by Vikki Patis
‘What have you done to yourself?’ he snaps before I can say anything. His eyes are full of the usual fire, and I resist the urge to take a step back.
‘I dropped a glass. It’s nothing.’
Jake reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling it roughly towards him. I press my lips together to stop the hiss of pain escaping. He examines the cut, his fingers digging into my arm.
‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ he says, dropping my wrist suddenly. ‘Did you do that on purpose?’
I’m momentarily stunned. Now I do take a step back, clutching my injured hand to my chest. I sense Beth stepping into the hall behind me; Jake’s eyes narrow as he looks at her. ‘And you’re still here.’ He shakes his head. ‘I need a shower. You should get that looked at.’ He flicks a dismissive hand at me. ‘We’ll talk later.’ It’s a threat.
As he bounds up the stairs, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Beth reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘New plan,’ she whispers, and I feel something harden inside me.
I don’t think Jake considered how I might get my hand looked at, given that Beth can’t drive. I think about calling a taxi, but I don’t have the energy to sit in A&E for the next four hours. Not with Jake waiting here for me.
Instead, I wrap my hand as best I can, raiding the first aid kit and making use of the huge roll of bandages. Beth has cleared up the rest of the glass, and is now making a simple dinner that even Jake can’t complain about. I lean against the fridge, sipping a glass of wine, as she chops vegetables.
‘Thanks,’ I say quietly, and she nods without turning around. I feel my stomach contract as I recall her words – so we make a new plan – but she’s right. Of course she’s right. I have to get out of here. We have to get out of here. We can still do it. It might take a bit longer, especially with my hand bandaged up like this, but we can still go. ‘Listen—’ I begin, but Jake’s voice cuts me off.
‘This looks cosy.’
I feel my heart begin to pound as I turn to face him. Beth doesn’t move; the hand holding the knife is poised to slice the lettuce, but she’s frozen. Waiting. She knows what Jake might be capable of. I remember the attack before he went to Italy, the disgust in her eyes. The hatred. She didn’t need to hear my story. She’s seen it, written across my skin in the bruises he leaves; in the confidence he destroys. The fire in his eyes.
‘Salad for dinner,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Wine?’
Jake glares at the glass in my hand. ‘If there’s any left,’ he sneers, and turns on his heel.
As I fill a glass for him, I feel Beth’s eyes boring into my back. Once again, I can almost hear her thoughts. But we can’t talk about this now. Later, I mouth at her, and go into the living room.
‘So, how was it?’ I ask as I pass Jake his glass. I perch on the end of the sofa, trying to take up as little space as possible. He glares at me as he takes a huge gulp of wine.
‘How do you think it was? It was utter bollocks. None of those arseholes know how to run a campaign. We lost the whole thing. Ian’s going to be fuming.’ Ian is Jake’s boss, one of those little men with forgettable features who like to make themselves known by wearing expensive watches and driving flash cars. He’s a penny-pincher when it comes to his team, though, and someone pays for every loss. Someone other than him, that is. I met him once at a Christmas do, the first and last one I attended with Jake. I remember Ian being barely taller than I am, with a grey comb-over and strange, rat-like eyes. He’d drunk too much, as is apparently his custom, and attempted to touch me up while I stood at the bar. Jake, of course, blamed my outfit. He got so angry on the drive home, he punched a hole in the windscreen. I remember screaming at him to stop, desperately clutching the wheel so we didn’t veer off the road and end up in a ditch.
Jake is still ranting now. I shake my head, trying to dispel the memory, and force myself to listen. ‘That new woman, Charlotte, is an absolute joke. Fresh out of uni, thinks she knows everything when actually she knows sod all. She’s a girl really. A stupid little girl. I blame her most of all.’ He throws back the rest of his wine and hands his empty glass to me rather than placing it on the coffee table in front of him. I fumble with it in my injured hand. ‘I’m going to give her a piece of my mind tomorrow. You wait. Ian will bloody tear her a new one as well.’
A loud bang makes me jump. I turn to see Beth stalking out of the room, having set down the large salad bowl on the dining table. She returns with plates and cutlery. ‘Dinner,’ she says in a monotone, when she sees me staring at her. Jake sighs loudly.
