After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four

by Rendle, Samantha

  ‘Oh, you noticed, did you?’ she said dryly.

  For a moment they sat in silence, watching Gabriel attempt to slap Kerry’s hands, which were pressed together as if in prayer. It was like a one-sided game of Slaps, and Gabriel revelled in it, shrieking with delight whenever his hand nicked hers. Beth smiled, soothed by her son’s sweetness.

  Preston finished his drink and disappeared back inside for a moment, returning with a dark drink for Beth and another whisky. Beth cautiously sipped the fizzy liquid, recognising the familiar taste of cola and strong hints of coconut. It was sharp and sweet, but she found herself taking another sip.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked after she’d drunk half.

  ‘Malibu,’ said Preston. When she looked puzzled he added, ‘Rum.’

  ‘Like a pirate,’ she said happily, and he rolled his eyes.

  ‘You’re such a kid,’ he grunted, something akin to disgust on his face.

  ‘I am not,’ she said indignantly. ‘I always drink at my mates’ parties. Sometimes the parents even buy us cider themselves.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ he groaned, ‘fruity cider.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘so? I’ve been drunk before.’

  ‘I can pretty much guarantee you’ve never been drunk.’

  Scowling, Beth knocked back the rest of her drink. They sat there for a while longer, and Beth started to wish she had a book. She wondered if Joanne or Hayley had any she could borrow, perhaps a nice romance.

  At midday Hayley brought out a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of chips, and Kerry joined them at the picnic table. Gabriel remained on the ground and the cat came to join him, submitting itself to the torture of the baby tugging its fur. Preston smoked and watched Gabriel play while the girls ate. Beth found herself sneaking glances at him between bites. Not for the first time she noted how attractive he was. Maybe he was just misunderstood, like Steve said, but Beth wasn’t so sure. In fact, she was pretty certain he’d killed Kerry’s sister.

  The following day, Beth began work at the inn. She got up early with Steve’s niece, Andrea, a girl a little older than her that made stern look sexy. There was nothing particular about her that screamed beauty or confidence – she had a blocky nose and she wore her hair in a bun – but maybe it was the way she held herself, like she held herself in high esteem and didn’t care what anyone else thought. And yes, okay, her bum looked amazing in jeans.

  Preston was awake when Andrea knocked for Beth. He sat on the window seat, reading a dog-eared book in the morning light, tugging on his hoodie strings. Beth craned her neck to see the title: Return of the King. Funny, she’d never pegged him for a fantasy fan.

  As she knocked back to let Andrea know she was awake and began to dress, she and Preston ignored each other. The only sounds in the room were Kerry’s and Gabriel’s soft breaths, shuffling as Beth tugged on her ripped jeans, and pages occasionally turning. Casting a quick look over at her sleeping son (she’d fed him a few hours earlier, when he’d woken up complaining), Beth slipped quietly out of the room and joined Andrea downstairs.

  They began work in the pub sector, wiping down tables and washing up glasses, stocking up on peanuts and throwing away any litter. At Beth’s request Andrea put the radio on quiet, and they whispered along to the songs they knew. As she cleaned tables, Beth’s dreadlocks hung about her face like vines and her glasses slipped down her nose, but she didn’t complain. Rolling her eyes, Andrea passed Beth a hair tie and Beth nodded gratefully.

  At half past eight Joanne appeared, looking immaculate and happy, and she busied herself making cups of tea. She left tea and a plate of biscuits on the bar for the girls and took a seat.

  ‘What’s next?’ asked Beth when the pub was tidy and they sat eating biscuits.

  ‘Room service starts in just over an hour,’ said Joanne brightly. ‘Until then the reception needs dusting and vacuuming, and the communal toilets need cleaning.’

  Beth was assigned the reception while Andrea disappeared upstairs to the bathrooms. She took extra care dusting the knick knacks that were displayed on desks and shelves, and she vacuumed thoroughly, using the hose for any nooks and crannies. She was on her hands and knees, vacuuming under a unit when people began descending the stairs for breakfast. A low whistle at her bent over indicated Preston’s presence. She looked up and scowled at him.

