Page 7 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
Her face grows pinched, and I suddenly notice the dark smudges beneath her eyes.
“Money wasn’t enough,” she says. “I needed a change, and this place kind of landed in my lap. I didn’t have time to start putting a property on the market. Ihadto get away.”
I feel myself soften at her words. I wonder what made her up and leave everything to come to a strange city alone, to live in this shithole, with the three of us working beneath her.
“Sorry. I didn’t realise it was a touchy subject.”
Her gaze flicks to the sketch pad I’m still holding. “Just like I didn’t realisethatwas a touchy subject either.”
I press my lips together. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s not touchy—at least it shouldn’t be. It was a long time ago.”
She nods. “I understand. Time isn’t always a healer, huh? Sometimes it only makes the pain worse.”
We stand, staring at each other.
“Theresa,” I start.
“Tess,” she replies, interrupting me and giving a little lop-sided shrug. “Everyone calls me Tess... or at least, they did.”
“Tess,” I repeat. “I just wanted to say sorry for the way?—”
Rocco and Kane bowl into the bedroom, their big, tattooed, now fairly drunk selves barrelling into the middle of our conversation.
“Hey, boss,” Rocco says. “I think we’re pretty much done.”
I turn to face my employee. “Yeah, all right, Rocco. You can get going.”
Rocco laughs. “I wasn’t talking to you, Art. I was addressing the lady. She’s the boss now.” He throws her a wink.
Tess presses a smile between her lips. “No problem, Rocco. Thanks for your help. You, too, Kane.”
Kane nods. “You coming, Art?”
I turn back to her. “You sure we’ve done enough?”
“Yes thanks. The apartment is looking a million times better.” She raises her voice, aiming it at the men already heading out the door. “Just remember to take the empty cans and pizza boxes with you.”
Rocco is already halfway out the flat, and calls back to her, “Will do!”
The moment I shared with Theresa has thrown me. There had been some kind of connection I haven’t felt in a long time. I look at her, standing beside the bedroom window, the light from the streetlamp filtering through the old net curtain. She appears small, but brave and determined as well.
“You sure you’re all right?” I ask. It feels weird leaving her here alone.
“I’m a big girl, Art,” she says. “I can look after myself.”
I’m tempted to point out that she isn’t so big, but decide against it. It seems we could go from everything being okay, to being at each other’s throats in nought to sixty.
She lifts her fine, dark eyebrows at me. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”
I try not to let her words sting as I turn and leave.
Truth is, I don’t have a home to go to.
I wasn’t supposed to be staying at the flat—that hadn’t been part of the lease I signed—but the old lady never visited the place, or made any attempt to rent it out separately, and the keys were on the same bunch as the master key I’d been given for the shop. I poured everything into getting my business up and running, and I pay a decent salary to Rocco and Kane. The workI do pro-bono means I’m losing hours from my own salary, but I don’t care. As long as I have what I need—a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and to be my own boss in the shop—I don’t want for anything more. Material possessions have never been important to me, and while others I’d been at school with had gone on to earn crazy money doing the London finance thing, I’d joined another tattoo studio as an apprentice, learning my craft. So when the flat share I’d been in previously had fallen through, I’d just stayed at the shop. I hadn’t told the rest of the guys. In their eyes, nothing had changed and they hadn’t noticed the couple of extra bags lying around. I’d lost money on the previous place, and hadn’t had enough stashed away to get myself started somewhere new. I’d told myself it was temporary and that I’d move out again as soon as somewhere else came up, but that never happened. That had been six months ago now. When I received the letter saying the new owner of the property would be residing upstairs, I knew I was going to have to move out, but I thought I had at least another month or so. I certainly hadn’t expected her to show up a few days later and start throwing out my stuff. Perhaps I should have just owned up to the fact I’ve been living there, but my pride had prevented me.
So now I have a new landlady, not only here, but sleeping in my bed.
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