Chapter 2 AVA’S FIRED THORN
“Tucker, c’mon. Stop bullying the weeds. Go get a shower.”
Almost blind to the dirt on his gardening gloves as he knelt at the far edge of the lawn, Tucker waved Amanda off as she sat working in the conservatory. Shifting his cap to keep the unusual hot evening sun out of his eyes, he eased to his feet. The November chill over the past few weeks had killed off most of the weeds, but the one he fought thrived in the cold and had its uses, some of which he liked to keep around.
“You know kids could be less stress on your knees? They start off closer to the ground, able to weed for you, then they grow up and leave eventually.”
Tucker caught the smile that Amanda hid behind her mobile phone. “With weeds, I can pull them up and add them to the compost heap if they mess up lab work here,” he said back to her. “Bit weird seeing kids’ legs sticking out the compost heap if they annoy me, though, love.”
He got a very you bad lad look off her before she took a workbook off the pile of schoolbooks on the long coffee table next to her. “It’s a garden here, not a lab, sweety.”
He was still too lost on the pile of books. School term times existed for kids, never the teachers. He’d never really seen that as a kid, just picked a fight with adults and kids alike in school, mostly because the teachers turned a blind eye to how the kids tried to kick his feet from underneath him for being a decent-sized rugby player who only had a love for… flowers. Weird how he’d fallen head over heels for one of their own when he had finally grown up and lost some of the testosterone.
“Garden… lab… Tomaytoe… tomartoe,” he called back to her as he picked up the flowerheads and headed over to the compost bin to take care of the bodies. Through the run of tree and bush of Brynmill Park bordering their home, the scent of the nearby lake mixed with the run of evergreen and winter plants that framed his lawn, and he closed the lid on the compost bin and gave a sigh, then removed his gloves before heading over for the conservatory. They’d been lucky buying this detached three-bedroomed house. It was midpoint between Amanda’s school and Tucker’s daily jaunt to real lab work. But in general, the Uplands of Swansea was stunning, even in the backdrop of Wales.
“One down, one… huge pile of books to go.” Amanda gave a heavy sigh and put her phone down. She didn’t look happy, so he dried his hands, then went over and kissed at her head.
“Why don’t you leave that until tomorrow? You look knackered.”
She looked up and kissed at his jaw before patting his neck. “Friday tomorrow. I have that Governor’s meeting at six, and if we want to head over to the farmer’s market you want to rummage through Saturday, then these—” She tapped a book in her lap. “—they need to get done now.”
He winced and offered a whispered sorry. “Work not rummage,” he said with a grin. “I swear my plant fetish is for… work.”
“Oh sure, it is, love. I sit still for long enough out here, I swear I’d end up with lilies poking out my trouser legs.” She twitched an eye several times, and he laughed softly.
“Imagine what would happen if a kid of ours came into the mix. Who knows what’d be planted in there: lipstick, pens… toilet roll.”
“Hey.” She laughed. “I kind of want to see you going teacher as little hands mimic yours in the botany field.”
“Curator at the Welsh National Herbarium,” he said gently. “One who’s almost touching forty-five and a boring fart.”
“That’s not what Monique tells me about your youth.”
Tucker winced. “Lies, all lies.” He smiled. “And since when did my sister turn informer on me?” He tried to keep to humour, not make talk on kids look important, because they’d been trying and failing for over a year now to have a kid or two, but the brush of thumb to her lips betrayed just how much he’d love to have a little bag of his own ogre bones next to him, digging in the dirt… he didn’t even care if the squeals of delight were male, female… however they turned out to be. Maybe one day…?
“I’ll get cleaned up, then start dinner,” he said gently before he straightened. “What do you fancy?”
She groaned, rubbing at her stomach as a growl kicked in. “Potatoes… lots of them… mashed. A few vegetables… parsley sauce.”
“Anything else?” He knew what the answer would be. Two years older than him, with such a complex mind towards ICT and computers, long soft brown hair that shifted so lightly in the breeze and a smile that could see him hand over the most rarest plant in order to have her lie next to him, she was… as simple as it could be when it came to food. No fancy restaurant needed, just mash… vegetables… parsley sauce. More so over the past few weeks.
“No thanks.” She leaned over and picked up the first book. “Just another tea, please.”
“Done.” He started to head over.
“Oh, shit, Tuck?”
He glanced back as he reached the kitchen. “Yep?”
