Echoes of the Heart

by Casey, L. A.

  “I’m having a great time, thanks.”

  I fisted the car key as more flashes went off. A glance to my left showed three more women with cameras jumping out of cars, and a man too. I shook my head.

  “This road is for residents only, you know? You can’t park in front of their houses.”

  “We move when they tell us to.”

  The man who replied to me had a camera, but wasn’t flashing so I assumed he was likely recording his interaction with me.

  “Nervous about playing in Wembley next week?”

  “Nope.” I answered the shortest woman as I approached the car. “We can’t wait. Wembley filled to the brim with Sinners? You can’t get a better atmosphere than that, love.”

  “Is Nora Maxwell going to be attending the concert?” another voice asked. “She’s in London right now.”

  “I have no idea.” I unlocked the car door. “If she has time in her busy schedule to come by and see a show, I’d love that.”

  “C’mon, Risk. We all know you’re dating Nora.”

  I glanced at the woman. “That’s news to me, darlin’.”

  She snorted, not buying what I was selling, but I didn’t care. The media rarely believed the truth because most of the time it was boring and didn’t earn them clicks or likes online. Attaching my name to Nora’s was much more exciting because she was a beautiful, famous actress who, in the past two years, had blown onto the Hollywood scene. She was a Londoner, and although we went on two dates before I went to rehab, and had sex I could barely remember at the end of both of those dates, we weren’t dating and never were.

  The media thought otherwise though.

  “Risk!” the man butted in. “What’s all this talk about you and May having plenty of behind-closed-doors arguments? Are you kicking him from the band?”

  For God’s sake.

  “Firstly, Blood Oath is not my band. It belongs to all four of us, just because I’m the main vocalist doesn’t mean I run shit because I don’t.” I opened the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Secondly, I argued with May about how brown toast should be this morning so yeah, we argue a lot. Always have, always will, but he’s my brother. They all are. No one is leaving Blood Oath so all that talk you mentioned is a load of squit. Just like everything else you’ve probably heard about us breaking up or going solo.”

  I closed the door before the vultures could ask another question. The flashes from their cameras continued to go off and I appreciated the tinted windows of the car. I started the engine and pulled away from the kerb, noting the paps rushing back to their cars in my rearview mirror.

  “Fucking arseholes.”

  I knew they were going to follow me, so I couldn’t drive directly to Frankie’s house. Instead, I decided to take them on a wild goose chase. For two hours, I drove around Southwold, up to Reydon, then when I came back to Southwold, I drove down some of the one way lane roads. I cleared the lane before the paps behind me did and when a group of kids walked across the pedestrian crossing behind me, I grinned. One of the kids bent down to tie their shoelace and the paps blew their horn at them. The kids jumped, but instantly threw insults at the vultures for scaring them and didn’t move an inch.

  I laughed as I drove away and headed for Frankie’s place.

  All this would have been a waste of time if she wasn’t home, or worse, if she didn’t live there anymore. She could have moved into her mum’s old house when I left Southwold. She could have moved in with a boyfriend. She could have moved into Dr O’Rourke’s home. May’s mum and dad attended their small wedding a few months after I moved away. I drove up Pier Avenue and it felt so familiar to me, a feeling of belonging filled me. I didn’t have that feeling when I drove to my home in Beverly Hills or to my townhouse in London. Southwold was my home even though I didn’t live there.

  I didn’t even live in the cottage we rented from Dr O’Rourke for very long before I left, but I could remember driving along this street on my way home to Frankie most nights after a long session at the studio. It was a dream area to live in. The pier and beach were a stone’s throw away from the cottage; waking up and looking out of the window in the morning and staring out at the ocean was a favourite pastime of mine. I loved it and I know Frankie did too.

