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My mum's never been good with money. Her credit score is shot to hell, too, which means that any loans she manages to get are dodgy to say the least. And Plaistow is full of loan sharks.
The man doesn't reply to my question. Instead he keeps his lips tightly closed, the effort bleaching them white. He tips his head to the side, still staring. I notice that one of his eyelids droops, as if the muscles there have given up. His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, and I'm all too aware of the way my yoga pants cling to my hips, and that a sliver of skin is showing between the waistband and my crop top.
Then he says something that makes me freeze.
“Amethyst?”
Nobody calls me that. Even mum gave up trying after I begged her to stop. The shock of this man knowing my name—my real name—is enough to make me reach out to steady myself on the brick built wall that lines our boundary. I open my mouth to ask him how he knows who I am but I'm too damn scared.
What if he wants to hurt me just to get his money back?
“That's... that's not my name,” I finally manage to say. The effect of not eating anything for hours takes its toll as my head starts to swim.
“Are you okay?” The man's expression softens, and he tries to steady me. I shrink away.
“I'm fine... I just need to, to—”
This time he catches my elbow, just before I collapse on the floor. A sudden nausea tugs at me. He looks at me, concerned.
It's not the type of expression I expect to see on a loan shark. The ones I've seen—and over the years there’s been a lot—tend to have two looks at most. Pissed off and extremely pissed off. He lifts me back to my feet, then steps back, and runs a hand through his scant, black hair.
“Tell your mum I came to see her, okay?”
“Who are you?” I'm aware this is the second time I've asked him. I'm not sure if I want to hear the answer, or if I need to. He's just one in a long line of men who've taken advantage of my mum's need for money, for pretty clothes, for things that she can't afford on a cashier's salary alone.
By the time he answers my question, he's already at the gate, pushing it, making the hinges creak. “Just tell her Digger says hi.”
* * *
The first thing I do when I walk into the house is open the fridge door and pull out some orange juice. Twisting the lid off, I bring the spout up to my lips and swallow citrusy mouthfuls. My hand shakes as I hold the carton, in fact my whole body spasms, though I'm not sure if it's from low sugar, fear, or both. There's a shock of cold as the juice hits, then a few moments until I start to feel the shivers subside.
I can't get his face out of my mind. The way he stared at me with interest. It's hard to put my finger on the reason why he intimidated me so much, because there was no lust or sexual interest there. It was m
ore that he looked at me as if I was a specimen, a creature he couldn't quite understand.
My shower takes longer than usual. I feel the need to scrub every inch of my skin, and let the hot spray work the kinks out of my muscles. Though the dull throb in the base of my spine has gone, I know from experience that it will be back in the morning. Grabbing a towel from the heater beside the shower door, I wrap it around my damp body, using another to make a turban around my dark hair. Then I go back to my room to slip on some pyjamas.
It's only then that I check my messages. Two missed calls and a text from Luke.
Call me.
Seeing his name makes me shiver all over again, and I slip under the duvet just to find a little warmth. The final message is from my brother, asking me about my first day. Though I suspect my sister-in-law goaded him into sending it, I'm still touched that he's even remembered.
I think about texting Alex back, but after the confrontation earlier I'm still feeling jittery, and the thought of hearing his friendly voice is too much of a temptation. I quickly dial his number and lean back on my pink velvet headboard, closing my eyes as the familiar ringtone echoes into my ear.
It only buzzes twice before Alex answers. “Hey, beautiful. What's up?”
I smile as soon as I hear his voice. My brother is six years older than me, and along with our elder sister, Andie, has always been overprotective. Although I bristled against it in my teens, now I find it sweet and comforting, like unwrapping a much needed bar of chocolate.
“Not much. Just got back from Yoga. How's things with you?”
“Splendid.” He puts on a stupidly posh accent. “Max is teething, Lara's had a shit day at work and I've somehow managed to piss them both off.”
“Just another day chez Cartwright,” I tease. It's so lovely to talk to him. Only a few weeks ago he was living here with Mum and me, trying to work through some problems with his marriage. As much as I loved having him home with us, I'm thrilled he and Lara managed to patch up their differences. Lara is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She always has time for me and doesn't treat me like a little kid, which Alex and Andie always do.
“How's Max?” I ask, hearing my nephew squawking in the background. “No more chest problems?”
“No, thank God.” Alex sounds genuinely relieved. After being hospitalized for bronchiolitis, my baby nephew has managed to make a full recovery. Which is good, because we don’t want to go through that again. “He's right as rain. Got a good set of lungs on him, as you can probably hear.”
