Fic: Tears Of My Heart [Part Six]
Author: miss_peg
Artist: tromana
Link To Art: Here.
Word count: 27206
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Lots of swearing and a bit of violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Skins...ah well.
Summary: When Cook gets out of prison having served time for absconding, he moves in with Naomi, Emily and Gina. After the death of his mother, Cook is faced with questions about his past. With Naomi's help, they go on an emotional journey which results in a revelation that could change both of their lives.
Notes: I was so excited to take part in the skins_bigbang and I am so glad that I finally took the time to write this story. I'd had it in my head for over a year and began it once, before realising that it needed more time than I was able to give it. I'm so proud of finally finishing it.
A massive thank you to tromana, who has literally been my everything throughout this whole process. My beta (you makes me a better writer), my cheerleader, my ideas bouncer, without you I don't think I'd have got through. Nor would I have the amazing art that you made for me. It's been a pleasure to do all of that for you too, in return. I can't wait for us to 'swap' art.
You should all check out her awesome skins_bigbang, which was her first proper Skins fic, not that you could possibly tell. Tick Tock.
[ Part One - Five]
Part Six
The clock on the bedside table had stopped ticking two nights ago at three twenty-four. Cook had been in bed, watching the hands tick around the face as they usually did, waiting for the next hour to arrive and the next, until he could justify getting out of bed. He’d started getting up and cooking breakfast for the house and they’d accepted it as a normal part of their daily routine. He felt like he was doing something for them and they thought he was giving something back. He couldn’t tell them the truth. The ticking of the clock had made it difficult to sleep, yet the lack of ticking made it no easier. He watched the hand as it tried to move, getting one second forwards before jumping back again. He couldn’t be sure of the time, nor did he really want to know. If he knew what time it was, he’d start counting down the seconds until he could officially be awake and the thought of that was enough to drive him potty.
‘Night Blondie,’ he growled, stepping off the back step into the yard, a cigarette in his hand as he lit it up and took in the nights air mixed with tobacco.
‘About fucking time,’ Naomi said, a playful growl making him laugh.
‘Couldn’t disappoint you and not turn up,’ he smiled, though the darkness made it pointless to show any expression.
He lifted the waiting guinea pig out of her cage and sat down on the bench, stroking her bristled fur and puffing on his cigarette. Sometimes he wondered if this was his future, stuck in a friend’s house, smoking cigarettes in the early hours of the morning with some weird rodent for company. What use was he otherwise? His job prospects had always been slim, even before he’d ended up inside.
‘What’s going on in your head tonight?’ Naomi asked, always the intellectual, asking questions in such a way. He could never find the words to say the things he wanted, more so when he was angry or upset. Tonight he wasn’t sure if he was one or the other, or somewhere in between. He just knew he hadn’t been okay for a long time, probably most of his life.
‘There’s not enough,’ he muttered, putting Wanda back in the run and walking to the end of the patio where the bins sat in a row; one for rubbish and a couple for recycling.
‘Enough what?’
‘Fucking information about my real mum,’ he shouted, clenching his fists in frustration and sending his foot into the edge of one of the bins. They clattered together noisily and his breath grew in intensity, until Naomi’s hand rested on his shoulder.
‘You need to calm yourself Cook,’ she said, in that soft tone she used at night, calmer than the one she usually used. Without her soothing tone, he’d probably have lamped her for not remembering to call him James. The physical contact felt good, he’d missed touch, he’d missed it more than anything being inside, even sex.
‘I can’t fucking handle it,’ he cried, wiping his eyes with his free hand and reloading his cigarette with the other.
‘Maybe there’s someone else we can go to, another relative?’
‘I don’t have any fucking relatives,’ he shouted, lowering his voice on the final word, silencing himself before Naomi could do it for him.
‘Then we can go back to Keith, try and get him to talk again, or Sam.’
He shook his head and pushed her away from him, she didn’t understand. She couldn’t ever fucking understand what it was like. What he said and what he meant were two different things, what she heard was him saying there was no one else to go to, what he meant was he didn’t have any family. He’d never really had any family and now, now his family had all lied to him for his whole life. They didn’t matter, they would never matter. He didn’t even have Freddie anymore and JJ had a new life which didn’t seem to involve him.
