Stake You (Stake You #1)

by Claire Farrell

Chapter Three

  The weekend passed by in a haze of drunken spills and a house that smelled like vomit. It wasn’t always that way. We were just going through a bad patch while my mother mourned the loss of the last boyfriend. It would end soon. It always did. Then she would clean the house and cook dinner, wear bright lipstick and dye her hair a vibrant chestnut shade. She would find another loser boyfriend, and the cycle would begin again.

  I worked full shifts on Saturday and Sunday, making sure to dump the unwanted fifty euro into a charity box, and by the time it was over my eyes were blurring with exhaustion. That’s why I had to triple check the roster for the following week.

  “Mark? You’ve forgotten me,” I called out to the manager.

  “No, I haven’t.” He approached me with a cloth wrapped around his bleeding finger.

  “You should have let me cut them,” I said reproachfully. He was too easily distracted to slice up fruit.

  “Arm you with a sharp knife while you can barely keep your eyes open? And let you lose a hand? No way. Listen, I didn’t put you on the roster for the next couple of days on purpose.”

  “Mark.” I lowered my voice. “I need the pay.”

  “I’m sorry, Devlin, but I’m worried about you. You’re exhausted. I’m not going to take advantage of your willingness to work every single shift. Go home, get some rest, and I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  He walked off before I could protest. Great. Monday through Wednesday wasn’t good for tips, but it was quiet and relaxing. Plus I really needed the pay.

  “Yeah, well, good luck dealing with the noobs trying to serve half-pulled pints of Guinness,” I called after him. I heard his laugh, but it didn’t sway my anger. It wasn’t just the money. It meant I had no excuse but to spend time with my mother while she was stuck in one of the worst parts of her break-up cycle. I couldn’t exactly hang out with Deco or Shauna anymore, and I wasn’t looking forward to facing them the next morning at school in any case. I wasn’t in the mood to face anyone.

  “Come on, moody,” Tom said, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Let’s head on.”

  “I still have lots to do,” I protested.

  “Yeah, but I’m under strict instructions to get you out of here. And Mark’s not the only one who’s worried about you, Dev.”

  I grumbled all the way to his car, but I was secretly relieved that I wasn’t faced with all of the cleaning. As I belted up, Tom opened his shirt and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his inked neck and arms.

  “Ah, that’s better,” he said, stretching. He started the car and pulled out of the car park. “Franco tells me that eighteenth the other night was full of your school friends. That maybe something upset you?”

  “Franco has a bloody big mouth. Did he also tell you about all of the underage girls he tried to booze up?”

  Tom laughed. “Ah, don’t worry about him. But you should have called me or Mark up to catch him this time.”

  I shrugged. “Not up to me to get people sacked.”

  “Mark will cotton on eventually. I’ll bet you anything he’ll find a reason to get rid of Franco once you’re available for a full-time job.”

  “Won’t be long.”

  He glanced at me. “Still no plans to go to college?”

  “Not for me.” Didn’t stop me looking at the brochures though. “Besides, I love working at the pub. It’s the going to school bit that I can’t stand.”

  He laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Devlin.”

  He pulled in outside my house, but as I reached down to release my seatbelt, he laid his hand on mine. “Hold on a sec,” he said, his forehead creasing as he stared in the wing mirror.

  “What’s up?”

  “Some dude hanging around back there. I don’t want him seeing you go inside alone. I’ll walk you in, okay?”

  “No,” I blurted, panicking at the idea of him seeing my mother when she could be naked on the floor, asleep in a pool of her own vomit. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I mean… that’s fine. I’ll lock the door.”

  “It isn’t safe,” he insisted. “Your mother’s alone in there, right? Come on. I’ll wait until he leaves before I head home.”

  He was out of the car before I could protest. I tried to catch a glimpse of the man he was wary of, but all I saw was a flicker of movement.

  “I think he’s gone,” I whispered to Tom, who looked deadly serious for a change. He was on high alert, a state I had thankfully rarely witnessed, because the way he made himself appear remarkably taller and broader intimidated me a little.

