by Esme Devlin
The dots are going before I’ve even exited the chat, and within seconds I have a reply.
“Before you go, I’m taking you out on Friday. Pick you up at 6.30pm.”
I better tell him. “Stevie's coming too.”
“FFS woman! Fine, I’ll bring Calvin.”
“Fabulous. Can't wait.” I type back.
“Bet you can’t…” wink.
I lock my phone and put it back on the dock, pressing play when the music app appears on the home screen. And then I study. Well, I try to study. I half study maths, half dissect Shaun’s phycology in my head.
I really need to stop thinking about him, but the harder I try the more he fights his way in. So apparently he likes me, but what does that even mean? What does that mean for him, and more importantly, what does that mean for me?
So he has made the effort to right some of the wrongs he committed. He got the house painted, and he got the door put back on my locker. I’m not complaining — it was the right thing to do — but that doesn't mean he likes me. And just say he does like me, what does he want from me? A relationship? Somehow, I don't think so. I don't even think he’d be capable of one. I suspect I’m just a challenge for him. I don't throw myself at him, like maybe he’s used to when it comes to girls. I’ve never given him a reason to think I’m interested, except possibly the times we kissed, when I didn't fight him.
The kisses were good. He has this power over me that seems to make my thoughts illogical. I forget what he’s done, and that he’s not good for me. Well, maybe I do remember, and I just don't care. When he kissed me that second time I knew that I could get hurt, but it didn't phase me.
As long as I don't give him my heart, he can't break it.
I put my head down and focus on my equations before I give myself a headache thinking about it.
Chapter 16
Shaun
I know her father is away on yet another business trip, so there’s nothing forcing me to ring the doorbell like a normal person would.
To me, her father seems like a bit of a cunt. Not that I can talk, considering my father is quite possibly the biggest cunt of them all. But there is a difference between the two of them. Somewhere inside my dad’s cold and twisted soul, I do believe he actually cares about Heather and I. Not love; I don’t mean that. I don’t think he’s capable of actual love, even though he probably feels something for my mum. But he cares whether we live or die, which I think is more than can be said for Laurence Tyler. I wonder if anyone who wasn’t paid to do so has ever given a shit about Lacey.
My dad is mostly absent, like hers, but I have memories of my dad. I have the scars on my back when he took the belt to it for playing with matches up the old abandoned coal mine. I have the summer I turned eight when he’d get me up out of my pit at 5am to teach me how to ride a horse. I’d fall off, and he’d force me to get back up until I was red in the face with frustration, fighting tears, my little fists clenched in annoyance. He slapped me, hard, right on the cheek and asked me right there who I wanted to be. Do I want to be weak? Or do I want to fight? It wasn’t about the horse; it was about getting back up. He taught me how to fight mentally and physically. Hours in the gym, knocking lumps out of the pads that covered his hands. He taught me how to drive when I was fourteen in the fields behind the house. He taught me lessons without me even knowing it at the time.
What has Laurence ever done with Lacey, other than force money down her throat? I got Calvin to ask Stevie, and it seems like she’s just been punted from one boarding school to another, shunted all over the world following him wherever he goes, just so he can fuck off and leave her the second they get there. I don’t respect that. You don’t bring children into the world and do that. When I have bairns of my own, they’ll know they’re cared about every single day. I’ll be firm, I’ll be stern, but I’ll never leave them.
And where is her mum in all of this?
Who the fuck is looking out for Lacey?
I think that was my father’s mistake. I think my dad thought there was someone who would actually give a fuck that Lacey was being bullied. Someone who would notice that we were making her life miserable. She doesn’t have anyone to tell, so what fucking good was it doing? Her dad would never have packed up and left, anyway. We’d have destroyed her and it would have been for nothing. Her dad would still get his claws into the McGuinness business and turn it from a mediocre operation into a well-oiled machine.
