At Night Read online

  “Jesus, what a pair of babies you boys are. Do you want me to fuck you in the arse, too?” she called over to the guy. “You’ve got a nasty wound in your leg already, I’m not sure you can afford to lose too much more blood.”

  “Crazy fucking bitch,” the guy with the wounded leg said, but she ignored him, turning her attention back to the girl.

  “And as for you, this night could’ve ended very badly for you. Don’t you ever be so fucking stupid and irresponsible again, you hear me? If you get horny, buy a fucking vibrator, or actually, you know, go out on at least ten dates with a guy and meet his fucking parents before you decide to drop your knickers. Men are scum, out for what they can get, and it’s because of dumb cunts like you that they get away with it.”

  The girl didn’t speak and just stood there staring at her like she was an alien, or something.

  “Don’t just stand there, fucking piss off already.”

  Through her silent sobbing, the girl found her voice. It was small and wavering. “I lost my handbag, and I’m half-naked.”

  Freya rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake. Come on, then, let’s fucking find it, you had it before you let yourself get shoved down the alleyway. And as for you two cunts,” she said to the guys on the ground, “I hope that this is a lesson to you never to prey on innocent women again. The only reason I haven’t killed you is because you know, I don’t want to go to prison. But who knows, you might die of blood loss, yet. But then, I’m sure you sorry bastards will manage to find your way home, seeing as you only live just around the corner, after all.”

  As Freya spoke, she began to retrace their steps with the girl trailing after her. Next to the bushes where the bastards had dragged her into the woods, something glittering in the moonlight caught her eye. It was the girl’s dainty little silver handbag and she strode over to it and chucked it at her.

  The stupid, butter-fingered bitch missed and had to bend down to pick it up. Freya rolled her eyes

  “You got far to walk?”

  “Less than a half a mile from here,” the girl said between sobs.

  “Great,” she said, ducking through the hole in the hedge. “Try not to get yourself raped.”

  “Wait, you’re just leaving me here?”

  Freya spun round, marched over to the girl and grabbed her upper arm hard enough to bruise, all traces of joviality driven from her face.

  “I think the word that you’re looking for is thank you, you ungrateful, dumb cunt. I saved your arse back there – what you do now is no concern of mine. I have given you the opportunity to change. So, as you didn’t seem to get it the first time, I’ll repeat myself again. My advice to you is that you fucking learn from this. Don’t you ever let this happen to yourself again. Wise up, and don’t let your fucking cunt rule your head. Take some self-defence lessons and just grow the fuck up.”

  She let go of the girl’s arm and she staggered backwards, rubbing at the sore spot. Unmoved by her shocked expression, Freya turned away.

  “Please,” the girl sobbed to her departing back.

  She paused for a second at the hole in the hedge, speaking without turning around. “I’ve rescued you once tonight, I’m not going to do it again.”

  She left her there, sobbing and calling after her, her cries mingling with the moans of pain coming from the guys.

  If she’s got any fucking sense, she’ll piss off out of that park right about now. She’s right next to the dogging area.

  Once she was in the alleyway, she broke out into a sprint, putting some distance between herself and the whinging slapper; the last thing that she wanted was for her to follow her. Not that she would ever keep up with her, but still, she didn’t need the hassle.

  Back out on the street, she couldn’t hear her at all, and she slowed back down to a walk as she headed for home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “God, you look completely wrecked. Esther ain’t gonna like that one bit.”

  “Esther can go fuck herself,” Freya said.

  Despite having splashed cold-water on her face a hundred times in the staff bathroom, there was no disguising the fact that Lucy Brooke, the girl she sometimes worked with, was right; she looked and felt like a train-wreck.

  I’m getting too old for this shit.

  She thought that she’d be okay; she didn’t have to start work until one, and she’d been in bed by half five, which meant she’d gotten a good six hours sleep.

  “What the hell were you doing last night, anyway?”

  “Nothing, I’m just a bit under the weather, that’s all.”

  Lucy laughed. “Come on, Freya, don’t lie to me. Have you met a guy?”

  “What? No.”

  Esther Harris, their manager, took that moment to appear on the shop-floor – all five foot four and fifteen stone of her. She smiled, but it didn’t touch her piggy little eyes.

  “Girls,” she said by way of greeting. “Freya, I want you down the back of the shop on till two, and Lucy, I want you at the front on till one. Freya, there’s twenty percent off, starting today on all knitwear. I want you to put up the sale signs and put a red line through each price-tag with the new price. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “Yes, Esther, I do believe I can.”

  The older woman scowled at her and Freya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She needed this job, and despite the manageress being a bitch, she almost liked working at Shortbread and Tweed. Being primarily a clothes shop, there was very little shortbread, but a whole lot of tweed. It was a chain-store that sold supposedly ‘quality’ garments in the boxy, dated styles that the queen might wear. Freya liked the fact that the customers were usually seventy-plus, and that her uniform was majorly frumpy, consisting of a flared, mid-shin, pleated tweed skirt that was made of some kind of weird, green, thick and hairy material. It made her feel invisible and safe.

