by Jade West
“They don’t want me–” I begin, but his hands squeeze my arms.
“Shut up, Carrie. Just shut the fuck up.”
I’m so taken aback that I do.
Nobody’s told me to shut the fuck up for a long, long time. It’s all tight lips and careful language. All disappointment and tutting and sadness – not anger. Nobody actually pulls me up on my shitty behaviour anymore.
Because they’ve given up. Everyone’s given up on me. But not Michael.
Not even now I’m not his problem anymore.
“My bus left already…” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t trust you on the fucking bus anyway,” he says. “You’re coming with me. I’m driving you straight to their front door and handing you over.”
I smirk. “But you’ve been–”
“Drinking?” he interrupts. “Thanks to you my first beer is still on the table.”
I’m trying to summon up the voice to say thanks, or whatever I’m supposed to say to shit like this, but I don’t get a chance. The door opens to my right and the posh suited guy steps out.
They stare at each other, him and Michael, and Michael loosens his grip on me.
I wish he hadn’t. I liked the way he held me there.
“What the hell are you doing?” posh guy asks, and Michael groans.
“Taking Carrie back to her parents.”
I can’t bring myself to argue. It’s a first for me.
They stare at each other a long time, and I fidget, scuffing my boot along the brickwork.
“Text me when you’re done and make it quick. This is way out of order,” the posh guy says, and I wonder for a second if they are… but they can’t be, because I’ve seen the way Michael looks at me, even though he tries to hide it, even though he doesn’t want to.
Posh guy leaves and I let out a sigh. “He your boyfriend? He’s a bit stiff.”
“He’s a friend,” Michael tells me. “We were having a beer.”
I watch the guy walk up the street. He’s hot for an old dude, looking ripped under that pompous suit he’s wearing.
I kinda wish they were into each other, maybe I could, I dunno.
It’s stupid. Dumb. I push the thought away.
“I don’t want to go back to Rosie and Bill’s,” I say, but Michael shakes his head.
“You’re out of fucking luck,” he tells me, and he’s not playing around. His voice is edgy outside of his office, edgy and deep and dangerous, even though I don’t feel in danger at all. “I’m taking you home right fucking now.”
I hate it when people touch me. I hate walking down the street attached to someone else, but when Michael takes my wrist in his hand and leads me across the street, I don’t mind it at all.
Michael isn’t like other people. Not like anyone I’ve ever met.
He won’t be played. He won’t be pushed away. He won’t be screamed off me.
Not yet, anyway.
And I don’t mind that at all, either.
Chapter Three
Michael
I don’t let go of Carrie’s wrist as I head across the High Street towards my apartment building’s car parking area. I curse under my breath as I check for bystanders. This town is full of eyes and ears and there’s every chance the fake news that I dragged Carrie back to mine will hit my office before I do in the morning. I could do without that, not least because I’ll have questions to answer that won’t look great on my employment file. I don’t give a fuck what they say about me, but if stupid rumours were to impact the kids on my caseload… It doesn’t bear thinking about.
I’m crazy for getting involved, but I can’t stop. My feet take it upon themselves to keep on walking, my heart hammering while my mind spins with justifications for my actions, even though I know there are other ways to handle this.
I could’ve looked up Rosie and Bill’s number and called them out to collect her. I could’ve opened up the office and made her wait in reception with me until they arrived.
I pull my car keys from my pocket the moment my car is in sight and switch off the central locking. Carrie tugs at my arm and I turn to realise she’s staring up at my apartment block. It’s nothing fancy, just a regular brick building. Mine is the top floor, and Pam Clowes, who works with me, has the ground. I really fucking hope she’s not at her kitchen window.
She’s not. Thank God for small mercies.
“Neat place,” Carrie says, and I’d think she was being sarcastic if I didn’t know her tone better.
“It’s alright,” I tell her, tugging her along the remaining distance.
“Which one’s yours?” she asks, and I definitely shouldn’t tell her that, but I do anyway.
I point out my living room window as I slip into the driver’s seat. I’m relieved when she drops into the passenger side and buckles herself in without argument.
“Are you feeling sick? Queasy?” I’m already scouting the backseat for a paper bag or something but she laughs at me.
“I can handle my drink.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can,” she insists, “I only had one or two, no big deal.”
“Don’t take me for a fucking idiot,” I say as I turn the key in the ignition. “Good job I was there or who knows what state you’d have ended up in. You don’t want to be associating with Eddie Stevens, he’ll lead you nowhere good.”
I pull the car out onto the main road, fighting the urge to stare at her and not at where I’m going. I know Bill and Rosie’s place. It’s a pretty white house set back from the lane into Lydbrook, the chocolate-box picture of tranquillity – which has no doubt been shattered since this bundle of trouble arrived on the scene.
“Do you want to call ahead?” I ask her, “maybe you should let them know you’re on your way home?”
“They won’t care.”
It doesn’t matter how many times she says it, I don’t believe that’s the case. I tell her so and she spins in her seat to glare at me.
