Take a Hike! (Everly Heath #2)

Lydia

Two Years Ago

The thing about people-pleasing was that it rarely pleased anyone – least of all, me.

It felt like running on a treadmill, chasing new, exciting vistas, destined to a view that never changed.

Exhausting. Pointless. And yet I couldn’t step off.

Not even for one of the most important nights of my best friend’s life.

The night we celebrated his posh new title: Best Bartender in the UK.

My heart pounded as I paced through the quiet, carpeted hallways of Momentum Fitness, my ‘office’ for the last decade, legs screaming out after a day lifting, stretching and running alongside my clients.

I’d arrived at five in the morning and was leaving as the spring sun was setting behind bright pink clouds.

I glanced at my phone. Shit. I was almost two hours late.

I made my way out of the whooshing doors, across the empty carpark, typing a quick, one-handed text.

Don’t hate me. I’m on my way, but it came out as ‘Dunt haye me. I in my wsy’.

‘Fuck Craig,’ I muttered, cursing the reason for all my woes – the newly minted gym supervisor who seemed determined to make my life hell.

He’d been promoted a few months ago and acted like he’d been ordained by God himself to micromanage every corner of Momentum.

Like tonight, for instance, when he made me stay late to scrub the gym floors, even though we had a whole team of cleaners who showed up before we opened to do exactly that.

I should have said no. I should have pushed back. But Craig had never liked me and, stupidly, I still wanted to change that.

I chucked my fluorescent orange bag into the boot of my Honda Civic, its bright colour not giving me the burst of joy it usually does.

I accelerated, navigating Friday night traffic, down Everly Heath High Street, oak trees flitting by.

My lip was almost bleeding as I pulled down a familiar street of redbrick terraced houses, finding a lucky parking spot on the packed street.

I heard the sound of metal crunching.

‘Shit!’ I jumped out of the car to find matching dents on my car and the immaculate BMW that I knew belonged to Jake three doors down. God, he loved this car.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

I fished a pen and a scrap of paper out, shoving the pen cap in my mouth as I wrote.

Jake – sorry – scratched your car. Really sorry!!! I can pay. – Lydia.

And then scribbled down my phone number. He might want to call to shout at me. Or demand my first-born. Or maybe just process an insurance claim. Or all three.

I took a deep breath. I just needed to find Ren, apologise for being late, and then everything would be okay.

As I jogged towards my childhood home, I saw our neighbour, Deirdre, was stood outside her house, fag in hand.

Her jet black hair, long and thinning, was thrown up into her signature beehive.

‘Lydia.’ Deirdre’s voice was sandpaper.

‘Hi, Deirdre!’

‘Loud in there.’ She nodded her head. ‘Quite a knees-up.’

I shoved my key in the door, wrestling with the ageing lock, thumping music coming from the other side. God, Mum and Dad said a few drinks to ‘celebrate Ren’s achievement’. It sounded like a rave.

‘I’ll get them to keep it down.’

‘Don’t on my account, love. You know, I used to throw quite the do’s when you were younger.’

Yes, and I could have sworn they involved several couples, keys, and a bowl, but I kept those suspicions to myself. I wasn’t going to kink-shame my 70-year-old neighbour.

I eyed the pampas grass in Deirdre’s front garden as the door gave way.

Discarded streamers and congratulations balloons littered the hallway.

Jesus! It was barely 9 o’clock. Mum and Dad’s parties could get a bit wild on occasion, like half of the social club kitchen-dancing until the early hours of the morning, but as I passed the lounge full of people I didn’t recognise, with empty bottles on the floor, and snogging couples pressed against the wall, I was bemused.

I pushed through the huddles of people, finding Mum in the kitchen drying glasses. I touched her shoulder, and she whipped around, brandishing a glass.

‘Oh!’ Mum brought her hand to her chest. ‘God, you scared me, Lydia.’

‘Who are all these people?’

‘Oh,’ Mum sighed, smoothing her blonde bob. ‘Some people Ren invited. They’re lovely. But, my God, do they get through some drinks. I’ve cleaned these glasses twice.’

A woman with spiky blonde hair and a nose ring appeared, looking lost, until Mum handed her a clean glass.

The girl topped the glass up with a huge measure of amber liquid and made her way back towards the pounding music.

‘Lola. Lovely girl. Works at a bar in town called Satan’s Butthole.

Sounds horrible, but I said your father and I would go and have their signature cocktail – Ring of Fire. It’s a belter, according to Lola.’

I never thought I’d hear the words ‘Satan’s Butthole’ from my mother.

