Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (22 page)

I removed my hand from his arm, not
expecting to hear that, especially with the amount of times I’d told him off,
the boy obviously having a short memory. Regardless, it still made me feel
good. “Well, if you need to talk about anything, I’m here for you. I know what
it’s like to lose a mother.”

He frowned. “How’d your mother die?”

“Breast cancer.”

“I betcha miss her heaps.”

I nodded, willing myself not to get
emotional. She had passed away just over five years ago, leaving a gaping hole
in my life. The two of us had been very close, more like best friends than
mother and daughter. I blinked, forcing myself not to cry, her passing only
seeming like yesterday.

“I miss mine too,” he said, sounding so young
and vulnerable it cut right through me, all traces of his previous humour
nowhere to be seen. He quickly turned his back on me, looking like he was
trying to hide a sudden surge of emotion.

I placed a hand on his back. “Are you all
right?”

He raised a hand to his face and shook his
head.

I moved around him, again wishing I hadn’t
mentioned his mother. The death of mine was painful enough, but I couldn’t
imagine what he’d gone through. Seeing his own mother murdered in front of him
and at such a young age. Again, he was pulling at my heart strings, making me
wish I could hold him tight, reassure him everything would be all right. But
instead, I took hold of his hand and gave it a supportive squeeze, crushing the
money he was still holding.

He uncovered his eyes and looked down at
my hand, grief clouding his features. For a brief moment I thought he was going
to pull away, a glimmer of uncertainty tempering his expression, but instead,
he raised his gaze to the ceiling and said something in a foreign language. It
sounded Slavic, probably Croatian, his intonation suggesting it was a prayer.
Or maybe he was talking to his mother as though she was looking down at him from
Heaven. I didn’t interrupt, his grief affecting me, again reminding me of my
own loss.

Eventually, his gaze returned to me, an
intense stare that I couldn’t look away from. He said something, but I didn’t
hear him over the rapid rise of my heartbeat. He frowned, then stepped closer
to me. I remained still, transfixed by the tragic aura surrounding him. It was
almost corporeal, something I could feel, a thick veil of despair enveloping
his body.

He lowered his head to mine, looking like
he was going to kiss me. I could feel his breath on my lips, a tickle across my
flesh, so close I could almost taste him—

A loud bang ripped through the room, its
suddenness startling a shriek out of me. I jumped away from him and looked over
at the entrance, expecting to see someone standing there, staring at us, knowing
what we’d been about to do...

...and judging me for it.

But no one was there, the double doors
remaining closed.

A second bang sounded, followed by Paul
Aston hollering on the other side of the wall, “Jasper! Hand over that ball!”

Dante tensed at the sound of the man’s
voice. He stood still for a few seconds, not doing anything, then without
warning, he thrust out the money for me to take. I just looked at it, still
stunned over what had happened, or had nearly happened, the position I’d put
myself in beyond stupid.

He grabbed my hand and jammed the money
into it, grunting, “We’ll arrange a time later.” Before I knew it, he was gone,
the double doors banging in his wake. I stared at them, knowing I was in trouble.

20

DANTE

I entered the corridor, stopping at the sight
of Jasper. He was standing outside my old drama room, leaning against the wall
and looking pissed off. Mr. Aston was gone, probably on the other side of the
wall, teaching his class.

“Why aren’t you doin’ drama?” I asked.

Jasper grimaced. “Arse-ton kicked me out,
then stole my basketball.
Bastard
.”

“Why?”

“I let off a stinky fart and blamed it on
him, makin’ a big deal when he denied it.”

I laughed, my mate cheering me up. A door
creaked behind me. I stopped laughing and looked over my shoulder, spotting Mrs.
Hatton exiting the hall. She froze at the sight of me, looking like a possum caught
in headlights—stunned and a touch scared. She quickly dropped her head and scurried
off down the corridor. I watched her cute arse all the way until she
disappeared into her English class.

I turned back to Jasper, who had a huge
grin on his face. “What are you smiling at?”

“Sumpthin’ happened between you two?”

“No.”

“Bullshit. You came out red-faced then she
follows a few seconds later, looking like you just dicked her.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“But you want to.”

I didn’t reply.

Jasper continued, “You should totally hit
that fine piece of arse.”

