Esme Chapter 8 free porn video

Thanks to everyone at Transcripts TG Fiction for all their support and help, and to everyone who's taken the time to comment and stuck with our story. Chapter 8 "God, I hate this," Esme said, pulling down on the hem of her skirt. "It's like some kind of cosmic joke." Freya replied, "It's not like I held a gun to your head and made you wear a skirt." Esme wobbled about on the heels. "It's not that. Girl's clothes," and she saw Freya smile, "make you stand differently. They make you think differently as well." "Like I said, Kitten, I didn't tell you to." Esme fidgeted, pulling again at the offending skirt. It felt like the first day of school all over again. "That's not what I said. I mean," she gestured vaguely with her hands, "like society." Freya didn't turn but she could tell she was smiling, "I work in the Elitist Liberal Media, Kitten. I understand the theory." The Times journalist, Guy pronounced 'Gee', was in the room with Jess. He wore a red and black pressed plaid shirt that looked like it'd just come from a designer store in Williamsburg. His dark blue jeans were skinny and his suit jacket tailored. Esme caught herself wondering if his glasses were prescription or for show. "What do you think they're talking about?" she spoke mainly to herself. "The legal challenge to the trans military ban. Her kid." She watched as Jess took out her phone and smiled, flicking. "You need to get yourself in there." Freya passed her the notes they had spent the morning working on. Esme looked at them and sighed, "Old vs new media in the post-Trump world," she read out. "Just what everyone loves, media masturbation." "So, you'll get less downloads this week," Freya said, putting her hand on her back and almost shoving her forward, "But, you'll get more from the people you want listening. There's nothing more people in the industry like than hearing about themselves. Especially, when it's someone from the Times. Who you're interviewing." The podcast went longer than normal. An hour and a half all together. At the end, Tamsin half smiled and said she'd edit down to an hour. The look she gave Esme suggested she didn't relish the prospect. Having decided to go for drinks, Esme followed Zoey and Guy down towards the bar. It was a new place that was supposed to do authentic Ethiopian. Esme remembered the little Ethiopian place in Levenshulme, Manchester she'd visited with a friend. The restaurant was little more than a front room in an old Victorian terrace. In the next room they had seen the grandfather watching Manchester United play on an old TV. Zoe and Guy were way ahead of her and Jess. "You're not used to those, are you?" Jess smiled at her, looking down at her shoes. "No. I mean it's not my first time in a dress," Esme said, quickly. "I just wished I'd known the photographer couldn't make it." Jess laughed, making Esme feel a little better. "You and me both," she said. Esme looked at her. She was wearing a black print v neck dress and heels. She noted how Jess always seemed perfectly comfortable in whatever she wore. "It looks like Zoey prepared as well," Jess said, looking at Zoey whose facial expression seemed to be saying Guy was the most interesting person in the world. "Yeah well, hm." Esme tried to keep her face from showing emotion. She hated herself for feeling anger towards Zoey. She knew she was playing into a stereotype. She didn't care about Sal, and was bothered that she was still bothered. She pulled at her suit jacket trying to get it straight. The restaurant was way bigger than a front room in a south Manchester terrace. The walls were tastefully decorated with African art. Although Esme was far from an expert, she could see many of the pieces were from places other than Ethiopia. She watched Zoey as Guy spoke to the waiter. Something was grating on her nerves. "God, she's being obvious. I don't mind, I just think when women act like that it makes it harder for all of us," she whispered to Jess. "Do you think he believes that shite?" Jess just nodded and smiled, keeping her opinions to herself. Once they were led to the table, Guy took a seat next to her. Esme tried not to grin at the hurt look on Zoey's face. "The Wat is good here," Guy announced to the group. He turned to Jess. "It's a kind of a stew. The keiy wat is spicy and the alicha wat more mild." Jess looked bemused and turned to Esme, with a sly smile. "Oooh, njera," she said, looking over at another table. "Have you ever had Ethiopian before?" "A couple of times. I'm no expert," she said, glancing at Guy. The place in Levenshulme had two options, meat or veggie. "Do they serve booze?" asked Zoey. "I'm sorry. I don't know, is Ethiopia Muslim?" "No, Christian. From before Christianity made its way to Europe," Esme said. Jess piped in, "There are even some Ethiopian Jews, although I remember a lot of them were airlifted to Israel in the 1990s. I have to tell my dad that I paid attention to something in Hebrew school," she said to a laugh from Guy. Esme picked up a menu, glad of the pictures. The booze flowed quickly and the food came slowly. Soon she was drunk, her only consolation being that she wasn't alone. Guy kept asking her about Western Pennsylvania. Something about the earnest way he nodded his head as she talked about the people she met bugged her. Also, he'd left his jacket on, which made her wonder if he had a big sweat problem. "I was hoping we could talk." He leant in close and indicated to Jess that she should join them. Freya had just arrived at the restaurant and was talking to Zoey. She caught Zoey giving her the stink eye. "I've got this story. A boy, well I say 'boy' it's not so clear. He has a condition called Late Onset Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome, LOAIS for short," Esme nearly dropped her fork. "Have you heard of it?" Jess spoke, saving Esme, "A little. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome is relatively common, well not as uncommon as you think. Late onset, I think is very, very rare. Or maybe just under reported. It's not strictly speaking 'transgender' but it is related. I guess we'd cover it." Esme smiled at 'we.' Jess had been telling everyone about her law school friend at Lambda Legal, how she'd love to go do something like that. Breathing steadily took most of Esme's concentration, as if she'd forget to do so if she looked away. "There's this kid in Ohio. The town is in a similar situation to the one you covered. Industry disappeared, mayor and local government desperate to get anyone to move in. There are some conspiracy theories about pollution being a factor." "Turning the frigging frogs gay, that kind of thing?" Jess laughed. "Well yeah, there's those people. You've got the modern snake oil salesmen flogging overpriced water and bullshit cures to the desperate. There's also some in the scientific community who want more studies. Did you find anything similar?" Esme found her mouth drying up. She imagined herself as a little person inside her own head, controlling everything with levers. She almost didn't notice his hand brushing her arm. "Er, no. Some rumours. High rate of infertility, birth defects, that kind of thing. It's in the article." As they left the restaurant, Jess took her to one side. "Is everything OK? You went pale when he brought up the kid in Ohio earlier." She stopped. Not sure what to say. "There was a kid," she started, Jess clearly supported trans rights, so she must be safe, right? "Near Johnstown, had the same." Jess's eyes widened and for a moment Esme wondered if she'd said too much. She liked Jess, she seemed honest and upfront, but she didn't really know her. "I promised the family I wouldn't print anything." "Don't worry, I won't say a thing," Jess glanced at Guy, "but you know where I am if you need anything. You or the family." Esme walked home despite the heels and the skirt. On the way, she bought a bottle of Jack Daniels. Having to cover it in a brown paper bag had not lost its novelty. She'd never understand the American phobia for drinking in public. It made her smile to remember Freya's reaction when she told her it was normal for Londoners to drink on the tube and that everyone just ignored Mayor Boris's new rules. Half way home she stopped and changed her mind. She took out her phone: 'I'm coming over. I have Jack Daniels.' She was just getting of the train when she got her reply. A string of emojis that included a smiley face and what, back home, was called an aubergine. She arrived at Jay's ready to just unscrew the top and drink straight from the bottle. Jay looked at her, in her skirt and heels, and smiled. "I like this look," he said, putting his arms around her waist. "Don't get used to it," she said. "Just get some glasses, please." He went to the cupboard and took down two small glasses. "What happened?" "There's another kid," she said. He looked confused and she continued, "With what Aiden and I have." She almost said, 'what Aiden and I suffer from,' but Freya had told her, when she said that once, that she couldn't think of herself as a victim. "The guy from the Times found the story." --- The story broke the next day on the Times website. Unusually for a Times article, it was quickly picked up by the various right wing blogs and Twitter commentators. She sat mutely through the editorial meeting as MM lectured them on being scooped. Not that she could see anyway they could have known before the Times. Guy had suggested that he'd stumbled on the boy while researching something else. Probably trying to piggyback on the article she wrote with Sal. It didn't surprise her when the story got dumped on her lap. At least it was better her than someone else. "Can I take Jay?" She couldn't help but notice a few sniggers, mostly from Sal's former crew. "Sure, good choice." MM's voice was firm and the singgering stopped. At east in front of her face. As soon as the meeting finished she was out the door. "Hey." She'd almost walked straight into Sal. She glared at him. "Hey you. You walked into me." "God, sorry. I didn't mean..." "I know you didn't. I saw the article. How are you holding up?" She looked at him. He seemed more relaxed than she remembered. Zoey must be having a positive effect. "OK, just worried about this kid. He or she is in for a world of pain now that it's out." "If there's anything I can do..." "Er, thanks." He seemed sincere, however much she didn't want to believe it. Jay and Freya were waiting for her when she got to the desk with her stuff. "OK Kitten?" She nodded, not wanting to speak about it. At least not there. "What did he want?" Jay was still looking at Sal. "It's fine, he was just asking if I was OK." She put a hand on his arm. "We'll go back to mine, pack for the trip. Can you meet us there?" Jay was talking to Freya. Esme was slightly pissed she wasn't being asked. "God, I've got meetings all morning. I'll come right after. I should have your plane tickets by then. You fly into Cincinnati and then drive." She turned to Esme. "Are you going to call the family? The one in Uniontown." Esme nodded. "They'll be freaking out." After Freya had left, Jay turned to her, "I'm going to need to pick up some extra equipment, can you wait thirty or so minutes?" She knew it'd be more like an hour. "No, I need to go somewhere private and think. I've got keys, I'll meet you at your place." She kept the spare keys to his apartment on a ring with her own. She often liked to feel the weight in her jacket pocket when she was stressed. She took the J Train, which was unusually crowded for that time of day. An overweight man pushed on to the at the next stop. His bulk pushed her up against one of the bars. In horror she realised he was rubbing himself against her. "Will you fuck off!" Then