Bad Blood Read online

  When you’re going through hell, keep going.

  It was the first week of the Easter holidays and for once, childcare wasn’t going to be an issue. This thought, alongside the memory of the money she had tucked away for Toby’s coveted Xbox kept her going until the club emptied of the last few stragglers. In the locker room, she stripped off the dress and heels replacing them with leggings, a hoodie, and trainers, scrubbing the heavy make-up from her face with a baby wipe. The chilly morning air hit her face, waking her a little, but it was only temporary, and she felt her eyes drooping again as she waited for her taxi to pull up. As much as working nights was a solution to her child-care issues, school holidays were tough. She usually managed to get maybe three hours during the day when Toby was off school, forcing herself to stay awake so he wasn’t stuck on his own playing on the tablet. The taxi journey took just fifteen minutes at this time of day, but the vibrations of the car were hypnotic. As always, her mind was puzzling over a way out of the vicious circle of having no money and no childcare when her thoughts became fuzzy as her eyelids drooped shut.

  Something heavy on her leg jerked her back into consciousness and her eyes flew open in surprise. The taxi had pulled to a stop in the layby of the carriageway in the short space of time that she’d drifted off and the beady-eyed driver had turned in his seat to face her. He pulled away the meaty hand from her leg, but his narrow, blue eyes were still fixed hungrily on her face.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She yelled, yanking her leg away from him. “You pervert!”

  “Calm down,” disappointment shadowed the man’s eyes, but he didn’t look remotely concerned at her accusation. “I was just checking you hadn’t overdosed.”

  Anger ripped through Belle’s body giving her a boost of adrenaline. She knew from their surroundings that she was only a five-minute walk from home now, and she threw the car door open.

  “You can go to hell if you think I’m paying you,” she spat as she clambered out of the car.

  “Oh, come on, love,” he rolled his eyes but made no attempt to stop her, probably weighing up his lost fare against the odds of her calling the police.

  She stormed off up the hard shoulder in the opposite direction, still furious, and he pulled off without a backward glance.

  What a piece of trash, she fumed to herself as she marched up the road.

  She hated feeling vulnerable and she suppressed the fear she’d felt, not allowing herself to acknowledge it, focussing instead on all the injustices that meant she had to put herself in situations like this time and time again. It was one more thing in the never-ending line of ‘if only’s’ that churned through her mind daily. If only she had child-care. If only she had a good job. If only she could afford a car.

  If only I could just go home.

  She hadn’t heard from anyone except Will since the Sunday that they’d all gone back to Bluebell Farm. She’d known deep down not to expect anything from them, but she’d hoped Rose at least would want to stay in touch. Somehow seeing them all had made her feel worse, reminding her of how broken and lonely she’d felt back when the doctors had told her mother that there was nothing further they could do. The boys and Rose started coming home on weekends, people from the village were constantly in and out of the house, stopping in to see Kathleen bearing home-cooked food for the freezer or flowers and well wishes, but nobody was there for her. She was the one who had sat beside her mum’s bedside, brought her drinks and talked to her into the night, and she had been the one with a gaping hole in her life when her mother had passed away and everyone else had returned to their own busy lives. She closed her eyes temporarily against the sting of hurt and exhaustion.

  As she approached the single carriageway that zipped past the estate, she could barely summon the energy to keep moving. She stopped to wait for a van to pass swaying violently in the rush of the slipstream. The blast of air made her eyes water and she blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision. She swiped the back of her hand across her face and glanced quickly left and then right, listening out for the tell-tale rumble of traffic around the hidden corner. Her whole body was aching with fatigue now and she moved her feet forward wearily.

  Almost home.

  The roar of an engine, a blur of metallic black and a warm, dusty blast of air hit her all at once. Everything was too fast for her blunted senses before a kick of adrenaline cleared the haze. A temporary heightened awareness took over, slowing down time and she was trapped, helplessly aware of the split-second before the car hit her. She heard the sickening crunch and saw in vivid high-definition the horror on the driver’s face, before an excruciating pain exploded within her and everything went black.

  Will

  Will made the dash from the car park to the apartment as quickly as he could, but he was still soaked through when he reached the door. He unlocked the mailbox in the foyer and tucked the letters under his arm, taking the stairs two-at-a-time until he reached Craig’s floor.

  My floor, he corrected himself in his head.

  He was still finding it strange to be living with someone as something other than flat-mates or a sub-let. He was so used to being alone with only his own needs to consider that the sudden responsibility of another person’s feelings sometimes felt stifling. He sniffed the air as he opened the flat door, his mouth watering at the smell of Szechuan Chicken.

  It was good to have someone else cooking though.

  “Mmmmm,” he called as he kicked off his shoes. “Something smells good.”

  He carried the mail through to the kitchen and was surprised to see Craig’s sister and her fiancé sat at the table.

  “Hi,” Craig beamed at him. “I was beginning to think I’d have to put your dinner in the microwave.”

  Will flashed him a perplexed smile before moving to hug their guests in greeting. “What do we owe the pleasure, guys?”