‘It’s not going to fucking work,’ he said, breathing in through his nose noisily.
‘When we went to your grandpa’s,’ she whispered, cautiously. ‘I took some photos and papers; they’re in a biscuit tin in the cupboard under the stairs. They might be useless, but it’s worth a try.’
He looked up at her, speechless, clenching his fists tightly beside him. He couldn’t punish her for something that could actually be helpful, he just had to maintain calm long enough. She smiled weakly and handed him her cigarettes.
‘Have another fag, don’t want you stressed out for your second interview tomorrow,’ Naomi whispered. He took the packet off her; they were better, more expensive than his. It was like smoking the Taj Mahal of cigarettes compared to his crappy shit. They didn’t talk for the rest of the night, even when he smoked half of her packet. She didn’t care, just sat there beside him, silently waiting for whatever he might want to say. She was more like Gina than she cared to admit.
xxx
‘Guess what Gina?’ Cook said as he entered the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. He never was one for the smart gear, something he got from his dad he supposed. He hated school uniform, even hated the shirt he had to wear to his brother, Paddy’s, Christening.
‘You got the job?’ Gina asked, holding up a can of beer which Cook took and drank down thirstily.
‘Got it in one Gina baby, all thanks to you, my fucking guardian angel.’
‘Not sure about that,’ she chuckled, helping him to take off his jacket which she hung neatly on to the back of a chair.
‘Nah man, it’s all you,’ he said, reaching his arms out and pulling her into a hug. He owed her a lot, more than just the suit she’d bought him. ‘I’m gonna pay you back you know, first pay packet, it’s yours.’
‘Nonsense,’ she smiled, holding him at arm’s length with a huge grin on her face. She couldn’t be happier. He’d tried so hard to get the job, even after they put him through the ringer. He deserved it, he really did.
‘No nonsense babe, you fixed me up and it was a winner. I gotta pay back my favourite lady somehow, haven’t I?’
‘Then how about you buy me dinner?’ she asked, compromising. She didn’t want to take all his money off him, least not because of how little he’d probably have at first. She rested a hand on his cheek and sniffed back a few tears. ‘That should cover it.’
‘Not even close,’ he grinned, removing his tie completely. He loved how much Gina had taken him on board; she was more of a mother to him than his had ever been. He wasn’t sure he could ever thank her enough, not really. ‘But it’s a start.’
‘Speaking of which, I was going to do a roast tonight, how does that sound? Naomi and Emily are eating out, so it’ll be just you and me, if that’s okay?’
‘More than okay Gina love,’ he grinned, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and placing one behind his ear. ‘Last packet of Crapboros.’
‘Outside.’ Gina pointed towards the door and he rolled his eyes, as if he needed the reminder, he wouldn’t do anything to upset her, not after everything she’d done for him.
xxx
Whilst Gina cooked dinner, he found the metal tin in the cupboard under the stairs, underneath a box of porn and beside Gina’s tea collection, just where Naomi said it would be. At first he’d been angry, but now he was grateful. He’d been through everything several times to the point of growing frustrated whenever he read Reggie’s letter and looked at the photos only to find the same information. He didn’t know why he wanted to look at the other photographs Naomi had taken, after all those weeks. He didn’t think they mattered much, just a bunch of old pictures. He sat down in the lounge and cracked open the tin, leafing through several photos on the top. They were mostly of Ruth and Cook Senior in the days of their relationship, the odd photograph with Sam and one of Uncle Keith. When he reached down into the bottom of the tin, he felt paper, different to the photographs. He lifted them all out and placed them on the table.
‘Another letter?’ he mumbled, noticing the carefully crafted handwriting on the same parchment as the one sent to him at the prison. He read down, listening to the voice that wrote the letter, trying to imagine what she must be like. His mother.
‘I can’t see you, my parents found out about the baby. They won’t let me see you Sam, even though I want to. Please forgive me.’
A lump stuck in his throat, lodged in there worse than a marble up a kids nose. He couldn’t let go long enough for the tears to arrive, yet he didn’t want to feel the pain of the growing lump. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Sam was his dad? Why hadn’t he told him? Not that he’d wanted to say much, but he should have told him. If there was anything he deserved to know, it was that his Uncle Sam was actually his dad. That must have been why he ended up with their family, which meant, Ruth was his aunt.