man stopped, the whole car was looking. "Sorry, lady. It's packed in here." "Not that fucking packed. Stop rubbing your tiny dick against me!" "Hey, no. It's the train. It's shaking." His voice was becoming uncertain. Everyone was staring. "Bollocks! Is that what you tell yourself?" At first she'd been frightened but now she sensed fear in him. A black woman in her mid-thirties got up and stood next to her. "Back up, asshole," she said, looking him up and down and deliberately looking, then sneering, at his crotch. "Hey, hey." He held his hand up. Fear had turned to panic. "Don't be a bitch." He'd said the wrong thing. Her finger was in his face. She had to stop herself jabbing him in the eye. The train pulled into the next station. He practically pulled the doors open and ran. "You OK?" the woman asked her. She was wearing a skirt suit and trainers, sneakers the Americans called them. Probably an office worker on a mission. "Yeah, thank you." She looked around, the rest of the car had gone back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened. 'Show's over, nothing to see,' someone said, to relieved laughter from a few people. "It's just a shitty day. Sorry." "Don't. Needle-dick's the one who needs to apologize." She smiled, a little. "Yeah, right. That'll happen." "You want to sit down?" The voice came behind her. A young South Asian man, probably a student. "I'm not an invalid." He looked hurt. "Sorry, sorry. That came out wrong. I appreciate the offer but I just need to get back to my boyfriend's flat. Nothing good's going to happen to me outside today." She breathed a sigh of relief as she put the key into the door. She'd been convinced that the super was going to want to talk to her. His family was from Ireland and he always wanted to talk to her about her family holidays in Galway. The flat was silent. A half eaten bowl of cereal left on the kitchen table. She moved the spoon with her finger. It must have been left by Jay this morning. She knew she should call Aiden, the Jankowskis but couldn't bring herself to do it, not yet. Instead, she flopped onto the couch, turned on the TV and began absent-mindedly flicking through the channels. On CNN, she saw the headline, 'Rare condition affects Ohio boy' and saw two faces, a black woman and a puffy white man arguing. She couldn't change the channels fast enough, cycling through the news channels until she got to BBC America. 'Great,' she thought, 'something from home.' A rerun of ''ello 'ello' was on. Esme was grateful not to have to think. Then, she saw the chyron on the bottom - next up, 'Doctor Who,' and so she surfed on, ultimately watching a Japanese soap opera, with what appeared to be Korean subtitles, set in medieval times. Again, she watched without taking anything in. Unable to stop herself she picked up his laptop. Rolling her eyes, she entered the password; StoneColdSteve. BBC News had it now, so did the Guardian. She knew she had to force herself to read the original article by Guy. some writers had adapted their style since blogs and podcasts and social media. Others had become even more archaic, as if to prove how much better they were. Guy was one of the latter. She read it through feeling a headache coming on. The boy was 12. Still identifies as a boy. There was a picture. He looked like he could pass in the first one. The second less so. At best a tomboy. There was about six months between the two. It was like looking at a brother and a sister. She picked up her phone and the card Guy had given her. Are u in Ohio? We'll be there later today. Share? She looked at it for a while. Well, there was no point messing around. She hit send. The bedroom was a mess. Feeling guilty, she realised it was mostly her clothes on the floor. She began picking stuff up and sniffing it, trying to work out what was clean enough. There were a couple of blue shirts and t-shirts that were good enough. She found a case and started packing. It wasn't long before Jay arrived. "That's quick." "Got a taxi." She nodded, what was she supposed to say? "Packed?" "Sort of." She walked over to him and kissed him. "Well Freya shouldn't be more than an hour or two, we can do some research." She shook her head, then grabbed hold of his shirt. She started pulling. He staggered forward at first but held still after that. She went behind him and started pushing. "What?" "Bedroom." "Now?" She gave him a shove, grunting when he didn't move, "Would it sound weird if I said I wanted you to make me feel like a real woman?" "Yes, very." A pause. "And you are." "Nice catch buddy. Bedroom, now!" She stopped pushing. "I-I just don't want to think." This time he let her push him. --- Esme was getting out of the shower when she heard Freya's voice coming from the living room. "Getting comfortable?" "Plane flights, you know." "Sure." Esme glanced at Jay who just shrugged. He'd commented before on Freya's ability to translate Esme actions in English. She called the Jankowskis in the taxi. Bob picked up. "How's he doing?" There was a pause that felt like forever, then a sigh. "We thought it was over and then. He's doing alright, I suppose, as much as you'd expect." Esme remembered how she felt and could only imagine what it would have been like had there been someone else, had there been social media and smartphones and everything else. "We kept him out of school today and have kept him off the computer. We've been talking about homeschooling him for a while, Lorraine got all these books before. I just don't know what to do," and she thought she heard a catch in his voice. She wasn't sure what to do, and wasn't sure what to say, especially with Jay there. "You're doing the best you can." She paused and said out loud what she had thought for a while. "You're doing better than my parents did. Much better." "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate that. What do you