  “Then let’s get on with it then, shall we? Lucy, go and tidy up the shortbread stand,” she barked, gesturing to the display near the wide, double fronted and permanently open doors. “Oh, the delivery man is here, I need to talk to him before he starts unloading.”

  “Oh, she so fancies Jim,” Lucy giggled, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as the pair of them watched their boss hurry over towards the white van idling beyond the doors.

  Freya couldn’t help but smile. Lucy wasn’t a ‘friend’ exactly, but the sheer niceness of the girl, and the fact that they were the only two women under thirty working here – or under fifty-five, for that matter – had made her thaw a little towards her. Freya had taken this job precisely because everyone connected to this shop was so old, so there was no danger of her ever developing a social-life, even if Lucy did regularly invite her out.

  “Yeah. I think she does, too.”

  “And who wouldn’t? He is gorgeous, right? And I know for a fact he fancies you.”

  To her horror, Freya felt her cheeks heat up. “Can’t say I noticed. And no, he doesn’t.”

  “Uh huh. Then why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know her fancies you because I’m dating his friend, Gary.”

  Despite herself, Freya’s eyes widened at this piece of gossip. “You are?”

  “Yes, I am, Freya, and I think it might be love,” she said, clutching her heart through the layers of dowdy work uniform. “In fact, Gary and Jim are in a band and they’re performing tonight at Hobgoblin’s. Maybe you’d like to come with me and watch them? As I’m dating the lead guitarist, I get free tickets and special privileges.”

  “Jim’s in a band and you’re dating his friend? You never told me that.”

  “His best-friend. And I never told you that because you barely speak to me, or anyone else for that matter. So, do you want to come tonight or not?”

  Freya could feel the sheepish look spreading across her face.

  What’s the matter with me? Am I going soft, or something?

  “Sorry, Lucy, I don’t think so.”

&nbs
p; “Okay, maybe next time.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” she said, surprising herself.

  Irritated, Freya walked away from her to the back of the shop to dig out the sale stuff from behind the till counter. Irritated, and something else. Was this guilt she was feeling? Guilt that she kept on giving Lucy the brush-off? It was becoming increasingly difficult for Freya to give Lucy the cold shoulder, she was just so relentlessly fucking nice. Freya had been working here for six months, and Lucy two. For some unfathomable reason, Lucy just seemed to like her, and Freya’s abruptness was like water off a duck’s back. Every time that Lucy invited her out and every time that Freya said no, Lucy just smile sweetly and said, ‘okay, maybe next time.’ It was as frustrating as it was sweet.

  Aggressively, Freya snatched at the sale banners that she had to slot into the metal poster frames above the clothing racks.

  Let no one in, remember? It’s easier that way.

  “Hi Freya. How are you this afternoon?”

  Freya stood bolt upright, clutching the sale posters to the baggy, navy blue work cardigan she wore buttoned up over the frumpy blouse.

  “Hi,” she said, mortified to feel that damn heat rising in her cheeks again. “I’m just fine.”

  Jim, the delivery guy smiled at her and it was the original, one-hundred-watt grin. It cracked open his face like the young Tom Cruise, except this guy was much better looking than Tom – he had to be a foot taller for a start. Cradled in his arms he held a big brown box – one of the many that he would dump in the downstairs stockroom that was through the door at the back of the shop.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, continuing his journey to the stockroom.

  Freya watched his departing figure, her gaze irretrievably drawn to the seat of his faded, blue jeans that hugged his tight arse, up to the broad back, rippling with muscle beneath the white t-shirt.

  She lowered her gaze. This really wouldn’t do. On his way back out to his delivery van, he caught her gawping and threw her another grin, but she hurriedly looked away, pretending not to notice.

  To her dismay, she found that her hands were trembling as she got on with the job at hand, and her heart was beating a fraction too hard. It didn’t help that Lucy kept throwing her knowing smirks from the other side of the large shop-floor.

  On his way back from the stockroom, temporarily empty-handed, he stopped by the rack of folded, cable sweaters where she was meticulously going through each and every price label with her red marker pen.

  “I’m actually a pretty nice guy. If you gave me a chance, I’d prove that to you.”

  Startled, her head jerk upwards to meet his eyes. “Rule one oh one of identifying a highly manipulative narcissist or sociopath, they always tell you how nice they are. A nice person proves to you that they are nice, they don’t tell you. If someone has to say how nice they are, then the chances are, they aren’t.”

  “Look, I’m going to put myself out on a limb, here. I know we don’t really know each other, or anything, and we’ve never really spoken beyond ‘hello’, but there’s just something about you, Freya. Are you going to come to Hobgoblin’s tonight and watch us play? I’d really love it if you did. This is our first public performance and I’m kinda nervous.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  She flicked through the pile of posters and banners that she had plonked on top of the folded pullover stand, pretending that she that was searching for something in particular, when in truth she didn’t even see them.

  “Hey.”

  His voice was soft, and it made her stop her futile search for nothing at all. When she looked up at him, his big brown eyes were so kind, so full of warmth that a lump inexplicably rose in her throat.

  No. He’s a man, all men are the same.

  “Like I say, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I’d like to change that. All I’m asking is for you to come tonight with Lucy and listen to my awful playing, and then let me buy you a drink afterwards at the bar. Just one drink. Please?”