But no matter what I think, I can’t go back to my dad and tell him I’ve failed. He’ll think I’m weak. He’ll think I’m not trying hard enough. He’ll tell me to try again. I can’t go back and tell him it hasn’t worked unless I have another plan, a better plan.
And my problem is that I have absolutely no fucking idea how to do it. I don’t even know where to start.
I walk down Lacey’s garden path and twist the handle on the door, walking straight into the hallway.
“Lacey?” I shout on her, to give her fair warning.
I hear footsteps above me and then she appears at the top of the stairs, dressed but with her hair still in rollers.
“You’re early,” she tells me.
“Can’t bide lateness.” I shrug.
“Well, you can wait there.”
She pivots and I hear her walking back down the hall and closing her bedroom door. She told me to wait here and I last a good 35 seconds before I get fidgety. I walk to the end of the hall and look at the pictures hanging on the wall. They’re all generic pictures of flowers or art. Nothing of Lacey. Turning and going into the living room, I look around. Same again, generic. It’s not even just the pictures either, it’s everything. There’s nothing here that would show a family lived in the house. There are no belongings. No trophies or books or photographs. This could be a show-home.
I hear her coming down the stairs and make my way back to the hall. She turns at the bottom of the steps to face me and I stop walking. The light from the glass panel in the door is flooding in behind her and lights up her golden hair, making her look like an angel. Her make up is subtle, not like that first night I met her when I could have scraped it off with a rake. She’s wearing tight black jeans, heels, and a khaki top that shows off her narrow shoulders and hints at her cleavage.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
She lowers her dark lashes and her lips curve at the edges into a slight smile. “You scrub up all right, too.”
“Ready?”
She nods and turns around to grab her purse from the side table behind her. Fucking hell. Her arse looks exquisite in those jeans. I quickly glance away before she catches me looking, and then I follow her out of the house and towards my car.
“Are your fingers twitching to grab a hold of my neck?” she says playfully. “Are you struggling?”
“You’ll be the one struggling in a second if there’s any more of your cheek, princess,” I tell her as I open the passenger side of the door and she hops in.
“So growly tonight,” she says as I get in my side. “Are you mad we’ve got company? Is it interfering with your plans to seatbelt me again?”
I chuckle. “Did company stop me last time?”
She clicks her tongue at me and I can almost hear her eyes roll as I back the car out of the drive.
“Calvin’s a pain in my ass,” I continue.
“Really? I thought you were like, BFFs.”
I laugh at the way she says ‘BFFs’. No one says that in Scotland. ‘Mates’ is sufficient.
“Doesn’t mean I want to have dinner with him. I eat with him enough Monday to Friday,” I tell her.
“Think of him and Stevie as like an insurance policy. For me, anyway. There’s no chance I would have gone on a date with you alone.”
“So you’d have broken your promise? I had such high estimations of you,” I tease.
“You tricked the promise out of me!” She turns to look at me, eyebrows raised and her tone passionate.
“And I’d do it
again in a heartbeat, darlin.” I shrug and flash her a smile, switching on her heated seat so I can open my window. Her perfume fills the car, and it’s fucking intoxicating. Sweet, really sweet, but not sickly. It’s like a clean, fresh smell that’s going straight to my head.
“Joking aside, you can’t just manipulate me into doing what you want all the time. I’m not a doll,” she says, turning away to look out of the window.
I change gears and put my hand on her thigh, squeezing slightly. “I know that. It’s one of the things I like about you. You put up the good fight.”
She looks down at my hand resting on her leg and then looks up at me. “You shouldn’t have to put up a fight against someone if you like them. Like, it should be easier than this.”
“Nonsense,” I say. “Who told you that?”
She shrugs, not saying anything.
“I’m telling you, my gran and granda’ have been together since they were younger than us, and they’ve had some fights in their time. They bicker constantly. They give each other shit every day, but they’re a team. They fight, they make up. They know the other one better than they know themselves. They know all the shit makes it worth it.”