‘I’ll have it over here,’ he says. ‘I’m knackered.’ Beth stares at him blankly, and I feel the tension bubbling between them. I know how Beth feels about Jake – she’s seen what he can be like, how he’s treated me – but what is his problem with her? Is there something I don’t know? Or is it because she’s here at my invitation? She’s my friend, my ally. And I’m not supposed to have any of those.
Jake clears his throat and I leap out of my seat, depositing our wine glasses on the coffee table and hurrying over to the dining table. Beth raises an eyebrow at me, but I give a small shake of my head as I heap salad on to a plate. Jake frowns as I hand it to him, and I hover, waiting.
‘Get me another glass of wine, will you.’ It isn’t a request.
I refill both our glasses from the bottle in the fridge, clumsy with my bandaged hand. It’s throbbing now; I can see blood seeping through the bandage. Shit. I’ll have to find a fresh bandage after dinner. I yank open a drawer and, finding some painkillers, swallow two with a gulp of wine before hurrying back into the living room.
Beth is sitting at the table, silently forking salad into her mouth. She’s staring down at her phone, flicking through Facebook without appearing to take in what she’s seeing. I sit down opposite her, forcing a smile as I pile food on to my own plate. I pick at it, my stomach churning. I have no appetite. Instead, I drain my glass and go back for more. The pain in my hand is getting worse. Maybe I do need to see someone. Tomorrow, I think. I’ll see how I am tomorrow.
‘Mum’s coming round tomorrow,’ Jake says from the sofa, breaking into my thoughts. I half turn in my seat to face him. ‘Make sure there’s something nice for lunch.’
Before I can respond, Beth speaks up. ‘I’m sure you’re capable of nipping to the shop.’ Her voice is tight, her eyes narrowed. ‘Since Isla can’t drive. She can barely hold a fork.’ She gestures to my hand. I try to catch her eye, shake my head, tell her to shut up, stop antagonising him, but she ignores me.
‘You can help,’ Jake says simply, staring down at his phone. I see Beth’s nostrils flare.
‘Can I now?’
Jake looks up, frowning at her tone. ‘What else are you good for exactly? Why are you still here? I think you’ve outstayed your welcome.’
‘Come on—’ I start, but Beth snorts loudly.
Jake stands then, towering over us in our seats. ‘Have you got something to say, Elizabeth?’ he sneers. Elizabeth? I stare at him as Beth responds.
‘Oh, I’ve got plenty to say. Where should I begin? Maybe—’
I slam my glass down on the table. They both look at me, eyes wide, faces red. ‘Enough,’ I croak. My hand is throbbing, and so is my head. I shouldn’t have had so much wine. ‘You’ve got work tomorrow, Beth,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I can feel the frustration pouring off her in waves. But I can’t deal with this right now. My vision swims and I grip the table in front of me. ‘I’m going to bed. Jake, can you help me?’
Maybe it’s my tone, thin and almost pleading. Maybe he can see the pain in my eyes. Or maybe he’s relieved to get away from Beth, away from whatever she was about to say. He holds out a hand and helps me up, leading me upstairs. I glance back at Beth, trying to communicate with my eyes: new plan.
Thirty-Seven
Beth
Beth steps out of the restaurant and into the night, tired from the long shift. The air is surprisingly chilly,
although it’s only eight o’clock. She lights a cigarette and pauses by the river, enjoying the peace. She remembers the previous night, the tension bubbling between her and Jake. She almost lost her cool, almost gave the game away. Be patient, she tells herself. Isla will come through.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket: an unknown number. For a moment, she considers not answering, then she swipes up the green telephone icon.
‘Hello?’ she says cautiously.
A pause. ‘B?’
She feels the air whoosh out of her lungs. ‘Kyle?’ she says, incredulous.
‘Yep, it’s me.’ The voice she’s grown so used to, knows so well, sounds alien to her now. His vowels are rougher than she’s become accustomed to since living with Isla and Jake.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ she explodes. ‘Nobody has heard from you for ages! Your mum, Steve, I—’
‘I’m at Steve’s now,’ Kyle breaks in. ‘He picked me up yesterday.’
