Canada Square (Love in London #3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

with dark skin pocked with acne scars. His nose twists to the left as if it's been broken and set badly. There's a white line that leads from his ear to his jaw, that looks suspiciously like a healed knife wound.
    I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise up.
    “I'm looking for Tina Cartwright.”
    That gets my attention. This isn't any old weird guy hanging around outside our house. This is a weirdo with an agenda, and it has my mum's name written all over it.
    “Are you?” I counter question for question, trying to think the situation through. “Why?”
    I'd like to say this is the first time a strange guy’s been looking for my mum, but that would be a bald-faced lie. One of my earliest memories is hiding behind the sofa with my mum while a bailiff was banging at the door, calling out her name. She had a bag of toffees in her hand and fed me them to me slowly in an attempt to keep my mouth shut.
    My mum's never been good with money. Her credit score is shot to hell, too, which means that any loans she manages to get are dodgy to say the least. And Plaistow is full of loan sharks.
    The man doesn't reply to my question. Instead he keeps his lips tightly closed, the effort bleaching them white. He tips his head to the side, still staring. I notice that one of his eyelids droops, as if the muscles there have given up. His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, and I'm all too aware of the way my yoga pants cling to my hips, and that a sliver of skin is showing between the waistband and my crop top.
    Then he says something that makes me freeze.
    “Amethyst?”
    Nobody calls me that. Even mum gave up trying after I begged her to stop. The shock of this man knowing my name—my real name—is enough to make me reach out to steady myself on the brick built wall that lines our boundary. I open my mouth to ask him how he knows who I am but I'm too damn scared.
    What if he wants to hurt me just to get his money back?
    “That's... that's not my name,” I finally manage to say. The effect of not eating anything for hours takes its toll as my head starts to swim.
    “Are you okay?” The man's expression softens, and he tries to steady me. I shrink away.
    “I'm fine... I just need to, to—”
    This time he catches my elbow, just before I collapse on the floor. A sudden nausea tugs at me. He looks at me, concerned.
    It's not the type of expression I expect to see on a loan shark. The ones I've seen—and over the years there’s been a lot—tend to have two looks at most. Pissed off and extremely pissed off. He lifts me back to my feet, then steps back, and runs a hand through his scant, black hair.
    “Tell your mum I came to see her, okay?”
    “Who are you?” I'm aware this is the second time I've asked him. I'm not sure if I want to hear the answer, or if I need to. He's just one in a long line of men who've taken advantage of my mum's need for money, for pretty clothes, for things that she can't afford on a cashier's salary alone.
    By the time he answers my question, he's already at the gate, pushing it, making the hinges creak. “Just tell her Digger says hi.”
     
    * * *
     
    The first thing I do when I walk into the house is open the fridge door and pull out some orange juice. Twisting the lid off, I bring the spout up to my lips and swallow citrusy mouthfuls. My hand shakes as I hold the carton, in fact my whole body spasms, though I'm not sure if it's from low sugar, fear, or both. There's a shock of cold as the juice hits, then a few moments until I start to feel the shivers subside.
    I can't get his face out of my mind. The way he stared at me with interest. It's hard to put my finger on the reason why he intimidated me so much, because there was no lust or sexual interest there. It was more that he looked at me as if I was a specimen, a creature he couldn't quite understand.
    My shower takes longer than usual. I feel the need to scrub every inch of my skin, and let the hot spray work the kinks out of my muscles.