Page 69 of Parker
“Um,” Michael says. “But Nicky and I are on a date.”
“Well, now you’re fucking not. Leave now, before I get my men to remove you.” The two men stare at each other. But Michael obviously thinks better than to argue and stands to leave.
“Will you be okay, Nicky?” he asks me.
“Nicky’s my wife,” Joel interjects. “Of course, she’ll be all right. I spend my life keeping her safe.”
“Your wife?” Michael’s eyes pop open in shock.
“Ex-wife,” I say deadpan, and scowl at Joel. “Very much ex-wife.”
Michael holds up his hands, admitting defeat. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Sounds as if you have a lot to discuss. Especially if one of you thinks you’re still married. See you later, Nicky,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders off into the night.
“What the hell was that?” I yell at my ex-husband. “How dare you interrupt me when I’m socializing. You might control Glasgow, you prick. But you don’t control me.”
“Keep your voice down,” he growls, taking my wrist in his hand. “I just want to talk to you.”
“After that little display? No chance. Get lost,” I tell him, pulling my wrist from his grip, jumping down from my stool, and shrugging into my coat. “Stay away from me.”
He pulls a fifty-pound note from his pocket and places it on the table, then follows me out into the street. His long strides make one of my two short ones, and he keeps up with me easily as I march back toward the shop.
“Go away,” I call over my shoulder, but he stays behind me within arm’s reach. We arrive at the front door, and I turn to face him. I’m furious at his ability to spoil my night. Furious with the huge emotions coursing around my body. He holds my gaze for a few moments. The distance between us is both enormous and minute.
“Nicky,” he says quietly in an ominous tone. “Remember, you’re always mine. Wherever you go, I’m watching you, making sure you’re safe. The thought of another man’s hands on your skin will be the death of me. Don’t do it again.” With that, he walks away, his men following behind.
***
It’s Christmas Eve, and Sophie has already left. She’s spending the big day with her family. They invited me along, but a day at home on my own is much needed. Since opening the shop four months ago, we’ve been run off our feet. My Christmas is going to be a quiet one.
Our success is exhilarating but exhausting. For the first time in my life, I have my own home with my own space. I moved straight from my parents’ house to prison, to my mother’s flat, and then in with Joel. After Sophie nudged me in the right direction following my relapse from the divorce, I took the lease on a small one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city, focusing on paying my rent kept me off the demon drink.
The shop phone rings as I finish for the night. Locking away what needs to be and tidying the place ready to reopen after the Christmas holidays, I pick up the receiver, and the line goes dead. Again. Prank calls are a nuisance.
Darkness has fallen. The street outside my window is full of people hustling and bustling to get last-minute shopping done. As I glance up, I spot two police officers heading my way. This isn’t unusual?even in the few short months we’ve been open, I’ve had a few visits regarding shoplifters or fights outside the shop. I step out from behind the counter as the smaller man in front pushes open the door. Both are rake-like, with pale complexions and stubbled chins. Apart from the difference in height, they’re almost carbon copies of each other.
“Mrs. Nicola Parker?” the taller officer asks.
“Smith now, but yes, that’s me. How can I help you, officers?” They both remove their hats and hold them across their chests. My heart sinks. Something about the situation screams disaster is on the horizon.
The smaller man takes a deep breath. “Is there anyone else here, Ms. Smith?” “No, my colleague has finished now for the holidays. I’m just getting ready to go myself.” The men glance at each other. “I’m sorry, Ms. Smith. We have some bad news for you. Your mother, Eveline Smith, was found dead in her apartment this morning.” My mouth drops open, and I stare at them vacantly. “Is there someone we can call? Who’s expecting you at home?”
“No one,” I mumble. “I live on my own. What happened?”
“Her death is being treated as unexplained, but at the moment, there’s no reason to expect foul play. When was the last time you saw your mother?”
“Years ago. It’s probably been four years since we last spoke,” I answer.
“Can we call someone to come and sit with you?” one of them prompts again, but I’m not paying attention. “A friend, perhaps, or a family member?”
Boyd appears in the doorway. The officers turn at the noise of the bell.
“Is everything all right, Nicky?” he asks, looking between the officers and me.
“It’s my mother, Boyd,” I say, stunned. “She’s dead.” He moves toward me and takes a chair from behind the counter, maneuvering me to sit on it. A sickness bubbles in my stomach. “She’s gone.”
He turns to address the men who bore the bad news. “Officers, thank you for your professionalism. I can look after Mrs. Parker from here. I’ll make sure she gets home safe. Here’s my card.” The officers exchange glances at the use of my married name.
Boyd passes them a business card from his breast pocket. “When arrangements need to be made, please contact me directly.”
