Chapter 21
Monday 23rd September, 2024
The Village Hall, Petts Wood
Gus hated odd numbers, so finds having only seven chairs positioned in an inward-facing circle very irritating. Maura's arm is linked with his and it's the only thing stopping him from running for the hills – or for the booze aisle in Asda, more appropriately. Well, inappropriately.
Maura: Which one is the doctor?
Gus scans the room of people but can't imagine taking advice seriously from any of them. The people in this room are disheveled, they're grey in the face, and they're jittery; to his embarrassment, Gus realises they all look like him.
Maura's ringing phone breaks his train of thought.
Maura: Kit sends his love, he says he's really proud of you and he is coming over after work tonight, to cook you a special birthday tea. Angel is putting him to work tidying back at The Cas- sorry, The Pear Tree.
Gus scoffs, thinking that men like Angel are the reason people have addictions. How ironic was it that he was the one who, so kind-heartedly, set this gig up.
A middle-aged man with a red checked shirt hiding beneath a grey v-jumper walks into the room, cuddling a clipboard and smiling. He introduces himself as Dr Rob Tate.
Dr Tate: Good Morning, Fellowship, and families of the Fellowship. Thank you for joining our programme; after three years we're finally at a place to roll it out and you lucky ones get to be the first to start that journey. So, without further ado, if I could ask families to politely make their way out, we can get started.
Maura looks at the apprehension on her father's wrinkled face and pulls him in for a reassuring cuddle.
Maura: One step at a time, right? Buon compleanno, papà.
For the first time in forever he smells more like cologne than cognac, and she can see the vivid jade streaks in his eyes instead of the usual murky, pond-scum blur.
He purses his lips and nods his head, already craving a Cinzano-soaked olive, but he knows as much as it hurts, she's right. The fact that he doesn't want to be here proves that it's exactly where he needs to be.
He takes a seat in the circle and holds his shaking hands in his lap.
Gus: Right, Dr Rob Tate...make me sober.
Maura rattles on the doors of The Pear Tree, holding a four-pack of Redbull and a bag of flaky all-butter-croissants. She's disguising herself as the pandering sister, but its Angel she really wants to see secretly – for the fourth day in a row, since Thursday. She loves her new-found wild streak which flares up magnificently when she's with him. She feels dangerous, not endangered; like predator, not prey, almost asif she is free to start living, instead of simply surviving. Plus the hate sex is fucking glorious.
When no-one answers, she turns back towards her car, until the jolt of a latch being unlocked stops her in her tracks.
Angel: Wrong knock. Do you have an appointment?
Maura squints her eyes – unsure whether she detects sarcasm or seriousness.
His eyes are piercing and mean, but only for a second.
He smiles and holds the door open for Maura to walk in through.
Maura looks around the entrance way and gets a first glance at 'Kingel''s handywork – the naked pale plaster stretches down from the ceiling, neatly tucked into beautiful Sevilla ceramic tiles, adding splashes of dandelion yellow, cobalt blue, and pear green.
There is a large faux tree climbing up the wall to the right of the room, and it's branches, intertwining and twisting, extend outwards, like a fluffy-leaf fringing above the bar.
Maura: Is that...
Angel: ...A pear tree. Well, it will be once it's finished.
Maura: How exotic. Why did you choose a pear tree?
Angel stands behind her and whispers into her ear. His breath tickles her ear lobe as it trickles into her brain - or what's left of it.
Angel: I had this muse. I'll tell you about her, someday.
Faye shifts into the room with a pile of letters. Maura is flustered, mid-tremble and she clear's her throat to compose herself.
Maura: This place looks great.
Faye: It does, doesn't it? Your brother's worked very hard. They make quite the team, our 'knuckle-brothers', wouldn't you say?
Maura bites the inside of her lip as Faye fishes through the pile of mail. The place is unrecognisable, but still the mentioning of 'team' in relation to Kit and Angel doesn't sit too well with her – despite his one redeeming quality, Angel is still chaotic.
Faye: Just looks like a lot of junk, here, Angel. You've got something from the solicitor, and a couple of utility bills. No pen pals though.