“I’m not interested.”

He gave me a sly smile, Jasper knowing me
too well.

“I’m telling ya, I’m not interested,” I lied,
not understanding why, since I had no reason to hide it from him.

“Pull the other one. I can tell you’re
totally into her. She’s into you, too, like slippery-when-wet into you. I bet
if you stuck your hand down her knickers it’ll come out dripping.” He licked
his fingers.

I screwed up my face. “You’re repulsive.”

“I learned from the best.” He shouldered
me. “And I’m not joking, bro. She’s ripe for the dicking. She always looks like
she’s gonna squirt when you’re around, like a real gusher. If I were you, I’d be
gettin’ some sweet teacher putang pie.”

“No, if you were me you’d be gettin’
Phelia’s manky pussy.”

He grinned. “You got that right.” He
pursed his big lips, looking like he was thinking about doing Phelia. “I don’t care
that she fucked Happy Meal, I’d still hit that fine arse even if they made baby
fries together.”

“You can have her. The bitch wuz all over
me during rehearsals; even tricked me into kissing her. She had her tongue down
my throat and her hands on my arse.”

His eyes went round. “And you’re
complaining?”

“She’s not my type.”

“But she’s hot as hell.”

“Mrs. Hatton is
waaay
hotter.”

“Oooh,” he laughed. “I knew you had a
thing for blondie.” He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and removed two
twenty dollar bills. “I’ll give ya this if you fuck her by the end of the
month, but if you fail, you hafta talk Phelia into having a threesome with us.”

“No way! I don’t wanna see your lard
arse.”

“You won’t be lookin’ at my arse; you’ll
be lookin’ at Phelia’s.” He bit his bottom lip, obviously thinking about her
arse.

“Still don’t wanna threesome with you guys.
I’d rather lick up my own vomit.”

Jasper pulled a face. “But I’ll never get
to have sex with her if you’re not there.”

“Lose some weight and she might consider
bending over for you.”

He scowled at me. “Don’t be a nasty cunt.”

“It’s the truth. If you want some putang
for your wang lose some kilos.” I lifted my shirt and patted my six-pack. “Chicks
love this, not this,” I said, giving Jasper’s fat belly a punch. He shoved me
away, making me laugh.

“You know I’m tryna lose it,” he sulked.

“Yeah, drinking one litre instead of two
litres of Coke a day is
really
tryna lose it,” I said sarcastically.

He flipped me the finger and grabbed his
bag, heading away from me.

I followed him. “Oh, c’mon, bro, it’s the
truth.”

He spun around. “I don’t fuckin’ care; it
still makes me feel like shit when you point it out.”

“You asked me for advice.”

“No, I asked you for a threesome with
Phelia. We’re best mates, why can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

“Cos it’s disgusting.”

“I’m not disgusting!”

“I never said you were.”

“You implied it.”

“It’s gay, then.”

“We wouldn’t be lookin’ at each other,
dumbass.”

“Our cocks could cross swords.”

He grimaced, then smiled, “Not if we take
a different hole each.”

I shook my head at him. “Stop talkin’ ’bout
Phelia like she’s only good for sex.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Did’ja really just
say that?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You sounded like a frickin’ girl, whining
that all we care ’bout is sex and not their feelings. Next thing you’ll be handing
your man card in and buying tampons for your new vagina.”

“Just sayin’, you shouldn’t treat people
like sex objects.”

He rapped my head with his knuckles.
“Knock, knock, is Dante Rata home, cos it sounds like his li’l sis is talkin’.”

I swatted his hand away. “Now who’s bein’
a cunt.”

“Well, it’s better than bein’ a pussy. And
I don’t know why you’re defending Phelia when all she wants from you is sex. Do
you know she’s back with Happy Meal again? I bet she’d dump him faster than a
hot patty if you give into her. You should take advantage of the situation, ’specially
since she’s wet, wet, wet for you.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll agree to a threesome
with you.”

“Which is why we’ll make conditions. If
she wants to fuck you, she has to fuck me as well. We’re a package, bro, two
peas ready to pod her.”

“What am I? Your pimp? Fuck off.”