“I need my markers.” She tried to look under the coffee table but came away too tired. “When I met you out by your car tonight, I left my bag in there. Again.”
“No worries. I’ll go grab it. Anything else whilst I’m there?”
“Nope, just my bag.”
He got Amanda’s keys off the key holder, and sunlight nearly blinded him as he went outside, so he pulled his cap down to ease the sting before heading over to his BMW. Amanda’s Nissan sat next to his, and he didn’t envy how hot and exhausted they both looked, melting away in the heat.
Something hit the drive, close to his feet, and for a moment, Tucker twisted around. Another hit came, a stone on driveway, and as he caught a pebble dance away, he glanced up, towards the neighbour’s roof. A run of giggles and feet on pathway came at the end of the drive, winning his attention more, and two girls, one fifteen, the other maybe touching nineteen, they stopped on the road, just beyond the pathway, phones in hand as they huddled in close. Despite wearing basic jeans and a crop top, the eldest carried Asian heritage beautifully, all topped off with a Japanese red cheery blossom hair clip that almost managed to tame the long black strands.
Too much focusing on the cherry blossom clip, Jase. Christ, it’ll get you arrested. Look away. He winced. Botanist by heart. He really was just taken by the startling cherry blossom clip.
Tucker rolled his gaze. They stood right next to each other but still seemed to talk through text as the Japanese girl in the crop top let out a laugh that had Tucker smiling. It carried that “It’s still summer, I don’t give a damn” ease to it as sound from a TikTok video or whatever social platform they watched drifted over as well.
Crop Top’s younger friend flicked through to something else, then held her phone up high, bracelets clinking and catching the light as she rested her head on Crop Top’s shoulder. Either she snapped a photo of them both, or she started a recording. Tucker wouldn’t have minded, but they had their backs to him, with an angle to her phone that could put him in the picture too.
That made him cough very uncomfortably. “Hey, ladies.”
Crop Top glanced back, her smile falling as Phone Girl who’d snapped the picture shifted a little behind her, hiding her phone. She was smaller, more mousy in looks and… Christ, he hadn’t meant to scare either of them.
“Any chance you could delete that for me and just move over to the park there to take that? Just for privacy?” He tried a softer look. “Please?”
Crop Top folded her arms, all Japanese attitude looking to come out, then Phone Girl quickly shook her head and whispered something before looking Tucker’s way.
“Oh, sorry, Mr Hughes. Sure.” Crop Top bit at her lip, nerves showing through, and her English was perfect, even carrying that slight cockney twang. “Don’t tell Mrs Hughes, okay?”
Huh? They were more scared of Amanda than… him? That was a first. They were students, though. Or knew of Amanda at least. Maybe, Crop Top did look a little old for high school. He wasn’t Mr Hughes, though. Only they wouldn’t know that. Him and Amanda, they’d not gotten around to marriage, because they were so comfortable with life as it was.
Tucker slipped the car key in the lock. “Mum’s the word,” he said, winking over.
Crop Top nodded, and she took her friend’s phone and messed with it a moment. “Deleted,” she said not looking up for a moment. “You wanna make sure, sir?”
He shook his head. “Your phones, your privacy. This is just my home, my privacy, okay?”
He got a nod back, a slight blush. “Got it.”
They headed away, lost again to whatever they’d been watching, and Tucker snorted a smile. “Well that could have gone a lot worse.” He made a grab for the car handle.
“Shit.” Yanking his touch away, he sucked at the scratch he got to his finger. It stung, but only because it had caught him off guard. Pricks he was used to, both in and out of the garden.
With a wince, he ran a touch under the handle again, more careful this time, but only smooth plastic met his touch. Not much damage had been done to his finger, just a pinprick. It bled a little, and as he crouched down, checking the ground, he kicked himself for going all kid and sucking at the wound.
The blocks to the driveway stayed clear bar a few pebbles, but closer to the right driver’s side tyre, a small thorn played innocently on the floor.
Tucker picked it up with a sigh and turned it around a few times.
Pyracantha, or firethorn. They really weren’t as evil as the name suggested. An ornamental shrub, the berries were just starting to come through, and the spikes they came with were no taller than a small fingernail.
Tucker stood and shook himself down, more his sleeves, and true to form, a few more fell free, tangled in his jumper.
“Cheeky beggars,” he said, sucking at his finger again. They weren’t poisonous, but—“Buy me dinner first next time, okay?”
