‘We’re not.’
‘You were chatting for ages.’
‘Not for ages. I can’t forgive him,’ I shout over the music.
Courtney sips her pint. ‘For the money?’ She shouts back.
Not just that, I think, but I don’t say it. Courtney and Vince are friends and I don’t want to ruin that by telling her the whole truth. She’s already punished him by ignoring him for weeks after we split up. If she found out about his loss of control she’d never speak to him again. ‘For everything. But mainly for not being there for me when I needed him the most.’
She nods understandingly. ‘At least you can be on speaking terms and don’t have to avoid coming out with us any more.’
‘S’pose.’
She puts her arm around my neck. ‘The guys have missed you.’
I watch them onstage. They’re not bad, but I don’t want this to be my future. I don’t know what I want. I just know I want more than this. My mum’s death has created a gulf between me and my friends, except Courtney. I feel different from how I was before. More knowing, somehow. It’s matured me. Made me see there’s more to life than working in a dead-end job, pubbing it at the weekends and staying in the area where you were born. Life is short. As soon as I’ve saved, and Vince has given me back the money he owes me, I’m off. I’ve got nothing to keep me here now.
I notice a girl at the front, near the stage, talking to Dexter’s girlfriend. ‘Who’s that with Hannah?’ I ask Courtney. She’s giggling and dancing provocatively. I can only see her profile but I can tell she’s pretty and petite. She’s wearing a strappy top that shows off her （I’m assuming fake） tan, and I know straight away that she’s Vince’s type. I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. If she’s here for Vince it’s not my place to get territorial over him. I don’t want him back. I touch my throat, remembering his hands around my neck. It was only for the briefest of moments and then he’d stood back, alarm and shock on his face at his actions. But it was enough. It was the first and only time he went for me. The money is bad enough, but that split second of violence cemented my decision.
‘Oh, that’s …’ She pauses and frowns. ‘I can’t remember her name. Velma or something. She’s a groupie, I think. I’ve noticed her here a few times.’
I laugh. Courtney is terrible with names. ‘Velma? Has she come to find Scooby Doo?’
She punches my arm playfully. ‘Idiot.’
Despite my reservations about coming out tonight, the evening flies by and I stay until the pub closes. I try to get Courtney on her own to tell her about Matilde and Jemima, and all I’ve found out in the library, but I don’t get the chance. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to have that conversation at the pub when I have to raise my voice over the music and the chatter.
After the band have finished playing I go to leave but Courtney grabs me. ‘Let me and Kris walk you home.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not far.’
‘It is. And it’s late, too dark to be walking back by yourself.’
‘I’ll be fine. It’s just a few streets away.’
She doesn’t look convinced but Kris pulls her away, his arm around her neck, and she relents. Kris’s white-blond hair is stuck to his head with sweat and his jumper has holes in it. He wears his jeans too tight so that his legs seem milk-bottle-shaped. I don’t know what she sees in him. She breaks away from him to hug me, then the two of them wander off, arms around each other.
I don’t say goodbye to Vince and he doesn’t leave the pub with the others. I wonder if he’s gone home with Velma. I smile to myself. Vince and Velma. It sounds stupid. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my coat and make my way back to Sion Hill.
I walk fast, my breath clouding in front of me. It’s still raining and a few people are out and about, but as I round the corner they fall away and it becomes quieter. I feel a sense of unease as I pound the pavements. Maybe I’m being reckless walking home by myself, but it’s only 11 p.m.
Suddenly I hear footsteps and a hand grasps my shoulder. I let out a scream.
‘It’s me,’ says a familiar voice, and I spin around, my heart hammering.
‘Vince, for fuck’s sake! You scared the shit out of me.’
He has the grace to look contrite. ‘Sorry. I was calling you.’
‘Well, I didn’t hear you.’ I begin walking again and he falls into step beside me. It’s silly, I tell myself, to be scared of Vince. This is the man I shared a bed with, a life with, for nearly two years. And in all that time he was only violent towards me once. Still, it shows what he’s capable of. But are we all capable of it if we’re pushed?