Trying Not to Love You - Part Seven

Chapter Seven

                “What the hell are you doing?” She’d returned to Helen who was both angry and confused at her actions, “he’s trouble Martha, you know that.”

She’d sat next to the friend, and now she turned on her seat to face her, “trouble? Why because he has a prison record? So no one gets a second chance? Is that it?”

Helen laughed, “he’s always causing trouble.”

Martha shook her head, “give the man a break. We’ve all made mistakes. And to be honest the whole place just turned on him for no reason. Can’t the man have a drink in peace?”

                “He’s slept with half the town.”

As defences went that was worse than poor, she looked at her friend and noticed the same look that she’d seen there in the past. Laughing Martha drained her drink, “and is that the problem Helen? That you aren’t on that list? Jealous, or a little bit rejected? Because I never took you as being a judgemental bitch.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, instead she glared at James who was behind the bar harping on about all that had happened, then left.

                “I don’t need you interfering; can’t you see how you made me look?”

Martha had barely taken a dozen steps away from the building when the voice stopped her. Turning she saw Sonny stood half shaded by a doorway across the road, a venomous look on his face, “and that’s you, isn’t it. Too scared to lose face, you’d rather people think the worst of you than risk seeing a chink on your armour? Get over yourself Carter. You hear me?”

He was clenching his hands in to fists rhythmically at his side, attempting to control his volatile temper, “I’m not scared of anyone. YOU hear ME?”

His face was contorted into a scowl, lines creasing his brow, his teeth bared; this was a huge battle for him. With a sigh she reached up to touch his cheek, ran her thumb along the tight muscle of his jaw, just for a second. It was an affectionate gesture and she didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to show him that she cared...maybe because no one else did. And maybe because there was a troubled little boy in there somewhere and she was seeing that more and more.

Dropping her hand she shook her head, “I hear you, I’m just not sure I believe you!”

With that she walked away.

Sonny couldn’t get the previous night out of his head, no one had ever put themselves on the line for him, and he didn’t know what to make of that. He’d been angry, so so angry for so long, but he’d not seen Martha since, and so he hadn’t had the chance to deal with it. And it was tearing him up. He’d woken up in a flat above the bookies, a bad move as he rolled to see Shirley’s daughter lying next to him. She’d kill him; she was one of the only people here who gave him the time of day...other than Martha. And it was Martha that he couldn’t keep out of his mind as he pulled on his clothes.

When he got back to his room, he changed into his sweats and a t-shirt and went for a run, a few miles of pounding the road would hopefully clear his mind, the weekend was approaching, and he wanted to keep his head down, finish what he started, then move on. He was determined to be free of all the darkness, get away from the underworld he’d lived in for years.

Back in London he’d initially worked for a loan shark Peter, collecting debts, in any way he could, initially it was women and soft targets, but as he got older and more reliable he moved onto more difficult targets. He could look after himself, the time in care had seen to that, and he was good at what he did. Not caring if he lived or died, and not caring about the people he dealt with meant he never failed to deliver. Whatever it took.

He sighed at the thought, he’d done some terrible things, and that had led to him creating a few enemies along the way, then there were the other big men in the area, all wanting a piece of every bit of action, and him becoming a known name. He kidded himself that they were ‘just’ business men who loaned money, but there was a bigger, bleaker picture that he was only party to a fraction of. When he’d been arrested, set up, he thought it was purely part of that rivalry, conflicting interests and he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But when he was inside he’d been approached by a man, another inmate who told him he worked for Marcus Thomas, he made Peter and his rivals look like small fry. The more Sonny investigated the more he found out that Marcus was in fact the real deal. And so over the months of his incarceration, he was drip fed information, the identity of the man who set him up, and so much more was promised, if he came to this town after leaving prison, kept watch, did a few jobs.

And in the beginning he’d been glad of the chance, a new opportunity. He was still working for a dark character, but he was away from London, free of the old scene that had done nothing but drag him down. Since meeting Carl he’d had the taste of normality, he thought of getting a job, renting a place, settling down. But nothing in life was free, and he was still waiting. He was fed up of being led a merry dance by Marcus Thomas, he’d been under his control for too long and he wanted to cut loose, but until he had the information he was repeatedly told he needed to know, he was stuck, a pawn doing the dirty work for a man living eighty miles away.  