Fuck, the whole thing messed with his head. He couldn’t fucking stand it, every piece of the puzzle seemed to lead him further away from useful information to the point that he was growing tired looking. He folded the letter back up and put everything in the tin, out of sight, out of mind.
For the first time in days his eyes were going, he could feel the same crash come on that had happened every few days since he’d got out of prison. Usually it happened during the day and he’d sleep on the sofa whilst Gina vacuumed around him, anything to avoid the silent nights.
‘James?’ Gina entered the lounge, wondering why he hadn’t returned to the kitchen. She found him sleeping on the sofa, his thumb lodged in his mouth like a child. She sat down on the coffee table and brushed his hair back from his face, he looked so beautiful when he slept, so at peace with the world around him. Not like when he was awake. She hadn’t escaped the worry that seemed permanently etched on his face. She searched the cupboard under the stairs for a blanket before covering him up and returning to the kitchen to eat dinner.
xxx
The scrap yard office smelt like cannabis and sweat which made Cook want to turn around and walk right back out of the door. He didn’t though, he stood in the doorway watching the man he now knew to be his father fiddling with a mobile phone and laughing to himself. He tried to remember everything Naomi told him after the last time they saw Sam, not to let his emotions get the better of him. Sometimes he couldn’t help it and that moment was one of those times.
‘You fucking cunt,’ he screamed, darting across the room and pinning him by the scruff of his neck against the back wall.
‘Was ‘oping I’d never see you again,’ Sam snarled, wrapping his fingers around Cook’s hand as he pressed it harder against his throat. He could smell blood on his hands, a faint reminder of his past crimes. He wasn’t afraid to kill someone, not anymore.
‘Don’t you fucking talk, understand me? Don’t you fucking say a fucking thing unless I ask you to.’
‘But,’ Cook just pushed his hand tighter around Sam’s neck and watched the blood catch in his face, turning it a deep shade of crimson. It wouldn’t take long to kill him, to murder him in cold blood. He couldn’t do it though, that wasn’t why he was there. He had a purpose and he wasn’t going to waste his time by killing the only person who could help.
‘You fucking lied to me, why didn’t you tell me you’re my dad?’
‘I ain’t your dad, your mum and dad were Ruthie and Cook, I ain’t your dad.’
‘Except that you are,’ Cook snarled, his fingernails breaking the skin on Sam’s neck. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like, to kill for the sake of killing, to murder just to feel the same rush of adrenaline he’d felt before. ‘You’re my fucking dad and you’ll answer every question I have or I’ll kill you.’
‘You don’t have it in yo’,’ Sam laughed, before choking again from the pressure of Cook’s hand, he pressed harder, enjoyed watching him panic as his feet flailed around like a recently decapitated chicken.
‘You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve beaten to death,’ Cook growled into his ear, chuckling at the fearful look now housed in his father’s eyes. The same look he saw in Foster’s eyes seconds before he knocked him unconscious. ‘Now, my mum, who was she? Where can I find her?’
‘Her name was Reggie, I don’t know where you can find her, I don’t know anything else,’ Cook lifted him by the neck a little, feeling him struggle to breath as he hung from his hand. Then he lowered him and gave him the biggest grin he could muster.
‘Think again you pussy, Reggie who? Where the fuck does she live?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t remember.’
‘You got her pregnant, she wrote a letter to you telling you she was having your kid and you can’t fucking remember?’
‘I were only a kid, I didn’t care. I just wanted to fuck and she was one fucking good shag was your mum, real feisty.’
He knew very little about his mother but Sam’s smirk and words settled in the pit of his stomach like a weed in a perfectly pruned flowerbed. He slapped him, hard across the cheek, could feel his jaw shirk inside his mouth and his teeth grind together. It woke up the monster within and he wanted nothing more than to smack his face in with his fist, to feel blood and bone mixing as he beat him to a pulp. But he wasn’t done, he couldn’t risk it yet.
‘Last time I saw her she’d just come from her parents’ house on, I can’t remember the road, it was off the main road by ‘ere, number eighteen, their road has the Deer’s Head pub on the corner. I don’t know if they’ll still be there, it was twenty-one years ago.’
