Chapter 13 Dom
Dom
Most people didn’t know I was a selfish bastard.
Unless they were directly connected to me, I pretty much didn’t give a fuck about anyone else.
People could argue, ‘But you’re always attending these parties to gather donations to help children in third-world countries’ or ‘You always take the court cases where you help people in need’ and, you know what? It’s fucking payback for all the shit I’ve done in my life.
Which somehow left me sitting on my sofa, alone in my flat at midnight, staring at some action movie on mute. I was on my fourth whisky and battling with the dilemma of which way I preferred to fuck up my life.
Thank fuck I met Harry and Cat in university. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had those two. My mum wanted me to leave Newcastle to get a fancy law degree and get myself into higher circles, but she never expected me to actually become friends with Fischers.
I could still imagine her piggy little face when she saw a candid shot of me, Harry, and Cat outside a coffee shop that showed up in OK! magazine. She called me straight away, and I hung up the moment she said their names.
Now life was all fun and games. How much money can I wrangle out of these donors who see saving trafficked children as an excuse to have a party?
How much can I piss off these multi-millionaire business owners who are running sweatshops out of Thailand or polluting the water of countryside towns with the filthy sludge they push out of their factories?
Those special ones who hire me as the lawyer to help them cover it up?
It was the same with Harry when he was my next-door neighbour in uni.
Back before I really gave a shit about him.
How much loud, over-the-top sex could I have before he snapped and came to my door, all red-faced and huffy?
We had known each other for so long, and I could still wind him up as easily as I did back then.
I glared at the hero on the TV as he jumped from a moving truck just in time before it exploded.
He landed, stumbling into the arms of his lady love and the ash-stained kid actor they’d thrown in for good measure.
They clutched each other before a glowing sunrise, curls of grey smoke billowing into the dusky sky, treasuring the fact that they were all still alive.
It was easy for that guy. He wasn’t stuck picturing his best friend’s face smeared with white foam and wondering how much I'd need to push him to get him on his knees.
I was acting like one of those men Sally came home with when we still lived in a trailer, moaning about lost opportunities and all the ‘when I was your age’ speeches. She’d bleed them dry and toss them a month later.
I still couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to think that was normal.
Taking another sip from the glass, I run the last bleak dregs over my tongue before bending forwards to stick it on the coffee table and go back to glaring at the TV.
That was exactly what happened when he got engaged to his last girlfriend.
I mean the whole ‘bursting into flames’ thing.
He found out she’d fucked one of his friends behind his back, and Harry didn't know I beat the shit out of the guy and broke both his fucking arms. Harry never asked when people who hurt him suddenly moved away and he didn't hear from them again, but that was for the better.
And now he was trying it again. I wasn't going to outright tell him “don't get married”, but he was a smart guy. Or, he was meant to be. He should have known it was a bad idea.
I rubbed my thumb along my bottom lip, thinking of certain ways I could get him to see that.
Five weeks was a long time for him and Molly to be apart. Maybe it would develop organically, that he would realise he was happier without her.
Because before he knew it, he'd be married with kids and less time for his friends. Well, less time for me.
But that could be worked around. I promised myself I wouldn't cross that line with Harry after the fucking disaster of the first time we hooked up.
Even though I thought of fucking him occasionally, it was never full blown ‘I need my cock inside you or I'm gonna suffocate’. Whatever the fuck was happening to me was a whole other level.
Before I swirled any deeper into my melancholy thoughts, my phone went off beside me with the Death March by Handel. A ringtone I reserved for only one person.
I grimaced as I grabbed it from the cushion beside me, swiping right to answer and lifting it to my ear.
“Well, hello Sally. I was just thinking of you.” It had been at least three months since she’d rung, so it was time for another round of ‘what an ungrateful son you are.’
“Don’t call me that. It’s so weird.” Her scowl was clear in her voice.
“Why do you think I do it?” I answered her with a smile, but it was hollow.
There was a pause as she started to play her game. Dragging out the silence, waiting for me to start, establishing who had the power even though she was the one who wanted something.