  “We’re flying from Gatwick tomorrow ridiculously early,” Kelly explained. “We were just going to get a taxi, but Craig said it would be cheaper to come up on the train today and sleep over.”

  “Where are you off?” Will feigned polite interest even as he felt his heart sink at yet another evening of socialising.

  And where are they even going to sleep?

  Kelly launched into an overly detailed account of their trip to Barcelona, and Will smiled and nodded in all the right places as he waited politely for her to finish talking so he could excuse himself to take a shower. It wasn’t that he minded Kelly and Dean, he reasoned when he was finally below the steamy jet of the power shower. He was just tired and had been looking forward to a quiet evening. He wished Craig had thought to give him some warning.

  “How much does it cost to live here?” Kelly asked later when Craig had explained that they could take the bedroom and he and Will would crash on the sofa. The flat had a small second bedroom, but it was currently set up as a wardrobe and ironing room.

  She choked on her drink in surprise when Craig told her. “That’s crazy! You could get a massive house for that back home!”

  “I know,” Craig grimaced mopping up the wine she’d sprayed across the table. “That’s London though. I could never afford to buy here.”

  “Have you thought any more about putting an offer in on that house in Mum’s street?” Kelly asked.

  “Not yet,” Craig replied ignoring the confused look Will was throwing at him. “Will and I need to sit down and work out affordability and all first, see a mortgage advisor…”

  “Uh,” Will interrupted. “And discuss why we would buy a house there when both our jobs are in London!”

  Craig laughed oblivious to Will’s thinly veiled annoyance. “Oh, I know. I was thinking we could rent it out short term until we were ready to move. That’s jumping the gun though, we have to have the dreaded money talk first.”

  Will stared at his boyfriend in disbelief, but if he noticed he masked it well. Kelly and Dean shifted awkwardly in their seats at the atmosphere making Will feel oblig
ed to change the subject. The conversation would keep for when they didn’t have an audience.

  ****

  “What the hell, Will?” Raya looked aghast. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  They were sat in the studio space they had rented for personal photoshoots, unboxing some props. He hated doing Hallmark-card type shoots, but edgy music and fashion shoots were few-and-far-between, and they both had bills to pay.

  “I couldn’t say anything in front of his sister,” Will told her defensively.

  “Well, you’ll have to put him straight,” Raya said decisively, hand on hip as she stared him down.

  Will grimaced. “I will. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

  Raya pulled a face. “We both know how rubbish you are at standing up for yourself.”

  Will rolled his eyes in response, but he had no comeback. They both knew she had a point. He knew he was a people-pleaser; he hated upsetting anyone.

  “I’m going to have to say something,” Will grimaced. “Even if I did want to get a mortgage and a three-bedroomed-house in Suburbia, no bank is going to give me that kind of money. Not with my credit history.”

  Raya’s glare softened as she rested a hand on his shoulder. “If that’s what you want, Will, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way, but I can’t help feeling that you’re not happy.”

  She didn’t say “with Craig”, but she didn’t have to. It hung there in the air between them, and Will sighed turning back to the box of props.

  “Maybe it’s not the worst idea,” he said quietly. “Maybe Craig has got a point. We’re throwing money away paying rent; we’ll never be able to buy in London.”

  “Buying a property is a good idea,” Raya agreed carefully. “But with Craig? You’ve barely been together six months. Not to be rude, but it feels a little mid-life crisis-y.”

  “It’s not a mid-life crisis. I’m thirty-five!”

  Raya waved a hand dismissively. “A whatever-life-crisis. Whatever it was that made you feel like you had to put down roots, stick at a job, settle down with whoever.”

  “It’s hardly a crisis, Raya,” he defended himself. “Everyone has to grow up eventually. I can’t live out of a backpack forever. Who the hell gets to my age without ever having their own place or a job for longer than six months? It’s weird.”

  “Who cares what you do?” She exclaimed. “If six months saving for six months abroad makes you happy, that’s awesome. If being married to the same person and working the same job for fifty years makes you happy, I’m happy for you. But forcing yourself into something because you feel it’s expected of you, that sucks.”

  Her words echoed around his head, tangling with his already jumbled thoughts and feelings. He’d spent years chasing the next adventure, but the older he became, the more he couldn’t shake the feeling of hollowness that followed him wherever he went. He’d thought it was his soul telling him that it was time to put down roots and he’d done just that, immersing himself into civilisation on a permanent basis. Job, check. Flat, check. Finance Agreements, check. Serious boyfriend, check.

  That’s what everyone else his age did, so why wouldn’t that emptiness disappear?

  Will shook his head to chase away the thoughts. “Right, let’s park this for now and get today over with.”

  Raya forced a professional smile on her face, despite her heart aching for him. They’d been best friends since their paths had first crossed seven years earlier and Raya knew their connection was deeper than their shared profession and their love of travelling. After a long day of photographing babies and toddlers was over, she waved him away, offering to stay and lock up. She watched him getting into his car, the stress of the pending confrontation etched across his face. He might look like he had it all together; the looks, the job, the life, to the world outside, but to her, he just looked like a lost little boy.