‘Twenty-one years?’ Cook asked, frowning as he let his guard down and stepped away from his dad. Something wasn’t quite adding up in his head, he just wasn’t sure what. ‘But I was born nineteen years ago.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ Sam said, shaking his head and retrieving his mobile phone which had broken into pieces when Cook had arrived. ‘I remember it like it were yesterday, day you were born, 16th October 1990.’
‘That’s not my birthday,’ Cook shouted, his whole body alive with adrenaline. If he wasn’t still itching for information, he’d have sent his fists flying and allowed his body to lose control. He’d learnt a thing or two about controlling his anger inside, any sign of a fist fight and he’d end up in a cell on his own for longer than he liked.
‘Yes it is.’
‘Nah man,’ he tried again, shaking his head adamantly, wringing his hands together. ‘I’m 16th May ‘91.’
‘That’s what they told you kid,’ Sam muttered, slotting the battery back in his phone and turning it back on. ‘But that’s not what happened, your mum and dad knew they couldn’t have you officially, so they got a birth certificate made up by a friend who worked at the council in Derby.’
‘You’re lying, you’ve already done it once, you’re fucking lying to me again.’
‘No, I’m not kid, think I don’t remember the day Reggie turned up on my doorstep begging me to take you? You were just born and it was fucking freezing outside, it had snowed and she’d wrapped you up in a tiny blanket. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, so Ruthie offered to help out. Only she didn’t help out like she was supposed to, she fucked off to Derby with your dad.’
‘You’re lying to me.’
He didn’t want to listen to him talking anymore; he didn’t want to hear the truth. It hurt too much, listening to what happened from a man who didn’t care enough about him. If he did, they wouldn’t have lied to him his whole life that he was his uncle. He let his guard down long enough that Sam swung at him, his own instincts made him dodge out of the way before smashing him back in the nose. He went down, his face bloody and red, his nose misshapen. A sense of satisfaction made him grin at his dad as he stood over him, resting his foot on his chest as he heaved each difficult breath.
‘You fucking try and hit me again, or this information be a pack of lies and I’ll make sure you’re buried under fifty tons of scrap. You fucking understand?’
Sam nodded as Cook kicked him in the side and walked out of the office.
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Parts Ten
Artist: tromana
Link To Art: Here.
Word count: 27206
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Lots of swearing and a bit of violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Skins...ah well.
Summary: When Cook gets out of prison having served time for absconding, he moves in with Naomi, Emily and Gina. After the death of his mother, Cook is faced with questions about his past. With Naomi's help, they go on an emotional journey which results in a revelation that could change both of their lives.
Notes: I was so excited to take part in the skins_bigbang and I am so glad that I finally took the time to write this story. I'd had it in my head for over a year and began it once, before realising that it needed more time than I was able to give it. I'm so proud of finally finishing it.
A massive thank you to tromana, who has literally been my everything throughout this whole process. My beta (you makes me a better writer), my cheerleader, my ideas bouncer, without you I don't think I'd have got through. Nor would I have the amazing art that you made for me. It's been a pleasure to do all of that for you too, in return. I can't wait for us to 'swap' art.
You should all check out her awesome skins_bigbang, which was her first proper Skins fic, not that you could possibly tell. Tick Tock.
[ Part One - Five]
Part Six
The clock on the bedside table had stopped ticking two nights ago at three twenty-four. Cook had been in bed, watching the hands tick around the face as they usually did, waiting for the next hour to arrive and the next, until he could justify getting out of bed. He’d started getting up and cooking breakfast for the house and they’d accepted it as a normal part of their daily routine. He felt like he was doing something for them and they thought he was giving something back. He couldn’t tell them the truth. The ticking of the clock had made it difficult to sleep, yet the lack of ticking made it no easier. He watched the hand as it tried to move, getting one second forwards before jumping back again. He couldn’t be sure of the time, nor did he really want to know. If he knew what time it was, he’d start counting down the seconds until he could officially be awake and the thought of that was enough to drive him potty.
‘Night Blondie,’ he growled, stepping off the back step into the yard, a cigarette in his hand as he lit it up and took in the nights air mixed with tobacco.
‘About fucking time,’ Naomi said, a playful growl making him laugh.
‘Couldn’t disappoint you and not turn up,’ he smiled, though the darkness made it pointless to show any expression.
