Chapter Twelve

Finlay

 

I drive everywhere and anywhere I can think to go. Slade is a dick. Mr Banter is a prick. Mr Horton is lowlife arsehole and Rose? Well, Rose is always on my mind. She also appears to be a chameleon—she changes her persona in differing company.

These are the people who surround the house I currently live in, and as I pull up in front of my old apartment block, I picture myself walking the stairs after a long day at the steel mill. The itch returns to my skin at the thought, and I start to scratch my arm like particles of steel are clogging my pores once more. Things weren’t easier here. In fact, they were much harder, but it’s all I’ve ever known.

Tugging at the tie digging into my Adam’s apple, I ask myself one question: “Why did I buy that house?”

Gunshots ring loudly, and it takes only minutes until the sound of sirens blares. “Shit,” I breathe. This world has gone to shit.

Pulling out from the gutter, I get myself away from my old apartment and continue to drive around aimlessly until I find myself at the land and building I purchased today, a piece of property on the cusp of both the upper and lower class of Hoffman. Can there really be such a thing as middle ground? Can I really create a middle class in a place where there is only black and white, with no room for grey?

A loud honking claims my attention as a long black limo pulls up beside me, and the window lowers immediately. I lower my own in return.

“So, did you get it?” Rance hangs out of the window with an unlit cigar held between his fingers.

“Yep.”

His smile is wide. “You fucking legend. You are Frank the fucking Tank.”

“Settle down, mate.”

“We’re going to have the best motorcycle store Hoffman has ever seen. I’ll rally the troops, and when I get Alan from school we’ll be over.”

“Sounds good.”

“See you then.”

“Laters.”

I hear the loud “woohoo” he celebrates further with. He pulls up the car. Gets out and walks over to my open window.

“It’s great news.” Rance pats my shoulder.

“It is. Are you staying here?” I say.

“Yeah, I’m going to do a walk around, come up with some ideas to present to you.” The corners of his lips turn upwards. “What about you?”

“Heading home. Going to check on Tessa.”

“Righto. See ya soon.”

At least today had one good outcome.

Leaving Rance to assess the outside of the abandoned shop, I drive. The winding roads stretch for kilometres, and when I go around a sharp corner, flashes of orange take my vision. “My accident. This is where I had my accident,” I say under my breath. I haven’t been back here since it happened, well, until now.

Parking on the grass where I found myself once lying with barely any air in my lungs, I turn off the engine and hop out.

I stare in the direction of where my old heap of crap failed me, and my imagination returns me to the flaming vision without effort. I can see Rose as clearly as I did the day of the accident, followed by the SUV that ploughed into me, followed by smoke and then flames.

Bang!

What was that?

Shaking my head, I search farther up the road, just past the bend leading into the straight. I spot a lady pacing back and forth in a red dress with auburn hair. Rose. No, it couldn’t be, could it?

At first, I move slowly, but before long I quicken my pace as I approach this woman still pacing back and forth. The moment I draw close enough, I’m able to identify her hourglass figure clearly. I believe I’d know it anywhere. Long red locks hang freely down her back, and her tight arse … well, nothing could remove such a perfect mound of flesh from my memory, that’s for sure.

Rose’s back is turned to me, but she’s muttering away to herself, and I’ve little understanding as to what she’s saying. It’s clear she’s distressed, but why?

“Rose.” I try to keep my tone quiet so as not to startle her.

She twists on her heel and glares at me.

“What are you doing here?”

She continues her hard glare.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the restaurant with your fiancé?”

She lunges at me and presses her hands hard into my chest.

Without thought, I take her wrists in my hold and grip tightly enough that she can’t begin pummelling me, but loose enough I won’t cause her any discomfort.

“Why?” Her eyes fill with hatred.

“What?”

“You’re so selfish. You could have died. You could have been killed. All for a lottery ticket.”

I pull back my head in shock. “That’s rich, coming from you. What was that in there today? Who are you? A pretty piece of arm candy to a rich man, who is a complete arsehole, by the way.”

“You know nothing of my life.” She’s blood-boiling mad. Her lips are pressed together with such force, they wrinkle.

“You know nothing of my life, either.”

“You don’t belong in our neighbourhood. Why did you move right next door to me?” Rose tries to claim back the use of her arms by jerking them in my grip.