“No,
you
fuck off, you arsehole. I
don’t know why you’re bein’ such a prick to me lately. I’ve done nuthin’ to
you, yet you keep bitching at me.” He turned and headed back down the corridor,
stopping outside our English class. He glanced back at me with a mean smile,
then pushed open the door and yelled out, “Hey, miss, you free after school?
Dante is juicing to fuck you.”

Laughter broke out inside the room.

“You bastard!” I yelled, rushing for him.

I shoved him hard, knocking him away from
the door. He stumbled back, causing the door to slip out of his hand and slam
shut. He glared at me, then turned and stalked away, his heavy tread sounding
loud in the almost empty corridor.

The door flew open next to me, Mrs. Hatton
emerging from it. “What the hell, Dante?” she said, looking at me in disbelief.

“Sorry, miss,” I replied. “This is all on
Jasper; I had no part in it.”

“Then, why are you standing here and not
in class?”

“I wuz talkin’ to him. He got pissy when I
wouldn’t do sumpthin’ he wanted, so he retaliated by embarrassing me through
you.”

Her annoyed expression softened. “Okay.
Just get to class.”

I nodded. “Sure.” I headed off, glancing
back at her. She was still watching me. I smiled at her. To my surprise, she
smiled back.

21

CLARA

I opened my front door, unable to stop
thinking about what had happened between me and Dante. Or what had nearly
happened, our potential kiss only stopped by circumstance. I still couldn’t
believe how things had escalated so fast. I’d been mad at him one minute,
grieving with him the next, then wanting to kiss him, risking everything for a
fleeting brush of our lips. I couldn’t fathom how he could have such sway over
my emotions. It was frustrating, annoying, something I didn’t want, yet couldn’t
stop.

I stepped inside my house, mentally
berating myself for being so weak-willed. My anger instantly vanished at the
sight of my husband. Markus was sitting on the couch, with his face buried in
his hands and his shoulders shaking.

“What’s wrong, Markus?” I asked, hurrying
over to sit next to him, concern wiping out all thought of Dante.

Markus dropped his hands, his expression
distraught. His blue eyes were bloodshot and glistening with tears. “Me old
man’s dead,” he said, referring to his father, his grief making his Cockney
accent thicker.

My hand shot to my mouth, shocked by his
words. Then I was pulling him into a hug, gripping onto him tight, my heart
breaking for him. Markus buried his face into my shoulder, sobbing into it.

I ran a hand down his hair. “How?” I asked,
knowing it couldn’t be from natural causes. His father was...
had
been a
fit forty-eight-year-old; someone I thought would still be running marathons
for quite a few years to come.

“Car accident,” he croaked out. “A poxy drunk
driver ran a red light. Me old girl was injured as well, but not critically.”

I gripped onto him tighter, absolutely devastated,
his mother as lovely as Markus. We stayed like that for a while, Markus
eventually breaking the connection. He looked so vulnerable, his grief making him
resemble a teenager more than a twenty-four-year-old man, someone who needed to
be hugged and consoled, to be told that everything was going to be all right.
But it wasn’t going to be all right. Like my mother and Dante’s, his father
wasn’t coming back, death a finality no one could change.

“We need to go see your mother,” I stated.

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “We can’t
afford to return to England, our credit cards are shot from the move ’ere.”

“We’ll get a bank loan.”

He shook his head. “They wouldn’t give us
one. We have hardly any assets to bargain with. Maybe if we owned a house, but
we don’t.”

“Then, I’ll ask my father for a loan,” I
said, even though I didn’t want to. Despite living next door to him, we barely talked.
And if I had a choice he wouldn’t be my landlord, the low rate he’d given me too
good to turn down. I couldn’t afford to live in my old neighbourhood on my
teacher’s salary, a place I absolutely adored. I’d hoped that after Markus had
been working for a few months, we could move out and get another place in the
area, but he’d only just started work a week ago and now he had to leave.

“But you hate your old man,” Markus said.

“I don’t hate
him,” I replied,
realising he’d misinterpreted my behaviour. I hadn’t told Markus why I hardly
talked to my father. Instead, I’d shut him down every time he mentioned my
father to the point where he didn’t ask anymore. Maybe I should’ve told him why
I found it so hard to talk about the man who had meant the world to me. But
what I should do wasn’t always what I did. Regardless, Markus needed me right
now and I had to do right by him, which was asking my father for a loan,
whether I wanted to or not.