  When the cottage came into view, I saw a small, beat-up Ford Focus in the driveway. I stopped outside of the cottage and suddenly felt sick with nerves. I fucked up majorly with her the night before. I was cruel, just like she said I was. I turned into a massive prick just because she hurt my feelings. I should have been man enough to tell her that her reaction to me wasn’t something I liked but, instead, I was a complete prick. Angel was right. I had to apologise and pray Frankie would forgive me because not only did she look incredibly hurt in the car park of Mary Well’s, she looked spitting mad too.

  I remembered that it took a lot to get Frankie angry but when she reached that point, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  I exhaled a breath, shut off the engine and climbed out. I locked the car up behind me and walked up the pathway that led to the cottage. I hoped she lived here still, it would be really awkward if I knock on a stranger’s door and they recognised me. Before I lost my nerve and chickened out like a little bitch, I lifted my hand and knocked on the door of the cottage where I once lived.

  Relief flooded me when I heard a familiar voice after a few seconds say, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Frankie.” I said. “Risk.”

  When silence stretched, I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn’t think she would leave me outside in the cold, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. I hurt her . . . I really fucking hurt her. I knew I did, I saw it on her face and in her eyes.

  “Get lost, Keller.”

  I winced, she had only ever called me by my surname when she was pissed.

  “Please, Frankie. I’ve come to apologise.” I placed my hands on the frame of the door. “How I treated you last night was horrible. I was wrong and I’m so sorry. I’d take it back in a second if I could, Cherry.”

  The door was yanked open and I stumbled back a step in surprise.

  “Don’t call me Cherry,” she snapped at me, pushing her curly auburn hair from her face. “You don’t get to call me that when you hurt me like you did last night. What you did was horrible! Sorry isn’t good enough, Risk!” She glared. “You hurt me and you did it on purpose so don’t you dare act like—”

  “Frankie, what the fuck happened to your face?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  FRANKIE

  “Frankie?”

  I looked up when Michael said my name. He was sitting right across from me on the other side of Mum’s hospital bed, but when he spoke it sounded like he was a great distance away. I didn’t think I had heard a word the man had said since I stopped by after my shift at work ended two hours ago.

  “Huh?”

  “Kid,” he smiled. “You’re miles away today.”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  “Sorry,” I said, shifting in my seat as I felt a little stiff. “I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  As soon as I clocked out of work after my run-in with Risk, I drove home, had a shower then I cried for most of the night. I kept replaying over and over in my mind how Risk looked at me like I was nothing and spoke to me like I was a random person on the street. How dismissive and cruel he was hurt me more than I ever could have imagined. Of all the times I imagined meeting him again, him being a mean-hearted person was never ever a consideration. I had never known him to have a cruel side, because of who he was raised by, but I guess he had forgotten about his upbringing over the years.

  “Are ye okay?” Michael asked. “Wanna talk about it?”

  I exhaled a breath. “Well, it’s just . . . Risk is home.”

  “Is he?” Michael’s jaw dropped. “I had no clue.”

  “He and the lads came home to attend the retirement ceremony for Mr Jones.” I explained, crossing my leg over my
lap. “He stopped in at the diner for dinner last night and he was just . . . he said some things that just hurt my feelings. He’s . . . he’s different than the person I remember and I guess I’m just having a hard time with that.”

  Michael’s frown deepened. “What’d he say to ye?”

  “Nothing major,” I lied. “Just spoke down to me a little.”

  I didn’t want to tell Michael the truth because since the night Risk and I broke up, he had been there for me through thick and thin. He and I had formed a strong bond and he was very protective of me. If he knew how Risk had treated me, Michael would probably go looking for him. He wasn’t a violent man, but I knew there was nothing Michael wouldn’t do for my mum and I so I kept the details to myself.

  “Well,” Michael adjusted his glasses. “Maybe being in America for too long has swelled his ugly noggin’.”

  Everyone blessed with eyesight knew Risk wasn’t ugly, far from it, but Michael’s jab at his looks to show he was very much on my side amused me.

  I tittered. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “If he comes ’round again, tell him to feck off. We don’t need the likes of that in Southwold.”

