Written in the Scars (The Estate Series Book 4)

by Mel Sherratt

  ‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m on a late shift this afternoon so thought I’d pop in early.’

  Sam’s head appeared around the door, giving Donna a quick thumbs up before his eyes fell on Megan.

  ‘Hiya!’ His smile widened as they both joined him in the living room. ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’ Megan smiled back. ‘How are you? How’s the hand?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s not hurting much now at all.’

  Donna eyed them both, watching as Megan’s face reddened and Sam appeared to be all bashful.

  ‘Still liking the hot weather?’ said Sam.

  ‘Yes. Can’t believe it’s been sunny for so long.’

  ‘You look lovely with a tan.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Donna was glad to see Mary open her eyes. She moved across to her, thankful that she wouldn’t feel so much of a gooseberry now.

  ‘How are you, Mum?’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Mary snapped. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that.’

  ’Hi, Mary.’ Megan gave her a wave.

  ‘You can sod off as well.’

  Megan smiled. ‘I’m going, but I’ll be back later when your visitors have gone.’

  Donna breathed a sigh of relief after Megan had left.

  ‘That was close,’ said Sam. ‘Good job it was Megan.’

  ‘She’s nice, isn’t she?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yeah. I want her to come out with me for a drink but she isn’t having any of it.’

  ‘Pity,’ Donna commiserated. ‘I think she’d do you the world of good.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, she’d take care of you so that I don’t have to worry about you all the time.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Mum. I’m capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Really? Then how did you manage to nearly chop your hand off?’

  Sam smirked as he positioned the wire underneath a frilly drawer run and beside a photo frame.

  Donna moved to the other side of the room, looking to see if she could spot it at different angles.

  ‘Do you think anyone will see it?’ asked Sam.

  ‘I hope not.’ Donna banished her guilt as he switched it on. She stood in front of Mary and rested her hand on the side of her face, pleased when it wasn’t batted away.

  ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, Mum,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After bumping into Sam at Poplar Court earlier in the day, Megan hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She picked up her phone again, quickly scrolling through the messages that had gone back and forth between them since.

  Great to see you today. Why not come out for a drink with me?

  I’m really busy.

  You can’t be busy all the time.

  I am, sorry.

  I won’t take no for an answer.

  You’ll have to.

  It hadn’t been the first time they’d exchanged messages. Despite not giving Sam her number when he was in the hospital, she’d given in and sent him a text asking how he was.

  She’d lost count of how many times they had swapped messages since, returning most of them, enjoying their flirty banter. He’d asked to meet her twice but she’d said she was busy on both nights. She would have been too, if you could count staying in to watch Coronation Street being busy.

  It had been an hour until the next message had come in.

  Are you giving me the brush off or are you playing hard to get?

  Megan had snorted when she’d read that one. As if she would do that.

  She had pondered so long on how to reply that in the end, another hour passed. Sam had sent her more messages.

  I have a check-up next week. I’d really like someone to hold my hand, my good hand! I don’t suppose …

  Megan paused. Surely seeing him again wouldn’t do any harm? She really wanted to.

  What time?

  11.10. You can sit and wait with me, if you like?

  I finish my shift at 11.00, so I’ll come and find you.

  Perfect.

  If I can’t find you, I’m off though.

  Megan sent the last message as more of a back-up plan. It could still give her time to slip away without him seeing her. She could say that she’d had to work over or something.

  His reply straight back made her smile.

  Always drive a hard bargain, don’t you?

  She tapped the phone on her chin, then looked up as her mum shouted over to her.

  ‘I’ve been trying to catch your eye for ages,’ Patricia said. ‘What’s keeping your attention on that phone?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a silly YouTube video,’ said Megan guiltily.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to let you know that Coronation Street is due to start.’

  ‘Okay.’ Megan put down her phone and stood up. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  Patricia smiled. ‘And a piece of that cake you brought in with you this afternoon?’

  Megan walked to the door and then hotfooted back for her phone. Sliding it into the back pocket of her denim shorts, she went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

  Once tea bags were in the mugs and the cake had been cut, she checked her phone again while she waited for the kettle to boil. She tapped on the last message she’d received. Sam had attached two photos to it. He’d taken a couple of selfies, sticking his tongue out on one of them and grinning manically on the other.

  Every time Megan saw the one with a grin, the image seemed so clear it was as if he was standing right in front of her. She held the phone up and imagined Sam there. What would she say to him? Would he like her mum?

  She decided that she would pop in and see him next week. After all, it wouldn’t do any harm to be friends. She could cope with that as long as she got to see that smile for real.

  When the tea was made, she took everything through on a tray and sat down again. The theme tune of the popular soap burst from the television.

  ‘Ooh, good, just in time,’ said Patricia. ‘I wonder what David Platt will be up to today.’

  As she immersed herself into other people’s lives, Meg tried to forget about her own. Sam’s smile in particular. But it kept flashing up in front of her eyes. Even if she couldn’t show him her skin, he was well and truly under hers.

  Sam was in the flat with Brendan. The weather still being exceptionally hot, he’d spent the afternoon in the pub with some of his mates after leaving his nan’s flat. It was the only thing he was capable of at the moment until his hand had healed a little more.

