The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

to you earlier. I was out of order.”

“Yes, you were,” she says, arms crossed defensively.

“It’s been a horrendous week, and I know that’s no excuse—”

“You want me gone, don’t you?”

I stare at her. Her eyes shine in the darkness, wide with hurt and confusion.

“Yes.”

She shrugs, forlornly. “Why?”

I shake my head and sigh. I don’t want her to leave here feeling hurt and rejected. I’d rather tell her the truth than allow that to happen. Besides, I’m too exhausted to lie to her anymore, and she’ll be gone soon anyway.

“You and I have a history…”

I stop, unsure whether to proceed. But I’ve already lost my son, my father, my identity… What else do I have to lose?

“…We have a history, and it’s like you said earlier, memories can get stirred up…”

I stare down at my feet, although I can barely see them in the darkness.

“…Feelings,” I fumble, trying to explain, “feelings can get stirred up. I thought I could leave the past behind, but seeing you again, all these feelings have resurfaced and—”

“Oh,” says Libby quietly, as if she suddenly understands, “oh, I see.”

I hold my breath, unable to meet her eye.

“It didn’t occur to me that you might feel—”

“No, it’s me, my problem,” I interrupt, “I know you and I could never—”

“Of course seeing me would bring it all back. I mean, everything you went through around that time, what happened that night…”

It takes me a moment to realise that she’s misunderstood me entirely.

I open my mouth to set her straight, but then I stop. This is better, I think.

I nod. “Yeah, I guess I just associate you a bit with—”

“I get it,” she says, “I can see why you wouldn’t want me around.”

“That sounds so—”

“It’s fine,” she says, holding up her hand to stop me, “I understand.”

We stand awkwardly and I don’t know what else to say.

“I should go,” she says, quietly.

She walks past me, her head down, but stops at the doors.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you before I leave,” she says.

I stare at her face, illuminated by the light from the bar, and realise that this could well be the last I see of her. I drink in her brown eyes, the curve of her lips, the freckles on the bridge of her nose. I feel a mixture of sadness and relief.

“I hope everything works out for you,” she says, sounding a little emotional. She turns quickly and heads inside, sliding the glass door shut behind her.

I lean against the cool brick of the wall, taking deep breaths of the night air, feeling like I have nothing left to give.

Just then my phone buzzes. I’m so drained that for the first time ever I consider leaving it, but I can’t.

It’s Josh.

“You all right?” I answer, worried that he’s calling at this hour.

“Dad, I need your help,” he says, his voice panicked.

Immediately I go from dead on my feet to high alert.

“What’s the matter?”

I can hear shouting around him, swearing, a girl shrieking.

Images flash through my mind of all the threatening situations he could be in, all the people who could be closing in on him, trapping him, wanting to harm him.

“Where are you?” I demand.

“I’m at home. Can you just come? I really need—”

I’m running before he’s even finished his sentence.

Chapter 21

Decisions

As soon as I get near our block of flats, I know Josh wasn’t exaggerating when he said things had gotten out of hand.

There are teenagers milling about on the pavement, shouting and laughing, bottles in their hands. I can hear the boom of the music from outside on the street, blaring loudly and then fading as if people are fighting over the volume control.

Helen, from the floor below, is standing in the lobby in her dressing gown, having a row with a group of kids I don’t recognise. Helen’s a good neighbour as long as you don’t piss her off, then she comes at you all guns blazing. And tonight she’s clearly had enough.

“Get this under control, Jay, or I’m calling the police!” she yells at me as I bound up the stairs.

Chloe, Amelia and the other one – Jasinda? – are huddled anxiously outside my open front door.

“The boys are inside,” says Chloe when she sees me. “They’re trying to get people out. They told us to stay out here.”

I head inside, pushing past teenagers laughing, drinking, swearing and making out in my hallway. My home smells of body odour, cheap fragrances, beer and weed.

As I pass the kitchen, I see Alex and Sam arguing with some other boys and pointing them towards the door.

I shove my way through to the darkened lounge and flick the light switch on. There’s a cacophony of groans and swearing as I kill the music.

“OUT! EVERYONE GET OUT!”

For a second I wonder if they’re going to obey, or whether I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. A couple of them look closer to twenty than fifteen, and I wonder whether calling the police would have been a better option. But then a voice booms from behind me—

“COME ON, YOU HEARD HIM! GET OUT! MOVE IT!”

Michael normally avoids confrontation like the plague, but he’s in his comfort zone here, using the two skills that earn his livelihood: working with difficult teenagers and using that powerful voice.

Slowly the kids start to move out, blurry-eyed and ratty, mumbling in disgust.

“… thought he said his dad was looking after his old man for the night…”

“… fuck’s sake, this sucks…”

“… I was so nearly in there with her…”

“Thanks for the back up,” I say, patting Michael on the shoulder as I walk past him.

“I’m sorry, he told us he was—”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t keep an eye on him twenty-four/seven,” I say.

Finding both bedrooms locked, I hammer on the doors until a couple emerges from each, looking both sheepish and disgruntled at the interruption. They slink off, unapologetic.

“Dad?”

I turn to see Josh looking flushed and stressed out.

“I’m so sorry.”

Another time I might have blown my top,