He loved her desperately and it broke my heart that when she was gone, his heart would be gone with her.
“The big black dog stole my b-best wool earlier,” Mum rasped, looking back at me. “When I find the owner . . . I’m calling the police.”
“I don’t blame you one bit,” I said, going along with her story. “That dog is causing too much trouble, he’s been stealing everyone’s best wool.”
“Yeah,” Mum nodded. “It’s a disgrace how this c-country let’s him get away . . . with it.”
“I’ve a good mind to write a letter to the Prime Minister about it.”
“I have his number,” Mum informed me. “I’ll set up a dinner date. We can talk about . . . him fixing the shower head. It’s always dripping, I can’t s-sleep over it.”
Michael chuckled under his breath and even I had to hide a smile. When Mum was talking in circles like this and we went along with it, none of us ever really knew how the story would end. We were surprised, more often than not, at the outcome, just like now and myself and Michael always tried to find the humour in it. If we didn’t, every evening with Mum would just be depressing and hard to get through.
There were no official visiting hours in the hospice, but the staff began to get the patients ready to settle in for the night from eight onwards. It was just after nine and my eyes began to feel heavy. I had worked a double shift at work. I opened with Joe and Deena at seven and didn’t clock out until half six in the evening. I then came straight to the hospital to spend time with Mum and Michael. My body wanted nothing more than to sleep.
“Frankie,” Michael said. “Get on home, honey. You’re exhausted.”
I didn’t put up much of a fight. I hugged and kissed Michael goodbye, then did the same to Mum, careful not to wake her because she had just fallen asleep after having a pretty horrible episode with coughing. The nurse placed an oxygen mask on her face to help her breathe easier and it helped as she fell asleep.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wiggled my fingers. “Love you.”
“Love you too, kid.”
I left the hospital with the strap of my bag on my shoulder and my hands shoved into the pockets of my coat. When I left the building, I yawned and headed in the direction of my car. I was practically dragging my feet along the ground when I heard a voice ahead of me. I looked up to the person who was shoving his phone into his pocket and cursing to himself. The voice was familiar and as I drew closer to the man, I practically felt bile rise up my throat like it always did whenever I was unlucky enough to cross paths with this vile human being. I hoped that he wouldn’t notice me, but I didn’t have such luck.
“Frankie Fulton.” He sneered when he looked up. “What’re you doing here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, Owen, but I was visiting my mum.”
I moved right on by Owen Day without stopping and I could tell he had turned direction and followed me towards my car without having to look back and check. I could feel his presence, it made me very uncomfortable.
“I’ll be havin’ a word with ya, Frankie.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I told you at Christmas that you’re barred from the diner,” I said to the man whose face I hated as much as his blackened heart. “I’ve nothing to say to you now any more than I did that day. I’m not lifting the ban after how you spoke to me.”
“I don’t care about the bastard diner,” Owen griped. “I heard he’s back.”
I stopped as I reached the boot of the car and turned to face the tall, balding, overweight cruel menace behind me. He had his keys in his hand and on that set of keys was a black pocket knife that I knew had left the long, jagged scar on Risk’s back. Owen had slashed him when he was fifteen for answering back, Risk had told me. I hated him for it.
“He is.” I flexed my fingers. “You know he won’t want to see you though.”
“That wee bastard owes me,” Owen sneered, his Scottish brogue thickening as his anger grew. “He lived under my roof for thirteen years.”
I couldn’t believe his audacity.
“He owes you nothing!” I snapped. “He was a cheap way to earn some extra money for you and Freda and you know it. You made his life miserable, you beat him and—”
“The last time ye accused me of beatin’ that lad, I wasnae happy.”
The memory of him grabbing my forearm hard enough to bruise me was never far from my mind. It was a few years ago and he had started an argument, similar to this one, in the car park of Tesco and it resulted in him hurting my arm.
I swallowed. “I’m not scared of you, Owen.”
“Says the tremblin’ wee lass.”
Damn him, but I was shaking before him. I hated that.
“Owen, it’s late.” I adjusted the strap of my bag. “I’ve had a long day. Please move, I want to go home.”
“Tell him to come and see me,” he stepped forward. “He was always a sap for you. He’ll listen to ye.”
“He was never a sap for me,” I bit back. “And even if he would listen to me, which he wouldn’t, I would never tell him to go and see
