Malcolm waves us off toward the door. “Go on. Go on. I recognise the draw of a day at home with the wife. Enjoy yourselves.”
I take the excuse and run with it. “Nice to meet you, Malcolm.”
Malcolm waves. “You too, Jules.”
I leave them to their formalities and take my bags outside into the autumn air. The breeze is fresh on my face. I close my eyes and breathe it in.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six.
Sevendeep breaths before Aiden’s warms my side.
“Want to tell mewhichwords you had in there with Lafferty?”
Figured he’d ask. “Not really. The girl has a crush on you. Turns out there’s a rumour we’re a thing, and I confirmed it. So she got a bit prickly. She really doesn’t need to end up in review over it.”
I hear a little huff of a ‘huh’before he sighs and explains. “Actually, she does. Lafferty is on duty. A punishment duty at that. The fact that she shared rumours with you, had the gall to call you out for them, and then put her personal enmity ahead of her professional duty is exactly why she needs a review.”
“Well, when you put it like that…very unprofessional of her.” I try to make light of things, but Aiden’s expression is unflinching.
“Did she say anything else?” he asks.
“Like…”
“Like whatever it was that made you text me mid-shop…”God, he’s good.
No point in hiding it. It was out of character for me, and we both know it. “Fine, she called me a name. I called her one back.” Aiden stares at me until I relent. “She called me a whore. I called her a wannabe.” He cracks a smile and then straightens it.
“She called you a whore because we’re dating?”
“No, she called me a whore because I corrected her and told her I was datingyou and Dax.” I grin up at him.
His mouth twitches just before it cracks into a beautiful smile. “That’s my girl.”
Chapter Seventeen
We pick up lunch, taking the scenic route back to the apartment. From the back, the building looks worse. Broken windows, graffitied brickwork. I’m surprised it’s not attracting vagrants yet. The building might be open to the elements on all sides, but a breeze is better than rain or snow.
“How do you keep it empty?” I ask, nodding to the spot where a door should be, but there’s just hammered boards closing the gap.
“We relocate anyone who ventures inside. If they want a fresh start, we give them work and a room in a hostel to get started. If they’re too far gone, we find somewhere safer for them to settle down for the night.”
“Can’t you just force them straight into a hostel? Why would they choose the streets?”
“Some are simply scared to try; they remember how hard they fell and won’t risk it happening again. For others, it’s all they know. You can’t force these things. It takes work to rebuild. If they underestimate the effort, they’re more likely to relapse when thingsget too hard. Then there are those who have already hit rock bottom and have given up.”
“It’s sad. It’s like they’re just waiting to die.”
“It is. The streets also breed the most desperate people. Some will do anything to live.”