think? About school?" "I don't know. On the one hand, if he's home schooled, it gets too easy to isolate yourself," she looked over at Jay, who was studying his phone, with earbuds in. "On the other hand," and she remembered the long imposing school corridors of her youth. The sense she was being watched. The feeling of helplessness, worthlessness too, in the face of physical violence.There were worse things than being alone. "You know, it's his birthday in a couple of weeks and Lorraine was going to invite you," he sounded nervous, even a little desperate. "Sure. Let me check with work," she could almost feel him deflate from all those miles away. "Sorry, sorry. I mean I really want to be there and will do everything I can. Is it on a weekend?" "Yes," he said, still sounding nervous. "Cool. It's a date. We'll stay with Jay's mum. Can't wait. Wouldn't miss it for the world." They talked for a little longer and then she put down the phone. "What wouldn't we miss? And why are we staying with my mum?" he said, in a poor Cockney accent. The bad accent couldn't cover the tension in his voice, which reminded her of Christmas. "It's Aiden's birthday, in a couple of weeks and I said we'd go." She could feel the tension and panicked. "We could always stay in a hotel!" "It's fine." He looked away and muttered. "I need to go back more anyway." The rest of the journey was in silence. She lay her head on his shoulder looking out at the window, watching Queens go by. --- The plane began its descent into Cincinnati, and Esme stared out the window. "That's the Ohio River," Jay said. "If you follow it east, you'll hit Pittsburgh. West, it flows into the Mississippi." She smiled, still amazed at the size of the United States. She had Googled it. It was the same distance from New York to Cincinnati as it was from Manchester to...Frankfurt. The AirBnB they found was one county away from Hillsboro, where the kid was supposed to be. The big networks and papers had taken over every hotel and motel anywhere nearby. The woman who greeted them looked like she'd modeled her look on the top of a shortbread tin. As Jay introduced himself, Esme looked around. The house was what Jay called Victorian, blue with fading purple trim on its sagging wrap around porch. Every flat surface was covered with various decorations. Each seemed to have been cleaned regularly. She went up to one shelf, which was loaded down with ceramic pigs. It reminded her of her Nana's bungalow. The carpet pattern that gave you a headache if you looked at it too long, that strange smell of a room filled with too much stuff that needed constant care and attention. At the time she'd been too young to realise her Nana's bungalow had contained a whole life shrunk down to fit a few small rooms. She wondered what the story was here. "You like the pigs?" Esme almost jumped. In her head, she had visions of her crashing into the shelf. She wondered how much it would all cost to replace. "They remind me of the figurines my Nana used to collect. Cats were her favourite." She thought of the bad tempered old tabby that used to sit in her lap digging its claws in and leaving holes in her trousers. Despite the discomfort, Esme had loved the way it chose her, and refused to sit on anyone else's lap. What had happened to that cat, surely it must be dead by now? Nana hadn't dealt well with Esme's change. After a while, her mother had stopped bringing her and instead visited Nana alone. "Well, you'll love the display plates in the dining room. I've even got a few of Diana." Esme inwardly sighed. Please God, not this conversation again. The woman turned to Jay, "Are you all hungry? I could make something cold, if you don't mind.?" Jay looked at Esme. "That'd be lovely," she said, not knowing what else to do. The room was comfortable even with a giant cuddly rabbit waiting for them on the bed. Jay picked it up and threw it at Esme, "I think he likes you!" "Urgh." Esme looked into its face before tossing it on the floor. They both flopped down on the bed. "So, how are we going to talk to this kid?" Jay looked at her. "We need to find someone the family trusts. Any ideas?" Jay looked at his iPhone. "Says here the kid lives with his, er, her mother. Father's out of the picture, mother works on the cleaning crew at one of the local schools." "Not much to go on." "No." "We start at the school then." They woke early the next morning. The day was a sunny one, the bare tree branches silhouetted against pale blue sky. At night she hadn't been able to see the hills on either side of the road. Now she could see how they loomed over the house. As they drove along Route 50 into town, "That's a lot of payday lenders for one street." "Legal loan sharks," he snarled. "Basically, people live paycheck to paycheck. When they're short, they go to one of these guys and they borrow against their check at a crazy interest rate." Esme touched his arm. "My mom used to go every once in awhile, when the sperm donor," his preferred term for his father, "didn't pay up." The rest of the road was the usual collection of fast food and used cars. Small hut-like buildings decorated with oversized, gaudy advertising like tired old prostitutes forced to stay out all weather looking for johns. Jay pulled into the parking lot of a donut shop and they made plans. The artificial light was too much for Esme. It made the edges of her vision blurr. "We start at the school?" Jay seemed less affected. The blue thermal shirt and thick plaid shirt suited him. "That's where everyone will be. We'll never get through." Esme dunked a bit of her donut into her coffee. Her teeth were on edge from the sugar and the caffeine. "So where?" Esme pulled out her iPad and scrolled down the screen. "She works as a cleaner at the school. The school employ their cleaners through this agency, 'American Liberty'." Jay gave a mirthless