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Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

Page 91

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I was lifting my hand up to knock for the fiftieth time when it swung open, and a sour-faced old woman stood in front of me. She had a blue apron on over her clothes and her white hair was covered with a hairnet. She scowled at me as I shivered in the rain.

“I’ve got no money, so bugger off. We don’t buy off the doorstep round here.” She went to close the door in my face, and I had to put my hand up to stop it.

“I’m not selling anything. I’m here to see Brandon.”

She eyed me suspiciously, peering up at me through her glasses, and then she snapped.

“How much does he owe? I ain’t got nothing, you know. So, you may as well fuck off. He doesn’t live here anymore, anyway.”

I frowned, trying to remember if he’d told me he was staying somewhere else.

“But Ryan said he was here. Brandon hasn’t told me he’s moved out.”

She took a step closer and pushed her glasses further up her nose, as if that would help her decide whether to trust

me or not.

“You’re the girl from the photo.” She pointed her bony finger and poked my chest. “You’ve lost a bit of weight, but it’s you, isn’t it?”

I had absolutely no idea what she was on about.

“What photo?” I asked, wondering if perhaps she meant something in the newspapers from when Brodie died. I didn’t think they’d published my photograph, but I supposed anything was possible with some of the gutter press we’d had to deal with back then.

“The one in his bedside drawer. He leaves it out sometimes. I see it when I’m cleaning. But most of the time he hides it. God knows why. That boy has no secrets from me. I go through everything.”

I bet she did.

“So, he does still live here then.” She grimaced, no doubt inwardly cursing herself that she’d slipped up. “Unless I see the photo, I have no idea if it’s me.”

“Oh, it’s you. I’ve got a head for faces. I remember everyone.” She tapped the side of her head and smiled like she was keeping state secrets up in that brain of hers and then she went back to scowling.

“What do you want with my boy, anyway?” She looked me up and down and her face twisted like she was sucking on a lemon. “You’re not his usual type.”

“And what is his usual type?”

I didn’t like how this conversation was going.

“I wouldn’t know. He’s never brought anyone home to show me.”

Okay then.

It looked like I was going to be going round in circles with Grandma Mathers for a while longer yet.

“Can I come in and wait for him?” I asked, and then wondered what the hell I was doing offering to sit with this bat-shit crazy old lady while I waited for Brandon to emerge… Whenever that would be.

“I’m busy. But you can come in if you like?”

Don’t do me any favours.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude. If you’re busy, I can wait somewhere else.”

Grannie Mathers scoffed and stepped back, opening her door to indicate that I was welcome to come in.

“I was just about to start the season finale of Breaking Bad. As long as you don’t tell me any spoilers we’ll get along just fine.”

Yeah, she was Brandon’s nan all right. No doubting that.

“I haven’t seen it. So you’re safe.”



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