A CUP OF TEA LEAVES

By Atonia Walpole

BILLY SEWARD, A RUSSELL-BASED CHARACTER, STEALS A WOMAN'S PAY ENVELOPE AND ENDS UP WITH WAY MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR.

Part 1:

Billy stood in front of the bathroom mirror looking at what he had done. His longish chestnut hair filled the sink and he lay the clippers down. Now he looked like every other bloke at the pub and wouldn’t be as likely to be noticed again. He quickly scooped up the hair and shoved it in a paper bag, taking it down to the dustbin. He stopped in the kitchen, grabbed a can of baked beans and leaning over the sink, he finished off his tea.

His old man would be home soon and the thought caused him to clench his jaw. He ran up the stairs to his room, closed the door, and turning out his light, pulled off his shoes and jeans and lay on his bed waiting for the sound of him. It wasn’t long before the front door opened, accompanied by a loud 'Hallo'.  That was followed by wall bumping and mutterings as staggering up the stairs he came.  Billy closed his eyes, hoping he would just go to bed. He had been saving his money trying to get enough to get himself out of the house, out of the town and as far away from his dad as he could. He turned over and fisted his pillow. Bloody drunken bastard.

He heard his doorknob rattle. “Open the bloody door!” his old man yelled. Billy didn’t move but lay waiting to see if he’d knock it down again. His old man shoved against the door and as it came open, Billy sat up in the bed.

“What’re ye doin’ lockin’ tha bloody door, eh?”

“Go to bed, Da, just go to bloody bed!” Billy said coldly, watching him fumbling for the light.

“What  tha fuck! What’s all this stuff, eh? Ye stealin’, are ya? I know ye are. Ya don’t work.” His old man took a swipe at his CD set up, sending it across the floor.

“Get out of my room, get out!” yelled Billy.

“Yer room, is it, eh? Who pays fer it? I do! Yer a tea leaf, Billy. Yer mum would’a cried if she’d a known.”

“Don’t you talk about my Mum! Don’t you say her name!” Billy growled.

His old man took a swing at him, catching Billy on the cheek, lost his balance and went down, striking his head on the bed post. Billy picked himself off the bed, getting on his knees to turn his old man over on his back. He was still breathing. He got up and went to the bathroom. Holding   a cold cloth to his cheek he made up his mind to leave tonight with what he had. He packed his things in a backpack and took his money from the back of his wardrobe, stuffing it in his pockets. Then picking up his cigarettes from the table by his bed, he left the house.

His face throbbed but he kept a good pace to the bus station. How dare his old man mention his Mum. The poor woman had suffered him for too long before dying of cancer two years ago. Billy had begun to steal things for her when she became sick. That had led to stealing as a way to support them. His Mum had been at home until the last two weeks of her life and it was left to Billy to look after her. His dad drank his pay at the pub. The sicker his Mum became the drunker his dad had become. He hated him now for the way his Mum had to live and for forcing him to become a thief. It’s the way he saw things. Billy had odd jobs, taxi driver, bricklayer, painter but nothing permanent, and when his Mum got so sick she couldn’t look after herself, he quit work and stayed home with her. It was easy to lift a wallet or pay envelope from the blokes headed to the pubs. He became quite good at it.

He found himself a flat the first day he was in the city. He would take the tube and work the pubs across town before coming home at night. Money was not a problem for Billy, who lived well for a young man of 23. Two days after arriving he saw the woman on the tube, sitting across from him as he was coming home. Nice looking piece he thought for an older woman, long auburn hair and odd color eyes. She was wrapped up in a raincoat with her bag between her feet. It was in the bag he noticed the familiar pay envelope. He had never stolen from a woman but something in the way she looked him over, dismissed him, and turned away clutching her raincoat around her neck, angered him. It had been easy lifting the envelope and sticking it in his jeans. He pulled it out in a stall at the station loo, slipped the money in his pocket and flushed the envelope away. He soaped and washed his hands and left. The hand washing had become compulsory after a theft.

Meagan was tired at the end of her day at the boutique. She’d had to chase away a group of teenagers trying to lift a camisole just before closing. It was hard enough trying to make ends meet without loss due to theft. Now she was contemplating letting go the one girl she had working for her. It would mean longer hours for herself but it couldn’t be helped. When things got better she would be able to hire another.

She stood on the platform waiting for the train, stuffing her lunch bag in the tote she carried.  Money was always a problem for Megan. She had the council house that belonged to her grandmother to live in but the expenses kept mounting up. Deep down she knew she should try and sell her boutique and get a job with a regular paycheck. This week she had been fortunate to draw a salary and would be able to make a payment on the new hot water heater and buy some groceries. The divorce settlement had given her enough money to by the boutique and realize a dream she had always had, but the excitement of owning her own business had worn off. She was 34 years old and weary of her day to day struggle.

