Page 27 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
Cadi snorted, then burst into giggles. "Italian mafia, Ana? Really?"
"I panicked," Ana said, still serious.
"You've read too many books. How did you know about her dad?"
"Because I read books, Cadi. And I know things."
"You could've said she'd be swimming with the fishes."
"She wouldn't get that. Thick skull."
Cadi wiped a tear from her cheek. "That was art."
Ana finally cracked a grin. "Yeah. Felt good."
Chapter thirteen
Chapter13
The knock echoed down the hall of the Richardson house.
It had been two days since Ana had taken care of Cathy. It had also been two days since Byron had attended school.
Sylvia opened the door with gum snapping between her teeth. Her dark brown hair was dyed black now, uneven and harsh, hanging over one eye. Her eyebrows were plucked within an inch of their lives. She looked just like Byron, hazel eyes, razor-cut cheekbones, but thinner, meaner, like life had already started shaving away the softness with a razor-sharp blade.
"Well, well," Sylvia said, voice dripping with attitude. "If it isn't the second coming of-"
Ana cut her off, tone flat. "I wouldn't finish that if I were you. Say one more smartarse word and I'll rip every one of your nose rings out. Got it?"
Sylvia's mouth snapped shut with a click.
"Now get a bath or something. And the smell of that gum's making my head hurt."
As Ana brushed past, Sylvia wrinkled her nose and surreptitiously sniffed her armpit.
The house hadn't changed, and yet it had. The living room was in chaos Empty beer bottles stacked like a sad kind of sculpture on one side, cheap whisky bottles rattling among crisp packets and overflowing ashtrays. The curtains were the shade of ageing skin-yellowed and thin. The carpet looked more worn than Ana remembered.
Sylvia followed her, caution and embarrassment warring in her eyes as she took in the mess through Ana's gaze.
Gareth Richardson once a towering figure, now skin and bone, was passed out on the sofa. One arm dangled off the edge, a bottle on its side near his fingertips. The crotch of his pants was wet, and there was the reek of urine in the air. His sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes told the whole story of what demons could do to a man who'd stopped fighting.
Ana cleared her throat.
"Is Byron here?"
Sylvia hesitated, then gave a small nod and jerked her chin toward the stairs. Her eyes were still those of the child Ana used to know.
Ana took the stairs two at a time.
The hall upstairs smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic. The carpet was threadbare under her boots, the wallpaper curling at the edges. This used to be a house full of life, laughter and the smell of cooking. Now, it just sagged under its own weight.
She stopped at Byron's door.
After a moment, she raised her chin and knocked.
No response.
Knocked again, louder.
