I paced around Inseparable Youths all evening in wait of Logan. He didn't make an appearance yesterday, and he didn't show up today. The quiet voice in the back of my mind told me that he would not return. After Samuel's death and the gang-related attention Logan has received, I understand why the youth centre ceased to provide a safe environment for him.
With financial help from the council and donations from the community, Matthew hired rotational caretakers to bulwark against possible threats to our teenagers. He paid someone to install top-of-the-range security systems, and contractors worked tirelessly to reinforce the hub's perimeter enclosure.
Notwithstanding the precautionary safety measures, Logan preserved with his nonattendance.
Tonight, once the teenagers left and security locked the main doors behind them, Matthew held an unscheduled meeting in the staffroom to discuss recent difficulties. Our teens mourn one of the most significant personalities to have graced the centre. Sure, Samuel had been challenging to manage, but his peers loved him; they will continue to miss him. We had to take their minds elsewhere and micromanage their activities. Tre's a huge red flag. Christie's a close second.
"If we don't play it smart, judging by their shattered confidence and depressed moods, we could be looking at unpreventable suicides."
"A suicide pact?" I asked, and Suzanne nodded. "It's a little extreme, isn't it?"
"I overheard Christie and Tre conversing by the court earlier." Trudy sat beside Matthew on the blue sofa, which, due to her recent libidinousness, perturbed him. "They talked about articles on lover's leap."
Still, I found it hard to believe Tre and Christie plotted suicide together. Naturally, their friendship will consolidate because they share a common interest. When people lose someone they love, they confide in each other and lean on one another. It is all part of the grieving process.
"Let's be vigilant," Matthew advised, and everyone agreed. "If I lose another kid, I will hand in my notice."
Normality felt out of reach.
Darkness doused whatever light remained at the end of the tunnel.
I started to hate my job.
Alfie's tonight's chauffeur. Sipping through the straw of a passion fruit smoothie, he drives with one hand on the wheel and sings along to the car radio. Bypassing restaurants and convenience stores, he eased to a stop by the red traffic light and furtively checked out the male driving a white Mazda on our right.
My eyebrows raised a touch.
You cannot conclude someone's sexual orientation based on appearance; however, I had never suspected male preference, not from Alfie. "You should ask for his number."
Alfie flinched out of his trance. "Who's number?"
"Clark Kent," I joked, and his face turned ashen-grey. "Hey, your secret is safe with me, Alfie. I am not here to make your life difficult."
His Adam's apple bopped up and down. "I am not gay, Ma'am."
"Oh," I said, unconvinced. "Well, I apologise. I thought..." He seemed interested. "It doesn't matter what I thought."
Red tinted Alfie's cheeks. Flouting Clark's curiousness, he angled himself closer to the window, somewhat blocking the other man's view, and persistently checked the traffic lights for green.
Mentally kicking myself for discomposing Alfie, I stared out of the window to watch commuters rush along the pavement towards a tube zone. In the background of franticness, I see the outmoded corner store, the same bargain-basement that Logan formally heeded. "How many council estates within our vicinage?"
"You'd be lucky to find an estate that wasn't part of the Borough down these ends," he said in aversion. "Why?"
I rubbed stress from my temples. "What about community basketball courts?"
He snorted. "Any council estate in east London."
I am getting nowhere fast. "Where would I find revellers?"
Alfie side-eyed me. "If I had to pick off my head, then, Tower Hamlets."
"Take me there," I ordered, and he shot me a double-take. "I need to see if someone's okay."
"Warren will crucify me." He accelerated to the green light's signal. "If he's back at the Manor by the time we return, he will ask questions."
I sighed in exasperation. "I am not a prisoner, Alfie."
"Correct." He dropped into second gear to veer around the street corner. "He worries about you, Ma'am. You knew what you were signing up for when you married him."
"I married him for love, not suffocation."
"Are you saying I smother you?"
"No, I really like you," I admitted, and he smiled. "Is it necessary to report detailed itineraries of my travels? Does Liam need to know where I shop, who I talk to and what colour shoes I wear?"
