Sticks and Stones (8 page)

He even went as far as pulling the plug on his prolific shagging, which he knew from past experience she found totally gross, and was making an attempt at a settled relationship. Granted, things hadn’t really progressed that far with Katie. He’d decided on her because, after his realization with Lou, he knew that the more reserved girls he went for in the past quite possibly weren’t in fact what he was looking for. Katie was loud and fun to be with, like Lou, and he thought that if he could start something meaningful with Katie maybe the incessant dreams and thoughts about Lou would abate. But, in all honesty, he found it difficult to focus on anything Katie said or did, which he was guessing was not a particularly good sign.

As he started to lose the battle against his instincts and took a step forward he felt a small hand on his arm.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Katie asked, smiling up at him. ‘You look like you might puke or something.’ Dylan tried to keep looking at her genuinely concerned, open face, but it was like his eyeballs had a mind of their own; he literally could not tear them away from the scene unfolding across the crowded pub.

‘I’m fine,’ Dylan said, attempting to relax his jaw and stop grinding his teeth.

‘”Avoid the company of a liar. And if you can’t avoid him, don’t believe him”.’ Dylan rolled his eyes when he heard Ash’s smooth voice from his other side, but was quick to focus back on Lou and Rich.

He noticed with satisfaction that she had managed to disengage from his rather tight grip and had taken a step back. Dylan’s jaw unclenched, and he was just about to put his arm around Katie when he heard a high-pitched scream coming from Lou’s mum at the bar. Her white, silk shirt was covered in red wine, her face a mask of horror and revulsion.

‘The Mother’

Exactly nine years earlier…

‘You little bitch,’ Dylan heard Mrs Sands hiss at her daughter, and then he flinched at the surprisingly loud slap that followed. Frozen in place in front of the bathroom mirror his shocked eyes turned to the door, beyond which he was pretty sure he’d just heard Lou’s mum slap her around the face. Whose mum actually did that sort of thing? Having been fussed and spoiled all his life by his very Welsh but very warm parents he had absolutely no experience to draw on.

‘Mummy I – ‘ the sound of Lou’s tiny, broken voice ripped through Dylan like acid. He’d never heard her sound like that. He’d never heard her sound even remotely cowed in the past.

‘I told you what to wear young lady,’ Mrs Sands snapped, cutting Lou off. ‘You will not embarrass me in front of all our friends by wearing
that
.’

‘It’s just a dress Mummy,’ Dylan strained to hear Lou’s whisper, ‘and it is my birthday.’

‘You look like a slut Louise, and not even an up-market one. Oh you might be Daddy’s precious princess but you’ve never fooled me. I know what you are.’ The amount of venom in Mrs Sands’ carefully enunciated words was shocking. ‘I’ve always known that you are nothing but a selfish, spoiled, hateful little brat. And the fact that you would even consider wearing that outfit to a party your father and I are paying for just proves my point. Do you know how much this extravaganza is costing Louise?’

‘But Mummy I said that I’d just do something at Uni for my birthday. I didn’t want – umph!’ Dylan stepped forward quickly and grabbed the door handle when he heard the breath being knocked out of Lou and a loud thump.

Both women turned to face him as he jumped into the corridor. Mrs Sands was gripping the red lace material at the front of Lou’s dress and had her pushed up against the wall.

Dylan was only twenty-one years old. He’d been in plenty of punch-ups (he was from Swansea after all), but a mother hitting her daughter? So whilst he was dying to rip the poisonous women away from Lou, he was instead frozen in absolute horror. For her part, after a her initial surprise, Mrs Sands let Lou go and stepped away, calmly smoothing her immaculate black dress and offering Dylan a cold, formal smile.

‘What…what in the…?’ he turned to Lou. ‘Babes?’

‘Ah… the Welshman.’ Mrs Sands’ smile was more like a sneer now and she shot Lou a knowing, cruel look that baffled Dylan. Lou looked panicked for a moment, and then hid it when she noticed Dylan staring.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Sands continued, her icy tone suggesting that she was anything but. ‘If you were looking for the guest facilities they are downstairs in the west wing, beyond the drawing room.’

Dylan knew exactly where the ‘guest facilities’ were. He was up on the first floor having a poke about the mansion, so he could report back to all their curious mates downstairs. The last thing he expected from this woman, who had been formally polite to them all when they’d arrived that afternoon (stuffed into a collection of beat up vehicles that were lucky to make the journey from London to the wilds of Hertfordshire), was to come across her engaged in physically and verbally assaulting her daughter.

