Page 9 of Pretty Mess

He comes to a stop next to me and gestures at the bench. “Can I sit down?”

“I don’t own it. Help yourself.”

He winces, either in embarrassment or irritation at my tone, and settles gingerly down on the bench. There’s a bruise on his cheekbone that makes my stomach lurch.

“Are you alright?” I ask reluctantly. “Did they do anything to you?”

“I’m fine,” he says quietly. “They roughed me up a bit, but it was nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“Would you even tell me if you were hurt?”

“Of course,” he says, startled.

I shake my head. “Don’t look surprised at that. Up until yesterday, I’d have believed you without needing proof.”

His eyes look bruised when he meets my gaze, and his shoulders slump as though he’s shrinking in on himself. But I refuse to have sympathy for him. Yesterday was horrible. But the discovery I made this morning has made everything so much worse.

Silence falls as I turn to watch the river. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wringing his hands.

Finally, he bursts out, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

I turn to him. “I’m not sure where to start, Tyler.”

“Wherever you want.”

That almost calm reply sends my anger up a few notches. “How fucking generous of you!”

His eye twitches, but he stays silent, solemnly staring at me, and that makes me even more angry.

“Should I start with the fact that the home we grew up in is gone?” I say. “And that Mum’s furniture is all on a bonfire somewhere?”

“Wes—”

“How about Mr Jackson’s thugs holding Cath in the house while they smashed all the furniture?”

He startles. “She never told me that.”

“You’ve spoken to her?”

“This morning. She’s at her mum’s. She’s staying there.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No.” He licks his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, this should be good. So, you’re sorry about the house and Cath?” He nods. “Well, how about my bank balance?” My hand thumps on the bench between us, and his arm twitches away. It’s a tiny gesture, but one that stuns me. It doesn’t stop my rage, though. “How about the fact that I had savings a few days ago and now they’re gone,” I continue. “And I have an unauthorised overdraft? How about that, Tyler?” I sit back. “Fuckinghell,” I shout.

An old couple walking by quicken their steps to move past us.

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re sorry again I will knock your fucking teeth down your throat,” I say through my clenched jaw. “What the hell have you done, Tyler?”

I jump up and walk to the river’s edge. He moves to follow me, and I snap, “Stay there.” I look at the water for a few moments, breathing in the air and listening to the birdsong. It makes the anger die a little, but it doesn’t ease the icy sludge of terror in my stomach. The world has shifted, and my safe patch has gone, leaving me on a ledge over a steep drop.

“That was the money I’d saved for my master’s,” I finally say. “You know I won’t get a grant now. Everything’s gone.” I swallow hard.

“I’m sorry.”