Alfie lowered the music to listen to me.
"If I encounter any troubles, then report everything," I continued, hoping he takes me seriously. "But why the inconsequential observations?"
"The person you wish to visit," he said, and I turned at the waist to face him fully. "Will Warren blow a gasket if he finds out?"
My lips pursed. "Are you subtly asking if I am pursuing someone?"
He chose not to answer.
"He's fifteen," I explained, and his squared shoulders relaxed. "And no, I am not a cradle-snatcher. I am simply concerned for the welfare of a young boy. Liam has no reason to be mad."
His eyes were almost black. "Why the secrecy then?"
Actually, I plan to broach the Logan topic tonight. "No secrecy. I am more than capable of holding a conversation with my husband." In other words, stay in your lane and allow me the chance of elucidations. "So, how much farther?"
"Just down the road." He applied pressure to the accelerator, swerved through moving vehicles, found a space near the lively park and mounted the street's curbside. Parking on double red lines, he killed the engine and relaxed against the leather seat. "I will keep an eye."
"Thank you, Alfie." Disengaging the seat belt, I opened the passenger side door and stepped onto the pavement. "I won't be too long."
I strolled past the galvanised chain link fencing, where mobs of boys played basketball beneath the street lights. Flames of competitiveness burnt the soles of their feet as they dribbled across the cracked asphalt where weeds and grass blades germinated. One young male outsmarted his opponent with a left-handed crossover before his teammate landed the ball through the netless hoop. Boasting their win, the boys hauled atop each other, which the other side waved off like sore losers. With an amused smile on my face, I proceeded ahead, listening to the sound of their thunderous footsteps, the bouncing ball and witty wisecracks.
Even if I don't find Logan in this neighbourhood, the walk decreased apprehensions. It felt good to stretch my legs, to soak up the evening amongst the very type of people I once neighboured.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, which appeared to be omnipresent hereabout. Numerous residents surveyed the narrow streets from their spaceless, wrought-iron balconies, and some gathered in each other's gardens to drink bottled beer and social smoke. An older woman beating dust from an oriental rug strewn over the brick wall determined to outstare. Wiping her hands in the blue and white chequered apron, she furrowed her brows and jutted her chin forward. I didn't need to be an empath to know what she thought. 'I didn't belong around here' is what I saw in her cataractous eyes.
I guess I didn't fit in, not anymore. Whilst the people around here struggled to make ends meet, I modelled Louboutin high heeled shoes, Dior fabrics and a Birkin handbag.
Empathy faltered footsteps.
Beating the rug exhausted the woman's energy. She was dark-complexioned with solar lentigines dusted across her cheeks and far too old to be dragging something heavy back indoors.
Her black cat leapt onto the wall and purred for attention.
"Get down," she said croakily, and the disobedient cat unfurled its tail. "You want food? I got you some food."
I refrained from stroking him. "What's his name?"
"She," the woman snapped. "Don't be stealing my cat, lady. I got a cane. I'll pummel you with it."
Rolling the rug across the hallway floor, she kept a hand on her lower spine and groaned whilst straightening her posture. Mismatched wallpaper peeled off the walls, smoke stains clung to the damp ceiling, and cardboard cut-outs boarded up the door's broken window. I removed one of the Tiffany rings from my finger and clipped it to the cat's collar. It's something I bought whilst portraying Victoria, and, although unsentimental, it's worth a small fortune. It can buy her a better rug and some new wallpaper if nothing else.
"Come on," she rasped, coughing into a curled-up fist. "Get inside."
The cat pounced onto the pathway and walked indoors.
"You should get out of here," she warned, peering at me from behind the ajar door. "Pretty little thing like you? Dog meat."
I mustered a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
She slammed the door shut.
I almost retreated to the Bentley when raised voices from the second-floor flat captured my interest. Dark silhouettes moved behind the kitchen's crème roller bind. Indistinct arguments and shattering objects exploded, yet no one from the outside concerned themselves or scoped. It's habitual, the couple's domestic disturbance. Her demonic shrieks. His severe tongue-lashings. When the paint-peeled front door flew open, the man's vexation amplified, but his overhanging gut and sprayed spittle were the least of my worries. Aimlessly lunging glass beer bottles, he charged after a young boy. "Get back here!" he yelled as the runner ducked and dived from splintering glass. "You worthless good-for-nothing! I will..."
