I waited.
‘Talk to Perry.’
‘Bye, Dylan.’
‘Have a nice evening.’ He waited while I let myself in, then disappeared into the sunset.
I went upstairs and took a shower, trying to wash away the vague sense of irritation that I suspected Dylan had caused by wishing me a nice evening with Perry. Did I really want Dylan to feel jealous, knowing how completely that would screw everything up?
My head, absolutely not.
My heart? My hormones? They sat through a fancy dinner at the club, a moonlit walk along the green, compliments, and caresses, and all they could think about was pizza in a greasy, two-seater truck with a man whose smile hit me right where it hurt and managed to make it feel better.
Did I think about telling Perry the truth about Kane?
A thousand times. With every bite of dinner, every sip of sparkling water.
Did I feel responsible for our relationship being built on secrets?
Yes. 100 per cent.
But, and this is the honest truth, if he had paused once to ask me how I was –what’s going on with you, Faith?– I would have told him. I would have told him every darn thing.
Now he knew the real reason behind my wanting to drive, Dylan insisted on giving me lessons nearly every other day for the next two weeks. When I could shake off the spectre of Kane, stuff my wedding stress to the back of my brain, and stop worrying about the fact my brother had mentioned coming home, I actually started to find the lessons fun.
Concentrating on a new skill, like choir practice, became a useful distraction, as I focused on mirrors, signalling and manoeuvres to the exclusion of everything else. Dylan was a good teacher, using all his minister skills of patience, kindness and self-control to explain the same thing to me over and over again until I got it. Watching for the moment when the worry started to creep back in, then ordering me out of the truck for a walk. Before long, the walks became part of the lesson. One day, we met around lunchtime so Dylan brought a couple of sandwiches and a custard tart. The next time, I brought a flask of homemade lemonade and a picnic pie.
As we walked, we talked. About anything and everything. Dylan talked about his job. All the parts of it he loved, and the tough parts, the loneliness and the frustrations. How his faith somehow made it more than worthwhile. That led on to his past, growing up on one of the toughest estates in Leeds with a single mum working two jobs – getting into the kind of trouble that bored kids with no money and no parental supervision end up in. Finding himself running around with a crowd of boys who veered further and further into a life leading nowhere good.
‘So how did you end up from there to here?’ I asked one blustery day towards the end of April, as we paced through a newly ploughed field. ‘Something must have saved you.’
‘Fear, mainly. Shoplifting and fist fights I could handle. But men in dark glasses asking me to drop a package at some dump under the cover of darkness? That scared me. My mates loved it – they were ambitious, and saw joining a gang as the way to earn power. Called us the band of brothers. The day we went to get our tats, I watched them playing at being big men, branding themselves for life, and knew I didn’t want that. Messing about as kids was one thing. But we weren’t kids any more. I felt like if I got that tattoo, there’d be no going back.’
‘And? What happened? Did you get it?’
‘I’m stood in the back room of my mate’s uncle’s shop watching them go one at a time. Discreetly trying to wipe the sweat from my face, ready to claim a needle phobia if they see my hands shaking. To not go through with it would be unthinkable. And I had no escape route planned. No options left. So, I prayed. To a God I didn’t believe in or want to.’
We had reached the river and made our way to where a narrow bridge rose over the water. Leaning against the barrier, Dylan stuck his hands in his pockets, turning sideways to avoid the worst of the wind.
‘I was up next. It was like one of those moments where your life flashes before your eyes. And I saw nothing to be proud of. My mum crying on her birthday because the police had been round again. Chucking the cake I’d nicked in the bin as she screamed at me to get out. I made a bargain with God right then. If he got me out of this, I’d sort myself out. Then, just as the guy called me over, his phone started ringing. The shop was about to be raided. I went straight home, packed my bags and caught the next train to my uncle’s in Cardiff. I didn’t go back for eight years.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Seventeen.’ He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of how my life had been at seventeen.
Dylan pushed off the railing and began walking back. ‘My uncle set me straight to work in his renovation business. Flipping houses. He figured if he worked me hard enough, I’d have no energy left for trouble.’
‘And he was right?’
He quirked up one side of his mouth. ‘Nearly. He also dragged me along to his church every Sunday. I pretended to hate it, but something about the people there got under my skin. They had that something my mates back home had been looking for. It was a real band of brothers.’
‘So you stuck around long enough to find God?’
‘I stuck around long enough to find a pretty girl. God came later.’
‘So what happened to her? The pretty girl?’
‘She ran out of patience. I moved my broken heart here.’ He paused to unlock a gate leading us back onto the road where the truck sat waiting. ‘Decided I needed some time out from pretty girls.’
