by Aria Ford
Now I’ve been doing this for too long. I’m twenty-nine, and I’m a responsible adult. I’ve been with too many women in clubs like this, had too many evenings blurred by imported vodka and fancy cocktails. I want something different. I want to find love.
Yeah, I was drunk. And when I’m drunk, I tend to think these things. My dad would tell me it was all nonsense. Women will only want me for my money and my car, and I should use them—they would for sure be using me. Dad was full of bright ideas like that.
But now, tonight, I didn’t want to believe it anymore. I was ready for something new.
CHAPTER ONE
Jackie
“I sometimes wonder why I do this to myself.”
I sighed. It was cold outside—late winter, early spring. I shivered and ducked into the warmth of the kitchen.
“Dad?”
No answer. I sighed. I hadn’t expected one. I hoped he was sober.
I do love Dad, and I can even understand why he does this. I just wish he wouldn’t sometimes.
My dad drinks. A lot. He lived here for the last ten years—since he and Mom split when I was in my late teens. Now I’m in my mid-twenties, and he is still drinking. Still holding down a job, though, which is something that makes me happy. He works for an old friend at the local garage.
“Jackie?” he called back.
Whew. He’s awake. Sounds sober too. Great!
“Dad?”
“There you are. I thought I heard someone come in. You cold?”
I nodded, rubbing my hands down my arms for warmth. “You have a fire in there?”
“I do,” he commented. “Nice and warm.”
“Good.”
I came to join him in the small sitting room, where there was, indeed, a fire burning. Knelt down and held my hands to the orange flames. When I looked up, my dad was watching me. Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself. When I saw the look of tenderness in his eyes as he looked at me kneeling there, I knew.
I love him and he loves me. That’s all there is to it.
“How was your day?” he asked gently.
“Good,” I said, nodding. Well, it was okay. My job is tough, but it’s not too bad. And it is the first step on a ladder I want to climb.
I finished college five years ago, where I majored in child psychology. Now, I work as the psychologist at the reformatory. It’s a really demanding job, but I enjoy it. And it doesn’t have to be where I stop, careerwise.
I’d love my own practice one day. I just can’t open it here, in the small town where I was raised, since there isn’t an opening for another psychologist here: we already have two and they suit the community’s needs. And until Dad gets back on his feet, here is where I have to stay.
So, until then, I’m stuck.
“How was your day?” I ask. I look at him closely while he answers. He’s a bit gray and tired looking, and his hand shakes a little. I don’t think it’s the drink—I think he’s hungry.
“Dad?” I ask. “Did you eat lunch at work?”
“There were a lot of cars in the garage today,” he sidesteps. “I spent lots of time looking over this one Toyota…”
“Dad,” I interrupt. “Answer me. Did you eat?”
“Jackie…” he sighs and pulls a face at me.
“Okay. I know what that means. No. Well, I’m making dinner then.”
“Jackie,” he protests weakly. I ignore it.
“Dad, you should start being more responsible. You really should eat. Three meals a day. Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh, you know what I think about that…”
“Yes, I know what you said the doctor should go and do. But I don’t think he can. He might have read a lot about anatomy, but some things are anatomically impossible.”
He chuckled. I heard him as I made dinner. Good. I was glad to have cheered him up. I sometimes think that if he was more cheerful he wouldn’t have to escape his life the way he does.
Later, as we sat and ate together—I join him when I visit to make sure he finishes everything—he reached out and touched my wrist. I looked into those rheumy blue eyes and smiled. He’s still stunning—at least I think so. His hair was white and his face thinner than it should be, his eyes bloodshot. He had the thickened veins and the swollen eyes and face of someone who drinks far too much most of the time, but I could still see the hawkish, handsome man I have called father all my life. And I loved him.
“What?”
“Jackie,” he sighed. “You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” I agreed. “I want to.”
When his eyes looked back into mine I could see the depth of emotion. I wish I couldn’t—seeing him sad makes me sad too.
“I wish I could do more, you know.”
“We all do what we can,” I said softly.
I meant it. I believe that. No one does anything besides what they know how to do at the time. Sometimes our skills sets are just a bit small. His skills set consisted of hiding most of what he felt under anger or under booze. I was just grateful I’d learned other ways to handle how I felt.
He sighed. “I wish I could do more.”
“I know,” I said gently. “I also wish I could.”
I left shortly afterward, my heart heavy. At least I had made sure he ate.
I drove home into the darkness of a winter sky, the wind cold beyond the confines of my car. I stopped outside the apartment block where I rented—in a nice area of the town—and slipped out, folding my coat around me tight as I went. Inside, I took it off and, shivering, turned on the heat.
“Whew.”
I leaned against the kitchen wall and wished, not for the first time, that I could cheer up.