I cleared my throat, knowing that once I
spoke I couldn’t back out. “And my dad will give us a loan. He’ll probably jump
at the chance to get back into my good graces, and since you need to be with
your family, it’s our only option.”

“I doubt I can even go. I’ve only just
started my new job. I don’t know if the principal will hold my job open for
me.”

“Don’t worry about that, being with your
family is more important.”

“
You’re
my family as well, Clara. Do
you think you can get some time off?”

“I’m sure I can, the principal is really
nice. It’s just a matter of whether my father can cover our costs. I’ll go see
if he’s home.”

I went to get up, but Markus grabbed my
face, stopping me. He placed his forehead against mine. “You’re the perfect
wife, you know.”

I
didn’t answer, knowing he was wrong.

***

I walked down the path to my father’s
door, the brick and tile house identical to mine, just with a prettier garden.
Small, well-groomed trees and bushes lined the property and the driveway, accompanied
by a colourful array of flowers and herbs, a concoction of floral scents
permeating the air. I glanced at my own place, which had no fancy arrangements,
only a well-kept lawn courtesy of Markus, my gardening ability non-existent.

My father had built both houses so he
could be close to me once I was ready to leave home. He just hadn’t banked on
me running off to England after the death of my mother in an attempt to put
distance between us. But I also didn’t count on how much I’d miss my home,
England too grey and gloomy for me. I loved the bright, intense New Zealand
skies, not the overcast days that London was laden with. I’d also missed the stunning
beaches, the pleasant weather, and the fact I could live in a house instead of
a tiny apartment. New Zealand was the breath of fresh air I’d desperately
needed. But now I was choking on it, my relationship with Dante making me wish
I was still under the overcast skies of London.
Relationship!
Could I
even call it that? Because we weren’t together—and never would be.

I stopped on my father’s front porch,
hesitating for a moment before knocking, my nerves bunching up tighter as
footsteps approached the other side of the door. A moment later, it swung open.
My eyes narrowed at the sight of my father’s lover. Sinh was in his late-twenties,
which was a couple of decades younger than my dad. He was dressed in tiny black
shorts and a red tank top, the tight material accentuating his slim physique. He
brushed his jet-black hair off his face, which was the same colour as Dante’s, the
only similarity between the two. Unlike Dante’s masculine beauty, Sinh was
feminine-looking; his androgynous features a perfect fusion of east meets west.
He was half Vietnamese and half Italian/American, the man a product of the
Vietnam War.

He smiled at me, looking surprised I was standing
in front of him. “Hi there, Clara,” he said with an American accent. “You want
to see your dad?”

I nodded, not saying hello back. Although
Sinh was always nice to me, I didn’t feel comfortable around him. It wasn’t
because he was incredibly camp, even more than Alexander Perry from
Queer as
Folk
, it was because I’d walked in on him giving my father a blowjob. But
what had made it doubly horrifying, was that my father had still been married
to my mother, who’d been fighting cancer at the time. Because of her ill
health, I’d kept what I’d seen to myself. But after she’d passed away, I’d made
him pay for his affair, pushing him out of my life. To an extent, because five
years later I’d extended an olive branch, asking to rent the house he’d
originally built for me. Still, it didn’t make our interactions any easier.

Sinh opened the door wider. “Come on in,
I’ll go get him for you.”

I stepped inside, closing the door behind
me. As Sinh disappeared through the passage doorway, I headed for the lounge
couch. Although the layout of the house was the same as my place, the interior
looked vastly different. The walls held a plethora of ethnic art, while every
nook and cranny had some sort of humanoid sculpture lurking within, ready to
pounce on me. My gaze landed on what looked like an African tribal statue, an
oddly shaped carving of a person holding a blunt, wooden spear. It had a
protruding stomach and a colourfully painted face, with a spike through its
nose. I screwed up my own nose at it, thinking a robber would get the bejesus
scared out of them if they snuck in during the night.

