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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 23, 2020 6:05:00 GMT -5
The night took a very swift turn. Jock had messaged Nora back instantly but she had wriggled her phone into her tiny purse and talk of the wedding and then Lara bursting into unexpected tears had distracted her. The more they mentioned the wedding, the more unreal it felt. Being a wife wasn't something Nora ever felt she could be; no man had wanted her enough to marry her, and no place had ever felt like home enough to anchor herself to it. They were looking at houses to move into once they were married, somewhere with a nice garden and maybe they would get a dog. It was ridiculous, but it was true. And seeing Lara waving the picture of Pete had made Nora feel overwhelmingly sick; with jealousy? She didn't know.
Swallowing, Nora downed another drink and distracted herself in conversation with Rosa. They were talking about men and how Rosa liked the 'rough' type. Nora thought how that was the opposite of Jock, not that he would admit it. Not that you could really tell that, until you /really/ knew him. He was only hard on the outside because the softness of his heart needed a shield; he was scruffy, not rough, and lonely, not mean. Was that why Rosa was so adamant the two of them were nothing? Because she /knew/ him. Perhaps better than Nora?
The two of them had been through Rehab and shared years together. What had she had with Jock? A few months, a silly kiss, but also two life threatening endeavors. Surely that accounted for something?
'I made them! Inside me!' Lara cried and Nora gave a little unsure laugh.
Life really was terrifying. Three years ago and Lara had been on the brink of death, stabbed and beaten and her child almost murdered because she had chosen to take interest in the wrong man. Right in certain ways, but wrong on the inside. If Nora entertained the notion of her and Jock, would she be the cause of her own destruction? It was obvious that Dermot would offer the ongoing love and protection a grown woman really needed, but then the spark from the redheaded Irishman was always so tempting, intoxicating.
Shaking her head, Nora fumbled with her phone as Rosa faffed with a tissue for a sobbing Lara. She was crying, but her eyes were so bright and all of them were laughing a little, continuing to drink.
'You'll get me started.' Alice murmured, 'Hold on.' she took out her phone and after scrolling for a while, held up a picture of her holding a new-born Freddie in her arms. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes and she giggled a Lara. 'What motherhood does to you.' Alice took another sip of her drink.
A message from Jock had been waiting for about twenty minutes. She hesitated as she stared at his name, a tornado swirling in the pit of her stomach.
/Shudnt that be 'U shud be jealous?' Mybe U shud learn to write 2./
Nora rolled her eyes with a scoff. There had been nothing to feel sick about, he was just being obnoxious. Glancing up, she saw Aoife talking to someone at the bar and frowned. It wasn't George, but he was tall and attractive, and Aoife looked as if she was showing him who was boss. Nora smiled; that was her girl. Aoife had a confidence she had never had before and it was amazing to watch her glow with power. Nora wished she'd had the same self-love when she'd been that age.
/Anyway wot U wearin?/
The second message was sat waiting and Nora hadn't realised. Her breath caught in her throat and she shifted uncomfortably. Was it suddenly hot in here? There was a feeling of excitement and adrenaline making her feel sick; was that the alcohol or was that Jock's question? The bad thing was, Nora had felt a moment of giddiness wash over her as she'd read the message, as if she were about to join in a very fun and risky game. Something she and Dermot used to play all the time. Shaking her head, Nora deleted the messages and looked up just as Aoife and the stranger came to join them.
---
At the bar, Luke had tried not to smirk as Aoife had stuttered in response to his apology. Had she really not expected that? How much of a bastard had she believed him to be? The way she nibbled her bottom lip was driving him mad. That had always been the thing about Aoife Sullivan, how she displayed innocence so easily and so sexily it was enough to kill you. Did she know she was doing it? He didn't think so; that was what made it all the more frustrating.
'Fine.' she started and Luke knew she had been composing this next phrase in her head. 'I accept your apology.'
'Aoife, thanks --'
She cut him off then and stopped, letting his tongue trace his lower lip. He felt like a man on death row being offered another chance at redemption, but first he'd be given some new rules. 'But, if you're buying me a drink, you can buy all the girls one as well.'
Luke smiled a little, impressed by her sureness. But did she really think that a round of drinks would even make a minute dent in his wealth?
'Whatever the lady wants.' Luke nodded. Turning to the bar, he nodded at the table with laughing women and ordered a round of whatever it was they had just had. When he turned back, Aoife was still watching him with fire in her eyes.
'You can bring them over. I'm still a Sullivan after all.'
Aoife turned and strutted across the floor like she owned the building. It was both impressive and humorous how she was now flaunting the name she had so long denied. Did she think it was acceptable now that Max was dead?
What power did she really hold if she was only brave enough to use it when there was no threat. Claiming something she hadn't earned; a name meant nothing until you proved it. And once she was married to George, she would become a Turner and all anyone knew of that name was the hooligan who had been battered to death in a warehouse. Left to rot, unnoticed and unloved; unnecessary to the world. Who would she be then?
The way Aoife had also whispered pathetically defensive, that Luke shouldn't say George's name had struck him. Why wasn't she more ferocious? Was she still ashamed of what had happened, or was she unhappy and lying to him in another way, and any mention of him rather than bringing happiness, birthed distress. Buying himself a whiskey sour, he watched the tray of drinks form on the bar before him and sighed.
He had seen her and been aroused, but she was still as stubborn as ever and he didn't want to work hard to get her. She hadn't changed -- he had, and she needed to see that. Reaching over the drinks, Luke stirred his own and as he did so, a tiny amount of liquid fell from the bottle concealed up his sleeve. It dribbled into the gin and tonic, dissolving beautifully within the spirit. It was just a precaution, in case someone needed shutting down or a girl needed convincing. It would only made her a little bit sick, and then when he was carrying her to get some fresh air, she would lean on him and feel weak and then Luke would become the hero.
Luke Winter wasn't a bad man, he had just learnt how to survive. He hadn't got to where he was easily and yet people like Aoife Sullivan and George Turner skated through, easy, acting like fucking saints. He had watched Aoife leave and not failed to notice the sway of her hips; was she aware she was doing that? Lifting the tray, he headed over to them all with a smile. Seeing Lara with a tear stained face, he handed her a drink first.
Placing them all down neatly, he popped the gin before Aoife and gave a small smile.
'Evening, ladies.' He nodded his head. 'I'm an old acquaintance of Miss Sullivan here and I've come to pay my dues by being your bar-tab for the night.' he flashed a gentle wink at Aoife before Rosa started to say something. Definitely not her type of friend, he confirmed.
'You're so young.' Alice sighed, sipping her new drink.
'I have to go.' Nora murmured and picking up her drink she downed it within seconds and slammed the glass down. 'Sorry, guys. I know this was my idea, but I just have to go okay?' reaching across the table, she kissed Lara on the head with a soft smile. 'Aoife, you have to stay now. Look after her for me.'
Climbing past them all, Nora gave a wave before she disappeared, shrugging on her coat. She was feeling wavy but sure of her decision. She had to get out of here and see him; she knew where she should be tonight.
Alice watched Nora go with a frown. 'Bet she's gone to Dermot.' she murmured. 'Look at us all sat here like a bunch of sad losers.' she scoffed and then glanced at Luke. 'Are you single? We need livening up.' before Lara could even say anything, Alice had taken her hand. 'Let's dance.' she grinned. 'We're just spiralling here. We look great, lets have a good time!'
Just as Luke was about to say something to Aoife, Alice grabbed his arm and tried to drag him onto the dance floor. With his back turned, he didn't see the gin being pushed towards Rosa.
Outside, the fresh air was bitter against her face and Nora moaned. Wrapping her jacket tightly around herself she pulled her phone out of her pocket and pulled up the location app to find him. Within second the little green dot was glowing to show his destination. It had been there idea to make sure they were always safe. Once she had jumped in the taxi, Nora was there in seconds. A pub, very unlike the club she had just stumbled from and there at the bar sat the love of her life.
'Dermot.' Nora grinned as she walked towards him. 'I missed you.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 23, 2020 12:45:00 GMT -5
"What motherhood does to you."
Alice held up the phone and Lara leaned forward to peer at the screen. A tiny little Freddie with a tuff of dark hair, his bleary grey eyes looking to the left off the camera. In a blue sleepsuit and a woolen hat on his head, the sight of the newborn made Lara melt. "He was just gorgeous," she gushed. "They grow too fast. I wish you could pause it sometimes," Lara admitted, wiping her eyes with a sniff and a chuckle. "I just can't believe how much they change your life." In the best possible way though. Even though she had loved the time when it was just her and Pete, having children had given her a real purpose, a reason. She did everything she could to mould herself into the best possible mother she could be. It wasn't always easy, like at three in the morning when your baby was crying their head off and nothing you did worked and you just wanted sleep. But it was the small moments that made it all worthwhile - the first gummy smiles, the snuggles on the sofa in front of EastEnders... Lara suddenly longed to be home with their little warm bodies cuddled up to hers, Pete's strong arms around her.
Aoife returned then, shortly followed by a well-dressed young man. He was broad and clearly looked after himself. His shoes were new; shiny and polished. He stank of money and Lara raised a curious eyebrow in Nora's direction. What was going on? He set down a tray and handed Lara the first drink. Which one of them was he trying to pick up? Did Aoife tell him she already had a boyfriend and now he was going to work his magic on the rest of them? Well, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Well, maybe not with Rosa.
"Evening, ladies. I'm an old acquaintance of Miss Sullivan here and I've come to pay my dues by being your bar-tab for the night."
Rosa also smelt the money and her eyes narrowed. "You don't sound that posh, " she said, tilting her head as Luke finished putting down the glasses. "It sounds put on. I can tell a city boy when I 'ear one. Where are you from?" She glanced from Aoife to Luke, looking more suspicous. "And 'pay your dues'? For what?"
"It's nothing," Aoife interjected and flashing Rosa a warning look. "We met at a party and he lost his wallet so I paid. That's all."
"You're so young," Alice sighed, sipping her drink with a soft sigh and cutting off Rosa before she could question him further. Lara nudged her with a giggle. He was handsome in a way, though maybe that was just the smart clothes. They gave off an aura of wealth and power and Lara knew, without a doubt, he always had the girls swooning. She'd met his type before though and they were always full of themselves.
"I have to go," Nora suddenly announced, downing the drink she'd just been given and getting to her feet. "Sorry, guys. I know this was my idea, but I just have to go okay?" She leaned over the table and kissed Lara's head. She reached up and squeezed Nora's wrist in return.
"Love you. Call me tomorrow! Promise!"
"Aoife, you have to stay now. Look after her for me," Nora said across the table, and Aoife nodded despite her stomach sinking. New plan: get Lara to want to go home. Aoife could go with her and then she wouldn't have to spend any more time in Luke Winters' company. She still wasn't sure if she 100% trusted him. Could he really have changed so much in three years?
"I bet she's gone to Dermot," Alice said as Nora disappeared through the bar, pulling on her coat as she left. Lara watched her go with a slow nod of agreement. Nora had seemed a little distracted tonight, but she wondered if the true reason she was leaving was because Rosa was here? "Look at us all sat here like a bunch of sad losers," Alice continued, before fixing her gaze on Luke. "Are you single? We need livening up."
Ugh. Aoife pulled a face as she looked away, but Alice was already getting to her feet and pulling Luke towards the dancefloor. She had Lara by the other hand, both women laughing as she disappeared into the dancing crowd. Aoife pushed her drink towards Rosa. "Here, you can have this. I'm not feeling so good."
"Thanks," Rosa replied, picking up the gin and tonic. "Look, I know you don't know me from Jack, but I know a cunt when I see one. And he looks like a cunt." Aoife gave a weary chuckle as Rosa sipped at the gin. "You sure you ain't in any trouble?"
"I'm fine," Aoife replied, giving Rosa a small smile. She didn't seem so bad after all, once you got past the brashness and the fact that she didn't seem to have a brain-to-mouth filter. "I promise. And between you and me, yes, he's a cunt." Running a hand through her hair, Aoife sighed and pulled out her phone. "I'm just going to make a call. Back in ten. Would you keep an eye on Lara for me?" Leaving the table, Aoife slipped through the bar into the back corridor. Making her way into the women's toilets, she shut herself in a cubicle and pulled out her phone. Calling George, she waited with bated breath for him to answer. When he did, she exhaled and shut her eyes, savouring the gravelly sound of his voice. "Hey," she smiled, leaning her head against the cubicle wall. "I just wanted to tell you I love you."
Out in the club, Rosa finished Aoife's gin and the rest of her own as well. Nora was gone, Lara and Alice dancing. Every now and then she'd catch sight of them, the city boy always craning his neck to look back at the table. When he noticed Aoife wasn't there, look crossed his face that Rosa didn't quite understand. But just as that thought entered her brain, she felt a sudden wave of dizziness. Rosa shut her eyes as the waves continued to wash over her. Pushing away from the table, she staggered a little to the left. What was happening to her? Panic seized her heart as she stumbled towards the dancefloor, feeling weaker by each passing second. She was struggling to focus and she just wanted to sleep...
The last thing Rosa saw was Lara's confused face before she collapsed heavily on the dance floor.
***
Dermot stayed at the pub for a couple of hours. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be leaving his car and taking a taxi home, but by then, he was already past caring. He didn't want to face Jock yet. That afternoon had been playing sickeningly around his mind all evening and his resentment to Jock grew with each passing hour. How could his nephew's birthday party have passed with such trouble; first Bov acting the prick and then Jock, announcing...
Announcing the truth. This particular part irked him the most. Jock was telling the truth and Dermot was hating him for it. He needed to focus his anger on Max, who definitely was in London, somewhere, and who had obviously lied to him about being in America. Draining his drink, Dermot made his way unsteadily to the toilets. He leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. It took a few rings before it connected. "Dermot? Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Ma."
"Do you know what time it is?" A pause. When she spoke, he heard the accusation in her voice. "Are you drunk?"
Dermot smiled. "No?"
"Bullshit. And it's midnight, if you didn't know, and I was asleep. You know I help the Church early on Sunday."
"Sorry, Ma." Dermot smile faded and he sighed. "Did you get a postcard off Max?"
Caitlin scoffed. "I haven't heard from Max in months. We uh..." Caitlin cleared her throat. "We had a falling out. He's been saying things, Dermot." At this, Dermot straightened.
"What kind of things?"
"He wants his boy." She interrupted him as he began to protest. "I didn't tell you because I thought it was just talk. But the last I heard, he was in New York. Making quite a few connections, I gathered. I don't know. He doesn't seem to want me in his life anymore. Not since..." Dermot felt guilty as his Ma trailed off. Since her affair with Sammy Mullins had been revealed. Since Max found out the truth about who he really was.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I should have told him a long time ago. Anyway, I need to get back to sleep."
"Sure. I'll call you soon. Love you."
"I love you too." Dermot heard the smile in his mother's voice. "Say hello to Nora for me."
Back at the bar, Dermot ordered another whiskey and sat with it between his hands. Would Max really try to steal his son back? After all this time? He'd been given one last chance at freedom and he was throwing it away. But then was Dermot being selfish? Would he have not done the same if Aoife had been taken from him? Of course he would. He would have killed to see his daughter again. And that was exactly what terrified him. Max would destroy anybody standing in between him and his son.
"Dermot."
He was torn from his worries by the sound of his name carried by a soft familiar voice. Dermot spun on the stool and saw Nora, in the cut-out dress with her short hair curled and his heart seemed to stop for one little moment. This woman was his. This amazing and utterly beautiful woman, who was going to be his /wife/, was his. "I missed you," Nora said as she approached him and Dermot stood, reaching to pull her close. He cupped her face with his free hand and dipped his head to kiss her firmly. She tasted like gin and it made him groan.
"I missed you too," he murmured when they broke apart, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Fuck, Nora, I..." He dampened his bottom lip and turned, guiding her into the stool beside his. "Let me get you a drink. I've just... I've been thinking, Nora, and..." Struggling, Dermot sat and ran a hand over his face. After the bartender had served their drinks, he shifted in the stool to face her. "Nora, you know how much I love you, right? And I'd never do anything to hurt you? Just... I just need you to know that. Okay? I'll never let anything bad happen to you. Jock said something earlier... I don't want you to think you can't trust me."
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 27, 2020 7:00:52 GMT -5
Carter Rivera had surprised himself with the decision to become a policeman. As a child, he had never really been one for justice. He believed there was such an amount of injustice in the world that it was just destined to be that way, and no amount of resistance could change the human race. Brought up on a council estate in Brixton, it hadn't exactly been the best place to see the kindness available. His father, a white man, had left when he was young; a few years later, when he was fifteen, Carter would discover that he hadn't /chosen/ to leave, but the bullet wound in his neck had offered no other option.