It was mainly Dad that upset me. That, and the things I saw at work. Seeing so much anger, pain and fear in children was really distressing. Facing up to the fact that we had a society that gave so many people so few options was even more distressing.
“I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”
I sighed. Made myself tea. Sat down and drank it. I looked idly at my phone while I did so. Then I set it aside, restlessly. Looked out of the window instead. The sky outside was gray, torn with wind and the setting sun leaked through, a fierce amber.
There is so much beauty in the world.
I closed my eyes. My grandma used to say that there wasn’t much use in bewailing all the bad things in your life. She always believed the things you focused on would multiply.
Well, Granny, in that case, I’m focusing on that sunset. I wouldn’t mind a few more nice things like that in my life.
If she had been there, I could almost imagine her answer. You don’t go shopping without a list. What do you actually want?
I drank the tea and thought about that. What would I want in my life? I had a career and a sense that it would grow. My boss spoke well of me and would give me a good review. That was the thing I wanted most—a fulfilling career path. Then…what else? I had Dad. I wanted him to get better, or at least get happier and more stable.
But what do I want for myself?
I sighed. I had a man in my life a while back. He was hypercritical and unkind. I had really tried my best to make things work, but Luke had dragged at me, wearing me down to the point I had wished I could join Dad in his oblivion. I was not entirely sorry things had ended.
I don’t think I want that again. But do I? I’m twenty-eight and I haven’t really thought about what I want from life.
In my heart, I knew I wanted a child. I had no idea how that was going to show up in my life, though. I was single and I didn’t, to be honest, have much of a desire to alter that. I could support a child on my salary—just. I would have to wait until I was more established before I put serious thought into that. I wouldn’t want my child to grow up with anything less than the best I could offer her or him. It would be pretty tough to pay school fees on my salary.
“Well, who knows. But that’s what I’d like. A child, and yes, love in my life.”<
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I knew now. If the magic was in the knowing, I’d done the first step.
Now I should really think about doing some work and then go to bed. I yawned. It was ten o’ clock and I was tired. I needed to wake up at seven tomorrow.
I was busy washing dishes when my phone made a noise. I took it out and looked at it. It was Ashley, a colleague. She sent a text.
Don’t forget about the meeting tomorrow evening!
Dammit. I texted back.
Thanks. I had forgotten. See you there.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and tried not to swear. I had forgotten about the meeting—it was with the head teacher and a representative from the council. We were going to talk about the budget, of all inspiring things.
“At least it’s tomorrow. And not tonight.”
Of all the things I could think of, that was the most positive outlook I could bring to the school budget. I laughed.
I finished the dishes and slipped into bed half an hour later.
As I lay down and closed my eyes, I wondered if my life would ever be any different. I wanted it to be. I was ready for it.
CHAPTER TWO
Scott
“Thank you. I think that’s all we have to discuss.”
I sighed when I heard it. Dad was at his most serious today. Sometimes I wonder if he forgets I’m his son, or if he just acts like that.
“Okay,” I said, standing and pushing in my chair. “I’ll get going on the new portfolio we discussed. Good day.”
Two could play at that game. Wincing at my own stiff formality, I turned and walked out.
“Wait.”
I stiffened in the doorway as if someone shot me in the back. Stayed where I was. “Yes?”
“You didn’t tell me about the other matter.”
I closed my eyes a moment. “What other matter?”
“The shares. It’s your portfolio, Scott. Need I remind you of your duties to West Incorporated? I suppose I do.” He sighed.
That was too much. I turned around. “Dad,” I said. “I told you. The figures are on my laptop. I can get it now if you need me to. But the ten-year history of our share values won’t change if I show you tomorrow. We can wait for the meeting to discuss it.”
“I know that,” he said icily. “I was just trying to find out if you remembered.”
“Of course I did,” I said, equally icily. I knew it was rude and probably childish to snap at him like that, but then he was treating me like a child.
I was his child—not that he ever treated me as such—but I was also close to thirty years old. I was my own man and he didn’t trust me with basic things like recalling there was a stakeholder’s meeting on Monday morning. It made me furious in a way that no other thing he did, could do. Which was saying something.
He looked levelly back. “There’s no of course about it,” he said quietly. “I don’t trust you, Scott.”
I sighed. “I guess you don’t.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want him getting into it. If I argue the point he’ll remind me that I am a wastrel and a playboy and can’t be trusted to turn up with a matching jacket and tie, never mind prepare a coherent report for our investors. And that wouldn’t be fair now that I was trying to reform.
His lack of trust in me hurt me. A lot. But if I let him know that, he’d use it mercilessly. My dad was a master of manipulation. When I was in the corridor, I closed my eyes and made myself breathe slowly. My coach was one of the best around, and he had given me some tips on relaxing. The breaths were one of those.
In. Out. In. Out.