“Didn’t know you were the neighbourhood police. I also didn’t know you owned everything, everywhere.”

“Let go of me.” She stomps her foot. She’s flushed red.

“Fine,” I scoff.

“You. You.” She rubs her wrist before using an outstretched finger to point at my chest.

“What, Rose? What the hell did I do to you?”

“You risked my life. You won’t leave me alone. Why are you always in my thoughts?”

I swallow hard. What? I’m in her thoughts? “Rose.”

“You risked my life.” She screams this at me.

“You risked your own life, sweetheart. I told you to stay back. You obviously don’t listen, like all the other women on this planet.”

She launches at me again and again, forcing me to take both her bone-thin wrists into my grip once more.

“Tell me something, Finlay. Is the money worth it? Are you happy now you will turn out just…” She stops talking mid-sentence.

“What?”

“You heard me. Are you happy with all this money?”

“Yes. Okay, yes, I am. You’ve no idea where I’ve come from, you silver-spoon-fed bitch.”

She cries out. I don’t see it coming. In fact, it startles me.

Without thought, I guide her against my body by her wrists, only letting go so I can wrap my arms around her small frame securely. I say nothing, and neither does she. We stand like this for what feels like a millennium—well, until my need to hold her so tightly relaxes, as does my hold. Keeping her loosely wrapped in my embrace with one hand, I use my dominant hand to comb my fingers through her hair, feeling her soft locks. She sobs hard. Her body jolts with the force, so I lay my head to the top of hers and inhale one breath through my nose, taking in a dose of her sweet scent. I could smell Rose all day, every day.

“Let me go!” she finally demands and I comply, taking a step backwards to allow her some personal space. “I need to leave.”

“Okay. Rose, if you need to talk, you know where to find me. I hate that you’re so upset.”

“Finlay, stay away from me.”

“Fine. But, Rose, I’m not sure if I had a chance to thank you for helping me the day of my accident, so thank you for helping me to get free. If you ever want me to return the favour, I’d be more than happy to. You seem like you might be in some distress of your own, and I’m here if you need saving.”

She scowls. “I’m not distressed. I’m happy.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself this. You seem miserable to me. At the restaurant, you …” I can’t find the words.

“What?”

“You seemed blank. You’re a blank canvas with no individuality. All those people at the country club are fake and phoney, but I don’t want to believe someone like you is really just like them.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough to confidently say you are treated like a mannequin whose sole purpose is to be displayed in fashionable accessories and admired, but not respected.”

Rose throws back her head and laughs boldly. When she finds some composure, she looks me straight in the eyes and says, “You know nothing about anything. Move out of the house neighbouring mine and disappear, Mr Crossley. If you think you know anything about me and my life then you are delusional. You’ve seen me twice in a week, and you come up with this ridiculous notion.” A long huffing sound follows this outburst.

“I’ve seen more than you know.”

She puffs forced air out her nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Whatever, Rose.”

“You know nothing. You’re so selfish.”

“Me? How am I selfish?”

She huffs.

“You’re selfish, Rose. You’re the selfish one. What’s the one thing that is truly ugly about you?”

She tips her head in unison with the gasp I suspected would be coming. “I beg your pardon.”

If I could capture this look in a photograph, I would. I’d even frame it in gold.

“I’m not sure why you’re getting you knickers in such a knot, sweetheart. You know the answer.” The roll of my eyes is purely for effect.

“Who asks such a thing?” Her fingers whiten from the pressure she uses to dig them into each hip bone.

My lips part into a wide smirk when the vein in her neck exposes itself for my viewing pleasure. “Rose, answer the question.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Sure you will. How about I ask you again?”

Her hand launches into a perfect stop pose, and I can’t rein in my humour a second longer. She drops her hand and glares. “Don’t you laugh at me.”

“What is the one thing that is truly ugly about you, Rose?”

She huffs not once but twice before whispering, “So what? I’m selfish.”

And there’s her moment of realisation. The one thing Rose has deep down known to be the truth, yet has easily dismissed because of the status life has afforded her, it’s written like a scripture on her face.

“Well you’re ugly too,” she scolds when her anger appears to reach boiling point.

I chuckle in response. “That I am, Rose. I’m the quintessential arsehole, now, aren’t I?”