He grabbed Amanda’s bag from the passenger seat, then carefully picked up the thorn before locking the car and trashing the thorns in the brown compost recycling bin sitting on the drive. Then he headed back in and gave Amanda her bag before hitting the shower.
“Hey, you died up there?”
Hearing Amanda’s call, Tucker stepped out of the shower, loving how a colder breath played around his soaked skin. From Amazon’s Alexa in the bedroom, “Every Breath You Take” by The Police drifted through, and away from the dirt of the garden, Tucker hummed along with someone watching as he towel-dried his hair. He couldn’t remember asking Alexa to play it, but as his boxers, jeans, and jumper were piled in the washing basket in the corner, fresh clothes folded on the toilet seat, he kind of figured who’d been up here with him and had requested it as she’d no doubt got an eyeful.
He liked the choice: boxers, shorts, no T-shirt. He wasn’t God’s gift by any standard, already homing a dad-bod despite having no kids to cement it. Hair was wild, like someone had planted him and left him to grow unattended, only a cap offering a way to tame it. He left all style and grace to Amanda, and he hoped… hoped to god any kids they did have came out with her looks, with maybe his ability to cook.
A tickle came at his thumb, and he glanced down at his hand, wondering if the touch attached itself to some deeper hurt over needing a kid standing next to him.
“Well look at you there, huh?”
Female, just a month or so old, but looking full at the belly as if ready to take a step into motherhood herself, the tiny green Aphid scurried over his thumb. She was one of the most common, green minute garden pests, one that multiplied at an alarmingly fast rate.
“Not today, Josephine.” Tucker let her crawl into some toilet paper, then made life easy for himself by cutting her suffering and sent her on her way down the toilet before slipping on his boxers and shorts. “Sorry, love.”
“Every Breath You Take” still played on his Echo Dot, and Tucker tossed the towel he’d used, satisfied that it landed in the basket, then he headed off through to the bathroom and asked Alexa to pack in playing it. The kitchen was his next stop, and he shivered a little as a draft from the open lounge window caught his shoulders.
“Alexa, play Tucker’s playlist.” He’d made it over to the sink.
“Here’s your playlist: Tucker’s playlist.”
Tucker almost, almost said thank you, always caught in his manners, and he shook it away as he grabbed the potatoes from the vegetable rack. “Mash, vegetables, and parsley, it is.” Then a little louder—“You need another tea, love?”
“Please,” a call came through. “Three sugars this time?”
“You need a sugar rush to get through all that?”
“All that? You’ve been up there an hour, Tuck. I’m nearly done.”
Tucker snorted, then looked at the time on the microwave. Fuck. He had.
After pulling out a saucepan for the spuds, he switched the kettle on and tugged two new mugs off the tea rack. A knife to peel with came next. After adding some sugar and teabags to the mugs, he stood at the sink and started on the spuds as “Every Breath You Take” drifted on in from the lounge.
It won a frown as a breeze from behind stirred his hair over his eyes, forcing him to wipe it away with a swipe of arm. That wasn’t on his playlist.
A light scurry of tiny legs ran across the back of his hand, and Tucker flinched, glancing down. “Huh?”
Josephine had a twin, it seemed, and the bug settled on the back of his hand, turning this way, that, as if in search of her not-so-long-lost friend.
A crawling feeling rushed his scalp, and another bug fell onto his hand. Another.
“Shit. Seriously?” He dropped the knife on the edge of the sink, and going wet dog with his hair, he shook his locks as he ran his hands through his air once… twice, three times… four.
“Honey. You okay?” A touch brushed his arm, and he jolted. Amanda offered him a smile, a flicker of concern as she wiped hair from his eyes. “You look a little startled, love. You seen a spider you need me to take care of?”
Yeah, the only gardener around who couldn’t stand spiders….
“No, I… I…” He looked down at his hand, but nothing ran over his skin. He snorted a smile, then ran a hand through his hair just to double-check again, but… “Yeah.” His hand came away clean. “I’m good.” He kissed at her cheek. “Just getting your tea.”
“Good choice of yours with the shorts and… skimpy.” A hold slipped around his waist, and Amanda came in close behind. “Almost… naked and adulterous.”
He smiled at her, it registering vaguely that he hadn’t chosen anything, but her hand traced his stomach, going lower… much lower, and she craned a look his way.
“So, you wanna skip dinner for a moment?” She waggled her brows.
From the delicate curve of it—a tiny green Aphid dropped onto her cheek and scurried around to her nostril, belly full of eggs.
