“Better than okay.”
“That’s good to know. Any particular reason?”
“Someone I’ve been worrying about is actually starting to make progress.”
I try to look surprised. “That’s great. Are you going to tell me who?”
“My mum.”
I didn’t expect him to be so open, and it takes me a second to react. “Shit,” I mutter. “I can’t believe you’ve been to see her.”
“Yeah, I know Dad would probably think it was a waste of time, but yah know, she’s still my ma.”
I nod. “True. How is she?”
He takes a breath and smiles, tipping his head back and staring at the dusky sky. “She’s doing better than I’ve seen in a long time.”
Silence stretches out, and I pluck up the courage to probe some more. “While you’ve been away from her, what do you think she’s been doing?”
He scoffs. “You mean apart from getting wasted every day?” He shrugs. “Who knows?”
“Maybe she met someone, maybe she had kids?”
He laughs. “You’re kidding, right? If you saw her these days, you’d realise how crazy that sounds. She’s a mess and has been for a long time. No, she’s been too busy taking drugs for anything like that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GRIM
“Please,” I watch my mum fall to her knees, grabbing onto the leg of her latest love, “I can change. Don’t leave me.” Even at the tender age of thirteen, I know she’s kidding herself. She’ll never change, she’ll never stop taking the drugs or drinking. She couldn’t do it for me and Dad, and when she tells us she will, it lasts no more than a few days. That’s how I’ve ended up here, watching her beg another man to stay.
He looks to me for help, and I just shrug. I can’t wade in there. She’ll get violent, and I’m about to meet Jenifer Wood. I think she’s finally going to show me what she shows all the boys at school, and I can’t turn up with scratches and bruises. When he sees I’m not going to help, he kicks her. It’s hard enough to make her cough, and she releases him. I wince. Fucking moron. He didn’t need to hurt her. “Dick,” I mutter, reaching a hand down to Mum to help her up.
“What did you say to me?” he growls.
“I said you’re a dick! Get the fuck out.”
“You little shit, you don’t know who you’re messing with!”
Mum turns her begging to me. “Please, Hudson, don’t upset him or he’ll leave.”
“He’s leaving anyway, Ma. Get off the floor.”
“Do you blame me with the shit I’ve had to put up with for the last six months?” he yells.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Mike, I feel real sorry for you.”
“Mark! My fucking name is Mark, and you know it!” he yells, and I snigger. It always gets him.
“Hudson Scott,” my mum hisses, “apologise right now.”
I shake my head. “No, Ma. He just kicked you. I ain’t apologising.”
“Your kid is fucking unruly!” Mark continues his barrage of reasons he’s leaving when in actual fact, we both know he’ll go get drunk, fuck some whore, and return here tomorrow begging my mum to forgive him. And she will!
My phone rings. “Dad,” I say, relieved to hear a friendly voice. “Can you come get me? She’s drunk.”
“Jesus, that stupid bitch,” Dad hisses. He gives her chance after chance, but she can’t ever stay sober. He got full custody of me when I was six years old, but the weekends are supposed to be when she has me.
After I hang up, Mark begins yelling some more and throwing shit around. I hunch over to protect Mum and it pisses him off, so he comes for me. He’s been dying to for weeks. He grips my leather jacket. I’m too young to wear the club’s kutte just yet, but wearing the jacket makes me feel part of the club. He pulls me to stand straight. “Fucking biker trash. What kind of dad lets his son run with a gang?”
I stare him in the eyes. “It ain’t no gang, Mikey.”
“And this is where you tell me it’s a brotherhood, right?”
“It’s where I don’t bother to explain cos I can’t educate stupid.”
“You little—”
My knife goes in so cleanly, I have to look down to check I got him. His eyes tell me I did, but I didn’t feel the usual resistance. Blood drips from my fingers and I smile, satisfied I got him. “Now, get your hands off me or this knife’s gonna go all the way through.”
He releases me, and I grin just before I withdraw the blade. Mum begins to scream. I grab her, covering her mouth and talking calmly into her ear, asking her to not panic and keep quiet. She eventually nods, and I uncover her mouth. She stares wide-eyed at the bloodied weapon hanging by my side. “You’re just like your father,” she whispers.
I wake with a start. I’m cold and realise I’m still outside but it’s now dark. “Good nap?” asks Hadley, looking amused.
“How long was I out?” I stretch, groaning at the pain in my back.
“Twenty minutes tops. I was just about to wake you. It’s getting cold out here.”
She shivers, and I place an arm around her shoulder and tug her towards me. “Sorry, it’s not like me to sleep like that.”
“You must have needed it.”
I stare up at the twinkling stars just beginning to make an appearance. It’s been years since I’ve thought about my childhood, let alone that part. I shudder. “I need a drink.”
“Or,” says Hadley, pushing up to stand, “we could do something else.”
“Like?”
She bites on her lower lip, and my eyes are drawn to it. I frown, then shudder again. My head must be fucked if I’m noticing things Hadley does. “I know a really nice coffee place. We could head there for an hour.”
“Why would I want to go to a coffee place when I have a bar right in there with my brothers?” She looks down at the ground in disappointment, and I feel like a dick. “Actually, maybe a coffee would be good. I bet Arthur’s still in there anyway.”
We go on the bike. I’ve never had Hadley on the back of mine, not since she was a kid. It feels different now she’s older, but I can’t explain why, so I try not to think about it. She directs me, and I stop outside a cosy-looking place with twinkling lights in the window and a warm glow about it. Inside, customers are talking in low voices, and there’s a woman in the corner singing a soulful tune. It’s relaxing, but I’ve never been in a place like it, and as we take a seat by the window and Hadley shrugs out of her jacket, I feel uncomfortable, like everyone is staring at me.
The waitress heads over. “Two Colombian roast, please,” Hadley orders.
“You got a thing about Colombia,” I mutter.
“Why are you so tense?” she asks, grinning.
“It’s not really my sort of place, is it, Hads? Coffee, small lights, singers.”
“I bet you’ve never even been to a place like this,” she says, looking around. “How can you not love it? When it’s really cold, they have an open fire burning. It’s such an amazing little place.”