Sometimes he hated his mother for not telling him. For having to find out in a pub, when he heard someone swirling his fathers name on their drunken tongue, using him as a threat of what is to happen to those who don't pay what they owe. It had been embarrassing. So Carter had taken his glass and before the drunk could finish his sentence, he'd smashed it into the back of his head and he'd crumpled like a marionette.
The night in the jail cell wasn't so bad, but how his mother watched him afterwards was painful; as if she saw her husband in him, like she were ashamed. Amaia Carter was originally from Puerto Rico, her tanned skin and dark hair made her stand out from the ashen white mothers on their estate. She was beautiful, fiery, everything Carter now sought out in a woman. When he had sat her down and told her at eighteen that he was going to train to be a police officer, she had cried with happiness and both of them fell to their knees, her hands on the side of his head as they prayed.
It wasn't such a fairy-tale change, and over the years Carter struggled to maintain the fire within him. The same kind that had overthrown his fathers passion for his family and dumbed him down into a user. It was the week before he was due to start the academy that he'd gotten into his biggest fight, almost lost his life. He had found the man responsible for ending his fathers life and was disgusted to find out it was in fact a boy, no older than seventeen. It had taken all his strength not to end his life.
He was some mixed kid, who had eight siblings in a cramped two bedroom flat; his father was dead, his mother had taken a dive into the Thames. It was sad, but it wasn't an excuse. A fucking /child/ trying to run an empire like a God.
He had swiped at Carter with a blade, caught him unaware and took a chunk from his jaw; the scar was still there today, a gnarled little slice that had thankfully not ruined his looks. As Carter grabbed his face, blood gushing into his palm, he barely had a second to look up as the kid lunged forward and stabbed him in the side. The world went dark as he slumped to the floor, a hot pain piercing through him, the sick rising in his chest. The last thing Carter saw were the dirty trainers scuffing as they ran out of the building. The last he /heard/ was the pulling of a trigger, as the kid took a gun from the beside drawer and blew his brains in front of his little sister.
When Carter woke up in hospital, he saw his mum staring at him with disapproval in her eyes. He closed his own and rolled away.
'Hijo.' she whispered. Then the anger grew. 'Coño, hijo! You stupid boy.'
/Son, damn you/
'Hey!' Carter cut across and turned to face her. His side ached and he winced, laying back. Stretching out his hand, he took her own, his eyes falling shut. 'I didn't touch him, madre.' he assured her. 'It's over. I'm going to the academy, and we're going to have a better life.'
Fast forward seven years, and he had kept his word.
Slamming his locker shut, Carter glanced down the changing room to see Robbie nattering away. The two of them had just started the graveyard shift, the one that no one ever wanted. Carter didn't mind, the night was always soothing; you could hear better, find the culprits faster; the roads were emptier, you could race, feel the rush. There weren't so many good people at night to get hurt. The one part he /didn't/ enjoy so much was the nightclub checks. London was still notoriously dangerous, and so each weekend one of them had to check for suspicious activity at all the locals. Well, every weekend Since Sullivan's had imploded.
Picking a towel from one of the rails, Carter spun it tight before letting it hit the back of Robbie's bare legs. He had just gotten out of the shower and obviously felt he had a compelling story to tell before he got changed.
'Hurry up, Freshman.' he teased, throwing the towel in his face before disappearing into the canteen. Filling up his flask, he thought about how things had changed. Well, the world was still deteriorating just as fast, but he was more aware now; more prepared.
When both of them were ready, Robbie did the driving to the destinations. He hadn't been in the force for long, so Carter had taken him under his wing. And he liked him, believed he had the potential to do well. They played Latino classics on the radio to which Robbie rolled his eyes, but the rhythm was soothing as the streetlights flickered in the car window and the girls in short skirts hurried into crowded clubs, the men with their suits and trainers looking like children with freezing dicks from the wind.
'Do you remember the last time you got to actually /enjoy/ a night out, rather than surveying it?' Carter asked as they pulled up down a side alley. 'Do the rest of your paperwork until I get back.' he winked and flicked a pen at Robbie. The administrative side of this job was a piss-take, but once you knew in the ins and the outs of it all, you had the right to do anything, impose everything.
He was dressed casually, but a stab proof vest over a crisp white shirt. Smart trousers, steel-toed boots. You could be moderately inconspicuous, but also had to be aware that threats were continuous in this place. A p pair of handcuffs swung in his front pocket, with a torch, a pen knife and a taser. Something not every officer had the right to, but Carter had made sure he completed the training for it the second he had started; it was an easy fight eliminator. Sleeves rolled up, he had a chunky snake chain around his wrist; his fathers.
Nodding at the bouncers in passing, Carter glanced around.
'Mind if I crane my neck?' he asked, heading in without hearing the forced permission.
The music inside was loud and he could feel it pounding in his chest; strobe lights blinded you from every angle and bodies moved like a hive, swaying back and forth in groups. Most of the time, the fighting didn't happen inside, but Carter just felt like something was bound to happen. It had been too calm for too long.
Moving around the people, he ignored the women flashing him winks and grabbing his arm and headed to the bar, surveying the crowd with interest. He could see a pretty redhead partying like she had never been outside before, giggling with her friend. Behind them he saw someone he hadn't seen in a /long/ time; Luke Winters. The kid had never really been a threat, more of a big-headed knob who dealt the smallest amounts of flower and cocaine and called himself a dealer. Why was he back?
Then someone yelled and Carter let his eyes roam back to the girls dancing; the brunette who had been giggling was torn away and running to a spot on the floor. Someone had collapsed.
Before anyone else even noticed the situation, Carter was there by Rosa's side. 'Can you hear me?' he called, placing his hand behind her head as he tilted her neck side to side. 'Did she have a seizure?' he asked Lara. Taking his torch from his pocket, he opened one of Rosa's eyes and flashed it inside, seeing her pupils rolling back. 'Speak to me, what happened?' he demanded. Looking up at Aoife, he raised an eyebrow. 'What did she drink?'
Luke Winter suddenly felt the heat rising up the back of his neck and he could either run for it, or act the hero. Moving Aoife to the side, he got down beside Carter.
'What can I do?' he asked.
Carter shoved Luke back with a roll of his eyes. 'Make some space, for one. I need this area cornered off.' clicking the talkie from his pocket, he called back to the car. 'Robbie, get in here.' examining Rosa again, he shook his head. Her body was weak, she wasn't communicating, besides a few murmurs here and there. Her lips were still damp from her drink. 'White female, early twenties; looks like she's been drugged.' he added to the end of the call before looking up at the frightened girls. 'I think you should stay where you are, Winters.' Carter warned as he picked Rosa up carefully in his arms.
By the table they had shared, Luke raised his arms to show he wasn't intending on leaving.
Even though he desperately wanted to.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 28, 2020 5:05:42 GMT -5
Robbie had chickened out earlier and he knew it. If he had known Rosa was back in London, he would have been more prepared. As it was, her sudden arrival had kind of thrown him, and his half-crafted speech had gone to the wayside. /So, I'm an actual cop now. And I can't sort you out with any more drugs./ But what had come out? /I'm thinkin of joining the police?/ Fuckin' idiot. He knew he was breaking every rule and law he was still learning by supplying her... How could he explain that he'd only joined to protect her?
And to be honest, he was loving it. In the six months he'd been enrolled, he'd formed a brotherhood he'd never had out in the streets. Where your reputation rested on how many people you'd stabbed that week and how much money you'd made from selling. Where people were quick to throw you under a bus just to protect their own backs. There was no real trust on the streets. That had died long ago. Now it was each to his own and fuck it if you got caught in the middle.
Robbie hadn't exactly had the best start and the fact that he was still here twenty years later was truly surprising. He'd hung with the bad lot for most of his teenage years and done stuff he wasn't proud of. But he'd also never been caught which had helped a lot in his decision to join the police force. It wasn't as flashy as all the American cop shows on the telly, but it was good enough for him. For once he could actually make a difference.
It was almost funny seeing as he had been raised to hate coppers. His mum, a notorious crack fiend who sold her body most nights, was always the first to start swearing and lobbing bricks when a patrol car slid past the estate, and she had been celled up more times than she'd ever served him hot dinners - which was never, coming to think of it. Most of his meals Rosa had provided, by any means she could. Begging people outside the chippy for half a cone, most of which she would leave to her little brother. She'd been more of a mum than their own mother had, and now Robbie was determined to return the favour. By protecting her in the best way he knew how.
To protect her from Nick Walker.
Robbie had been fifteen when Rosa first introduced Nick. She'd been out of the family home for two years by then, had secured herself a nice little flat that hadn't been too run-down and paid for it by working days at a corner shop and nights at a bar in South London. Robbie had spent a lot of time at the flat at first. It was the last time he remembered Rosa being normal. A smart girl who would have done a lot better at school if she hadn't had so much to deal with at home. She'd been a maths whizz, taking over Robbie's homework whenever he brought it home. It was when she met Nick that things changed for the worse and Robbie had been powerless to stop it.
"This is Nick," she said breathlessly one night, as a tall, clean-shaven young man stepped forward with his hand held out. Robbie had just got through the door, dumping his school bag at his feet and eyeing /Nick/ distrustfully. Robbie alwayd trusted his gut as it had never failed him and for some reason, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He'd glanced at Rosa, but her eyes were bright as she looked at Nick like some love sick puppy. So he'd sighed and shook his hand with a grunt of his name.
"Pleased to meet you, Robbie. I've 'eard a lot about you, mate."
"Oh. I ain't 'eard a thing about you," Robbie returned, earning a glare off Rosa.
She started missing shifts at the shop, then stopped turning up at all. Instead of spending her free time at the flat, she'd only show up four or five times a week, then two or three, until one day Robbie turned up after school to find an eviction notice on the door and a man changing the locks. It was a whole week until she turned up again and he hated what he saw. Her once lucious blonde hair was limp and dull, her skin now sallow and pale. She looked a lot thinner and he wondered if she'd even been eating. There were odd bruises around her throat, but the one thing that had made him feel physically sick were the awful purple puncture marks in the creases of her elbows.
And yet was worse to come...
But for now, all his worries were pushed aside as Robbie laughed and joked with Ollie Grant, another new recruit who'd enrolled at the same time as him. The young man, black skinned and broad, with a cheeky smile that had the receptionist blushing every morning, shook his head with a laugh. "I still can't believe that kid took you out. How tall was he again?"
"Five two," Robbie laughed, heading into the locker room with a towel looped around his waist. "That ain't even the worst of it. He was fourteen with a pair of Levi jeans shoved down his trackies. Wouldn't 'ave been so embarrassing if it were a full grown man." Ollie laughed loudly, before something caught his eye over Robbie's shoulder. He didn't react in time. A crack and a sharp pain on the back of his leg had him cursing, and Robbie spun to see the grinning face of his Sarge, Carter Rivera. Scowling, he rubbed the red mark. "/Ow/."
"Hurry up Freshman."
As Carter walked out, Robbie let himself grin. He'd only been an /actual copper/ on the beat for nearly eight weeks. Months of training had led to him being trained under the watchful guidance of his Sarge. At first he was almost in awe at the man; over six foot, muscled with a scar on his face which told Robbie he had seen his fair share of shit, dealt with it and lived to tell the tale. That scar had given him a weird excitement in the pit of his stomach; a longing for action. He'd asked about it, but Carter had been vague and Robbie hadn't pressed him about it. Same with the scar that ran up Carter's side. What had happened?
Robbie dressed quickly into his uniform and was tightening his belt as he hit the canteen. Twenty minutes later, he was cruising out of the station's underground carpark in their patrol car, some Spanish woman warbling from the radio. Saturday night. Always the roughest and busiest of the week. Last Saturday there had been 137 arrests alone. Robbie wondered, as he eyed up a gang of girls waving WKD bottles and singing ABBA loudly, how many arrests the force would make tonight.
"Do you remember the last time you actually got to /enjoy/ a night out, rather than surveying it?" Carter asked, glancing over at him. Robbie shrugged as he pulled up outside the club; lights flashed from darkened windows and he could feel the bass from here.
"Feels like a lifetime ago. Used to party all the time 'til I joined the Academy." He flashed Carter a rouge grin. "They soon stamp that outta yah." Carter unclipped his seatbelt and flicked a pen at Robbie. It bounced off his chest into his lap.
"Do the rest of your paperwork until I get back," he winked as he slid out the car.
"Yes, Dad," Robbie muttered, sighing heavily and reaching to grab the clipboard out of the glove compartment. The stack of sheets made his eyes water. It had been all right back at school when Rosa had thrown herself into his homework, but this was down to him. It was embarrassing enough knowing he'd only just scraped through the written exams at the Academy. This he had to do alone. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the words and began to fill it in.
***
One moment, an ashen looking Rosa was lurching towards her and the next she was a heap on the floor. Lara gasped, falling to her knees beside her and grabbing her shoulder. "Rosa?!" A few moments later, a man also knelt beside her, his face creased with concern. A cop. Lara watched, sick with worry, as he slid his hand around the back of Rosa's neck and gently tried to rouse her.
"Can you hear me?" He asked as Rosa moaned softly but didn't wake. The officer looked at Lara. "Did she have a seizure?"
"I-I dont know." She watched as he pulled out a torch and began to shine them into each of Rosa's eyes.
"Speak to me, what happened? What did she drink?"
"She was really pale and she just collapsed. She was trying to say something, but I don't know what." Running a hand through her hair, Lara glanced at the table. "Gin and tonics, mostly. A few shots. I don't understand, she was fine." Suddenly Luke was there, also getting to his knees and asking what he could do to help. The officer pushed him back with such a disapparaging look that even Lara shifted a little further away. The cop pressed his fingers to Rosa's throat, then shook his head. "Is she going to be okay?" She asked, her voice a whimper. The cop was too busy to answer though; he was speaking into his radio.
"Robbie, get in here."
Aoife appeared then, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. She'd only been on the phone to George for ten minutes, what had happened?! She looked at Luke, where he was standing, but he didn't look at her. His gaze was on Rosa's limp form. She hurried forward, throwing herself down on Rosa's other side. "I'm a nurse, what's happened?"
"She just collapsed," Lara replied, tears swimming in her eyes.
The cop was still talking into the radio. "White female, early twenties; looks like she's been drugged." Drugged? Aoife reached out and began checking her vital signs, feeling instantly sober as she switched to nurse mode. Drugged? It didn't make sense, unless... had Luke...? The officer seemed to think the same as he flashed Luke a look.
"I think you should stay where you are, Winters."
Aoife was just about to jump to her feet to interrogate Luke when something else caught her eye. She hadn't noticed before in the darkness of the club, but Rosa's arms were covered in scars and there were a couple of freshly bruised track marks. Heroin. Aoife's stomach dropped.
"She's an addict," she blurted out in surprise, meeting the cop's eyes over Rosa's prone form. "Look," she said, pointing out the marks. "She must have taken it before she came here. We need to get her to the hospital."
"An ambulance is on its way," another voice said as the second cop pushed his way through the crowd. "Will be about five min-" He suddenly stopped, eyes widening before he fought his way forward. "Rosa!"
***
Robbie was on his third question on the first sheet when the radio crackled into life. It was hard to make out what Carter was saying over the thrum of music and he leaned forward to catch it.
"- get in here. White female, early twenties; looks like she's been drugged."
Finally, a bit of excitement. Without hesitating, Robbie called back to the station for an ambulance before he got out the car. As he made his way into the club, ignoring the bouncer completely on the way in, he tried to guess at what the situation would be. A spiked drink? Some dodgy drugs? Maybe just low blood sugar - that had happened before. Striding in, he narrowed his eyes against the flashing strobe lights and noticing the circle of people in the middle of the dancefloor, he headed over. Carter was knelt down beside the victim with two other women on either side. Robbie came closer, as one of the women - Irish - mentioned an ambulance.
"An ambulance is on its way," he announced. "Will be about five min-" Robbie trailed off as he caught sight of the unconscious woman, his stomach lurching violently. "Rosa!" Pushing people aside, he threw himself down beside Carter, a horrified look on his face.
"You know her?" Aoife asked, the surprise clear. She wondered if Rosa was maybe on some kind of black list down at the station. She barely knew the woman as it was; she could have a criminal record a mile long as far as she knew. The younger officer was nodding and he looked at his colleague desperately.
"She's my sister," he said weakly.
"She... She may have overdosed," Aoife told him uncertainly.
