183 Times a Year (37 page)

‘Sorry? What? What do you mean?' I ask slightly taken aback. ‘How do you know where I live?'

‘Oh forget it,' she snaps before starting to cry, visibly shaking.

‘Look, I've told you before. I know someone who works in a Women's Shelter, a refuge …'

Amber cuts me off before I can finish. ‘Just leave it,' she hisses. ‘I thought you cared; I thought you'd bloody understand? Why am I always on my own?' Amber turns on her heel and within a few strides has left the building again. I feel wretched.

What a day. I feel both mentally and physically exhausted. I
pull
my car into our drive, relieved to turn the engine off. The exhaust is blowing and the tinny rasping noise has made my head hurt. It'll never pass the MOT sounding like that.

More bloody expense.

I look up at our house and think about my earlier conversation with Amber. The exterior is looking as shabby and tired as I feel but it's a reasonably average sized house in a pleasant enough area away from the city. We are however mortgaged up to the hilt and still have three kids to support. Appearances can therefore be deceiving. However, compared to the Victory Housing Estate I believe Amber lives on in the city, my home is positively charming.

Amber's less than humble abode is one of the many concrete buildings that forms part of the estate originally erected for the social housing project to accommodate London's overspill started in the early 1970's. Unique in design it was declared a planning success with promises of a modern day spectacle upon completion.

Unfortunately, this particular urban development with its square maisonette blocks and many small, under lit, dark passages – perfect for performing and hiding bad deeds – proved to be desperately unimaginative. And now, thanks to high local unemployment, political disenfranchisement and crime, the Victory Housing Estate is more urban blight than delight on the city landscape. A modern day dystopia rather than utopia.

I sigh and rest my hands and head on the steering wheel. Simon and I work hard to keep this modest roof above our heads but I don't take any of it for granted. A couple of major mishaps could so easily find us living very different lives. I think of the poor homeless guy I see most mornings on my way into work; camped up between the job centre and the now empty and boarded up building that used to be the local theatre.

I lift my head up again.

What
you need is a nice cup of coffee
.

That's exactly what I need. I'm not expecting anyone home for at least another hour, so despite whatever mess awaits me inside, a cup of coffee with a good book and my feet up is precisely what I need right now. I'll apologise to the kids for being a grumpy old cow when they get home and we'll have takeaway pizza for tea. My phone pings – it's a text message from Ruby. I pause for a moment deciding whether to read it or not. I miss her. I miss the stupid cow so much. I decide I will read it, my frozen heart is thawing a little.

Lizzie, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!! I love you and I'm so, so SORRY. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maybe I can forgive her? Maybe I should allow her the time to explain? I'll think about it some more later.

I clamber out of my faithful, yellow car and notice rust building up around the door seal. I make a mental note to get it checked.

‘Lizzie,' a familiar voice calls out. I'm both surprised and a little unnerved to see Amber standing on my drive. ‘Did you think any more about what I said earlier?'

I'm thrown by her presence and a little bewildered by her question. ‘Sorry? What …?' I reply. ‘What are you talking about Amber?' She seems nervous. I replay our earlier conversation in my head. ‘Is it the money you asked for? Because if it is I told you, I … we … just don't have that sort of ready cash.'

Amber stares at me, anxious and annoyingly picking at her non-existent fingernails. I feel sorry for her but irritated at the same time.

‘Just give us your fucking money bitch.'

I jump as a tall, stocky man appears from nowhere to stand behind Amber. Amber opens her mouth to speak. ‘I'm sorry,' she mouths.

The
menacing looking individual places a heavy hand on Amber's shoulder and exposes a fistful of chunky gold rings. Maybe it's the way they catch the light from the sun but each ring appears to be tinged with spots of red. His shaved head, with its noticeable V shape, is absent of any hair he may have had and his designer tee shirt is tucked into the jeans he wears below his waist. The trainers he sports, well out of our monthly budget, appear barely worn.

‘Travis I presume?' I ask in a voice far more restrained than I feel. He looks confused.

‘What ya tell her my name for you stupid fucking bitch,' he says gruffly using the palm of his extensively bejewelled hand to slap Amber around the head. I flinch.

‘Ouch,' she calls out, cupping then rubbing her now bright red ear. My stomach flips. I'm starting to feel very uncomfortable.

‘Don't hurt Amber please,' I state. He grins at me.

‘Or you're gonna do what about it bitch?' he replies, slapping Amber again. She yells out in pain. He laughs.

‘Please,' I continue. My inner voice is silent and has temporarily abandoned me. ‘There really is no need for any of this. Here …' I open my bag to look for my purse. ‘I don't have much on me but just take whatever I have and let's forget about all this nonsense eh?'

‘Fuck off bitch. You think coz I'm not fucking rich like you I must be fucking stupid?'

I look at his angry face. He's a bully and for the briefest of moments my confidence has returned. I step towards him.

‘Rich?' I ask incredulously. ‘I don't know what gives you that impression but yes, you most definitely are stupid to even consider that.'

Amber closes her eyes and I see the dread that flickers across them as she opens them again.