  ‘Are you going to be slaving all day?’ he asked, leaning on the newly polished desk.

  ‘No, just until lunch time,’ she replied, straightening up and switching off the hoover, ‘why?’

  ‘I just don’t want to be stuck with the kids,’ he said airily.

  ‘Well you won’t be,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact, I had a favour I wanted to ask you. For this afternoon, if you’re not busy.’

  ‘I don’t do stuff for people, sorry.’

  ‘It could be mutually beneficial,’ she called after him as he made to walk away.

  He turned and raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading lazily across his mouth. ‘Oh, I see. What about poor Dennis?’

  ‘His name is Desmond,’ she sighed, ‘and it’s not that kind of favour. I wanted you to teach me how to fight. You know, like self defence.’

  He frowned. ‘How does that benefit me, sweetheart?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you said you didn’t want to feel responsible for me. I just thought if it came down to it – fighting, I mean – I don’t want to feel useless. I want to be able to protect my son.’

  ‘I actually said I’m not responsible for you.’

  She sighed and replaced the hoover nozzle as he turned away, put out by his rejection. But he paused at the door, threw a glance over his shoulder at her.

  ‘You’re lucky I’m not extremely busy,’ he said, and then he left.

  There were sixteen guest rooms in total – eight on the first floor and eight on the second – as well as the staff’s quarters, so by lunch time Beth had tidied nine bedrooms and she was feeling hungry and exhausted. She staggered into the beer garden, where the others were once again sitting, and sank onto a bench beside Preston, who was still reading.

  Lunch already awaited her on the table, and she scoffed a large bowl of chips drowning in ketchup. She drank a sweating glass of lemonade, and then went inside to order a cup of tea as well. When she was finished, she felt human again.

  Desmond still wasn’t answering his phone, and she hadn’t had any messages from him. She wondered if he’d lost his phone or broken it. She knew the harsher alternative wasn’t true; she’d have felt it if Desmond wasn’t alive anymore. Besides, she hadn’t heard any news of the virus spreading internationally yet. But despite Desmond plainly ignoring her, Beth’s hopes that he was on his way back to her raged on like a forest fire. The thought that Gabriel might grow up without knowing his father was incomprehensible.

  After leaving Desmond yet another voicemail and feeding Gabriel facing away from everyone else, Beth turned to Preston, who still held stubbornly onto his book. She watched him, occasionally reading along with him, until he reached a chapter, and then, grudgingly, he folded the page and looked at her.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  She smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  The ground came up to meet her like a hard mattress and her body greeted it with yet another thump. Her hair felt like it had been yanked out and her entire body ached. Preston was more beating her up than teaching her to fight, and he was taking obvious enjoyment from it. What’s in it for me indeed! He circled her like a predator.

  His teaching technique was brutal and impossible; he believed that as he attacked her she would learn to block and dodge his moves, which was the first step in learning to defend herself. However he was agile, strong and smart. He predicted her every move, making it impossible to dodge or block. She hit the ground again and again and he never broke a sweat.

  But she got up every time. When he’d tug her back by her hair or sweep a leg under her, she didn’t lie there and feel sorry for herse
lf. She grunted, stood up, and took another hit. Bruises were beginning to form already.

  ‘This,’ said Preston, wrenching a fistful of her hair and pulling her back by it, ‘is an easy handhold. You need to make sure people’s hands are kept away from your head and face. Move faster.’

  ‘I don’t think this is how they teach you at taekwondo,’ said Steve uneasily.

  Steve had come out to sit in the sun not long after Kerry had taken Gabriel inside for a nap. Fighting made Kerry uneasy, and she hadn’t lasted long before she’d asked to go to their room. Now Steve and Andrea watched from a picnic table, sipping cocktails. Andrea couldn’t take her eyes off Preston, Beth had noticed.

  Sweat dripped off the end of Beth’s nose, and she felt glad she’d taken her glasses off despite the headache that was coming on from squinting. She felt like her bones were going to break at any minute, but she hadn’t even accidentally touched him. She’d asked him, during lunch, what sort of fighting he knew, and when he’d ticked them off his fingers she’d been excited. Now she just felt sore and hopeless.

