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Authors: Kate Bloomfield
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in my tracks, my eyes wide. ‘I can’t go home. Not yet.’
‘Well you can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘There’s alcohol and drugs everywhere.’
‘What are you doing here then?’ I asked.
Mr. Stone sighed. ‘I live next door, Rose. They invited me so I wouldn’t complain about the noise to the police. You’re lucky I arrived when I did.’
‘You … you live next door?’ I asked. ‘Can’t we go there?’
Mr. Stone’s spine stiffened and his nostrils flared. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said.
‘Why not? Please, Mr. Stone ... I don’t want to go home just yet.’
Mr. Stone licked his lips nervously and glanced around. ‘All right … just for an hour though, okay?’
Mr. Stone took my hand and led me to the left, towards a small house. We crossed over the garden of the party until we were on his property.
‘This is your house?’ I asked, looking at it.
It was small, with an overgrown lawn, and a beat-up garage, but that was definitely his car in the driveway. We walked up the garden path until we reached his porch. The fly-screen was hanging off its hinges, but the oak door behind it seemed solid. He opened the screen-door and unlocked it before leading me into the house.
Mr. Stone’s home was far nicer on the inside. It seemed he had tried to make the best out of a bad situation. There was still no doubt in my mind though that he was not a rich man by any means.
‘Come in here and sit down,’ he said, leading me into the sitting room where he threw his keys and wallet onto the coffee table.
I took a seat on the sofa and stared at him.
‘Do you want me to call your parents?’ he asked.
‘No!’ I said at once. ‘No, they don’t know I’m out.’
‘You went without permission?’ he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘What if something had happened to you? What am I saying? Something did happen to you. Some long-haired sleaze-ball tried to … to-’
‘Spider,’ I said. ‘He wanted me to go to his house with him.’
‘Yeah, I bet he did,’ Mr. Stone growled. I’d never heard him talk like that before. ‘I should march back over there and grab that little shit by the throat-’
‘Don’t be mad,’ I pleaded, staring at him with wide eyes. Mr. Stone looked distressed, with one hand balled around a tuft of his own hair.
‘What if I hadn’t gone?’ he asked. ‘What would have happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I muttered, staring at my knees.
‘How did you plan on getting home?’ he asked.
‘Estelle was supposed to take me.’
‘That pink haired girl from the café?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I rubbed my arm, feeling foolish. ‘But she ended up drinking and smoking-’
‘And then what was your plan?’ he said, crossing his arms. I felt like my father was scolding me.
‘I don’t know, all right? I said thank you. What else do you want?’
Mr. Stone’s posture relaxed and he heaved a sigh. ‘I was just worried about you, that’s all.’
I leaned back in the sofa and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. I knew going to this party would be a mistake. This was why I hated going out.
‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’ he asked.
‘A coffee, please,’ I said.
‘I’ve only got instant coffee. Is that okay?’ he asked.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. It was better than nothing.
Mr. Stone retreated to the kitchen where I heard the tap running, and a kettle being placed on a stove.
My eyes fell to his wallet, which sat on the coffee table in front of me. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t coming back, before reaching over and grabbing it.
I flipped the wallet open and rifled through the contents. The first thing I found was his driver’s license.
Thomas William Stone.
Strange, I’d never known his first name. He’d always been Mr. Stone to me.
Seeing his date of birth I was quickly able to calculate his age at thirty-two.
‘Find anything interesting?’ Mr. Stone asked as he re-entered the room. I could hear the
‘Well you can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘There’s alcohol and drugs everywhere.’
‘What are you doing here then?’ I asked.
Mr. Stone sighed. ‘I live next door, Rose. They invited me so I wouldn’t complain about the noise to the police. You’re lucky I arrived when I did.’
‘You … you live next door?’ I asked. ‘Can’t we go there?’
Mr. Stone’s spine stiffened and his nostrils flared. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said.
‘Why not? Please, Mr. Stone ... I don’t want to go home just yet.’
Mr. Stone licked his lips nervously and glanced around. ‘All right … just for an hour though, okay?’
Mr. Stone took my hand and led me to the left, towards a small house. We crossed over the garden of the party until we were on his property.
‘This is your house?’ I asked, looking at it.
It was small, with an overgrown lawn, and a beat-up garage, but that was definitely his car in the driveway. We walked up the garden path until we reached his porch. The fly-screen was hanging off its hinges, but the oak door behind it seemed solid. He opened the screen-door and unlocked it before leading me into the house.
Mr. Stone’s home was far nicer on the inside. It seemed he had tried to make the best out of a bad situation. There was still no doubt in my mind though that he was not a rich man by any means.
‘Come in here and sit down,’ he said, leading me into the sitting room where he threw his keys and wallet onto the coffee table.
I took a seat on the sofa and stared at him.
‘Do you want me to call your parents?’ he asked.
‘No!’ I said at once. ‘No, they don’t know I’m out.’
‘You went without permission?’ he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘What if something had happened to you? What am I saying? Something did happen to you. Some long-haired sleaze-ball tried to … to-’
‘Spider,’ I said. ‘He wanted me to go to his house with him.’
‘Yeah, I bet he did,’ Mr. Stone growled. I’d never heard him talk like that before. ‘I should march back over there and grab that little shit by the throat-’
‘Don’t be mad,’ I pleaded, staring at him with wide eyes. Mr. Stone looked distressed, with one hand balled around a tuft of his own hair.
‘What if I hadn’t gone?’ he asked. ‘What would have happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I muttered, staring at my knees.
‘How did you plan on getting home?’ he asked.
‘Estelle was supposed to take me.’
‘That pink haired girl from the café?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I rubbed my arm, feeling foolish. ‘But she ended up drinking and smoking-’
‘And then what was your plan?’ he said, crossing his arms. I felt like my father was scolding me.
‘I don’t know, all right? I said thank you. What else do you want?’
Mr. Stone’s posture relaxed and he heaved a sigh. ‘I was just worried about you, that’s all.’
I leaned back in the sofa and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. I knew going to this party would be a mistake. This was why I hated going out.
‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’ he asked.
‘A coffee, please,’ I said.
‘I’ve only got instant coffee. Is that okay?’ he asked.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. It was better than nothing.
Mr. Stone retreated to the kitchen where I heard the tap running, and a kettle being placed on a stove.
My eyes fell to his wallet, which sat on the coffee table in front of me. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t coming back, before reaching over and grabbing it.
I flipped the wallet open and rifled through the contents. The first thing I found was his driver’s license.
Thomas William Stone.
Strange, I’d never known his first name. He’d always been Mr. Stone to me.
Seeing his date of birth I was quickly able to calculate his age at thirty-two.
‘Find anything interesting?’ Mr. Stone asked as he re-entered the room. I could hear the
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