“No.” Her head shakes. “You’re not. That’s just an act for my benefit and everyone else’s.”

Cocking my eyebrow, I study the soft rose-coloured blush creeping across her cheeks.

“The thing is, Finley, I don’t think there is really anything ugly about you … I’m not even sure why I know this to be true. I barely even know you at all.” Rose turns sharply, and with her head dropped and shoulders slumped, she drags her feet in the opposite direction.

“We all have an ugly side, Rose,” I call loudly. “You just haven’t seen mine yet.”

Her back stays turned to me as her hand bolts upright into the air, and I watch as each of her delicate fingers curl down until she flips me the bird. Lady of class, my blue-collared arse.

I turn away from her and march back the way I came. “Nice seeing you again, Rose,” I yell.

“It’s Roselette!” she shouts back.

“Stupid name!” I shout louder.

Her growl drifts on the breeze, it’s so filled with anger.

“It’s Tank, by the way!” I bellow with sarcasm.

“Stupid name!” She shrieks, causing me to laugh.

There’s something about Rose I can’t quite put my finger on, but one thing I can figure out is she doesn’t belong in the world she’s in, and she’s probably not as selfish deep down as she is when surrounded by uppity snobs. Hell, I don’t even think Rose has any clue what it means to be living. She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s so incredibly clueless on what life is all about. It’s definitely not expensive clothing or being a trophy hanging onto a man’s arm—it’s so much more.

A red convertible screams past me as I turn over my car’s ignition, and although I’m concerned with how fast the car is going, I couldn’t give two fucks about taking pursuit. Instead, I do a U-turn and take a slower approach merging back onto the road.

I stop at traffic lights behind the red convertible with the top secured in the closed position. Rose? I know it’s you.

The light changes to green, and again the convertible takes off with excessive speed. I take my time and stick to a law-abiding limit. Another red traffic light has me rolling up behind the convertible until I’m stopped completely.

Reading the number plate, I try to figure out why it says SGIRL. What does that even mean? SGIRL. Society girl? Silver spoon Girl? Slutty girl? What is it? I go through everything I can think of, and just when I watch the convertible disappear up the Hortons’ driveway, I realise it most probably stands for Slade’s girl, and this has me fake up-chucking into my mouth. What an idiot.

Retreating into the garage, I go on the hunt for Roxie. Wherever she is, Tessa will probably be there too. I’m not wrong. The two of them sit outside in the pergola area. Roxie is curled up on Tess’s lap, and Tess has her nose buried in a novel.

“Howdy,” I say, ducking briefly to dodge a low-lying branch from a large tree.

Tess glances in my direction before focusing back to the page she’s on. “Good day, was it?” she mumbles.

“Not too shabby.” I take rest on the seat beside her, and without warning, Roxie warms my own lap.

“She’s a whore, your dog.” Tess doesn’t afford me eye contact. Instead, she keeps her head down.

I chuckle, running my fingers through Roxie’s hair. “So …?”

“Yes. She came. Yes, she’s nice. Thank you.”

“Good.” I grin.

“The nurse is young, and I think she’s also Mexican.”

“Nice.” Mexican women are kind and sweet.

“She’s pretty, too. Young, Finlay.”

“I see.” What’s she getting at?

“She’s in tidying my room if you want to go say hello to the lovely Caterina. After all, you hired her to care for me. I’m sure she’d be appreciative for the introduction.”

Roxie rolls onto her back, pressing her rounded and obviously well overfed stomach upwards. I oblige her request for a tummy rub and scruff vigorously. “What are you feeding this dog? She’s getting a little beef on her.”

“Roxie doesn’t stop eating. What am I feeding her? Whatever she wants.”

I smile. At least Roxie has an ample diet now.

“Go meet the young lady. You might hit it off.” Tessa lays her head slightly back and proceeds to wiggle her eyebrows.

“Oh, I see what’s happening here. You’re trying to pimp me out.”

“I’m trying to get you laid.”

“Same diff.” I chuckle.

Tessa laughs before wheezing to the point of spluttering.

“Now, now, old girl, steady on.” I lean forward and run my hand along the thin coat she’s wearing.

This only causes her to jerk away. Placing a floral handkerchief against her lips, Tessa coughs harder. When she manages to find her breath and her suffering ceases, I watch as she removes the fine material from her mouth, and I’m taken aback by the sight of a bright red bloodstain.