"Overdosed?" Robbie felt sick and he looked back at his sister. Fuck... Was this all his fault? If he'd just been straight with her earlier... Somewhere, the music died down and the shrill of sirens growing closer caught their attention. Aoife and Lara stood, making room for the paramedics impending arrival. The older woman was shivering, eyes wide and Aoife put an arm around her.
"She'll be okay. They'll run some tests at the hospital," Aoife tried to reassure her as her gaze slid back to an uncomfortable looking Luke. He kept glancing at the doors that led back out onto the street, his posture stiff even though he was trying to look relaxed. "...They'll find out /exactly/ what is going on." It was another ten minutes before Rosa was loaded onto the back of the ambulance, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. Robbie and Carter stood and watched, before Robbie turned to him, scrubbing his hands over his head in frustration.
"Do you think she'll okay?" He asked, unable to even contemplate anything else. "Carter, I have to be with her. She needs me." They spoke for a few minutes before Robbie climbed into the back of the ambulance. The paramedics slammed the doors before it sped off, sirens wailing, leaving Carter to finish up at the scene; he'd pick Robbie up after. "This is all my fault," Robbie muttered to himself, sinking his face into his hands.
***
In the club, Aoife took Lara to one side and told her to call a cab. "Take Alice and wait for me. I'll be five minutes." Lara nodded, leading Alice out by the hand, already on the phone to the nearest taxi company. Aoife turned and sought Luke from the rapidly thinning crowds. "I don't know what's going on," she began before he could speak. "But you look shifty as hell. You might want to check your face before the police speak to you." She looked him up and down, shook her head and went to walk away, only for Luke to snatch her wrist. She looked back at him darkly. "What?"
***
In the hospital, Robbie sat by Rosa's bedside as the doctors took blood samples and hooked her up the machines. In the stark brightness of the hospital, the marks on her arms showed up worse than ever. When the doctors left, Robbie gently lifted the sheet and pulled it up to her chest to hide them. Had he nearly killed his sister? Was she here because of him? What if she didn't wake up? How would he live with himself? Tears burned. Angrily, he dashed them away. All he could do now was wait.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 4, 2020 11:26:48 GMT -5
Nora wasn't sure who she had expected to see with Dermot, but she hadn't imagined him alone. He pulled her in, holding her tightly and for a moment it made her heart strain. This whole night had been wrong since the beginning, and as she saw her future husband sat here drinking in solitary confinement, she felt to blame. Perhaps leaving him in the midst of all this drama hadn't been the most selfless of ideas, but she was back now.
'You're alone?' Nora asked as he dipped his head to kiss her. 'And drunk?' she added, tilting his chin up when he pulled back.
There was some foreboding sense about him and the excitement she had felt to be returning to him was now washed over with uncertainty. Was everything okay? Maybe he was here because Jock had spilled the truth; perhaps he had seen their text exchange? Well then he would've noted she hadn't replied. Nora had done /nothing/ wrong. Thoughts didn't count, he couldn't read minds; everything was fine.
'Fuck, Nora... I...' his face crumpled as he leaned over to get the barman's attention. 'Let me get you a drink.'
'Gin and Tonic please.' Nora murmured to the server before looking back at Dermot.
'I've been thinking, Nora, and...'
Nora's heart sank and she chewed her lip, reaching out her hand to take his own. So much bigger in comparison, strong, honest working hands; warm, with small callouses on the underside. Maybe he was having second thoughts. Maybe he was /right/ to have these thoughts?
Their drinks came and Nora downed half of hers before she'd even took a breath. She wasn't nearly as drunk as she would've hoped to be, and especially not for this situation. The euphoria had dissipated and now she was nervous. Sometimes she felt like she didn't deserve Dermot, and it seemed it had only taken him time to realise that too.
'Nora, you know how much I love you, right?' Dermot started and Nora glanced over her drink with a gentle nod. /Too much/. 'And I'd never do anything to hurt you?' Yes, she didn't need reminding that the hurt was all on her side; her and Jock, diminishing the respect and loyalty Dermot deserved.
'I just need you to know that, okay?'
'I know that.' Nora murmured, placing her hand on his knee and distracting herself by pulling at a loose thread.
'I'll never let anything bad happen to you.'
'You never have.' Nora agreed. /Ever/
'Jock said something earlier... I don't want you to think you can't trust me.'
Nora felt her face crumpling. She had been on the brink of a heart attack as Dermot struggled to find the words. Jock had said something? Something that made Dermot feel the need to prove /his/ trust? Placing her drink down, Nora jumped up and filled the gap between them. Taking Dermot's face in her hands she gave a soft smile; the corners of his eyes were creased with worry.
'Jock talks out of his arse.' Nora declared, brushing her thumb across his jaw. 'You don't need to prove anything to me. I think it's the other way round -- I don't deserve you.' swallowing, she glanced away. What a sombre night.
Not too far away, the drama was unravelling.
Alice had been happily dancing to some eighties revival when Lara had sprung away, sensing the danger before it had happened. Rosa wasn't even touching the ground when Lara got to her. What had happened? For a brief moment, Alice turned her brain off and glanced away, still swaying with her arms above her head. Perhaps she had just tripped, she told herself, but then a strong waft of aftershave, spearmint gum and leather brushed her nose and Alice saw an officer striding through the crowd.
'Lara?' Alice called, stumbling along.
The look of the officer, with his bullet proof jacket and steel toed boots reminded her all too much of the men who had come to her door to tell her about Gary's /accident/. For the briefest of seconds, the wind was knocked out of her. The music faded into dull thudding and she could see the two men, broad shouldered and barely fitting on her small sofa. One of them was a cadet, in his uniform, holding his beret beneath his arm. The other, a constable with a forlorn look on his face.
She could smell the coffee she had made them, it was too strong, practically like gravy. She had shovelled cubes of sugar into their cups without asking and remembered it tasting like children's cereal; sugar puffs, to be exact. The ones she didn't like Freddie having. Then the music hit her in the chest like a wave and Alice caught herself and came to stand by Lara, seeing a limp Rosa on the floor. Everyone was stood around her now and Alice didn't know what to do or say.
The officer was mumbling something, and the new boy was looking wary.
'She's an addict.' Aoife murmured as the officer inspected Rosa, flashing a light in her eyes and gently moving her. For someone with such big hands he had such a way of acting delicate. 'Look.'
All their eyes were drawn down to the marks on her arm and Alice frowned; why weren't they all more shocked? For a moment Luke almost smiled at this revelation; it put him in the clear.
Someone else came through the crowd then, an officer in response to the call, and he had looked sturdy and prepared until he saw the body.
'Rosa!'
The second man dropped to the floor and it all seemed so ridiculous to the point that Alice gave a nervous chuckle. She was clenching her hands so tight her nails were piercing her palm; they should all just have stayed at home. As the two officers conversed, Alice took her phone from her bag and found herself ringing Nora without hesitation. Why? Her fingers fumbled clumsily and the bass was so loud it had become painful.
'Take Alice and wait for me.' She heard Aoife's voice and looked up.
'Aren't you coming?' Alice asked as her friend lead her out of the club. The dance floor parted like a sea, the bouncers preparing to get people either out or in for questioning.
'Aoife.' Luke attempted when the girl swung back to him. He had been stood still like a useless melon and knew she would no doubt come at him for it. What was he supposed to do? Carter already hated his guts, he didn't want to give him more ammunition.
'I don't know what's going on.' she pushed and Luke felt a relief inside of him. /Good/. 'But you look shifty as hell. You might want to check your face before the Police speak to you.' she looked him up and down then in such a way it made him blood boil.
He wanted to push her, say, 'I thought you didn't know what's going on?' but he didn't. He bit his lip, tried to keep the look of worry on his face. For his own wellbeing, but believable. worry all the same. He was grabbing her wrist and he quickly released.
'I'm sorry about your friend.' he attempted, softly. /Sorry it wasn't you/ he thought with frustration. 'But I had /nothing/ to do with this. Why would I?' he tried, exasperated. 'I didn't even know who she was until five minutes ago -- why would I, what, /drug/ her? In front of you? Think about what you're saying, Aoife. You're in shock. She's a user, we all saw that.' putting out a hand, he went to touch her but dropped it. Don't be a predator, tonight, he reminded himself. She had to come to him first. 'Here.' he handed over a £50 note, folded neatly. 'For you girls, to get home, safe.' he nodded his head when she wouldn't take it.
He watched her for a moment, could see she was almost shaking and shrugged off his jacket.
'Get home safe. Let me know how she is, okay?' he held it out for a long while as she hesitated. 'Make sure George looks after you. He doesn't know just how lucky he is.' he gave a shy smile and glanced away, flashing a dimple.
----
Carter realised in that moment that he didn't know Robbie at all. He had a sister? He had perhaps heard him mention a sibling, /once/ but he hadn't mentioned how beautiful she was. It hadn't happened how either of them had intended; Robbie had wanted some great feat to thrust him into the action and Carter had wanted to show him the ropes in a way that made him giddy like a school child. Not frightened for his family.
'She's my sister.' the way he spoke sounded painful, as if there were a ball in his throat. Carter found himself looking up in shock. He hadn't expected that.
It was always different when it was personal; he knew the struggles all too well to not relate to the feelings churning in his partners stomach. When he had been face-to-face with the kid from the estate, waving a gun, weak and yet dangerous. If he had committed any other crime it would've been pitiful, but he had murdered his father and he had been so close to exacting revenge.
'She... she may have overdosed.' An Irish girl suggested. The /nurse/.
'Overdosed?' Robbie didn't sound shocked, just disappointed and afraid.
That would explain why she hadn't been mentioned before. In the blur of it all, it made sense, especially with the track lines in her arms, but something in the back of his mind was screaming otherwise. Carter didn't normally give into the obvious -- everything extraordinary could be explained away, but most of the time there was something deeper. That was sadly one of the parts of being a cop that he hated -- the desperation to find a quick and easy solution, rather than digging for a buried truth no one wanted uncovered.
Soon Rosa was taken away and Carter watched her until she was out of sight, standing himself just a little in front of Robbie so he didn't race after her just yet. She looked so fragile, like a bird.
'Do you think she'll be okay?' Robbie asked and Carter glanced at the ground. He didn't respond for a moment, hesitating before meeting his partners gaze.
'If she's related of you, I'm sure she's tough as shit.' he tried to laugh but it was strained.
'Carter, I have to be with her. She needs me.'
The club was almost completely empty now. For some reason Carter felt an uneasiness in his stomach; he didn't normally care so much, so was putting it down to being his partners family. It was more than that, though. Before Robbie had barged in, claiming his sibling was the unconscious Snow-White on the floor. He had felt something, watching her, like he knew her. He had /never/ seen her before, but he had felt a jolting connection that had scared him. If he wasn't at work, if this wasn't a crime scene and if he had just been out for a casual drink, Carter knew he'd be in the ambulance with her right now.
'Keep calm, okay?' Carter murmured, pulling Robbie close so no one else could hear. 'Don't lose your head. Remember, you're an officer, and this is still an investigation, whether she is your sister or not.' pulling back, he looked the man up and down and offered a warm smile. 'I'll give you a call once I'm done here. Go.' he placed a hand on Robbie's shoulder. 'Go.' he repeated and watched him disappear.
What a night.
In the taxi, Alice had attempted to call Nora but the signal had failed and she'd been too dazed to attempt again. It was a strange, somber end to the night. Her house was the first stop and she could feel herself shivering. Why was she afraid? Supposedly Rosa had done this to herself, but all the same it wasn't very nice to see.
'Message me when you're both in.' Alice smiled as they all hugged, longer and tighter than usual. She couldn't wait to get in and see Dave; the living room light was still on and she could see the television casting a hazy glow.
Stopping on her own doorstep, Alice watched the taxi go before she pulled her phone back out. In all of the madness, no one had told Nora what had happened. She would need to know. Why? Because of Jock, or because they were friends? Chewing her lip, Alice thought about it for a few moments before dialing.
Nora answered almost right away. 'Are you okay?' she asked, sounding panicked. Then a smile spread across her face. 'Are you just missing me?' she teased.
Alice felt a sob wrack her body and felt foolish for letting the alcohol and her emotions take over.
'Hey.' Nora frowned, leaning away from Dermot and sliding off the stool. 'Alice, is everything okay?'
'Rosa.' Alice managed. 'She... she's in an ambulance. The police came, and I don't really know what happened, but they think she overdosed.'
Nora didn't know what to say for a moment but felt an angry heat rise through her body. 'She /what/?' she asked. She had heard exactly what Alice had said, but wanted to hear it again.
'She had these marks on her arm. She just... she just passed out, and the police came and now she's gone.' glancing around, Alice saw her breath fan out before her, imitating a cigarette. 'Her brother was there.'
'She brought her brother out after I left?' turning to Dermot, she raised an eyebrow. 'Did you know Rosa had a brother?'
'No.' Alice frowned. 'He was one of the policemen.'
Nora ended the call with a thanks, before assuring Alice she wasn't mad and that she wanted her to go inside now. When Alice finally managed to pull herself up, she stepped into the warmth of her home and smiled to see Dave and Freddie asleep on the sofa. Dave was laid down, Freddie cocooned at his feet in a onesie, a blanket covering the both of them. The television was showing some old movie, Jason and the Argonauts; the Claymation was hurting her head.
'I'm not asleep!' Dave mumbled as she accidentally knocked the table, sending the empty popcorn bowl skidding across the wooden floor.
Smiling, Alice picked it up and smoothed her hand over her husbands sleepy face.
'Not without me, you're not. Move over.' pulling the blanket up, Dave let Alice squeeze in front of him as Freddie curled closer to the sofa arm at the opposite edge. They had a lavish corner unit, so they could just about all fit. Smiling, Dave nestled his face into her neck and wrapped his arms tight around her middle, and Alice tried to sleep off the panic that the world was still very much dangerous.
Back in the pub, Nora stared at her phone for a moment as the anger surged inside her. 'Rosa is using.' she murmured, downing the rest of her drink angrily. Waving the barman over, she ordered two shots of tequila and downed it with a wince. 'I /knew/ she was no good for him.' but Dermot wasn't listening; someone had just called him.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 7, 2020 13:34:52 GMT -5
"I'm sorry about your friend. But I had /nothing/ to do with this. Why would I? I didn't even know who she was until five minutes ago - why would I, what, /drug/ her? In front of you?"
The worry creased his face and Aoife felt herself relent a little. Was she reading this all wrong? He had a point. What would he gain from coming here today and doing that? It wasn't as if he'd known she was there until he saw her, sent the text. She suddenly felt a little ridiculous and a flush rose in her cheeks.
"Think about what you're saying, Aoife. You're in shock. She's a user, we all saw that."
Luke reached out a hand, seemed to think better of it, and let it drop again. He was right; Rosa had used, and mixed with the alcohol, was why she had collasped. How many times had Aoife seen it on the ward? London was one of the drug capitals of the country as it was. He looked away with a sigh, then freed a crisp fifty from his pocket. He offered it to her, but she didn't take it straight away.
"Here. For you girls, to get home safe."
Luke nodded his head and Aoife sighed and plucked the note from his hand, the guilt still stirring in her gut. Had she been too hasty? Had he actually changed? Three years was a long time; a lot of things could change a person. Plus would he really be hanging about to talk to a cop if he was the one who had drugged her? Even thinking about it now, it sounded ridiculous. "Luke..." He noticed her shiver and was already shrugging out of his jacket. His really expensive jacket which smelt of equally expensive aftershave. For a moment, she caught a whiff and it stalled her. He had definitely changed. They were both just stupid kids back then, that was all.
"Go home safe. Let me know how she is, okay?" He held out the jacket, waiting patiently for her to take it. Relenting, she reached out and pulled it over her shoulders; it was still warm. "Make sure George looks after you. He doesn't know just how lucky he is." He dropped his gaze, his smile shy and a dimple flashing in his cheek. Aoife hesitated for a moment, then nodded and flashed him the smallest strained smile.
"I'll text you. About Rosa," she quickly added, glancing around as the cop appeared behind her, his dark eyes trained on Luke. Aoife cleared his throat and with one last look at Luke, ducked her head and disappeared from the club. Alice and Lara were waiting outside, both pale and huddled together. Both pairs of wide eyes sought Aoife as she approached. For a moment, they just stood and looked at each other, but Aoife didn't know what to say. She was exhausted. "Let's just go home," she murmured.
The taxi ride was quiet beside the radio the driver hummed along to. "I hope she's okay," Lara said eventually as they neared Alice's house.
