Page 10 of Too Close To Home

“Know each of your folks an’ all. You don’t get to school, I’ll be paying them a visit.”

That shut them up quickly enough.

Teddy hauled himself into the far passenger seat and slammed the door hard. Yeah, it was a piece of shit transit that had seen better days, but it didn’t need that level of disrespect. But that was an indicator. And Jake knew better than to have a go about that and all.

Jake pulled away. “What the fuck, Ted?”

“Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Jake shot him a look as he steered out of the high street and back into the lanes towards Hartswick Academy. “Why you hanging about outside the Co-op before ten in the morning? Bunking?”

“Weren’t bunking.”

“No? Scenic route, were it? With a vape in your gob?”

“Vape were Liam’s.”

“Congratulations. Liam’s lungs are screwed. Yours don’t have to be.” Jake switched the indicator on. “Specially if you’re still banging on about that rugby academy.”

Teddy shrugged and stared out the window. Jake watched him for a bit. Same stubborn jaw. Same way he went quiet instead of fighting back. Same bloody eyes.

It hurt.

Twisted Jake’s gut the same way it always did when he looked at him.

“Oi,” he prodded Teddy’s arm, “I’m talking to you.”

“You ain’t my dad.”

Jake tightened his grip on the wheel. “Lucky for you.”

The silence that followed was as thick as the mist outside. Jake worried on his bottom lip. He shouldn’t have said that. But he had a habit of doing and saying things before his brain kicked in. Got him in too much trouble as it was. Like fights. Courtrooms.

Prison cells.

“Your old man pissed away every chance he had.” Jake swung the van around a bend. “You want that?”

Teddy said nothing. Nor did he look at him.

Jake swallowed.

Too harsh.

“You’ve got a shot, Ted.” Jake ripped off his beanie and chucked it onto the dash before raking a hand through his curls. “Proper one. Don’t bin it before you’ve even started. There ain’t much better waiting if you mess it up.”

“What about this?” Teddy shot back, turning in his seat.

“This?” Jake glanced around the van. The cracked windscreen spidering out from an old chip. The dash that rattled whenever he went over forty. Tools knocking in the back. All had belonged to his old man once. Handed down when Jake lost any hope of doing anything else. “This is what you get when there’s nowt else.”

“You could still give it a go, y’know?”

“Give what a go?”

“The band.”

Jake snorted. “That ship’s sailed, mate.”

It hadn’t just sailed. It’d left without him. He’d stood on the dock and watched it go. Let it go. Not because he wasn’t good enough. He was good. Better than good. Leeds had proved that. But someone had to stay. And in doing so, he became a once-decent drummer who’d nearly made it. Nearly been someone. Nearly got out. Playing in sticky-floored pubs smelling of stale lager and disappointment. Bashing out covers for blokes who didn’t listen and girls who only clapped when Deacon took his shirt off.