No Place Like Home

by Lynda Stacey

  Molly shook her head. ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Sighing, she blew the coffee. Realised she’d wanted it after all and took a long swallow before placing it down on the side.

  ‘Hmm. Doesn’t look like nothing. I’ve seen that kind of look before… I bet you’d like to take him for a roll in the hay, so you would?’ She picked up the empty mugs, went to stand by the door.

  ‘Who, Niall? Huh, maybe a couple of years ago I would have. But now, now it’s just the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong everything.’ She thought of his smile, his lips, how they’d taken control of hers. How she could have easily kissed him repeatedly. Until she’d spotted the bag, made a fool of herself and watched as he’d respectfully backed away, given her some space. ‘Besides, he’s just too good-looking for his own good. He’d break my heart and then where would I be?’ She waved a hand rapidly in front of her face, dismissing the words.

  Pondering, Tasha walked around the chair, her eyes travelling over it, ensuring it was spotless. ‘Wait a minute, did you say his name was Niall?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Describe him. What does this Niall look like?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘Tall. Dark hair. Trimmed beard, real neat and a square jawline.’ She closed her eyes, thought. ‘And the deepest, most beautiful eyes I ever saw,’ she said, sighing audibly. ‘A complete mountain of a man, landscape gardener… why, do you know him?’

  ‘Oh, for the love of God, Molly. For someone you apparently barely know, you sure as hell give him a great description now, don’t you? I thought the name was an unusual one for round here, and yes, I know him. He did my mammy’s landscaping last year.’ She nodded appreciatively. ‘I can’t believe you turned him down, most of the women in Filey would do him in an instant, so they would.’

  Molly closed her eyes, remembered the kiss.

  ‘They did a good job of my mammy’s garden and all that, but she was on the edge of her nerves the whole time they were around. Felt as though she was always having to watch what they were up to. Checked all her tools and jewellery were there at the end of each day, so she did.’ Walking across the room, Tasha ripped at the paper towelling, cursed as more than she’d wanted fell from the dispenser. ‘So, when I think about it, you probably should take a wide berth. Good-looking or not, it does make you wonder what his allegiance is to all the ex-cons, him giving them all jobs and all that?’

  ‘Allegiance?’

  ‘Sure. No one really knows him, do they? Keeps himself to himself, don’t think I’ve ever heard any gossip about him – most think he could have been a former prisoner himself, although he’d have had to be a wealthy one with all his money.’ She laughed, threw the paper towels in the bin. ‘Hey, maybe he could have robbed a bank or two?’

  ‘Seriously, do you think that’s true?’ Molly’s fingers automatically went to her lips, traced the exact spot where his lips had first met hers.

  ‘What, that he robbed a bank, or that he used to be a prisoner?’ She paused, smiled. ‘Don’t look so afraid. It’s not like you had a full-blown affair with him now, is it?’

  ‘Good God, no, what do you take me for?’ Molly felt her stomach roll, saw the look of disbelief on Tasha’s face. ‘Okay, okay, he might have accidentally brushed his lips across mine… it was nothing.’ She blushed, thoughts of the kiss rolled over and over in her mind. She could still see the onyx sparkle in his eyes, the touch of his fingers as his hand had gently cupped her chin, wholeheartedly wished the evening had ended differently. That he’d come inside, even if that had only been for a coffee. The idea of doing just that left her feeling exhausted. She couldn’t imagine having a man around the house. One who was capable of making decisions, something she could have really done with the day before, when it had taken her over two hours to choose a colour to paint the hallway. Confused, she’d eventually mixed three half tins of paint together in a bucket, created her own shade of cream and had then spent the whole afternoon trying to eke the paint out, making sure she covered all the walls, while leaving the facing wall until last, just in case she needed to paint it a different colour and pretend it had been a feature.