‘From where?’ Beth demands. Kyle doesn’t respond straight away. She stares into the dark sky, stars twinkling above her, and sighs deeply. ‘Why did you do it, Kyle?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says after a beat. ‘I was in a rut, owed some money, kept digging myself deeper, y’know?’ He sighs too. ‘I couldn’t find a way out of it. So I ran.’
Beth is silent in the face of his confession. In truth, it feels like it all happened so long ago. The crash, the plan. Jake. ‘I know what I’m doing, Kyle,’ she says quietly. ‘I’ve been trying to fix this mess. I’m nearly there. I can—’
‘I’ve got your money,’ he says, interrupting her. ‘I’m sorry I took it. I shouldn’t have done that.’
No, you shouldn’t have, Beth thinks coldly.
‘And I should have paid the rent. I shouldn’t have asked you to…’ He pauses, takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, B.’ His voice is laced with what sounds like genuine regret. ‘I’ve got it all here, everything we owe. You can pay it all off now.’
Beth lets out a breath. Can it be true? Can she really clear all the debts he left her?
He speaks again before she can answer. ‘Where are you living now? Steve mentioned he dropped you off the other week, but he didn’t know which house you went into. You didn’t… You haven’t gone through with it, have you?’
She makes a non-committal noise.
‘You can collect it if you want,’ Kyle continues when she doesn’t speak. ‘The money. Steve could pick you up. You’ve just finished work, haven’t you?’
‘Is he fit to drive?’ she asks. Kyle gives a chuckle, and her heart jumps. He sounds more like the Kyle she used to know, the little boy in the playground, a book clutched to his chest. Her heart aches as she remembers him as he was, remembers the time they spent together.
‘No, I guess not,’ he admits.
In an instant, Beth makes a decision. She’s exhausted from her long shift, but Kyle might disappear again. She needs this money. She needs to get Isla out.
‘I’ll walk over,’ she says. ‘It’s not far.’ It’s true: Steve’s flat isn’t a million miles away from town, but it is in the opposite direction to Isla’s house. It would take her over an hour to walk back again. Unless she got a taxi with the money Kyle is going to give her. ‘Do you have all of it? The money, I mean?’ she asks, remembering the wad of cash her father gave her all those weeks ago. It was supposed to be her escape plan, her nest egg, after what Kyle had made her do. That fruitless, traumatic night that changed everything. And then he took it, stole her only means of escape. She closes her eyes, remembering the screech of brakes, the scream. The blood on Isla’s hands. She shakes her head.
‘Yeah, all of it,’ Kyle is saying, ‘but are you sure, B? It’s not safe at this time of night.’
Beth is already walking towards Steve’s flat, picturing the road that runs past the hospital and Hertford North station, remembering the hill she’ll have to climb before she reaches his flat. She thinks of Isla’s house, of Jake and his anger. She shudders, not wanting to go back there. Not yet. They need to give this new plan some time. She needs to trust Isla to play her part.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘It’s not even that late. See you soon.’
Beth reaches the top of the hill, and the edge of Steve’s estate, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in gasps. I am so unfit, she thinks, pausing to catch her breath. She straightens, glancing up at the new flats on the other side of the road. The car park looks freshly paved, little solar lights gleaming from the grass. She considers taking the short cut through the flats, but the street lights are off, and the alley looks unappealing. Instead, she carries on up the road and passes the abandoned pub, its windows dark and its car park empty, before turning into the estate. The sky is slowly turning to black, the light fading as she walks.
She lights a cigarette as she passes through the deserted streets. The shutters on the Co-op are down, a television flickering in the flat above. She can hear a dog barking, a car backfiring on the dual carriageway below the estate. She turns down Steve’s road and approaches his block. His windows are open, dirty net curtains fluttering in the breeze, and she can hear the sounds of a game, gunshots and explosions, carrying out into the night. She shakes her head and presses the buzzer for his flat.
‘B?’ Kyle answers.