  He just seemed so sincere.

  No, he’s not, he’s a man, remember?

  And he’s too good-looking to be sincere.

  Yet she could feel her resolve slipping away – surely there was no harm in going out with Lucy tonight? It wasn’t like she couldn’t look after herself. The faintest smile tugged at her lips at that thought.

  “Is that a ghost of a smile I see?”

  The smile instantly dropped. She wasn’t like other girls; she didn’t know how to be normal.

  But more than anything, she didn’t want to let anyone in. Not a potential mate, not even a potential girlfriend. For the past twenty-three years, she had survived just fine on her own, thank-you very much, she didn’t need anybody at all.

  And more than anything, she didn’t want to get hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Jim. I can’t.”

  He opened his mouth, as if about to protest, but neither of them had seen Esther approach them.

  “Is everything all right back here? Jim, you still have half a dozen boxes to unload in the van. Freya, can you go upstairs and fetch the rest of the posters for the window, please? They are in a white box by the entrance to the stockroom.”

  Freya looked at her in confusion, flustered by Jim’s attention.

  “Now, please?” she repeated when Freya didn’t move.

  “Sure,” she said, turning away from the awkward scene on shaking legs.

  Mostly, she was glad of the excuse to get away, but another part of her, a tiny part of her, felt like she had missed out on a great opportunity. It would be so nice, even just once, to feel like a regular, twenty-three with friends and a real, actual life.

  She had only taken a few steps when impulsively, she spun round.

  “Okay, I will. I’ll come tonight.”

  Jim stopped in his tracks, also spinning round to face her. His grin was wide – the widest she had ever seen it – and she couldn’t help but return the gesture.

  “That’s great, Freya. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  I think I already do, a dark little voice whispered in her mind.

  “Freya! Upstairs, now!”

  Freya’s gaze swivelled in the direction of her boss, not giving a shit that she was pissed off. The silly old cow was fifty-five if a day – who the hell did she think she was, lusting after a guy that had to be in his mid-twenties at the absolute most?

  Smirking at her, she headed for the staff stairs next to the downstairs stockroom, practically floating on her cloud of euphoria. What she had just done was a big thing for her. Huge, in fact. Today, she had changed the course of her destiny.

  Up in the stockroom, she couldn’t find the box of posters. She was hardly surprised; apparently, the old bitch had sent her on a wild goose chase just to stop her talking to the handsome delivery guy.

  Didn’t stop me getting a date tonight though, did it?

  Oh Jesus, what have I done?

  As she made her way empty-handed back onto the shop-floor, she was part disappointed, part relieved to see that Jim had gone.

  “It is against staff policy to date other members of the company,” Esther said, coming up to her as soon as she saw she was back by the knitwear display.

  “There weren’t any posters upstairs,” Freya said.

  “Yes, how remiss of me. They were in the downstairs stockroom all along. But it’s okay, on closer inspection, I think you have enough there. And as I was saying, you may not date other staff members.”

  Lucy, who was blatantly eavesdropping, pretending to straighten out the clothing racks and edged ever closer until she was almost on top of them.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said sweetly, “so it’s a good job that Jim is packing in the delivery job soon to concentrate on his finals.”

  Finals? He’s a student as well as a delivery driver and a musician?

  Esther bristled. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Maybe that’s becau
se you’re not the one that employs him, because you know, it’s the company that employs him.”

  Freya grinned, admiring the girl’s spunk. Neither girl was scared of Esther, but Freya guessed that Lucy didn’t want to lose her job any more than she did. But who knew? Lucy was a student in her fourth year of a teaching degree, so maybe, like Jim, she was planning to get out of this crap job sooner rather than later, moving on to bigger and better things.

  Unlike me. Stuck here forever…

  “Consider this a verbal warning, young lady. Do not backchat me.”

  “Esther? The area manager is on the line, she wants to speak to you,” Jean said, rushing over to join them from the front of the shop.

  Jean Walton had started working at Shortbread and Tweed a month after Freya. She was a friendly woman, close to retirement age, and was always lovely to her and Lucy.

  Esther, obviously still fuming, had no choice but to go.

  Jean tutted her disapproval. “Such a brisk woman. There’s really no need for her to treat her staff so badly. I’m glad I’m retiring next year. Well, better get back to it, I don’t want to get fired.”

  She turned away, leaving the two younger women defiantly standing there.

  “Why did you stand up to her?” Freya asked. “She’s not worth it and it doesn’t matter. She’s nothing.”

  The briefest shadow flitted across Lucy’s usually sunny face. “I don’t like bullies.”

  “Yeah. You and me both.”

  “So I’ll come round to yours tonight then, shall I?” she asked brightly.

  “I don’t know…” she began. No one had ever come back to her flat before. Not because it was a dump, or anything, it was just…private. Plus all of her paintings were there and she really didn’t want Lucy nosing through them.

  “Oh, come on, it’s the most logical thing. You live at the top of town nearer Hobgoblin’s. I’m all the way East, it’s miles away. We knock off here at six, but the boys won’t start playing ‘til at least eleven so we can get ready at yours then head into town…”