The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

two older than Abbie. Years of drug abuse meant bus drivers would be unsurprised to see this woman present an OAP pass in place of a ticket.

“And who are you?” asked Nell. This wasn’t a direct answer to the question but close enough.

“My name’s Abbie. I recently met your son and was hoping I could have a word with him.”

Nell’s eyes were suspicious, but this was a common trait in heavy drug users, regardless of with whom they were speaking. Abbie’s initial comments did not draw the mistrust they might have had Michael been a teenage girl and Abbie a grown man. Women, like men, were capable of paedophilia. But people rarely suspected them of it. Michael’s mother was not likely to make such an assumption.

“He ain’t here,” Nell said.

“Well, might I come in and wait?”

Now the suspicion took on a new tone. No longer generic. This was the suspicion of one in bad debt with bad people, who knows any stranger might well have been sent by those they most fear. Would such a person not lie to get inside? Maybe say they had come to visit the son when actually they had come to repossess precious items and maybe break some bones.

To head off these fears, Abbie said, “I know you’re in some money trouble. Michael told me. I’m not here to compound upon your misery. I want to help.”

Abbie suspected this claim might be met with derision or disbelief. She did not expect what she got.

Laughter.

“You must think me a prize fool,” said Nell.

In answer, Abbie withdrew from the bag around her shoulder a hundred pounds and slapped the cash into the mother’s palm. While retrieving the money, Abbie ensured the recipient saw there was plenty more where that came from.

“You’re used to people letting you down,” Abbie said. “Hard as it might be to believe, I’m not like most people.”

Abbie wasn’t sure how much of this Michael’s mother had heard. The worn-out woman was staring at the money-filled bag at Abbie’s shoulder.

Pointing at the money, Nell said, “That can’t be legal.”

“Could you tell me you’ve never broken the law? What matters is no one’s looking for the money. Its holder need not fear reprisal, legal or otherwise.”

Nell was still staring at the bag. She pointed again. The hundred pounds was scrunched beneath the other fingers of the pointing hand.

“You want to give that money to my son?”

“Not all of it. Enough to pay off your debts.”

“Why?”

“Because money doesn’t interest me. I want it to go to the deserving. To those who’ve had a hard time and are due a bit of happiness. Having met your son, I believe him to be just such a person.”

“He’s suffered,” said Nell, nodding.

“Yes.”

Abbie could say no more for fear her anger might bubble forward and that she might lash out with her all too often sharp tongue.

Michael’s mother had suffered too. Alone with only her son, weakness and stress had no doubt driven her to drugs. That and a dealer who offered her a free sample, promising it could be a one-time thing while knowing he was earning himself a repeat customer.

It was not Nell’s fault she had been born with a weak will and an addictive personality. Addiction was a disease. More to blame were the dealer who had got her hooked, the parents who had sent her away, the partner who had abandoned her and her child.

Abbie knew all this and still struggled not to hate the woman for what she had put Michael through. It was a near-impossible task.

“Money is for my debts,” said the mother. “Give it me. I’ll pay off them dogs what keep hounding me. Give me a bit extra, and I’ll buy Mikey something nice. Treat the boy. He deserves that, you know. He’s a good kid.”

“A great kid,” said Abbie. “From what I can see. And I’ll give the money to him.”

“Why?” said the woman. A flash of frustration crossing her eye. “It’s going to the same place.”

“Is it?” said Abbie. “You’ll have every intention of paying off your debts, I’m sure, but will the temptation to go shopping with your local dealer not overpower you? And with all that money burning a hole in your pocket, might that shop not become a spree until there is nothing left for the sharks that circle you? You’re an addict. I don’t blame you for that, but it does mean I can’t trust you.”

Michael’s mother was offended. Horrified that this stranger would level at her such accusations. Abbie didn’t much care.

“I’ve struggled a bit with certain substances—“

“Don’t,” Abbie cut in. “I’m not interested, and you’re not lying to me anyway, only to yourself. I don’t need to be here for that. You know full well you have a serious problem. Even when you admit it, you’ll say you couldn’t possibly go into rehab because you need to look after your son, but you’re not looking after him, are you? To help pay your debts, he’s planning to drop out of school and get a job. Because you won’t go into rehab, there’s no chance he’ll go on to university. You’re condemning him to a certain kind of life. One that’s right for many people, but is it right for him?”

Michael’s mother was shaking now. Abbie was too, and she was angry with herself for letting her anger at this woman get away from her. Maybe it would be better if she went away, came back later. She didn’t like that idea. She wanted to leave, but she needed to speak with Michael first. She needed him to know she didn’t blame him for not answering her calls, for not bringing her the gun. She wanted to tell him Eddie was fine, and even if he hadn’t been, it would never have been Michael’s fault. She wanted to convince him to do what he could for his mother, but never at the expense of what was right for him.

Distracted by these thoughts, Abbie almost missed