He lifted the waiting guinea pig out of her cage and sat down on the bench, stroking her bristled fur and puffing on his cigarette. Sometimes he wondered if this was his future, stuck in a friend’s house, smoking cigarettes in the early hours of the morning with some weird rodent for company. What use was he otherwise? His job prospects had always been slim, even before he’d ended up inside.
‘What’s going on in your head tonight?’ Naomi asked, always the intellectual, asking questions in such a way. He could never find the words to say the things he wanted, more so when he was angry or upset. Tonight he wasn’t sure if he was one or the other, or somewhere in between. He just knew he hadn’t been okay for a long time, probably most of his life.
‘There’s not enough,’ he muttered, putting Wanda back in the run and walking to the end of the patio where the bins sat in a row; one for rubbish and a couple for recycling.
‘Enough what?’
‘Fucking information about my real mum,’ he shouted, clenching his fists in frustration and sending his foot into the edge of one of the bins. They clattered together noisily and his breath grew in intensity, until Naomi’s hand rested on his shoulder.
‘You need to calm yourself Cook,’ she said, in that soft tone she used at night, calmer than the one she usually used. Without her soothing tone, he’d probably have lamped her for not remembering to call him James. The physical contact felt good, he’d missed touch, he’d missed it more than anything being inside, even sex.
‘I can’t fucking handle it,’ he cried, wiping his eyes with his free hand and reloading his cigarette with the other.
‘Maybe there’s someone else we can go to, another relative?’
‘I don’t have any fucking relatives,’ he shouted, lowering his voice on the final word, silencing himself before Naomi could do it for him.
‘Then we can go back to Keith, try and get him to talk again, or Sam.’
He shook his head and pushed her away from him, she didn’t understand. She couldn’t ever fucking understand what it was like. What he said and what he meant were two different things, what she heard was him saying there was no one else to go to, what he meant was he didn’t have any family. He’d never really had any family and now, now his family had all lied to him for his whole life. They didn’t matter, they would never matter. He didn’t even have Freddie anymore and JJ had a new life which didn’t seem to involve him.
‘It’s not going to fucking work,’ he said, breathing in through his nose noisily.
‘When we went to your grandpa’s,’ she whispered, cautiously. ‘I took some photos and papers; they’re in a biscuit tin in the cupboard under the stairs. They might be useless, but it’s worth a try.’
He looked up at her, speechless, clenching his fists tightly beside him. He couldn’t punish her for something that could actually be helpful, he just had to maintain calm long enough. She smiled weakly and handed him her cigarettes.
‘Have another fag, don’t want you stressed out for your second interview tomorrow,’ Naomi whispered. He took the packet off her; they were better, more expensive than his. It was like smoking the Taj Mahal of cigarettes compared to his crappy shit. They didn’t talk for the rest of the night, even when he smoked half of her packet. She didn’t care, just sat there beside him, silently waiting for whatever he might want to say. She was more like Gina than she cared to admit.
xxx
‘Guess what Gina?’ Cook said as he entered the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. He never was one for the smart gear, something he got from his dad he supposed. He hated school uniform, even hated the shirt he had to wear to his brother, Paddy’s, Christening.
‘You got the job?’ Gina asked, holding up a can of beer which Cook took and drank down thirstily.
‘Got it in one Gina baby, all thanks to you, my fucking guardian angel.’
‘Not sure about that,’ she chuckled, helping him to take off his jacket which she hung neatly on to the back of a chair.
‘Nah man, it’s all you,’ he said, reaching his arms out and pulling her into a hug. He owed her a lot, more than just the suit she’d bought him. ‘I’m gonna pay you back you know, first pay packet, it’s yours.’
‘Nonsense,’ she smiled, holding him at arm’s length with a huge grin on her face. She couldn’t be happier. He’d tried so hard to get the job, even after they put him through the ringer. He deserved it, he really did.
‘No nonsense babe, you fixed me up and it was a winner. I gotta pay back my favourite lady somehow, haven’t I?’
‘Then how about you buy me dinner?’ she asked, compromising. She didn’t want to take all his money off him, least not because of how little he’d probably have at first. She rested a hand on his cheek and sniffed back a few tears. ‘That should cover it.’
