You Need Me, page 6
“Cool. Some other time. I’m going to head back to work now, anyways. But I’ll give you my number and we can do something some other time.”
“I don’t have a pen.”
Jess laughed, “What century are you in, who needs a pen?”
Jess took out her own phone and rhymed off her number. “Text this, and then you will have my number and you know where I am if you ever need to talk, right?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that… look it’s okay… I can get it some other time… honest…I’m…”
Jess grinned and shook her head.
“Here give me it.” She reached out and grabbed Susan’s phone from her and punched in her number. She handed it back. “And Susan, do yourself a favour and quit apologising to everyone for everything, eh? Now send me a text.”
Jess waited until her phone pinged. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jess winked and turned away.
She heard Susan’s phone ring again, and this time she answered it. Jess slowed down on the pretence of tying her shoelace.
Susan spoke in a hushed tone “Please, I don’t want to. I can’t do that. Please can you just leave me alone?”
Interesting, thought Jess. Doesn’t sound much like a sales call to me.
She whistled as she walked back to the café, her mind doing overtime as she thought about the strange lives of those who lived in this small town.
10
Ronnie
As Ronnie left the library, he lifted his hand to touch his cheek on the spot where the kid had kissed him. He wanted to feel it again—the unconditional acceptance she had given him. She hadn’t stared at him like he was crazy. She hadn’t backed away, disgusted by his smell. She hadn’t shrunk back in fear like the rest of them. Even now, Ronnie could see the few people around the main street backing off as he walked towards them. He saw them cross over to the other side of the street. He heard the sly whispers as they watched him shuffle his way home. Not that kid though.
The tears pricked his eyelids. He was twenty-six years old and, in another life, he could have had a kid of his own, a family, a proper family.
He could have been the same as everyone else. Normal. Nobody staring at him every time he left his house. His skin began to prickle, why couldn’t he just be like other people. The buzzing inside his head grew louder. Morag loved him. Didn’t she? Jess loved him too. She understood.
He placed one foot in front of the other, he had to get home. He had to get inside. Snippets of his past flitted in and out his head. His mum had always been more interested in her next fix of smack than getting food in his belly.
She’s a monster, Ronnie.
His family had been around back then, they had looked out for him.
They stopped us looking after you, Ronnie.
He knew he was lucky, he could have ended up in care.
But they’re all gone now Ronnie.
One aunt had died of cancer when he was fourteen, and the other overdosed six months after that. A year later, and his gran had died of what he believed to be a broken heart—her three daughters all gone before her.
At sixteen he’d been left with no choice but to go back to his mum. By then the drugs had well and truly taken hold of her
He felt himself shiver as he remembered the first time going out on the streets to score for her.
That’s when we stepped in to help Ronnie.
The weed had taken the edge off it, just like they had promised him it would.
His stomach lurched as a memory crashed its way inside his head. He had been about eighteen and had been hanging round the estate all day with his mates, smoking, but had been getting bad vibes from them. He’d left and gone home to find his mother out of her bed in the kitchen, standing over the cooker with a cigarette in her mouth.
“What are you doing?” he blurted.
His jaw dropped when she turned round. Her face was gone, replaced by a blank faceless mask like some weird waxwork figure. He had taken a step backwards.
‘I’m making your dinner you idiot, what the fuck do you think I’m doing.’
She had never made his dinner in her life.
She’s not your mother Ronnie. She’s come to take you away.
He had looked round to see where the voice was coming from, but there was nobody there. She’s going to hurt you, Ronnie, it persisted.
He had put his hands over his ears trying to drown out the voice, but it grew increasingly shrill, drilling through his fingers and slicing into his brain.
“What’s happened to your f-f-face?” he stuttered, as the figure in front of him started to morph into something dark and dangerous.
Cowering back, he pushed himself into the kitchen counter whimpering, but the creature kept inching closer and closer as the voice in his head grew to a screech inside his head.
She’s coming to get you, Ronnie. She’ll send you away.
“Stop!” he had yelled at the thing… no, the devil, advancing towards him. But it had just kept coming, a manic laugh escaping from the space where its mouth should have been.
She’s going to hurt you Ronnie. The insistent whisper galvanised him into action.
Ronnie had picked up the knife lying out on the counter and waved it at the thing before him
“Get the fuck out our house before my mum comes back!”
It had laughed again. Louder this time.
“I am your fucking mother, you crazy bastard. Put the knife down now.”
It’s not your mother, Ronnie. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not! The voice had grown louder until it screamed inside his head.
The creature came closer to him, face grotesquely twisted, the cigarette in its outstretched hand. He heard the hiss as the cigarette scorched his arm.
His world grew red, the pressure in his head about to explode, every nerve ending on red alert as he screamed and rushed at the monster masquerading as his mother, and brought the knife down, slashing her across the arm. The blood staining the sleeve of her white jumper spread out, and he’d watched, fascinated, as it formed the shape of a blood-red flower, before he looked up and saw his mother staring back at him, her mouth opened in a round O. The knife had dropped from his hand and then she ran, right past him and out the back door screaming, “He’s trying to fucking kill me, the crazy bastard is trying to fucking kill me.”
Ronnie could not remember much after that. He had woken up in a hospital bed and had stayed there for six months. Six months spent with people trying to get inside his head and forced into a room with other patients to paint bloody pictures and talk about his feelings. He had left the ward armed with a diagnosis, medication and an appointment with a psychiatrist.
They had not wanted him to return home to his mother, but he had nowhere else to go, and besides his mum needed him. Nobody else would look after her. Eventually they had agreed, and for the first twelve months, he had regular contact with the mental health team. Like a good boy, he had taken the pills and done what they told him to do. Life returned to normal.
Trust earned, the professionals began to back off. They had other people to look after, more urgent cases. People who needed them. He didn’t need them now. In the beginning Ronnie stuck to the routine they had helped him make. He kept popping the pills. He was a good boy. He felt better. He didn’t need them anymore. He began making excuses for his follow up appointments. He kept himself under the radar and they left him be.
Just be a good boy Ronnie. Don’t make a fuss. We’ll look after you. You don’t need those pills anymore. They just slow you down. Trust us Ronnie. The voices promised him everything.
At first, they would send letters, make a few phone calls, pop round to the house to check up on him. However, the check-ups soon fell away too, and they left him and his mum alone. Ronnie had been glad. He did not need them anymore. He could control the devil himself now. The voices were there to help him.
Ronnie looked up, surprised to find himself looking at his house. He had no recollection of his journey home, which wasn’t unusual. He quite often zoned out of the world around him. But today he felt more anxious than he had for a long time. There was a bad feeling in his belly. Touching his cheek again to remind himself of the little girl in the library, of acceptance, Ronnie took a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching him and made his way into the house.
Inside the door he stopped and listened for his mum’s usual yell. But only silence answered. He let out a sigh of relief and bent down to pick up the mail. He sifted through it, discarding the junk, until his eye caught the handwritten envelope addressed to him.
“Ronnie, is that you?” His mum’s voice screeched down the stairs and into his ears.
Sticking his fingers in his ears, he yelled back up. “Yes Mum, it’s me.”
“Where the fuck have you been, you lazy bastard? Bring me up a cuppa tea and a fag, now.”
Her voice managed to find its way through his fingers and he grimaced. He knew she could get her own tea and fags and she probably had been out of bed while he had been out. He wasn’t late, the clock read four-thirty p.m. and she wasn’t due her dinner until six. He still had ninety minutes, but it wouldn’t be good to go against her. Not today. Not now. The anxiety in his belly niggled away and the voice in his ear whispered, she’ll make IT come for you Ronnie, better be a good little boy for Mummy.
Ronnie shuffled into the kitchen and put the kettle onto boil, he took a cigarette out the packet lying in the mess he had left that morning. He popped it between his lips letting it hang there. He opened the envelope while waiting for the kettle to boil.
* * *
Meet me at the park at seven tonight. It is important. Don’t be late.
* * *
He stuffed the note in his pocket and took the tea upstairs. The cigarette dropped to the floor.
Don’t be late Ronnie, don’t be late. You had better not be late, Ronnie. You know what happens if you are late.
11
Jess
Jess let out a sigh of relief as the last of the customers left. The café had been busier than usual, and now she felt dirty and sticky. The sooner she tidied up, the quicker she could be out in the fresh air. She’d mopped half the floor when she heard the door chime ring.
“We’re closing,” she barked, not looking round. There was no reply, only the sound of heavy breathing. Her hands clenched around the handle of the mop, she swung round ready to give whoever it was the sharp edge of her tongue. Jess could give as good as she got and she was well used to the neighbourhood neds trying it on. There was no way she was about to let some wee scrote rob her. She stopped in her tracks. It wasn’t kids, it was the woman from the library, Morag, and her face was as white as a sheet.
“Here, sit down, quickly,” Jess let the mop fall to the floor and rushed forward and pulled out a chair. Morag allowed her to help her sit down. She could feel her tremble under her touch. “Are you okay? Has someone mugged you? Do you need me to call someone? Ambulance? Police?”
Morag shook her head, her hand at her throat. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m not hurt. Just had a bit of a shock, that’s all. I’ll be okay. I just needed a seat and I noticed you were still open… I thought Marion might be in… it’s okay… I’ll just go…” She made to stand up.
“Don’t be daft, just stay where you are. I’ll get you some tea or would you prefer coffee? Water?”
“A glass of water would be fine, thank you.”
Jess closed the café door and pulled down the latch, turning the sign from Open to Closed. She poured a glass of water from the tap, feeling guilty at her earlier reaction seeing Morag rushing from the library. Taking the drink over, she pulled up a chair next to Morag.
“Here, drink this. Take your time.” She watched as Morag took small sips of water, the colour slowly coming back into her cheeks.
“What happened? Are you sure you're okay?”
“I’m fine, honestly, I’m fine,” insisted Morag, and promptly burst into tears.
