in his hand, then over at Aiden’s carvings in the
desk. He sighed and felt utterly deflated. He stepped over to the bed and, placing
the knife on Aiden’s pillow, he pulled the duvet over, ensuring it concealed
the knife, then he left the room.
<>
Another slam of the front door brought Grant out of his
reverie. Vivien turned, and her eyes and his went to the door of the kitchen as
Aiden strolled in puffing on a cigarette. Aiden had an aura that commanded any
room. If he was happy, the atmosphere was light and carefree; if he was
displeased, the atmosphere thickened like a fog, and when he saw Grant sitting
at the kitchen table, the fog descended.
Grant smiled apprehensively.
He hadn’t seen Aiden for a couple of weeks, so they hadn’t spoken since their
last spat , when he had told Aiden that he would be better off working for him
than for Reggie Driscoll.
He loved Aiden, more than he’d
loved any other person – even more than he’d ever loved Vivien – but he had to
start admitting to himself that the boy had grown tired of his counsel and his
scrutiny. Grant stood to leave, but Vivien quickly wiped her hands on a tea
towel and shuffled out of the room, eyeing him expectantly as she left. Aiden
did not see this gesture as he headed to the fridge and began rummaging for
food that he wouldn’t have to cook in order to eat.
Grant sighed inwardly. Vivien
wanted him to talk to her son, but the truth of the matter was, how could he
tell Aiden not to steal when the majority of his living was made from some sort
of illegal activity? He took a deep breath, watching Aiden warily as he made
himself a sandwich at the speed of light: a piece of bread, a splatter of
peanut butter, another piece of bread. Done.
Aiden turned to leave.
“You shouldn’t be thieving, son,”
Grant announced cautiously.
“Telling me what to do,
Grant... that’s new,” Aiden retorted, as if he had been waiting for the chance
to fight him.
Grant sighed loudly.
Everything that anyone said to Aiden had some belligerent answer to it. No one
could win with him at the moment. With a quick change of mind, Aiden turned on
his heels and headed back to the fridge. Opening the fridge door, he added,
clearly agitated, “Should I get a real job? Work twelve-hour shifts for fuck-all
pay? That’s if I’m even offered a job. What do you do to earn all your money,
eh?”
Grant refrained from answering
him. Aiden had known from a young age that Grant earned unlawfully and he
wasn’t afraid to throw that fact in his face every time he tried to lecture
him. Grant had never been specific as to what he actually did for a living,
always swaying the conversation to another subject when he was asked about it.
Aiden took one of Duggie’s ciders out of the fridge. Grant knew he wouldn’t
have had permission to do so but he refrained from pointing out that fact in
fear of being accused of ‘butting into his business’ again.
“Gone quiet again...?” Aiden persisted,
exasperated. “And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.”
“You’ve always got an answer
for everything, you arrogant little sod...”
“ Fuck you! ” Aiden sneered;
his tone drenched with loathing and disrespect.
Grant stood abruptly. With the
recent reminiscence of this boy’s repugnance and the words he had carved in his
desk all those years ago still fresh in his mind, he was all of a sudden
rail-roaded. They were just two words, but both he and Aiden knew the potent
meaning behind them.
Aiden did not yield and immediately
squared up to the big man. They both glared at each other, the physical confrontation
shocking them both yet equally fuelling their renowned tempers. Deep inside, neither
wanted to hurt the other; Aiden was testing the boundaries, laying claim to his
manhood and marking his territory, and Grant was finally showing him who was
boss.
There had been a battle for
supremacy going on between them for quite some time now, but it had never
escalated
desk. He sighed and felt utterly deflated. He stepped over to the bed and, placing
the knife on Aiden’s pillow, he pulled the duvet over, ensuring it concealed
the knife, then he left the room.
<>
Another slam of the front door brought Grant out of his
reverie. Vivien turned, and her eyes and his went to the door of the kitchen as
Aiden strolled in puffing on a cigarette. Aiden had an aura that commanded any
room. If he was happy, the atmosphere was light and carefree; if he was
displeased, the atmosphere thickened like a fog, and when he saw Grant sitting
at the kitchen table, the fog descended.
Grant smiled apprehensively.
He hadn’t seen Aiden for a couple of weeks, so they hadn’t spoken since their
last spat , when he had told Aiden that he would be better off working for him
than for Reggie Driscoll.
He loved Aiden, more than he’d
loved any other person – even more than he’d ever loved Vivien – but he had to
start admitting to himself that the boy had grown tired of his counsel and his
scrutiny. Grant stood to leave, but Vivien quickly wiped her hands on a tea
towel and shuffled out of the room, eyeing him expectantly as she left. Aiden
did not see this gesture as he headed to the fridge and began rummaging for
food that he wouldn’t have to cook in order to eat.
Grant sighed inwardly. Vivien
wanted him to talk to her son, but the truth of the matter was, how could he
tell Aiden not to steal when the majority of his living was made from some sort
of illegal activity? He took a deep breath, watching Aiden warily as he made
himself a sandwich at the speed of light: a piece of bread, a splatter of
peanut butter, another piece of bread. Done.
Aiden turned to leave.
“You shouldn’t be thieving, son,”
Grant announced cautiously.
“Telling me what to do,
Grant... that’s new,” Aiden retorted, as if he had been waiting for the chance
to fight him.
Grant sighed loudly.
Everything that anyone said to Aiden had some belligerent answer to it. No one
could win with him at the moment. With a quick change of mind, Aiden turned on
his heels and headed back to the fridge. Opening the fridge door, he added,
clearly agitated, “Should I get a real job? Work twelve-hour shifts for fuck-all
pay? That’s if I’m even offered a job. What do you do to earn all your money,
eh?”
Grant refrained from answering
him. Aiden had known from a young age that Grant earned unlawfully and he
wasn’t afraid to throw that fact in his face every time he tried to lecture
him. Grant had never been specific as to what he actually did for a living,
always swaying the conversation to another subject when he was asked about it.
Aiden took one of Duggie’s ciders out of the fridge. Grant knew he wouldn’t
have had permission to do so but he refrained from pointing out that fact in
fear of being accused of ‘butting into his business’ again.
“Gone quiet again...?” Aiden persisted,
exasperated. “And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.”
“You’ve always got an answer
for everything, you arrogant little sod...”
“ Fuck you! ” Aiden sneered;
his tone drenched with loathing and disrespect.
Grant stood abruptly. With the
recent reminiscence of this boy’s repugnance and the words he had carved in his
desk all those years ago still fresh in his mind, he was all of a sudden
rail-roaded. They were just two words, but both he and Aiden knew the potent
meaning behind them.
Aiden did not yield and immediately
squared up to the big man. They both glared at each other, the physical confrontation
shocking them both yet equally fuelling their renowned tempers. Deep inside, neither
wanted to hurt the other; Aiden was testing the boundaries, laying claim to his
manhood and marking his territory, and Grant was finally showing him who was
boss.
There had been a battle for
supremacy going on between them for quite some time now, but it had never
escalated
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