laugh. "What?" "Nothing. That used to be a union job. You'd work for the district and get a pension. Now what?" "Well, anyway, maybe someone will talk." The agency was housed in a squat industrial park at the end of Main Street. As they drove into town, she saw the sort of storefronts that pockmarked Uniontown - the cheap clothes, bars and storefront insurance agents and tax preparers. Jay had told her how all the stores have moved out to the malls years ago and how the malls themselves were now closing. There was a red banner over the top half of the building advertising hundreds of new vacancies. On the left hand side the banner had fallen down slightly, covering most of a second floor window. Inside, there were a number of desks set up. Two were empty, the third was taken by a young man. He wore a poorly fitting shirt with a badly tied tie. To Esme he looked barely old enough to have left school. On the walls were printed out posters with inspirational quotes. One showing a picture of a soaring eagle read; 'Don't Call it a Dream, Call it a Plan' She stood back watching Jay talking to the boy. He'd somehow managed to get him to talk about sports, although Esme had no idea who the teams were. She doubted the kid knew anything about this kid. From a back room, a middle aged woman appeared. She wore her blond hair in a ponytail and Esme noticed a number of small food stains on her blouse. Probably a mother she thought. The woman caught Esme's eyes and nodded. She noticed her eyes flicking towards the back room and then they disappeared. Esme looked over at the boy. "Do you mind if I use your loo?" The boy looked at her blankly. "We've been on the road for a while. Lots of coffee." She knew Jay was watching her, trying to understand. After a moment the boy spoke. "Er, sure. It's out the back, up the stairs." Esme smiled thanks then disappeared. The woman was waiting for her when she came through the door. "You from the press?" The woman had a southern accent. She was attractive, although she had dark bags under her eyes. "Uh-huh." "You after the mother of that kid?" She stood awkwardly, one eye on the door Esme had come through. "Can you tell me anything her? Did you meet her or the kid?" The woman nodded. "Do you smoke?" "Not really, but I don't mind watching." She followed the woman out back. Behind the building was a small parking lot. There were only three cars, none new. ?Jackie, like Kennedy?s wife.? Jackie gave a hollow laugh. ?Esme. Like, well like Esme.? She thrust her hands into her coat pocket. Despite the clear blue sky, it was still cold. ?Who?s the kid,? she said, tilting her head towards the door. They stood on small concrete steps, Esme one step lower than the woman. ?Him? Oh, he?s my boss.? She rolled her eyes. ?He?s twenty-four,? she said, with an air of disbelief. ?How old are you?? ?Thirty one.? Esme leant against the wall. She could feel Jackie sizing her up. ?Got kids?? Esme shook her head. ?Don?t. Not if you want to keep looking that good.? ?You look good.? Her reply was instinctive, but the woman wasn?t in bad shape. No one looked that amazing in their work clothes. Not anyone working at a place like American Liberty at any rate. ?Men can smell it on you. That you?re a mother. Then they run a mile.? ?Perhaps that?s the baby powder?? She made Jackie laugh. ?Esme,? Jackie said with determination. ?Is there any money I can make out of this?? ?Possibly. If you have something interesting.? She looked the woman up and down. Her clothes were a few years old and her hair dye had run a little. ?But not from me. One of the big networks might be interested.? The woman nodded. She looked disappointed, but not upset. ?She comes through the office a lot. She?s? and she mimed drinking. ?You can smell it on her,? she said, as she took a drag on her cigarette. ?Only reason she?s employed is because who else would clean up kid puke? Anyway, her ex works over at the construction site. They?re building a new Walmart distribution center. I can give you his number, she had to put him down an emergency contact. I don?t think there?s anyone else.? ?Is he the father?? Jackie shook her head. ?No. His name is Ricky. Half Mexican, he?s one of the good ones though. Not like the shit that brought in the black tar?? and her voice tailed off. Esme wondered if she should say something, if she had lost someone to it. She went with, ?I?ve heard about that. My condolences to everyone here.? Jackie nodded and shrugged. Ricky met them on his lunch break. There wasn?t a cafeteria or even a break room for the crew. Instead, there was a silver truck out front, selling hot and cold sandwiches and snacks. ?Want anything from the roach coach,? he asked them. Esme turned a little pale at the term. Jay smiled, ?it?s just a phrase. Right, Ricky,? he said, giving him an exaggerated wink. Ricky smiled, ?yeah, just a phrase.? Esme smiled, ?Arseholes.? Jay bought them three ham and cheese sandwiches and bags of potato chips, and they leaned against the side of a truck. Ricky was short but stocky. Esme thought he might be as wide at the shoulders as he was high. ?This is a big fucking deal around here,? Ricky said, gesturing at the steel frame. ?When it?s done, it?ll employ like a thousand people, until they bring in the robots and shit.? Esme sat next to him, picking off little pieces and eating them, still unsure about ?roach coach?. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jay tearing into his food. ?Tell me about this kid. You still with the mother?? He shook his head, ?Angie, hell no. I wouldn?t if you paid me. The kid?s OK, quiet mostly. Took him fishing a couple of times. He was good, knew how to stay silent. Never hunting, doesn?t have the stomach for it. Had a pet rabbit when I first met him.? Ricky?s monologue was interrupted by the occasional bites he took out of his sandwich. ?How were they?? ?I dunno. They were a mom and her kid, same as all the other moms around here. Dad blows town and it?s them. I mean it?s not like she turned him this way or anything, not like I could see.? ----- The day had not gone well. There were only two types of townspeople - those who closed ranks and put their hands in her face and those with nothing to say but a willingness to say it repeatedly. She remembered one mother, who having been shunned by all the other reporters kept following them around, ?my niece was in his class one year and she told her mother?.? ?Have you ever met the family?? Esme asked, less out of curiosity and more out of a desire to end the conversation. Her desire went unmet. ?Well, I seen her around town and I said to my friend I was with how she didn?t seem right?.? and she continued on like that for five minutes. When she realized that Esme and Jay were print and not TV, she walked away in a huff. Jay watched her walking away. ?Know what she reminds me of?? ?An irritating fly buzzing around you at a barbecue?? ?That too. But, after someone famous dies, you have all these ?friends? who come out of the woodwork. Like, when JFK, Jr. died, you had some guy who was in his 10th grade English class talking about him?.? ?Mmm,? she said, remembering the frenzy after Diana died. ?But what do we do from here? We can?t go back without something. MM will murder us.? ?Shit,? Jay said, wiping his lens with his shirt. She put her arm around him. ?Shit indeed,? she said, smiling. At least here they could be as public as they wanted. ?We could go back to the house,? she said, hopefully. ?We might traumatize the bunny,? he said, with a smile. ?Especially if we do it right.? Then he pulled her into a kiss. He had put his hand on her thigh, when she felt a buzzing sensation. ?Is that a phone in your pocket?? She pulled away slightly, an embarrassed smile on her face, and looked down. ?It?s Sheriff Rees.? She picked up the phone, ?Sheriff? Is everything OK?? He said abruptly, ?where are you?? ?Ohio.? ?With the rest of the vultures circling the carcass?? ?Excuse me?? He wasn?t wrong, she thought, but still. ?Sorry, it?s just?? ?Is it happening there yet?? In a world of social media, where every jackass with a phone could style himself a journalist, it was sadly inevitable that Aiden would be found out. For his sake, Esme hoped for another North Korean missile test, or a hurricane, or some overpaid thyroid cases kneeling for the national anthem. . ?Not yet, although I suppose that?s inevitable?? ?Are the Jankowskis OK? I spoke to them the other day and they seem OK, if stressed.? She was kicking herself. She sounded like an idiot. Jay tapped her arm and mouthed, ?what?s up?? She shrugged. He laughed. ?Yeah, that?s an understatement. They?re fine.? ?What?s wrong then?? ?Nothing?s wrong. Esme, I need to talk to you,? and he took a deep breath. ?I?m going to say something here and I need you to listen and not talk until I say OK, deal?? She looked at Jay and mouthed, ?weird. Really weird.? She heard, ?Esme?? ?Of course, Sheriff. You have my word. You know that.? ?I know. But I needed to hear that.? He took another deep breath. ?I spoke to the sheriff there. I told him that we have a similar situation here. I told him that I knew the only other case and that you were a journalist, but that you weren?t like the usual reporter.? She wasn?t sure how to take this. ?I told him that you?re good people and how good you were for Aiden. You are, you know that, right?? ?Um, thank you.? He laughed a little. ?I told you not to talk until I said OK. Anyway, I told him that, if he had any in, he should give it to you. That you would do right by this kid. Any questions so far?? ?Um, first of all, thank you. I?m not sure if I deserve that.? ?You do.? ?Second, and this may sound harsh, how do you know he won?t sell Aiden out to the reporters?? She heard a little tension in his voice. ?Why would you think that?? ?I don?t. I don?t know. For money? To get us vultures out of his town? To distract everyone from this poor kid? To be honest, everyone here is trying to sell everyone else their story, the true story,? she said, with a harsh laugh. ?It?s hard not to be cynical.? ?Wear a badge,? he said, laughing. ?And you?re not wrong. I thought about that and then I thought, well, I have to try. If it all goes south, I?ll, uh, figure something out then. Anyway, so I spoke to him and he seems like a solid guy. He wants to meet you. Is Jay with you?? ?Yes,? she said. He laughed. ?That?s nice. Get the paper to pay for a nice romantic getaway,? he teased. Jay said she turned bright red. ?Don?t you have some crime to prevent?? ?Nah, someone else is covering that now,? he laughed. Then, ?here?s the deal. He?ll meet with you, but not with Jay there.? Jay touched her arm and said, ?and?? She held up her index finger. ?Is that OK with you?? ?Do I have an option?? she thought and then thought, ?this may be the only in I have.? ?Of course,? she said. ?Can he drive me there and not come in?? ?He can take you to the station and drop you off.? ?OK,? she said, with uncertainty. ?You don?t trust the police?? He sounded upset. ?Well, one thing leads to another and the next thing you know they?re commenting on your love life,? she joked. ?Wait until Donna gets a hold of you,? he said, laughing. ?You?ll be fine. He?s good people. He?s just had enough of you guys.? ?I understand. Give him my number and I?ll be there, whenever.? --- Jay picked at the rubber of the rent-a-car?s steering wheel. She could tell he wasn?t happy just dropping her off. The house looked like one of the hundreds they had passed. White paint that had started to flake off, a flag hanging awkwardly from above the door. She never understood why Americans needed to see their flag so much. Where they worried they?d get lost and think they were in Canada if they didn?t see it? The only other two free countries she knew that