“Why do you always have to see the best in people all the time? The world isn’t like that, Michael. It’s mean and shitty and nobody gives two fucking craps about a nasty little gypsy like me. You’re a fool. A fucking idiot.”
“Well, this fucking idiot gives two fucking craps about getting you back home safe, Carrie, so I guess the whole entire universe can’t be entirely mean and shitty now, can it?”
She sighs. “Maybe the whole entire universe except you.”
“I’m flattered you think I’m that exceptional a member of the human race, but I’m simply one of many trying to do their best. The world is full of us, maybe you could try letting us help sometime.”
“I’ll let you help,” she whispers and I’m so surprised I do a double take. The evening light through the windscreen dances across her features, and her eyes look big and sad. She pulls her knees up and rests her dirty boots on the dashboard, oblivious to the mess she’ll be making.
But I don’t even care.
“How can I help?” I say, eyes firmly back on the road. “Just tell me, Carrie. Because I’ll do whatever I can.”
“You can take me away from this shitty place.” Her voice is quiet and breathy.
I remind myself she’s a drunk young woman who probably doesn’t mean half of this.
“I mean it,” she says, as though she can read my mind. “You and me. It could be an adventure.”
“You’ll have plenty of adventures with plenty of people,” I tell her. “But right now you need to be settled and safe. I can speak to the right agencies, we can get you set up somewhere, even if it’s not Bill and Rosie’s. I’m sure I can speak to the college, too.”
The thump of her fist on the window takes me aback. “I don’t want any of that. I want you.”
“And I’m your caseworker,” I tell her. “I have a duty of care to your wellbeing.”
“Not anymore,” she says, and I’m pleased to pass the sign for Lydbrook. My neck feels itchy under my collar, my palms sweaty on the wh
eel.
She points out Bill and Rosie’s on the right, but I’m already turning. I pull onto their driveway and their Labrador starts barking from the porch.
Carrie is out of the car in a heartbeat. She gives me nothing but a cursory thanks before she slams the passenger door and heads to the house alone, but that’s not how this ends.
I follow her, catching her on the doorstep just as she’s trying the handle.
It’s locked.
It surprises me, but it is.
She hammers on the wood with her fist.
“Do you not have a key?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “They don’t want me to have one.”
Don’t trust her with one, more likely. I shouldn’t blame them, knowing her, but I can’t help but feel hurt on her behalf.
It’s Bill who comes to the front door. He looks drawn and grey as he answers, his face a grimace until he sees me standing alongside his ward.
“Michael,” he says, ignoring her completely.
I shake the offered hand. “Carrie needed a ride home.”
He doesn’t even look at her. “Up to no good, no doubt. Drinking. Drugs, probably.”
I don’t think Carrie does drugs. Call me naive, but I’ve seen plenty of youngsters who do. She’s never struck me as one of them. Especially not given the way she so poorly handles her alcohol.
He steps aside to let her pass and she brushes by with her arms folded tight.
“Say thanks to Michael,” he barks and she throws him the finger on her way upstairs.
“Already did, asshole.”
I cringe as a door slams after her.
“She’s… got some challenges…” I begin, but Bill waves me silent.
“She’s got more than some challenges, Michael. The girl’s a devil woman. We can’t take it anymore, Rosie’s nerves are shot.”
I take a breath, trying to find words, but he’s shaking his head.
“Don’t even try, Mike. I’ve already told the agency no. We can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair on any of us. I’ll have her here until her birthday, but after that she’s on her own. The housing will have to find her somewhere, emergency accommodation or something. Maybe she could go to one of those drugs hostels.”
“She’s not on drugs,” I say. Not yet, anyway. “And she won’t let me help her, not with the agencies. If you throw her out, Bill, she’ll be on the streets. Nobody will take her in, not unless she goes through the proper channels.”
He steps out onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind him, shunting his dog inside with his boot.
“She’s not our problem,” he tells me. “And she’s not yours, either. Believe me, Michael, the girl’s bad news. We’ve had nearly fifty kids here over the years, some of them good, some of them with issues. She’s the worst. She steals, she lies, she smashes things. She has no respect. She throws everything back in our faces. She spat in Rosie’s stew last Sunday. Spat in it and laughed.”
I feel a lurch in my stomach as he rubs his temples.
“She’s got some issues,” I say again and he sighs.
“We’re out,” he says.
“Bill, maybe if I could speak with Rosie, maybe we could…”
“We’re OUT,” he repeats, and he’s serious. Deadly serious. “The girl is a vicious little bitch. She’s a fucking nightmare. A disgusting, vindictive little shit.”
His hate knocks me sideways. Hate and disgust, and something else.
He wanted her, I can see it in his eyes, just like Carrie said. But whatever was there is done and gone. He’s at the end with her, that much is obvious.
“Bill, please,” I begin, but he holds his hand up.
“Thanks for bringing her back out here,” he says. “You’re a good man. A better man than me.” He slaps a big hand onto my arm and grips hard, and for a moment I wonder about Carrie’s bruises. Her allegations.