My father appeared through the passage
doorway. He was dressed in casual clothes—khaki shorts and a loose T-shirt. He was
an older, male version of me, our resemblance striking. He had the same
gunmetal eyes and high cheekbones, as well as honey-blonde hair. We both dyed
our hair, though, he did it to hide his greys. When I was younger, I’d been
annoyed that I’d gotten my mother’s mousy-brown hair instead of my father’s
natural blond locks. I’d begged my mother at the age of fifteen to let me dye
my hair like his, and ever since I’d been religiously using the same colour,
people not even realising I wasn’t a natural blonde.

And now I shared something else with him,
something that I’d never thought I would, nor ever wanted to.

We had both cheated on our spouses.

Though, what I’d done wasn’t really cheating,
since I hadn’t kissed Dante.

Although, I would’ve if that ball hadn’t
shattered the moment.

I forced the thought down and rose to my
feet, hoping my father didn’t hug me, because if he did, I knew I’d cry, the wall
I’d built between us not an easy decision. I had idolised him in my youth,
always striving to do what he did, my passion for the English language stemming
from him. He was a university professor and a published author of several
books, all of which I’d bought without his knowledge. Even though I’d pushed
him away, I couldn’t completely let go. I’d never stopped loving him; I just
didn’t know how to handle his cheating.

“It’s lovely to see you, Clara.” He
lowered himself into the seat across from me, the turquoise colour of the couch
a shade darker than his shirt. “What brings you here?”

I sat back down. “Markus’s father was
killed in a car accident—”

Before I could finish my sentence, my
father jumped up and came to me. “I’m so sorry, love,” he said, his voice full
of sincerity. He sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug.

I went stiff.

He instantly let go, no doubt feeling my
discomfort. “How’s your husband doing?” he asked, the fact he hadn’t used
Markus’s name telling. I hadn’t introduced them yet, something I now regretted.

“Markus is devastated.”

“As expected.” My father went to touch my
hand, but stopped himself. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I lowered my gaze, my unease rapidly increasing.
It had been hard enough asking if I could rent his house, let alone approaching
him for a loan. And it wouldn’t just be for a few hundred bucks, around ten grand
closer to the mark. I massaged my temple, realising I hadn’t thought this
through, the sudden shock of learning about Markus’s dad’s death having
scrambled my senses, because there was no way I could expect my father to hand
over that kind of money, especially after the way I’d ignored him.

What was I thinking?

“What is it, Clara?” he asked, sounding
concerned.

I kept my gaze down, unable to look him in
the eye. “Markus wants us to return to London so he can be with his family.”

“For good?” he asked, sounding upset.

I looked up, his expression mirroring his
tone. “A month at the most.”

Relief lit up his gunmetal eyes, making what
I was going to ask even harder.

I cleared my throat. “The problem is...” I
paused for a moment, running over what I was going to say in my mind before
vocalising it, hoping he didn’t misconstrue my intentions. “We don’t have any
money left. Our credit cards are also ruined from the move to New Zealand. We’d
planned on clearing them quick, but Markus’s documentation took longer than
anticipated since he has a criminal conviction.”

My father’s eyebrows shot up. “For what?”

“It wasn’t his fault. A guy was sexually
harassing me. Markus lost his temper and punched him. He only got community
service for it, but it still went on his record. Because of it, he had to get a
character waiver to come here, which was why things were held up.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Which means we can’t afford to fly back
to England.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

I forced myself not to look away. “I told
Markus I’d ask if you could help out.”

His face dropped. “So, the only reason
you’re here is for money?” he replied, appearing offended.

I looked down, feeling ashamed.

My father exhaled loudly. “I guess I
deserve this.”

I looked back up, not liking his hurt
expression. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at the kitchen doorway, the
sound of a pot clanging coming from within, Sinh probably cooking dinner. “Although
I love Sinh with all my heart, I regret what we did, because it resulted in me
losing you.” His eyes glossed over with unshed tears, turning them into liquid
silver. “I love you so much, Clara. Don’t you think you’ve punished me long enough?
I want to be a part of your life again.” He took hold of my hands. “Please let
me back into your life.”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment,
unable to stop the emotions he was provoking. I did want to forgive him.
I
truly did
. I just hadn’t known how ... until now. Maybe if I’d walked into
his office before Sinh had dropped to his knees, I might have stopped what had
happened—like the banging of the ball had stopped me from kissing Dante.