“Tess.”

“Dying, remember? All part of lung cancer, Finlay. Don’t bother yourself with worry. It’s normal.” She says this so matter-of-factly.

“There you are, Tank!” Rance bellows.

God, he’s loud.

“Kid’s safe. However, I think you might want to talk to him, because he was really quiet on the way home and looked kind of lost and shit. Not sure what it was about. He wouldn’t say two words to me.”

“Okay, I will.” I run my hand down my chin before letting my head fall backwards and outstretching my arms along the back of the wooden bench seat.

“Go get Alan sorted out. I have a night planned for us, and his down-in-the-dumps mood is going to be a problem,” Rance continues.

Jolting my head forward, I stare.

“Paaarrrrty! It’s time for us to party. We have a celebration to carry out now, don’t we?”

“Celebration?” Tessa’s expression brightens.

“We’re going to open our motorcycle store. Tank and us boys. He got the land and shop we wanted today, didn’t you, mate?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, with a million worries running through my mind.

“Well, yes, a celebration is due.” Tessa is smiling at me when I look her way.

“There’ll be no celebration. I’ve the kid to take care of, and Tess needs sleep.”

“I’ll sleep. I won’t hear your shenanigans, trust me. Come on, Finlay—we lived on one of the noisiest streets in Hoffman.” She makes a valid point.

Rance presents a pistol pose in Tessa’s direction and winks.

Tessa shakes her head, as do I.

“Nevertheless …” I continue.

“Pull your finger out, mate. We’re having a party, so get yourself in the mood.” Rance scans me from top to bottom. “Suit looks good on you.”

“You’re a dick, Rance. You know this about yourself, right?” I scoff.

“Yep.” He laughs loudly before placing his hands into the pockets of his own suit and rocking on his heels.

Laying Roxie on the seat beside me, I stand and dust down my trouser legs to remove some of Roxie’s thick coat left behind. It’s caked on to the fine material. I sigh as I claw-grip Rance’s shoulder and say, “Move your arse. Let’s go talk to the kid. I’ve no fucking idea how to handle this shit. Two of us will be better than one.”

Alan’s bedroom door is wide-open when we both come to stand at its opening. He has headphones pulled over the top of his head as he lies on the king-size ensemble he chose for himself.

“See? Glum, right?” Rance isn’t wrong. He looks completely absent from the world.

“Scat. I might need to handle this on my own.”

“Suits me. I’ll go get this party started.”

Rolling my eyes doesn’t deter Rance. Instead, it seems to make him more excitable.

“Laters.”

Flicking my hand has Rance on his way and at first, I too want to turn and put space between myself and whatever this situation might be with Alan, but I can’t. I promised this kid a life. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch Alan. His hands are tucked up behind his in-need-of-a-haircut head as he lies closer to the edge of the bed. His eyes are turned upwards to the high ceiling above him. What’s eating this kid?

Clearing my throat achieves nothing, probably because I can hear the bass pulsating from the headphones wrapped to his ears from where I’m currently standing in the doorway. It’s beyond loud.

Every step I take is slow and hesitant. I hope for Alan to sense my presence—he doesn’t. Setting myself down on the edge of the bed, I follow his line of sight to the ceiling and feel my lips arch in response to the centrefold he’s got pinned to the painted plaster. A busty, spread-legged blonde … not a bad choice, if I do say so myself.

Alan startles, bolting into an upright position. “What the fuck?” He speaks with a loud projection. I point to his earphones. He rips them from his ears, and they slide down his neck and rest against his collarbones.

“Hey, mate,” I start.

“Hey.” His tone tells of his despondency.

“Having a tough time?”

“Nope.”

“Rance said—”

“Rance is a tool. He knows nothing.” Alan has so much anger inside. I don’t blame him.

“We’re cool, kid.” I hold my hands up in retreat.

“What do you want?”

“Thought you might want to chat. Maybe about how school went today?”

“Nope.”

“I think you might.”

“Whatever.” He scowls.

“Are the guys at school giving you a hard time?”

“What do you think?” He frowns.