Jess rubbed Morag’s shoulder at the same time keeping her distance. She felt awkward in the older woman’s company and sensed that she was probably the last person Morag wanted giving her comfort, given the way she had treated her in the past.
“What happened? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Morag sniffed, “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. I’ve lost someone close to me, so close. I can’t believe he’s gone, left me…”
Jess mumbled, “Sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t need sorry, and I don’t need your pity. And no offence, but I hardly think anyone has ever needed someone like you in their life.”
Shocked at Morag’s response and her sudden change in manner, Jess drew back. “I was only trying to be nice, there’s no need to be so rude.”
Morag shrugged.
“I’ve seen you try to wheedle your way in with the others, poking your nose in where it’s not wanted, where the likes of you aren’t wanted.” she snapped, pulling herself up from the seat.
“You know what? You bloody well deserve to be on your own. No wonder you run that group, probably the nearest thing you’ll ever have to family or friends.” Jess’s hands were shaking, and she had to clench her fists to stop her slapping the woman in front of her.
Morag stood at the door. Turning around, she glared at Jess.
“Stay away. We don’t need you, and we don't want you,” she snapped as she unlocked the door and disappeared outside.
Jess shook her head in disbelief, where the hell had that come from? Crazy old bitch. She could bloody well whistle if she ever turned up here again looking for sympathy.
“Fuck you, Morag. And fuck your poxy group. This place is full of freaks and weirdos, sooner I’m out of here the better,” she muttered. “Won’t be long mum, I promise you, it won’t be long.”
Giving the shutters a sharp yank, Jess satisfied herself the café was securely locked up for the night. Though she didn’t know why she bothered so much. It was no skin off her nose if someone broke in and robbed the place overnight. That was Marion’s problem, she was just the hired help. The sap that Marion took advantage of, playing on her good nature knowing she needed the money—she was always leaving Jess to lock up
Jess turned away from the café, deliberating what she should do now. She rubbed her forehead, trying to ward off the tension headache caused by Morag’s outburst. Her eyes stung with tears remembering Morag’s harsh words. She might give the impression of being thick skinned and hard faced but the truth was that Jess desperately lacked any self-confidence and the encounter had left her feeling uncomfortable. It had taken a lot for her to move here, to make a new start and try to work things out for herself and she hated how that woman left her feeling small. Unwanted.
Jess kicked the café shutter and cursed under her breath. She didn’t want to go home now. Being cooped up in the flat, staring at four walls, getting herself angrier wouldn’t do her any good.
She briefly considered replying to the text she had received earlier. He would have whiled away a few hours for her, but she couldn’t even be bothered with him tonight, his neediness was becoming suffocating.
At times like this, Jess wished she was like other folk her age—with a bunch of friends and plans to look forward to. But she wasn’t like other folk her age, she had way too much baggage weighing her down. Christ, I haven’t even had a proper boyfriend yet. She didn’t count the quick fumbles she’d had in the past as relationships. And her current status would most definitely be ‘it’s complicated’ on social media, if she could be bothered to update it
She recalled her past and the nights that turned into giant piss-ups and the offer of a walk home at the end had always seemed like a good idea with the beer goggles on. But something had always stopped her from going too far and she’d always managed to sober up before she ended up in bed with some waster. Jess had no intention of ending up pregnant and stuck in some crappy flat with a kid on her own. She had plans, and that wasn’t one of them. While she had managed not to land herself with a kid, she hadn’t been able to stop herself spiralling into a life out of control. She had ended up in Stobcross Hospital in the Southside of Glasgow. Jess had partied hard and paid the price, the staff there looked down their noses at her, writing her off as just another junkie. Nobody bothered to try and find out what had led her to that dark place and so she had learned just to build her walls higher. But she had been determined to turn things around and to prove them all wrong and to make her mum proud of her from the grave. She had bided her time, got herself clean and she had planned. By God she had planned, searching for a long time for the right place to live, the place where she would lay her ghosts to rest. And now she was here, she wouldn’t let anyone stand in her way.
She stood for a couple of minutes trying to work out what she could do to fill the next couple of hours. Her options were limited, the shops were either closed or pulling down their shutters for the night. Other than the only two pubs in the area, the library was the only place still open, and Jess didn’t have the balls to walk into a pub by herself and risk everyone staring at her.
Library it is then.
She passed the library every morning on her way to work, and had been in a few times, but hadn’t got round to joining or borrowing any books yet. The building looked out of place amongst the ugliness of Lennoxhill. Dating back to the 1800s it was one of the few older style buildings in the town—the gold sandstone standing proud at the edge of the park. Maybe I’ll go and get myself a book, something to lose myself in for a while, she thought.
Mind made up she strode quickly along the main street, shivering against the cold seeping through her thin jacket. She considered cutting through the park for quickness, but Radio Joe sat on the park bench and if she got waylaid by him, she would never get away. Everyone in Lennoxhill knew Radio Joe, he had earned the nickname because he carried about an old transistor radio. He could talk the hind legs of a donkey. He was harmless enough, but he never knew when to shut up.