"I'm in at six. As soon as I get news, I'll text you. Both of you," Aoife offered with a smile. Lara returned it weakly. The taxi pulled up outside Alices house; the living room light glowed from the window. They all hugged, the mood still somber as the redhead climbed out and headed into her house. Lara waved from the window as the taxi pulled away, Alice disappearing into the house and from sight.
"I can't believe Rosa is an addict," Lara spoke up, worrying her bottom lip. Aoife nodded, unfolding and refolding the £50 note.
"I guess that's why shes with Jock. Nora said they met at Rehab." Aoife looked up from folding the note. "I don't think she has many friends. I mean, I don't know her, but..."
"I know what you mean. We should keep an eye on her," Lara replied. "Maybe a friendship that doesn't revolve around drugs would help?" The taxi hit her street, pulling up to a stop outside her house. Aoife nodded in agreement.
"/If/ she wants help," she replied with a sigh, as Lara unclipped her seatbelt. "You'd be surprised at how far users will go for a fix." She saw Lara shiver and reached out to squeeze her hand. "Try to get some sleep. I'll message you in the morning."
"Night." Lara smiled then got out the taxi, shivering against the cold. She waved before heading into the house. Aoife sat back as the taxi set off once more, her mind running over the night again and again. Rosa collapsing, Luke's reaction... She shifted, remembering she was still wearing his jacket. It smelt strongly of him. She thought back to the Poker night, the way he had looked at her, the way his hands had felt on her body.
As the taxi pulled up outside her house, she leaned forward and handed the driver the £50. "Thanks, have a good night."
"You too," he nodded in return, watching the young woman get out the taxi and head towards the front door. And then he drove off with Luke Winters' jacket folded neatly on the back seat.
***
Dermot knew he shouldn't have drank so much. Alone, his thoughts spiralling, the drinks had flowed too easily. Now Nora was here, frowning at him in that gentle concerned way of hers that made him love her even more. How could he have lied to her for so long? And it had become so easy as well, to push aside those thoughts of Max and live as if he was no longer here. It had been hard at first, the fake mourning. Or had it been fake?
Because Dermot /had/ mourned, just not over his brother's alledged death. Instead he had mourned the loss of the brother he had once known, the little boy with the messy curls and cheeky smile, the scabs on his knees and the dirt beneath his nails. He'd mourned the bond they had once shared as dearthairs, a bond that had seemingly been unbreakable, yet had shattered like glass.
To see that same little boy in Charlie was almost painful. And he had hated Max to a point for throwing away something for precious, for destroying any chance he had at normality. At a real life. Dermot wasn't a stupid man. At some point, the news would break and the truth would be out.
Dermot was a dirty liar.
He bought Nora a drink and she sat and listened to him speak, her hand warm on his knee as she fiddled uncertainly with a loose bit of thread. He was rambling, he knew. And Nora was ever so patient, as always. Finally, she finished her drink and stood, cupping his face and staring into his eyes with such an intensity it made his heart ache. Then she smiled, worry in her eyes, and he cursed himself for being such a bastard.
"Jock talks out of his arse. You don't need to prove anything to me. I think it's the other way around... I don't deserve you."
"Ridiculous," Dermot replied in his best English accent, though his smile was weak. He sighed and pulled her close so she was sat on his knee, an arm wrapped securely around her. He kissed her neck and the spot beneath her ear, savouring the familiarity of her perfume. "You're leagues above me, Nora, even if you don't realise it. If you could see yourself how I see you-"
He was interrupted by Nora's phone buzzing in her jacket. He watched her pull it out, Alice's name lit up on the screen. She answered it, making a joke about being missed, but her smile was quick to fade. She slid off Dermot's lap, voice growing a little louder. "Alice, is everything okay?" Dermot frowned, trying to hear the tiny voice of Alice that filtered from the phone, but he couldn't work out what she was saying. But then Nora's lips parted in surprise. "She /what/?"
"/Who/ want?" Dermot whispered to her, but Nora was too wrapped up in the conversation to hear.him. Dermot's heart dropped. His mind instantly flew to Max. Had he made an appearance after all? Had he chosen tonight to make his grand entrance? Had he gotten to Lara? Or Aoife?
"She brought her brother out after I left?" She glanced at Dermot, and his brow puckered in confusion. Brother? "Did you know Rosa had a brother?"
Rosa? Brother? Dermot shook his head. And then his own phone rang, Aoife's name flashing. Just what on earth was going on? All sorts of scenarios flashed through his mind as he quickly answered. "Aoife, what's happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. Nothing to worry about, I don't think..." She sounded unsure and Dermot shifted in his seat impatiently.
"Aoife."
"Rosa collasped at the club. I /think/ she overdosed."
"What? Where are you?"
"I'm at home. She's been taken to hospital. Can you call Jock? I nded to get some sleep, I'm in work in four hours."
"Of course. Are you sure you're okay though? No... no other drama?" He heard Aoife hesitate, glancing at Nora; she was downing tequila, so he knew she must be annoyed.
"No, no it's fine, I promise. I'll call you after I get to work. Just tell Jock to get to the hospital. She needs someone there." They said their goodbyes and cut the call, Dermot sending Jock a quick message.
/Rosa collapsed at the club. She's in hospital, you need to get there. Sorry about earlier./
Pocketing his phone with an exhale, he waited until Nora had hung up, then leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. "I'm starting to think we all attract a bit too much bad luck," he sighed, waving the barman over so he could pay his tab. "Let's get out of here." So Rosa was still using? It was all starting to make sense. The constant scratching of her wrists for one. Meeting Jock in Rehab... Did Jock know? Had he been keeping it a secret too? Too many unanswered questions were rattling through his brain and he just couldn't /think/.
***
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 13, 2020 7:21:48 GMT -5
Luke thought the night had gone quite well. As well as it could've gone, given the wrong girl got spiked and dragged to hospital with the word /druggy/ floating above her head. It wasn't exactly unwarranted, it just wasn't true in that instant. By the time they finished doing all the tests for the heroin, they would miss the real drugs, the traces dissolving from here veins in the mere hours after her arrival. When the idea raised itself, there would be nothing to find.
No evidence Luke Winter had done anything, and even if they did find /something/ what hold did they have he had been the one to do it? Her amateur dramatics had only been heightened because of what was already in her system anyway; did that mean she deserved it? Luke wasn't saying no... As she had fallen like a marionette, her skirt had flashed that smooth stretch of thigh and for a moment, he knew he wouldn't have hesitated in feeling it if they were alone.
He was a man, he had needs. He didn't /need/ to stoop to drugging, to plying with alcohol and money, expensive watches, neck kisses, but he did, because he could. What was the point in having everything if everyone else didn't know? Did he wear the expensive suits for him, yes, but did he get the shirts with the silk lining so the women would feel protected when they slipped them on in the morning? Also yes. Fuck yes, he loved the look and he loved the power as they sauntered around in his clothes, leaving their traces on his wooden floor.
It could've been Aoife waking up beside him this morning. Slipping on his shirt, tiptoeing to make coffee. She should've taken her drink, he could've put his hand on the small of her back and taken her out for some air when she felt /dizzy and hot/ and both would slip into the quickest taxi out of there. But no, some newbie had taken it, taking everything within reach that was free, because she was sad and blonde and fragile, and even if she was pretty, she was below his standards and had ruined his night. Oh well, there was always today.
Luke was waiting for Aoife to call him to say that she had his jacket, was perhaps still wearing it and sniffing the aftershave without admittance. She had taken it and it had flattered her petite frame, making him feel a surge of ownership. He never got the protection instinct, was merely selfish in all of his actions, but sometimes the selfishness looked kind to foolish people; offering a jacket when he wanted to mark territory, not save her shivering shoulders. Buying a drink, which barely even sunk into the mountains of money, to get her trust, not to appease the group.
His phone rang then and Luke smirked, rolling over to get it. He was laid in bed, the quilt around his bare torso, the sun stretching through the partially shut curtains. The name that flashed didn't resemble any form of the Irish girl, be he shrugged off the /unknown caller/ and answered it. Prepared for gushing reviews for his actions last night.
'So, you got home, lucky charm?' Luke asked , the smirk sliding from his face almost instantly.
'Ello?' it was a thick, gruff Essex voice booming at him. 'Mate, ere... I've got a jacket with your name in it, in the back of me car.' there was a sound of ruffling. 'Your name was stitched into the back, is it really worth that much? Fuck me, I think I'd better keep it then!' a dirty laugh Luke didn't have the time for.
'You do that.' he murmured and slammed the phone down. He could get that jacket anywhere, but what he couldn't get hold of seemed to be Aoife Sullivan. As he slammed his phone down, Luke thought hard about what to do. Had she left it on purpose? Of course. To annoy him just because she could, continuing to play the same game they did as children. Although his skin was itching, he wasn't going to rise just yet.
Calling her number, Luke stood before the window and pushed the curtain open, the morning soon pooling across his body like Adonis. It rang for a long time before coming to the answering machine, and lighting a cigarette, he waited patiently.
'Aoife.' he smiled down the line. 'I'm just ringing to check you got home safe, and that your friend is okay? A taxi driver just rang me, quite worried actually as you left in such a rush, you left my jacket behind? I hope you weren't too cold.' he could see her nipples bumping in that dress, the flesh of her skin dimpling from the breeze. 'The police asked me a few questions and I was good to go. I just want to make sure everything's okay. I feel /awful/. exhaling the smoke slowly, he glanced down at the world and the people like ants. 'I'm guessing you're at work, saving lives, so get back to me when you can. I'll be waiting.' a grin as he hung up.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 16, 2020 8:21:00 GMT -5
Robbie sat beside the hospital bed and tried to swallow down the lump lodged in his throat. Rosa lay still and pale and wired up to various machines and an I.V drip. The word overdose had been thrown around by the doctors and nurses that had surrounded her when she came in enough times to make Robbie feel physically sick.
What had he done?
It felt like hours passed while he was sat in that chair, unmoving, unable to take his eyes off the rise and fall of her chest. /God, please don't let her die. I'll do anything. Just don't let her die, please./ He remembered being at the Academy, sat in a stuffy room with thirty others, watching a slide from a projector on the wall. All about drug addicts, how to handle them, what they might find. He remembered the photograph of the man who had overdosed on heroin curled up dead on the floor, his lips swollen and purple and his tongue protruding. At the time, Robbie had looked away, guilty thoughts on his sister, but now that image haunted him every time he shut his eyes. /It could have been her/.
It was when the birds began to sing outside the large window that overlooked the city that Rosa finally stirred. Blinking blearily, a small groan escaping as she tugged the oxygen mask off her face, the sun just bobbing over the horizon. Robbie stood quickly and took her hand. "Rosa? Rosa, it's me." He watched the fog in her eyes clear a little as she looked at him. She frowned, then weakly tried to push herself up.
"What are you wearin', you idiot?"
"What?"
"Why are you dressed like that?" Rosa sat up and looked around in confusion. "Where am I?"
"You're in 'ospital, Rosa. You collapsed at the club." To his dismay, Rosa began to remove the wires taped to her arms. He went to stop her. "Leave it, we're tryin' to help you."
She pushed him away. "I don't need help, Robbie. I never 'ave. Anyway, why you dressed like that? You look like a right dick." She winced as she removed the drip, blood beginning to run down her arm. "Take it you got a car? Let's go before the nurse comes." She was already off the bed before Robbie could stop her. He quickly blocked the door.
"No, Rosa, listen to me. I can't let you leave. You ain't well." She paused and gave him an incredulous look.
"/You/ can't let me leave?"
"No... I'm a cop, Rosa, a real one. An' I 'ave to do this properly. You need help." For the first time since waking, Rosa really looked at him. Stared at the uniform and the name badge that read P.C Croft and then stared at his face as if she didn't even know who he was. Her lip curled.
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? A cop? Since when? You told me yous was just applyin'. You lied to me."
"I... I didn't lie."
"Yes you fuckin' did. Now get the fuck out of my way." Rosa was furious. The night before was nothing but a blur, her head ached and her body was already itching for another fix. But none of that was as bad as her little brother stood there like an absolute tool telling her he was a cop. What. The. Fuck. Ignoring his protests, she grabbed her handbag off the floor beside the bed, muttering about 'thieving bitch nurses' as she searched through it. At the door, Robbie tried to stop her passing again.
"You overdosed. You need 'elp."
"/You/ need 'elp. A fuckin' cop. You're 'aving a laugh!" There was a knock and Robbie shifted aside to let it open, watching her warily in case she tried to run. She glared back at him. Another officer stepped in; tall and broad, dark haired with equally dark eyes. Stupidly good-looking. His gaze went from Robbie before resting on her. She hated the concern she saw there and felt her anger flare. "What the fuck do you want?" She demanded.
"Rosa." Robbie shook his head as Carter stepped in and shut the door behind him. "I'm worried about you."
"Well, you don't need to be. And you ain't so innocent yourself, are ya? 'Ow 'bout we talk about that, eh?" She smirked when she saw the flash of panic in his eyes. "Exactly, so get the fuck out my way." Head high, she shouldered past Carter and strutted out into the corridor. Robbie ran his hands over his face.
"Can you say something to 'er?" He asked Carter desperately. "She ain't listenin to me. She /won't/ listen." Sinking down onto the chair, he watched Carter stride after her, and wondered how long his newfound career would last him. Would she spill that he was the reason she was in hospital anyway?
***
Nora never replied. But had he really expected him too? Jock knew when he sent the text that it wasn't a joke between friends, but an invite into a risky game. An invite Nora had turned down, no doubt deleting the text. And he couldn't blame her, not really. And as the night had passed into the early hours, Jock had found himself drinking more and more and regretting sending the text at all.
/Wot U wearin?/
What had he been thinking? Dermot never returned and he wondered if he knew, if she had shown him, if they were sat there together now thrashing out a plan to confront him. If Dermot wanted to punch him, Jock would allow it. It was the least he deserved. Drunk and confused over his own emotions, Jock had fallen asleep by the fire, the empty whiskey bottle nestled between his thighs. When he did wake, the sun still wasn't up, but his phone was vibrating softly in his pocket. Rubbing his eyes, he fished for it. The missed call flashed on his screen, along with two others and a text. The text was from Dermot and Jock would have been lying if he said he didn't jerk upright, his heart in his throat.
/Rosa collapsed at the club. She's in hospital, you need to get there. Sorry about earlier/.
The hospital? Jock moved to the missed calls; all three from an unknown number. Without hesitating, he rang back. The call connected almost instantly. "Hello?"
"Is this Jock?" A young female voice filtered down the line. In the background, he could hear a symphony of voices, machines beeping and the squeak of trolley wheels. "I'm calling on behalf of Rosa Croft. Your number was the only one in her phone."
"Is she okay?"
"Well, we'd like you to come down to the hospital. She's alive, but-"
"I'll be right there." He hung up, pausing only to throw on a fresh shirt before he was out the door. The traffic was frustratingly slow, and Jock cursed every slow driver he was stuck behind. Rosa had collapsed? How had Dermot found out? /Through Nora, you dumb bastard/. Was Nora going to be at the hospital too? Was he going to have to face up to what he had messaged her so soon? And Rosa, was she okay? What had happened? As the sun peeped over the horizon, turning the sky a creamy pink, Jock floored it past two BMWs and squealed up the road to the hospital. Inside, he grabbed the arm of the nearest nurse. "Rosa Croft, where is she?"
She gently prised his hand off. "Right this way, sir."
"What happened to her?" He demanded, keeping up with the nurse's strides as she led him down the corridor, their shoes squeaking against the shiny floor.
"Suspected drug overdose. Are you a friend or family?"
"Family," he lied. Well, he was as good as. Who else was looking out for her? But the word overdose made him uneasy. Suspected overdose? But she'd been /fine/, he'd seen her leave. Had she taken more once she was out? She was getting out of control. The nurse led him to a door.
"I'll be back soon to top up her meds. She should be awake by now." The nurse left and Jock launched himself into the room only to be greeted by an empty bed. The room wasn't empty though. Sat on the chair was little Robbie Croft. He jumped up as soon as he saw Jock, hands in front of him defensively.
"Jock-"
"What the fuck did you give her?" Jock snarled, reaching him in three long strides and grabbing the front of his jacket. So Rosa was right; her brother really had switched sides and joined the force. He slammed Robbie hard against the wall. "I told you to stay out of it. I had it under control."
"She came to /me/," Robbie protested, face flushed. "If I hadn't sorted it, she would have gone elsewhere!"
"Bullshit," Jock hissed, leaning close. "Tell me why I shouldn't smash your fuckin' face in now? And where is she? Huh? /Tell me where Rosa is, I swear!/"
***
Aoife barely slept. George had been out like a light when she returned and she had shed her dress, crawled into bed beside him and curled up against his warm body. Her mind was wired and no matter how much she tossed and turned, she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. Rosa collasping had been one thing, but Luke Winters turning up out of the blue?