He smiles his usual, kindly smile, and I realise I’m not even vaguely objective, not anymore. She’s suckered me in and I’m reeling. Lost on this crazy fantasy of the wild girl with her drunk whispers.
“Be careful,” he tells me. “She’s…”
“She’s what?”
“She’s spiteful, difficult. She’s nasty. But she’ll hook you into her shit if you’re not careful. She knows how to play a game, that one.”
I’ve no doubt she’s all of those things, and I’ve no doubt Bill got caught up in the allure of the girl, but saying anymore would be wasting my breath. These people are done. Nothing I say here will make any difference, I know when a battle’s been lost – and Rosie and Bill are definitely done with this one.
As I say my goodbyes and walk back to my car, I assure myself that I’m just a guy doing my job, just as I do for all those on my books. Just as I would care for any other kid who needed a ride home after a stupid drinking session.
I assure myself that Carrie is just a girl who’s off my caseload now. That maybe Bill and Rosie will sort her out somewhere to go before they really do throw her out onto the streets. I tell myself Bill is just having an off day, that they’re frustrated and probably worried.
But none of this is true, and I know it the moment I look back and see Carrie’s face at the upstairs window.
It’s her eyes. So sad.
Her smile, melancholic and broken – a rare sliver of honesty under her bravado.
She holds up a hand and waves goodbye, and I realise how small she looks up there. She’s not short, it’s not that. It’s her frame, willowy and wasted and… fragile.
Carrie Wells looks fragile, and she’s looked many ways over the months but fragile isn’t one of them.
Our eyes meet and hold. My breath feels tight in my throat.
The pain of failing her hits hard, right in my gut, and I sigh as I realise all over again that she’s just a kid who’s had a rough start. A girl who doesn’t yet know how to make better choices. Who doesn’t trust. Who doesn’t even know how.
A girl who needs some stability.
A girl who needs love.
But I can’t be the one to give it to her.
I’ll try again with the agencies in the morning. I’ll set up some new referrals and hope upon hope Carrie lets someone help her.
I wave goodbye, and I really have to mean it.
For my own sanity.
Carrie
Bill doesn’t even care that I hear him. In the early days they would whisper or talk about me behind closed doors where they didn’t know I was listening. But not now.
Now Bill and Rosie don’t give a shit that I know what they think of me.
Bill’s words carry loud and clear. The little window in the room I sleep in is open, and his voice reaches me perfectly. So does Michael’s.
The girl is a vicious little bitch. She’s a fucking nightmare. A disgusting, vindictive little shit.
Bill, please…
Of course the answer was no. I knew it would be. They hate me, both of them, and I don’t blame them.
I didn’t spit in Rosie’s stew though, I just pretended to. She wouldn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t really. She threw the whole lot in the sink and told me I was a horrible girl. And then she cried.
She flapped her arms about and called for Bill and told him she was done with me, that they were all done with me.
And I shrugged and said I didn’t care, that I didn’t give a fuck about her shitty stew, either. I said it tasted like shit and she’d done us all a fucking favour by throwing it out.
I don’t know when to stop when I start, that’s the problem.
I don’t know how to stop the way I feel about Michael, either.
I watch him watching me. He looks as defeated as I feel deep inside. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, even though I know he really didn’t want to bring me here.
It’s probably just because he’s one of those good guys. There aren’t many of those about, but if they really exist, he’s definitely one of them.
I ho
ld up a hand and wave, hoping he’ll wave back. Maybe he’ll smile.
Michael’s got a great smile. He’s got a great scowl, too. He looks so fiery and hardcore when he gets angry, and it comes more natural to him than he seems to think it should.
He doesn’t have any idea how hot he is. Most hot guys know it. Even most of the not-so-hot guys think they’re God’s gift around here, but Michael is the real deal and he doesn’t have a clue.
His hair is messy even though I’m sure he tries to keep it looking smart. It’s probably not even a style, not on purpose, but it looks just right on him. Dark and messy and cute. Cool, even though I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to be.
I think most guys look like dicks in suits, but he looks just right. He only has three ties, and one of those is a shitty garish purple one that makes me smile when he’s not looking. Once I saw him walking through his office, and he had stripy socks on, that made me smile too but he thought I was laughing at him.
On the surface he seems so professional and in control, strong and supportive and awesome at what he does. But I can’t help but notice this other side of him, the side maybe I shouldn’t see.
The gawky, kind of cute side. The side that doesn’t match even though he tries. The side that breaks the rules and brings me home when I’ve been drinking, and swears at me. The side that looks at me the way he’s looking at me now.
He does wave and my heart aches for him. It’s a sad goodbye.
He hovers for a minute before he gets into his car, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
I wonder if he believes everything Bill said about me. I wonder if he knows now that I wasn’t lying when I said they don’t give a shit about me anymore, and there was no way an apology would make any difference to them now.
Like it or not, I’ll be on my own in a few days. Welcome to adulthood, Carrie. I can hardly wait.
I watch his car pull away and keep watching the road until he’s long gone. The day is drawing in outside and I love the way the birds sing around here.