BooksBarbecue
Back When I Lost You
Chapters (81)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Fifty-six
  61. Fifty-seven
  62. Fifty-eight
  63. Fifty-nine
  64. Sixty
  65. Sixty-one
  66. Sixty-two
  67. Sixty-three
  68. Sixty-four
  69. Sixty-five
  70. Sixty-six
  71. Sixty-seven
  72. Epilogue
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. Read More
  75. Prologue
  76. One
  77. Two
  78. Three
  79. Four
  80. Follow Merilyn online
  81. Dedication

Our after-school visits to Alf become a regular thing. The café is almost always empty and I sometimes wonder how he makes his money, but not often; mostly I’m just eating waffles and ice cream and listening to Aoife chat at him about her day.

‘So, this boy comes up to me today,’ she says with her mouth full, ‘and is all like, “Fancy a snog?” and I’m like, “Ew, back off, dude, your spots make me gag.”’ She swallows before laughing until she almost falls off her chair. I’m grinning at her, but then I notice Alf and he’s not smiling. Not at all.

‘You were wearing that short skirt?’ he asks, pointing to her uniform.

She looks up at him, laugh still hanging there. ‘Yeah, so?’

‘Maybe that’s why he said it.’

Aoife remains silent.

‘Maybe,’ he says, ‘you should be careful not to give boys a signal with what you wear.’ He smiles. ‘Not everyone is as understanding as me.’

The words aren’t threatening but his tone makes me tense. I see Aoife stop swinging her legs and bite her lip.

When he moves to the kitchen – pans clashing, dishes slamming against the metal sink – my mind goes on full alert, searching his body language, facial expressions, for clues, reading the coded pointers that tell you more about a person than their words ever could.

‘Are you saying I’m deliberately leading boys on?’ Her tone is belligerent, but I can hear the undercurrent: caution mixed with fear. She’s reading the codes too.

Alf stops what he’s doing and puts his hands on the counter. He has sweat patches on his white T-shirt, rolls of fat straining against it, and his thinning black ponytail looks held back by grease.

‘Course not. Don’t be so sensitive. You’ve just got to watch out what signals you go off giving. Men, and boys, are like foxes after a chicken when it comes to girls.’

We all relax a little, but Alf isn’t finished.

‘And I don’t want people talking about you coming here. You know what the locals can be like, so if you make them think you’re loose that’s going to look bad on me. And then you won’t be able to come here any more.’ He tries to look sad but it comes across as more of a threat and I put my fork down. I want to go home. Proper home, not care-home home.

‘And what would a nice Catholic girl like you do if you got pregnant?’ he continues. ‘You’d be stuck with a screaming kid before you hit sixteen. A single mum on benefits. That what you want?’