Muting the guy's nonsensical outburst, I watched the boy scale the stainless-steel staircase until his trainers hit the ground running. In slow motion, I skirted the court's enclosure, synchronising his pace from opposite sides. Basketball commenced, yet neither of us spared the throngs of players a glance. He slipped down another street, and I picked up my feet to catch him. I recognised his determined run, those beaten trainers and low hanging slouch pants.
Chasing full pelt behind him, I dashed across the busy road, waving apologetically to passing vehicles and blaring car horns. He got to the fenced park, thrust open the waist-high gate and trudged beneath the Pinus Sylvestris. Wood chippings softened the walkway, the barky smell of petrichor dried fields of grass. I drew in a deep inhalation to ease the strain on my chest and followed the squished imprints of his giant footsteps. He collapsed on the Barton bench, whereas I got distracted by the flat, steel swings. I curled my fingers around the heavy-duty chain, and condensation trickled down my wrist.
"I should file a complaint." Logan's strained voice broke the silence. "Why do you stalk people?"
"Habit," I whispered, easing onto the seat. "If I point my toes, will I go higher?"
"What?" Logan scoffed at the randomness. "Whatever."
I could almost envision the sun on my face.
I push my feet forward.
I push my feet backwards.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Pushing off my feet, I held onto the chains, dropped my head back and played with gravity. My stomach dipped from the height drop, and laughter ripped out of me. Evoked by timeless memories, I closed my eyes and let the wind blow through my hair.
"I can't do it!" My feet do not reach the ground. "I am too little!"
Fingers adhered to the ropes, I thrashed my legs, in and out, back and forth, yet nothing happens. I barely moved a muscle. Dust kicked up behind my Peyton leather shoes. Mud splattered the frills of my white socks.
"Yes, you can." Kathy jumped out in front of me, her long, black hair framing her pretty face. "Just kick your legs out, Alexa." I was lost to her familiar eyes, in awe of her soft voice. "The wind can steer you."
My mouth dried. "What if I fall?"
Her arms outstretched. "I will catch you."
I didn't want to land on my bum. "You promise?"
"Cross my heart." She drew a kiss over her chest. "Now, trust your big sister," she encouraged, and I wanted nothing more than to fall into her loving hold, to hug her one last time. "Release the ropes and jump, Alexa. I know you can do it!"
I released the chains and landed on my feet. Throwing hair out of my face, I turned around to see Kathy, to cherish that memory for a second longer. Empty. Alone. I never made it past the blue line, which means a child had better luck than I did. Nonetheless, I rubbed the smile off my lips, feeling a loan tear slide down my cheek.
Logan caught it with his knuckle. "You okay?"
I didn't even see him move to stand beside me. "Yes." I was more than okay. "I had a love/hate relationship with swings when I was younger. It didn't matter how hard I tried. I couldn't get past the framework."
"You pull your legs back." Lowering the brim of his ball cap, he dropped onto the seat and gripped the chains. "Right before you jump. It's like you're too afraid to let go."
I sat on the seat next to him. "I don't want to fall on my ass."
Logan huffed out a heavy sigh. "It beats smashing your face on the ground."
I never thought of it like that before.
Quietness stretched between us, and then he asked, "Why are you here, Alexa?"
"Do you want me to lie to you?"
His head shook.
"I can't stop thinking about you," I answered honestly.
"About me?" He scuffed a pebble under his trainer. "Listen, you're pretty hot, but I prefer girls my age—" I shoved his shoulder playfully, and he burst out laughing. "Ain't that assault?"
"I would never, ever pry on someone, especially a minor." Thickness laced my throat. "You know that's not what this is about, right?"
"Yeah," he said after a beat. "You're good people. I know that."
