Down London Road (4 page)

‘You didn’t come,’ he observed quietly.

No, I hadn’t. My brain was too switched on, thoughts of the evening, of Cam and the argument refusing to let me out of their clutches. ‘I did.’

Malcolm’s mouth twitched. ‘Sweetheart, you don’t have to fake it with me.’ He kissed me softly and pulled back, grinning. ‘I’ll get you there.’ He made to move down my body and my hands tightened on him, stopping his descent.

‘You don’t have to.’ I began to sit up and Malcolm pulled out of me fully, leaning back on his side to let me move. ‘You’ve had a long day. You should get some sleep.’

His large hand came down on my naked hip, stopping me from getting out of the bed. I glanced back at him and saw concern in his eyes. ‘Did something happen? Are you okay?’

I decided to lie. ‘When I called Cole earlier it sounded like Mum was having some trouble. I’m just worried.’

Malcolm sat up now, his brows drawn together. ‘You should have said.’

Not wanting to upset him, or our relationship, I leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, pulling back to gaze into his eyes so he’d know I was sincere. ‘I wanted to be with you tonight.’

He liked that. He smiled at me and gave me a quick kiss. ‘Do what you’ve got to do, sweetheart.’

I nodded and threw him a smile before I hurried to clean up so I could leave. I had never once spent the night with Malcolm. I left after we had sex because I guessed that’s what he’d want. I guessed that’s what would make him happy. And since he’d never asked me to stay, I assumed I’d guessed right.

By the time I was ready to leave, Malcolm had fallen asleep. I stared at his strong, naked body flung across the bed, and I prayed that this was the relationship that was going to make it. I called a taxi and when it rang my phone twice to let me know it had arrived, I left silently, trying to ignore the disquiet that had settled over me.

Almost a year ago I’d moved my family from our large flat on Leith Walk to a smaller flat off the Walk, on London Road, technically on Lower London Road. It doubled my travel from work, meaning I had to get a bus into town most days instead of walking. It was worth it for what we saved on rent, though. My mum had rented our flat on Leith Walk when I was fourteen years old, but before long it had fallen to me to make the payments, just as it was up to me now. This new flat had been in a right sad state of affairs when we took it, but I’d actually managed to persuade
our landlord to let me decorate it out of my own pocket. Something I could do on a small budget.

Less than ten minutes after I left Malcolm’s, the taxi driver dropped me off at the flat and I let myself into our building, immediately going up on my tiptoes so my heels wouldn’t make a noise. As I took the narrow, dark spiral staircase up towards our flat I didn’t even see the dank, graffiti-covered concrete stairwell anymore, I was so used to it. Our old stairwell had been like that too. You could hear everything in those spaces and since I knew how annoying it was to be woken up by drunken neighbours in their clattering heels and alcohol-soaked joviality, I took care not to make any noise as I made my way up to the third floor.

I let myself quietly into the dark flat and slipped my heels off, tiptoeing down the hall to Cole’s room first. I cracked open his door and from the light spilling in under his curtains I could make out his head buried nearly all the way under his duvet. The worry I always felt for him eased a little now that I could see with my own eyes that he was safe and sound, but that worry never, ever completely disappeared – partly because parents never, ever stop worrying about their kids and partly because of the woman who slept in the room across the hall from him.

I slipped into my mum’s bedroom, only to find her sprawled across her bed, the sheets twisted around her legs, her nightdress rucked up so I could see the pink cotton underneath. I was just thankful she was wearing underwear. Despite everything, I couldn’t let her freeze, so I covered her quickly with her duvet and then clocked the empty bottle by her bed. I quietly reached for it and
left the room to take it into our small kitchen. I placed it with the others, and noted it was time to take the box of bottles down to the recycle bin.