‘You will change.’ It wasn’t a question and from the way she was staring at Lou, Dylan could tell that Mrs Sands knew she’d won. When Lou looked back at her, Dylan noticed her mother’s eyes flick quickly over to him in some kind of silent message, and then saw Lou give her a brief nod. With one last pointed glance at Lou she swept away in a cloud of expensive perfume, leaving Lou leaning heavily back against the wall, her head bowed in fierce contemplation of her fire-engine red shoes.

‘Babes I – ‘ he came unstuck and moved towards her as she straightened from the wall and one of her shaky hands came up to push her hair back from her face. ‘You’re bleeding!’ He shot forward and placed a gentle hand under her chin to turn her head to the side, the other hand stroking her hair back from her temple. There was a small trickle of blood from her cheekbone. He could clearly see the handprint across Lou’s face, and with rising nausea realized that the bleeding was from a small cut where Mrs Sands’ ring finger had been.

She was avoiding his eyes, which was alarming, because Lou never avoided direct eye contact.
Not like Frankie
, he thought to himself with the familiar ache of longing that was fortunately dulling slowly as the months and years went by with no progress. Lou’s hand came up to cover his own which was now cupping her face and she forced a small smile.

‘I’m fine you know,’ she said. She had tears in her eyes but Dylan could sense that she would refuse to let them fall. He didn’t think he had seen her cry once in the last three years. ‘I’m used to “The Mother”; I grew up with her after all.’

Bloody hell. What a childhood.

‘She is a massive bitch mind,’ Dylan told her, and to his surprise a small laugh bubbled out from Lou. He relaxed slightly; this was the Lou he knew – she smiled, she laughed, she was outrageous, she had fun. She didn’t talk in a small, broken voice, and she didn’t cower away from a bully.

‘Yes, you could say that,’ she agreed, then looked down at her dress. Dylan knew about the dress, the girls had banged on about it the whole way down. He knew that they’d trawled London to find the exact one Lou wanted, and it certainly was very Lou: short, red, a high neck and long sleeves but completely backless. He couldn’t imagine a dress that would suit her more.

‘I better change,’ she muttered, her voice sounding small and broken again.

‘What? No, fuck her. You wear what you want – “laugh in the face of fear and tweak the nose of the dreadful spindly killer fish”.’ Lou laughed again, not full Sands strength laughter, but getting there.

‘Series two.’

‘Episode?’

‘”Bells”?’

Dylan frowned and shook his head.

‘Oh no! I meant “Potato”,’ she cried. ‘You can’t count that one; I’m off my game.’

‘You know the rules: no redos, no rethinks, no second chances.’ He realized that he still had his hand on the side of her face and even more shockingly Lou’s hand was still firmly covering it. As if she could sense the path of his thoughts Lou dropped her hand suddenly, and stepped to the side along the wall of the corridor so that they were no longer in each other’s personal space.

‘Look, really Dildo, I better get cleaned up before I go down. You find the others okay?’

‘No babes, I’ll wait for you. Then we can go down together, see?’ Lou’s face froze for a moment, and then he swore that for a second she looked almost wistful before she cleared her expression.

‘Please Dildo,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t let her ruin anymore of the evening. Look after Frankie for me. Mother would crush her; she can literally smell fear. Make sure that everyone stays out for her way and tell them I won’t be long.’

Of course
, he thought. Typical Lou behavior: worrying about Frankie first and herself second. Dylan wasn’t sure which of them loved Frankie more and usually he encouraged Lou’s protective bent, but this time he was annoyed.

He wanted to stay with Lou. He wanted to clean up the cut on her face and make sure it wasn’t too deep. He wanted to make sure that her mum didn’t come back for a second round. He wanted to make her laugh again and work towards making that subdued, cowed expression he’d seen her wear a distant memory. But looking into her determined face he knew he was fighting a losing battle. She was nothing if not stubborn.

Up until the moment she walked into the marquee Dylan had convinced himself there was no way in hell that his Lou would be pushed around. No way would she change her dress. He was keeping an eye on her evil witch of a mother, so he caught the slow, satisfied smile that spread across her coldly beautiful face. Following the direction of her gaze, he took in the sight of a completely transformed Lou. Her wild flowing hair had been swept up into an elegant roll at the back of her head, and a dark blue, sophisticated floor length gown had replaced the red dress.