Something wasn't siting right wih her. The police officer had been the first to suggest she had been drugged and she trusted his professional opinion. But the track marks were hard to ignore, even if Rosa had been in good spirits before hand. She hadn't /looked/ high, but then what did Aoife know about that other than what she had learnt at med school? She'd had no personal experience with heroin, she didn't know how long it took to take effect. Maybe it was just a coincidence that Luke had been there when Rosa passed out. Maybe her suspicion and mistrust of him was clouding her judgement.
By five am she gave up on sleep and at half past, George padded downstairs to find her at her laptop, scribbling away in a notepad. HEROIN - EFFECTS glared brightly from her screen. He kissed her cheek as he leaned over to read. "A new patient?" He asked sleepily.
"Kind of. I couldn't sleep," she apologised, pushing a hand through her untidy hair. As George went to put the kettle on, Aoife pondered over her scribbles. Heroin normally left users sleepy and unable to move, neither of which Rosa was last night. If she had taken a hit, it hadn't been right before entering the club. Frustrated, she shut her laptop and pushed away from the table. As George clattered about with the mugs, she moved behind and slid her arms around his waist, cheek resting on his back. "I need to tell you something."
As George turned and looped an arm around her waist, Aoife found herself spilling everything. From Luke Winters turning up at the club to Rosa collapsing and being rushed to hospital. "...I just don't know what to think," she concluded weakly, glancing up at him. "If he had something to do with it... maybe I should speak to the police? But then again, do we really want to give him a reason to cause trouble?"
***
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 19, 2020 8:10:45 GMT -5
Lawrence Shaw watched the homeless man scrabble around in the gutter for fag ends and felt physically sick. There were a number of reasons he rarely stepped foot in Central London and this was one of them. Tramps, foreigners and louts; the place was teeming with them. Running his fingers through his neatly combed blond hair, Lawrence stepped out of the taxi rank and gingerly made his way down the chewing gum littered street.
As he neared the homeless man, he did his best to keep his features passive, though his nose itched to wrinkle in disgust. The man had a thick grey matted beard, his face caucasion beneath the dirt. His clothes were torn and clearly hadn't been washed in the past few years. Lawrence swore he could smell him before he'd even gotten close enough. The man picked up a half smoked cigarette with long, dirt-embedded nails, lit it with a rusty zippo, and sat back on the curb to smoke it.
The man looked up as a shadow fell over him and saw a well dressed young man with the cool blue eyes. They stared at each other for a minute as the homeless man eyed him up; crisp white shirt beneath a shark grey suit jacket, trousers that were freshly pressed, a Rimowa suitcase on wheels beside him. "Got any change?" The man grunted. Lawrence tilted his head before drawing out his wallet. He opened it up, careful to expose the wad of fifties neatly tucked inside, relishing the light growing in the old man's eyes.
"I might have something," he drawled, fingering a single fifty free. Replacing his wallet, he wafted the fifty, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I guess this could go a long way for someone like you."
"Oh yea, oh yea sir, it would," the man replied, eagerly grasping for it. Lawrence lifted it out of reach, his smile growing.
"Can I borrow your lighter?" He asked. The man blinked in confusion, but pulled the lighter from his stained pocket and handed it over. "...I /would/ give you this, but to be honest, why the fuck should I pay you to scab about on the streets like a dog?"
"E-Excuse me?" The old man's smile faded, dirt-streaked brow puckering.
"Why don't you try getting a job? People like you make me sick. Expecting the rich to support you, while you crap in the gutter." The man stood quickly, but he still didn't reach Lawrence's full height. Flicking open the zippo, Lawrence let the flame catch the edge of the fifty. The man flushed angrily, fists balling.
"I was in the war, I'm a veteran! I went to war for this country." His eyes were on the rapidly burning note before he glowered at Lawrence, eyes full of hatred. "What 'ave /you/ done, eh? You snobby little cunt, bet ya mum still wipes your arse for ya!" The fifty disappeared, the ash curling on the wind. The man continued shouting as Lawrence turned and walked away, tossing the zippo over his shoulder. It clattered at the mans feet. "Karma, you posh prick! Just you fuckin' wait! Rotten to the fuckin' core! This ain't over!"
Lawrence grinned as he walked away, Rimowa rattling as he pulled it along behind him, the tramp's yells fading into the distance. It didn't take long to reach his destination. The hotel itself was beautiful; a state of the art building with ten floors that boasted an indoor and outdoor pool, spa, hot tub and a sports arena. At least Winters had picked somewhere with taste.
Not that he knew Lawrence was on the way. Not that he knew Lawrence had tabs on him ever since he'd come back to London. He'd always kept a close eye on his boys after moving on from the Riot Club, a club Lawrence had finally been ousted from at the grand age of 26. His time at school was over, but that didn't mean the fun had to end there. And who better to carry it on with than Luke Winters?
Luke had been different to the others. He hadn't come from a background of silver spoons and nannies, duck shooting at the weekends, recitals on a Sunday. He was wealthy, but it had been a drop in the ocean compared to what the others had. Luke had been nothing but a rough community college chav with a fatload of inheritance from a hooligan uncle who'd been stabbed to death in a Wharf.
It had been Lawrence who had made him into a man, a man of money, taste and respect. Lawrence whistled to himself as he headed inside, giving a smile to the lady at the reception desk as he flashed his room card. A card he had aquired the day before from the porter, who had been more than happy to hand him the spare for the two grand shoved into his back pocket. Riding up in the elevator, he checked his reflection in the mirror, running his fingers through the blond waves. In his suitcase, several kilos of cocaine sat in bags ready to be shipped to all the local scruff dealers that the city boasted.
The elevator pinged and Lawrence stepped out into lavish corridor, the carpet a plush red, the walls cream and lined with portraits of generals and officers, eloquantly painted scenes from past wars, and at the end of the corridor, a large mural which stretched across the entire wall, framed in gold and depicting the Battle of Waterloo. This hotel was mainly used by British officals during talks with other countries, or wealthy company owners who were willing to pay bigtime to woo potential clients. Or young men with enough in cash for the hotel owners to turn a blind eye to whatever goings on were happening under their noses.
Lawrence was interested in none of this. Striding over to the door beside the mural, he swiped his card, the box flashing green and unlocking with a click. Lawrence kicked his way in, dragging the suitcase behind him. Luke appeared from the front room and Lawrence couldn't help but bark a laugh at the shock that flashed in his eyes.
"Surprise, bender," Lawrence greeted, slapping Luke's face as he passed into the main living space; floor-to-ceilings windows that overlooked the city, a large sofa that could seat eight people comfortably, a glass coffee table set on golden lion paws. It opened through into a modest kitchen area, with two doors leading off to the bedroom and bathroom. Lawrence set his suitcase in the middle of the room and whistled low. "This must have cost you a pretty penny, Winters. Been saving up?"
He chuckled as he crossed to the window and stared out, trying to pick out the homeless man from the specks of tiny people below. He couldn't spot him. Spinning on the spot, Lawrence eyed Luke with a grin. He'd composed himself now, was watching Lawrence expectedly. Wondering why he was here, no doubt. Ah, but they'd get to that.
"Cat got your tongue?" He asked, stepping over to the coffee table. A large bowl of fruit sat there and he helped himself to an apple, crunching into it with a satisfied /hmmm/. "I hope you don't mind," he said around a mouthful. :But I uh... persuaded the porter to give me the spare key. No point both of us paying out of our arses for rooms. You got any plans for today? No? Good. Go and get dressed; there's someone we need to meet." When Luke didn't move, Lawrence nodded towards his bedroom door. "Go on. And dress sharp. You're not on the council estate now, Winters."
***
The ward was brimming and busy when Aoife got into work. In the locker room, she changed quickly, desperate to see Rosa and more desperate to see her blood results. She had already collared Jeanie at the reception desk to get the results ASAP. Checking her phone one last time, she frowned as she noticed the voice mail. Sent fifteen minutes ago when she was talking to Jeanie. She didn't recognise the number, but she didn't need to. Not after laat night. Heart hammering, she clicked it and listened.
/Aoife. I'm just ringing to check you got home safe, and that your friend is okay? A taxi driver just rang me, quite worried actually as you left in such a rush, you left my jacket behind? I hope you weren't too cold. The police asked me a few questions and I was good to go. I just want to make sure everything's okay. I feel /awful/... I'm guessing you're at work, saving lives, so get back to me when you can. I'll be waiting/.
Aoife lowered the phone, her thumb hovering over the delete button. He felt awful? Again, she felt torn. He sounded sincere enough, he'd taken the time to call her. Yet at the same time evey fibre of her being was screaming not to trust him. Why had she even gone for that night out? If she had stayed home with George.... Aoife deleted the voice mail, then opened up a fresh message.
She stared at the screen with no idea what to write. She didn't want to give him any reason to keep bothering her. They weren't /friends/ and they never would be. Too much had happened, too many bad memories that she couldn't shift even if she wanted to. Taking a breath, she began to reply.
/Not seen Rosa yet. Will be making a statement with the police as soon as I am done here. No need to message me again./
There. She pressed send, then turned off her phone and shoved it into her locker, making a mental note to get a new number later. There was really no reason for Luke to bother her again. She wasn't even sure what she was so worried about. Out in the ward, Jeanie was the first to rush to her, a brown folder to hand.
"Miss Croft's blood results," she said breathlessly as she handed them over. Aoife thanked her, heading into a side room and eagerly pulling it open. Eyes scanning the words, she frowned. The traces of heroin and alcohol were clear, but that was all there was. No other drug, no suspicious cause for her collapse. At the bottom of the page, the doctor had noted /low blood sugar/. But she'd been so sure...
"Jeanie?" Aoife left the room and headed back across to the reception. The nurse looked up from the book she was writing in and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "What ward is Miss Croft on? I'd like to see her before discharge."
"Too late," Jeanie replied. "She discharged herself in the early hours."
"What?"
Jeanie nodded. "Yeah. Not before speaking to the police though. You should have seen 'em. Fit as fuck. Especially the tall one." A dreamy look passed Jeanie's eyes. "Tall, dark and handsome. Just how I like 'em."
Aoife cleared her throat. "Did she say anything before she left?"
"A lot of effing and jeffing, I can tell you that much. Her friend looked like he was gonna fight the two officers."
"Her friend?"
"A massive ginger bloke. Hey, he was Irish too, actually!" At that moment, a man wheeled an elderly woman to the desk, taking Jeanie's attention. Aoife shut the folder and wandered off down the corridor. So Jock had left with Rosa. But was she okay? That's all Aoife wanted to know. You didn't collapse for no reason. And she'd be damned if she didn't get to the bottom of what had happened. Aoife just needed a little help.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 20, 2020 9:33:05 GMT -5
Carter had asked Luke Winter the usual questions, but nothing was screaming that he was involved in this. The two had neve been fond of one another, meeting on numerous occasions, nearly always involving drugs or theft. Him and Lawrence Shaw were always attempting some dodgy deal, and they somehow slipped, ninety percent undetected beneath the forces watchful case. They were like rats, their goods being pushed and shoved through land and sea, unable to be tracked, and even when it was, never proven.
He had learnt things about Lawrence, though. Stories that Luke Winter's had probably never even heard of and would undoubtedly never attempt. Ones involving boys, well, just about /men/ -- fifteen or sixteen. A cult, whiskey, port, expensive sports cars, a blonde Mancunian child found drowned in a lake. The reports were hazy but he recalled them so vividly none the less.
Now he was involved in drugs; speed, heroin, cocaine, mixing and matching like he was fucking baking and not handling blood streams and pulses. Having parties, in the shadow of this secret society everyone whispered about but couldn't locate. They weren't the only ones in London, but they were the most notorious. It was ridiculous, what a life of pampering could do for you. Carter hadn't had any of the money, the gold and the silver; it had been cold copper and paying for the electricity on a top-up card, £5 a day. Having to wait for the last hour of the supermarkets opening to see what was reduced and what they cold afford; damaged produce, deteriorating bread.
Of course it was different now, but he would never forget.
'What were you doing here?' he had asked Luke. He was leaning against the bar like he owned the place and it was making his teeth grind.
'That's twice I've been asked that today.' Luke murmured.
Too busy recalling the last time the two of them had met, to even feel threatened. His blood was pumping heavy. It had been the party that Aoife had brought to a standstill, and Carter had been the one to find him face-down with his trousers undone and blood drying like clay against his nose. There had been too many drugs in that house then, rubbed across tables and kitchen counters, women's breasts and credit cards; he had been foolish. He had changed.
'And what did you say the first time?' Carter humoured him.
'Same thing I'm going to tell you.' Luke retorted back. 'Window shopping.'
'Really?'
'It's a club.' he rolled his eyes. 'Its the weekend, what do you think, Carter?'
'Office Rivera.' Carter corrected him stiffly. 'Answer the question, Winters. I've got better things to do.'
'Like preening over the pretty blonde in the hospital bed?' he teased and Carter tensed, advancing on the shorter man within seconds. There were merely two inches between them, but Carter towered and he felt the authority surge through him.
'This is a Police matter, and I'm just doing my job. If you've got anything to admit, then tell me. Otherwise get out of my fucking sight.'
Luke laughed then, pushing himself away from the bar and shouldering Carter. 'That's no way to speak to a respectful member of the public.' he paused. 'Plus, we know it wasn't /really/ anything fishy, you just have to cover all the bases.'
'I'm watching you, Winters.' Carter called as he watched him saunter out.
Luke smirked, glancing over his shoulder. 'You tease.' he winked.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Dec 2, 2020 9:21:37 GMT -5
Sometimes Carter really hated his job. He /didn’t/ know what to do in every scenario, even if he thought he could bullshit his way through everything. Sometimes he just got stuck. In the beginning he was very firm and sure, sticking to the rules like shit on his shoe; making sure every procedure was followed precisely, to the point he was mocked and nicknamed ‘anal’. You had to find the balance, but when it clashed with personal life, people he knew or pretty women, it was hard.
He stopped obeying the rules and panicked. Worried for them like a lover or a friend, not a respectful figure of authority. One night he had been at a club, not too different to this, and a girl had been stabbed in an alley, her thighs parted; assaulted. She was a fragile thing, freckles on the bridge of her nose, wide eyes and chocolate curls. As he’d dropped to his knees, the girl had sloped herself onto Carter’s lap and held him tight with dirty hands, cried as the blood pooled from her side.
He had stood outside her room at the hospital, immovable as the hours ticked by. Watched as her chest rose and fell with the aid of an oxygen tank, and watched the frigid line of the heart monitor slowly drop into in-existence, her body still, the nurses clattering past and pulling the curtain shut. It had really hurt. Getting personal /hurt/.
And it was by no means the same, because Rosa wasn’t dead, but this girl, his partners /sister/ had looked momentarily vulnerable and it reminded him too much of the blackbird of a girl he hadn’t saved.
Chewing his lip, Carter angrily sucked on the Nicolette gum. It tasted like bitter crap, but he was fed up of having yellow nails and an expensive habit. It made everything smell, it made him jittery; he had smoked four packets of cigarettes in two hours once, waiting for the outcome of a job. He took up running now, ran until his lung screamed and bile rose in his mouth, teasing his lips. It was healthier, in some sense, apart from when he’d hang over the barrier to the Thames and spill his breakfast out.
Heading into the hospital, he didn’t even have to flash his badge for approval. They knew him. One of the receptionists fluttered her eyelids and he gave a small nod. Veronica, who he had taken out for a drink at the local last year, only for her to try and jump him as he went for a piss. She was sweet; but he wasn’t for anything intense, not yet.
His boots felt like they were stomping through the corridors and he knew people were watching, wondering who he was here to arrest, what bad news he had to bring. No one ever looked at him with hope; he was a Kevlar suited Grim Reaper.
Their room was easy to find and the response wasn’t unexpected.
‘What the fuck do you want?’
Rosa was like a caged tiger and Carter couldn’t help but smirk. ‘I’ve had worse welcomes.’ He smiled briefly before turning his gaze to Robbie. He looked like the one who had had a rough evening, concern straining his face.
Shutting the door before him, he listened to the two bicker and felt sorry for Robbie. He was like a worried parent and Rosa was doing nothing but rebel; and there was the added embarrassment that his boss was here, seeing his personal life Police tried so hard to pretend they didn’t have.
‘I’m worried about you.’
‘You ain’t so innocent yourself, are ya?’
Carter raised an eyebrow as Robbie resisted the urge to respond, as if he didn’t have a leg to stand on.