‘Not even close,’ he grinned, removing his tie completely. He loved how much Gina had taken him on board; she was more of a mother to him than his had ever been. He wasn’t sure he could ever thank her enough, not really. ‘But it’s a start.’
‘Speaking of which, I was going to do a roast tonight, how does that sound? Naomi and Emily are eating out, so it’ll be just you and me, if that’s okay?’
‘More than okay Gina love,’ he grinned, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and placing one behind his ear. ‘Last packet of Crapboros.’
‘Outside.’ Gina pointed towards the door and he rolled his eyes, as if he needed the reminder, he wouldn’t do anything to upset her, not after everything she’d done for him.
xxx
Whilst Gina cooked dinner, he found the metal tin in the cupboard under the stairs, underneath a box of porn and beside Gina’s tea collection, just where Naomi said it would be. At first he’d been angry, but now he was grateful. He’d been through everything several times to the point of growing frustrated whenever he read Reggie’s letter and looked at the photos only to find the same information. He didn’t know why he wanted to look at the other photographs Naomi had taken, after all those weeks. He didn’t think they mattered much, just a bunch of old pictures. He sat down in the lounge and cracked open the tin, leafing through several photos on the top. They were mostly of Ruth and Cook Senior in the days of their relationship, the odd photograph with Sam and one of Uncle Keith. When he reached down into the bottom of the tin, he felt paper, different to the photographs. He lifted them all out and placed them on the table.
‘Another letter?’ he mumbled, noticing the carefully crafted handwriting on the same parchment as the one sent to him at the prison. He read down, listening to the voice that wrote the letter, trying to imagine what she must be like. His mother.
‘I can’t see you, my parents found out about the baby. They won’t let me see you Sam, even though I want to. Please forgive me.’
A lump stuck in his throat, lodged in there worse than a marble up a kids nose. He couldn’t let go long enough for the tears to arrive, yet he didn’t want to feel the pain of the growing lump. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Sam was his dad? Why hadn’t he told him? Not that he’d wanted to say much, but he should have told him. If there was anything he deserved to know, it was that his Uncle Sam was actually his dad. That must have been why he ended up with their family, which meant, Ruth was his aunt.
Fuck, the whole thing messed with his head. He couldn’t fucking stand it, every piece of the puzzle seemed to lead him further away from useful information to the point that he was growing tired looking. He folded the letter back up and put everything in the tin, out of sight, out of mind.
For the first time in days his eyes were going, he could feel the same crash come on that had happened every few days since he’d got out of prison. Usually it happened during the day and he’d sleep on the sofa whilst Gina vacuumed around him, anything to avoid the silent nights.
‘James?’ Gina entered the lounge, wondering why he hadn’t returned to the kitchen. She found him sleeping on the sofa, his thumb lodged in his mouth like a child. She sat down on the coffee table and brushed his hair back from his face, he looked so beautiful when he slept, so at peace with the world around him. Not like when he was awake. She hadn’t escaped the worry that seemed permanently etched on his face. She searched the cupboard under the stairs for a blanket before covering him up and returning to the kitchen to eat dinner.
xxx
The scrap yard office smelt like cannabis and sweat which made Cook want to turn around and walk right back out of the door. He didn’t though, he stood in the doorway watching the man he now knew to be his father fiddling with a mobile phone and laughing to himself. He tried to remember everything Naomi told him after the last time they saw Sam, not to let his emotions get the better of him. Sometimes he couldn’t help it and that moment was one of those times.
‘You fucking cunt,’ he screamed, darting across the room and pinning him by the scruff of his neck against the back wall.
‘Was ‘oping I’d never see you again,’ Sam snarled, wrapping his fingers around Cook’s hand as he pressed it harder against his throat. He could smell blood on his hands, a faint reminder of his past crimes. He wasn’t afraid to kill someone, not anymore.
‘Don’t you fucking talk, understand me? Don’t you fucking say a fucking thing unless I ask you to.’
‘But,’ Cook just pushed his hand tighter around Sam’s neck and watched the blood catch in his face, turning it a deep shade of crimson. It wouldn’t take long to kill him, to murder him in cold blood. He couldn’t do it though, that wasn’t why he was there. He had a purpose and he wasn’t going to waste his time by killing the only person who could help.
‘You fucking lied to me, why didn’t you tell me you’re my dad?’
