51. Present Day – February
51
PRESENT DAY – FEbrUARY
SCOTT
A bang at the door startles me. I must have dozed off. The thumping echoes through the pub and up to my apartment. Easy , I’ve only just repainted it.
Resigned to go and fend off some unruly drunk that wants a drink after hours, I heave myself out of bed. It’s only when I scrub my face, fully opening my eyes, do I see the time. Six in the morning. I hadn’t just dozed off, I had been balls deep in the land of nod.
This is not a delivery. They’re all scheduled for after eight. I pull on a t-shirt and plod downstairs.
I bellow through the front door, ‘We’re closed.’
‘Open up, Scott.’ The voice of Josie’s dad pounds back.
I slide back the deadbolt, and open it slowly. Warily. David is standing on the step, breathless, red faced, vein bulging in his temple. The darkness of an early winter morning shrouds us.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask, not moving an inch from the threshold. This guy looks like he’s ready to blow. And like he hasn’t slept since I saw him yesterday.
His eyes flick behind me and then shiftily around the car park.
I don’t move.
‘Are you not going to invite me in?’
He looks at me expectantly, but I don’t budge. I’m used to reading rowdy punters, I can tell which ones are going to explode and which respond well to me exploding. It’s safe to say David is in the former category. Like a pressure cooker, he looks set to pop at the slightest wrong step. Besides, I respect Josie too much to have a row with her parents. I’m here for the long haul.
‘Fine,’ he says, resigned to being kept out in the cold. ‘This won’t take long.’ He darts a huff through his nose before continuing. Voice unnervingly controlled. ‘You need to let her down gently.’
‘What?’ The word to almost sound like a laugh.
‘Break it off with her, but do it kindly.’
‘You want me to break up with Josie?’ I scowl.
‘You once asked me if there was anything you could do to help after Marcus died, you said you’d do anything. This is it. Break up with her. Get a refund on your plane tickets, cancel your reservations.’ He continues to slowly grind out his words like he’s etching them into stone. ‘Stop. This. Madness.’
‘Mr. Clarke?—’
He holds up his hand to stop me. ‘There is no world in which I can sit back and let you take my daughter away. I already lost my son because of you.’ It’s like a stab in the gut with every word. ‘My other son works for you, saving up for a bike ,’ he spits the word, ‘with the help of you . You are not taking my daughter away, too.’
‘There is no way?—’
‘You think you care for her? Really care for her?’ His shoulders heave as if he’s holding himself back. ‘Look. At. Her. She’s still a child.’’
Outrage streaks through me. Why can’t he see Josie how she really is? Capable. Brilliant. ‘No she isn’t, she’s?—’
‘It’s completely irresponsible. You’re. Too. Old. For. Her.’ The words are bitten out, as if he’s clinging on to sanity. My stomach lurches as an old demon rears its head. ‘She’s too na?ve, fanciful, flighty. She needs to stay here where we can keep her safe.’
He turns to go but spins back. ‘If you won’t do it for me, do it for Marcus.’
Having delivered his final strike, he strides off.
I watch him drive off in their Volvo, disappearing into the dark country lane, while my heart, my lungs, seem to bottom out into a black hole in my stomach.
As the red lights blink out, an idea comes to me.
What I have to do.
My thoughts fire quickly, sketchily, like writing with a sparkler. Not quite there. But leaving me with an imprint of something.
Do it for Marcus.
I keep thinking I should have known it would come to this. Maybe I always did know. My heart lurches. I hope Josie understands.
A few minutes searching on my laptop confirms my suspicions, and I see the travel agency doesn’t open for another three hours.
I need to call Nate, talk it through with someone. But he won’t be awake yet. I shower and dress and pace around the pub until it’s time for me to go. Time for me to do what I need to do to make things right.