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Interesting.
“What about?” Dad asked, moving his chair over so he was closer to us.
The other man sipped his beer. “The house. Alan wanted to sell it, but Declan said no.”
“Ooh. Why’d he want to sell it?” Mum was like a kid in a sweet shop, practically bouncing in her chair.
Ah, well.
At least she was smiling again.
“He wanted out,” Stan replied. “Weren’t a secret, like. Alan’s been tryin’ to get Declan to buy him out for yonks. Alan had other people lined up for his share and everything, but Declan had to sign off on it all and wouldn’t do it. Wanted it all or nothing, he said.”
Even more interesting—their issues weren’t a secret.
“So what did he want, then?” Dad asked. “To sell the house and have Declan use some of that money to buy him out?”
“Exactly that.” Stan nodded. “Declan told him where to stick that idea and that they’d talk about it later. Alan wasn’t having it, and if I didn’t go in there, he might have decked him.”
Hmm.
“Not the first time, either, if you believe the rumours,” he went on.
“Do you think he did it?” Mum asked, putting her glass down on the table next to her.
Stan blew out his cheeks, then shrugged. “Wouldn’t be surprised, to tell ya the truth. Alan’s got a right temper on him, and pushed far enough… Well, anyone’s capable of anything, aren’t they?”
I glanced at my parents, then out at the back garden that was in desperate need of the grass mowing.
Hmm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stan’s words had been ringing in my mind all morning.
‘Anyone’s capable of anything, aren’t they?’
They weren’t helpful, not in the slightest. All they were was the reminder that we were only human, and when we were pushed to the limit, we were liable to do things we wouldn’t normally do. Which was the problem.
Take the time I’d punched Sam Potter in year ten, like Dad had reminded me last night. I wasn’t a violent person. Sure, I was prone to throwing the odd book in frustration at a character or slamming a door after a bad day like anyone was, but violent? That wasn’t a word anyone would really use to describe me.
Mum was right when she said I’d be a poison-in-your-tea kind of killer, not a knife to the gut one.
Besides, I’d never get the blood out of my hair if I stabbed someone that violently.
Back in school, Sam had been bugging me to kiss him for two weeks. I’d told him over and over that I didn’t fancy him, but he hadn’t gotten the message. That day at lunchtime, just outside the library, he’d gone on and on and on about it, even going so far as trying to kiss me without my consent, and I’d lost it.
I remembered turning around and socking him right in the nose without even thinking.
If my friends hadn’t jumped between us, I might have followed it up with another.
I’d only ever swung for one other person in my life—Noah, but he’d thrown sand at me, so it was totally deserved if you asked me. In that moment with Sam, a fog had come over me. I hadn’t understood it then, but looking back at it, it had been a haze of anger. I’d had no control over myself in those few seconds.
It was that easy.
It happened that quickly.
I couldn’t imagine getting so angry that I’d stab someone thirteen times, but then again, I couldn’t ever imagine myself punching someone in the face either.
