Page 88 of The Man Upstairs
I clasped my hands together, stayed steady.
“I didn’t want to tell anyone about any of it. It’s between me and him, not the whole of Worcester. I’m sure it’s been shouted from the rooftops by now, though. Thanks to Trisha.”
“Trisha cares!” Mum shouted. “She cares about you! That’s why she’s so bothered! That’s the fucking reason she went to the Brewery Tavern and asked the questions about him in the first place! Because she fucking CARES!”
Shit. That made things more complicated. I knew Julian hadconfesseda load of trash in there when he was wasted and alone. I should have known Trisha would head down there and milk it dry.
“TRISHA CARES!” Mum yelled again. “That’s why they told her! They told her everything. EVERYTHING!”
I could imagine her there, bitching at the bar, digging for yet more gossip and ammo. I hated the thought of her smug face. I couldn’t help but sneer.
“Yeah, sure Trisha gives a shit. Right. Yeah, whatever.”
“SHE DOES!”
I took a deep breath and shook my head. This time I was going to hold my ground.
“If Trisha really cared and had been there for me,US, when we needed her, I wouldn’t have knocked on Julian’s door in the first place.”
Mum looked like she’d been slapped. Like I’d insulted her, not her best friend.
“Oh right, so this is Trisha’s fault now, is it? It’s Trisha’s fault you opened your legs for a pervert, despite my fucking warnings. That makes you as sick as him!”
I managed to laugh at that. “Julian isn’t sick, or a pervert. The people in the pub can say what they like, and Trisha can twist it all she wants, but he isn’t a sicko, Mum. It’s just stupid.”
I shrugged at just how dumb this saga was turning out, because it was stupid. It was like being in a playground.
“You think this is funny, do you?” Mum said. “You’re telling me, that you,myfucking daughter, is fucking a dirty old pervert, and you think it’s fucking funny? Do I look likeI’mfinding it funny? Don’t be a stupid cow, Rosie. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”
Here it was again. Mum making this about her, and her pain, and her disappointment, and how shit she felt inside. Normally it would be fine. She has a shitty past, and shitty people around her, and is always hurting, and I would always, ALWAYS try to help her. But not tonight. Not in this. I wasn’t going to back down.
“Actually, I do think it’s funny,” I told her. “It’s so stupid itisfunny. You don’t know him. I’ve found out he’s the opposite of asicko, thanks. He’s not a dirty old pervert, and I know it, first hand.”
She didn’t give my words even the slightest bit of respect.
“Youthinkyou know it all, as fucking usual. And that’s because you’re just a fucking kid and don’t know any better. He’s taking advantage of you! He’s been grooming you to be a little plaything, and you’re not the first. He’s been doing it to LOADS of girls! LOADS! That’s why he came here in the first fucking place! He’s on the run. A dirty fucking criminal.”
I had to pull a face. “A criminal? On the run from who?”
“The police!”
I had to shake my head again at the fucking stupidity.
“You think Julian is on the run from the police? Seriously? Are you for real?”
Jesus, the people at the pub really were gossiping. Every time stuff got whispered ear to ear by drunk, stupid mouths the claims got more ridiculous.
Mum was looking at me like I was a total fucking idiot.
“You’re a kid! You’re just too young to see! I should call the police myself to get him arrested. I might, you know. I might!”
That was too much for me. I was just a kid now, was I? Shame I wasn’tjust a kidwhen I should have been one. I wasn’tjust a kidwhen it was me picking up the pieces of drama, hurt, betrayal and unpaid bills. And she wanted to call the police now? Really? Due to rumours about a guy she didn’t even know rather than the guy who actually beat the shit out of people? Who beat the shit out ofher?
“It’s YOU who’s talking shit now!” I said, as my hurt flamed up into rage. “Maybe you should be the one to grow the fuck up around here! Have you ever thought about that?!”
She opened her mouth like I was a criminal myself.
“Sorry, what?! What did you just say to me?”
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