Inevitable
Authors: Nicola Haken
Tags: #Romance, #Young Adult, #twist, #abuse, #high school, #new adult
Inevitable
by Nicola Haken
Copyright
©
2013 Nicola
Wall
This book is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, events and places are created from the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced without written permission from the author,
except in the case of critics or reviewers who may quote brief
passages in their review. If you are reading this ebook and have
not purchased it or won it in a blogger/author competition then you
are reading a pirated version. Please support the author by
deleting it and purchasing it from an authorized distributor.
Dedicated to Michael, my
husband and soul mate. For his love and support. For listening to
me babble on about my ideas for hours on end. For taking over the
house and kids while I head off into my own little world. But most
of all, for being the best husband and father to our children I
ever could have hoped for. I love you.
Contents
Maddie
Y
esterday I was living in Manchester, England and today I
pulled up outside my new home in Redwood City, California. As usual
when it comes to emergency getaways my mum is in the shit. Also as
usual she’s not told me why, but I’ve picked up from secret phone
calls and whispers that she’s stolen an impressive sum of money
from one of her ‘clients’ and as you can imagine he isn’t too happy
about it. So I guess, technically, we are on the run.
Compared to our previous
flits this one has been a little more carefully crafted. We had
been ‘hiding’ in a derelict flat for just over six weeks whilst I
took care of visas, expenses and my mum’s alcohol levels. She
insisted on being the one to sort out our passports so I let her,
assuming she’d balls it up and I’d have to do it myself anyway.
Amazingly, two shiny new passports landed on the mat just two weeks
later. She got
something
right for once.
My mum is what she likes to
call ‘an attentive masseuse’ who goes by the name of ‘Sugar’. She
drinks too much, smokes too much and dabbles in whatever substances
she can afford that week. I am also pretty sure she suffers from
some form of undiagnosed bipolar. Her mood swings are off the scale
some days but she has always refused to seek help for fear the
authorities would take me away from her. The fact that is
my
biggest fear too is
the only thing that has stopped me pushing the subject.
But she’s my mum. I love her. And so I look
after her the best I can.
“
Maddie! Grab one of these
will you?” my mum called as she struggled to unload our suitcases
from the back of the taxi. Her voice snapped me out of the trance
I’d fallen into whilst staring at our new home - which was
effectively a rusty static caravan – and I scurried over to help
her.
I rolled my eyes watching her struggle
towards the house – waddling from side to side with the weight of
the case she was lifting by the handle with two hands.
“
Mum!” I shouted, drawing
her attention to the wheels on the base of my suitcase. She flicked
her gaze to the bottom of her own case and then huffed in
frustration as she dropped it to the floor and dragged it across
the weed ridden graveled path.
I followed with my purple
rucksack in one hand and my suitcase in the other, crossing paths
with my mum as she went back for the last case. All the while our
lazy
-arse
driver stood unhelpfully by his open door, scratching the earth
with his dirty shoes as he waited for his fare.
“
Don’t you dare tip
that lazy bastard,” she whispered, handing me her
purse as she headed into the house with the last of our
luggage.
I nodded
even though I planned to ignore her. There was no doubt he didn’t
deserve a tip but he was four times the size of me with a scowl I’m
pretty sure would kill you if you stared at it too long. Therefore
I rounded the thirty-two dollar fare up to forty and breathed a
sigh of relief when he climbed straight back in the car and sped
off within seconds.
“
Well, this is nice. Isn’t this nice, Maddie?” my mum
enthused as we set down our luggage in the living room of the tin
can that was our new house.
I
flashed her what can only be described as an
are-you-fucking-with-me glare whilst my eyes reluctantly weighed up
my surroundings. The peeling wallpaper was dotted with large brown,
old-lady flowers. The living room consisted of one tatty brown
sofa, a wicker chair and a white garden table set and it was joined
onto a tiny kitchen which had lightwood cupboards with half the
doors missing, a rusty two-burner stove and a fridge with very
precarious hinges.
Nice? No
fucking way.
“
Sure,” I lie
d.
“
What time have we got to be at Treacle’s for?”
“
Maddie no! It’s Trudy now remember? She’ll go ape-shit if
you call her that in front of her family.”
Treacle/Trudy
is an old friend of my mum’s. I vaguely remember
her… I think. Or maybe my brain has just formed fake memories from
the freezer-bag full of photos my mum carries around with
her.