Travis steps forward, glaring at me and cracking fingers.
The
hairs at the back of my neck stand on end and I can't help staring at his fat fingers now morphing into huge fists. Something tells me this man carries little or no regard for the poor souls unfortunate enough to find themselves at the end of those fists.

Adrenalin pumps through me – fast and furious – and my heart beats loud in my ears. My need to fly is far more compelling than any fleeting thoughts of standing to fight.

‘Look,' I say, my tongue sticking to the roof of my now very dry mouth. ‘I honestly have nothing to give to you. I'd give you my debit card but the account is probably overdrawn.' I try to laugh in the vague hope of diffusing the air of violence that sits so comfortably with this aggressive individual.

He draws in close, hovering with intent. I notice several small scars below one eye and numerous small brown circular patches intermittently dispersed across his neck. His teeth are stained and his breath has the same sickly sweet aroma that lingers heavily around some of the poor, less salubrious looking individuals that often visit the library, especially during the colder months of the year.

‘Shut up. You fucking stuck up bitch.' He leans in and lowers his face towards mine. My sense of smell is overpowered by the toxicity of his breath. ‘You!' he yells. ‘In yer big fancy ouse.'

But it's not big, or fancy! The furniture's old, the decor dated …

Travis lifts a shiny, silver blade from his pocket and runs the blunt edge with considerable force down the side of my cheek.

‘Now,' he orders, ‘just do as I fucking say and no-one gets hurt. Understand?' I nod my head in affirmation, pure terror having snatched my voice away.

I hate to admit it but I'm now truly, truly frightened. The strength in my legs has disappeared and they feel as though they are about to buckle beneath me. I catch sight of my reflection in the front-room window of the house. It's terrifying to see
the
panic etched into my features in all its transparency. My apprehensive mind runs wild and the ‘what if's' bounce off all my rational and irrational thoughts. Can I get to a phone? Can I get into the house without him? Should I call for help? Should I attempt to run? Are the neighbours in?

Amber's troubled voice interrupts my thoughts.

‘Just leave her alone Travis. I bloody told ya she don't have nuffink,' she yells, pounding her fists on his very broad back.

Travis turns so quickly I barely have time to see what he does. Amber falls to the ground clearly recoiling from the full force of his fist. As Travis steps to one side I see Amber cradling her face. She looks a mess, her face a red explosion as blood pumps rapidly from her nose. Impulsively I run towards her but am stopped in my tracks by an excruciating pain at the back of my head. I feel violently sick and my head has started to spin. I have no idea if I'm standing or falling. No, I'm falling, I'm definitely falling. I can see the moon. I'm sure I can see the moon, and there's a funky purple haze around it? Oh god why did I yell at the kids this morning? Why can't I hear? Why is there no sound? Why is it so dark …?

Chapter 34

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU?

CASSIE

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I can't breathe. I really can't breathe. My chest hurts, my stomach hurts and my head hurts. My legs feel too weak to carry my body but I can't sit down. The lights are too bright and that disinfectant smell is making me feel sick. All I can do is pace the corridor and wring my hands over and over again. My trainers keep making a ridiculous squeaking noise. Sometimes it sounds like I'm farting. And I look really skanky coz I was at a Zula, Zimba, whatever the bloody name is, fitness class and my arse looks huge in these bloody leggings. And I have sweat stains under my arms. Oh my actual god, am I really thinking about farts and my arse? Oh god I feel sick again.

Connor looks so sad. I can't normally stand the little shit but he looks so sad. I'll give him another hug. Oh my actual god, Maisy's hugging him. I've never seen Maisy hug anyone except the cat.

I check my phone again. More messages from Pheebs and Luke, nothing from Dad. You fucking idiot. We need you. Connor and I need you. This is sooooo important. Where are you?

The hospital is filled with people and noise. Curtains are swished open and quickly shut again. Men and women in white coats and green onesies roam up and down and in and out of various rooms and cubicles. Sometimes they walk quite slowly, at others times they rush off like Olympic runners.

Different sized trolleys clack along the corridors; some with people on, others with strange looking machines and my ears
recognise
familiar sounds; sirens, screaming, shouting, even laughing at times but I also hear less familiar things like voices talking across radios, bleeping sounds that remind me of a slow heartbeat, the stretching and snapping of rubber gloves and the clanging of metal waste bins. My nose also picks up a strange mix of bleach, soap, expensive perfumes and cheap body sprays as well as the more repulsive smell of sweat, blood and vomit.

I don't believe in you but thanks god. When I asked you to make Joe my boyfriend proper, I meant it. When I wished Mum would piss off and never come back I didn't.

My phone is vibrating like crazy. Using my thumb I scroll down my screen quickly, skipping all the other names, desperate to see if Dad has responded, but no, nothing. I've heard from everyone except Dad. Even Joe has sent me a message. I'd normally be well chuffed to get a message from him but I can't even be bothered. I just want my Dad and as usual he's not here.

CONNOR

I feel quite scared. Everyone keeps telling me not to be but I know they are, so I can't help it. Simon keeps walking in and out of different doors then walking back to where we're sitting. He doesn't really say much but he does keep shaking his head like he's saying no to something.