It was the only way I could earn cash after prison.
‘I’ve a red 1965 Mustang in my garage, all done up to the nines like a mistress waiting on a night out. If you’d like to help me fix her up some time?’
‘Count me in.’
He grins. ‘Come inside now,’ he says. ‘Free drinks all night for the magician.’
The sun struggles to get in through the windows of the pub, but it seeps through the smoky red velvet curtains, catches on the tables.
Bishop puts a pint in front of me by the bar, one of many. By evening the pub is heaving, and every old Tom, Dick and Harry in Greystone is my best mate.
As I fall out the entrance doors and look up into the starry sky, I can almost forget what I came here for.
Anyone of those men could be my father . . .
I slide out the letter I keep in my inside pocket. The missing letter that’d been tucked underneath the blanket in the basket I was dumped in as a baby.
Mrs Black, a staff member of the children’s home, always said there wasn’t a letter left with me. Wasn’t I a little bastard that nobody wanted? Why would anyone be writing letters for me?
I look at the envelope in my hand. The writing is child-like, slanted in all the wrong places.
When I first opened the letter, it felt like the arse fell out of my world, turned inside out.
I look again. Inside the envelope is a photograph of a girl with a half-smile holding a blurred bundle, high and awkwardly, like found treasure. I turn it over and the scribble hand never fails to deal me a left hook.
Your name is Dean Adams. I’m your mummy, Violet Adams. This is a picture of us. I am the curse of the town. Your daddy threatened to get rid of you so I’m hiding you away. I need to keep you safe. I want to keep you but I can’t no more.
They tell me you are wrong, born from evil. But you are not wrong, Dean. You are beautiful. Know that your mummy loves you. Know that you were wanted. Know that you are beautiful and good.
I suck in air through my teeth, look away from the letter. Put it back in my pocket.
Violet Adams was my mother.
I heard the tale as a kid. Violet Adams got pregnant at thirteen. Unknown father. Greystone buried the story long ago, ashamed of its dark secret. A year after her pregnancy, Violet hung herself from a tree in Devil’s Woods.
I’m that baby . . .
On a night like this, with a pretty blonde girl singing a tune in my head, it would be easy to forget. I could forget, first of all, to ask what lit up my mum’s eyes, or if she ever laughed, if she liked apples or fucking pears.
I could forget my own name.
Dean Adams.
After all, it’s a dead name. A name never taken, a life never lived.
A man could almost forget his intentions, when there’s a girl spinning inside his head like a pretty ballerina.
Sunshine hair.
Emerald eyes.
Sexy, fuckable bod.
Yeah, a man could forget. But I need to get my shit together. Need to shape up or ship out. This town took my life from me. Took my mother away from me. I won’t forget what I came for.
My bastard father.
I wasn’t ready for this. Not now. Since the day I left Nazareth Young Offender Institute when I was seventeen, I’ve been keeping my shit together, keeping my fucking cool, and then this.
All I want is a bit of peace and quiet. Sleep without nightmares. Sleep without guilt.
I was told my mum didn’t want me. Didn’t love me.
She did love me.
She did want me.
I was seven when I was told I would be adopted by loving parents. It never happened. It was all a goddamn lie. I think that’s when I got broken. Through the cracks of lies. Hope died and all I had left were those lies. Lies to keep safe. Lies to survive. It made me who I am today.
Ugly.
Hollow.
Dark.
That’s my story.
I’ve got no other.
When I left Greystone, I wanted to sever all ties with it. But I never could.
Amy Earhart. She’s the reason I stay attached to a town I hate.
She still hates my guts. Kicker is, she’s the only girl I ever fucking loved — will ever love. I didn’t just break her heart. I ripped it out, chewed on it, and then spat it out. I was her monster. I humiliated her and then I vanished from her life.
This letter, my mum, it’s some kind of destiny. No, it was never destiny that pulled us together. I remember now. It was Lustiny, and some ‘thing’ else in between. When this ‘thing’ got deeper, when I got into deeper shit, I did what I always did. I destroyed the only bright in my dark universe. Yeah, Lustiny, and now it’s pushing me back her way.
If Amy hated my guts back then, she’s gonna loathe the man I am now. Because I am worse. Much, much worse.
I’m a liarholic.
Lying — it’s my favourite deadly sin.
Hell, I’ve already hinted at her that I’m some kind of shrink.
People like me, we enjoy being cold lying bastards. All that childhood abuse and neglect, I discovered by the age of around fourteen that I get great pleasure in fucking with and fucking over people at every opportunity.
The bottom line is that no matter what I say to the world, I don’t feel the things they