‘Yep.’ A car goes past at speed; Beth hears a shout and glances behind her, startled. She can see brake lights in the distance, hear the faint sounds of music pumping from the speakers.
‘Come up.’ The door buzzes and she rips it open, desperate if not to be inside Steve’s flat, then at least to no longer be standing outside. The skin on the back of her neck prickles as she climbs the steps and emerges on the landing. She looks down at the road below, catching a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, but she can’t make out what it is. A cat, she hopes.
As she raises her fist to knock, the door swings open and Kyle is there, smiling sheepishly. His hair is in need of a trim, growing up and out like it has always done, but his face is freshly shaved. For the first time in a long time, his eyes are clear, not bloodshot as Beth has got used to.
‘Hi,’ he says, almost nervously. He steps back, gestures for her to come in. Torn between being glad to see him alive and well, and wanting to punch him in the face, she steps inside, closing the door behind her. In the tiny hallway, the noises from the living room are too loud, almost overwhelming. Kyle hurries through and grabs the remote, muting the game, and Steve lets out a squeal of protest.
‘Don’t be a dickhead,’ Kyle mutters, inclining his head towards Beth.
‘Oh, all right, Beth?’ Steve says, putting down the controller and picking up a can of beer. He looks nervous, not unlike the last time she saw him. She wonders if the memories are getting to him, the scenes playing through his mind as he tries to sleep at night. Or do the drugs and alcohol numb the pain?
Beth ignores him, instead looking around the room. The sofa is battered and torn, an indistinct shade of brown; the carpet is stained and littered with empty cans and crisp packets. Steve is dressed in a faded tracksuit, his face shining with perspiration. She tries to refrain from grimacing. She’s been used to a life of luxury with Isla, with her obsessively clean house. She wonders what her friend would think of this place, her spotless ballet shoes glaring against the grubby carpet.
‘You look well,’ Kyle says softly, staring at her.
Beth feels the overwhelming urge to hug him rush over her again. The past few weeks seem to have dropped away from him – no, the past years, years of him spending his life on the sofa, drinking and smoking and sleeping during the day, rarely getting outside for a breath of fresh air. Standing in front of her is the kind, gentle man she once knew. ‘I am,’ she replies shortly, unable to trust herself to say more. He put you in this situation, remember that, she tells herself firmly. When he stopped paying the rent. When he suggested what she could do to put it right. When he ran away when it all got too real.
&nb
sp; ‘Kyle’s going to stay here for a while,’ Steve says, glancing between the two of them. ‘Till he gets back on his feet.’
Beth says nothing. Kyle clears his throat, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.
‘Here,’ he says, taking out a wad of notes. ‘I’m really sorry I took it. It’s all there, you can count it if you want.’
Beth looks up and catches his eye, registering the emotion there. She believes his apology, wants to accept it. But it’s too late to change anything now. Although he might be doing the right thing, he should never have stolen from her in the first place, or failed to pay the rent, or hidden the final notices that had dropped through the letter box. And he should never have forced her to go that night. He set the wheels in motion; he opened the door that has led Beth to this path. And then he fled, like a coward, leaving her to find her own way.
She nods once and takes the money, folding it and shoving it into her pocket.
Kyle takes a step forward. ‘B, I—’
A noise from the street below cuts him off. The screech of tyres, a horn blaring. Steve gets up, pokes his head through the net curtain.
‘What the hell?’ he murmurs. Kyle and Beth step closer, crane their necks to see. Two men step out of the vehicle, mere silhouettes against the dark backdrop. One is carrying something that looks like a pole.
‘You expecting anyone?’ Steve asks Kyle. Beth moves back.
‘Are you dealing again?’ she asks. ‘Is that what getting back on your feet means?’ She snorts derisively. Kyle turns to face her.
‘I’m not dealing,’ he says pointedly, glaring at Steve. ‘I’ve got a job with a builder who lives round the corner, met him down the pub one night. It’s not regular or anything, just when I’m needed, but it’s decent money.’ He holds out his hands imploringly. ‘B, I want to prove that things can be different. That I can be different. If you’ll just—’