Trying Not to Love You - Part SIx

Chapter Six

 

So ten minutes later Sonny tapped the kitchen door, then entered when she called to him.

                “Pizza?” Martha called from the utility room, off the kitchen.

                “Sounds great.”

He placed the bottle on the table then spotted two tumblers on the drainer. By the time she appeared with a frozen pizza to put in the oven, he’d poured two glasses, pushing one across the table towards her. She reached for it and he watched her drink a large slug, then shudder as she swallowed it, that made him laugh.

“Can I ask you a question?” Giving a nod Martha waited patiently for that. “What happened here? Why are you so talked about?”

She was quiet for a moment, and for Sonny the silence was painful. As if sensing that she stood and moved to the corner of the kitchen and put the radio on, she changed channels repeatedly until she found a channel that suited her, or that was what he presumed the nod of satisfaction was for, then she turned and announced, “I jilted the local golden boy.”

That caused him to prick up his ears, he’d really thought that Shirley was lying when she’d told him that, “you what?”

She laughed, “five years ago, I was due to get married. I saw the apparent love of my life...well let’s just say he wasn’t what I thought he was. I left after publicly confronting him...” he didn’t miss the shudder as she spoke, “and the town witnessed it all.”

He circled the rim of the glass with his finger as he thought about that, “so why are you the one under scrutiny?”

She shrugged, “because they know that I hated all the fuss, all the attention...and he didn’t say the nicest things about me. Personal. I have a little more class, you know?”

The bastard. Sonny was incensed; his case against Oldbury just kept growing and growing. “And he scares you?”

Martha did not want to go into this, not here, not now and not with a stranger so she shook her head, firmly. 

               

               

She’d not thought back to the night very often, not really. Though there were reminders everywhere she looked.  Scott Oldbury was the ultimate catch, and she’d been deemed mad for waltzing into the pub and telling him that she’d never marry him in front of all his friends, family and neighbours. But she’d had to do in front of them, because earlier that day she’d seen him personally beat a man who had his hands bound behind him into a pulp. Not a few punches, but boot kicks to a virtually comatose body on the floor. It had repulsed her, she’d thrown up afterwards, the dull thud of leather against flesh was a noise she could still remember vividly.

He was a dangerous man, she’d always seen hints of that, but when she’d turned up to his father’s home earlier than planned she’d seen more than she imagined possible. She’d spent the rest of day formulating her escape, knowing that this was the tip of the iceberg that she’d managed to pretend didn’t exist...until now. He wouldn’t take her leaving easily, and suddenly the confidence and commanding presence she’d found attractive, intriguing, now scared her.  Martha had never been scared in her life, not really, but suddenly she was petrified. No one knew where she was going, and the safest way to get out of this was to have a showdown in public. He couldn’t hurt her in a room full of people. And if it hadn’t been for James, interfering, that would have been the last time she saw him. But it wasn’t.

But she’d escaped, and really been hiding since.

“Lots of things have scared me Sonny, but at the moment I’m not scared of anything.”  That of course was a lie, but it was all she wanted to share. “And it was all idle gossip; you know how this town loves a juicy titbit to feed off.”

He laughed, “you’re not wrong, it was quite a relief to have someone else in the spotlight the last few weeks. I’ve been the hot topic until now.”

                “I heard you were in prison.”

Sonny laughed again, not surprised that she’d found that out, “amongst many other things apparently. I’ve been accused of most things since I’ve been here.” When she shrugged he smiled, “it doesn’t bother you?”

                “Other stuff? Just gossip. Prison? No, not really. My father went to prison, that doesn’t define who he is.”

He liked her sentiment, “I didn’t know that, that probably explains why he’s letting me stay.”

Smiling Martha pushed her glass back towards him, watching him refill it, “everyone makes mistakes, his was handling stolen goods, wrong place wrong time at the wrong point in his life.”

Sonny laughed, “sounds about right.” She was staring at him, patiently. Sighing he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, “do you mind?”

                “Filthy habit, but Lucy smokes like a chimney, I can hardly refuse.”

Lighting up he took a long calming drag, “GBH.”

Her eyes flashed up at him and he hated the momentary hint of disgust that he saw there, “would you believe I got in with the wrong crowd?” When she lifted an eyebrow he sighed, “since I was sixteen I’ve been embroiled with unsavouries...it was inevitable that something would catch me out.”

