“Enough now, Harry.” Mum is now right by my side. “Don’t you ever talk to your son or me like that again. It’sourmoney, not yours, and I have every right to invest in Ashton’s future if I want to. It’s better than pouring it down the drain like you do every week.”
“I should have known you’d take his side,” Dad says, shoving into me.
It’s at this point, his words register and so does the grin on his face. If he thinks he has me, he can think again. “You arsehole. Don’t try to cover your shit up with mine. I’ll pay Mum back, but you’ll never be able to make up for all the years of hurt and worry you’ve caused her.”
He’s not even sorry for his arsehole ways.
“That was money your mother stole from me, and I want it back, or I call the police.”
“You wouldn’t have a fucking leg to stand on. Mum is entitled to half of everything you own, and I’ll make sure she gets every penny. That’s if you haven’t wasted it all away by now.”
“With what? All the money you make when you become a star?” His laughter vibrates against my skin. I could rip his head off for being such a wanker, and the worst thing is, he doesn’t stop there. “Keep telling yourself you’re going to make it. You’re fucking delusional boy. All this musicbusiness is bollocks. Your head is in the god-damn clouds, you know that? You’ll never make it, and your fucking mother can drown with you. You know, she wouldn’t be anywhere without me, and you will go the same way.”
“You think she enjoys the life you give her now?” I huff out a laugh, “Jesus, you have low standards.”
“Do I really, boy, well I have higher standards than you. I’ve seen the little tart you’ve been hanging around with. You know who her mother is? The town slut, that’s who.”
I snap, “You fucking wanker. Don’t you dare badmouth her.” I forget how strong I am and easily push him away from our front door. I’m undoubtedly too rough judging by the way he stumbles backwards, falling straight on his arse. Another stare-off ensues between us while he picks himself up off the path. Then he tries his luck again, this time putting as much power into his charge as he can muster. I don’t let him get through the door, knocking him back against the frame. My elbow wedges under his chin, while the other hand clenches into a tight fist; poised to smash against his face. The stale whiskey smell hits my senses again, causing the anger I’m trying so hard to keep contained, to boil over in the pit of my stomach. My narrowed stare is focused directly to his soulless eyes, while my jaw tightens to the point of pain. Meeting his eyes with mine, I just manage to say what I need to before losing it. “She is a better person than you’ll ever be.”
I hear Mum in the background, shouting, “Don’t do it, Ash. It will be you who gets in trouble, not him. Oh, God. Ash, listen to me.” Subconsciously, I hear the panic in her voice, but stand firm. “Tommy, take care of my mum while I sort this fucker out.”
“No, Tommy, please for me. You’ve got to stop him from doing any harm, please.”
Just a short second later, a firm hand rests on my shoulder. “Let it go, man. He’s not worth the record.” When I don’t loosen my grip, Tommy’s hand grips my shoulder. “Ash leave it. Think about what this will do to Mrs C.”
I do think about it; all the crap my dad has given me over the years, the verbal beatings I took, mostly without Mum’s knowledge. But Tommy is right, and I know if I start laying into him, it’s likely I won't stop. With a reluctant step, I pull away, knowing it’s the right thing to do. Then as my arm releases his neck from my hold, I catch the poison in his mumbled, “Jumped up little arse wipe,” before his fist smacks into my face. Without thinking, my upper body spins towards him and I land a punch to his chest. I knock him hard to the wall; gasping for breath and unstable on his feet, but I keep him there. My blood-covered nose is so close to his while my body shakes to stay in control. Hatred replaces the rational part of me, and for a few seconds, I glare at him. It registers with me how small he is, yet still taller than Mum; how fucking pathetic he is to gain his confident ego from intimidating her. Slowly, like a fading note in reverse, the volume of Mum’s voice crying out my name in fear, increases. Tommy uses both hands to pin back my upper arms, pulling me from behind, trying to keep me from doing any further damage. Only then do I realise I have to hold back.
Finally, I let go, but not without one last ram of my shoulder into his chest, knocking him sideways against the door frame. “Never come back here and don’t you ever try to contact her again or I’ll do you for assault.”
