Page 3 of Tears of Glass

I glare, although my eyes actually ache and my evil stare of doom is half-hearted. “I said I don’t want to talk about him.”

She gives a little shake of her head. “Whatever. We are still talking.” She appraises me with that cut the crap expression she specialises in. It’s all frown lines and pursed lips. “So, you aren’t a thing? Coz he had that whole doe-eye thing going on, and you guys were up to all sorts in that hotel room.”

I stand, pushing away from her hands. Everyone stops to watch and I frown at them all. Oh, they think I’m getting up because Al is finally here in his wooden box. “Relax, relax. I’m just getting some air.”

Hell, do I need it. It’s hot in Al’s front room. Too many people hanging around, waiting, stealing all the air.

I step out into the garden. Wide, with a beautiful lawn I grew up playing on, chasing Dan and Abi around. “Remember the day Al put the sprinklers on, and you all spent the afternoon screeching and running through?”

I freeze my cigarette, suspended halfway between my mouth and the lighter in my hand.

“Dad, you aren’t welcome here.” I turn and look at the man in front of me. Dishevelled and greying, I don’t know if there is some part of me that’s supposed to feel sorry for the guy. Instead, there is just an empty void in the space I used to keep luxuries like emotions and feelings. It’s empty. Dead. Broken.

“Faith, please. I want to be here for Dan and to honour my old friend.”

I don’t care how long Dad and Al shared their shop for. I don’t care how many years they spent bringing us all up together in some wild bohemian childhood.

“Do you think Al wants your honour?” I step forward. “He hated you. You wouldn’t believe your own daughter was abused under your own roof.” He holds his hands out, but I don’t stop my approach. “Do you think he wants to be honoured by a man who doesn’t believe his family?”

“Faith, I wanna talk to you ‘bout it.”

“Today’s not the day, Dad.” I turn on my heel, walking straight into Dan’s broad chest. His arms come around me and I fight the urge to crumple. Instead, I try to glare at the man who was once my father. “In fact, there will never be a day for you and I to talk again.”

“Faith?” Dan’s voice lowers, his lips close to my ear, his hands rubbing my back. I remember when he used to do that when we were teenagers and I’d always be sick after too much alcohol. “Al wanted him here.”

The world tilts a little under my black-heeled boots. “What?”

“Dad tried to make amends with everyone before he went.”

I shirk out of his touch and storm for a garden chair, throwing myself down onto the wooden seat. “Good one, Al.” I grumble at the sky. “Some welcome home this is.”

I can almost hear his rumbling laughter coming straight back at me through the rain clouds overhead. He’d tell me this wasn’t meant to be a welcome home, that I’m not supposed to be here anymore. But what he’ll never know is that I no longer have anywhere to go.

With a flicker of my lighter and a deep inhalation of breath, I stare up at the sky. Small droplets of tears slide along my cheeks.

What am I going to do when today is over? Where will I go?

My bag vibrates on my lap and I open the gilt clasp, pulling out my phone. My stomach all but disembowels itself and falls out of my body.

Why isn’t he getting the message?

Eli Jones: Talk to me. There are people here who want to arrange meetings with you.

I drag on my smoke and then tuck my phone back in my bag. At some point soon, Elijah Fairclough will realise I’m not going to talk to him.

It vibrates again, and although I try my hardest not to look at the screen, my hands and eyes have a will of their own.

Eli Jones: I’ll think of you today. I hope the funeral goes well.

I squint through my tears. How does he know it’s Al’s funeral today? Elijah has nothing to do with my life here in Brighton.

“Faith?” I glance up and find Abi waiting for me by the patio doors. She has her black jacket on, and what little’s left of my stomach lurches. “The hearse is here.”

I nod and stub out my cigarette in the ceramic ashtray. It was one of the first things I made, and as terrible and misshapen as it is, Al had insisted on keeping it. Not only that, but telling everyone with pride I’d made it. When I was ten, I thought it was cool.

Ignoring my trembling fingers and the slow drag of my feet as I walk over the grass, I pull myself together, so I can say a final goodbye to my old friend.

I find Dan, smart in his black suit and matching tie, and grab his hand. Then together we step up for the first of the limos while others fall into line behind us.