I looked at my watch. It was five pm. I had time to start on the new portfolio, like I’d said. Then I could head off to the gym. My body needed a workout.
I started the portfolio and worked until six. Then I headed out.
“Scott!”
“Yeah?” I turned, facing Ryan, one of the lead executives and one of the few guys I liked in this part of the company.
“Heading off?”
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging into my jacket. It was the right fit for my shoulders, which was why I got it. It’s difficult to find one that combines a broad shoulder with a narrow waist. This one did.
“Want to go for a drink?”
“No,” I said mildly. “Thanks. I’m going to work out.”
“Okay,” he shrugged eloquently. No one, not even my colleagues, seemed to believe I’d reformed. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
I went down the six floors to the car park and got into my new BMW i8. Of all the things I found to complain about in my job, that car was the thing to sweeten them all. With the whisper-soft engines and massive horsepower, I at least had a drive to and from work that was a pleasure. Traffic jams and all.
“Okay, maybe not the traffic jams.”
I sighed as I sat behind the wheel. Being able to go from halted to a hundred and eighty miles per hour in seconds was all very well if you could actually find a piece of road that didn’t have uncounted cars backed up on it, all honking and losing their tempers.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered under my breath as someone honked nearby. “We’re all stuck. It’s heavy traffic. Patience!”
I switched on the radio but there wasn’t anything decent on so I switched if off again. Shortly thereafter, the traffic began creeping ahead. I followed it all the way to the gym.
I worked out with a grim focus that surprised even me. Yes, I have a side that is very single-minded. Stubborn as a donkey, my dad says. But I don’t usually follow my exercise program with such single-minded dedication. By the end of my hour’s session I was sweating. I headed off to the shower and stood under the hot tap, letting the steam soothe my aching muscles.
Not bad.
I scrubbed at myself with the flannel, noticing that my abs were harder than I recalled, my shoulders broader.
Back in my car about half an hour later, I found myself thinking about the girls in the club. I couldn’t quite believe it was a month, nearly, since I’d been there. How I’d managed to turn myself off so abruptly I had no idea.
Maybe I had so much I just don’t have an appetite for things like that anymore.
A pulling sensation in my groin reminded me that wasn’t true. I sighed.
Okay. Perhaps I still want sex. But not like that.
The sort of intimacy girls gave you because they wanted to get stuff out of you wasn’t what I had in mind. I really wanted to find someone I could talk to. Someone to love, if I was honest.
I had a few girlfriends over the years—mostly girls I met at parties and receptions. I had liked some of them a lot; trusted them. But somehow I’d come off worse for wear. They had been users. Father had been right. I was not really sure I wanted to go there again. I hadn’t had a girlfriend for a year. Which was maybe why I’d gone off the rails so badly this year, if I thought about it. I wanted someone I could feel close to, basically.
But, failing that, I thought as my body hardened and my poor system ached just thinking about the things I used to get up to on Fridays at the clubs and parties, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a nice evening.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I found myself driving to the clubs. Not the same one I was at last month with Alex—I didn’t want him to know I was getting back to my habits. The old crowd had been hard enough to leave as it was.
My feet led me to the Flamingo Club, which was almost as dodgy as it sounded. Actually, let me rephrase that. The club itself was just fine. The place it was in was…secluded. By which I meant it was on the wrong side of town, though it was essentially the right sort of club. It was there mainly for people like me: people who wanted to avoid other people knowing what they did.
Which was exactly what I wanted.
I stopped outside the place. The lights were on, the bouncer—Alfred, I think his name was—standing outside in his black suit. The music was discreet but I could almost hear it, as if it played inside me. I recalled the
last time I was there. I had been with a dancer—Sammy, I think she said her name was—and she had been amazing. My groin twitched at the memories of what she could do. But at the same time, the thought made me feel a bit weird. She wasn’t there because she liked you…far from it.
I gave a sour smile. I would have to be stupid to think any of these people—from Alex and the crowd I’d hung around with before, to the girls in all their multitude—actually liked me. Dad was right. They’re all in it for what they can get. Nothing more.
I stayed where I was in my car, contemplating the scene. Saw Alfred see me and decide to look more closely. He was on the brink of recognizing me, or at least my car—I could see the hesitant smile on his dark face when he looked up—when I decided to go.
All I need is Alfred recognizing me and coming over to persuade me to go in. I don’t think I could deal with that. What could I possibly say that would make him understand I don’t want to anymore?
I put my foot on the gas and headed off faster than I had to into the night.
If it hadn’t started raining just then, I would have been speeding when the traffic light changed. As it was, I’d slowed down. I didn’t want to skid on the wet road. Which meant I was just in time to stop when the light went red and not skid. Which was just as well, since the woman who ran out in front of my car didn’t stop.