She took a moment to digest that, “so why are you here? I mean you’re some cockney wide boy involved in all sorts of dodgy dealings and yet you’re living in a random town an hour away from the big smoke, small fry, small town, it doesn’t make sense to me.”

That made him laugh, she was astute than she probably realised, “a cockney wide boy? Really?”

Taking another drink she swallowed thoughtfully, “that you are, am I wrong to want to know something about you? I mean you are staying in this building...this could be seen as self preservation.”

He slung another shot of whisky down his throat, then added, “I was set up, jumped by some thugs, and when I got the upper hand the cops miraculously turned up and booked me, as I wasn’t a good boy generally I got sent down for eighteen months. A set up.” He rolled his eyes, “I know they all say that, but when I was inside, I got offered some work here, in return for some info on my enemy. The man who plotted my demise.”

                “Someone’s going to set him up in the same way?” she asked, her eyebrow raised.

He laughed, “there’s honour even amongst thieves, someone overstepped the mark, and I want to make my point. That’s all.” He didn’t tell her that her darling ex fiancé was the man who seemed to be the centre of all these interlinked stories. He was the one who got him in trouble, and he was the one that his ‘bosses’ wanted to bring down. He still hadn’t figured how this apparently small time wannabe had appeared on the radar of some of the big players in the City, or why he himself had appeared on Oldbury’s radar originally. That was part of the mystery, and he was being played like a pawn until he found out what linked all these parts together. After all he was just hired muscle, someone placed there until the time was right. He grimaced; he hoped that this wouldn’t end badly. He was finally starting to feel settled, thanks to Carl.

Silence prevailed for a moment, it was a lot for Martha to take in, the pizza smelled divine, so she took the time to take it out of the oven, cutting it into large slices.

                “Where are you from?”

She placed the pizza in front of him and he dived in ravenously. He chewed a huge mouthful, a smirk on his face until he swallowed the food.

                “Originally Southend,” though in true cockney fashion he pronounced it Sarf-end.

                “I went there a few years ago, it’s a cool place. Your family still there?”

Sonny reached for more pizza and ate more before he answered, “no. No family.”

                “Really?”

He nodded, “don’t know my father, some bastard who didn’t want to know. My mother died when I was eight. Been in care since, various places in London, all the best places. Well until sixteen, then I found the big bad world.”

Martha didn’t miss the way that he emphasised the word bad, she watched his expressive face, he had so much anger, and it seemed that he was struggling to contain it. She couldn’t imagine how an eight year old boy coped with losing everything.

                “Do you remember much of your mother?”

“No, she wasn’t very maternal.” He jumped to his feet and started pacing; hating the images that immediately appeared in his mind, maternal? No, she was anything but. Then she was gone and he’d been at the mercy of the care system. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air; he was struggling to breathe, “Look I need to get going.”

He paced rapidly towards the door, but Martha reached out, grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. “Sorry, change the subject, but don’t run away.”

It was too late, he was back in his personal hell, it wasn’t enough that he rarely slept for the nightmares, now they were invading his waking hours. Turning he snarled, his face an inch from hers, “I’m not running, I’m not scared of anything. You’re just an interfering bitch like the rest of them.”

She dropped her hand as though she’d been burned and watched him rush out. She wanted to scream and shout, run after him and slap his face, instead she refilled her glass and had a stiff drink and tried not to think about what had happened.

Martha had been to London again, by train as the MG was still stranded. She wished she could get back to her home more often, and she was glad that she had a good friend in her godmother. She kept everything going whilst she was away.

The journey took ninety minutes and she couldn’t help but think back over the previous evening. Sonny. He’d been funny, almost charming, for a moment she could see what the female population of the world saw in him. It would take more than good looks and bad boy charm for her to even acknowledge him. He’d blown it. Then she remembered his face, when he talked about his mother, who knew what sort of upbringing he had, for a moment he’d looked tortured. She’d been lucky, her father had loved her enough to make up for her losing her mother, but Sonny hadn’t had that. He was alone in the world. Still that was no excuse for his behaviour.

It was late when she got back to the farm, Aunt Lucy was at her Women’s Institute meeting, a talk on cultivating indoor cacti according to the note she left. So she was alone. Picking up her phone she called Helen, she couldn’t imagine spending another night in alone. Now that the jungle drums and the gossips had witnessed her return there was no point hiding away. Scott would come to find her at some point, and there was no benefit in putting that off and staying home.

