Deserved

by Victoria Johns

  Deserved

  Victoria Johns

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Victoria Johns

  Copyright © 2017 Victoria Johns

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

  Tommy Sevens

  “Alrighty, Frank, let’s get you inside, big guy.”

  “You’re a good ‘un,” Frank slurred and wobbled. He slurred and wobbled like this every Friday when I dropped him back at his place. When I first started picking him up, it was usually just before closing time, but over the last couple of years it had gotten earlier and earlier. After the poor old bastard lost his wife, he never recovered from it enough to find the will to carry on. The factory work he’d once done had kept his drinking habits to a more socially acceptable time, but when the factory shut, it was like he just transferred his ten-hour working day to the bar and attended there instead. So, whereas before I’d received regular calls to collect him at closing, now the bar owner would buzz me mid-afternoon. The days when I’d cursed being disturbed during dinner seemed like a godsend now. I knew the earlier Frank needed me, the more hopeless things were becoming for him, and I hate to say it, but they were duller for me, too.

  My life was essentially filled with depressing repeats.

  Frank was pissed and needed collecting at the same time every day.

  Hilary smelled of lavender, and I collected her from the food market on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays.

  The school kids I ferried around were also depressing repeat customers. The older the little shits got, the less pleased we both were at having to endure one another’s company in the confined space of my cab.

  Fucking Groundhog Day.

  I used to try to alternate—a day on the phones in the office and then a day on the road. It was my way of stopping my brain turning to fucking mush, but lately it was approaching the mush zone whatever I fucking did.

  “You need a wench, Tommy,” Frank mumbled, grinning at me.

  Frank had drunk a lot tonight, enough to offend even me and I’d seen him in some states. Tonight’s stink level, though, indicated a whisky O.D. and it was offensive. So offensive I knew I’d need to schedule a deep clean for my cab.

  “Yeah, yeah. I ain’t likely to find someone who lets me date you and Hilary on a regular basis, am I? Come on, get inside.”

  In another Groundhog Day moment, I took his key from him, opened his front door and pushed him in. When I was sure he’d shuffled down the hallway, I locked his door from the outside and pushed the key under the pot with the dead plant where he’d find it in the morning.

  When I made it back to my cab, I radioed the office and told Tara I was done for the day. The ancient battle-axe who manned the place part time was more of a mom to me than the horrible witch who had expelled me from her body—her words not mine. On the four-mile drive home, I contemplated the next routine installment of my dull life—a cold beer, leftover take out and some shit TV.

  Yeah, what a fucking rock star lifestyle I led. I was a thirty-four year-old homeowner, with a successful business, a good looking singleton who worked unsociable hours due to said fucking successful business. I was so successful I couldn’t even get laid.

  “What the…? Uh, Miss, can I help you?”

  “Maybe. I hope so,” replied the teenager perched on my door stoop with a little purse on her lap and a small battered suitcase beside her. She stood up to engage with me and I saw she was tall—no, not tall, lanky. She was rail thin and had a thick head of auburn hair that made her dark green eyes look expressive.

  “Listen, if you’re lost, I own a cab company. I can have one of my drivers drop you off wherever you’re supposed to be…”

  “Carly,” she answered, catching on to my bemusement and offering me an envelope. “Are you Thomas?”

  “I could be, but I’ve not misbehaved recently so I don’t answer to that.” I took the envelope and teased my car key under the edge in lieu of a letter opener or fingernails.

  ‘Thomas,’ it began, and as my eyes fell upon the words and my heart took a nosedive, I realized the hand writing was my mother’s. ‘It’s your turn now. I’ve carried the burden of your mistake for long enough. Her mother left a while back and never returned. I can’t afford to feed another ungrateful mouth. Step up and look after your flesh and blood.’

  This could not be fucking happening. It didn’t matter how many times I looked from the words on the page to the girl in front of me, none of it made any sense.

  I looked at the gangly girl again, and familiar eyes looked back at me. The last time I’d seen those eyes, they’d been glazed over and I’d seen them over another guy’s fucking shoulders. Maisie Greaves had decided the biker she’d been hooking up with while I was working night shifts in the cab was more her kind of fun, and she’d chosen the direct method to let me know it.

  “Uh, Carly, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to make a call.”

  She nodded and sat back down on the front stoop. With the life-changing, scrawled note in my hands, I dialed a number I usually avoided like the fucking plague—my mother.

  “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

  “Shit.”

  “Gloria thought you might try to call her. She’s gone away.”

  How the fuck could this girl be so calm? She had a packed case and had been dumped on me with nowhere else to go. I was a stranger to her. She should have been a ball of fucked up nerves.

  “Are you sure you’re at the right place?” I tried again.