‘Ren invited all of these people?’ I looked around, dumbfounded. This didn’t make sense.

‘Where is he?’

‘Outside with Liam, love.’

I headed to the French doors, but then stopped in my tracks, mentally berating myself for being so selfish.

‘Do you want me to get rid of these people? Or do you need some help? I can clear some glasses.’

‘No, no. Don’t be silly!’ Mum said, a smile not reaching her eyes. ‘I told Lawrence he could invite whoever he wanted.’

My eyes narrowed and I went to search for my best friend, determined to give him a piece of my mind, until I saw Liam had beaten me to it.

Ren’s face was lit up by the security lights, his face lit in gold and amber.

His rich brown hair was styled back off his face and I knew – after years of watching him – that it took an inordinate amount of product to make it look that perfectly carefree.

Just like it took an inordinate amount of effort to seem as carefree as he did, because, underneath it all, he wasn’t.

His face had hardened over time, but still maintained some of the boyish softness. His nose was slightly crooked from a punch he got from a sixth-former twice his size. Now his face was morphed into anger – his cheeks flushed, his eyes wild. I’d seen this look before, and it always spelled trouble.

‘… can’t you see what I’m saying?’ Liam’s voice dropped low, thick with frustration. The strain in it made me still. ‘Have you seen the mess you’ve made of Sandra and Brian’s house? They threw this party for you – to celebrate your award. And this is how you repay them?’

‘They said I could invite—’

‘They said you could invite some friends, Ren. Not the entire Hospo scene from the Northwest.’

‘Liam, they’re here to celebrate me winning the award. But, of course, you don’t care about that, do you?’

‘Of course I do. But if I see any of them doing drugs—’

Ren flinched. ‘They wouldn’t do that.’

Here, I could almost hear him add. I was sure Liam could hear it too.

‘This isn’t the scene I want to surround myself with. These parties, how things can spiral. I have to prioritise Abigail. Now isn’t the time for risks, Ren. And this—’ You, the word unsaid ‘—is a risk.’

‘So that’s it? You’re going to throw it all in – all the plans we made – because of one party?’ Ren spat, then laughed, humourlessly. ‘No, of course it’s more than that. I can see it in your face. You’re scared. Scared of change. Fucking typical.’

‘Ren. Careful.’ Liam’s voice was tight, a thread about to snap. But Ren was already chasing the high of a fight.

‘It’s pathetic. You haven’t even told Dad about the restaurant, have you? We signed a fucking contract, and you’re still at his beck and call, still too spineless to admit you hate working for him—’

Ren took a step closer, raising his finger.

‘Ren, I’m warning you.’

‘You think just because you quit drinking and started acting like a saint, you’re better than me. You’re not. You’re the same washed-up single dad who fucked up his relationship and now—’

Liam erupted.

He launched forward and grabbed Ren by the shirt, slamming him back hard enough that the breath caught in my chest.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Liam spat.

I burst through the patio doors.

‘Liam!’ I barked. ‘Take a breath. Think. It’s not worth it.’

I’d been pulling these two out of scraps since sixth form, so I knew what to say. Liam stood frozen, fist clenched around Ren’s shirt, still breathing hard as he stared down his younger brother.

‘Wipe that smirk off your face, Ren,’ I said, voice flat. ‘You’re just proving his point, and you know it.’

Ren’s eyes flicked to mine, something in them softening, just enough to know I’d broken him out of his red haze. Liam let go and stepped back. He headed for the door.

‘I’m making the call tomorrow,’ he said, his voice raw.

And then, just before he shut the door, he turned to me.

‘Look after him, will you, Lyds?’ he murmured, so low I barely caught it, but I nodded just the same.

I stepped closer to Ren, inspecting him for any marks Liam might have left. Ren’s face softened as he finally looked at me, and it was almost painful to see the raw emotion he showed me – only me. He was gutted. Well and truly defeated.

He sighed and opened his arms. ‘C’m’ere.’

I stepped into his open arms and felt him exhale, almost in relief.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

He pulled back, shooting me a dark look. ‘Better late than never, right? And at least you didn’t miss the main event.’

His tone was bitter, and my heart sank. It had always been like this between Liam and Ren – this push and pull of their personalities that were so at odds. If Ren’s face hadn’t looked so weary, I would have almost been smug about being an only child.

So instead, I settled on something familiar – teasing him.

I jabbed his ribs. ‘What the hell are you playing at, Lawrence? This house is Mum’s first rave, I swear. And I swear I saw Dad passing around something that looked suspiciously like a bong.’