  Shaking, she got to her feet and mumbled, ‘I think it’s time to-’

  And then Preston had her on the ground again. This time she stayed down, groaning, and he continued to circle her. In her periphery she saw Andrea leaning forward, transfixed, and Steve looking concerned.

  ‘Get up,’ commanded Preston.

  ‘No more,’ wheezed Beth, holding up a hand. ‘No more today.’

  He smirked. ‘Got a sore ass, Bethany?’

  ‘I have a sore everything,’ she moaned as he hauled her to her feet.

  As soon as she was upright Preston had a cigarette between his lips, and she narrowed her eyes as she glimpsed Andrea poking her tongue out at him. She didn’t want to know what that was all about; it was probably disgusting, so she didn’t ask.

  ‘Good effort,’ Steve told her as she painfully lowered herself to sit beside him.

  ‘I sucked,’ said Beth.

  ‘You did not suck.’

  ‘She sucked,’ said Preston and Andrea together.

  ‘Well you’re bound to suck on your first try,’ Steve harrumphed, ‘and Preston wasn’t exactly easy on you.’

  ‘Excuses,’ muttered Preston. ‘Hey Stan, are you working the bar tonight?’

  ‘I’m always working the bar,’ Steve confirmed, ignoring the error.

  ‘Oh. What about your wife, is she busy?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘why?’

  ‘Does she like babies?’ Preston asked. ‘We need a sitter.’ He turned to Beth, who frowned at him. ‘Because you know what’s best to numb pain, Bethany?’

  ‘Um,’ she said, ‘painkillers?’

  ‘Getting drunk,’ he said with a grin.

  Malibu, Beth decided, was much better than WKD. She vaguely noticed that Preston was drinking water when he handed her a third double Malibu and cola. Now she was beginning to sway sleepily in the dim light of the beer garden, and Preston grinned wickedly at her.

  She didn’t know why Steve was allowing her to drink, but she was glad for it. She felt fuzzy and smiley and confident, like she could get up on the bench table and dance if she wanted to. She’d use the umbrella as a pole and Preston’s jaw would drop to the floor like in the cartoons she used to watch after school. The thought made her giggle, and Preston raised his eyebrows in amused surprise.

  As she sipped her fresh drink, Preston lined up four little glasses in front of her, each filled with a different colour liquid: red, green, blue, purple. She looked questioningly at him, her lips glued to her glass, and she noticed that his gaze was fixed to her mouth. God, he was good looking. He napped sometimes without his shirt on, and oh how she wanted to run her fingers in and out of the crevices in his torso...

  ‘Shots,’ he announced, nodding towards the little glasses.

  Desmond wouldn’t like this, said the sober voice in her head as Preston used a finger to tip her glass up, making her drink faster. The drink slipped down her throat and was soon replaced with the red shot. It tasted like cherry throat medicine. Beth winced as it followed the rum and cola into her system.

  Music could faintly be heard from inside, but Beth couldn’t tell what song was playing. The urge to dance was like a growing thing inside her. She felt sleepy and energised all at once. Her limbs ached and throbbed from her exertions earlier that day but she felt fuzzy and happy.

  Smiling dazedly, she leaned her elbow on the picnic table, and her chin in the palm of her hand. Preston furrowed his brow; she probably looked dopier than she realised.

  ‘What,’ he said questioningly.

  ‘What’s your deal, Preston?’ she asked sleepily as he shoved another shot at her.

  ‘What sort of question is that? Drink,’ he commanded, and she obliged. This one was green and tasted of apples.

  ‘I mean,’ she said, gesturing vaguely at him, ‘who are you? Like, how did you come to be like this?’

  ‘Like what,’ he said, pushing the blue one at her (tropical).

  ‘A mass of... Contradictions,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You don’t care about anything, but you let me and Gabriel tag along wherever you go. Kerry said you had a boyfriend but you let that Sabrina girl kiss you. One moment you’re amused by everything and the next you’re chaining like you’re all depressed.’

  ‘It’s all a bit bipolar, isn’t it,’ he muttered, nodding to the last little glass (purple, blackcurrant). ‘You’re a bit of a lightweight, Bethany.’