They met ‘at work’ before I was born and quickly became
best friends and roommates. In fact, the three of us lived together
until I wa
s
four or five but then Treacle landed on her feet when the real-life
version of Pretty Woman’s Edward Lewis swept her off her feet on
one of his business trips to London. According to mum he whisked
her away to his life of luxury in California, married her and put a
bun in her oven all within three months of his first ‘massage’ –
leaving us behind with only twenty pounds to my mum’s name and half
a loaf of stale bread.
I could
tell by the wounded tone of her voice whenever she told that story
(which was often, especially when drunk, which again was often)
that she resented Treacle for abandoning us – although she fiercely
denied it.
She’
d
always be Treacle in my eyes - that’s the only name my mum had ever
called her by. The fact a bit of money was thrown her way didn’t
change who she was. Anyway, we haven’t seen her since, although I
think she and Mum wrote to each other a lot.
That was
about to change today though. Apparently I’d be going to
school with her stepson whose name I can’t remember. I want to say
Bryan, but that sounds too old for someone in high school. Ben
maybe? Brandon? I’m sure it begins with a B. Anyhow in order for me
to go to his school I have to pretend I live with them or
something. I’m not sure why – catchment areas and exclusivity came
up during one of my eavesdropping sessions.
Still, whate
ver the reason, that’s why we were visiting today – so I
had an idea where I was ‘living’
for all intents and purposes before my
first day at school tomorrow.
“
Earth to Maddie.” My mums nicotine stained finger ticking
from side to side in front of my nose pulled me from my reverie. I
shook the jetlag from my brain and focused on her.
“
Yes?”
“
Five o’clock.”
“
Five o’clock what?”
“
Trudy’s.
We’re to be there at five,” she stated with an exasperated
sigh tacked on the end.
“
Right. Well, I need a shower first. I feel manky as hell.”
My clothes were sticking to my body and my hair was saturated with
sweat. Although the weather wasn’t as hot as I thought it would be,
it was definitely hotter than the frigid February air England had
to offer and I think my body was struggling to adjust.
“
Okay. You go choose your room and get yourself ready. I need a
smoke.”
On that note my mum turned to her handbag and I
turned
to the
hallway. I say hallway, what I mean is a small square of
midnight-blue carpet that reeks of cat piss with a door on each
side and one directly in front. Without bothering to look inside I
chose the room on the left. I was met with a single bed, a pine
chest of drawers and just enough floor space to turn around – if I
kept my arms by my sides that is.
After
heaving my suitcase onto the bare mattress I fished out the only
sundress I owned – yellow with navy-blue spots – a towel and my
vanity case. Then I made my way to the bathroom which ironically
doesn’t even have a bath.
I was
out of the mildew infested shower cubicle in under three
minutes and absurdly I felt dirtier than when I climbed in. I
firmly buffed away any residual grime with my pink towel before
raking a brush through my unruly chestnut hair and restraining it a
bun. Then I slipped on my sundress, making the bold decision not to
wear a bra knowing the straps would show underneath, before
applying a dusting of foundation and hoping I didn’t sweat off my
efforts before we met our new, loaded friends.
I
found my mum flipping out in the living room. Her suitcase
was sprawled open on the floor and she was tossing the contents out
one by one, sending them flying into every corner of the small
room.
“
Mum stop!
What are you looking for?” I asked, pressing steadying
hands on her shoulders.
“
My black dress. I can’t find it! You know the one with the
long sleeves? The black one. I can’t find my black
dress!”
She was
in a full on panic. I could tell she was about two minutes
away from the crying stage. I needed to calm her down.
“
You look fine as you are. Trea-
Trudy’s
your friend, you don’t need to dress up
for her.”
“
Maddie, we haven’t seen each other in twelve years. Plus
she’s all rich and toffee-nosed now. Fuck knows what her family
will think if I turn up looking like trailer trash!”
Okay so
Operation Calm Mum Down wasn’t quite going to plan. Hell,
after what she’d just said now
I
felt underdressed! So Treacle had married a bit of
money – she was still Mum’s best friend. She had the same roots.
She wouldn’t judge us. Would she?
“
We’ll find it,” I assure
d her, lightly restraining her flailing
arms with mine. “Maybe it’s got mixed-in with my stuff.”
After a quick rifle through my suitcase the missing dress –
and the smart
est item of clothing my mum owned – was now clinging to her
body. She’d ran the straightening irons over her short spiky hair
(which was purple this week) and caked her face in makeup, leaving
no visible traces of her own skin underneath. Her heavily mascaraed
lashes were weighing down her sad eyes. She was nervous, I think.
It was hard to know for sure because my mum didn’t
do
nerves.