  “Yes, I’ve always wanted to meet you but my mom and Gloria told me it wasn’t possible—timing and stuff.”

  “Is that so?” I could feel sweat running down my back and my vision was going hazy. I’d never had a panic attack before, but it felt like I was about to meet one head-on. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve. I was born on August first, and Gloria told me that when I found you I was to give you this.” She reached inside her little purse and unfolded what I could see was a birth certificate. When she offered me the second dreaded sheet of paper since our short introduction, I swallowed back and steeled myself for what I knew would be on there.

  Yep.

  FUCK!

  I was listed as the father—Thomas Sevens—and if that wasn’t enough of a kick in the teeth, those fucking witches had given her my name.

  Carl
y Maisie Sevens.

  It seemed today’s lesson would be to be thankful for your groundhog days, because in the space of thirty minutes, I’d gone from cursing my dull, repetitive life of ferrying around pissed up Frank and food market Hilary, to life-changing, new found parent status. I found myself wishing I could turn back the clock and do the dull shit over and over again, just to avoid coming home and finding the most disastrous delivery ever waiting outside my front door.

  “You’d better come in.”

  Lacey Talbot

  My night out had been shocking. No other word for it—shocking. I was struggling for something to put a spark in my eyes—hell who was I kidding? My life. I deserved some fun. I’d flown through my educational years and then an advanced learning program in child welfare and social care with honors, finishing early. I’d worked my ass off, and I was now qualified to assess, manage and rehabilitate kids who found their way to Grove House.

  Kids who were once like me.

  My life felt settled. I had achieved what I’d always thought would be unachievable for me. I was educated and that was unreal, but I never took what I’d earned for granted. More importantly, I was wanted by people who felt I deserved a chance at a normal life. I was still living in close proximity to my original foster family, Annie and Carter. Annie was the sweetest lady, the grandma you envisaged hugging you close at every opportunity and wrapping you in a familiar scent that said ‘home.’ Those of us who’d been in the original kid’s home, Sunnyside, were the luckiest kids I knew. Annie had her own family too, but we were always made to feel a part of it. Something changed for her though when her daughter Sophie died, not only was she left with Carter, her grandson, she grew old overnight and it seemed like she’d had the joy sucked out of her world. That was when Lottie found us, she’d lost her parents and shortly after discovered that her dad had been a key part of Sunnyside and not just because he loved Sophie. He fell in love with her and became a part of our lives too. Their son Carter wasn’t planned, but he was loved and even though Lottie’s dad was married, Annie had faith that his love would steer him to do the right thing and become a permanent fixture in their lives. I’d heard stories about Lottie and Oli and because Sunnyside had magic powers, we helped her come to terms with the loss of her parent’s and finding a brother she never knew about. Fast forward a little bit and Annie and Carter moved to a new purpose built Kids home that Lottie and Oli built, Grove House, and when I was swept up in that family bond and asked to move with them, it was one of the best days of my life. So I already had Annie and Carter in my life, I was overjoyed to be welcomed by Oli and Lottie and when they had little Sam, it felt like everything was complete. None of us shared the same blood, but we were as close as blood relatives could be. They all shared some form of connection and even though I was the outsider, I never, ever felt it.

  My life had become so much more than I’d ever expected, but the problem with expectations is that you always re-evaluate, adjust and want something more.

  I knew I wanted more than just waking up and going through the routine with the kids in residence. How bloody selfish was I? I had everything, far more than a ‘little orphan Annie’ like me should have had, and yet I felt like I was missing something. I was pretty, I looked after the natural figure god gave me, and I was kind. I treated others with respect and I was a great friend, but I still felt this void.

  Growing up with Annie and the other kids back in the old kid’s home, I used to think the void had been created by my mom. She was unstable, but she loved me as much as her heart had the capacity to. That capacity fluctuated depending on who her current boyfriend was, how much cash she could cobble together for alcohol, or what the monthly drug of choice was for her and said boyfriend. I soaked up the affection when it was available, banking reserves of it so I could draw upon them when I felt unworthy and lonely. Her arrangement with Annie worked, and I began to respect my mom for having the ability to recognize her parenting limitations. Depositing me with Annie meant I didn’t suffer at all and I saw the silver lining of that cloud.

  Let’s face it, if I hadn’t, Lord knew where I’d be now. So, credit where it’s due, she did what was necessary to keep me safe when she couldn’t resist temptation. After we lost Sophie, Annie’s daughter and Carter’s mom, I became really close to the little guy, and my initial concerns about being pushed out when Lottie found out she had a little brother didn’t last long. I’d always been there for him, so when the whole family decided to move with her to Hawkstown, it was a no brainer for me. I took the time to go and see my mom. I didn’t visit often and I was dreading telling her that I was considering moving. When I finally I plucked up the courage to say the words, the look of sheer relief on her face was both saddening and enlightening. I want to say that it hurt, but it didn’t really because I understood what she was feeling. It wasn’t relief that I was no longer going to be a burden or mistake that she couldn’t rectify. It was relief that she’d made the best choices for me and I wasn’t some screwed up little kid because of her.