  “Already ticked that box.” I bobbed my head. “I doubt he’d come back around, I told him exactly what I thought of him. I got the last word in too before I stormed off so I’m happy I didn’t just take it lying down.”

  “I’m surprised that he would treat you of all people like that.”

  No one was more surprised than me.

  “People change.” I shrugged. “Nine years is a long time.”

  Michael nodded in agreement. We both looked to Mum as she began to stir from her evening nap. Both Michael and I helped her to sit upright. She began coughing violently so I grabbed her handkerchief and placed it in her hand so she could press it to her mouth. Her breathing sounded horrible even when she calmed down and stopped coughing. I knew from speaking to Michael that her lungs weren’t improving and her pneumonia was worsening. Like me, mum suffered from asthma, hers just wasn’t as bad as mine, but right now even her mild asthma was dangerous when paired with pneumonia.

  “You’re okay, Mum.”

  She rested her head back against her pillow and cleared her throat.

  “Enda, when did . . . you get here?”

  Stupidly, I looked over my shoulder to see if Enda was behind me, but I quickly realised that Mum was speaking to me. She was terribly confused more often than not and she always mistook me for someone else. It was a kick in the teeth each time she didn’t know who I was.

  “Not long ago,” I answered. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” She waved her hand, her voice sounded husky. “How is M-Molly?”

  Molly was Enda’s West Highland Terrier who died four years ago.

  “She’s great,” I assured her. “She just got groomed so she’s looking all pretty.”

  “Good, good,” Mum sighed.

  She looked exhausted, which was upsetting because all she seemed to do was rest. Michael reached over and gently took her hand in his. Mum glanced at him and her face lit up.

  “Malcom,” she beamed, squeezing his hand. “I didn’t hear . . . you come in.”

  My face dropped, but Michael kept his composure when my mum called him by my father’s name.

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Michael winked. “I missed ye today.”

  Mum chuckled to herself. “You say that a-all of the time.”

  “Because I always miss ye, gorgeous.”

  Even though she was wheezing and out of breath, she was giggling like a schoolgirl and it made my heart feel a little lighter. I knew Michael, like me, had his feelings hurt whenever Mum called us by someone else’s name, but it had to be worse for Michael. Mum rarely recognised him and she often called him by my father’s name. My stepfather took it in his stride and never showed he was upset, but I could see it in his eyes. He only found my mum a little over nine years ago and the time he had spent with her was when she was slowly losing herself. The man was a gentleman. Most men would have run for the hills, but not Michael, he stood by my mum and married her.

  He loved her desperately and it broke my heart that when she was gone, his heart would be gone with her.

  “The big black dog stole my b-best wool earlier,” Mum rasped, looking back at me. “When I find the owner . . . I’m calling the police.”

  “I don’t blame you one bit,” I said, going along with her story. “That dog is causing too much trouble, he’s been stealing everyone’s best wool.”

  “Yeah,” Mum nodded. “It’s a disgrace how this c-country let’s him get away . . . with it.”

  “I’ve a good mind to write a letter to the Prime Minister about it.”

  “I have his number,” Mum informed me. “I’ll set up a dinner date. We can talk about . . . him fixing the shower head. It’s always dripping, I can’t s-sleep over it.”

  Michael chuckled under his breath and even I had to hide a smile. When Mum was talking in circles like this and we went along with it, none of us ever really knew how the story would end. We were surprised, more often than not, at the outcome, just like now and myself and Michael always tried to find the humour in it. If we didn’t, every evening with Mum would just be depressing and hard to get through.

  There were no official visiting hours in the hospice, but the staff began to get the patients ready to settle in for the night from eight onwards. It was just after nine and my eyes began to feel heavy. I had worked a double shift at work. I opened with Joe and Deena at seven and didn’t clock out until half six in the evening. I then came straight to the hospital to spend time with Mum and Michael. My body wanted nothing more than to sleep.