‘Exactly, so get the fuck out of my way.’ She shouldered Carter roughly and he let his side go limp, rather than his usual strong and unmoving stance. He didn’t want to hurt her.
‘You sure you two are related? She’s as welcoming as a pitbull.’ He gave Robbie a small smile. ‘No one saw anything. At the club. It looks like this is just down to her.’ He added gently. Even if Luke Winters did look suspicious as hell, perhaps that was just his constant state.
‘Can you say something to ‘er?’ Robbie pleaded and Carter ran a hand over his face.
‘She’s a grown woman.’
‘She ain’t listening to me. She won’t listen.’ Robbie sunk down, defeated.
He looked so sad in that moment. Even if Rosas little endeavours had been spiralling for a while, this climax hadn’t been expected. Or had it, and he felt guilty? Was Robbie supplying? Carter wouldn’t ask.
‘I won’t listen to any of her crap, you know. About you.’ Carter reassured Robbie before shaking his head. ‘You owe me.’ He called as he stalked out of the room. Rosa was wondering around like she was on a shopping spree, glancing in different rooms and windows. She was small, but had long legs and a sway in her hips that meant business.
‘Hey.’ Carter called after her. ‘Rosa Croft.’ He teased and when she didn’t stop he jogged ahead, putting himself in front of her. Damn, her eyes were pretty. ‘Where are you planning on going?’ He glanced her up and down, still dressed like she was ready for some fun. No doubt she had ripped the hospital gown off the second the nurse had tied it up. ‘Your brother wants you.’ He smiled lightly. ‘/Needs/ you, if it makes you feel any better.’
The whole time he watched her he didn’t glance at the marks on her arms, rather finding interest in the structure of her face; the harshness of her angry eyes calmed by the softness of her chin and lips, eyelashes long and fluttering.
‘There’s no investigation.’ He assured her after a moment. ‘I’m not here to question you. I’m here to see Robbie.’ He paused. ‘And you. To make sure you’re both okay?’
Carter had seen it before, the lost soul, so beautiful and yet confused. There were so many perfect people who had been mislead by drug dealers and pimps, stooping to the streets, hating themselves, their appearance and their lives. London fed on self-deprivation and loathing; once you started to spiral it was hard to stand straight again. But how was she in such a different place to her brother. What had happened?
‘Your friends have been ringing the reception, asking about you. Leaving messages.’ He pulled a note from his top pocket and unfolded it. ‘Nora Samuels rang but didn’t leave a message, and someone called Alice said she hopes you’re feeling better and to call her when you’re awake. And I think someone called Aoife has been asking for you?’ He raised an eyebrow, handing over the scrap. ‘I’m guessing that’s the Irish one from last night. The nurse?’ Glancing over his shoulder, he rolled his eyes to see a red headed man storming down the corridor.
‘Your friend?’ Carter asked, nodding his head.
Taking Rosas arm he went to put her beside him but she resisted, obviously not afraid of him; expecting him. Carter looked between the two. ‘Remember what I said.’ He murmured to Rosa, holding her gaze. ‘He needs you. And you’ve got a lot of friends, Miss Croft.’ A small smile before his gaze turned to Jock and narrowed.
‘Tell your brother I’ll see him at work tomorrow.’ He yelled as he disappeared.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Dec 4, 2020 5:01:41 GMT -5
Jock fucking hated hospitals. The smell, the clinical whiteness, the death and disease that surrounded him. Each ward filled with the ill and dying. It gave him the creeps. But at the moment, he was too angry to notice. Rosa could have died because of Robbie's help and the stupid dick was here, spluttering his defense, looking like a kid playing dress up.
"She stormed out," he was protesting, managing to shove Jock off him, straightening his flak jacket furiously. Without a word, Jock turned and stalked off, letting the door bounce open. He headed down one corridor, a window catching his eye. Pausing, he looked. A little girl of about five sat in a bed playing with two Barbies; her head was bald and there was tubes taped to her, making her look like a medical marionette. Her anxious parents sat either side of her, faces drawn and lined with stress.
In an instant, his mam flashed to mind. Holding tight to his da's hand, his little leather shoes squeaking on the white floor as Michael led him to a room quite like this one. Except there hadn't been so many tubes and wires. Only a drip. The doctors had known by then that there had been nothing more they could do, except ease the pain of her death with hourly top-ups of morphine. Michael had taken a seat, but Jock had stayed at the foot of the bed, utterly terrified by what he saw.
Her once-beautiful glowing face was yellow, the skin stretched tight over her skull, the remaining wisps of her once blonde hair patched around her head. Her arms, that had only a year before lifted him and held him, were thin and bony, her skin like paper. She looked like she would crumble away at the slightest touch.
She had raised a hand weakly towards him and tried to smile, pale lips drawing back over her teeth in a grimace. And little Jock Sullivan had taken two stumbling steps back, turned and ran for his life.
That day at the hospital seemed to wipe out any other memory Jock had of her. All he had ever remembered for years was her skeletal form lying still on the bed, and he had hated his father for a long time after that. He'd been a small innocent boy. He hadn't needed to see that. Now he looked at the little girl and her bald little head and felt sick.
Jock fucking hated this place.
He carried on, jaw set, fists clenched and it was another few minuts before he rounded one long corridor and saw her. Still wearing the black dress, her face angled away and she spoke to a cop. He was tall, dark haired and tanned to go with it. His features were soft, as if he was trying to calm her, soothe her. Jock felt a flare in his chest, eyes narrowing as he strode down the corridor towards them. The Sullivans lived by one golden rule and for good reason; never trust the police.
***
Rosa heard the heavy thud of boots behind her, but didn't turn. She expected it was Robbie, coming to plead with her to stay quiet, that his /career/ was on the line, that he was doing this for her. Since when had she needed protecting? She was the one who'd been protecting him for so long... and anyway, she didn't know what all the fuss was about. She had fainted, so what? She hadn't really eaten that day, she'd drank a little too much... it wasn't as if she even remembered what happened, it was all a fog. A blur of music and alcohol.
"Hey. Rosa Croft."
That voice wasn't Robbie. It must have been the other copper, the handsome one. No, not handsome! Cops weren't handsome, they were evil and corrupt and wielded authority like they were Gods. She quickened her step, but he was beside her in seconds, moving ahead to block her path. She was surprised to see a brightness in his eyes, as if she were amusing him. "Where are you planning on going?"
"What's it to you?" She demanded. Now she was forced to a stop, she wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward him off. She noticed the way he looked her up and down, and she was caught between flushing and getting angry.
"Your brother wants you. /Needs/ you, if it makes you feel any better." He gave her a small smile, which was some ridiculous reason, made her tummy flutter. She angled her body away slightly.
"There's no investigation. I'm not here to question you. I'm here to see Robbie." He paused. "And you. To make sure you're both okay?"
"I'm fine," she mumbled, averting her eyes to the floor. In all honesty, her head was banging and that familiar itch was back; anxiously, she rubbed at her wrist, looking around, trying to avoid meeting his eye again. "Anyway, I can look after meself. I don't need no copper being worried about me, okay?" His next words did make her look up though, as he began to tell her about the calls left at reception; Aoife and Alice and surprisingly, Nora. Had she really worried them all that much? Her brow puckered in confusion as the word friends circled around her head. She had friends... "Thanks for letting me know," she muttered, a blush growing in her cheeks.
"Your friend?" The man glanced over her shoulder and she swore she caught him rolling his eyes as she turned to see Jock striding towards her; chest puffed, fists tight at his sides. Her heart sank. She knew that look all too well. He was ready for a fight. As soon as he reached her, he grabbed her elbow but Rosa resisted, glaring up at him.
"It's fine, Jock."
"Fine?" The Iriah man scoffed and glowered at Carter. "Is there a problem here?"
"Remember what I said," the officer continued as if Jock wasn't even there. "He needs you. And you've got lots of friends, Miss Croft." Another soft smile towards her that made her heart race, before he glanced at Jock with narrowed eyes. Suspicious? She wasn't sure. "Tell your brother I'll see him at work tomorrow."
"Tell him yourself," Jock snapped as he walked away. Rosa kept her eyes on his figure until he disappeared. "Jesus Christ, Rosa," he growled, giving her arm a tug. "Come on." She allowed him to lead her out of the hospital, a frown on her face as she tried to piece together the events of last night. Everyone thought she had overdosed, but it had been hours since her last fix. She couldn't have overdosed off nothing! All the panic was for no reason and now Jock was mad and Robbie was in a mess.
On the way home, Jock kept questioning her. How much had she taken? Had she taken anymore after she had left the house? Who else was supplying her? If it hadn't been Robbie, then who? And no matter what answer she gave, he would shoot her a disbelieving look. "I told you, I didn't take anything else, it was just in the morning-"
"The doctors said-"
"Yeah, well the doctors were wrong, Jock."
Inside the house, Rosa took herself upstairs and climbed into the shower. As the hot water spilled over her head and shoulders, she shut her eyes, and the first image that sprung to mind was the copper from the hospital. He'd matched Jock in height, but whereas the Irishman's face was set in a permanent scowl, the copper's had been soft and open. Small inviting smiles and lingering glances. As her stomach fluttered, she snapped open her eyes and huffed. :Get a grip, Rosa," she muttered to herself. "Cops are bastards."
Cops are bastards. The memory swallowed her quickly and she was twelve years old again, her ratty schoolbag on her shoulder, Robbie's small hand enveloped in hers as they walked home from school. The block of flats was surrounded by a communial area, the grass overgrowing, graffiti covering every inch of wall around the building. Teenagers hung on their bikes outside the front door, smoking roll-ups and other fruity things. As Rosa led her little brother up towards the staircase, she saw the police car pulled up out the front; one of the teens were already keying the side as his mates egged him on.
"Come on," she murmured to Robbie as they climbed the three flights to their floor. Walking along the balcony, they reached number 28 and went inside. It was dark and all the curtains were drawn. Picking her way through the rubbish strewn flat, Rosa dumped her bag by the kitchen table and flashed Robbie a stern look as he headed to the front room. "Homework first."
"Aw, why?" Robbie protested, but Rosa just pointed to the kitchen table. Grumbling, he slipped onto the chair and sat his bag in front of him.
"Get on. I'll make you a snack in a minute." Leaving the kitchen, Rosa headed to her bedroom to get dressed. In the hall, she heard a small muffled moan and froze, glancing at her mum's bedroom door. She didn't think her mum was back yet and her stomach dropped to her feet, her heart picking up a notch. Another moan and the bed springs squeaking... Rosa turned to move away, colliding with boxes of rubbish and falling into a heap in the hall.
A few moments later, the door swung open and a man she didn't recognise glared out at her. Tall, but wiry, with wavy blond hair that was rumpled and untidy. He was shirtless, his black pressed trousers open at the crotch. Behind him, her mum, Rachel, lay on the bed in a nightie, also glowering in her direction. "It's just the girl. Forget about that silly cow, she's always 'urtin' 'erself. Come, get back in bed."
The man stared at Rosa for a long moment, and she didn't dare look away, like a rabbit in headlights. "... I have to get back to the station," he eventually said and slammed the door. Rosa scurried to her feet and fled back to the kitchen where Robbie was puzzling over his Maths. She busied herself with making a sandwich for Robbie and was just pouring a glass of milk when she heard footsteps in the hall.
"... can just ignore them. They always keep out the way."
"I'm a busy man, Rachel."
"But the money-"
Rosa looked up as he passed, a small gasp escaping now he had his uniform on. His name badge gleamed; PC Shaw. A police man?! What was he doing here? Why had he been...? Rosa watched, stunned, as the cop reached the front door and tried to open it. Rachel threw herself in front and flattened herself against it. "Please, I know you 'ave it. I need it. 'Ow am I supposed to live, eh?" She grabbed at his jacket, trying to pull it off. "Please, we can go in your car." He tried to pull her off, but Rachel resisted. "We'll go somewhere else. I know a place, I know-"
The cop moved so quick that Rosa didn't even see him slap her. Rachel cried out and crumpled to the floor, as the cop yanked open the door and left, slamming it shut behind him. Rosa stood rooted to the spot as her mum stumbled into the kitchen and lurched towards her, screaming.
"This is all your fault! What the fuck were you doin'?! Interruptin' me when I'm workin'?! Who do ya think puts food on ya table, you ungrateful little bitch?! I wish I'd never had ya!"
Rosa opened her eyes, safely back in the shower, the water mingling with the tears streaking her cheeks. Shutting off the water, she climbed out and wrapped herself up in a towel. After she was dried and dressed in a hoody and jeans, she left the bedroom and passed the bathroom, glancing.
And seeing Jock pouring her heroin down the toilet, a determined expression on his face. "No!" She screamed, hurrying in, leaping at him, desperately trying to snatch the bag.
"It's for your own good, Rosa," Jock said through gritted teeth, managing to keep her at arms length as the last of the drugs fell in. He flushed the toilet and she gave a painful sob and punched his arm.
"Why?!"
"It has to stop, Rosa. I won't lose you, not to this shite."
"Why are you such a bastard?" She screamed, tears streaming down her face as the last of the heroin swirled down the toilet. She backed away, looking at him as if she didn't recognise him.
"I'm trying to save your life," Jock snarled in reply. She glared at him, tears streaking.
"No, you're not! You're horrible! You're just like Nick! No, you're worse! You're supposed to be my friend!" She ignored the look of shock on his face as she stormed out the bathroom.
"Rosa-"
"I hate you!" She shrieked before running down the stairs and colliding with a startled Nora and Dermot. They both looked sheepish, as if they had been caught listening. Not that they had any other choice, the pair had been shouting loud enough. Tearfully, Rosa rushed past and out the door, snatching her jacket on the way out. The door slammed loudly and silence descended in the hall.
Jock emerged at the top of the stairs. He looked at the both of them sadly, then headed to his room and shut the door.
***
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Dec 9, 2020 9:00:53 GMT -5
Dermot and Nora spent the night in a hotel not too far from the pub she'd met him at the night before. The suggestion had been Nora's and Dermot had readily agreed - a night to forget the chaos of the day was exactly what he needed. Like giddy teenagers, they had fallen into the room, already pulling at clothes, running hands over arms, kissing lips, cheeks and nose. As he'd laid her on the bed, she had stretched out before him like an etheral goddess in her lace panties, glowing. His fingers had glided over plump breast and rigid nipple, his tongue teasing her own. How had he ever gotten so lucky? This woman was going to be his wife and it was one of the best decisions he had ever made.
Later, they'd curled up together, the sheets tucked around their waists as he cradled her beneath his arm. The silvery moonlight seeping in through the window, casting its glow over the bed. Kissing her throat and jaw gently, tracing shapes over her hip. They hadn't said much, but they didn't need to. Their all-consuming love was enough. By the time morning rolled around, they were both relunctant to leave. Hand in hand, they searched for his car - he could barely remember where he'd left it last night - and then made their way home. It was Sunday morning and half of London was still asleep, majoritively hung over no doubt. The roads were surprisingly clear, the streets peaceful. It was just a shame that peace didn't reach the Sullivan manor house.
They heard the shouting before they'd even reached the front door. Dermot shot Nora a frown before bursting in, looking around and then to the stairs where the screaming was coming from. For a heart stopping moment his mind flew to Max. Was he here now? Was he -? But then Rosa shrieked something about Jock being a bastard before the bathroom door flung open and she hurtled out onto the landing. She didn't even stop when she saw them, just thundered down the stairs and snatched her jacket off the hook. Her face was streaked with tears but she didn't look at either of them before she threw herself out the door and disappeared.
Dermot and Nora looked at each other with equal expressions of concern. Well, Rosa was alive at least, so what was going on? Jock appeared on the landing then, the corners of his mouth downturned as he studied them. Without a word, he headed to his room and shut the door with a soft click. "Right, uh..." Dermot dampened his bottom lip, glancing behind him at the front door, then back up the stairs. "I'll make coffee. You talk to Jock?" He offered her a sheepish smile that came out more of a wince. "You're better at these kind of things..." Plus, he wasn't sure where he and Jock both stood after yesterday. "I'll be five minutes max," he added, dipping his head to kiss her cheek before he headed to the kitchen. He set the kettle on to boil, found mugs and then began to search the cupboards for whiskey. Well, he'd be lying if he said Jock didn't have a knack for the bringing chaos wherever he went. He just hoped Rosa was okay.
***
Jock sat at his desk and pressed his eyes into the balls of his hands. Had he been unfair? What else did she expect him to do? Allow her to take the risk and overdose? When they'd met in rehab, it had been different. He'd barely known her, a gobby little Londoner with more balls than brains at times. He'd been happy to fix her up, as long as it was through him. It had been easier to monitor her, to make sure she wasn't taking too much. Once at night for the nightmares, that had been the deal.
