Dirty Daddies(80)

This is really it. They’ve seen the worst of me and now they’re seeing the best of me. I’ll put myself on the line for them just as they put themselves on the line for me.

I breathe a sigh of relief that the nerves have finally left my belly after all this time, smiling as I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

I wonder which one of them it is.

Maybe Jack with a stupid joke, or Mike checking how I’m doing with the fence.

But it’s neither.

And the nerves are back in one terrible heartbeat.

Eli.

He wants his money and his text makes it perfectly clear.

His words make me shiver.

You owe me.

The attached photo makes my heart race. A picture of the centre of Lydney.

He’s here.

Oh my God, he’s really here.

But he doesn’t know Jack. He doesn’t know where I live now.

I try to force the nerves away but they won’t budge an inch.

All the filthy things I did for him come back to pool in my belly. They make me feel sick. I used to think it was okay before I knew what real love felt like, but now I know it isn’t. It never was.

What he did to me was cruel and disgusting. The way he made me use my body for him was a world away from how Jack and Mike make me feel.

I don’t care that he’s my brother anymore, or that he’s holding family news over my head. I don’t care that I may never get to see them again if I don’t do what he wants. If they wanted me, they’d have found me long ago. If they still believe his lies after all these years then I’m better off without them.

All the years of making excuses for him in the name of love seem so stupid now. All the lies I told to protect him. All the lies I told myself because I wanted to believe he loved me.

But love isn’t like that. Eli doesn’t love me and never has.

I wouldn’t reply even if I did have any credit on my phone. I wouldn’t go looking for him if he was on fire and I had the only bucket of water.

I hammer the last of the nails into the plank I’m holding and then I stop. The countryside that felt so open and free feels too open now. I feel too exposed here. Far too exposed.

I gather up my things and head back to the house, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve only got a few hours left before Jack and Michael get home.

Maybe tonight I’ll finally reach out and talk. Maybe tonight I’ll tell them everything.

I just have to trust they’ll still look at me the same way if I do.



For the first time since I’ve been staying here, I bolt the back door behind me. I never lock it, not even when I’m in the fields, but today’s not like the other days.

I dump my new boots on the mat and tell myself that TV might not be so bad for one afternoon, just until Jack and Mike get home.

I’m just grabbing myself a coffee when I feel the shiver in the air. It’s not cold. It’s different to that.

A sixth sense. A shudder in my mind.

And then I know. I sense him before I smell him, and smell him before I see him, a waft of weed hitting my nose from the dining room doorway.

He props himself in the frame like he owns the place, hood up high so his eyes look even darker than usual.

“Made me fucking come for it, didn’t you?”

I play it cool, just like always. “Had no fucking credit on my phone, nor bus fare either.”

He looks about the room and I hate how he ogles everything. “Landed on your feet here. Fucking some posh guy so I hear. Whole shitty town is talking about it, a silly old bitch directed me right to your door.”

“I’m working here,” I tell him. “I’m fixing fences.”

“Fixing fences and sucking dick,” he sneers. “Have you missed mine? I bet you fucking have, you filthy little bitch.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap.

“Shame,” he says and takes a step forward, “since you owe me pretty big, I’ve been charging interest.”

“I’m not paying you interest,” I say calmly. “I’ll give you your fiver and the money for the food when I have it, but I don’t have it, so you’ll have to fucking wait, Eli. You’ve wasted your fucking time.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks and I fold my arms.

I flinch as he clears the kitchen island with one sweep of his arm. The fruit bowl tumbles and smashes on the tiles, the bottle of olive oil crashing into a stool and dribbling its contents everywhere. “Whoops,” he says and laughs as I can’t hide the horror.

“Don’t!” I hiss. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Just a job, is it? Doesn’t look like just a fucking job to me.”

He takes the clock down from the wall and smashes it under his foot. Swings a stool against the wall until the plaster chips and the legs buckle.