CHAPTER 11
“I asked you a question, whore,” Joe said. “Who is he? Who's the man who's been fucking my property?”
I was livid, and admittedly lost all sense of elegance or demureness – the very qualities I tried to live my life as a trans woman by – pointing my finger at him as I moved towards him. “Don't fucking talk to me like that, you fucking asshole!”
Joe looked at my hand. “Not like you to be missing a fingernail, Sasha.”
I stopped my heels on the tiled floor.
He nodded, knowingly. “I guess he broke it when he fucked you, huh?” Joe looked me up and down. “I see how you're walking too... So obvious.”
I lashed my hand out in the direction of the most expensive damage. “You want to lecture me about anything, Joe? You fucking wrecked my house! Look at Aroon's wine collection! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I'm your fucking boyfriend, you fucking slag!”
I made my hand into a clenched fist. “Say one more fucking word like that, Joe. Go on. Fucking try me today.”
He half-grinned. “He not lay you good?”
I seethed.
“You seem uptight.”
“You're fucking fired!” I yelled FINALLY.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked, as if I hadn't even spoken.
I stared at him.
“Sasha, I asked you a quest-”
“And I told you you're fucking fired, Joe!” I pointed to the hall. “Get out of my fucking house!”
He took a step toward me. “Who...” Another. “Were...” A third. “You...” A fourth. “Talking...” A fifth. “To?”
I locked my eyes defiantly up at his, only a couple of inches separating us. “None of your business-”
Joe grabbed my hair, twisting it violently and hauling me into a headlock under his arm.
I felt my ankle twist as I grasped tight on my mobile and screeched in pain.
He tried to get at it with his free hand. “Gimme it, slut!”
“No!”
“Let it go!”
“Let go of me, you fucking bastard!”
Joe tried to peel my palm from around the phone.
I attempted to pull my head free.
He tightened the headlock, so I couldn't breathe. Then he caught hold of my fingers on my mobile and pulled them back.
I squealed, releasing my grip.
Joe swiped it into his hand. “What's your PIN?”
I felt like I was choking.
He eased his hold ever so slightly. “What is it?”
“Go to hell!”
“Oh yeah, slut? That's how you want to play it?” He shoved his arm under my chin, knocking my face upwards and my eye into the path of my phone, unlocking it. “Let's see who the fuck lover boy is.”
I dug my nails through his top to his torso.
Joe yelled out.
I was able to push him away, staggering back on my high-heels and sore ankle.
He looked at the screen.
I breathed.
Joe looked up, his face red. “DeShaun? DeShaun Wilkesboro's been fucking you?”
The thought of lying didn't even cross my mind.
“My own player?”
“Yes,” I croaked. “And he fucks me better than you ever could!”
Joe stared at me.
“He touches parts of me you were practically afraid of-”
“Sasha, shut the fuck up! I swear, if you don't-”
“What? You'll put your hands on me again? You'll smash up my house again? You're a sorry excuse for a man, Joe McDonald. Just like you were a sorry excuse for a manager. You've lost everything, Joe. Your job's Kyle's and your woman's DeShaun's.”
His eyes narrowed. “Kyle?”
“I gave him the job on my way here.”
He shook his head, as if in disbelief. “Kyle, but...?”
“But what?”
His eyes searched the room before resting on my bare legs beneath my PVC shorts. “You can't trust him, Sasha.”
“Ha!”
Joe ran one hand across the back of his neck. “No, you don't understand. He was the one...”
“He was the one what, Joe?”
“He'll destroy you and your precious club.”
I tried to fix my hair from my face, then watched clumps of it land on the floor. “You'll never put your hands on me again, Joe.” I pointed to the wine rack and the smashed bottles on the floor. “And I'll never forgive you for that.”
He looked too, the colour of his face draining from red to white. “Sasha, I didn't... I mean... I wasn't... I was angry-”
“Get out of my house, Joe, and get out of my life. I never want to see you again for as long as I live.”
He threw my mobile onto the kitchen table.
“Go,” I said firmly.
He looked again at the damage he'd done, then to me. “I'm so-”
“Don't... Just leave.”
He dug his hands into his pockets.
I wasn't blinking as I stared at him.
Joe shrugged, then turned and started to walk out to the hall. He pulled one hand out of his pocket, tapping the wood of the doorway as he passed under it.
I side-stepped to give myself a line of vision to the front door.
He walked all the way to it, stopped for a couple of seconds, then shook his head.
I was ready to scream at him again.
He opened the door and walked out, leaving it open behind him.
I slid off my heels, then walked carefully out to the hall on my bare feet, stepping over the damage, and went to the door to watch him.
He gave my Porsche a glance as he walked past it, then down the driveway and out onto the country road.
I closed the door quietly, then turned and set my back against it. I breathed out the longest exhalation. It was no longer one of anxiety or fear, but one of absolute relief. It was done. It was over. He was gone.
I took a few minutes to compose myself, then returned to the kitchen and found my phone. I was pleased to see Joe had left it in the same working order he'd taken it.
I went to my contacts and placed a call.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“It's done,” I said.
“Actually done?”
“Yes, Kyle, it's actually fucking done!” I snapped. “He smashed up my house! The whole downstairs is wrecked. I haven't even been upstairs to check how he left it.”
“Ma'am, I'm sorry to hear that. You haven't started to clean up yet, have you?”
I wiped moisture and running make-up from my cheek. “Clean up yet? No, Kyle, I haven't quite got 'round to that yet.”
“Good. Take photos of all the damage. You might need that for leverage against him.”
“Leverage, Kyle?”
“You don't know Joe very long, ma'am. He's vindictive. If he tries to come after you another way, you'll need proof of what he did... Unless.”
“Unless what?” I asked.
“Unless you've already phoned the police?”
“No, I don't want to involve them. Not unless I have to.”
“Okay.”
I looked again at the wine bottles and felt horrible, as if I'd betrayed my husband's memory by letting Joe McDonald into my life and my bed.
“So, ma'am, it's official?”
“You're the manager, Kyle... I'll have the club put out a statement today.”
“Thank you, Ms Liu. You won't regret this. I'll get the club into League One. I know I can do it. You and DeShaun saw how I got the team to play with confidence yesterday. Don't you think?”
I froze.
“Ms Liu?”
Kyle had noticed I was with DeShaun at the match? Had he also been the person who told Joe I was there with him and first put the suspicion there was someone else in his mind?
“Ma'am?”
“Yes, Kyle, I noticed... You have my fullest belief you're the right person for the job.”
“Thank you. I know who I'd like to bring in as my assistant.”
“Yes, Kyle, that's fine. Whoever you think. I have to go. I'll speak to you later.” I ended the call, and hoped the gut feeling I felt inside was the result of everything else that'd happened that morning.
I tried to shake it off and slipped into one of the few pairs of sensible shoes I owned – trainers – then took both photos and video footage of the damage Joe had caused.
I was relieved to find upstairs unscathed.
Then I set about cleaning up.
It was mid-afternoon before I was finished.
I sent a small number of texts to the staff I felt closest to at the club, warning them about the tweet the club was about to put out.
I read it one last time.
brOXBURGH FC – Broxburgh has decided to part ways with manager Joe McDonald with immediate effect. Kyle Guernsey has been asked to replace him and he has agreed to take on the role with immediate effect. Everyone at the club wishes Joe well with his future endeavours.
I deleted the last sentence.
Then I hit send and sat alone at the kitchen table, as my phone went wild with reactions.
I crossed my legs.
I folded my arms.
I uncrossed my legs.
I unfolded my arms.
Who was I fucking kidding?
I reached for my mobile, found DeShaun in my contacts and called him.