“We’re not your gran and grandad,” she tells me.
I look back at the road. “I wasn’t talking about us. I’m just trying to teach you a life lesson. If it’s easy, then it means nothing.”
“You have a point, but I don’t think it applies to me. I’ll never let someone else hurt me. Not really,” she says.
I stop the car at a set of lights and tap the steering wheel, waiting for amber. “How can you trust someone unless you give them the power to hurt you?”
She goes quiet for ages and I half watch her, half watch the road. She’s clearly deep in thought. I park the car outside the restaurant and unclip my seatbelt. She turns to me with a serious expression on her face and says, “Maybe I’ll never trust anyone.”
I look at her and see the vulnerability in her eyes.
“That’s no way to live, princess. Take it from someone who already lives that way.”
❖
We walk into the restaurant and I see Calvin and Stevie have already arrived. They’re sitting in one of the booths that spans the far side of the wall, and the owner, Lorenzo, stands at their table chatting to Calvin.
Calvin catches sight of me and we nod at one another. Lorenzo looks up, smiles, and comes rushing over to greet us.
“Mr Keagan! It’s been too long,” he says with a grin as he approaches us. He sticks out his hand and I take it, shaking it firmly while he pulls me in for a bear hug. “You’ve grown big!” He stands back and looks up at me.
“Aye, so have you.” I nod down at his round stomach and laugh.
“Still a cheeky bastard,” he says, giving me a tap on my cheek.
“How’s things? Business good?” I ask.
“Keeping me busy. Myra’s on about opening up a second restaurant in Glasgow. Told her yes, but only if she goes down there and runs it for me. That shut her up quick,” he jokes. “What about you? Your old man was in here last week, says you’re starting up the boxing again.”
“Ah, not made my mind up yet. Think I’m getting too lazy for it these days,” I tell him with a chuckle.
“Well, the love of a beautiful woman can do that to you, son,” he says, turning to Lacey. “What did he do to you? Blackmail? Threaten your livelihood?”
Lacey laughs, nervously, but she hides it well. “You don’t know the half of it!”
“Oh, I can guess! Me and his dad go way back. Listen, if he gives you any jip, you come straight to me, honey, all right? I’ll kick his scrawny little arse into next week for you.”
She flashes him a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind!”
“I’m Lorenzo,” he tells her, reaching out for her hand and bending down to plant a kiss on it.
“Lacey,” she replies, blushing slightly.
“All right, that’s plenty from you,” I say to him, taking his shoulder playfully and pushing him back.
“Follow me, guys,” he says, turning and heading for the booth where Stevie and Calvin are sitting.
We sit down across from each other, Lacey next to Calvin and me beside Stevie.
“Good evening, lovebirds,” Calvin says with a wink.
“Is it really necessary to sit at the same table? Can Stevie not make sure I behave from the next table down?” I ask Lacey.
“You just be thankful she doesn’t have a restraining order against you, son,” Stevie cuts in, shoulder barging me.
Calvin bursts out laughing and slams the palm of his hand against the table. “Damn, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side, eh?”
“You wouldn’t dare anyway,” she tells him, before turning to Lacey. “Got this little bitch wrapped around my finger already.”
Lacey giggles. “Have you been drinking?”
“Might have had a tipple en route,” says Stevie, looking to the side with a cheeky expression on her face. “Or maybe like, three.”
I can’t help laughing at her. “You are the single worst babysitter I’ve ever witnessed.”
She flashes me a grin. “Well, why don’t you try being on your best behavior so the babysitter can have a well-deserved break?”
“You’ve not even started yet!” Lacey says, her eyebrows rise but there’s a twinkle in her eye.
“Well,” she replies, taking a sip of her drink. “How do I know how long you pair will require my services? Like, this could be a one-night thing, or this could be my new life, every weekend til we’re thirty.”