  After Molly had found the bacon in the bin, Beth had felt that decorating for the afternoon had been a punishment. Resulting in them spending a whole afternoon skirting around one another. Painting the walls in silence, while Beth had practically stared out of the window, her eyes fixed on the lane. ‘Why do you keep going on about the new damned neighbour?’ she’d asked repeatedly. ‘For God’s sake, Moll, I have no idea what’s wrong with you, you should like Dan. He’s perfect for you. In fact, I’d say he probably still loves you. Although I have no idea why.’ The paintbrush had been slammed down in the tray, paint had jumped up and spattered itself across the floorboards. ‘You had the perfect opportunity with me at Gran’s. You had the house all to yourself, yet still…’ She’d tutted and rolled her eyes, leaving Molly to spend the whole afternoon thinking about Niall, about the kiss, the way the warmth had quickly spread through her and the feeling of happiness she’d initially felt and sadness that had quickly taken its place.

  Moving forward, she knew she should speak to Beth, discuss living at the house, the décor, the security. She had to speak to her about Dan. Convince her that they’d never become a couple and that no amount of Beth wishing for it was going to make it happen. Which would lead to another conversation, one about other men and how she’d feel if Molly met someone and brought them home. It was bound to happen one day and giving Beth choices and decisions had to be a good thing. And talking about it now would give her the time she needed time to process the idea for herself, before it happened.

  ‘Why don’t you get off, see how that sister of yours is doing? I can lock up here.’ Tasha interrupted her thoughts, opened a cupboard, threw Molly her coat. ‘I’ll be seeing you in the morning, and don’t forget, there’s not only your sister to sort things out with, go sort things out with that man of yours too.’ Waving a young, but knowledgeable, finger in the air, she shooed her out of the door, leaving Molly to wonder which man she needed to sort things out with. Dan or Niall?

  23

  Frustrated with herself, Beth knuckle rubbed her eyes and screamed internally. It had been much too early to leave school and already she’d thought up a million different explanations, reasons why she’d simply walked out of the gate. Each explanation more ludicrous than the one before. She could imagine Molly’s face when she tried to explain, could already see the look of annoyance and disappointment, felt her skin prickle with anticipation.

  ‘I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t stay,’ Beth whispered as she climbed from the service bus, thought about every new town their mother had moved them to, every new school she’d attended. From an early age, she’d quickly found out that being the new girl hadn’t been much fun. She’d often become the target, the one person everyone had wanted to know and on more than one occasion she’d found herself standing in a corner, her back against a wall, with questions thrown at her from all directions, fired like bullets from a hundred different guns. Until a time when they’d learned enough, and she suddenly turned into the person they all took a great delight in hating.

  For some reason, today’s new school had been worse than any of the others. Year Ten had been a whole new kind of hell where all the girls were pubescent teenagers, all had hormones bouncing off the walls and had strutted around school like prize hens. Ones whose pecking order would have been decided at preschool and they’d made it more than obvious that a new girl infiltrating their group wasn’t welcomed.

  Feeling very alone, she’d spent the whole morning looking out of the classroom window. She’d found herself so bored, she’d even counted the leaves as they’d fallen from trees, watched the changing mood of the sky beyond and with her stomach full of knots, she’d headed out of the school gates with eyes full of tears.

  Formulating a plan on the bus ride home, she’d thought about Dan. Of his house. Of how she was sure he’d let her move back in, sleep in h
er old room. The one she’d shared for the past six months with Molly. It still had the grey tartan curtains she’d loved so much, the bank of ivory wardrobes. All the drawers. The cupboard space. Which meant that all her shoes would once again have somewhere to go. What’s more, she’d be close to the city, to her friends. Friends she wanted back.

  ‘If I lived with Dan, I wouldn’t have to walk down that damn lane,’ she scoffed, but knew deep down that Molly would be hurt if she left, couldn’t decide how to tell her, how to make her understand. ‘I can’t stay,’ she whispered. ‘I know it’ll hurt you, but I just can’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to.’

  Hitching her school bag higher up on her shoulder, she came to the junction, stood on the kerb and looked down the road where Jackson lived, felt sure he’d mentioned something pertinent that would help her find him and for a moment she stood, waited, hoping he’d miraculously appear. Give her just a few minutes to say goodbye. Before she went back to the house, packed and left.