“I’d say that’s an affirmative on the jocks being a bunch of cocks.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I feel you, mate. I had a bunch of those fuckers in my school as well. Best to ignore them, and—”

“It’s not the same, Tank. You have no idea. I mean, you have two legs for starters …”

“Loser—that’s what I was voted. Least likely to achieve anything in life.”

Alan tries to keep his lips pinched tight together in unhappiness, but he fails, because his mouth falls wide.

“Two legs, one leg—doesn’t matter. You’ll adjust. Do you want me to come biff them around for you a bit?”

His jaws come together, and at first his lips are thin lined, but before long they stretch into a smile. “No. I can handle it myself.”

“Good to hear. How about you get out of your school uniform and come outside and have a beer with me?”

“I can drink?” He seems surprised by this.

“One won’t hurt you. It’s not something you’ve not done before, and we’re on private property.”

“Cool.”

“Right. When you’re ready I’ll be outside.”

He drops his head to the bedspread. “All right.”

“All right,” I say, pressing my hands to my spread knees and pushing upwards.

I make it about three meters outside of Alan’s room when I bump into Caterina, Tessa’s new care nurse. I know who she is by the logo on the T-shirt she wears. Caterina has a short hairstyle, brunet in colour, which tucks in around her chin. Large plump lips, light chocolate skin, and wide rounded eyes … Tessa wasn’t kidding about her being a young looker. She is indeed this.

Introducing myself has her blushing momentarily, and although polite, she seems either shy or coy—I can’t figure out which. I don’t get much time to spark up a conversation with Caterina because the noise coming from the front entryway of the house is bold and confrontational. What now?

It’s a walk through the living area past the kitchen and into the entryway. Mr Banter’s voice projects with authority, but I can’t make out a word he’s actually saying.

However, Blocker’s distinct tone is yelling, “Mind your fucking business.”

“Hey, hey, what’s the problem?” I hook one of my hands to the doorframe and give my attention firstly to Banter, who is sun-bitten red and fuming. Then I turn my attention to Rance, Tardo, and Sailor, who are all standing there with dumbfounded looks planted across their faces.

“These lowlife thieves have been loitering around the front of your residence, Mr Crossley. I’m sure these are not the type of people you associate with. The police are on their way.”

“Police?” I’m shocked. There’s no downplaying it.

“Yes. We have many good friends in the police force.”

“No. No.” I wave my hands in front of my body. “There’s been a mistake. These gentlemen are part of my company here, Mr Banter. Same lads who were here the night you came over to introduce yourself, remember?”

He scoffs. “You keep this type of company?” Surely he remembers them being here?

“What, may I ask, is the problem with my friends?”

He bounces his eyes like a bullet ricocheting between metal surfaces. “These men are thieves, ungodly types, and grotesque people. I want them gone. I don’t trust them.”

My jaw must drop wide because I can no longer feel my teeth pressed together. Is he calling me a fucking thief then because the four of us are tarred with the same brush?

“This is not acceptable here in our community, Mr Crossley.”

“How about I shive a steel knife into your windpipe after I knock your bleedin’ lights out, you fucker?” Rance rolls his shoulders, and without a second passing, has his suit jacket falling from his arms to the ground below.

“Hope you can fight, you judgemental arsehole.” Blocker throws down his cigarette before the collar of his T-shirt is in his grip. He slips the shirt over his head in no time. He puffs out his tattooed chest as he clenches his fists, holding them in front of his face like a street fighter.

“Fuck. Boys, you’re not really making the situation better now, are you? Pull back and get inside.” Sirens sound in the distance, and I’m about to lose my last nerve when I see Sailor sneaking up behind Banter. “Will you get your shirt back on and get inside, Blocker? Rance, pick up your jacket … Sailor, get them inside. Where did Tardo go?”

Water sprays at full force right into Banter’s chest. I twist my head.

“Fuck. Tardo, really?”

Tardo—he has the hose and is laughing as he drenches Banter.

“Turn it off, you …” I don’t even finish saying what it is I’m thinking. Instead, I throw my hands in the air and surrender to the situation.

It takes a lot of explaining and apologies before the police and Banter cease to remain on my front stoop. I haven’t been living here more than a few weeks and the police have already made their presence and disregard for such behaviour known.

Slamming the door in a rage, I glare in the direction of my so-called friends and growl, “I hope you didn’t just blow the deal I secured today for our fucking motorcycle store.”