I cough and shoulder her back playfully. “Listen doll, if we need a babysitter when we’re thirty it’ll be for the army of bairns I give her,” I wink at Lace. “And if that’s the case we’ll hire a decent, responsible, sober babysitter.”
“An army of little Shaun Keagans?” Lacey giggles. “It wouldn’t be a babysitter we’d need, Shaun. It would be a fucking cage.”
“Aye and some opium for Lacey,” Calvin says.
“And a team of psychiatrists.” Stevie pitches in, too.
“Ha!” I say sarcastically. “You’re all a bunch of wankers!”
Thankfully, the waiter comes over to take mine and Lacey’s drinks order, and saves me from the verbal annihilation I’m being subjected to.
I order a cola, since I’m driving, and the girls decide to share a bottle of rose wine. Stevie’s already sipping on a gin but I don’t think she’s shy when it concerns the drink.
Not like Lacey.
We order our food and it comes out a little while later. By this point, Stevie’s pished as a fiddle and Lacey is giggling so much she can barely fucking breathe. I guess I was wrong about Lacey being shy with the drink.
I’m the recipient of the jokes mostly, which I take on the chin. When they do take pity on me, it’s only so they can start ripping into Calvin. Pair of little cackling witches.
“Would anyone like to see the desert menu?” the waiter asks, stacking our plates on his arm.
“How about the cocktail menu?” Lacey suggests.
“Fuck that. Tequila shots!” Stevie pitches in. “Four of them. We’ll take a taxi home. You two are boring me.” She nods her head between Calvin and I.
“No! No, no, no. I’m not doing tequila shots so make that three,” Lacey tells the waiter.
“Make that none,” I tell him. “We’ll just take the bill cheers, mate.”
The waiter nods, giving me a knowing smile and heads off with the plates.
“What was that phrase you used on me before?” Lacey asks me, rolling her eyes dramatically and resting her fingers on her lips and chin as if she’s deep in thought. “Oh, yeah… try unclenching your arsehole for me, darlin.”
She does this fake gruff Scottish accent that sounds absolutely nothing like me, but the table erupts anyway. She’s a sharp one, so she is.
“So we’ve gone from a full on babysitter and bodyguard operation, to you being annoyed
that I’m trying to get you home with your morals still intact?” I ask.
“Don’t think we’ll ever understand what goes on inside a woman’s head, mate.” Calvin says in agreement.
“Good thing too! You would likely shit yourselves,” Stevie says. “Anyway where are we going next?”
“Well, there’s Below the Stairs? I heard that’s decent on Friday nights. Shut’s at 1am, though. I know the owner at The Undercroft, he might do a lock-in for us?” Calvin suggests.
“Does The Undercroft have a pool table?” Stevie asks.
“We’re just going to call it a night.” I tell them, watching for Lacey’s reaction. She looks down at her drink but doesn’t argue.
“Really?” Stevie looks at me, then Lacey, then back to me again. “Can’t keep your hands off her, aye?”
“Weesht, bitch.” I say jokingly. “I’m just wanting to make sure this little one gets home safe.”
❖
I park the car outside Lacey’s house. She’s been quiet the whole way and I look over and see she’s nodded off to sleep. Too much fucking wine.
I watch her for a minute while I decide what to do. I could wake her up, but then she’d probably just get out of the car and that would be that. I unclip both our seatbelts and go around the car to her side, retrieving her house keys from her purse. Then I scoop her up into my arms and kick the car door shut before making down the path to her front door.
She wakes up from the motion but she doesn’t tell me to put her down, so I head straight in the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. I don’t put her down until I’m standing in the middle of her dark room. She stumbles slightly in her heels and I catch her arm, guiding her to sit down on her bed.
I kneel at her feet and pull her leg up, feeling in the dark for the buckle.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Don’t be daft. It’s not like you’re in any state to do it yourself.”
“I don’t mean that — that’s your rightful place. At my feet.” She giggles and flops down on her bed. “I mean thanks for tonight. I had a nice time.”