Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
FRANCESCA
On the drive home, the darkening sky of the winter afternoon turns the city into a setting from a gothic horror. The naked winter trees throw stark shadows over the pitted tarmac of the road.
I park my car in the lean-to beside the house and walk across weed infested gravel to the front door.
Inside, I go straight for the shower, not waiting for the water to heat, and scrub myself ferociously from head to toe. Once my skin is red and stinging, I towel myself dry and apply the same vigour to brushing my teeth, scouring my gums raw until the spit in the sink is stippled with blood.
It doesn’t work.
The imprint of Kincaid’s mouth and hands remains on my body. The taste of him lingers in my mouth.
I force myself to eat, then curl on the sofa with a book, reading and rereading the same pages until I abandon the effort.
When it gets late enough to go to bed, I don’t bother, remaining right where I am, dozing and jerking awake all night, barely sleeping.
In the morning, I’m still in too much of a state to attend school. I phone in sick, and take another shower, only remembering once I’m back out that I left Aidan without explanation, yesterday.
Chess
Hey, sorry to skip out on the match but I had to go home sick. Congratulations on winning your first game!!!
A few minutes later, he replies with a long text string of triumphant emojis, bringing my first smile of the day.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, I bundle the filthy rugby shirt into the washing machine with my other laundry and get in the car, driving to the central library. It’s a place I love and treat like a second home. It’s warm, has more books than I’ll ever read in my life, and—best of all—comes with free wifi.
When I log into my bank account, the money Kincaid transferred is already sitting in there, and I breathe out a sigh, staring at the numbers for the longest time.
But it’s not for daydreaming about being rich, it’s for taking care of my problem.
In five minutes, I’ve changed the money into cryptocurrency and transferred it to the wallet of Richard’s bad guy.
To send it this way—with no recourse if something goes wrong—makes my skin crawl. Even if I have the details right, the man could be a con artist. It’s not like I can take him to court if he doesn’t follow through.
But it’s done. The money’s gone.
I can worry myself to death and it won’t change a thing.
Although I have homework, I’m too fidgety to concentrate and return home, arriving in time to switch the clothes to the dryer.
Within an hour, my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
Number Withheld
Monday after next, 6pm till midnight
Get everyone out of the house or the job won’t be done
No rainchecks or refunds
Relief floods my body, tears spilling down my cheeks. Halle- fucking- lujah.
Less than two weeks and it’ll all be over.
Once the freezer is gone, I don’t need to stay in this mausoleum of a house. I can live out of my car, showering at school, using the mall as a bathroom during the weekend. My bills will plummet. Instead of mindless worry, I can concentrate on my studies and work hard to change my life for the better.
The good news also puts what happened with Kincaid into perspective. Compared to the nightmare I’ve been living the past three months, it was nothing.
And even if it wasn’t nothing , it helped resolve my far bigger, far more troubling problem.
The dryer finishes its cycle, and I grab the laundry, folding my uniform ready for next week, and hugging Kincaid’s shirt to my chest. Warm from the dryer, it’s lovely. The odour of sweat and grass has faded but there’s still a trace of his dark and spicy scent.
Curling with it on the sofa, I decide to stay home from school again tomorrow. Give myself some space to process what happened, and if it isn’t enough time, too bad.
I still have work on Friday night, but the bar will be so busy it should act like a circuit breaker, preventing me from moping.
With that decided, my thoughts turn hazy, and I go to bed, exhausted, hugging the still warm jersey like a snuggly.
For the first time in what seems forever, I sleep through the night.
* * *
“What’s this?” Mari squeals when I turn up for my Friday night shift at the bar wearing Kincaid’s shirt. She tugs at the sleeve, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a rugby fan, Chess.”
I shrug at her curiosity. “A little, and I thought it might help with the customers, give us some rapport.”
“You’re serving them drinks, girl. That’s all the rapport you need.” She peers closer. “Is that an actual team jersey, not a knock off?”
“Yeah.” I will myself not to blush. “A player gave it to me.”
“And is that double entendre intended?”
I mock slap her, moving away to deliver my current order, then moving back when I’ve taken a mental note of the next.
“You can tell me,” she insists. “I’m the model of discretion.”
“Ha! Lies.”
I adjust the shirt, inexplicably nervous. At home, it made sense to wear it since I’m down a blouse and my t-shirts are so worn they’re practically see-through. Now it’s too late to change my mind, it feels wrong.
But Fridays are our busiest night. A crush of patrons surge towards the counter to place their orders, shoulders jostling against their neighbours. Swept up in serving customers, I barely have time to keep track of the orders, let alone worry about what I’m wearing.