  He’d got lucky, though. He’d managed to figure out Scott Johnstone’s whereabouts. Apparently, he was living with some woman in Marilyn Avenue. Sam had left a message with the guy who’d told him, asking Scott to get in touch. He needed to get straight with him, make sure he knew that he wasn’t going to come after him for what he was owed. He’d heard on the grapevine that Scott was going to shut him up. Right now, he was in too vulnerable a place to make a noise.

  The windows were wide open, the television blaring out. As they sat together continuing to drink, there was a bang at the door. Sam and Brendan looked at each other. When Sam refused to budge, with an exaggerated sigh, Brendan went to answer the door.

  He heard a kerfuffle but didn’t have time to move before he saw Scott appear in the living room. Still sitting down, he was at a disadvantage and couldn’t stand up in time before he felt a fist smash into his face. He put up his arm to defend himself, sheer terror coming over him as he knew he wasn’t able to fight back.

  Scott grabbed Sam’s injured hand and squeezed hard on it.

  The pain brought stars to Sam’s eyes and he writhed on the settee.

  ‘I hear you’ve been bad-mouthing me, Harvey,’ Scott said.

  Sam thought back to that afternoon. Had someone heard him moaning about not getting his fair share after the robbery, when he was
acting all big in front of everyone?

  Still holding onto his hand, Scott dragged him to his feet.

  ‘Put the cops on to me and you’re for it, Harvey, do you hear?’ Scott’s face came within an inch of his nose. ‘I’ve just got out and I sure as hell ain’t going back inside because of a shit like you.’

  Behind him, Sam could see Brendan, his skin ashen, seeming to shrink into the wall.

  ‘I haven’t said anything,’ he lied.

  Scott punched him in the stomach, then in the face a few more times. Sam felt like he was going to pass out after the last one caught him on the side of his temple. He coughed, blood coming from a split lip as he struggled to catch his breath.

  ‘You wanted your cut?’ Scott threw a few notes onto the floor at Sam’s feet.

  Sam could do nothing but groan.

  ‘You keep away from me now, do you fucking hear?’

  When Sam didn’t respond, Scott kicked him in the stomach again. Breathless, he writhed around the floor.

  ‘And keep your mouth shut.’ Scott turned to glare at Brendan who lowered his eyes. ‘Both of you.’

  Once Scott had gone, Sam dragged himself up to sitting, resting his back on the settee. Already he could feel his face swelling, but he was more concerned with the damage that might have been caused to his hand. He winced as he tried to breathe. He’d have to get his ribs checked out if they weren’t any better in the morning.

  ‘What the fuck was all that about?’ Brendan spoke in a high-pitched tone.

  ‘Just a spot of bother,’ Sam said, through shallow breaths.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Sam held up his good hand.

  Brendan helped him to his feet, then began to pace the room. ‘He’s a fucking lunatic! What did you say about him?’

  ‘I was just after where he lived.’ Sam wasn’t going to tell Brendan that he had been mouthing off about Scott. The last thing he wanted was more trouble when he couldn’t defend himself.

  ‘If he comes here again, you’ll have to move out.’ Brendan was still pacing. ‘I don’t want his sort on my doorstep. I can’t cope with that kind of thing.’

  Sam wanted to respond, to tell Brendan that he’d stay here as long as he liked. But, right now, he needed somewhere to lay low so it would be best to let this die down. He’d get round Brendan later. He might be the only friend he had right now.

  One of his so-called mates must have grassed him up. With no one to watch his back, Sam realised he was on his own. And things would probably get worse once word got round that Scott had given him a beating. There was no honour amongst thieves as far as he was concerned.

  Knowing his hand was going to take months to heal, he couldn’t go back to what he used to do anyway. And, until it was better, he was in danger of being attacked again unless he kept his nose clean.

  Maybe this was his chance to start afresh, keep away from the idiots he’d hung around with and go on the straight and narrow. Besides, he was tired of having no money, of others being wary of him, or looking down their noses at him.

  Other people turned their lives around – surely he could?

  And if he didn’t, he was going to live in fear. Someone would always be out to get him. Did he really want to live his life looking over his shoulder all the time?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lewis knocked on Amy’s front door. It still seemed strange not to let himself in with his key, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t live here anymore, and it didn’t seem right.

  As he waited on the doorstep, he felt his hands shaking and pushed them into his pockets. He hadn’t had a drink in three days and, although the nightmares had continued, he’d wanted to stay sober.

  He’d known that Amy might not want to talk to him but he had to try to see her. After chatting to Josie, and then having another conversation with Daniel, he wanted to talk to Amy now.

  Actually, he just wanted to see Amy and this seemed a perfect excuse to visit. He’d called ahead after he’d cocked up on his last visit.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said as she let him in. He followed her through to the kitchen, checking out how amazing she looked in shorts and a bright orange vest. Lewis couldn’t really recall a time when Amy had ever looked anything less than amazing, though.

  ‘I’m not sleeping well,’ he told her.

