Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Mark

Mark kicks the wall. Harder. Listens to the satisfying thud of more plasterboard cracking. What the hell kind of worthless prick is he, trying to freak out a kid? Turn a little girl against her own mother? From the minute he saw her little face crumple, he knew he’d gone too far. But of course it was too late by then. He’d already called her mum a cold-blooded killer, an arrogant bitch who was happy to watch a defenceless old man die. How fucking ironic that it was Beth’s neighbour who caught him, stopped him from doing anything worse. What, is he supposed to feel grateful to her now?

He thought the school would phone the police, almost wanted them to by then, but that girl with a lanyard just pointed at the gate with her jaw quivering. He’d left sharpish, of course he had, but he hadn’t gone far. He wanted to wait outside Beth’s house again. Not to scare the little kid, or even Beth, but just to check she was okay. Kids bounce back, that’s what people say, but he needed to see it with his own eyes.

The little girl had turned up a while later with her sister and a takeout cup in her hand. Her eyes were dry, but red and puffy, and it was that bodyguard with them, not Beth. For a moment, he’d felt justified – the woman couldn’t even be bothered to pick up her youngest daughter after what she’d been through – but then he’d realised that the kid was getting punished twice.

And then Beth appeared, her face like a ghost’s, her perfect hair all messy from running. She’d nearly collapsed against that brick wall, and he’d questioned his judgement for a second time.

Now, with a sudden urge to throw himself to a pride of lions, he chooses the only thing in his arsenal, and drops backwards onto the sofa, his arms flailing over the back, and his legs splaying out at different angles. With his arms high, he can smell his own stink and it makes him feel sick. What the hell has happened to him? Was it only six months ago that he came to London with a rucksack full of (fake) designer gear and a head full of hope? Now he’s just a homeless dickhead with a spice habit and a baseless grudge. Of course it’s not her fault Jon died; it’s his. His booze, his encouragement, his selfish need for a drinking buddy.