But now, he had grown to care for her. Love her in a way, like a sister. Not like how he felt about Nora, but he still cared. He still didn't want Rosa to get hurt. But she had said he was just like Nick and that had stung more than he had expected it to. He had saved her from that arsehole, from that psychopath, he had done all of this for her. Given her a chance to be better, to be different. And this is how she repaid him?
Frustrated, his hand shot out and knocked a glass off the desk; it hit the floot with a smash, sending sharp glittering shards everywhere.
And then there was a quiet knock at the door. "Not now, Dermot," he growled, but it opened anyway.
"It's not Dermot," replied a quiet voice and he looked up to see Nora hesitating in the doorway. Jock suddenly jumped to his feet, heart in his throat, treading glass underfoot with a crunch.
"What are you doing in here?" He flushed, averting his gaze to anywhere but her face. He prayed she wouldn't mention the text, the stupid fucking text, prayed that she would just pretend it never happened like he desperately wanted to. "I... I can clean this up, I just..." He turned away from her, hands on the back of his chair as he leaned forward, head bowed. "... I'm so sorry, Nora. You know what for. Don't make me say it."
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jan 14, 2021 6:55:12 GMT -5
It had been a nice hotel, a nice ending. The evening had been strange and unsettling, as if three nights had been squashed into one. First it had been fun, to wear a nice dress and imagine Jock thinking of her, wriggling on the dance floor. Then it had made her feel sick, both with angst and longing, so she'd left, head on straight even with the alcohol swirling, and found Dermot. The first half had been her own doing, meddling and teasing people she shouldn't. Being rude to Rosa had seemed unnecessary, until they'd gotten the call to say she had been carted to the hospital, overdosed, unconscious. The final thing? Her brother was a Policeman. All Nora thought about in that moment had been Jock; did he know or had he been betrayed?
Then the sickness returned and she downed another drink and when Dermot suggested a hotel she practically screamed in delight.
'I don't want to go home.' she had agreed as he'd taken her hand and they'd left.
There were soft robes they'd slipped on once inside, stood by the tall windows overlooking the nightlife and held one another, eyes shining. London always looked so overwhelming when you were looking down, the vast buildings, the blinding lights, the cars speeding through the narrow streets and the people teetering and laughing in their tiny dresses and ironed shirts. There was such a buzz it was almost electric, dangerous if you got too entangled. Nora understood what it was like, though; to get so far in you didn't know how to get out. It got dangerous.
Turning to Dermot, she looked sad for a moment but he wiped it away with his smile, his perfect dimpled face. Nora touched his neck and closed her eyes as a kiss pressed against her brow. Dermot wasn't dangerous; he was a safe haven. He was honesty and kindness, and the warmth that radiated off his spearmint and cologne scented skin came from his heart. She would never be lost if she followed him; he was the one thing holding her up, as the rest of her mind screamed to follow Jock down the rabbit hole.
When they woke up the next morning, Nora still felt tired. Snuggling close to Dermot, they both drifted for the next half an hour, knowing they didn't want to face the cold and the drama that awaited them. Rolling onto her side she flipped open her phone. No missed calls. A message from Alice saying everything was okay and they'd speak in the morning. A message from Lara saying goodnight. That was it. By the time she rolled back, Dermot had clambered out of bed and swiping for him, she missed by an inch.
'Do we have to.' Nora whined. They clambered in the shower together and enjoyed the rainfall like droplets that finally woke them.
Pulling her hair into a bun, the two of them grabbed a croissant and coffee from a local café and were home before they knew it. There was a strange atmosphere around the house, as if a different energy was swirling inside. One foot on the driveway and the screaming hit their eyes and Nora moaned, glancing at Dermot with worry. He seemed more concerned than she did; who did he think was in the house? Had the stories of Max gotten to him? Before the thought could even form they heard Rosa screaming down the stairs.
She was alive then. A blur of fury flew at them as Rosa grabbed her jacket and left, barely even acknowledging the two of them as more than objects in her way before she slammed the front door. It reminded her of when she was a child and when her mother said she couldn't have something; Nora would run down to the hall, grab her wellies and coat and sit under the big tree in the garden until her tummy rumbled. The argument Rosa and Jock had had was obviously a lot bigger than the latest Barbie, however. Some part of her felt a little defensive, but who was she to protect him? He was big enough.
And it had been refreshing to see that not every man who fell into an argument had to use their fists to control it; not everyone was Malachi. Jock wouldn't hurt a woman, he never had, especially not her, even when he'd had her in the palm of his hand. Swallowing, she looked up to see Jock at the top of the stairs and her heart broke. He looked so different, so unsure and damaged. Perhaps Nora hadn't taken into consideration how much this would hurt him. It wasn't just a relapse, it was a reflection. Even if he hadn't said it fully, Jock had brought Rosa here to help her get better. Came to the one place he could control himself, because he had to, to make Dermot proud. To make /her/ proud. And Rosa had taken advantage of the acceptance, turning sour. It made Nora angry again.
'I'll make coffee.' Dermot's voice broke her gaze and she glanced at him. 'You talk to Jock?'
'I'm sorry?' Nora asked, incredulous.
'You're better at these kind of things...'
'What, because I'm a woman?' she threw him a challenging look, then a gentle smile. Dermot obviously didn't want to handle this situation, so she wouldn't make him. Touching his arm, she shook her head as he went into the kitchen. 'You owe me.' she called after him.
Heading up the stairs, she paused outside Jock's door, hesitant. Would this have happened if she hadn't gone out? They didn't invited Rosa, but perhaps that was why she had taken the drugs, taken /too/ much, too. Should she have been nicer? She knocked gently on the door, unsure if he could even hear her.
'Not now, Dermot.' Nora heard as she pushed it open, just as a glass shattered on the floor like shards of ice.
'It's not Dermot.' Nora swallowed, looking uncertain as he jumped to his feet. He had been in the middle of collecting the broken fragments from the floor and it reminded her all too well of years past.
'What are you doing in here?' he instantly dropped his gaze from her and she frowned.
It wasn't supposed to be difficult and awkward. It had been fine, before. Before he had come back, before they had... The thought died. She could heart the kettle whistling downstairs and knew not to get distracted.
'I live here.' Nora said with a small smile, hoping to provoke one back, but Jock was like a frightened animal, turned away. 'You're my friend.'
'I... I can clean this up, I just...'
The sickness was back again, for the third time that morning. A nervousness as if something terrifying was about to be declared. Nora advanced forward, looking at Jock as he struggled to find his words, his knuckles white as he held the back of his chair tight.
'This floor has seen more broken glass than a grotty pub.' she mused, bending down to pick up the fractions. 'Remember the last time,' she gave a small laugh. 'I knocked the whiskey bottle right out of your hand, you looked so pissed.'
'I'm so sorry, Nora.'
Don't she wished as she placed the pieces on her palm.
'You know what for. Don't make me say it.'
'Fuck.' Nora hissed as a bit cut her hand, a little amount of blood pooling. 'Stop it, Jock.' she cried, turning to look up at him. 'This isn't about us. What's happening with Rosa? With you?' standing up, she placed the shards in the bin and pushed a tissue into her cut hand. 'Is this my fault, for letting her come to the club? Is this your fault, for bringing her here? She's dangerous, Jock She's bad news.' she found herself advancing.
Jock was still facing the wall, seemingly fighting with himself when she grabbed his elbow.
'I thought when you left here all those years ago, you were going to do better. Why did you bring her here? Did you know her brother was a cop? Are you crazy? You can do so much better on your own. You were doing good, weren't you?' she asked uncertainly. 'Dermot said you were happier.' she frowned, looking up at his defeated face.
---
Luke had been enjoying the peace and quiet when his door was unlocked. At first he had thought it was the maid and smirked a little. Last time she had entered unannounced he had been fucking a brunette against the window, his hand gripping her throat tight. The woman had screeched in Spanish and disappeared back into the hall with an apologetic bow. It was funny, it had spurred him on.
Luke Winter's was what you would call an Exhibitionist. To clarify: a) a perversion in which sexual gratification is obtained from the indecent exposure of ones genitals. b) the act or practice of behaving so as to attract attention. Even when he was little he would parade around naked, albeit was sweet when you were three and wearing nothing but a cap and wellies. The older he got, the more ways he found to get caught. Sometimes he would pretend he was taking a piss against the bike sheds, watching as the girls giggled and pointed, hesitating in their laughter when they saw his hardened cock. A few of them were enticed, the rest disgusted.
It was a difficult world to live in, when not everyone enjoyed your taste. You did always have to have a balance, he guessed, and some people did have to be vanilla whilst he was some exotic, unnamed flavour both salty and sweet. The feeling that washed over him was empowering, to know someone was watching, nervous and aroused. He had worked hard to look how he looked and wasn't afraid to show. Luke also knew that some /men/ weren't afraid to appreciate it, either.
'Surprise, Bender.' Lawrence called from the entrance. He felt a hand playfully slap his face and rolled his eyes, shrugging him off. 'Been saving up?' he asked playfully.
'Spent mere pennies.' Luke answered as he walked to the table, picked up a packet of cigarettes and lit one. A confused look lingered on his face as Lawrence turned back to him.
'Cat got your tongue?'
'No.' Luke grunted, watching as the blonde helped himself to an apple.
'I hope you don't mind, but I uh... persuaded the porter to give me the spare key. No point both of us paying out of our arses for rooms. You got any plans for today? No? Good. Go and get dressed; there's someone we need to meet.'
'I wasn't aware you were my personal secretary?' Luke mused, resisting the urge to take the apple from Lawrence's long fingers and to throw it in the bin. He liked Lawrence, because he had his uses, but sometimes he was insufferable. Especially when a certain Irish girl was spinning in his mind, like a hamster on a wheel. 'And you can have the sofa, if you're insisting.' Luke nodded his head to the sofa that practically could be a bed.
Heading over to the wardrobe, he looked through his array of neatly ironed shirts and tried to pick between white, ivory or light blue with pinstripe. Perhaps a salmon number? No, not today. Picking the blue, he shrugged it on his shoulders, very aware Lawrence was glancing at his toned back. He could do more chin-ups than Lawrence could even count in his manicured little hand. Luke agreed he was the brawn, but that didn't mean his brain wasn't also working like clockwork; he wasn't stupid, he was patient.
'You know, people might start suggesting something with the two of us in here alone at night. That you're a puff, or something. A fairy, a weasel.' heading towards Lawrence, he took the apple core and threw it into the bin without glancing at it. Dropping his gaze to his friends he held it for a long time, felt the tension rising, could basically see the hairs on Lawrence's neck. 'But they won't say a fuckin' thing, because you're with me.' Luke reassured him, grabbing a tie from the sofa. 'Let's go. I'm bored of this view.'
---
Carter had the morning off and was glad for it. It hadn't exactly been a long and dramatic evening, but it had felt somewhat exhausting all the same. As he'd told Rosa, there was nothing being raised against her, there was really no issue, but when he'd finally left the hospital and gotten home, Carter couldn't sleep. Sat in his armchair, he watched the world go past outside in a blur of car lights and nightlife and thought about the heaviness of it all. He wasn't even drunk, just, contemplative.
He had always found people intricate and appealing. What motivated them, why some people lied and others could only helplessly tell the truth; some were driven by money and others glided, uncaring and unmotivated. Every single human on this planet was different and yet everyone had to be treated with the same set or rules, as if every action had the exact same logic. The more he thought, the more he spiralled. Carter had liked the idea of phycology, and had looked into it for a year or two but realised that world was too dark for him. There was enough blood on the streets, he didn't want to live with the knowledge it was unavoidable because not all crimes could be premeditated.
It was like his favourite film, Minority Report. Carter would openly admit he was a Tom Cruise fan, but that wasn't why he loved it. Set in the future, the story was based around a police department which specialised in 'foreknowledge'. The idea was, all future crimes will be foreseen by machines, and killers, rapist and thieves can be apprehended /before/ the crime had happened. What the future failed to see, was that everyone had free will; if someone could choose to make a wrong choice, they also had the option to not do so. Things can never be predetermined, because people are erratic, ever changing and uncertain. He had tried to explain that in the office and for a few weeks had been likened to /Robocop/ of which he was also fond.
The whole reason for the reference springing to mind had been perhaps Rosa /did/ want to take drugs sometimes, to relax, to escape, but not /this/ time. She had the good sense to stop herself, as all people can. But then what had happened? Carter hated not knowing and he hated that, at the back of this mind, there was something more than made him interested. It wasn't just that she was pretty and lovely, because she was rude, like a savage wildcat, all bite with only faint hints of kindness flashed in a gentle smile or her stunning eyes.... He poured himself a scotch.
It had just been too long since he'd had anyone who had really caught his eye, so now he didn't know what to do. Especially seeing as she was Robbie's sister, for fuck sake. Was that why his friend had kept her a secret? Because he knew what men thought of her; a challenge, an obstacle to mount. Carter was different, he would be focused in the morning.
Waking up, stiff, in his armchair, Carter realised he had fallen asleep by the window and his neck ached. After a painful stretch he headed downstairs to the gym and had a quick thirty minute run on the treadmill. He lived in a large apartment block in the middle of South London, a private carpark and a free gym covering the lower floors were all included in the extortionate price, but it was worth it to feel safe. He worked hard and got a good pay, so why not spend it on a few perks? If you parked on the side of the road in this city you were asking to lose your tires.
A refreshing shower finally revitalised him and Carter could see clear. As he climbed out, towel around his waist, he called Robbie briefly. They didn't communicate much but when they did, they sent ridiculous photos to each other and stupid jokes only men laugh at; otherwise it was the complete opposite end of the spectrum, demanding a coffee, wondering why they are late etc. In the forces, friendship was hard because when things got hectic, there wasn't much time for politeness.
The phone rang a few times and there was no answer before it fizzled into voicemail. No doubt he was asleep; both of them were due back on the late shift tonight.
'Hey, mate.' Carter smiled into the receiver, fiddling with a coffee pod. He really hated these modern gadgets, he just wanted a latte without the hassle and now he had milk all over the side. 'Just checking you're still alive, ready to face the underworld again tonight? I hope your, er... sister is okay, too. She seemed to have her energy back last night for sure.' he laughed, shaking his head and recalling her storming down the halls, brazen. 'Don't think her little feat is getting you out of work though, alright? The city needs us.' he cringed at the batman reference before saying his goodbyes and hanging up.
Deciding he'd grab a takeaway coffee, Carter headed out into the world. He liked to get a walk in every day, just to freshen his mind, distract him from work, at least for a few hours. He was just walking through the nearby park, when he saw her sat on a bench. His head jolted, tilted to the side like a curious puppy. He was always dressed smart, but suddenly he was nervous. A black leather jacket, a navy t-shirt and black jeans; adding a slight splash of colour with white trainers. One time he had worn a Hawaiian shirt to the staff office party and everyone had been amazed.
Carter had never wanted to be the centre of attention, however since becoming a policeman, everyone just seemed to notice him no matter what he wore. Looking down at his single coffee, he glanced back across at the bench and a downcast Rosa. Without even hesitating he turned on his heel and headed back into the coffee; the woman behind the till made a joke about his quick return and he flashed a dimpled smile.
'What would you say is the most popular drink for a woman?' he asked, looking at the board full of options.
The barrista hesitated for a moment. 'A Vanilla latte, I'd say.' she finally settled on. 'Do you want that?'
'I think it's too sweet.' Carter chewed his lip, wondering why he was putting so much thought into this. Finally placing his order, he took the cup outside and smiled at the name she had swirled on the side: Rosa. He didn't know her, at all but somehow felt that if he got a drink right for her, she would relax, at least a little. Something with vanilla or caramel seemed too soft, too girly and sugary; he had settled on a latte with coconut milk. It had the sweetness, but also the bitterness of the extra shot of coffee.
Heading towards he, he felt a weird sensation swirling in his stomach and tried to ignore it. Was he aa child all over again? Rosa wasn't even looking at him, or the world, downcast and scratching her arm.
'They let you out then?' Carter asked, smiling lightly when she jumped. Looking at his two coffees, he raised an eyebrow. 'Seems I have... two.' he announced and then looked back towards her. She looked less than impressed. 'I think one has your name on it.' he turned the cup around so she could see the italic lettering. 'Literally.' he gave a bigger smile.
Please don't be mad at me, he held his breath.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jan 16, 2021 10:59:23 GMT -5
"This floor has seen more broken glass than a grotty pub. Remember the last time, I knocked the whiskey bottle right out of your hand, you looked so pissed."