  Disappointed, she turned to the coastline, to the wooden steps where the breeze had increased. While using a hand to stop her hair from blowing around wildly in the wind, she took huge gasps of air. The beach, as far as she could see, was practically empty. There was one man walking his dog. Another sat bobbing up and down on a surfboard. He was patiently waiting for the sea to change, for the waves to grow and she stared hopefully, wanting it to be Jackson. Quickly, as she realised it wasn’t, she slumped her shoulders, turned and stared back at the dreaded, puddle-filled lane that led to her house.

  Tentatively, and placing her feet on the small patches of solid ground, she took one step at a time, carefully planned her route. Felt herself wobble, held her breath, cursed the mud as it splashed up and onto her shoes.

  Finally, within sight of home, she spotted the piles of aggregate. It blocked a part of the lane, along with a van that was precariously parked on an angle in front of the neighbour’s house.

  Feeling her stomach lurch, she heard a loud, angry bark. Saw the dog Molly had spoken of, its nose poking through the rusty metal bars of the gate. Taking a quick step back, her feet moved from beneath her, she tipped to one side, wobbled and with a loud, piercing scream, she slipped. Fell onto her side and felt pain surge through her hip. Cold water seeped through her school clothes and angrily she shouted at the dog, which now sat and whined with its tail beating heavily against the drive. ‘Urgh, it’s all right you wagging at me now, you bloody thing.’ She eyed him suspiciously, cautiously pulled herself to her feet. Heard footsteps approaching the gate.

  ‘Dillon, what you up to? Come on, let’s go find Niall.’ A man’s voice summoned the dog, who jumped up excitedly and disappeared behind the hedge, leaving Beth to stare nervously at the gate. She waited for him to return, or for the man to show himself and at least apologise.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. Covered in bloody mud, thanks to your damn dog,’ she yelled, ‘but hey… don’t mind me. I only live here.’ Stumbling towards the gate that stood with no fence to either side, she saw the irony in opening and closing it, limped up the path, where she hesitated and listened. Since the tree had fallen over the edge of the cliff, the house had sounded different. The continuous tap, tap, tap had gone and in its place was the sound of the waves that could be heard crashing onto the beach, making her wonder if the surfer had got his wish, that his perfect wave had miraculously appeared, and, more importantly, whether Jackson was down there with him.

  Distantly, she could hear men working next door. The sound of spades banging against the dirt and aggregate, jokes being shared, the uninhibited laughter that followed. The fact they were having fun while they worked added to Beth’s annoyance and she pushed her key into the door, kicked her muddy shoes off on the doormat and made her way up the stairs and straight into the gleaming white bathroom. It was a clear reminder that Molly had been in there. Its spotless nature resembled one of her surgeries, where both cleanliness and sterility were part of her lifestyle. It was a trait that Beth had always liked about her sister. The fact that Molly constantly cleaned meant that she didn’t have to. And intentionally, she washed her hands, laughing as the mud splattered all over the sink, then as she smeared the brown droplets of water that had remained on her hands across the pure white towel. Something else that Molly would be annoyed about. Like a petulant child, she stripped off her mud-soaked clothes, dropped them on the floor, right next to the basket. ‘We’ll see what you think to your neighbour’s wonderful bloody dog now, shall we?’ She scowled, rubbed what was left of the mud from her face with the towel, draped it across the bath for Molly to see.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, Beth dug through her clothes. She pulled on a clean pair of ripped designer jeans, a pair of sturdy fur lined boots and her favourite thick winter jumper. If she was going to get to Dan’s, to York, she’d need to be prepared to catch another bus, another bus that cost money she didn’t have. Wishing she’d called at the cash point on her way through town, she stamped from her room to Molly’s, began rummaging through bags. Coat pockets. Her jewellery box. They were all the places Molly dropped her small change. An odd pound here, a fiver there. Laughing, she counted her find, pushed it into her jeans pocket. Pausing, she felt guilty for taking the money, then she furrowed her brow. Hadn’t Molly often said that the money Mum had left them was hers too? She arched her eyebrows, looked out of the window, ‘So, it’s not stealing, is it? It’s just a loan, till Mum’s money comes through.’ Satisfied with the explanation, she went back to her own room, began to carefully and decisively fill both her school bag and a small wheelie case with all the things she’d need, along with all the things she couldn’t possibly live without and then eyed her shoes, knew she couldn’t carry them too.