  ‘Me either, because of the heat, but I expect you’ll be used to these temperatures.’ She smiled. ‘Tea or lemonade?’

  ‘Lemonade, please.’ Lewis smiled back, thankful that she was making him feel welcome. Again, he felt like a stranger in a house where he had once belonged. He glanced around the homely kitchen, photos of him on the side of the fridge, just like at his mum’s. This time the father and son were him and Daniel.

  ‘Is Dan home?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s—’ Amy jumped as there was a thump on the wall.

  Dan’s head popped up outside the kitchen window and he waved at Lewis. He held up his football and beckoned him outside.

  Lewis raised his hand, stretching out his fingers. ‘Five minutes,’ he shouted.

  Dan was off again before Amy had handed Lewis his drink. He took a sip of the cold liquid.

  ‘I – can we talk?’ he said, all of a sudden feeling like he was stuck for words.

  ‘As long as you don’t snap my head off like the last time.’

  Lewis looked abashed. He pointed to the table and they sat down. Taking a deep breath, he told her about his meeting with Josie and how he was thinking of getting help.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked him afterwards.

  ‘Because I need something to work towards, aim for, you know? I was hoping you’d say that if I change then you’d let me come home.’

  Amy had been sitting forward but sat back in her chair now. ‘I’m not sure I can promise you that – and it’s really unfair of you to ask.’

  ’But if you …’

  ‘It sounds like blackmail!’ She stood up and moved to the sink. Keeping her back to him, she continued. ‘You know it won’t ever be the same between us. Even if you get help, I can’t be there for you as a wife.’ She turned back to him then. ‘But I can be there as a friend.’

  Lewis swallowed. Why had he expected anything more? But it was something he could work at. He was determined to save his marriage, so it would have to do for now.

  ‘Stay for tea?’ Amy spoke into the silence. ‘Dan would like it.’

  ‘Would you like it?’

  Amy paused. ‘Yes, I would. You know I would. But it doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean that I’ll stop trying either.’

  They shared a strained smile.

  Lewis knocked back his drink and went out into the garden. ‘Right, you,’ he said, running at Dan and manoeuvring the ball off him, ‘let’s see who’s best. Father or son.’

  As Lewis switched off, chasing Dan around the garden after he’d regained the ball, he heard himself laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. He hoped it would continue. Because it felt good.

  He glanced at the kitchen window to see Amy watching them. He smiled again, and she smiled back. God, he missed her.

  Maybe it was too late for him and Amy to start again, but he wasn’t giving up on his family yet.

  Keera hadn’t long been at work that night when Steve Wilson showed his ugly face. She’d been helping Ramona out with her computer after the screen had gone blank, and was on all fours beneath the counter, checking that all the cables were still plugged in. He didn’t see her as he came bursting through the door.

  ‘You got my money?’ he said to Ramona.

  ‘No, not yet.’ Keera could hear the tremble in Ramona’s voice. ‘I said I’d get it to you by the end of the month and … stop, you can’t come—’

  Steve reached over the counter and grabbed a handful of Ramona’s hair. ‘I said you needed to get it to me by last weekend. I have people after me for money too, so I need that cash.’r />
  ‘I haven’t got it!’ Ramona tried to free herself as he pulled her nearer. He drew up his hand just as Keera crawled out from beneath the desk. She grabbed the stapler from behind the counter and brought it down on Steve’s knuckles.

  Steve let go of Ramona and clasped his hand. ‘You mad fucking bitch!’ he screamed.

  ‘She hasn’t got the money.’ Keera folded her arms and stood up to him. She felt better that she was behind the counter, glancing to her right to see that the baseball bat was still there if he tried to jump over.

  As he came at them again, she grabbed for it, raising it high above her head. ‘Come any closer and I will use it!’

  Steve stood in front of them both, catching his breath for a moment. Keera could smell the alcohol fumes from where she was standing. She glanced at Ramona, cowering by her side.

  The door opened behind them. Estelle came through first, followed by the new girl, Sophie. Behind them was one of their regular clients.

  ‘Everything okay here?’ Trevor Price asked, coming to stand in front of the women.

  ‘Mind your own business.’ Steve glanced at him fleetingly.

  ‘But these women are my friends.’

  ‘Your friends?’ Steve sneered as he looked around the room. ‘You’re old enough to be their father.’

  ‘Steve!’ cried Ramona.

  Trevor shook his head. ‘Your sort aren’t welcome if you’re out to hurt any of them, so I suggest you sling your hook.’

  ‘I don’t fucking think so.’

  ‘Oh, I do fucking think so.’

  ‘Why, you …’ Steve launched himself across the room, a fist drawn back in the air.

  Trevor punched him in the side of his face.

  Steve staggered but stayed on his feet. With a roar, he charged at Trevor again and pushed him back against the wall, but Trevor stood his ground and rammed his fist into Steve’s stomach.

  ‘Stop!’ Ramona cried, coming from behind the reception. ‘No more, please.’

  Trevor relented and pushed Steve to the floor. He wiped one palm across the other as if ridding himself of their filth.

  Keera grinned. ‘Way to go, Trev. I didn’t know you had it in you.’