  I didn’t hear from her. Contact was sporadic until it dried up completely, and when I first got settled into the Groves family home, I started to feel the void, that missing something, and at first I thought I was missing her. I learned as I got older, though, that timing was everything, and when the situation at home became unsafe, I used to take myself to Annie’s. For ages, I thought the void was just missing the real connection of love from a mother figure, but that was nonsense. Annie and Lottie gave me that maternal love.

  Life in Hawkstown was brilliant, blessed even, because I had the chance to give back to kids who deserved a chance just like I’d had. I was loved by lots of people who took me into their lives with open arms and never once made me feel like a stranger.

  The only other thing I could attribute the void to was my lack of real companionship. I was lonely, and that was really sad and stupid. How could someone who was always surrounded by people feel alone?

  The latest person I’d heaped the blame onto was my best friend, Jake Griggs. He was one half of the hot twins who prowled Hawkstown High, prowled the college when they landed there and now continued to prowl around anything with a pulse.

  I wasn’t jealous. The boys had become my firm friends and protectors while I was settling in to my new life in Hawkstown. Oli and Lottie Hart had instructed them to keep a watchful eye on me, and Jake took that job very seriously. Jack, twin number two, understood the concept of friendship, whereas Jake saw me as his responsibility. No guy ever got near me; they were either classed as man whores who were chased off before I could even flirt, or were simply not the right guy for me.

  Jake and I hung out together a lot, and that alone put most guys off making an approach. When I was alone, the majority of guys were already hooked up and having fun for the night. That included Jake. He usually hooked up with somebody, and I was left nursing a drink like a spare part, waiting for him to finish.

  The net result of all that protection was that I was twenty-four years old and still a virgin. A crusty old spinster virgin. I didn’t even get laid in college. I’d doubled up all my classes so I could finish early and when I wasn’t studying, I was earning assessment credits by working at the kids’ home. That was what was important to me… then.

  It was only once I’d finished all of my learning and education that I realized the pit was growing deep and wide inside me. It wasn’t from missing that maternal connection; it was from not having any connection at all. Realizing you’ve got to your mid-twenties without experiencing love of a sexual nature is just pitiful.

  Jake and I were out last night, and it was just another example of how I couldn’t pull it together enough to actually meet someone to date. He read me like a book and sensed I was building up the courage to make an approach. At the last minute, Jake swooped in and reminded me that the guy would never be good enough for me. Apparently no one in this town is. So I nursed a warm beer at the bar while he dipped his fingers in some pi
ece of ass he regularly used as a backup when there was no fresh meat around.

  The shrill of a ringing telephone interrupted my thoughts and I let it go on a bit longer before ridding my hands of the soapsuds onto a nearby towel.

  “Grove House,” I chirped into the receiver.

  “It’s Tommy Sevens. Is Lottie around?”

  “No, she’s out for the day. Can I help? It’s Lacey here.”

  “Probably not. I need to speak to her when she gets back. It’s urgent. She isn’t answering her cell and I was hoping she’d be home.”

  “Her cell will be lurking at the bottom of a shopping bag. Can I help?” I was sick of asking. It was the same on most calls we received. I was just seen as an extension of the family, or worse still, one of the kids in residence.

  “I don’t know. It’s delicate. I need help with a kid.”

  “That I can definitely help with. I’m fully qualified and experienced. What kind of help do you need?”

  “Shit, I don’t know. I’m kind of desperate. Do you think you could come here, to my place?”

  “Of course,” I replied and grabbed a pen and paper to jot down his address. “Be with you in about thirty minutes. Bye.”

  I hung up, noticing Tommy didn’t return my goodbye, but I didn’t care. This was what I’d worked for and now I had the chance to start a case from scratch and Lottie wasn’t around to argue.

  Tommy Sevens

  “Morning, how did you sleep?”

  “Really well, thanks,” Carly replied, hovering in the entrance to the kitchen in an old pair of PJ’s.

  It irked me that she’d slept well. I was pissed off that my night’s rest was troubled because, firstly, it appeared I had a kid I knew nothing about, and secondly, she was just way too comfortable with strangers. At twelve years old, she was mature enough to lay her head down and just get on with it.

  “I can make you some breakfast. I have, uh… not a lot, some bread for toast.”