‘I ain’t your dad, your mum and dad were Ruthie and Cook, I ain’t your dad.’
‘Except that you are,’ Cook snarled, his fingernails breaking the skin on Sam’s neck. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like, to kill for the sake of killing, to murder just to feel the same rush of adrenaline he’d felt before. ‘You’re my fucking dad and you’ll answer every question I have or I’ll kill you.’
‘You don’t have it in yo’,’ Sam laughed, before choking again from the pressure of Cook’s hand, he pressed harder, enjoyed watching him panic as his feet flailed around like a recently decapitated chicken.
‘You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve beaten to death,’ Cook growled into his ear, chuckling at the fearful look now housed in his father’s eyes. The same look he saw in Foster’s eyes seconds before he knocked him unconscious. ‘Now, my mum, who was she? Where can I find her?’
‘Her name was Reggie, I don’t know where you can find her, I don’t know anything else,’ Cook lifted him by the neck a little, feeling him struggle to breath as he hung from his hand. Then he lowered him and gave him the biggest grin he could muster.
‘Think again you pussy, Reggie who? Where the fuck does she live?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t remember.’
‘You got her pregnant, she wrote a letter to you telling you she was having your kid and you can’t fucking remember?’
‘I were only a kid, I didn’t care. I just wanted to fuck and she was one fucking good shag was your mum, real feisty.’
He knew very little about his mother but Sam’s smirk and words settled in the pit of his stomach like a weed in a perfectly pruned flowerbed. He slapped him, hard across the cheek, could feel his jaw shirk inside his mouth and his teeth grind together. It woke up the monster within and he wanted nothing more than to smack his face in with his fist, to feel blood and bone mixing as he beat him to a pulp. But he wasn’t done, he couldn’t risk it yet.
‘Last time I saw her she’d just come from her parents’ house on, I can’t remember the road, it was off the main road by ‘ere, number eighteen, their road has the Deer’s Head pub on the corner. I don’t know if they’ll still be there, it was twenty-one years ago.’
‘Twenty-one years?’ Cook asked, frowning as he let his guard down and stepped away from his dad. Something wasn’t quite adding up in his head, he just wasn’t sure what. ‘But I was born nineteen years ago.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ Sam said, shaking his head and retrieving his mobile phone which had broken into pieces when Cook had arrived. ‘I remember it like it were yesterday, day you were born, 16th October 1990.’
‘That’s not my birthday,’ Cook shouted, his whole body alive with adrenaline. If he wasn’t still itching for information, he’d have sent his fists flying and allowed his body to lose control. He’d learnt a thing or two about controlling his anger inside, any sign of a fist fight and he’d end up in a cell on his own for longer than he liked.
‘Yes it is.’
‘Nah man,’ he tried again, shaking his head adamantly, wringing his hands together. ‘I’m 16th May ‘91.’
‘That’s what they told you kid,’ Sam muttered, slotting the battery back in his phone and turning it back on. ‘But that’s not what happened, your mum and dad knew they couldn’t have you officially, so they got a birth certificate made up by a friend who worked at the council in Derby.’
‘You’re lying, you’ve already done it once, you’re fucking lying to me again.’
‘No, I’m not kid, think I don’t remember the day Reggie turned up on my doorstep begging me to take you? You were just born and it was fucking freezing outside, it had snowed and she’d wrapped you up in a tiny blanket. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, so Ruthie offered to help out. Only she didn’t help out like she was supposed to, she fucked off to Derby with your dad.’
‘You’re lying to me.’
He didn’t want to listen to him talking anymore; he didn’t want to hear the truth. It hurt too much, listening to what happened from a man who didn’t care enough about him. If he did, they wouldn’t have lied to him his whole life that he was his uncle. He let his guard down long enough that Sam swung at him, his own instincts made him dodge out of the way before smashing him back in the nose. He went down, his face bloody and red, his nose misshapen. A sense of satisfaction made him grin at his dad as he stood over him, resting his foot on his chest as he heaved each difficult breath.
‘You fucking try and hit me again, or this information be a pack of lies and I’ll make sure you’re buried under fifty tons of scrap. You fucking understand?’
Sam nodded as Cook kicked him in the side and walked out of the office.
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Parts Ten