He’s silent as I walk away, immediately holding out my arms, wrapping my sobbing mum up in comfort. “I won’t let him hurt you again, I promise.”
As soon as Tommy pushes him towards the gate, he’s shouting the odds about calling the police. I would love him to, then I can tell them about the years of mental shit he gavenot only to Mum but also to me. That arrogant arsehole has some nerve showing up here. I can’t risk him turning up again when I might not be around, and my mum will be on her own. I know now, the only way forward to protect her is to sign the contract with Election as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CALLA
“One egg and cress,one BLT, both on brown and two teas, please Rosie,” I shout. She’s on general food prep today while I serve and clear tables.
There are ten tables inside and six outside, plus the option to take-away. It’s also popular with locals, so I get to catch up with the gossip when I’m back for the holidays. Sadly, this year will be my last before I leave Braebeach. It’s not that I don’t love my hometown, because I do, but I want to spread my wings. Once I complete my degree, I don’t plan on coming back for a while.
“Sit down and I’ll bring them over,” I tell Frank and Rosemary, two of our regulars. I set about making their tea, wishing I wasn’t here. On any other day, I’m happy to work. I love the Rosie Lee, but I’m not feeling it today, and small talk with customers isn’t taking my mind away from snippets of Ash now formed in my memory. I thought a casual summer fling was easily achievable; perhaps on reflection, he was the worst person to choose. The boy I’ve had a crush on forever has finally become a reality, yet neither of us can commit right now. If it lasts the entire summer, it will be a miracle. Tomake things worse, I thought I could handle it, but as turns out, I’m struggling.
I’m on tenterhooks, every time the latch clicks on the café door, and there’s no point in lying, I’m desperate to see Ash. It’s exactly one month ago today that we spent the most incredible night together. It turned out to be the first of many as we’ve not spent a night apart since—except last night. He dropped me a text to say something came up and he’d call me today. Now I’ve got myself in a spin. Is he okay? Could this be the end of our fling? I sincerely hope not. During our two short months together, and these last four weeks in particular, I’ve experienced a wealth of sensations I never thought possible. No other boy has ever made me feel the way Ashton does, who knew sex with him could be so amazing? I’ve had many clumsy experiences with boys, not all bad but the way Ash makes me feel is on another level. I just hope to God I make him feel the same.
Noting the cluttered tables outside, I shout to let Rosie know I’m nipping out to clear them. It means she has to hold the fort for a few minutes. Usually, there’s three of us. The boy Rosie previously hired wasn’t interested in getting his hands dirty and she had to let him go. Then there’s Betty, Rosie’s right-hand woman, but she is off sick. Rosie’s been advertising for more staff, but so far, we’ve had no takers. Today, there are just two of us covering both shifts.
Outside, the weather is cooler, making the edge of the plastic cloths slap against the white tables as they wave in the wind. Good job they have clips holding them down on each side; otherwise, we’d have no tablecloths left. It doesn’t make the job any easier as I try to wipe them down. I’m holding up three plates with cutlery on top which slides around the porcelain as I move. It looks as if the little one who sat here with, I presume, his mum and dad, had a lovely time fingerpainting with the remaining sauce from his baked beans. It’s smeared all over the top and down the sides. “What a bloody mess,” I say out loud while the cutlery slides to the ridge of the top plate and flicks the thick tomato sauce all over my apron. I’m about to drop the lot, so I let go of the cloth on the table in a bid to catch it, but a hand reaches out before it smashes to the ground.
“Need a hand?” the voice I’ve been waiting for offers.
“Ash—”
“Hey you,” he says, placing the plate stack on the table. “What’s up?” His hand reaches out for mine to hold while his other smooths over my jawline, followed closely by his lips.
“Nothing now,” I say, all breathy, closing my eyes and lifting my chin. I’m enjoying his mouth against my skin. “Just a busy day… lots of customers.”
I pull back to get my first delicious eye-full today of the boy who is driving me crazy. It’s then I realise the bridge of his nose is slightly swollen and there’s a purple looking bruise in the corner of his left eye. “Oh my God, Ash, what the hell happened?” I ask, cupping one side of his face with my hand.
