Page 9 of Scars of Silk

Some place in the back of my mind I remember the fact I have a tattoo parlour gathering dust, but I can’t quite bring myself to do anything about it. To do nothing apart from take more tablets and wait for the little niggling thought to just fade away.

When I can resist the urge to pee no longer, I roll off the bed. The smell of sex and perfume wafts with my movement and for more than a second, I try to recall how it got there. Her expensive perfume and shouts in the dark. When was that? Was it only the night before last?

Her skin; I’ve never seen anything so perfect. Untouched and as smooth as silk. A rich person’s skin. Okay, maybe it’s down to good genetics, but I bet her bank balance has something to do with it. She hadn’t a hint of ink. That was a pleasant change. Very pleasant.

Instead of heading straight to Dad’s bathroom and taking some more of the pills he was given when cancer ate him from the inside out, I head to the stairs. Possibly I’m searching for more signs that my overnight visitor the other evening hadn’t been a vision of fiction my brain conjured up after too many whiskies and painkillers. On my way down the stairs I glance in the large mirror. I can’t remember the last time I even looked at myself. Shit, it’s bad, although the bruises are fading.

I go for a slash and as I wash my hands, I take another look at myself in the mirror. Fuck, I took a beating. I thought the pain would help, but I took it too far. Peering a bit closer at my face, I glance at the whites of my eyes. I look like a drank a bottle of Jack Daniels. Not bad for a screw with a stranger. I need to ring Vinny. I can’t take that beating again. It won’t be pills and booze that will be my end if I do that again.

Strangely, I don’t feel the need to take anything right now. The muscles in my body, normally so tight and coiled, are relaxed and soft.

Back in my room, I pull on some jogging bottoms and grab my phone. There’s a spring in my step today. I could almost want to do something. Maybe.

I dial Vinny as I jog down the stairs. “Yo, brother,” I greet as he answers.

“It’s nine in the morning. This better be good.” His voice is gruff with sleep and not for the first time I recognise the fact that not everyone else is on the same time schedule as me. I guess the early starts with Dad haven’t managed to dislodge themselves from my body clock.

“Just checking in for Friday.” I bounce on my toes, shifting my weight from one foot to another and lean down to flick the kettle on, my eyes landing on a piece of paper.

This herein certifies you are within the ink sexy line.

I grin, not focusing on what Vinny is spouting. It’s not a number, but I probably wouldn’t have dialled it anyway. Damn right I’m within the sexy line. I think I proved my point the other night. Hell knows the last time that woman got laid. Maybe His Lordship wasn’t servicing her after all.

“Friday, yeah, mate.” I grab a mug and spoon some coffee into it. “Am I still against Rogers?”

“Yeah, Rogers, but last week was such a hit we’ve asked Paul if he’ll come back.”

My hand stills on the work surface. “Paul almost killed me.”

There’s a pause. “Rumour has it, Danny, that you nearly did that yourself.”

A cold shiver runs over my skin and I watch, mesmerised as goose bumps pucker my flesh. “Nah, mate. Just an accident with some pain relief.”

“You don’t have to take this week if you aren’t ready.”

I hesitate, just for two seconds. One. Two. “Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just a fight. What else have I got to do?” My forced light tone doesn’t allow the echo of my words to reverberate down the call the way they are in the kitchen. What else have I got to do?

“Okay. Be here ten sharp.”

“Sure, sure.” I hang up and finish stirring my coffee. With my mug in my hand, I pad back to the lounge and sit on the sofa Faith and I had sex on. It had crossed my mind whether I should take that Sienna chick on there. Maybe it would have erased Faith, but in the last moment I’d walked her upstairs instead.

Picking up the TV remote, I click the set on. Briefly, I turn to Dad’s chair and raise my mug in a half salute. “Another day of nothing.” I cheer the air. This is good. Look at me: no money worries, no need to work, all the time to kill while I wait for Friday. Dad worked himself to the bone. He was doing what he loved, but it was still hard work. At last I’m winning on some things.

I don’t have to ink anyone’s skin again. Not if I don’t want to.

Sipping my coffee, I sigh deeply and settle back on the sofa. This is perfect.

I knock on the door and wait for the usual shouting to sound from the other side. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” a voice I know nearly as well as my own calls from the other side. I grin as I hear what sounds like a tripping sound followed by a loud curse but manage to wipe it off my face before I open the door and I get punched in the face.

The door throws back and I wait.

“Well, lookie what the cat dragged back.” Abi folds her hands over her chest. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“In London with Faith. Remember she dragged me up there?”

“Bullshit. She said you left two days ago. I’ve been waiting for the morgue to call me to come and identify you.” She scowls fiercely but I can see her bottom lip tighten the way it does when she’s reining in tears.

“I’m sorry.” I hold my hands out wide. “Can I come in and apologise?”