  “He’s pressed against the bushes down there. We’ll go inside, and I’ll ring the police. Just in case. He’s not up to anything good, put it that way.”

  He was at my door before I could think of a good reason why I shouldn’t let him in. I prayed my mother was in bed. Prayed to every god I had ever heard of that she hadn’t puked somewhere. That she hadn’t set something on fire.

  I groaned when I saw the takeaway bag on the front step. The delivery person must have left it there because my mother wouldn’t answer the door. Great. She had to have cooked. Sure enough, when I opened the door, the tell-tale stench of burn filled my nostrils. Tom tried to step ahead of me, choking a little in surprise, and I shoved past him to run into the kitchen and remove a half-full pot from a still hot hob.

  “Fantastic,” I muttered, forgetting that the handle might be hot and burning my fingers as I lifted the pot to the sink.

  “Shit.” I shook my hand and turned on the cold tap, wincing as the water ran over the now reddening skin.

  “Devlin… everything okay?” Tom asked, and I could see the query in his eyes.

  “Fine,” I said, too cheerily. “Use my mobile to call the police if you want.”

  A scream vibrated through the house as if it had been physically wrenched from my mother’s body. As though someone were murdering her.

  “It’s fine. Wait here. Don’t move,” I babbled as I tried to run up the stairs, but Tom, ever the protector, got in my way and made it up and into her darkened room first.

  She squealed louder as he stepped inside, holding her hand to her neck. “He bit me. He really bit me.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed beyond belief as I brushed past Tom to wrap my arms around my mother. “It was just a dream.” The room stunk of vomit and alcohol and sweat, a less than desirable combination. She rocked to and fro, muttering in slurred words, and I couldn’t face Tom.

  “Dev, I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready,” he said softly.

  She began to settle down after a while, and I prayed Tom had left already. “He bit me,” she whispered over and over.

  “Just a dream, Mam. Just a dream.”

  She still cried with fear, even in her sleep, and I realised why. Her room was dark. So as I left, I switched on the light, wondering how she had managed to fall asleep in the darkness in the first place.

  Tom stood when he heard me return.

  “Everything all right?” he asked briskly.

  “Yeah. Bad dream. Night, Tom.”

  “I rang the police. I’m going to stick around until I see them drive by.”

  “Okay.” I sat in an armchair, hiding a yawn.

  “That’s your mam?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like this a lot?”

  “She doesn’t like the dark.”

  “Dev…”

  His tone was drenched with pity, and I didn’t want to hear it.

  “You can go home, you know? I’m sure whoever was out there is long gone. Probably some drunk got lost on the way home.”

  “Maybe.” He glanced around the room, making no attempt to move. “This why you work so much?”

  “Don’t work that much. I’ve the next three days off.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His gaze was relentless. “Need a loan?”

  I laughed, but tears formed in my eyes. I looked away. “Nah. We’re doing great, thanks.”

  We sat in silence
until the lights from a police car flashed outside.

  “I’m going to speak to them before heading home,” Tom said, getting to his feet.

  “Okay. Night, Tom. Thanks for the lift.”

  “You ever need help with anything, you call me. Do you hear me? This isn’t right. You know that. Don’t you, Dev?”

  “We’re fine,” I said firmly. “This is nothing, and it’s my private business. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not going to make anything harder for you. But you shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “I meant what I said about needing help. Anything at all, and you call me.”

  His eyes were honest, an awful reminder of the one she had driven away. Ignoring the lump in my throat, I nodded. But both of us knew I would never call.

  He left, and I locked up after him, wearier than I had ever been. Protecting Mam—hiding her struggles—had been a full-time job, and now I had screwed up. But it was different these days. I was technically an adult myself, so I knew nobody could interfere. Small mercies.

  I checked on my mother before I went to bed. A tiny pinprick of blood stood out on her throat. Ignoring the shiver running down my spine, I figured she must have accidentally scratched herself in her sleep and dreamt the pain was from a bite.