress, and Madison insisted I measure her up for her own one.
Fucking shitballs.
“Oh,” Lucia says, her mouth open in a little O shape. “Well, Mal has tapes and stuff. I’ll try to phone him and you can grab it outside. Shit, my phone…” she starts pacing the room as if trying to remember what she did with it.
“I can go,” I offer, trying my best to recover from the arse I’m making of this. “What room is it?”
“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “Go up the main stairs, turn left, and it’s the third door on the left.”
“No problem. And I’m really sorry about this,” I tell her as I cross the room and dive out the door.
The stairs are at the opposite end of the grand entrance hall. They’re double width, with a deep red carpet running up and covering the dark wood. I take the shallow steps two at a time and turn left just like she told me.
Up here, the stone rendered walls of the hall downstairs are covered in paneled wood, and old paintings hang in the middle of them. Eyes watch me as I walk down the dark hall, lit by electric sconces at intervals all the way.
I’m glad I never came here as a kid, the whole place gives off creepy as fuck vibes.
I stop at the third door on the left and give a couple of little knocks. When no one answers after a few moments, I try again, harder this time.
The door swings wide open and my eyes drift from his surprised face to the huge gothic as fuck four poster bed in the middle of the room.
He must notice my prying eyes because he practically shoves me out of the way in his rush to slam the door shut behind him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
His ice cold tone sends a shiver running straight down my spine.
What am I doing here?
The venom in his eyes paralyzes my tho
ughts, and when I eventually regain them, I’m too busy wondering why he’s looking at me like that to remember what I’m doing here.
He clears his throat.
“You deaf or just simple?”
“Neither. You rude or just an arsehole?”
His expression changes instantly, still cold as fuck but there’s a flicker of amusement there now.
“Both. But you’re the one knocking on my door, darlin.”
Hm. At least he accepts the fact that he’s an utter prick.
I swallow and try to regain some of my composure that just ran away screaming the second he opened the door. “I need a measuring tape.”
He nods once and then flicks his eyebrows. “Cool story. We done here?”
I let out a sigh that ends in an eye-roll. “Can I borrow one of your measuring tapes?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe beside me, so close that I have to take a step back so I can look at his face without straining every muscle in my neck.
I have a better view of him from back here. He’s got on black sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and with his smoky black hair and skin and smirky face he looks like fucking Satan himself.
“And to think you just accused me of being the rude one.”
He’s trying to play with me, intimidate me, and it’s so obvious it’s almost comical. I smile sweetly, dramatically, and cock my head. “Please.”
He looks down at me like I’m a dog, and although he hates dogs, this dog has just done a trick for him. Then he pushes off the wall, and I have to move quick out of his way or else I’d be trampled by him.
Am I supposed to follow him? Or wait here?
I don’t want to continue to play the dog by chasing after him, but neither do I want to hang around by myself in the creepy hall.
“You just going to stand there?”
He shouts back without looking as he effortlessly takes the stairs. I guess I’m supposed to follow him.
Practically skipping to keep up, he weaves through the house with me always a few paces behind him.