Jock did remember it clearly, and he had been pissed. It excited him, in a way, that she knew which buttons to press, that she wasn't afraid to stand up and tell him when she'd had enough of his shit. Maybe that was why... He swallowed hard and turned away from her, bracing against the back of the chair. He could hear her moving, picking up soft twinkling shards, but he couldn't look at her. He was too ashamed. As he spoke, his voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.
"Stop it, Jock. This isn't about us. What's happening with Rosa? With you?"
Nora put the shards in the bin, before grabbing a wad of tissues from the box on his desk; she'd cut her palm and he itched to take it, make sure it wasn't too deep. He gripped the back of the chair tighter and forced himself to focus. "... I flushed her drugs. She wasn't happy about it." Had he been hasty? He'd never touched heroin, but he'd known plenty who'd had over the years. Once that shit got its claws into you, it was one of the most difficult to get back off. Most die before they get clean. How far would Rosa go for another fix now she couldn't come to him? Would she decide to find Nick again?
"Is this my fault, for letting her come to the club? Is this your fault, for bringing her here? She's dangerous, Jock She's bad news."
"She needs help, that's all, she's lost," he replied weakly, but her words were ringing in his ears. If either he or Nora had done things differently tonight, would she have still decided to take more? Rosa didn't seem to realise how close she'd come to death, nor the fact that he'd flushed the drugs to protect her, to make her see sense. All of a sudden, she was intent on rebelling but why...? A small hand gripped his elbow, dragging him back to the present, and he allowed Nora to turn him around to face her. Her face was lined with worry, those wide brown eyes intent upon his face. For a moment, he could have almost forgotten about Dermot downstairs and imagined that her concern was something more, something deeper.
"I thought when you left here all those years ago, you were going to do better. Why did you bring her here? Did you know her brother was a cop? Are you crazy?"
Jock gave a laugh, but there was no humour behind it. He sank back so he was leaning against the desk, his knee knocking against her leg, feeling the warmth. "Her dearthair's a fuckin' kid, I ain't worried about him." Jock fell quiet for a moment before he looked at Nora, his features hard. "There are things you don't know about Rosa, okay? Things I... It's not my place to tell you. I had to get her out of there." He sighed impatiently with a shake of his head. "You wouldn't understand, Nora. Yeah, I left to get better, but sometimes shit happens and sometimes you have no fuckin' choice."
"You were doing good, weren't you? Dermot said you were happier."
Jock scoffed, narrowing his eyes at her. "As if I was going to burst your happy little bubble while you were both playing happy families with Max fuckin' Sullivan's spawn. Why the fuck would I have told him anything? And anyway, it ain't like I can't handle myself, is it, Nora? I'm used to being on my own." At this, he looked her up and down, then pushed away from the desk and moved to the window. "This is who I am. What's in the point in 'getting better' when it's in my fuckin' blood, my bones. Nah. I am who I am. It's got me this far and it'll see me through to the end. Even if that end's sooner than most folks." He fell quiet, staring out the window, watching birds fluttering around a nearby hedge. The rose bushes beneath were in full bloom. "Why are you so bothered about Rosa anyway?" he finally asked without looking at her. "Sometimes... Sometimes, I think you're jealous."
***
"I wasn't aware you were my personal secretary? And you can have the sofa, if you're insisting."
Lawrence smirked, before eyeing up the sofa, which surprisingly, did look damn comfy. "I don't exactly see how you've got anything better to do?" He questioned, rolling the apple between his fingers. "Plus, you'll like it. I promise. Then you can get back to playing with your balls, or whatever it is I'm apparently interrupting." He watched as Luke strode across to the wardrobe and began to rifle through shirts. His gaze wandered across the younger man's broad and muscled back, with just the right amount of sun-kissed tan. Then he smirked and looked away again. There was a time, perhaps... But Luke had made it perfectly clear where he stood now. Experiments didn't mean anything.
"You know, people might start suggesting something with the two of us in here alone at night. That you're a puff, or something. A fairy, a weasel."
He stilled, before letting his gaze find Luke's. He was looking at Lawrence through the reflection of the mirror, almost as if he'd been hearing Lawrence's train of thought. The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, but he didn't say a word. Just watched, eyes slightly hooded, as Luke approached, doing up the buttons of the blue shirt, tight abs disappearing beneath the material. Lawrence dragged his gaze upwards and cocked his head, the lazy smirk remaining in place. Yes, there had been a time. In the Riot Club, long after the other boys had gone to bed. He and Luke had remained up, determined to see the light of dawn. More vodka, more cocaine. Luke had smashed a £600,000 vase onto the floor and they were laughing and then Lawrence had kissed him. Rough and hard, slamming him back and Luke had returned it. It had been weird and fast. Biting and kissing, groping, Luke's trousers loose... Until he suddenly punched Lawrence square in the jaw and sent him spinning to the floor.
Luke had refused to speak to him for weeks after that. And if the boys had thought something was up, they didn't seem to dare mention it. Things got better after, but it was upon a mutual, unspoken agreement that it would never be mentioned again. Luke was in front of him now, staring hard, and Lawrence looked back with a pleasant little smile on his face. Luke might see a puff, but all Lawrence saw was sex. Sex and a means to an end, no matter where it came from. Luke took the apple from his hand and dropped it into the bin with a thud.
"But they won't say a fuckin' thing, because you're with me."
"Aren't I a lucky little girl," he bit back, getting up from the arm of the sofa and brushing past him. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and wheeled it to the door. He followed Luke out the of room, down the elevator and into the underground car park. As they approached Luke's car, he gave a low whistle. "Business booming, is it, Winters?" He grinned as he slid in and shut the door behind him.
Lawrence looked out the passenger side window as the city flitted past. He'd given Luke directions, but still hadn't told him where they were going. He liked to keep him in suspense. Plus, if Luke realised they were going to see the Chief Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, he would most likely refuse. See, Luke had a record and an extensive one at that. Drug dealer, aggravated assaults and a surprising number of exhibitionist charges. Oh, how Lawrence had found them amusing, and maybe perhaps, a little bit of a turn on. The boy was messed up, that was for sure. All too soon, they were pulling into the gates of a large building. It was an old school, which had been converted into four luxury houses. Lawrence climbed out with his suitcase, winking across at Luke before heading to the door. He jabbed the buzzer for House 3. A few moments later, a gravelly voice crackled over the line. "Yeah?"
"It's Lawrence. I brought that friend." There was no reply, just a loud beep as the door unlatched. Lawrence grinned at Luke and pushed his way in. The foyer was beautiful. Despite the building looking brick plain out the front, inside it was immaculate. The marble floor shone, a staircase spiralled upwards to their left. There was a seating area of leather Chesterfield chairs and an array of house plants dotting every shelf, windowsill and corner, in various size pots. Lawrence led Luke up the marble staircase, ignoring his questioning looks. Reaching the black door, a silver 3 hanging on the front, he knocked. It opened almost immediately and a tall man stood, towering in the doorway. He was older than Lawrence by a good thirty years, his blond hair beginning to thin and grey around the edges. He looked similar to Lawrence too, around the nose, and they had the same colour eyes. The man scanned Luke from head to foot, grunted, then stepped aside to let them in.
"This is Luke Winters. He sells small, but he's trustworthy. Smart, street-wise, and has a head for business," Lawrence was already chatting away to the man as if Luke wasn't even there.
"This isn't a small operation-" the man replied, shooting Luke a suspicious look.
"Trust me," Lawrence urged, before turning back to Luke with a grin. He could see Luke was confused and more than slightly pissed off. "Luke, this is my uncle, Brian Shaw. Superintendent, that is. He works for the Met police - Luke, listen -" Because Luke had suddenly started protesting, looking at Brian furiously as he backed up. Lawrence approached him quickly. "- No, listen, listen - we want to make a deal with you."
***
Rosa didn't know what to do. She'd wandered the streets aimlessly for an hour before sinking down on a bench on the high street, a dejected look on her face. How could Jock have done that to her? He was supposed to be her best friend, yet he'd thought exactly the same as everybody else. She was a druggie, she must have taken more, she must have overdosed. No matter how many times she'd told him she hadn't... He hadn't trusted her. And now Robbie was a cop, so he wouldn't help her and deep down she didn't blame him. She was jealous. Jealous that he'd found a way out of this life and left her behind to rot in the gutter. She cried. Her wrists burned, her veins itched like a thousand fiery ants were running up and down inside them.
What was she going to do now? Who could she turn to? After a while, the tears faded, and Rosa scratched her wrist until small grazes appeared, oozing blood. There was nobody in the world who wanted her. Jock and Robbie thought they were doing good, but it was their betrayals that hurt the most.
"They let you out then?"
Rosa's head snapped up, eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion. But, to her surprise, it was that copper from last night. The tall one. The handsome one. She quickly wiped the half-dried tears from her cheeks and shifted, tense and ready to flee at any given moment.
"Seems I have... two. I think one has your name on it. Literally."
He turned one of the cups to face her; Rosa. Even she couldn't stop the small smile that curled the corners of her lips. Flushing, she glanced away, nibbling her bottom lip nervously. When Rosa next looked at him, it was from beneath thick dark lashes. "... Thank you." He was smiling broadly back at her and her stomach did a silly little somersault that made her blush even more. Carter took the seat beside her, handing her the cup. Rosa curled her hands around it, feeling the warmth, her thumb brushing over the named daubed in marker. He'd remembered her name. Curiously, she looked back across at him. Now he was closer, she could see every detail of his face; his eyes were a darker brown than hers, like chocolate rather than honey. He had a very handsome face and his smile, when it caught her off-guard, had the ability to send a thousand butterflies to flight in the pit of her stomach. There was a small scar on his chin that, for some reason, she longed to touch. And despite the fact that he was a dirty copper, she found herself drawn to him, like the old cliched moth to a flame. There was a kindness in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing.
Rosa looked away again, tugging her sleeve over her wrist to hide the raw marks. "I discharged meself. I didn't overdose, but nobody believes me. My friend..." She fell quiet then, jaw clenched, remembering she was speaking to an officer. Maybe Jock had called Robbie and Robbie had called him? Maybe he was just here because he had to be. In any case, he wasn't somebody to be dishing her dark secrets too. "Why you 'ere?" she suddenly snapped, the walls around her almost visible in the way they shot up. "If they're worried about me, they can fuck off. I ain't going back." She slid up and sat the coffee pointedly on the bench between them. "And anyway, I know what you coppers are like and I don't trust you. I know you want something so what is it?" Rosa folded her arms over her chest as she looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Sex? That's what most of you want, ain't it? And it's pretty easy with a druggie, believe me. Long as your wallet's full, you normally get what you want. Or is it info? You buy my fix and I spill the beans on my dealer, is that it? I ain't fuckin' stupid. I don't want your money, or your coffee."
***
Bov woke up with a grin on his face. It was match day, but not only that - Pete was back. It may be just for one match, but Bov wasn't going to let that fact bring him down. Pete would be a lucky talisman today. Him and Bov, best friends, /brothers/, back together in the stands and in the fight. Bov couldn't fucking wait. Bobby Moore ran in as soon as he heard Bov moving about his bedroom, barking and bounding about his feet. "All right, chill out, will ya? Nutty bastard." Bov fought his way to the back door, unlocked it and kicked Bobby out to relieve himself. With a bit of peace and quiet to think, he headed to the kettle, switched it on, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard above. Pete coming to a match. He still couldn't believe he'd actually agreed. Bov knew Pete was risking a lot - fuck, maybe even his own relationship with Lara? They'd all seen what had happened between Shannon and Steve - yet, at the same time, it cemented the fact that Pete was his best friend, his brother, and would always have his back no matter what.
Bov made a coffee and ran over the plan in his head. He was meeting the boys at 9am in the usual place; the Abbey. A few pints before they headed for Upton Park for 11am. In their seats by half past, ready for the match to start at midday. Gave them plenty of time to scope out the other firm, to see exactly who they were dealing with. If it all went smoothly, Pete would be home before Lara had even realised something was up. If he got injured, he was going to fake a story about getting mugged, or into a fight with some alky on his lunch break. Anyway, everything was going to go to plan, Bov could sense it. Today was going to be a fucking beautiful day. Today, the GSE were going to be unstoppable.
Bov let Bobby back in and fed him as he showered and changed into fresh trackies and new white Addidas trainers. A little bit of gel in his hair and then he was grabbing the keys and fighting Bobby into the hall. "No, you fuckin' idiot, you're stayin' 'ere today. And don't think about chewing any of my West 'Am shit, you 'ear me? I spent forty quid last year on that fuckin' scarf you mauled." By the time he reached the Abbey, the sun was shining over the tree tops, the sky was blue and the birds were singing. Even Bov couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he pushed his way into the pub to the sound of raucous cheers. Swill was juggling a tray of pints to the familiar table at the back, a party hat wedged on top of his head. "Boooooooooi!" He sang as Bov approached, dodging as Bov went to smack the hat and sloshing beer all over the floor. "You lil cunt-"
"Where's Pete?" Bov demanded, looking around at the group. Ryan was there, foot propped on the stool and a beer in hand. He shrugged at Bov's questioning look.
***
Lara sat on the park bench and watched as Charlie played with a few other little kids on the slide. They took it in turns clambering up the plastic steps and slipping down the slide. Each time Charlie got to the top, he'd yell, "I'm the King of the castle!" And hurtle down, his soft black curls lifting in the breeze, his red welly boots jamming into the dirt at the bottom and slowing him to a stop. Then he'd scramble up, run around the back and do it all over again.
Lara hadn't been able to stay at home that morning. The piles of laundry had been left unfolded on the dining room table. Pete had left before 11am for an urgent job at work, leaving Lara to mill about the house. She'd had a to-do list as long as her arm - wash up, make the beds, hoover, do some art and crafts with Charlie (preferably before hoovering) - but she'd found it hard to stay focused. No matter what she busied herself with, the card and the flowers kept coming to mind. Last night, she had crept downstairs, pulled the card out the bin and unfurled it on the kitchen table. She'd read it over and over, traced the familiar scrawl of Max's handwriting - because it was Max's, she couldn't deny herself - and tried to figure out just what the fuck was going on. Was it a joke? Was somebody just extremely talented at copying hand-writing? Had he left a stack of birthday cards for someone to send out every birthday? There was so many posibilities and trying to find an answer gave her a headache.
Then a small voice in her mind had asked, why hadn't he come back sooner? and she had flushed darkly, furious with herself for the mere thought. She never wanted him back, she had told herself, the shame hot in her chest as she'd hidden the card beneath paperwork in the kitchen drawer. He was better off staying dead. Though even in death, she hadn't quite escaped him. How many dreams had she had of him in the past three years? Most of them terrifying, yet not all. It was those dreams that got under her skin the most. Dreams where Max had her against a wall, hand beneath her skirt, mouth on her breast, fucking her, and she'd wake hot and clammy with an uncomfortable stirring in the pit of her stomach beside a snoring Pete. The sleeping tablets helped though.
If Pete noticed the card was missing from the bin, he hadn't said anything. Just commented on how tired she looked, telling her to put her feet up and rest. "Ring me if there's any problems," he told her sincerely. Then he'd kissed her cheek, hugged the kids goodbye and left with a call of, "I'll be back this afternoon!"
Now Lara let out a sigh, pushing her hand through dark hair as she glanced at Kimmy. Fast asleep, thumb hanging loosely from her mouth, looking absolutely angelic. She could never resist falling asleep in the pushchair, which Lara was thankful for; when Charlie was a baby, he'd never wanted to sleep anywhere at all. A few parents left the playground with their kids, leaving Lara, Kimmy and Charlie alone. Charlie raced off to the sandpit and began to dig in earnest with a small plastic spade he'd found on the ground beside it, his tongue jutting from the corner of his mouth.
Lara watched him play. The years were already slipping by too fast. One day, Charlie would ask about his parentage and she would have to tell him the truth. The truth was what he deserved. But right now? Lara would protect him from that evil at all costs. She'd lay down her life for it.
It began to rain lightly, the clouds shifting to hide the sun. She shivered and got to her feet, her back to Charlie as she spent a few minutes fixing the rain cover over the pushchair. Kimmy stirred with a soft murmur but didn't wake, merely replugged her mouth with her thumb and dozed on. "Come on, then Charlie, it's raining," she called over her shoulder. Lunch as soon as they got back and then she'd start on those pots. Hopefully Kimmy would distract herself for twenty minutes so she could tidy. Grabbing his coat from beneath, she shook it out, then turned to look for him. "Charlie?"
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