After watching the prick that Vicki had been trying to talk to leave the pub, Shell walked over to the bar and asked Kevin whether he knew anything about the nameless arsehole who had insulted her friend.
Kevin shook his head. ‘He just asked for a pint of Stella, Shell. I’ve no idea who he is, and I’m not really interested. As long as he pays for his drinks and doesn’t cause any trouble I’m happy to leave him to it.’
That wasn’t the answer Shell had been looking for. She didn’t take too kindly to unknowns coming in and playing the big I am. Especially a man. She’d leave it for now, though. The pub would soon be closing for the night. Finishing her drink, Shell grabbed her coat deciding it was best to head home. Patrick would be calling later.
‘You ready to leave, Vicki? I’ll walk with you.’
Holding up her pint glass, Vicki looked at Shell sheepishly. ‘Ah, I just have a bit left, go on if you want to.’
‘Suit yourself. But stay out of trouble, OK?’ Reaching into her pocket, Shell handed Vicki a £5 note and asked her to take a taxi home.
Shell was always looking out for people – especially those less fortunate. Vicki had led a troubled life and it was no wonder that alcohol had become her only friend. Abused, forced into prostitution, and beaten by one boyfriend or another, it was no surprise that Vicki just accepted what life threw at her. It angered Shell that Vicki still put herself in compromising situations when she wanted a drink. But Shell understood that having been told she was worthless over the years, Vicki had begun to believe that sex in exchange for money was all she was good for.
Shell made her way outside into the chill night and pulled her collar up tightly around her neck. Not too far to walk and she enjoyed the fresh air. She wanted a clear head when she spoke to Patrick. Living within a decent walking distance of the pub, if she cut through the park, gave Shell the freedom to have an active social life and not have to worry about transport. If she could, she avoided the park because of the hostel nearby. She had nothing against offenders – hell, half the people she knew got into one form of trouble or another with the law – but she’d seen a few people come and go from there recently that sent shivers down her spine. It was the quickest way home, though, and all Shell wanted was a cuppa while she waited for Patrick to call.
Shell picked up the pace as she made her way along the leaf-covered path, shivering in the cold. The dark trees surrounded her and fear hit her like icy water. A twig snapped behind her and she stiffened. Turning slowly, she looked behind her, being careful not to slip on the wet path. Her heart was racing but soon calmed when she realized there was nothing there. The hostel was coming up soon and she kept an eye on it as she walked by. Someone was standing in the top left window, a dark shadow staring onto the park grounds. She instantly recognized that face. It was the dickhead from the pub, an ugly smirk across his face. He spotted Shell staring and gave her a wave. She quickly turned away and sped up.
She didn’t see Mick O’Dowd laughing as he watched her run.
When she arrived home, she took off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. Placing her handbag on the side table, she dug around in her bag for her mobile phone. She was pissed off when she noticed the black screen and realized that the battery had died. Shit! Shell headed to the living room in search of her charger. If she missed Patrick’s call, her night would be ruined. She quickly plugged in her phone and switched it on. It immediately buzzed and dinged as eight missed calls and a voicemail flashed up on her screen. She called the voicemail service and listened.
‘Where are you? Thought you’d be waiting for my call but I guess I’m not as important as you make out. I had to sneak out of the house especially for this. It’s not on, Shell. But what can I expect from a woman – you all screw me over.’
The call ended abruptly. Shell didn’t like the harsh sarcasm in Patrick’s voice. She wondered if she should ring him back but, looking at the time, she decided the best thing to do would be to text him in the morning when his wife had left for work. Maybe he’d had a bad day. Too wired to sleep, Shell read the message her cousin Louise had sent her, and her blood boiled: