A Vision of Green (Florence Vaine #2) (23 page)

“
At least now I've learned my lesson to avoid the f-forest completely.” I say, in an effort to win him over.

“
I suppose,” he accedes. “I've noticed Sam and the Nephilim have been hanging around there a lot this past week. If they're so confident that what's in there can't get out then why are they spending so much time watching the place?” he asks, trying to form a theory as to what's really going on.

“
I don't know. They're probably just keeping tabs, you know, making sure Green George toes the heavenly line,” I joke.

“
Hmm, maybe,” says Frank, deep in thought.

We both stay quiet for a minute or two, before I broach a new subject. “How have you been, by the way? I mean, you seemed a little strained the other day at P.E.”

Frank's blue eyes shift to me. “What? Oh, that. It happens a lot. It's a constant struggle I guess. I always have to work to keep myself in check. Alex and the others will tell you the same thing. When John took each of us into his home he spent weeks, months even, training us in how to contain our demons, teaching us techniques to use when we feel like we might be losing control.”

“
That's good. But have you ever, like, actually lost control?”

He smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Well, I almost lost control with you in the living room before...” he trails off.

“
That's not what I meant and you know it. Be serious.” I reply sharply, trying to ignore the goose flesh his comment causes to rise on my arms.

Frank lowers his gaze to the surface of the table, his eyes moving back and forth, as though tracing the patterns in the wood. “Yeah, I guess I have lost it. Once or twice,” he replies in a quiet voice.

“
W-what happened?”

He sighs and takes a bite out of one of the sandwiches I made. “These are really good, Flo,” he says, clearly trying to switch topics.

I give him a small smile. “Don't do that, tell me. I'd like to know.”

It takes him a while to respond. “I broke a guy's arm once, this was before John found me. Don't get me wrong, I've done worse than break arms, but this one time I hadn't meant to do it at all. I'd been having a bad day and one of the care workers at the kids' home I was being kept at approached me. All he did was put his hand on my shoulder, like to comfort me or whatever, and I completely flipped. I grabbed his hand, twisted his arm to an unnatural angle and snapped the bone just like that. I guess it was sort of a defence mechanism, since he put his hand on me from behind. Still, I didn't know how to control the demon properly back then, it would creep out unexpectedly. I got into a fair bit of trouble over that incident anyway,” he shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

We finish eating and Frank helps me clear away the dishes. Just as I'm putting the last plate in the cupboard the front door slams open and I hear my dad and Sal coming in, having an argument of some sort. My panicked gaze darts to Frank.

“
You have to l-l-leave,” I whisper.

He frowns. “I'm not going anywhere, they sound drunk off their faces.”

“
They probably are, but still, you've got to go,
please
,” I beg, shuffling to get the back door open for him.

Frank hesitates, looking between me and the door. “Fine, I don't like this, but I'll go. You need to call me after I leave to let me know you're okay.” He shakes his head and his eyes darken. “He better not lay a finger on you.”

“
He won't. Go,” I say, desperation in my voice.

Frank kisses my cheek and leaves in a blur. I close the door and lock it just as Dad and Sal come storming into the room.

“
I knew it!” Sal shouts. “You were with her last night, weren't you?” The accusation tumbles out of her mouth, her words slurred from alcohol. Oh no, she must have found out about the blond woman somehow.

Dad gives her a look of disgust. The honeymoon period is definitely over then.

“
Fuck off, Sal,” he grits, opening the fridge and rifling through it for a bottle of beer.

Neither of them have noticed me yet, and I surreptitiously slide closer to the door to try and slip out before they clock me.

“
Don't you...don't you dare talk to me like that Terry. I'll leave, I'll walk right out that door,” she shrieks, it hurts my ears.

“
I wish you would,” he mutters, pulling out a bottle and slamming it off the side of the counter to open it. It leaves a scrape. I focus on the small scratch in the Formica, another little bit of damage to a house that was once immaculate.

Sal's eyes widen at his words, rage seems to build within the bloodshot whites. “Oh, so you don't want me any more, is that it? I've outgrown my usefulness, or I just no longer entertain you.” Yeah, that'd be about right. Sal's lip curls. “You're a real piece of work.”

“
And you're a piece of trash, now go on, crawl the hell out of here and move on to the next chump desperate enough to give you the time of day.”

Sal marches across the room and slaps Dad right on the face. Bad move, Sal, terrible move. I'm afraid that if I make a run for it he'll finally see me and take his anger out on me instead of her. That's probably selfish, but it's not my fault Sal is blatantly provoking him. Dad grabs her wrist, a rapid movement, his hand like a claw as it grips her. Bruises her. Women like Sal bruise real easy, mostly because their immune systems are in the toilet from all the hard living.

Dad's brown eyes turn black with anger, his aura swirls and mutates, getting even uglier than usual. Suddenly, Sal seems to realise the consequences of her actions. He still hasn't let go of her wrist.

“
Look, look, I'm sorry,” she whimpers. “I shouldn't have done that. I know I shouldn't have.”

Dad uses his hold on her to violently push her away from him. She falls back into the kitchen table, knocking over a chair as she tumbles to the floor. Tears stream from her eyes and she starts heaving, making sad little crying noises. Dad steps toward her as she sits there, rubbing her wrist.

He towers right over her and orders, “GET. YOUR. SHIT. AND. GET. THE. FUCK. OUT.
NOW!
”

She continues to bawl, not moving an inch. He pulls her up and frog marches her out of the room, right by me. Banging noises sound as he pushes her up the stairs. Five minutes later I hear them coming back down, and I hurry out to the hallway.

“
Please, don't make me go, I don't want to go back to the city,” Sal begs, two large handbags stuffed with clothes dangling from each shoulder. A pair of pink lacy panties stick out of one of them. Yuck.

Dad hauls her outside, his phone to his ear as he calls her a taxi. Sal sits down on the curb just beyond the front garden, looking the picture of washed up and pathetic. My heart hurts for her. I wish she'd had the sense not to get involved with a man like my dad in the first place. With shaking hands she pulls a cigarette out of the packet in her bag and lights it up. I watch all of this, hiding just behind the edge of the front door.

“
The taxi will be here in five minutes,” says Dad abruptly, no love lost on the woman he's been shacked up with for the last week or two. “If you know what's good for you, you won't show your face here again, Sal.”

She spits just short of his boots and hisses, “I wouldn't come back to you if you were the last man on earth.”

Dad gives her a sadistic laugh. “I have absolutely no problem with that, love.” The way he says
love
twists in my gut, it's so lacking in any kind of emotion. Just empty.

At this, I hurry up to my room and lock the door. It seems to be becoming a habit for me to lock myself in these days. A few minutes later I hear the taxi pull up and drive off shortly afterwards. Dad comes back into the quiet house. His presence is ominous. My heart beats a mile a minute, wondering if he'll come looking for me, seeking to use me as an outlet for his rage.

That doesn't happen. Instead I hear him talking on the phone cheerily, saying stuff like, “Yeah, that nagging bitch is gone, come over and we'll have a few drinks. Go on, you know it'll be fun.”

He repeats the same spiel over several conversations, and soon the house is noisy again. Dad's guests have arrived, for what could be called his “getting rid of Sal” party. I knew their little romance wouldn't last, if that's what you'd even call it. It was more of a co-dependent partnership of convenience, I think wearily. Pulling back the covers on my bed, I get up and turn off the light. I send Frank a quick text to let him know I'm okay, not really in the mood for a telephone conversation.

Sleep is evasive, what with the pounding of the music below. I squash the pillow over my head in an effort to drown it out. Still, I don't sleep much the whole night, surfacing every once in a while and then drifting off again. I'm almost grateful when morning comes so that I don't have to try to rest any more. There are nights when slumber just doesn't want to pay me a visit, and the more I force it the further it slips from my reach.

Some time during the early hours of the morning I heard Dad's friends leave. When I go into the bathroom to carry out my morning routine I find that somebody has gotten sick into the toilet bowl without flushing it. My stomach heaves. I rush to open the window as wide as it will go, flush the toilet and pour an entire bottle of bleach down it. After that I make my routine extra quick, getting dressed and out the door to school within a matter of minutes. After having cleaned the house from top to bottom yesterday, I just can't bring myself to see what kind of horrific mess has been made this time, so I avoid going into the kitchen or the living room completely.

The school day goes by in a tired haze, as I struggle to keep my eyes open. When Caroline, who's back after her stomach bug and cheery as always, reminds me that we have our second group meeting this evening at Frank's house my heart plummets. I'd been hoping to just head home and go to bed.

Caroline invites me over to her house after school so that we can have dinner and do our homework together before heading to the farmhouse. I agree, mostly because it means I can avoid Frank for a few hours before I inevitably see him at the meeting. I'm simultaneously embarrassed and excited by the time we shared together last night. I don't know how to act around him. It's like we're still together even though we're not supposed to be. When I'm with him I try to keep a friendly space between us, but it's a fruitless endeavour. He always manages to break past my defences.

“
Hello, are you this Flo person I've heard so much about?” asks Caroline's mother cheerily as I step inside their front hallway. She's got short auburn hair, the same colour as her daughter's, and is a little on the heavy side. From what I can see in her aura, she seems genuinely pleased to be meeting me.

“
I am,” I reply quietly, as she shakes my hand.

“
Well I'm Vivian, come on inside,” Caroline and I follow her into the kitchen, leaving our bags at the end of the staircase. She pours us each a glass of lemonade, it has little bits of mint leaves in it, so I'm guessing it's home made. My chest squeezes, my need for motherly love whispering,
Caroline is so lucky to have this, just this
.

“
Your surname is Vaine, isn't it?” asks Vivian, wiping her hands on a dish towel. There's something cooking in the stainless steel oven behind her and it smells delicious. I could live here just for the lemonade and cooking alone. Their kitchen has clearly been recently renovated, as everything looks shiny and new.

“
Y-yes.”

Her eyes home in on me, as she takes in my appearance. “You wouldn't happen to be related to Terry Vaine, would you?” All of a sudden there's a coldness about her, a coldness towards me.

I struggle not to hang my head in shame. What does this woman know about my father? “He's my dad,” I answer, wishing I didn't have to. Wishing I could say,
nope, never heard of him
.

“
You have a slight look of him about you, though not much,” she says. “I went to school with him, well he would have been a year or two behind me. Quite the trouble maker, everybody used to go on about him and Karen Slater, they were always getting up to mischief.”