  With the case in one hand and her schoolbag on her shoulder, she carefully tiptoed along the lane. The last thing she needed was to alert the dog, or to fall back in the mud, and she gave herself a congratulatory smile as she successfully inched herself past the gate.

  Taking a moment, she stood under the biggest, most twisted tree, turned and looked back at the house. Sniffing, she pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose as it occurred to her that she’d never left home before. Not alone. No matter how horrible or hard things had got, she’d never packed a bag, and now even though she’d tried to justify her reasons, she felt more than ashamed that she’d stolen the money, and with eyes full of tears she tried to imagine what Molly would think, how disappointed she’d be and what she’d do when she learned where she’d gone.

  ‘Beth, you all right?’

  Looking up, she saw Jackson stride towards her, his eyes searching hers. With his hands reaching for her shoulders, he pressed down, squeezed hard, kept eye contact.

  ‘Beth, speak to me.’ His voice sounded distant, almost an echo that came from somewhere above, somewhere so far away, yet so close that she heard. ‘Beth… come on, I’ve got you. Tell me what happened.’

  Trembling inside, Beth blinked purposely, fell against him, closed her eyes for a beat and felt a sob leave her throat. ‘Nothing… everything, I don’t know,’ she admitted, felt relief as the case was taken from her hand.

  ‘Let’s take you home.’ Jackson began to usher her back towards the house, towards the gate where the dog had barked, to the spot where she’d fallen, and with the anxiety rising, she stopped abruptly.

  ‘No… please, I can’t go back in there.’ She frantically looked back up the lane. ‘Please, I don’t want to.’

  Hesitating, Jackson pulled her into a hug. He stepped from foot to foot, bit down on his lip. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

  Shaking her head, Beth grabbed the case from him. ‘I can’t say it, ’cause if I do, it’ll be real.’ She pulled herself out of his hold, began marching up the lane.

  ‘Beth, stop, you can’t…’ He ran behind her, his hand gently covering hers on the handle of the case. ‘Here, it looks heavy. Give it to me.’

  Silently, they walked
, stepped carefully between the puddles, along the grass verge until they reached the last of the properties. Standing thoughtfully by the gate, he looked at the house, then back at Beth. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘come on, I have an idea.’

  Trudging through fallen leaves, she held onto Jackson’s hand, felt the bottom of her jeans getting wetter by the minute, cursed the fact that she’d worn the good ones as she tripped over random items that lay scattered around the garden. Old tyres were half hidden in the undergrowth, a car had been parked and stood for so long that the ivy had begun to grow over the top of it and within just a few metres of the back door, there was a sheer drop over the cliff edge, to the beach below. ‘Jackson, where are we going?’ she whispered, eyeing the property with its dirty windows, frames so rotten they’d crumbled away to show a corner of the glass poking out from beneath.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not breaking in.’ He laughed as they neared the door, where he turned to look her in the eye. ‘Beth, wait here. Let me just…’ He gave an apologetic look, rushed on ahead, leaving Beth to hover nervously on the doorstep.

  The room beyond looked as though it used to be a kitchen, two taps hung from a wall over a paint-splattered plastic bowl which stood on top of an old mahogany dropleaf table. Next to the table was a wooden chair, a flat two-ring camping stove balanced on the seat. A white plastic carrier bag lay beneath it. The windowsill was littered with objects. A chipped ceramic mug, half filled with congealed coffee. An ashtray that overflowed with cigarette butts, the ash scattered all around as though it had fallen out as more and more butts were added. A half bottle of whisky stood on the linoleum floor. A pair of mud-covered boots and a silver hip flask were carelessly discarded beside it.