She settled herself down on the seat and placed her bag between her feet. The car filled up and she looked around, noticing the young man across from her, meeting his eyes for a moment. The bruise on his face combined with his shaven head gave him a menacing look. Probably a bully boy, street thug, she thought. The black leather jacket and pullover shirt added to the look. She pulled her coat around her and looked down the isle, thinking about David, her boyfriend for the past year. He traveled a great deal with his job and she never knew when she would see him. Perhaps tonight she would get a call? It had been over a week now since he left.

The train came to a stop and as she rose to get off she felt the young man against her back, close enough she could smell the leather jacket he wore. Quickly she moved forward a pace to get away from him. He bumped her right shoulder and pushed his way off the train. How rude he was, she thought.

As she was walking toward the stairs she saw him again elbowing his way up around people. Something made her check her bag and she noticed the envelope with her salary was gone. At first she was shocked and searched again in her bag. He's stolen it, she was sure of it.  She began running up the stairs, unmindful of the people she pushed out of the way and made her way to the main station. Walking quickly toward the doors, she caught a glimpse of him coming out of the men’s room. She shouted at him but he ducked out the front door and down the street. She began to run toward the doors then stopped, looking both ways. Seeing his head above the mass of people, she rushed up the sidewalk, trying to keep him in view.

She followed him around a corner and down a narrow street to a block of flats. Stopping to see where he went, she spotted him opening a door on the second balcony and rushed up the stairs.  By the time she reached his door she was out of breath and shaking but she beat on his door until he opened it.

Billy cracked his door and looked out, keeping the chain hooked. Bloody hell! It was the woman on the train! He tried to slam the door shut but she had wedged her foot in the door and let out a howl when he leaned into the door.

“You’ve…taken my…money,” she gasped. “I…want it back…ooh, my foot!”

Billy looked down at her foot caught at an odd angle in the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. You’d better get out of here before I call the police.”

“You just do that, call the police! I want my money back!” She was breathing hard and her foot was on fire.

“Get your foot out of my door, lady, and go away. I ain’t got your money,” Billy said quietly as he looked through the crack in the door. He met her eyes. Tiger eyes, he thought, golden green, and they were flashing fire at him.

“You bastard!” she said vehemently. “You’ve broken my god-damned foot! Open the friggin’ door!”

Billy pulled the door back as far as the chain would let him. “I can’t open it any farther until you move your foot. The chain’s on.” He watched her take hold of her leg and pull her foot back. She winced and moaned again. He shut his door and hesitated a minute before removing the chain and opening it again. She had dropped her bag and sat back on her butt, holding her foot. Picking up her bag, she started to hit him with it when he went around behind her to hoist her up. He dodged the bag, protesting, “Hey, I’m just trying to get you up!”

He supported her through the door, holding on as she hopped over to the sofa and sat down. She looked up through her bangs. “You’re gonna pay for this, you punk!”

“I haven’t done anything, lady. Let me take a look at your foot.”

“Don’t you touch me! I followed you all the way here to get my money back, so hand it to me and we’re done.” Pains were shooting up her leg and she grimaced, grabbing for her foot again.

Billy went down on his knees and took her shoe off ,feeling along the ankle and top of her foot. He didn’t feel anything but he wasn’t sure about broken bones. He looked up, startled when her  face went white as she fell back against his sofa. She probably needed to have it looked at right away. What the hell was he going to do with her?

“You need a doctor, lady. I’ll call an ambulance to come and get you.”

“Oh, no, not until you give me my money!" She sat up and looked down at her foot. It had begun to swell and turn colors. “Oh, damn, what am I going to do? Go ahead and call them but you’re not getting out of my sight, you hear, or I’ll turn you in, I swear I will.” She moaned as he lifted her leg to the sofa.

Billy called the ambulance then lit a cigarette, offering one to her. “Sorry about your foot, but I didn’t do it. You stuck it in the door.”

“You’re a bastard. What’s your name anyway?”

“Billy.”

“Billy, I’m Meagan Miller, the owner of the 300 quid you lifted out of my bag.”

Billy took a drag off his cigarette. First rule is you never admit to anything. “I didn’t lift anything out of your bag, Meagan. You got the wrong bloke.”

She eyed him from the sofa. “I don’t think so. You have it. What happened to your face? Steal somebody else’s week's pay?”

His eyes went dark and he looked away from her. “No, ran into a door.”

“Doors are dangerous, Billy. Ooww, it throbs!” She beat her fist against the sofa. “Don’t you have any aspirin or something?”

“No, and you don’t need to take anything if you’re going to hospital. They’ll give you something.”

She was in obvious pain but there was nothing he could do. If he hadn’t slammed the door and leaned into it she wouldn’t be hurting. He took another drag off his cigarette. But then if she hadn’t stuck her foot in the door she wouldn’t be hurting ,either.

The ambulance arrived and the medics packed her foot in cold packs then loaded her up. She asked the attendant to make sure Billy rode with her. He sat on a bench in back of the ambulance watching the lights trail behind them as they made their way to the hospital. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself for taking money from a woman. This is how it turns up, he thought as he looked over at her on the stretcher.

Somewhat drugged up, her broken foot in a cast, she was wheeled out to the sidewalk to wait for the taxi Billy had called. He'd never asked where she lived so he just gave the driver his address, figuring tomorrow he would get her home somehow and out of his life. He carried her up the steps to his flat, kicking the door open and then shut. He placed her, asleep, on his bed and pulled the bedroom door shut. Walking back to his kitchen he pulled a bottle out of the cabinet and poured himself a drink. He carried the glass over to the sofa and sat down.

“I’m fucked,” he said.

Part 2:

Meagan awoke some time in the middle of the night, not knowing where she was and with a pressing bladder problem. The curtains were open, allowing some light inside the bedroom, and she fumbled around, finding a lamp on a bedside table. She was fully dressed with her raincoat thrown over her.  The cast weighed heavily on her right foot, the pain reminding her of her predicament. She raised herself up on the bed and looked around, seeing crutches against the wall opposite the bed. She tried to balance herself and hop-hobble to the wall where she managed to grab one of the crutches, sending the other to the floor.

Billy was asleep on the sofa when he heard the crutch fall to the floor and was immediately up and down the hall. Thoughts of his mother and her midnight wanderings came to mind as he opened the bedroom door. “Hey, need some help?”

“Yeah, I need to go to the toilet. Where the hell am I?”

“You’re at my place. I didn’t know where else to take you after the hospital. Here, I’ll help you.” He grabbed her around her waist, supporting her weight through the door and into the bathroom.

“Thanks, I think I can take it from here.” She straightened out her right leg noticing the cast on her right foot. The drugs had worn off leaving her lethargic and headachy. She stood and flushed the toilet and, using her crutch, hobbled to the door. Billy was waiting outside and took her around the waist again, helping her back to the bedroom, easing her down on the bed.

“What happened to my shoes?”

“All your stuff is over here on the chair. I put your bag on the dresser.”

“Okay, I need to get out of some of these clothes.” She undid her belt and unzipped her skirt, humping it under her bottom and letting it fall to the floor. Billy picked it up, folded it and placed it on the chair.

“Thanks,” she said from underneath her bangs.  “What’s the deal on my foot?”

“It’s broken in three places and the ankle's cracked. They said six weeks,” he answered and sat down on the end of the bed.

“So what am I supposed to do, Billy? I can’t get to work like this. I’m going to loose everything.” She fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes. “This is all your fault, you know, all of it, you bloody bastard.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I know how to do that.” He got up from the bed and walked out of the room. Yeah, he knew how. It was his mother all over again. She would start needing things, wanting special things to eat, things to read, things he couldn’t afford not to give. He sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. For 300 bloody quid this is what he got. He moved to the kitchen and filled the kettle. She would be wanting a cup of tea.

Meagan opened her eyes and listened as he moved around in the kitchen. A cup of tea would    be nice, but she wouldn’t ask for it. She wanted to be in her own bed upstairs in her own house. Upstairs, how in hell? Well, she could sit on the steps and work her way up, yeah. It might be a few days before she could manage the walk to the bus stop. This was not the time to let the girl go from the shop. Thank God she hadn’t said anything to her yesterday. The throbbing pain was returning to her foot, making her wonder if the doctor had sent any meds. Billy, now there was a puzzle. The bastard had her money but had stayed with her through the hospital and brought her back here to his place. Yeah right, he would take care of her…probably scared shitless she was going to turn him in.

Billy made her a cup of tea, strong and sweet, and brought it to the bedroom. “I thought you  might like some tea. I have your meds in the kitchen if you need them. They said every four hours you could have one or two.” He handed her the tea. “You need them now?”

Meagan took the cup and saucer from him, trying to catch his eye, but he looked everywhere except at her. “Thank you, Billy, yes, I'd like a pill.” Guilt that’s what it was. He felt guilty for the circumstance she was in.  He brought her a glass of water and a pill in the palm of his hand, offering it to her. She took the pill and reached for the glass, meeting his eyes…the most extraordinary eyes. She stared into them for a minute before taking the glass and remembering he was an asshole.

It was late in the morning when Billy woke on the sofa, last night’s events surfacing in his mind. He got up and put the kettle on before going into the bathroom, taking his shower and cleaning his teeth. He wrapped the towel around himself and opened the bedroom door quietly in case  she was asleep. She wasn’t. She was sitting up in the bed with her cell phone. He moved over to his dresser and picked out his clothes.

