Don't Go Back by Mark West

Author:Mark West [West, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

“Let’s just have one more, yeah?”

Beth didn’t want another drink, she wanted to head back to the hotel and try to mend some fences with Nick. But as Wendy seemed so determined, so eager to take her somewhere else, it seemed churlish to blow her off.

“Just the one,” she said.

“That’s the spirit.” Wendy hooked her arm into Beth’s. “I’ve got just the place, let’s go.”

Instead of turning towards the seafront or heading straight towards the old town, Wendy went left instead.

“So where’re we going?”

“Trust me, you’ll enjoy it. And it can’t be worse than the Chesty Wanker, eh?”

They walked until Beth saw the high window-filled walls of the flats marking the outer edges of the Duncan Jackson estate. Whatever memories she had of Seagrave, not many of them centred around here, the only place her dad specifically advised her to steer well clear of once she started going out with the girls.

“Are we going into the estate?”

“That was my plan.”

“But I haven’t got my phone. I’ll need to head back to the hotel first.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t want Nick to worry.”

“How do you know he’ll be worried? He’s the one who left after your argument. Maybe he’s gone for a drink and forgotten the time.”

“Wendy, he doesn’t know anybody here.”

“I’ll take you back if you want,” she said, sounding wounded. “But I thought since we haven’t seen one another for years, you’d enjoy catching up.”

It seemed reasonable except, like in the pub, Beth got the sensation there was something going on behind Wendy’s words, even if she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

* * *

The Duncan Jackson estate had weathered better than Melton Street but only just. For every two houses a resident took pride in, another was missing a fence or a window, and glass shimmered in the road like diamonds waiting to embed themselves in the soles of their shoes. ‘For sale’ signs, listing at angles, clustered around repossessed properties; doors and windows were shuttered with steel sheeting. One front garden held three cars in varying states of completeness, a massive Union Jack mounted on a broom handle stuck through an upstairs window.

“Looks worse than it is,” said Wendy. She sounded embarrassed. “Do you remember much of it?”

“Not really, though I did come in to see a pub burn down once.”

“The Jolly Roger,” Wendy said with a nod. “I’d been out with Blake and Frankie and we saw the flames before we were even in the estate. Three fire engines, loads of coppers and then all the stories afterwards about them finding the body in the bins.” She smiled wistfully. “Seems like a different life.”

“It was.”

“For you, maybe.” She turned in a slow circle, arms wide. “I mean, look at it. You got away, made something of yourself and here I am, in the same fucking town and living on the same fucking estate and what do I have to show?”

Beth, thinking of Wendy’s son, didn’t say anything.

“You three were like fairy-tale princesses to me, which I know sounds stupid, but it’s true and I so wanted to be part of that world; to have a chance.

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