My forehead rested on the chain. When I never responded, Logan dipped his head to look at me. It's dark out here, but I could vaguely see discolouration on his cheek. It took practised sangfroid not to burst into tears or threaten bloody murder. I extended my arm and cupped his face, thumbing the trickle of blood on his chapped lips. "Tell me what to do, Logan," I whispered, and for a nanosecond, he savoured my touch. "I want to help you."
He jerked out of my reach. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
I approached him with defensiveness. "I never break promises—"
"Says everyone who never gave a shit," he retorted, the chains complaining as he swayed back and forth. "We talked about it. Cyril gets mad from time to time, but he'll be asleep when I get home. Don't fret."
"Does your mother know he puts his hands on you?" He ignored me. "Logan, does she stand up for you? Does she protect you the same way you protect her?"
His expression was murderous. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't speak up. Matthew's asked if you need help, and you shut him out. And for what purpose? To protect your mother from the consequences—"
"Get out of my head, Alexa. I don't expect you to understand."
I snatched his chain and brought his swaying to an abrupt stop. "Then, educate me."
"She's all I have," he spat, bolting off the swing in anger. "Not everyone falls in shit and comes out smelling like roses. Your story? It's not mine."
"That's okay." I climbed off the swing. "It's supposed to be different. You and me? We don't need to be the same people or share the same demons to understand pain."
"In case you missed the memo, I got nowhere else to go. If I tell Matt that I hate living in that house, or how scared I am of Cyril when he's had a bad day..." He looked pained and conflicted. "Or how Ma regrets and resents... Matt will have me chucked in the system quicker than I can blink. Fuck that. Nobody comes into my life and tells me to line up. I'd rather stay out of Cyril's way for a while longer and keep on Ma's good side for a few more months. And guess what? I am free of everyone." He unlocked his phone and tapped the cracked screen. "If I go homeless at sixteen, the council will set me up." Showing me the website, he scrolled through potential housing units. "I can get a one-bedroom flat and find a job, right? A place to call mine. No Cyril or drunken fights between him and my Ma. Hey, I can even invite girls over."
I forced a smile. "You got everything figured out, huh?"
He licked wet blood from the corner of his mouth.
I was unsatisfied and unassured, but I entertained his plan because insouciance outweighed dampening optimism. "So, what colour shall we paint the walls?"
His eyes lit up. "You'd help me decorate?"
I waggled my brows. "Oh, yes."
"Navy," he said without hesitation. "It'll be good with oak furniture, right?"
"Yes." Stepping onto the roundabout, I held onto the metal bars and waited for him to join me. "I can assemble furniture."
"Same." Using his foot to gain momentum, he spun the base and light-headedness soon inhabited. "I put shelves up in my bedroom once." He grimaced. "They came down two days later."
"A-for-effort, Logan." Headlights flickered in the distance. Alfie. If I don't leave the park soon, the agitated Suit will go berserk. "Logan, why did those guys aim fire that day?" His shoulder lifted. "You can talk to me. I mean, it's over now, right? You don't need to watch your back anymore," I said cautiously, and he buttoned his lip. Knowing he's disinclined to open up, I asked, "Have you eaten?"
Logan slowed the roundabout for me to jump off. "Not yet."
"Let's get a bite to eat," I suggested, and he didn't put up a fight. "I know a great Indian restaurant."
I loved spending time with Logan.
The night we dined together, he ordered everything on the menu and decided lamb Balti's a second favourite to Madras. We shared papadum, pakoras, prawn cakes, buttered naan and sparkling water. "You're my first date," he'd told me. "But I might have to break the gentleman rules because I cannot afford the bill."
"I feel honoured," I said with a smile, and he blinked in perplexity. "To be your first date?" We clinked water glasses. "Hopefully, tonight's the first of many."
"Yeah." Logan looked at me with an incredulous, narrowed stare. "Maybe."
I worked five days a week.
I watched the main doors religiously.
Logan's never amongst the crowd.
"Tre, can you help me hang posters?"
He slipped the overhead headphones to his neck. "I guess."
"I hate climbing on ladders," I lied, and he stood, rubbing his palms together. "What if I break a leg or something."
Taking one poster and adhesive strips, Tre climbed up the ladder and positioned it to the wall. Securing the corners with tape, he peeled another from my hand and lined it beside the first one.
"You don't like football?" Everyone's on the field tonight in support of the youth division. Friends playing against friends. "It's boring indoors. Why don't you go outside and join one of the teams?"
Tre fixed another poster.
"Well, I promised to help Dave clean the kitchen," I hinted, handing him more tape. "Tricia's unwell. She won't be here for the rest of the week. He could do with extra hands." Tre gave me the cold shoulder. "I would offer to cook, but I wouldn't want to give everyone food poisoning." His upper lip curled. "Anyway, if you feel hospitable, feel free to offer a hand."
The next day, I sat in the hub's foyer and stared out of the window.
Logan didn't show.
Neither did Tre.
"What do you buy someone who loves basketball?" I flicked through clothes rails. "Signed posters?"
"Depends." Alfie strolled casually behind me. "Are you buying for a six-year-old?"
"Smarmy," I teased, reading price tags. "I meant for Logan."
"Ah, the fifteen-year-old." He gave the sales assistant a polite smile. "Jordan's."
My nose wrinkled. "What?"
"Jordan footwear." He pointed to the sports store across the shopping centre. "They sell tracksuits, too."
That would be a great idea if I knew Logan's size. "I can purchase a gift card."
I wanted to witness Logan's ebullience when I handed him the non-monetary gift, but he's still a no-show at the centre. Posting an envelope through his letterbox was not an option. I had no faith in Cyril. He'd sell his stepson's present for alcohol.
Behind the cash register, the fair-skinned gent peered up at me from over the brim of a newspaper.
"Hey, you don't know me, but I was hoping you could help me with something."
He folded the newspaper. "What can I do for you, Mrs Warren?"
"Oh." I had to mask my surprise. "Are you familiar with the name Logan Broderick? I saw him lingering outside once and thought he might be a regular shopper."
"Yeah, I know Logan." His arms folded. "I banned the toerag for shoplifting."
"Right." My tongue felt heavy. "So, he stopped coming here?"
"No, he swings by every couple of days to restock." A chewing gum bubble popped from his mouth. "I turn a blind eye every once and a while."
"That's very kind of you." It's surreal how people can sense vulnerableness in teenagers. "I'd like to leave this here." I unzipped my handbag and placed the envelope on the counter. "It's vouchers for him to spend. I would really appreciate it if you could ensure he gets this...Do you have another envelope?"
He reached under the counter to grab a brown envelope. "Fifty pence."
Refraining from an eye-roll, I opened my purse, gave him a tenner and then stuffed wads of fifty-pound notes into the envelope. "An elastic band, too." I accepted the band and wrapped both items together. "Don't get any ideas. If Logan's shy of pennies, my husband will pay you a visit."
"Absolutely," he stuttered, securing the goods in an under-counter safe. "I wouldn't dream of mugging you off, Mrs Warren."
I left after purchasing vodka.
Liam found me sat on the sofa in his office when he returned to the Manor. Peeling off his suit jacket, he tossed it on the back of a chair and went to the minibar to pour himself a drink. He eyed the vodka bottle in my hand. "Long day?"
I shrugged.
Liam put his back to the sideboard, crossed his legs at the ankles and sipped distilled whiskey. "I need a favour." Whatever he had to ask made him uncomfortable. "Phillip Henry. He's an honorary member of the London Diamond Bourse. I want you to portray Victoria and lure him to a private suite."
So that's what the perfect paragon conversation regarded. "It means provocativeness."
"I know," he said, his jaw harder than granite. "Spare me the visualisation, Alexa."
I downed a shot straight from the bottle. "What's the assignment?"
His fingers drummed against the Norlan glass. "As aforementioned, I need you to lure Henry to a private suite."
"No, Liam. I want more details. Who is this man? Why is he on your shitlist? What does he look like? Where will I meet him?" I licked sharp-tasting vodka off my upper lip. "It takes more than revealing dresses to ensnare victims. Can you handle sultry whispers, lascivious promises and passionate kisses?"
