Chapter 1 #2
“The knitting is going well. No updates on the job front. And uni is stressful. The semester has only just started, but I’m already drowning in work. I should really be studying, but I’ve opted for stress-knitting instead. I’m going to have more woolly socks than I can possibly wear this winter.”
“I’m here if you ever want to get rid of some,” I said, only half joking.
My socks were all pretty full of holes. I could really use a new pair, especially of the warm and fluffy variety.
It was the end of September, and the days were still mild, but the nights were getting colder.
I wasn’t looking forward to my second winter living on the streets.
Mary smiled. “How about you? Everything OK?”
“Yes. Same old, same old.” I kept it short.
Telling her about my problems wouldn’t make a difference.
There was nothing she could do about it anyway, and the less I talked about my life, the easier it was to ignore how fucked up the last year had been.
I pulled out the stolen wallet from my jacket pocket and handed it to Mary across the counter. “I wanted to hand this in.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I found it.”
“That’s the third wallet you’ve ‘found’ in the last few days.”
“What can I say? I notice things. It’s a skill.”
Mary gave a sceptical hum and took the wallet off me to log it in her records.
When she saw the empty cash compartment, she glanced at me and then at the Pret A Manger bag in my hand.
A brief flash of displeasure crossed her face, but she didn’t say anything.
I was certain she knew what I was doing, but she never addressed it.
The lost and found was city-owned, and if I confessed to a crime, she’d have to report it. “Thanks for bringing it in.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good day.”
“Thanks. You too,” Mary replied.
I smiled and waved goodbye. I sometimes wished we could have a friendship based on more than ten minutes of small talk. I missed having a real friend. But our lives were probably too different. What would we talk about? I had nothing to share, and anything I said would presumably just depress her.
I left the lost and found and was making my way to St. James’s Park when a sudden shiver ran up the back of my neck.
A kind of sixth sense set in when you’d lived on the streets for a while and constantly had to look over your shoulder to stay safe.
A moment later, a rusty old Vauxhall pulled up next to me.
A car I unfortunately knew all too well.
Shit.
This was the last thing I needed.
The car stopped, the door flung open, and Randell got out.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I whirled around and ran off, even though I knew there was no escape.
If the bastard didn’t get me today, he’d get me tomorrow, or the day after that.
He wouldn’t give up until he had the money that I apparently owed him.
The rucksack thumped against my back, and the bag of food smashed into my thigh.
I wasn’t sure if Randell was coming after me, but I didn’t dare turn and look.
For the second time today, I was on the run.
I didn’t know this part of town very well, but that didn’t stop me.
Looking for somewhere to hide, I ducked off into a side street, only for Edwin, one of Randell’s drinking buddies, to appear out of nowhere and block my path.
Fuck!
I darted away, but his reflexes were surprisingly quick given his bulky frame.
He grabbed me with his calloused hands and pulled me towards him.
My bag of food fell to the ground. Edwin dragged me down a flight of stairs to a basement flat before passersby could cotton on to what was happening.
I struggled but was no match for his iron grip.
“If you scream, I’ll shove something into your mouth,” Edwin hissed. His mouth was twisted—not in a smile but by a scar that ran the length of his lip.
He released me and tore my rucksack from my shoulders. Only now did I realise how hard he’d gripped me. There was a painful throbbing where his fingers had dug into me. Everything was telling me to run, but I couldn’t leave my rucksack. It was the most valuable thing I owned.
I lifted my chin, trying not to look scared when Randall came down the steps, despite the fact that I was terrified.
I knew what the man was capable of. My mum and I had lived in his decrepit, mouldy bungalow for a year.
Today he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt—no coat, as if he were immune to the cold.
His light-brown hair was shaved down to a buzz cut, which made his otherwise round features appear angular.
But it was the merciless look in his eyes that gave him such a menacing air, alongside the fact that it was impossible to tell how much he’d had to drink or what he’d taken. It made him unpredictable.
“Hello, Kate.”
“Randell,” I replied.
He came towards me, stopping an arm’s length away. The acrid stench of sweat and stale cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. If nightmares had a smell, they’d smell like Randell Barker. “Where’s my money?”
“At the bank?”
He snorted but didn’t seem amused. “Very funny. Let me rephrase: Where’s the money you owe me?”
I clenched my hands into fists. “I owe you nothing!”
“I wouldn’t say four thousand pounds is nothing,” he said, his dark eyes drilling into me. I shuddered. I hated that I was so much smaller than him and that he could look down on me. “So, where’s my money, Kate?”
“I don’t have it,” I said, knowing there was no point in arguing.
My voice sounded remorseful, despite the fact that I didn’t owe Randell anything.
My mum had borrowed nearly five thousand pounds from him, and since she’d died, he was convinced it was my responsibility to pay him back.
I’d managed to pay off a little, but there was still a lot to go.
“Have you forgotten what will happen if you don’t pay?” he asked, taking a step towards me. Up close, I could see that his pupils were dilated. He was clearly high.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“So, why don’t you have my money?”
“It’s been a tough few weeks.” It had actually been a tough few months, but the last thing I wanted was to give Randell more insight into my thoughts and feelings. He’d ruthlessly use whatever he found against me.
He tutted, disappointed, and then stepped even closer. He dropped his voice to a whisper when he next spoke, as if he wanted to let me in on a secret. “You don’t have to be on the streets stealing to get my money together. You can work off your debts in a more personal way.”
“How?” I asked before I could stop myself, although I knew better than to get caught up in his games.
He raised a hand to stroke my cheek. I desperately wanted to flinch away from his touch, but I had my back against the wall.
Literally. His fingers traced a line down to my mouth, and he fixed his gaze on my lips before running his dirty thumb over them.
His silence spoke volumes. But I’d rather end up in prison for stealing than have sex with my mother’s ex-boyfriend.
The thought alone made me feel sick. How could Randell not be disgusted by himself?
I jerked my head away. “Over my dead body, you gross wanker.”
“That can be arranged,” Edwin growled. He had stopped searching my rucksack but clung on to the stolen eighty pounds.
Randell smirked. “That won’t be necessary.
Kate knows what’s at stake, don’t you?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for my answer, taking the money from Edwin.
“I expect another five hundred pounds from you within a couple of days. This is my interest. If I don’t get my money on time, things will get ugly. Understood?”
I didn’t reply.
“Understood?” repeated Randell more forcefully.
I nodded.
He smiled and took a step back. “Wonderful. See you around, Kaitlynn. And don’t bother hiding from me. I’ll find you.”
I gritted my teeth. He knew very well how much I hated that name, especially coming from his mouth.
With a self-satisfied grin, he turned away and climbed the stairs.
Edwin scowled at me and dropped my rucksack, then turned to follow Randell out.
I didn’t move, didn’t even dare breathe a sigh of relief until I heard the roar of the car engine.
My heart raced and my legs felt like jelly. Randell had let me go with a warning this time, but I knew from experience how nasty things could get.
I crouched down next to my rucksack. Edwin had rummaged through its contents, but nothing was damaged—not the envelope of photographs nor the old children’s book my mum used to read to me back when the world still made sense.
I put everything back in its place and wondered where the hell I’d find five hundred pounds.