“Huh.” He jolted—then hit it off her face to get it away from her.
“Ah.” Amanda took a step back, holding her nose. Shock played her eyes, hurt too, which was bloody stupid—he’d batted the bastard off, not meant to hurt her. “Why…?” she started to say, but—not why—where…. Where had the bastard gone?
He started looking around her feet, shifting her a little when he didn’t see it.
“Tuck, why…” She let out a soft sob. “Why would you do that?”
“Bug.” He looked at her. “An A—”
Right nostril this time.
Two of them.
The first crawled from her nose, running down over her top lip, the second… breaking free and stopping, stuttering just under her nostril, like it was a mother mid-berth and… and—
Like charting the full bloom of a flower in a time-lapsed clip, a mass of legs and green bodies burst open from the belly, racing in all directions across Amanda’s face: cheeks, lips, jaw—back up to… into her nose.
“ Christ . No.” Tucker pushed her into the sink unit. Water switched on to full, he shoved her head under the ice-cold rush of water. “Off.” He kept her head buried. “Get them fucking off.” He couldn’t let them infest her. Eat any of his plants, just not… her.
Amanda spluttered once, twice, the second one spewing three fast and furious bugs out of her mouth, bellies full and fat. They caught in Amanda’s hair, then scurried up, around the water, rushing for her ear.
Tucker cried out and forced his body against hers, sending gurgled cries into a grunt as he forced her face to the side, washing out her ear. “No no no no no.”
She kicked and fought against him, but he let out a fuck yes as two bugs tumbled away from her ear and cried help all the way down the plughole.
That just left one.
It scurried out of the path of the flood coming out of her ear and raced up, back into Amanda’s hairline. Only… only—
Hundreds of tiny bugs broke from its belly.
Hair, ear, mouth, eyes—they scurried to cover it all.
Giving a snarl, he tugged Amanda up and pulled open a drawer to get his hand on the duct tape.
“Tuh-uck—” She tried to call his name, but he shook his head and covered her mouth with his hand, trying to keep the bugs out. He hated the fear in her eyes over being forced to ingest bugs, but he shared it, needed to make it stop for her.
Forcing her back down on the unit, an elbow digging into her throat to help her keep still, he covered it all with duct tape: nose, eyes—ears. Bugs tried to run out of the way, across her cheeks, down her shirt, most up into her hair, but he caught a few under the duct tape, stopping their assault at least.
That just left the infestation giving her hair an ill life all of its own.
Dragging her into the dining room and taking the duct tape with him, he tugged out the hair clippers. He needed to do this quickly, otherwise breathing… she wouldn’t be able to breathe, and the bugs would turn on her again, get access as she took a breath, and breathe. He frowned. Fuck—she needed to breathe.
Out of the clipper box, he grabbed a pair of scissors and jabbed a hole in the duct tape covering her left nostril. Blood started to run free, but it was clean, not infected, and he kissed her wildly for the purity of it.
Clippers came next, and he started shaving her head as bugs shifted and moved, the clippers running front hair line to back, sometimes snagging on the chunks of hair and bugs. Amanda’s struggles started to stop, so maybe she knew… she knew what he was trying to do—stop the infestation. Just keep her safe.
Fuck, he needed to keep her safe. “Nearly done, nearly done, baby.”
The last strand of long hair fell, and he checked her scalp. “Gone… all gone,” he breathed quickly, then he took her weight, easing her down into a chair at the dining table. “You’re safe. So safe, baby.” The mass of bug on dining room floor he could poison in a moment.
He tugged the duct tape off her mouth and nose and a groan came, followed by more blood from her nose. He freed her ears last, so bloody relieved. Hair. Hair could grow back, and from how she drew in a heavy, dazed sob, it hurt her losing it, but the alternative?
Losing her?
Amanda stilled, and he followed her look down to her stomach to see why her eyes were so wide.
The knife jutted out close to her bellybutton, and something shifted for a moment, some sense over how he’d been peeling spuds, how he’d dropped the knife on the sink, and down… he’d pushed her face-first under the water… over the knife.
“No,” he started, but more bugs scurried out of the wound, racing her abs in a rush to taste freedom now they were part way through eating her insides. Pulling the knife out was suicidal, he knew that. It would only open more access to the bugs still playing through the hair on the floor.
He lifted her onto the dining table, then as she lay groaning and writhing, he started with the duct tape: pinning arms down first, feet, head, needing her to be—“Still.” He cupped her face. “Stay so, so still for me, baby. I’ll stop them. I promise.”