  “Frankie,” Michael said. “Get on home, honey. You’re exhausted.”

  I didn’t put up much of a fight. I hugged and kissed Michael goodbye, then did the same to Mum, careful not to wake her because she had just fallen asleep after having a pretty horrible episode with coughing. The nurse placed an oxygen mask on her face to help her breathe easier and it helped as she fell asleep.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wiggled my fingers. “Love you.”

  “Love you too, kid.”

  I left the hospital with the strap of my bag on my shoulder and my hands shoved into the pockets of my coat. When I left the building, I yawned and headed in the direction of my car. I was practically dragging my feet along the ground when I heard a voice ahead of me. I looked up to the person who was shoving his phone into his pocket and cursing to himself. The voice was familiar and as I drew closer to the man, I practically felt bile rise up my throat like it always did whenever I was unlucky enough to cross paths with this vile human being. I hoped that he wouldn’t notice me, but I didn’t have such luck.

  “Frankie Fulton.” He sneered when he looked up. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Owen, but I was visiting my mum.”

  I moved right on by Owen Day without stopping and I could tell he had turned direction and followed me towards my car without having to look back and check. I could feel his presence, it made me very uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be havin’ a word with ya, Frankie.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I told you at Christmas that you’re barred from the diner,” I said to the man whose face I hated as much as his blackened heart. “I’ve nothing to say to you now any more than I did that day. I’m not lifting the ban after how you spoke to me.”

  “I don’t care about the bastard diner,” Owen griped. “I heard he’s back.”

  I stopped as I reached the boot of the car and turned to face the tall, balding, overweight cruel menace behind me. He had his keys in his hand and on that set of keys was a black pocket knife that I knew had left the long, jagged scar on Risk’s back. Owen had slashed him when he was fifteen for answering back, Risk had told me. I hated him for it.

  “He is.” I flexed my fingers. “You know he won’
t want to see you though.”

  “That wee bastard owes me,” Owen sneered, his Scottish brogue thickening as his anger grew. “He lived under my roof for thirteen years.”

  I couldn’t believe his audacity.

  “He owes you nothing!” I snapped. “He was a cheap way to earn some extra money for you and Freda and you know it. You made his life miserable, you beat him and—”

  “The last time ye accused me of beatin’ that lad, I wasnae happy.”

  The memory of him grabbing my forearm hard enough to bruise me was never far from my mind. It was a few years ago and he had started an argument, similar to this one, in the car park of Tesco and it resulted in him hurting my arm.

  I swallowed. “I’m not scared of you, Owen.”

  “Says the tremblin’ wee lass.”

  Damn him, but I was shaking before him. I hated that.

  “Owen, it’s late.” I adjusted the strap of my bag. “I’ve had a long day. Please move, I want to go home.”

  “Tell him to come and see me,” he stepped forward. “He was always a sap for you. He’ll listen to ye.”

  “He was never a sap for me,” I bit back. “And even if he would listen to me, which he wouldn’t, I would never tell him to go and see you because you’re an abusive waste of space who made his life hell!”

  I didn’t register Owen moving his arm until his fist connected with my face and sent me sprawling back onto the ground. I couldn’t even scream, I was too shocked to do anything other than lie back on the ground and put my hand over my throbbing face. Owen stood over me and I hated that I cowered beneath him, but I was worried that he was going to hit me again.

  “Get . . . Get away from me!”

  He took a step back then another.

  “Tell that lad t’come and see me,” Owen said, shaking out his hand. “I mean it, Frankie.”

  He turned and stormed towards the hospice’s entrance. I had heard one of his friends was dying of cancer and was a patient at the hospice; that was likely to be who he was visiting. It didn’t surprise me that he was heading inside as the staff were getting the patients settled in for the night; he did what he wanted. He always had. I got to my feet and before he changed his mind and decided to come back, I hurriedly got into my car, backed out of my space and drove out of the darkened car park. I didn’t realise that I was crying until I was on the main road.