Page 68 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
My mother, Diane, frowns. “The boy with the alcoholic father?”
“Yes, Mum. My first love. The boy I grew up with.”
“I know who he is, Sophia,” my mum snipes. “I’m just surprised to hear you use his name. I figured the two of you had fallen out since you never made any mention of him after we’d moved.”
“After you tore me away from him, you mean?” How had my mother ended up with such a warped view of what had happened? “I cried for weeks after that move.”
“You weren’t well.”
“I know that, but I was also heartbroken. He meant everything to me, and you made me leave him.”
“He wasn’t the right sort of boy for you anyway, Sophia. He came from a rough background.”
My mouth drops. I had no idea my mother had felt that way about him. We’d always been hanging around together, and I’d assumed she’d liked him.
“Wow, judgemental much?”
My mum tuts and rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t like that, and you know it wasn’t. It was fine when the two of you were small children, but then when you were teens he wasn’t exactly a good influence. The pair of you were always staying out too late, and there was the sex and the drinking…”
“We were teenagers. We were in love. That’s what teenagers do.”
“How do you know if all that bad behaviour wasn’t the cause of your illness? Perhaps if you hadn’t been drinking so much, then your kidneys wouldn’t have started to fail.”
“Oh, my God, Mum. It was ten years ago, and my kidneys are defective, whether I drank back then or not. And even if I did, it was the odd cider at the weekend in the park. It’s not like I was drinking a bottle of vodka a day.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Unlike that boy’s dad. What’s Richard doing now then, anyway?”
I almost don’t want to tell her, already knowing what the response will be. “He’s a tattoo artist.”
“Oh, Sophia. Really?” She exhales a breath of disappointment. “I assume he was the one who put that monstrosity on your ankle? It really does make you look cheap.”
“I don’t care. It’s my body, and there isn’t exactly much I have control over these days, so if I want to get a tattoo, then I will.”
“Don’t come crying to me if the donor board bumps you down the list because you’re not taking care of yourself like you should. You know they can do that if they want to.”
“Mum, there’s no chance I’m getting a donor any time soon. I only just started dialysis. I’ve got years to wait, and there’s no way in hell I’m not going to live my life while I’m waiting. I’ve already put my life on hold for so long.”
I know my mother cares and is protective of me—and I would probably be exactly the same way if I had a sick daughter—but that doesn’t stop the anger rising inside me.
“I’m twenty-seven years old, Mum. I don’t need your permission to do anything. Now, I’m going out, and I’ll give Richard—or Rocco as he’s now called—your love, shall I?”
With that, feeling exactly like a teenager again, I slam out of the house.
I’ve gone for a casual look, in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, even though the weather’s warm. I know there’s a chance I’ll end up having to tell Rocco about my kidney failure at some point this evening, but I don’t want to. I like him seeing me as that seventeen-year-old girl he’d once known. Now everyone sees me as the sick girl, the one they feel sorry for and talk to my mother about, saying things like ‘such a shame’ and ‘she’s so young’, as though I’m already dead.
I catch the train into the city and then the nearest Tube to the address Rocco had texted me. It doesn’t mention the name of a restaurant, so I wonder if it’s actually his address and he’s going to cook for me. He’d never shown any interest in cooking before, but things change.
I leave the Tube station and walk down the road, following the map on Google.
I see him, standing out in the street, holding a bunch of flowers. He wears a shirt and a smart pair of jeans, though the tattoos are still visible on his wrists and neck. It’s an alarmingly attractive combination, and I find my stomach flipping and my pulse rate taking off. Oh, no. I can’t allow myself to react to him that way. He’s an old friend, and we’re catching up, that’s all.
Something occurs to me. If this is his address, why is he standing outside?
He spots me, and a wide smile spreads across his face, and he lifts his hand in a half wave.
“Hi,” he says.
His arm slips around my waist as he leans in to kiss my cheek.