He shifted out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and out into his garden shed.
Paramedics were useless: they wouldn’t know how to handle a garden infestation. This was his job, his world. He’d get them off her, then the paramedics could fix the damage he’d done.
Tucker grabbed the cannister of half-empty winter wash. Mostly plant oil-based solution, it wasn’t dangerous to humans, and he needed that safe buffer zone for Amanda and—
Scurrying came at his hand.
He cried out, nearly knocking the winter wash on the floor as he grabbed a gardening shovel and clawed at the two bugs chasing each other over the back of his hand. Bellies were full, waiting to burst… and Amanda? Who’d be there for Amanda if he caught her infestation?
He cried out and threw the shovel into the shed, sending things clattering to the floor. Then he grabbed the closest can and bolted back for the dining room.
Amanda barely moved. But as he skidded in, she started to cry. Yeah, she knew the danger she was in: the fear called out the infestation, and like giving the car a green light, her cry burst the bugs back into life, shifting them up over her boobs, her neck… jaw.
Off. She needed them off.
Tucker rushed over and smothered her mouth, doing what her eyes asked him to do and stop the bugs filling her throat, then pulled the knife free and ignored her smothered scream as he unscrewed the winter wash cap—and tipped it into the open wound.
More bugs were forced out on Amanda’s arch of body, and he cried a whole new level of “Fuck yes, you bastards.”
The bugs raced for shelter, wanting back in the warmth of blood and bone, or it seemed as they raced for her mouth and nose as she screamed.
So he poured wash in them too.
Amanda started to splutter and choke, and not happy she choked out the cure, he grabbed hold of the duct tape and made sure she kept it in her throat for her own good. He even cried it out. “I know, baby, I know. They’ll be gone soon. I promise.”
Bugs clambered onto his hand, up over his arms—but that was okay. They weren’t on her. He’d take care of himself later. For now she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t moving, maybe knowing moving would only make them want more of her.
And he’d concrete over that damn garden as soon as she was back on her feet. Like hell would he giveaway everything in his goddamn world to get her back on her feet, but potatoes.
He still had potatoes to peel.
Amanda was hungry.
The shuffle of feet came from by the living room door, the clink of bracelets… two girlish snorts of laughter at the snap of another selfie.
A before… after… and a Japanese red cherry blossom hair clip caught the sunlight through the windows.
Tucker didn’t care as he took hold of the knife, humming along to “Every Breath You Take” as it started again.
Peeling potatoes it was until Amanda woke up.
Skin fell in slices off his fingertips, falling to the floor to land on Amanda’s hair, coating the rush of little green bugs running riot on the kitchen floor.
But that was okay.
Amanda was hungry. Dinner would be ready soon and they’d have a glass of wine to wash it down. No, not wine. Amanda had said she didn’t want any. She’d given up drinking a few weeks ago.
That was okay too.
Digging the knife point under his nail, flicking one free, he was more a beer guy anyway.
Drift scrambled down the drainpipe a few doors down, more nearly fell, and a hand keeping him steady on the wall as he found his footing, he doubled and threw up.
Fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck .
He wiped a hand over his mouth, choking out a few more times, then dropped the stones he held and gripped the drainpipe to stop how it felt like he was walking a tightrope with no safety net, just a black void ready to swallow him up. He’d tried to warn the bloke, get him back in the house, but he hadn’t fucking taken the warning and… phone. Drift had given Brighty his phone back. Who would he call anyway? Jackson was in London, and the cops….
He screwed his eyes shut.
Fuck. No.
He started to shake. Ava was far from finished, he knew that, but he couldn’t stomach to stay around and watch anymore. Run fast, far, it would always be.
Leon sat waiting at the petrol station, engine running despite the darkness calling closer to three hours, not one, and it was the only immovable object to stop Drift’s run. He slammed hard into it, breathing heavy, head still lost back on a man sat at a table, peeling his fingernails off as potatoes boiled on the hob. Drift tugged open the door and slumped inside. Silence met his deep intake of breathing, his grab for the box of Anadin from his pocket before he dry-swallowed one, needing so much more, and his long look out of the window needed life to stay out there, right along with any talk.
Leon kept to the quiet, his look on the box of Anadin as he slipped into first.
Ava’s message was clear.
No more Night-walker, she’d stepped through to daylight, and the day-walkers were about to get one hell of a twisted wakeup call when it came to who really owned the streets.