She looked like a refined, well-bred debutante. Of course she was stunning, with Lou that went without saying, but her appearance was so far removed from the Lou they all knew and loved at Uni that he could feel the confusion emanating from their group of mates as a whole. Whoever this woman was she was not their Lou; their Lou had left the moment her mother’s hand connected with her cheek.

It turned out that she didn’t reappear that night either. The normal party animal Lou had morphed into a carefully polite automaton. She circulated amongst her parents’ friends, and the surprisingly large crowd of people her age that she’d told them on the way up were a mixture of boarding school friends and others from ‘socially acceptable’ (or in other words filthy rich) families. The Lou that got steaming with her friends, performed ridiculous dance moves, and snogged ludicrously inappropriate blokes was completely absent from the proceedings that evening.

She didn’t even reappear when they left the next day, spending the entire journey back to London staring out of the window from the back seat of her car after asking Dylan to drive, whilst Frankie kept up nervous chatter from the front and flicked concerned looks back at her. In fact, it took a full week before they had their Lou back in full force.

Present…

Dylan had thought that he’d never seen Lou’s face as devoid of emotion as it had been over the last month, but after remembering that awful party and the quiet Lou of the subsequent week, he realized he was not the only one who had achieved that effect on her. He felt his stomach hollow out as he came to the depressing conclusion that he was in the same category as Lou’s hideous mother.

Christ. Had he actually used the awful knowledge that her mother was abusive (something she had made him swear never to tell anyone – not even Frankie) to hurt her? He racked his brains trying to remember everything he said in his angry tirade, but as snippets emerged into his consciousness he had to force them back down or suffer a full on panic attack.  

A hush fell over the pub, the scream having cut through all conversation. Glancing back to Lou he saw that her head had shot up and she was focusing on her mother.

‘Why on earth am I being subjected to this disgusting hovel,’ Mrs Sands snapped at her husband. Lou starting moving towards where her parents were standing at the bar, and the crowd parted to let her through.

‘Mummy,’ Lou said, as she laid a cautious hand on her mother’s arm. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I’m not okay,’ Mrs Sands snapped. ‘I’m being jostled about all over the place.’ The people standing closest to the bar started surreptitiously shuffling back. ‘And now look at me.’

‘Mummy, maybe you should – ‘

‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do young lady.’ Mrs Sands voice was raised and her face was rigid with anger. ‘I don’t know why I let your father convince me – ‘

‘Now, now Evelyn,’ Mr Sands cut in, sounding completely unruffled by his wife’s outburst and the fact that they were the focus of practically the whole pub’s attention. ‘Let’s try and get into the swing of things eh? We haven’t seen our Lou-Lou in ages.’ Mr Sands looked nearly as out of place in the pub as his wife in his tailored suit. They made an impressive couple: both equally glamorous and intimidating, despite their age, with Mrs Sands’ blonde hair and botoxed features contrasting with her husband’s distinguished grey and the lined, but still handsome, face. The Sands family’s voices dropped and the noise in the pub started up again.

Dylan felt a small hand slip into his and he started; he’d totally forgotten that Katie was there. Why did holding her hand feel so wrong? He looked down at her and forced a smile.

‘Shall I go and get the wets in?’ he asked, keen to get to the bar and not so keen to analyze why that was.

‘Thanks babe, white wine please.’ Dylan winced at the endearment. Surely an endearment from a girl he was supposed to be dating should make him happy; not make him want to rip his ears off? He turned away from Katie to hide his expression. ‘Ash?’

‘”Be aware of the idiot, for he is like an old dress. Every time you patch it, the wind will tear it back again”.’

Dylan clenched his jaw. ‘Okay big man, as much as I enjoy the whole prick-with-a-proverb thing, I’ve no interest in riddling them out in the middle of a pub when I’m dying of thirst. You want a fucking wet or not?’

‘”Against stupidity; God Himself is helpless”.’ Dylan stared at him for a beat, took in Ash’s knowing smirk, and decided to let the coeliwr* get his own drink.

As he pushed through the crowd to the bar he could feel a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. For some reason the thought of Lou exposed to her parents on her birthday caused an almost panicky feeling to rise up to his throat.