Angel smirks.
Maura: I wonder why? You're so friendly...
The sarcasm is dry and delivered with a side of spite, and Faye snorts.
Faye: 'Thankyou for your donation to Evalina Children's Ward' - since when did you give charity to hospitals?
Faye reads the letter in her hands and then holds a flat-packed donation box in disgust asif dangling a dead rat by its tail. Angel bites his lip thoughtfully.
Angel: Since I started putting innocent people into them.
Faye, affectionately es ever, makes a wretching noise and verbally accuses Maura of turning him into a snowflake, like her. She reminds Angel that prevention is far better than a cure but probably nowhere near as fun. Moving behind the bar, she peels off the soggy beige dust blanket and coughs through clouds of plaster-dust.
Angel rolls his eyes as Maura stands quietly, adding 'charitable' and 'remorseful' to the list of Angel's redeeming qualities. Its small, but the fact there's now more than one quality officially makes it a list.
He leaves the room to answer his ringing phone.
Faye: I wasn't kidding you know.
She folds the blanket and takes a Redbull from the packet in Maura's arms. Her stare is accusing but she doesn't look enraged or disappointed.
Faye: He's changed. He's less of a wanker. But I couldn't stand him knowing I admitted that so take that to your fucking grave.
Maura lowers her eyes and smiles - sibling love, eh?
Speaking of siblings...
Maura: Where is Kit?
Faye: He's mopping up blood.
Maura's eyes widen with wrath and she is seconds away from flying off into a frenzied fit of are-you-fucking-kidding, before Angel re-enters the room and explains that Greta grazed her knee falling through the school gates this morning. After ten minutes of counterfeit cries and limping, she convinced Zola to carry her home for hot chocolate and Kit cuddles.
Maura exhales a sigh of relief as her blood pressure returns to it's normal rate, and Angel holds out an open packet of cigarettes suggestively, to help take the edge off Faye's unamusing stunt.
Maura: Thank you.
Angel also takes a cigarette himself and pulls out a lighter. They both inhale into the same flame and exhale into the air - the eye contact is tantalising.
Faye: Let me make myself scarce.
Faye smiles, like she knows their secret.
Maura pauses, feeling exposed, as if the words 'I fucked your brother ten times' are stamped across her forehead in blood. She doesn't know what to say.
Angel: No need - I think Maura's simply stopped by to drop breakfast off for Kit.
It's a statement which sounds more like a question.
Maura doesn't answer, so Faye sucks her teeth and snatches the bag of croissants.
Faye: Well Kit isn't here, but allow me.
She looks the pair up and down with an undeniable twinkle in her eye and leaves the room, armed with Redbull, pastries, and a dust sheet tucked under her arm. The door closes behind her and the sound of her car engine rolls through the bar.
Angel removes his cap and jacket. He's wearing a tight white AllSaints t-shirt and it clings to his traps as he folds his arms across his chest.
Maura: Alone atlast.
There is a sultry silence lingering between them, as Floss perches onto the bar top.
Angel: Almost alone.
At ten-past twelve, Gus climbs into the front passenger seat of Maura's car and blows delicate tears into a handkerchief. Maura reads to the end of the sentence, and folds her new book, 'Skellig', back into the glovebox. She holds Gus' hand sympathetically, listening as he chokes out small sentences.
Gus: I'm so sorry. If I could do so many things differently, I would.
He bites his lip anxiously.
Maura: No one's perfect, dad.
She smiles and tells him that life grows where rain falls.
Maura: It sounds like Dr Tate dug deep - we've both worked up an appetite. There's a new Italian restaurant just opened in Orpington - you can tell me all about it over lunch. My treat?
Gus sniffles and scrunches his nose in disgust.
Gus: No, not Italian; the English use cream in their carbonara, here. It's just fucking insulting.
YOU ARE READING
Trestle
Misterio / Suspenso**SMUT warning** Following the death of his racketeer father, Angel is left to manage the O'Hare family's rugged affairs. He vows to worship his girls and protect them from the threat of poverty, sin, and dangerous men like himself. But when debts c...