I stared at them a moment, feeling exhausted, and that exhaustion turned to resentment for the bottle and all the troubles it had caused us. As soon as it had become clear that Mum no longer had an interest in anything, including authority over her own home, I took over from her. These days I paid the rent on our three-bedroom flat on time every month. I’d saved a lot, I worked a lot of hours, and best of all, my mum couldn’t get anywhere near my money. That never used to be the case, though. There was a time when money was a worry, when feeding and clothing Cole was a deep worry. I’d promised myself we would never go back to that. So even though there was money in the bank, I knew it was money that would stretch only so far.

I’d tried to erase much of our former life. When I was growing up, my uncle Mick – a painter and decorator – used to take me with him on the jobs he did for friends and family. I worked with him right up until he moved to America. Uncle Mick had taught me everything he knew and I’d loved every minute of it. There was something soothing about transforming a space, something therapeutic in it. So every now and then I’d go bargain hunting and I’d redecorate the flat – just as I had done when we’d moved into the new one. Only a few months ago I’d wallpapered the main wall in the living room in this bold chocolate paper with grand teal flowers on it. I’d painted the other three walls cream and I’d bought teal and chocolate scatter cushions for our old cream leather sofa. Although in the end it wouldn’t be us benefiting financially
from the change, the first thing I’d done when we moved in was strip the hardwood flooring, restoring the floor to its former glory. That had been the biggest expense, but it had been worth it to feel proud of our home, no matter how temporary. Despite the lack of expense on the rest of the decor, the flat looked modern and clean and well cared-for. It was a home Cole wouldn’t be ashamed of bringing friends back to … if it weren’t for our mum.

Most days I coped with the hand that Cole and I had been dealt. Today I felt emotional. I felt further than ever from the peace and security I strove to find. Perhaps it was the weariness causing my blood to heat.

Deciding it was time to catch some sleep, I strolled quietly down to the end of the hall, ignored the drunken snoring from my mum’s room, and slipped silently behind my door, closing the world out. I had the smallest room in the flat. Inside it was a single bed, a wardrobe – most of my clothes, including my eBay pile, shared space with Cole’s in the wardrobes in his bedroom – and a couple of overflowing bookshelves. My collection ranged from paranormal romances to nonfiction history books. I would read anything. Absolutely anything. I loved being transported somewhere else, even back in time.

I stripped out of the Dolce & Gabbana and put it into my dry-cleaning bag. Only time would tell if I got to keep it or not. The flat was freezing, so I hurried into my warm pyjamas and dived under the covers.

After such a long day, I thought I’d fall asleep instantly. But I didn’t.

I found myself staring up at the ceiling, playing Cam’s
words over and over inside my head. I’d thought I was used to people thinking I was worthless, but his attitude for some reason stuck in my side like a knife. And yet there was no one else to blame but myself.

I chose this path.

I turned on my side, pulling the duvet up to my chin. I didn’t think I was unhappy.

I didn’t know if I was happy, though.

I supposed it didn’t matter as long as the end result was that Cole was happy. Our mum was pretty rubbish at being a mum – and fourteen years ago I’d promised myself to watch out for my baby brother. As long as he grew up with self-worth and I had the means to get him whatever he needed to start out right in life, that was all that mattered.

Staring at the electricity bill in frustration, I decided I’d have to look at it again when I wasn’t so tired. I’d had a few hours of sleep before I had to get up for Cole in the morning, which I always did because I liked to see him off to school. And then I’d come home and spent the day cleaning the flat, rousing Mum long enough to help her get washed and dressed, and then I’d left her watching some daft talk show while I went off to do the food shopping.

I squinted at the electricity bill. I doubted I’d be able to figure it out; I could never understand how the tariffs worked. However they were calculated, they put me out of pocket. ‘Assholey scumsuckers,’ I hissed, throwing the bill on the coffee table and ignoring the startled look from Cole, who was still wearing his school uniform. Ever since he got old enough to start emulating me, I’d watched my language around him. I hated slipping up.

If I pretended I hadn’t said it, then maybe he would too.

