Bill crept up the stairs and sat down next to me, taking the offered vodka shot I’d poured, his hand shaking a little. I hated he felt intimidated around me, especially when Bill was one of the last people who should. He’d seen and heard a lot of shit, none of it directed at him, and I considered him most definitely a friend after all this time.
“I still make you nervous?”
“Ah, yeah.” He gave me a small smile. “Most people are, Yannick, there’s a lot of urban myth around your name.”
“You get any trouble in here?” I motioned to the shot glass he still held between his fingers. “Drink up.” Doing the same, I downed another shot.
“Not really. The bouncers are surprisingly good at sussing out troublemakers before they make it through the door. This isn’t really that kind of bar anyway, people know it. What’s going on?”
Slumping back into the booth, I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just tired, Bill. So very exhausted with everything.”
He patted my leg, his nervousness nowhere in sight now. “It happens. You burn out, you get tired, you’re allowed a break. Still feel the same afterward, then you know it’s time to move in a different direction.”
“Nail on the head.”
“You selling the bar?”
“No, Bill. Your job is safe, don’t worry,” I chuckled.
“If I can help with anything…”
“I’ll let you know. For now, just someone to wait on me tonight.”
“I’ll get Jolie. She’s working out really well, total hit with the customers, not so much CeeCee, but that don’t matter. I doubt CeeCee will stick around for long.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “CeeCee’s…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because the words were not flattering in the slightest. Bill laughed right along with me, nodding his head.
“When the girls come in, I’ll get one of them to bring you some food, looks like you’ll be here a while and I bet you forgot to eat before you started plying yourself with the good stuff.”
“Yeah, spot on, mate. Cheers.”
He hovered for a second, then coughed into his hand. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Sure, go for it.” I’d come to learn Bill rarely said anything which wasn’t worth listening to.
“Sometimes, when you come out of the dark, it doesn’t always leave you behind. Light, you need to look for the light.”
It sounded silly, like something you’d read in a cheesy novel or watch a hero mutter to his loved one in a Hallmark movie, yet Bill made it sound like sage advice. “Experience?”
“Just a bit.”
I had a while to ponder his counsel. If I walked away, there would still be those wanting to push their luck, have their revenge, I wasn’t notorious for no reason. Taking my next steps wisely would have to be done carefully, and yeah, look for the light to make it worth it. Lord knows I hadn’t seen much of it since Yosef had betrayed us all.
Jolie
Another Thursday rolled around after a quicker week than usual. I’d spent the first three days at a prep school in Surrey, covering for a teacher who’d had an accident the weekend before. Travelling had been hell, the sprawling grounds of the school sat outside the village of Merstham with no bus service to the place. It meant getting a taxi from the station and mental maths at seven thirty on a Monday morning to see if I could afford a taxi for the days I’d be there.
I’d loved the placement, however. Six-year-olds were a dream, not snotty or entitled like their parents, not yet anyway. Those precious souls hadn’t learned the art of how to look down on those less fortunate. There had only been a handful of kids to teach, kids whose parents dropped them off to board for the week then picked them up again on the weekends. I couldn’t imagine it, then again, I didn’t have any children, so what did I know? It wasn’t like I’d ever be in such a privileged position either. I was used to seeing things money could buy from working these schools and I couldn’t say I fancied the life. To never struggle would be a fanciful thing, but to have everything handed on a silver platter? No, I saw how those types of people often turned out and unpleasant and entitled was always an accompaniment.
Thursday was a day I’d been looking forward to, and the week had thankfully rushed forth despite time at home being difficult. Only one night had I been able to get a half sober mother into a shower, then into bed, the rest of the time, she’d passed out on the recliner. I wasn’t strong enough to carry her through to her room, a blanket thrown over her sleeping body was the best I could do on those nights. I was absolutely clueless how to help, how to get her to a doctor, or into a rehab programme without an almighty fight. She had little interest in anything other than booze and berating me. Watching her hit the bottom of a bottle every day was soul destroying and I was coming to my wits end.
Something had to give, or she was getting carted off her recliner and zipped up in a body bag. The thought made me shudder - I had to try harder. When she was sober enough to notice I was home, she did nothing but shout disgusting slurs, and after a few days of listening to them, I was ready to bolt and leave her to wallow in her own shit. I’d brush it off, but I often fell asleep with tears in my eyes, exasperated and feeling like I’d let her down. I was all she
