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Rick stares at him for a long time without saying anything. He finally sighs and shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I’m here when you’re ready, okay. Oh and by the way, Ellen rang again. She really wants to speak to you. Maybe you should do her the courtesy of phoning her back. She deserves that at the least.’
Rick dusts off his jeans and heads the same way Gregg did. Well, that’s a pretty fucking spectacular afternoons work. He’s driven away three people. Maybe he shouldn’t ring Ellen back. She could be number four.
‘I want my workbench fixed today or I’ll be storing my tools on that bike of yours,’ Rick calls back to him.
Keen to avoid the house for as long as possible, Tate goes back into the garage and admires his handiwork. The workbench is fucked. There isn’t a hope in a hell he’s going to be able to repair it. Looks like he’s going to have to fork out for a new one.
An hour later he comes back from the hardware store and attaches the metal legs back onto the new sheet of wood and stands back to check out his work. Not too bad. Should get his dad off his back for a bit. He lines the tools back up on the top and wheels his motorbike out of the garage before locking the door again.
He’s outstayed his welcome here. What happened today is all the confirmation he needs. If he’s to have any chance of getting his head straight, he needs to go home. If he stays here much longer, he’s going to end up doing something to completely alienate himself from his entire family for good.
The thought of going back to where he’d fallen apart isn’t filling him with a hell of a lot of good vibes, but he needs to do it sooner or later. He needs space. They all do.
He pulls the ramps out from under his pickup and pushes the Kawasaki on to the load bed. He throws a tarp over it and secures it to the truck, then goes back into the house and packs his things.
His mum steps out of the kitchen as he’s walking out of the annex with his bag. ‘Tate? What’s going on?’
‘It’s time I go home.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Mum, I’m going. I need to go.’
‘If this is about what happened with Gregg, you can sort it out. He’s gone back to his place. All you need to do is apologise to him. I’m sure you can work it out.’
‘This isn’t just about that. I need space, Mum. I’ve been living in other people’s pockets for months. I need to be by myself for a bit.’
‘I don’t want you going back there alone.’
He drops onto the arm of the couch and rubs a hand over his face. ‘Mum, it’s grand, really. It’s my home. I want to go back.’
‘But it’s too soon. What if...’
‘What if what?’
‘I’m just worried about you, Tate.’
‘You really think I’m going to go straight to Eddie and stick a fucking needle in my arm again, don’t you.’
‘Tate, please—’
‘I’ll see you soon, okay.’
He grabs his bag and walks out to his truck. He doesn’t even get to the door before his dad calls him from the house. In keeping with the foul mood he’s in, he ignores him and opens the back door to load his stuff in. He climbs in and starts the engine, driving away before his dad can get near the truck.
Half an hour later he pulls up at the gate to his house and pushes the button on the remote. The gate retracts and he looks at the vast property. From the outside you wouldn't know what had gone on here a few months ago. He doubts the upper class residents he shares the street with will ever forgive him. He must have devalued every single house when he had his out of control party.
With a feeling of dread firmly in his gut he unlocks the door and turns off the alarm. When he finally convinces himself to walk into the living room he smiles. The place looks completely different. New furniture, new colour on the walls, new flooring, new blinds. Feeling a little better about being here, he goes upstairs to his bedroom. Like downstairs, everything is new and looks completely different to what was there before. He sits on the end of his bed and rubs his hands over his face.
When he went into rehab, he asked his parents to give all the furniture to charity and get someone in to clean the house for him. His unknown guests had trashed the place, turning the two-million Euro house into a squat.
He wasn’t expecting them to redo the whole house while he was away. He’ll have to find some way of thanking them after he figures out how to apologise for storming off like he did.
Tate goes up to the second floor and unlocks the door to his studio. He’s just grateful he’d kept that locked when his guests were here. It would cost a small fortune to replace the kit. He pulls the blackout blinds open and looks out at the view of the sea.
Coming home was absolutely the right thing to do. As much as he’s grateful for everything his family has done for him the last few months, he needs to get his head sorted. There’s no way he can do that with an audience watching his every move. At least being here is a little closer to normal. A little closer to getting his life back on track.
Just a pity he fucked things up with Chloe. He should have told her who he was before he laid a finger on her. She’s right about that. Fucking stupid selfish dick.