"If you let that motherfucker put his mouth on you, you will see a different side of me," he warned, and I laughed like an evil madwoman. "Why the fuck are you laughing?"
"You are so transparent." My cheeks ached from smirking. "I'll do my very best to maintain a level of frigidity."
"Brad can share specifics." Liam wiped the anger off his face. "Speak to your friend," he said tightly. "We need Jace to decrypt advanced encryption algorithms once you tranquilise Henry."
I don't know what shocked me the most. Liam's requirement of me pursuing another man, albeit Janus-faced, or him needing Jace's participation. "I promise success."
Liam closed his eyes. "Come here," he rasped, and I set the bottle on his desk and walked to him acquiescently. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he buried his head on my shoulder and inhaled. "You were sad. Talk to me."
I am a little sombre this evening. "I fuck up a lot."
His fingers massaged my back. "Don't we all?"
"Tre left the youth centre. I don't think he'll come back, not without Samuel." I rest my cheek to his stubble. "Logan," I croaked, holding my breath to brave the subject. "I tracked down his biological father."
Liam's head raised. "What?"
"Edward Morris," I said, shying away from his penetrating scowl. "He doesn't want a relationship with his son, though. It'll disrupt his life, his perfect little family." My lips twisted. "He lives in a mansion, yet he can't spare a room for his son."
Raking a hand through my hair, I stepped out of his iron grip. "His mother's a drunk, his stepfather's violent and his real father refuses to acknowledge him. Logan's floats through life in wait for new beginnings, counting down the days to his sixteenth birthday so that he can leave the place that's never felt like home. It breaks my heart." I slumped onto a chair, and he set his drink aside to crouch before me. "Liam, I want to do something."
"I offered," he reminded me. "I can end his suffering tonight."
"I don't want you to kill them."
His head cocked. "What do you want?"
No holding back, Alexa. "I want to bring Logan here."
Liam's expression darkened. "What?"
"We have plenty of room." My hands grasped the armrests. "He can pick one of the guestrooms—"
"No." His harshness caused me to flinch. "I will not bring someone else's kid into my home. He's not our reasonability."
"Liam, please," I implored as he fell onto the chair behind his desk. "Donny can pull some strings to have Logan sent here. You won't even see him. I'll make sure he stays out the way until—"
"Until what?" he barked, crumbling marijuana into a deck. "Until I warm up to him? That'll never happen. I agreed to children for you, not because I need them. I couldn't give two fucks' about some fifteen-year-old lad with baggage." He licked the rizla seam. "What doesn't kill you strengthens you, so let the boy find his own way through life. We are not an open house for strays."
I slammed two palms onto the desk, which only humoured him. "You forget where you came from."
"No, I will never forget the road I walked," he snarled, affronted by antagonism.
"Liam," I whispered in defeat. "If you could go back? If you could change anything about your past, what would it be? Loving parents? Home Cooked meals after school? Siblings? Normalcy? Not having to sleep with one eye open?"
"I'd change nothing." He lit the end of his joint. "I wouldn't be the man that I am today without past tribulations."
I shook with frustration. "We didn't deserve those shit cards, Liam."
"Affirmative," he agreed, kicking his feet onto the desk.
"We cannot rewrite history, but we can steer the future," I continued, and his eyes visited the ceiling. "Logan's a good kid. Who better to help him than us?"
Smoke crawled from his mouth. "No."
My scowl hardened. "Why are you so against him?"
He matched my furious stance. "It's not about him."
"Bill didn't turn his back on you. He had nothing to offer, yet he took you under his wing and protected you because he saw something in your eyes that no one else did. You and Logan, you're cut from the same cloth."
"Do not compare us." When I rounded the desk, he held a hand out. "No, don't look at me like that, baby."
"Liam, please." I cupped his cheeks, and his head shook vehemently. "Please, I beg you—"
"I will not yield!" He snatched my jaw and watched a single tear roll down my cheek and over his fingers. "I. Do. Not. Want. Him."
Liam stormed out of the office.
I didn't have the heart to chase him.—————————————————
I will come back for any typos.
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