After a quick trip to the hospital, and before going into the restaurant, Martha had to sort out the MG; Herman would become a rust bucket if he stayed stuck in the mud much longer. She’d been back for weeks and the car still sat where she’d abandoned it on day one. So changed into what she’d now relegated as work clothes, jeans and a t-shirt and her oldest trainers, she approached the car with determination. It was not going to beat her.

That was her sentiment until she realised she couldn’t open the bonnet, couldn’t even get access to the engine. It was a small car though, and she figured it couldn’t be that difficult to push it from its rather prominent position in front of the house to the yard around back, so she eased off the handbrake and started to push...and steer at the same time. But it was futile; the wheels were stuck in the mud. She was sweating, muddy and very frustrated and had barely moved the car a few feet when she heard a laugh from behind her.

Looking up she saw Eamonn and Bill, the two farm workers leaning against the feed shed laughing at her, “need a hand?”

She was indignant, and about to snap a response when another voice added, “she’s too proud for that!”

Turning again she saw Sonny in a squat position at the doorway to the coach house, taking deep breaths, hot and bothered from running. Any animosity she felt towards the first comment immediately tripled. But as she scowled the men laughed harder.

                “Funny is it? And you’re the one who doesn’t accept help, we all know that.”

With a stomp she knew would come across as childish she made for the door into the kitchen separating herself from another round of abject humiliation.

Opening the refrigerator she was tempted to open the bottle of wine that sat there ice cold, but she had too much to do, the hospital, the restaurant, then she had to go back to London in the morning. No alcohol was the demon today.

Feeling close to tears she instead grabbed a glass of orange juice and downed it in one mouthful. Then she grabbed a doughnut and shoved the whole thing in her mouth in a defiant gesture. As she tried to eat it, regretting her impulsiveness she gazed out of the window and met those damned dark eyes watching her, humour and maybe intrigue laughing back at her. God she hated him.

Behind him she could see Eamonn and Bill near the car, the bonnet was now popped up and the three men were pouring over it and laughing together, and they’d managed to move it to exactly where she wanted it.

Swallowing the remains of the doughnut she refilled her glass with orange juice, once she’d finished that she knew she couldn’t hide any longer. Stepping out into the yard she grimaced at the sound of the car engine purring, damn those men and their smug looks.

Eamonn and Bill slapped Sonny on the back then waved to her as they headed off to the fields; Sonny just stood there a smirk on his face as she approached.

                “Thank you,” she mumbled under her breath.

                “Excuse me?” When Martha lifted her head, he was stood with his hand cupping his ear in an exaggerated gesture, “did you say something?” She literally growled at him and he burst into laughter, “you are priceless!”

She wanted to wipe the smile off his face, but she was too curious, too desperate for answers to call it a day in terms of conversation, “I didn’t know you were a mechanic.”

He started to wipe the grease off his hands with a cloth, “it wasn’t difficult...” When she raised an eyebrow he sighed, “I started a mechanic apprenticeship when I was fifteen.”

                “You didn’t finish it?”

Sonny shook his head, “I never finish anything, haven’t you got that by now?”

There was self deprecation in his voice and suddenly she hated the hostility. Sighing she ran her fingers over the paint work of her ancient car.

“Do you think it’ll make it to London?”

Watching her fingers caress the metal he smiled, “you’re going back again? You do a lot of travelling.”

She blushed, “have to keep things together...my life is there.”

                “Maybe a newer model would help? I mean this car is not the healthiest.”

She swatted at him, “Herman is very sensitive.”

                “Herman? You’ve named your car?” His eyes were wide with humour.

Rolling her eyes she responded, “my father bought the car new for my mother when they got married, thirty years ago, she called him Herman.”

He smiled knowing this was an important thing to her, then added, “thankfully you were a girl; hate to imagine what they’d have called a son.”

Martha laughed and Sonny’s eyes shone at that, “so will it take me to London?”

Nodding he tossed her the car keys, “just about. You make a habit of helping everyone out hey?”

                “Are you still angry?” He’d been livid the previous evening.

He laughed, “about you fighting my battles?”

Martha shrugged, “is that what you call it?”

Sonny sighed, “I’ve got to get a shower before I seize up.” He started to pull off his shirt as he made for the coach house, and as he reached the door, he turned and tossed, “got any more doughnuts?” over his shoulder.

He ducked in the building as her car keys bounced off the door level with where his head would have been. Nice throw!