A few hours in, there’s the inevitable broken bottle, and I pull out the heavy-duty vacuum to clear the table and surrounding floor of shattered glass.
The young man responsible—a black-haired lout with ice chips for eyes, far too attractive for his own good—decides to ‘help’ by leaning obnoxiously close, patting my butt. I ‘accidentally’ step on his toes, feigning an apologetic expression before making my escape.
“Pity the vacuum doesn’t have a spray glass mode,” I grumble to Mari, hitching up my jeans to erode the lingering impression of his hand.
Despite the wintry cold outside, in here, it’s warm. The air is fragrant with a mix of body odour and smoke wafting through the doors from the designated area outside. The pungent scent of spilled beer is cut through with a sharp edge of neat spirits.
By the time ten o’clock rolls around, two more servers have joined us, and my feet are aching. I’m overdue my ten-minute break, but every time I glance towards the staff room, there’s another customer.
And another.
I’m pouring a pint when a familiar voice booms, “Hey, Freckles. Can I sign that jersey for you?”
My arm jerks forward at Kincaid’s query, the tap spilling beer all over my hand.
Wiping up the mess distracts me long enough to gather my composure. But when I deliver the order and return to serve him, my skin sizzles with embarrassment. Even his mate Jared is smirking.
I’ve never seen either boy in here before. Nobody from our school comes here, it’s well beneath them.
Regret weighs on me so heavily it hurts to breathe.
He was never supposed to know I wore his shirt tonight.
A contented smile softens Kincaid’s face, and he pinches the fabric between his fingers, adjusting the material until his name lies flat.
I back up a step. “What can I get you?”
His eyes dance with unspoken innuendos. But when he props his elbows on the bar, leaning closer, all he says is, “We’re still making up our minds. Want to read off the house specials?”
“Beer,” I retort, turning my back and mouthing, “Kill me now,” to Mari before heading to serve another customer.
She shoots me an amused smile and when I come back to grab a double shot of rum, nods to Jared and Kincaid. “Friends of yours?”
“Not even close.”
I take another order from the far end of the bar. When I return to draw the pints, I say, “I’ll give you that pair of earrings you like if you’ll serve them all night instead of me.”
Mari takes more interest, sizing them up and making no effort to hide her appreciation. “They look like they’d make a lovely lady sandwich. Are you sure?”
I roll my eyes. “Jared’s the school lush and Kincaid is quite possibly a murderer.”
Rather than being put off, her smile broadens until her dimples pop. “And which of those explains your bright red face, hm? Is the lady protesting too much?”
“She certainly is,” Kincaid rumbles, overhearing. “But you two beautiful women don’t need to fight. As Francesca can attest, there’s plenty of me to go around.” He winks at me. “Least she can once her jaw stops aching.”
The top of my head feels like it’s melting. I ignore Mari’s intrigued gaze, moving to serve the next customer in line.
“Don’t worry,” she says when we next cross behind the counter. “He said they’re on a pub crawl for Jared’s birthday, and once they finish their current round, they’re moving to the next bar on the list.”
“Thank goodness.”
Despite the assurance, I remain on edge until they leave, returning Kincaid’s wave to hurry him out the door.
“I can’t believe you attend school with guys who look like that,” Mari muses, staring after them. “Polytech really needs to up its game.”
Now they’ve gone, I find it easier to laugh and soon put him out of my mind. Despite being run off my feet, I enjoy the shift, not having time to think as I pull pints and pour shots until closing.
Ready to leave, I grab my jacket from the staff room and reach into my rear pocket. “Shit.”
Mari looks over. “What’s the matter?”
“My phone.”
I pat myself all over, then head behind the bar, checking the shelves, even unlocking the till to check I didn’t absent-mindedly drop it inside.
“Just a sec,” she says, dialling while my ears strain, listening for my call song. I have her try again after unlocking my car, but it’s not in there, either.
“You never know. It might turn up somewhere.”
I nod along to Mari’s statement, not believing a word. “Thanks for helping,” I say, giving her a hug. “You get on home. I’ll send an email to Mrs Singh, and she can let the other staff know to keep an eye out for it.”
And I will, even though I doubt it will do any good.
It’s when I sit in my car, I remember being groped by the boy who broke a bottle. May his wandering fingers rot forever in an early grave.
A shitty end to the night, but I can pick up another phone cheaply enough once next week’s wages come through.
After strapping myself into the driver’s seat, I sit for a while to let the windows defrost before heading home.