Chapter 5 Faith
FAITH
The helmet fits snugly over my head; the visor makes the sky grey at this time in the afternoon. I wrap my arms around Hayden tighter as he drives us to my mum’s house. The wind whips at my hair, but the warmth from his body soothes the dread tying my stomach in knots.
I chose this time, knowing Nigel would be out. Hopefully Mum is out, too. The last thing I want is to bring Hayden into my family problems. Mum hated the club, said it got my father killed. She never got over his death, and she’s been drinking ever since.
Hayden brings the bike to a slow prowl as we drive down my mother’s street. The place I called home is now a shell. My mother’s let it go to rack and ruin. The metal gate at the front hangs on one lonely hinge, the grass well overdue a mow.
The bike comes to a halt and I steel my spine as I climb off. I lift the helmet from my head and hide the tremble in my voice. “This is the house.”
Hayden takes the helmet from me and places it on the bike. “I remember.” He nods towards the front door. “Want me to come in with you?”
I search the drive for Nigel’s van and shake my head when I don’t see it. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just pack up a few things. I won’t be long.”
“All right. I’ll wait here. Shout if you need me.” His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, sending tingles through me at the contact. His deep grey eyes peer down at me through his thick black hair.
I want to run my fingers through it, pull it back from his forehead to get a better look at his eyes as deep as a vortex in the middle of the ocean.
“You sure you’re all right?”
I gulp and nod as I break eye contact and step away from his hypnotising gaze. “I’ll be back in about five minutes.”
The handle clicks as I open the front door. The house is too quiet, like the eery silence before a storm. Gently, I close the door behind me and pad up the stairs, desperate for clean clothes. I don’t know why I didn’t pack some before, but I never thought I’d find a permanent place to stay.
The air smells like mildew and stale cigarettes, with an undertone of cheap wine and rot.
My old school rucksack is in the wardrobe and I fill it with clean underwear, leggings and t-shirts. Along with the framed photograph of my dad from the dresser and a bracelet my brother gave me.
A door slamming makes me jump out of my skin. I smell her before she speaks. Her overbearing perfume fills the room and as I turn, she’s firing daggers at me through her sharp fiery eyes wide enough to swallow me whole into the depths of her despair.
“Nice to see you’ve graced us with your presence.
” She shimmies to the bedroom window, her dressing gown floating behind her like she’s just woken up in the middle of the afternoon.
“You haven’t done your chores. Those pots will stay there until you’ve done them.
Don’t let Nigel come home and see them still in the sink. ”
I lift my rucksack onto my shoulder. “I’m moving out. Nigel can do his own pots.” I keep my voice steady, not wanting to show any emotion. “I just came to get my things.”
She twitches the curtain and sneers. “You dirty slut.” Her hand flies at me.
A crack slices through the air. I step back on the impact, my cheek stinging, head pounding with ringing in my ears. “Owe.” I rub the soreness in my cheek, shielding my face with my palm.
“Running off with one of your brother’s filthy biker mates now, are you?” She laughs. “You’ll be back when he’s done with you, or landed himself in jail.” Her face contorts. “Don’t expect me to have you back when you’re alone and pregnant.”
“Don’t worry, this is the last place I’d want to raise a child.”
“You ungrateful little whore. After everything I’ve done for you.”
I inhale a lungful of stale air, hoping it will give me some strength. “You’ve done nothing for me in years.”
The front door clanks, followed by heavy boots on the stairs. I bristle my spine.
Mum sniggers. “At least you won’t be able to flirt with Nigel like the little trollop you are.”
Tears pool in my eyes at my mother’s words. I remind myself that it’s just the drink talking. It’s not my mum. She was never this bitter. It’s as if she resents me because I’m young. I inhale another lungful of air, waiting for Nigel to appear in the room.
The door creaks open and as I open my eyes, a mountain of a man fills the doorway.
Hayden.
Mum spins on her heel, wine bottle swishing in hand. “You?” She turns towards me. “He’s the reason your brother’s in a cell.” She raises her hand as if to slap me again, but Hayden catches her wrist.
“She’s done here,” he says, taking the weight of my bag from my shoulder. “You won’t see her again.”
Mum stumbles back. “You traitor. Filthy whore.”
I blink fast, trying to keep the tears from falling.
Hayden ignores her and turns to me. “Let’s go.”
This time, I don’t look back.