I flopped back on the couch and closed my eyes against the light in hopes that it would ease the headache behind my eyes.

I heard Cole shuffling around, followed by the sound of a drawer being opened seconds before something small landed on my chest. I peeled my eyes open and glanced down at the tiny missile.

Nicorette Gum.

I felt my mouth quirk up at the corner and looked up at Cole from under my lashes as he stared down at me. ‘I don’t need the gum any more.’

Cole gave me the grunt and shrug that were becoming all too familiar this year. ‘You swore a lot when you were trying to quit smoking.’

I arched an eyebrow. ‘I quit over three months ago.’

He gave me that damn shrug again. ‘Just saying.’

I didn’t need a cigarette. I needed sleep. Okay, sometimes I really
wanted
a cigarette. The desperation had finally gone – that jittery rawness inside my body where every nerve ending felt like it was screaming at me for a cigarette. I swear I could have ripped someone’s face off for a cigarette during those first few weeks after quitting. I’d like to say that I was motivated to quit smoking because it was the right thing to do. But no. I’d seen some of my friends attempt to quit and had not fancied going through the ordeal of it. I had enough going on in my life without adding squashing an addiction to the list. No, I quit smoking for the one thing in the whole world that meant anything to me, and right now he was folding his tall body back on to the floor, where his own comic book drawings were scattered in front of the television.

Cole had asked me to quit years ago when he first found out that cigarettes ‘were bad’. I hadn’t done it then because he’d never really pursued the issue, being that he was seven years old and more interested in
Iron Man
than in my bad habits.

Then a few months ago his health class was shown a pretty disgusting video of the damage smoking did to the
lungs and the consequences … such as lung cancer. Now, Cole is a smart kid. It’s not like he didn’t know that smoking killed. Since every cigarette packet had a bold print label over it that said
SMOKING KILLS
, I’d be pretty worried if he hadn’t known.

However, I don’t think it had occurred to him until then that smoking could kill
me
. He came home in a belligerent mood and flushed all my cigs. I’d never seen him react so strongly to anything before – his face almost purple with emotion, his eyes blazing. He demanded that I quit. He didn’t have to say anything else – it was written all over his face.

I don’t want you to die, Jo. I can’t lose you.

So I quit.

I got the patches and the gum and went through the horrendous withdrawals. Now that I didn’t have to pay for the patches and gum, I was saving money, especially since the price of cigarettes just kept climbing. It seemed to be socially unacceptable to smoke anyway. Joss was absolutely ecstatic when I told her I was quitting, and I had to admit it was nice not having to put up with her wrinkling her nose at me every time I returned from break smelling like cigarette smoke. ‘I’m fine now,’ I assured Cole.

He kept sketching a page in the comic book he was creating. The kid was seriously talented. ‘What’s with the swearing, then?’

‘Price of electricity has gone up.’

Cole snorted. ‘What hasn’t gone up?’

Well, he would know. He’d been watching the news avidly since he was four. ‘True.’

‘Should you not be getting ready for work?’

I grunted. ‘Aye, okay, Dad.’

I was awarded another shrug before he bent over his sketch pad again, the signal that he was preparing to tune me out. His strawberry blond hair slid over his forehead and I fought the urge to brush it back. His hair was getting too long, but he wouldn’t let me take him to the barber’s to get it cut.

‘You done your homework?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

Stupid question.

I eyed the clock on the mantelpiece of our fireplace. Cole was right. It was time to get ready for my shift at Club 39. Joss was on shift with me tonight, so it wouldn’t be too bad. There were perks to working with your best friend. ‘You’re right, I’d better –’

Crash!
‘Aw, fuck!’

The crash and the curse word lit up the apartment and I thanked God that our neighbour downstairs had moved out and that the flat below was empty. I dreaded the day a new tenant moved in. ‘Jooooo!’ she shrieked helplessly. ‘Johannaaaaa!’