  ‘What’s that mean? Is that a disease?’

  ‘Your ignorance is offensive,’ grunted Preston.

  ‘I don’t even know your last name,’ she observed, ‘or your birthday.’

  ‘Lancaster, the twenty-ninth of August,’ he said. ‘I’m going to order you another drink.’

  ‘Another pirate drink,’ she demanded.

  ‘Sure,’ he grunted, ‘a pirate drink.’

  It took her a few tries to type her password into her phone, and even through her glasses the screen blurred in and out of focus. But she managed to open the internet app and punch Preston’s name into Google in a matter of seconds, only having to erase and retype once. The phone considered, and then spat a number of results back at her.

  Two headlines grabbed her attention: Local girl falls down stairs, classmate accused and Half-starved son found beside overdosed addict. The latter was an archived article from 2000, which didn’t mention any names, but the section at the bottom included a comment, in which he was tagged. She clicked on his name and it opened his Facebook page, which was barren apart from a couple of photos. The former headline spoke for itself, Beth decided, and she put her phone away, unsure if she wanted to know.

  She was growing drowsier as Preston returned with another two drinks. She told him this as he sat down, but he just pushed the drinks towards her and lit himself a cigarette. Shrugging, she picked up a glass with a little floating cup inside it and drank, not bothering to ask what it was.

  ‘Tell me where you got your scars,’ she said, reaching out to stroke his chest.

  He caught her wrist and twisted away. ‘Your accent is so stupid,’ he said.

  ‘At least I don’t say words like “gert” or “lush,”’ she retorted. ‘Don’t avoid my questions, Preston Lancaster.’

  ‘Would you rather I told you to fuck off?’

  ‘I’d rather you just answered.’

  He inhaled smoke and released it with a sigh. ‘My dad used to knock me around. I get in a lot of fights. I crashed my boyfriend’s car. Take your pick and shut up.’

  Rolling her eyes, Beth reached for her other glass, which was slick and cold in her hand. She drank in silence and fireflies buzzed around in her brain. Words like half-starved, overdosed and accused floated around pleasantly in her head, but she couldn’t put them together.

  The night spun around her in fragments. She danced on the table. She tied her dreadlocks on top of her head like a mop and made Preston laugh. She tried one of hi
s cigarettes and coughed a lot. She told him he was beautiful. She told him his dad was a knob. She made him dance barefoot on the grass with her. She cried when he rejected a kiss from her. She laughed when she tripped over a table leg. She sent Des a poorly-spelt text.

  It was exhilarating, being drunk and stupid on the edge of the world, at the end of all she knew. It didn’t matter anymore, what happened, because the world had well and truly gone to shit, for good. She felt free.

  When the bar was due to close, Steve brought out Beth’s last drinks himself: one more Malibu and a pint glass of water. He asked how she was and she said, ‘Preston is looking after me.’

  It dawned on her then, that maybe Preston wasn’t entirely evil. He was sociopathic, reckless, self-destructive and promiscuous, but he was smart and, in the smallest possible ways, kind. It occurred to her that he could’ve gotten drunk too, that he could’ve kissed her back, carried her upstairs and had his way with her, but he hadn’t done any of that.

  ‘Preston is looking after me,’ she whispered secretly to herself.

  No Good Deed

  A shrill, ear-splitting sound woke them the next morning. Preston was already awake, dispassionately watching Beth sleeping with her head on his chest, smelling not so faintly of vomit and drooling unattractively. Her phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand between the beds, commanding the attention of the room. The baby began to cry and Kerry blinked sleepily, while Beth covered her ears and groaned.

  Shrugging Beth off him and rubbing the patch of dribble on his t shirt, Preston reached for the phone, shooting Kerry a warning look that she interpreted correctly and began shushing the infant she shared her bed with. He sat up and peered at the screen, which flashed a name helpfully in his face.

  ‘Who’s Georgia?’ he asked Beth, but he didn’t give her time to answer before he swiped his finger across the screen. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Beth?’ said a soft voice.

  ‘I must sound way camper than I thought,’ muttered Preston. ‘Beth can’t come to the phone right now. Actually I think I’ve broken her.’