did the same were France and Sweden and she couldn?t see a common factor between them. ?I?ll be fine. It looks fine.? ?Hmm.? She could tell he wasn?t listening to her and wanted to hit him around the head. ?I?m just going to keep driving around the block. Maybe I?ll find a side road and park. I?ll only be five minutes away, max.? ?You don?t have to worry. I?m a big girl.? She was grateful for the anger, it hid the nerves. As soon as she?d shut the door he sped off. Pulling herself together she walked up the small drive. Weeds grew through the cracks. She felt out of place, which was nothing new. She could handle this. Before she had time to knock the door swung open. She had to look up. The guy was huge, in every sense she could see. ?Officer McDormand?? ?Yup. You the reporter?? She nodded. ?The one who has it too?? It was hard not to flinch under his gaze, but she was practiced at this. Her whole life had been spent under similar gazes. ?Esme Entwistle. Pleased to meet you.? She extended her hand. He took it, but then let it drop a few seconds later. ?This is Jon and Marge,? McDormand introduced an elderly couple. The woman had thin, dyed blond hair and stood with a stoop. She wore a t- shirt with a print of a dolphin. Underneath were the words ?Miami Seaquarium?. They had faded so much she struggled to read them. The old guy, Jon, wore a short sleeved dress shirt, buttoned up to the top. She took both their hands. ?Are you the grandparents?? They both murmured something in what she assumed was agreement. ?Mrs Beauchamp is through in the kitchen.? McDormand held up his arm. She didn?t like how close he was, or how he used his height to tower over her, but she had little choice but to agree. Mrs. Beauchamp sat at the table. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured but everything else about her seemed faded or worn out. The smoke rising from a little tin ashtray in front of her suggested she?d just stubbed a cigarette out. As they entered, she fiddled with what looked to Esme like a makeup bag next to the ashtray. McDormand pulled out a chair and Esme sat down. The woman smiled at her, but her eyes were on McDormand. ?Hello Mrs Beauchamp. Thank you for meeting with me.? ?Well ain?t you polite. I like that.? Her accent was strongly Southern. ?Can we speak? Alone, Mrs Beauchamp?? Esme gave McDormand a pointed look then turned back to the woman.. Although she could no longer see him, she could tell Mrs Beauchamp was looking at the officer. ?Sure honey.? For a second Esme thought she could see McDormand?s reflection in her eyes. Then she heard the door closing behind her. ?Can I get you an iced tea, sweetie?? ?That?d be lovely.? It wouldn?t, she firmly believed any tea that wasn?t from Yorkshire and served hot with cow?s milk was an abomination. But as a good northern girl (the proper north), she knew not to refuse hospitality. When someone with very little offers you some of what they have, it?s a mortal sin to refuse. Next only to leaving food on your plate. She watched as the woman fussed around making the drink. From behind, she got an idea of her figure. The classic hourglass shape. If nothing else she kept herself trim. She had known women like that back home. Everything else can go to pot, just not you. Her uncle had told her the story of her nan and the other women on their old street. How they had scrubbed every inch of their little terraced houses the night before the council demolished them. It?s just what you did. ?Please, call me Lisa.? Mrs Beauchamp?s comment had brought her out of her reminiscing. ?Er thank you Lisa. Can I ask how is your child?? ?Spencer? Well, about what you?d think. He was a handful, even before he started growing...? She gestured at her own tits and laughed. ?Well yes.? ?And you were?? She looked at her making her squirm on her chair. ?I presented as male until puberty, yes.? ??Presented?, is that what they are calling it.? She laughed. A shrill laugh that reminded Esme of a little dog the wife of her dad?s partner had owned. She?d treated it like a baby but the poor thing had been half mad. She seemed to remember it bit her and had to be put down. ?I?ve had a few guys ?present as male? to me.? Esme laughed as well, although she felt more like running. ?So you work for the New York Times?? Lisa?s back straightened up in the chair. ?The Reporter.? ?I don?t know that one.? Lisa seemed to be eyeing her up. She moved her makeup bag slightly. Esme crossed her arms. ?And you have it then, this.? she looked like she had something distasteful in her mouth. ?LAOIS? She pronounced it ?Lay-os.? Esme shifted uneasily in her seat. ?LOAIS, and yes I do.? ?And there?s another little? boy.? ?Aiden, yes in Western Pennsylvania. But you know all this.? ?I just needed to hear you say it darling. I think that?s all the time we have. Joe!? Lisa called out the last part. ?But, can?t I meet your boy? I think I could help.? ?Yes, yes. I know all about your little gang.? Esme could hear McDormand entering the room behind her. ?Time to go miss.? For the first time, he looked to her for reassurance. Lisa gave a little nod of her head. As Esme got up, Lisa grabbed her hand. ?I - I just want you to know. I?d do anything for my little boy, anything.? For the first time, Esme thought she could see the real woman. ?I know you wo?? But Lisa cut her short. ?They told me you can?t have children, Miss. I don?t if you plan to, but you won't ?know? how I feel until you do. You can?t? Esme?s fingers were hurting, Lisa was squeezing them so tightly. Lisa seemed to realise what she was doing and let go. Then she was ushered out of the house. She walked a few blocks and then sat on the sidewalk. It took her a few minutes to compose herself then she texted Jay. What was she to make of that? ?She was taping me, Jay,? Esme said. He laughed, ?a little too ?Dateline,? don?t you think?? --- Esme was suspicious