I stared at the engraving until it blurred again, and finally, the lump in my throat gave way to tears. I let out a soft whimper as they fell, then collapsed onto the ground. The cold dampness seeped through my jeans, but I barely registered it. All I could feel was a heavy pressure in my chest, as if the grief were crushing my heart.
“Shit,” I murmured. I gasped for air and tried to stem the flow of my tears, but they continued to stream down my face relentlessly, silent sobs racking my body. I felt an urge to hold on to something, but there was nothing here to anchor me. I clutched my stomach in desperation, holding on to myself—holding myself together—but it only made me realise that the one person whose arms I wanted to feel around me right now would never hug me again.
Sometimes I forgot how final death was, because it was easier to repress the thought of it than confront my grief. But now the pain hit me, and it was unstoppable. I missed my mum. I missed her voice and her dark sense of humour. I missed cooking with her in the cramped, shabby kitchen in our old flat. I missed sitting on the sofa with her in the evenings, drinking tea together before bed.
I pressed my hand against the cold ground, hoping to feel a little closer to her, but my fingers met only damp soil. The worst part of it all was knowing that the version of my mum I mourned had been gone long before her death. And when she died, the last shred of hope that things could ever return to how they were before Randell came on the scene vanished. He had taken her away from me bit by bit, until there was nothing left.
Suddenly, I heard the squelch of footsteps behind me. I blinked away my tears and glanced around to see who else had braved the cemetery in the rain. A chill of terror ran down my spine at the sight of a dark figure. I leapt to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I snarled. Was it a coincidence that the scumbag was here? Or had he followed me? I thought back to my lunch at The Meridian yesterday, and how I had thought I’d seen him. Had I not imagined it, after all?
Randell smiled, baring his teeth. “I’m visiting your mum.”
I glared at him. “Piss off!”
He ignored me and came closer. His pupils were dilated, as if he were high, and there was a fresh scrape on his eyebrow. Had he got into a drunken brawl, or was he in serious trouble?
“You lied to me. I saw the photos of you and yourboss,” he said, his lewd tone sending a chill through me. “When you said you worked for him, I assumed you were cleaning at the hotel, not sucking his dick. But once a whore, always a whore.”
I ignored his insult. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because you’re an ungrateful bitch,” Randell replied, licking his lips, which were so chapped they looked like he’d sandpapered them. “I took you in after you and your mum lost everything. Without me, you would have become a dirty whore much sooner. You owe me for that.”
“So that’s why you’re here? You want money?” I asked, my voice heavy with disdain.
Randell stared shamelessly right back at me. He nodded.
“Forget it!”
“Kate...”
“You’re not getting a single penny out of me,” I hissed. How dare he ask me for money? Here, of all places? Especially after everything he’d done to me and my mum. “Leave me the fuck alone, you prick.”
Scorn flashed in Randell’s eyes, but instead of leaving, he stepped closer. I took a step back—and another, and another, until eventually I bumped into the wooden cross that marked my mum’s grave and could go no further. Randell stopped an arm’s length away from me. The earthy scent of the rain mingled with the acrid stench of stale smoke.
He studied me. I hated the feel of his eyes on me.
“Does your lover boy know you suck dick for money?”
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t waste my energy answering or correcting him. He wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“What would he think of you if I told him?”
“Stay away from Henry!” I spat. I couldn’t let Randell near him—he would ruin everything. Henry was already surrounded by the wreckage left behind by his dad. There was no way I would let Randell destroy even more. Henry had done so much for me already; I couldn’t ask him to deal with Randell as well.
“What if I don’t?” His lips curled into a sneer, and he stepped even closer. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and with every word he spoke, he exhaled alcohol fumes into my face.
I felt nauseous. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“I’ll leave you alone when you give me what I want.”
“I don’t have money,” I insisted.
“But your boyfriend does. Call him.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Call. Him.”