As predicted her friend was keen to meet up, so they made plans to meet in the Royal Oak. Martha pulled on some leggings and a long knitted jumper, with the boots that were now used to the cobbled yard she felt presentable. Her hair needed a wash, so she pulled it up into a clip, then found her coat. It started to spit rain as she rushed to the pub, and the downpour started just as she got there.

Helen wasn’t quite so lucky, and they were laughing as she tried to dry herself off in the corner of the lounge when the door opened and Sonny walked in.

Martha hadn’t seen him since the previous evening when he’d stormed off, and he looked dreadful, he was pale, pasty even and as he ordered a drink she noticed the knuckles on his left hand looked bruised. She stared at him as he drank the vodka he ordered, wanting him to turn around so she could show him her displeasure.

                “Aren’t you listening?”

Helen’s voice broke through her reverie and she turned to smile at her friend, accepting the glass of wine she offered.

                “Sorry, long day. What were you saying?”

And so came an hour of gossip, a tirade of information about all and sundry, none of which she would remember in the morning, then they were disturbed by a commotion in the corner. Looking up Martha groaned, she’d recognise the slug that’d just crawled in, Gripper he’d been called for as long as she’d known him. Scott Oldbury’s gopher, the man who did all his groundwork. Scott was not stupid enough to dirty his own hands...not in public anyway.

He’d sidled up to Sonny with his entourage and started to nudge him, provoke him. Knowing what she did about Sonny already, she feared where this would end, the man was ruled by his pride, and of course his anger.

               

                “You got a problem Gripe.” Sonny knew that getting his name wrong would aggravate him. He had no idea what this thug wanted, taking a breath he glanced down at his bruised fist and corrected himself, he knew exactly what he wanted. Revenge. He’d pressured one of Scott’s employees earlier. And it had taken a little physical force. Whilst Oldbury may not know for sure it was him, he had no doubt this was the retaliation. But he didn’t care, his boss in London had swallowed up the details of a deal he was working on, a property in North London. The plot was thickening.

Gripper nudged him, “Yeah, you! Since you wandered into town the place ain’t been right!”

Sonny laughed, then drawled, “‘this town ain’t big enough for the both of us’ forgive me if I didn’t realise I’d walked into the Alamo.”

The humour was lost on the meathead, but a few of the people in the bar, thankfully it wasn’t overly busy, who’d previously been hushed, chuckled at that comment, and that only inflamed Gripper more.

When he swung a punch Sonny ducked, and the clumsy swipe set Gripper off balance, when he staggered, Sonny took the opportunity to shoulder barge him into the nearby table. He clattered to the floor and broke a chair as he fell, and it was then that his three companions stepped forward.

He could beat them all, it wouldn’t be easy, especially with his already sore hand, but that was part of the game. Then James, the prick son of the landlord stepped in and started to manhandle him out of the pub. Sonny, furious, dug his heels in and forced James to stop, the chinless wonder was no match for him either. Sonny turned and squared up to James.

                “Get...your...hands...off...me.” The words were slow, controlled and barely masked the fury that he was fighting to control. Then he flicked the hands that were pushing him away.

The whole bar was hushed once again, watching the drama unfold. No one was supporting Sonny, yet he’d done nothing wrong, Gripper had confronted him, started all this. Martha was torn between feeling angry and sick, she had seen enough, standing up she walked across the bar, grabbing James’ arm, just before he was about to make a slug towards the goading Sonny, she pulled him to face her.

                “What the hell are you doing?”

Sonny snarled at her, “leave it Martha.”

She shook her head, “no I will not.”

                “I don’t need you trying to fight my battles, I’ve got this.” Sonny snarled.

Martha laughed despite the seriousness of it all, looking up at his angry face, “for fuck’s sake, cut your pride for a minute.” She turned back to James, “he was enjoying a quiet drink, it was those buffoons that started this. I’m not fighting anyone’s battles,” she looked at the three snarling monkeys that had come into the pub with Gripper, “but these four need chucking out, not him.”

                “Getting girls to look after you Carter, bit low isn’t it?” The rather ugly red headed member of the trio leaned forward and snarled at Sonny.

Sonny lashed out and punched him in the nose sending a spray of blood across James’ shirt. Some sort of justice, thought Martha, even though she hated the display of violence.

She watched as Sonny reached for his drink, downed it, then tossed a note to cover it onto the bar, “if this wasn’t the only place to drink in town, I’d never darken this door again.”

He paused at the door, glared at her, no one else, then left.