  Rose

  A bang wrenched Rose from her sleep and she shot up in bed; wide awake, heart pounding. Hushed, slurred voices echoed in the hallway and she released her held breath at the familiar sounds. It was just the boys, home from their night out. She wriggled back beneath the duvet, but her pulse was still racing, and she lay awake, listening to their noise. A different voice, one she didn’t know, floated up and she frowned.

  Have they brought girls back?

  She felt a stab of irritation at their lack of respect, and she pulled the cover over her head, hoping to drown out the noise, but her ears had tuned into their din and she could make out of almost every word. Someone fumbled with the switches in the hallway, flooding the landing with light, and exasperated she slipped out of bed to close the door. Rose reached for her phone almost crying out in frustration at the illuminated numbers on the display; she had to be up for work in a few hours. The boys knew she was working Saturday and it rankled her that they had no consideration. She had been so looking forward to them both being home for the full two weeks of the Easter holidays, yet somehow their presence had felt overwhelming. Working her long, anti-social shifts was bad enough without coming home to a messy house, an overflowing washing basket and empty cupboards.

  She’d spent her whole life being their over-worked, under-appreciated mother, putting their wellbeing and happiness above all else in her life, at the cost of having a career of her own and probably at the cost of her marriage. Why would Phil have been happy with the slightly overweight frump at home when he had lithe, newly qualified colleagues in stiletto-heels fawning over him at work? Being on her own had given Rose the space she needed to take stock of her life and suddenly the sacrifices she’d happily made seemed less like choices and more like a gaping hole in her life that she would never get back. She knew neither Tom nor Jack had asked her to do any of this for them, but she couldn’t help feeling resentful of the opportunities at their fingertips. Both boys were good students, and she was proud of them, but she couldn’t help feeling she’d given up too much, been too much of a martyr. Somehow, she’d gone from wearing her ‘middle-class stay-at-home Mum’ badge with pride to feeling like a lonely, washed-up forty-year-old with no social life, no family and a job that she hated. She couldn’t help feeling peeved that Tom and Jack were out almost every night, splashing money on booze, food, and clothes while she was struggling to make ends meet. Both boys had cars courtesy of their darling dad, and Rose couldn’t ignore the pinch of resentment that Phil and Wife 2.0, the new, improved model, could afford to buy her children fancy gifts with their joint incomes. She hated feeling bitter that Tom and Jack sang their father’s praises for the annual luxury gifts, but the sacrifices she made for them were expected and taken for granted.

  She rolled onto her back and let out a deep sigh. She was sick and tired of everyone and everything, but above all, she was sick of the negative voice in her own head. Quietly in the darkness, she slid open her bedside drawer and fumbled for a blister pack hidden at the back. She popped one of the tiny white pills swallowing it dry. She tried not to take sleeping tablets, knowing they left her groggy the next day, but she couldn’t bear her own thoughts any longer. She knew she had thirty minutes before it kicked in but knowing that an end to her mind’s incessant, miserable monologue was in sight was enough of a comfort to be able to tolerate it.

  Thirty minutes, she started the countdown in her head. Right, let’s try thinking about something else.

  She conjured up an image of Gareth in her head wondering if she’d ever feel confident enough to start a new relationship. Even in her fanciful daydreams, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to get someone as handsome as Gareth, but any company as long as he was kind might be nice.

  It would be nice to see Gareth again though, Rose thought to herself as her brain started to grow warm and hazy.

  Even though the daytrip to Hampton Dale had been stressful, it had left her feeling homesick for the first time in years. When the boys were little, she had raised the subject of moving closer to her parents, but Phil hadn’t been interested, and then when her mother had died it h
ad seemed pointless. Now, there was no way she could afford it.

  She hated herself for thinking it, but her thoughts wandered back to the talk of the will. As terrible as it was, the thought of someday having security from her share made her feel like there was something to hang on for. She couldn’t help worrying about the conversation that Tim had had with their father, knowing that if all the land was sold off then all that would remain was a very basic house. After tax and splitting it four ways, she wouldn’t even be able to pay off her mortgage. And that was if it didn’t all go to their father’s new wife. She pictured herself still working in a soul-destroying, dead-end job well into her late sixties and the thought was unbearable.

  If it hadn’t been for the sleeping pills, Rose thought she might have cried, but warm, seductive sleep was already beginning to wash over her, and she let it carry her away.

  Tim

  Monday morning was chaos. Tim usually felt sick to his stomach when he could sense a big announcement around the corner, but today he was buzzing with adrenaline. His strategy to streamline the operation drastically cutting costs had gone down well with the board, and he could sense that this win would be astronomical for his career.

  “Are you ready for me?”

  The scent of orange blossom and jasmine floated into his office and Tim felt an adolescent flutter in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the meeting and everything to do with the attractive woman with the glossy caramel hair standing in the doorway, laptop clutched to her chest. At just the sound of her voice, he felt himself stand up a little straighter, puffing out his chest and broadening his shoulders.