“Why did you call?” I finally asked. Making me ask after her changed our dynamic, and I fucking hated that I always bought in to it.
“The new school term starts next week, and the twins are excited to see their friends again,” she said.
I stemmed a sharp fucking breath to hide how that simple sentence sent a burst of rage tearing through me. It would sound so innocent if I knew she wasn’t after money.
I wasn’t in the mood for this. I might have had time for it, but I didn’t have the space.
“It’s midnight. This can wait until tomorrow,” I said dryly.
“The bills are due tomorrow.”
I dug my fingers into my thigh as the credits rolled onto the screen.
It was easy for her to make it feel like she had slapped me.
She never called for any other reason, but that little boy inside me hoped that maybe she might be ringing just to talk to her only son. Sally had been that way as long as I could remember, yet I was always surprised.
I should be keeping a tighter hold on her finances.
I spent at least an hour a week making sure she took care of my baby sisters rather than blowing all of her money on expensive clothes, cigarettes and vodka.
Or giving it all to my step-dad, Terry, so he could take it down to the bookies and lose it on the races.
I eyed my whisky glass with a frown. She always said she drank just to take the edge off, which is exactly why I had opened the bottle in the first place.
I used to freely send them thousands of pounds every month to make sure my sisters had food, clothes, and whatever else they needed.
When I asked the twins about the things I’d bought them, they’d lie because they were so scared of their dad.
Terry had anger issues, though ‘issues’ was putting it mildly.
Which resulted in me opening a bank account for Sally, strictly controlled by me so I knew exactly what she was spending it on.
And I made it conditional. If she drew out any more than ￡50 in cash, or started transferring money to mysterious accounts like she did at one point, she was blocked out for the next month.
But that didn’t stop her from trying.
I knew the bank account was empty for the month, and saw that her spending had increased in certain areas, but I had to give her some leeway. Any harsher, and I wouldn’t get to see my sisters until they turned eighteen. I refused to leave them alone for three years.
Sally took my silence to mean she should continue. “And we still haven’t paid the plumber for the toilet fixture. And the car bill is overdue,” she sighed heavily, the weight of the whole fucking world on her shoulders.
I bit my upper lip, breathing deeply through my nose as every part of my body tensed. Eyes closed, jaw aching from sheer restraint, hardening myself to deal with whatever bullshit she was about to throw my way.
I must have really fucked up in a past life. Fucked up so badly that I was stuck in a place where my own mum thought I was dumb enough to scam. Even after everything she taught me.
“Why didn’t you pay the bill?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, the taxes were overdue, and they were still coming after me over that. I had to give all the money to them. Check the account, you’ll see.
But… I… I think they are going to take the house away from us.
They said it’s not up to standards. There’s mould in the kitchen and the girl’s bedroom, and we’re going to have to move out. ”
She’d pulled this one last year as well. I doubted she’d forgot. Her memory was razor-sharp. She needed it to be to stay in business.
And I was sure she also remembered how she wanted to use me as a direct line to the Fischers to try to wheedle money out of them, too.
As soon as she saw them at the graduation ceremony at Cambridge, she spent the entire weekend trying to get close to them, like every single other person at that fucking event.
Good thing Mallory Fischer was a master of the same game. She just had a shinier veneer and more capital.
“If we could just come and stay for a month…” Her voice trembled, so close to tears I might even believe her if she hadn’t taught me how to cry on demand by the time I was ten.
I kept my eyes pinned on the white text rolling on a black background, trying to focus on anything other than the urge to stand up and hurl my phone out the window.
While I'd love to bring my sisters down from Newcastle, Sally would force her way in as well.
And I couldn't let her find out where I lived.
She and Terry had a habit of interrupting my life at the worst fucking times.
“Send me the report then,” I said, lifting my hand to rub my mouth.
“Dom, really,” she sighed, “we can handle it by ourselves. We just need five thousand to make sure—”
“I said ‘send me the report’,” I cut through her. “I won’t give you anything until you show me proof.” If I gave any sign of weakness, she’d pounce.