CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR

BRIAN POV

“I achieved nothing.”

He sighs. “Who knows what difference you made to her? It’s impossible to say how our words impact another, and if your advice wasn’t welcome now there’s nothing to say she won’t remember it later.”

      I raise my glass. “To your excellent words.”

      He raises his. “May you heed them.”

      My gut feels strangely bereft. A sense of loss below the struggle for rationality. Maybe I need a support worker myself after suffering the Moona Avii effect.

      I take a deep breath, attempting to quell my inner turmoil.

      “She’s gone,” I say, as if saying it out loud will put a lid on it.

      “That she is,” he replies. “May she be blessed with a long and fruitful life, wherever that may take her.”

      “Far away from here most likely.”

      “You should hope so, for your own sanity,” Cain says, and he’s right.

 I should hope I don’t see Moona Avii again. I should hope that she’s picked up by other agencies and they manage to succeed where I’ve failed. I should hope that she finds happiness with a young, spirited guy her own age, someone decent and caring. I should hope that she finds the love she’s so sorely missed in her life this far.

 I should hope she’s found it within herself to offer up a genuine apology to Nick and Amie and ask for another chance. Maybe she has. Maybe they’re all having a heart to heart right now down the road in Lydbrook, sharing a cup of tea in Amie’s warm kitchen.

      But no.

      Of course not.

      I hear her voice before I see her. I’d recognise that cackle anywhere, full of life and mischief rolled together. The bar door creaks on its big old hinges and stumbles on a guy in a hoodie who used to be on our books a few years back. Raul Elf , son of a bricklayer who sold drugs from the back of his van over in Gloucester.

 Moona Avii stumbles in after him, and my beer catches in my throat.

      Her pale cheeks are flushed pink and her legs seem bandy. Drunk. She’s fucking drunk.

 Raul lurches into the bar and she follows him, pointing out a tequila bottle on the back shelf.

 Cain turns slowly in his seat, looks from them to me and back again.

      “Is that–”

      “Yes,” I say.

      “Sweet Jesus,” he mutters, “but she’s–”

      “Underage,” I finished. “Yes, she is.”

      He slams a hand on my wrist as I rise from my seat. “Not. Your. Problem,” he says and his grey eyes are icy.

      I shake him off more roughly than I intend.

 •

•

•  

MOONA POV

Raul is an idiot, but he’s fun enough and he’s paying. He brought me a couple of beers out to the back of the George and Dragon, then we dashed into the Brewers Arms for one before stumbling down the street to Sassy Ten. I’m already past dinner time back at Amie and Nick’s, but who gives a shit. Not them, that’s for sure. It’s probably a relief.

  Raul swings open the big door of Sassy’s and I follow him in. I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach and it’s gone to my head, but I don’t care. Why should I? Nobody else does.

  I’ve barely got enough bus money to get home to Lydbrook and the timetable is pathetic here. The last bus leaves about six, and I’m sure I’ve missed it already, but that feels hazy now. Maybe I can bunk up with Raul tonight. I don’t want him, but I’m sure he wants me, and that’s bound to be enough to get me somewhere to sleep at least.

      I’ll kick him in the balls if he tries to grope me.

      If he doesn’t let me stay after that, I’ll sleep outside. I’ve done it before. It wasn’t great, but I lived, and I’d better suck it up since I’ll likely be doing a lot more of it later this week.

      I point to a bottle of tequila on the back shelf of the bar and Raul raises an eyebrow.

      “You sure we wanna be hitting the hard stuff? The night’s young.”

      “Not being a pussy, are you?”

      He gives me a smirk. “I’m no fucking pussy. You’ll find that out later.”

      The barman eyes me as Raul points to the bottle at the back, but Raul slaps his wallet on the counter and I give my most confident expression. I’m almost old enough to drink, what’s a few days?

      Then come the words I’ve been dreading. I groan as the barman clears his throat.

      “Do you have an ID?”

      Footsteps at my back give me shivers. “No,” a voice says. “She doesn’t.”

      I spin on the spot to launch abuse at the interferer, all ready to tell the nosey sonofabitch to mind his own fucking business, but as my stare crashes into Brian Douglas, and those dark green eyes bore into mine, I take a breath.

      My drunk tongue won’t function properly, my words feel garbled in my throat, but it turns out I don’t need them, because it’s him who does all the talking.

      He pushes Raul with a shunt that surprises me. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he asks him, before taking me by the elbow and pulling me away from the bar. I wrench away on instinct, fists ready to fly, but Brian doesn’t let go.

      His grip is firm on my arms, his eyes serious and burning and… pissed at me.

      He’s really fucking pissed at me.

      “What are you doing here?” he snaps. “You should be at home, making amends with Amie and Nick.”

      “It’s not my fucking home,” I snap back. “Amie and Nick are dead to me. I’m having fun with Raul. Fun, Brian. I’m having a good fucking time.”

      “And that good fucking time is over now,” he snarls, and the blood rushes to my cheeks. I’ve never heard him swear before.

      I feel like the whole place is staring at me. Some posh guy in a suit shakes his head from the table in the corner and it gives me the rage, right in the pit of me. I hate people laughing at me. Judging me. Taking me for a fucking loser.

   “This good fucking time is over when I say it’s over!” I hiss, but Brian doesn't let me go. His grip tightens on my arm and he takes a step toward the door. I feel myself moving, even though my boots are dragging. He’s strong, much stronger than I gave him credit for under that boring suit in his office. He’s still wearing it, but he looks different with his tie hanging loose. He looks… wired.

 “This is assault!” I screech, but Brian Douglas must be as trashed as I feel, because he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause as he marches me out and presses me up against the brickwork outside.

      “I’m trying to fucking help you,” he tells me, and his breath is in my face. There’s only a hint of ale, and he doesn’t look drunk at all, not even a little bit. Fuck.

      The cold air hits me hard and my legs feel like jelly. I should have grabbed something to eat from Amie and Nick’s before I came out here. I've had nothing since breakfast, and that was just a flimsy slice of toast.

      I take a breath and it feels like the wind has been knocked right out of my sails. Not least since Raul hasn’t even poked his head out to make sure I’m okay.