Meagan was trying to raise her help on the phone and let the girl know she wouldn’t be in today. She watched Billy gathering up his clothes with the towel around his middle. He has a nice body, she thought and threw the phone down.  “You think when you get yourself ready you can give me a hand?”

Billy turned his head toward her. “Yeah, sure, Meagan, give me a minute. Do you want coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, thank you.” He's being awfully accommodating, she thought. She swung herself to the side of the bed, feeling the pain when the blood rushed to her foot. It wasn’t long before he was back, dressed in his jeans and a white tee shirt, and bringing her a  cup of coffee.

“To the toilet, please,” she instructed and he held her around the waist as she hobbled down the hall. He waited for the flush and slowly opened the door. “I don’t think I can hop down the hall again,” she said, looking up at him. He picked her up easily and carried her back to the bed.

“What do you want for breakfast? I can go out and pick up whatever you like.”

“Just some toast and butter would be fine, Billy. Do you have any food here? Looks like you haven’t lived here very long.”

“I just got here three days ago. I do have some bread and butter so I can fix you right up.” He went out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.’

Meagan leaned back on the headboard, taking in her surroundings. It was a nice flat, already furnished, no doubt, as everything coordinated down to the pictures on the wall. Why was he stealing her money if he lived like this? He could damn well afford to give it back, the little shit.

Billy buttered the toast and cut it into triangles, placing it on a plate with a paper napkin then carried it to the bedroom. “Sorry about the paper napkin. I don’t have a supply of linens.”

Paper napkin? “It's fine, thanks. Sit down for a minute, Billy.” He sat on the end of the bed and watched her bite into her toast. “You have a nice place here. I just wonder why you felt the need to steal my money? I mean, I look around here and…”

“I didn’t steal your money…I told you that.” He looked her straight in the eye and if she hadn’t known better she would have believed him, but she didn’t.

“You and I both know that’s a lie. I don’t know why you won’t admit it and return the money. You don’t need it and I do.”

“You need anything else?” he aske as he rose from the bed and moved to the door.

“Yeah, I do, I need to go home and I need your help to get there.”

“You’re not supposed to be up and around for a few days. You’re supposed to stay off your foot.”

“I can be off my foot at home. I don’t want to stay here with you.”

“You’ve got somebody to look after you then?”

“I can bloody well look after myself!”

“Do you live by yourself? I mean no roommates or anything?”

“You think I’m going to divulge that information to you, a common thief?”

He gave her a look that made her mouth come open. He could be frightening, she thought, and the sooner she got out of here the better.

Billy walked back down the hall with his hands clenched into fists. He wasn’t a common thief! Where did she come up with that? He just wanted to help her, that was all. Ungrateful bitch!   He threw the plate and cup in the sink. He heard her crashing about in the bedroom and ran back down the hall. She had tried to pick her skirt up from the chair and dropped both crutches into the bedside table. He noticed the tears on her cheeks. “Hey, are you all right?” he asked softly.

Balancing on one foot,  she looked up at him. “No, I’m not, Billy. You’re going to have to help me get my clothes and my things and call a taxi  for me.” She sat down on the side of the bed, wiping at her eyes. As much as she wanted to be done with him, she needed his help. He picked up her skirt and slid it over her legs as she lay back on the bed. He paused and looked at the triangle of dark hair beneath her panties then tugged the shirt over her hips.

“I’ll just put the belt in your bag...and your shoes. You won’t be needing them,” he said as he  sat back on the bed beside her. “How do you think you'll manage when you get home by yourself? You can’t even go to the toilet alone.”

“Well, then I’ll get someone in to help me when I need it,” she said, struggling to sit up by his side. “Will you call me a taxi? You’ll have to pay for it. I have no money.” She looked him straight in the eye as she said that. He never blinked. She would love to know what was behind those intense green eyes. Her gaze moved to his bruised cheek and back to his eyes. He blinked and stood up.

“I’ll call the taxi now.” He left the bedroom.

He carried her down the steps to the waiting taxi and got in with her. “You’re not going home with me,” she said firmly.

“Yes, I am. I'll see you home and safe inside,”

“Oh, no, you don’t! I don’t want you to know where I live. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I know where you live anyway, so it doesn’t make any difference, does it? I looked in your bag and found an envelope with your address.” He gave the driver the address and sat back in the seat, arranging her crutches in the floor.

“I will tell you this, Billy, I'm not entirely comfortable with you. Aside from the thievery, I don’t trust you. I don’t know what you’re up to, what game you’re playing and why you won’t give me back what’s mine.”

“I’m not playing games, Meagan. I don’t play games.” He moved his head to look at her.

Meagan turned and stared out the window, a tiny knot of fear forming in her gut.

ON TO PART 3

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