Page 12 of Just a Number

Laur:

Shit, what’s Doug done now?

Her quick response must mean that she’s between clients right now.

Me:

Nothing new, just being the usual dickhead. But I think I need to get out sooner rather than later.

Laur:

I’ll ask around. What’s new?

Me:

Nothing much, started casual shifts at The Thirst Trap this month. Hoping it will lead to something more permanent.

Laur:

Ah, I love it in there - let me know when you’re working and I’ll bring the crew in and make sure they give you loads of tips!

Me:

Will do. Off to make shit on the pottery wheel. Let me know if you hear of anywhere I could stay.

Laur:

On it. Love you x

Me:

Whatever, loser! x

I tuck my phone away in my pocket as I arrive at the studio, ready to roll my sleeves up and lose myself in the clay for a few hours.

By 6 pm I’m back at home. The bar doesn’t need me, but I got a text from Abby to arrange a quiet time for me to go in and practice cocktails one day before my shift. I’ve mostly been clearing tables and taking food out to customers, so it’s promising that they’re asking me to train up behind the bar. Fingers crossed it all works out and I get some more regular shifts soon.

I’m just warming up some leftovers to scoff down before I head to Zack’s when the front door opens and slams shut. I grit my teeth. There’s only one person in this house that arrives with that much attitude.Dammit, I was really hoping I’d be back out of here before he got home.The microwave dings and I grab a fork from the drawer. No need for crockery. If I eat the pasta-bake out the dish it’s already in, there’s less cleaning up.

I’m making my way over to the table in the corner to eat when Doug appears in the doorway. He looks more worse for wear than usual. He’s wearing smart trousers and a shirt, but his tie is half undone and hanging round his neck. His cheeks are ruddy, and even from this distance, I can smell the alcohol on him.

“Little early in the evening to be this hammered, isn’t it, Dougie?” He hates it when I call him that. His eyes narrow as he looks over at me and clocks what I’m eating.

“You little shit. That was my dinner.”

“Didn’t see your name on it. Finders keepers.” I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t stop myself riling him up at every opportunity.

“Where’s your mother?”

I shrug. “Still at work, I guess.”

He frowns. “She should be back by now.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dougie. Maybe she’s avoiding you.”

He makes his way over and collapses into a chair opposite me, which is strange. He doesn’t tend to hang around and make conversation. I do my best to ignore him, although I’m convinced I could get drunk from the fumes coming off him.

“I think it’s time you move out. Give your mother and me some space. She spent all those years raising you and your sister and here you are, still leeching off her.”

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