Page 8 of Dead Vengeance

“You’re spending your travel money, Liam?”

“No, I’m— There was extra.”

“Extra for what?” Her tone’s turned sharp.

“It’s just… There was a little more than the travel costs, so—”

“You’ve stolen it?”

“I haven’t stolen it, Ma!” I finally snap. “I haven’t done anything wrong! I’ve just… I got a job, and they gave me money, and I just thought…” I can already feel the tears welling up, that pit of failure about ready to swallow me. Twenty-five years old, not a thing to show for it. Nothing but a string of shitty, failed jobs, a fuck-up for a father who left us without a penny, a fuck-up for a brother who tore our whole lives apart, and my tired mum trying to keep it all together working stupid hours cleaning on the days she can get out of bed at all. “I just thought it would be nice, all right? I just thought…”

There’s a long, silent standoff.

Then it’s my mum who breaks first. Her hug is so warm, so tight, but too quick. The peck she drops on my cheek never lasts long enough. And her smile isn’t deep enough, but it’s there, even if I know she’s forcing it over the panic she’s trying to hide from me. “Well done, Liam. Thank you for making dinner.”

I grab her hand when it slides from my shoulder. “It’s legit, Mum. I promise.”

She only nods her head quickly and stoops down to look in the oven. “Have you signed anything?”

“Not yet.” Even though I can’t see her face, I can tell by the way her head dips that this is more proof in her mind it’s bullshit.

“But I got a uniform,” I tell her.

She pops back up, a little glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Did you have to pay for it?”

“No,” I reply quickly, brightening that glimmer just a bit. “And I was just studying the training manual when you came in. That’s why it’s a bit messy in here.”

“Oh.” She looks over the benches again, and it’s as though she does it with fresh eyes. Like maybe it’s not so bad after all.

It’s heartbreaking knowing that’s all it takes. She’s so happy already, just thinking I’ve got the most basic work, sipping tea with the elderly.

I’ll take it. For today.

What I’m dreaming about is the day I walk in here with a real job, real money, and tell her she never has to work again. That I bought us a place. That I’m not a fuck-up like my dad and my brother.

I snatch up the dishcloth and wipe over the bench top. “It’s all haddock, but smoked and normal. And I put in eggs too.”

“You’ve been busy,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“I have. And I’m…” Before I can even stop myself, I’m telling her, “I’m going to keep this one, Ma. No matter what. If the boss is a dick, if the pay’s shit, if the clients are mad, I’ll keep it. Until I can find something better. But I promise, I’m going to make the most of it this time.”

Her hand falls on my arm, and I can’t help but lean into it. “I know you will.”

Even if she doesn’t believe it, I’m happy she said it.

And I believe it enough for the both of us.

Gerald can send me to whatever weird house he likes, with scammers, people losing their marbles, even real ghosts. I couldn’t care less. If there’s money coming in and my mum’s happy, I’ll do whatever I’m told. For as long as she can do without me being here all day.

She picks the groceries up off the floor, but this time I do manage to take them out of her hands. “Now go sit down. I’ll bring tea through in a moment.”

“Liam, I need to—”

“No. You don’t.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I get there first. “Not tonight, Ma. I’ve got this.”

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