of the text. For a start she didn?t recognise the number. As such she left reading it to the end of the meeting. The meeting was long and dull. Business and accounts talked about dropping ad revenue while the journalists looked on and worried about their careers. She could see her friends and colleagues mentally sending out their CVs. They filed out like a defeated army hearing news of their surrender. John Fitzgerald, who covered Washington D.C. turned to Esme, ?Well, at least you?ll be OK.? He didn?t sound unkind, more resigned. ?I don?t know about that,? she fidgeted nervously picking at some dry skin on the back of her hand. John smiled. She?d always liked John, he was one of the last of the old- school reporters, the kind who started as copy boys not from the Harvard Crimson with the sort of ?Noo Yawk? accent you rarely heard anymore. He reminded her of the waiter at Brennan & Carr, the restaurant Jay had taken her to in Marine Park, the ?real Brooklyn,? as Jay called it. ?Didn?t you hear her in there? You?re part of the brand, bringing in young professional women. Exactly who the circulation guys want to reach.? She did remember that part, although mainly because she had wanted to dive under the table and hide from all the staring eyes. She was now sure she?d seen accusations of betrayal in the faces of the other journalists. ?Circulation guys? ? she suddenly couldn?t stand the idea of being part of The Reporter without people like John around. ?You?ve got to come on the podcast John. We?ll do it next week.? He looked unsure. ?We can do a special on the latest crisis in Washington. There?s bound to be a new one. Hell we?ll do it on the crisis of crises.? ?OK,? he nodded with determination, ?I?ll do it,? he glanced at the now empty room where the meeting had taken place. For a moment she felt good about herself. John said his goodbyes and she started to wander off. ?Hi, Esme. I?m Sandra.? A tall middle aged woman in an expensive pantsuit stood in front of her. ?Er, hi.? She recognised her from the meeting. She hadn?t spoken but she?d been watching the journalists with intense focus, reminding Esme of a bird of prey. She didn?t like the idea that she was one of the small fluffy animals about to end in a squeak. ?Esme, I?m a big fan of the podcast. Can I speak to you and Zoey for a moment?? Esme noticed Zoey for the first time. She was skulking in the background, not looking happy. Esme glanced at Zoey who gave a shrug. They followed Sandra into another meeting room. Rather than sitting on one of the chairs Sandra lent on the table. Esme and Zoey stood awkwardly. Esme?s arms were folded, holding her iPad close to her chest. ?I?ve got some amazing news about the podcast.? Zoey and Esme looked at each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sandra seemed to have decided that her audience wasn?t six years old and easily persuaded, so she came to the point. ?We?ve found you a sponsor.? ?Don?t we have a sponsor?,? Zoey was talking about the independent book shop in Greenpoint who paid enough to cover the technical costs. They were planning to do a series of live broadcasts from there next month. ?Yes. And that?s wonderful.? She spoke slowly and patiently, making Esme feel like a misbehaving teenager. ?But, we?ve found a major sponsor.? ?What is it?? Esme had a sinking feeling. ?It can?t be anything that compromises our journalism. The podcast is still serious journalism.? For a moment, she imagined an agricultural chemicals business wanting to use them to greenwash their product. ?Oh no, nothing like that. We?d never want to put you in a situation like that,? she paused. ?It?s a monthly fashion service for women.? Esme looked confused and Sandra continued, ?it?s a service whereby the woman describes her style online and every month they send her a collection of different clothes to try on.? There was a longer pause. Zoey looked at Esme and Esme looked at Zoey. ?You want us to do a podcast with, say John Fitzgerald, and half way through stop and discuss skirts?? Esme looked at her jeans and shirt - the same outfit she wore every day. ?You can record the endorsements separately.? Zoey stood up and paced the room. ?You can?t be serious. We?re feminists. We discuss important issues and this will undermine us. Like, at the end of the day, we?re just silly girls that only care about fashion and shoes.? Sandra said, ?So am I. But your listeners,? and she looked at Zoey, in her short dress and knee high boots and smiled, a derisive little smile that reminded Esme of her mother, ?aren?t all going to work in burlap sacks. I think they?re smart enough to reconcile the two ideas, don?t you?? Zoey?s body seemed to deflate, ?Look, I?ll do it. Esme is the reporter, we need to protect her image. Just so long as they come at the end of the podcast?? This time Sandra placing her hands on her hips, Esme wondered if she?d been to some training day where they taught you assertive body language. ?It has to be Esme.? ?What, why?? Esme was now crossing her arms so tightly she feared she?d crush her iPad. Sandra turned to Zoey, ?Esme has the likeability factor, with young professional women I mean.? Esme saw the look on Zoey?s face and wanted to slap the accounts woman. Hard. ?It?s not a value judgement, it?s just what the research tells us. Professional women from twenty five to forty identify with Esme. They see her as smart and successful. And the accent doesn?t hurt.? ?What? No one identifies with me! And,? she said, waving her hands, ?wasn?t the election all about how Americans don?t like foreign accents?? Zoey, at least, laughed. Sandra seemed extra serious when she spoke, ?That?s true, frankly you don?t want to hear what a focus group in one of the flyover states thinks of you.? Oddly this made Esme feel a little better. ?Like it or not, you?re a proxy fight in the culture wars. Me? I could care less about liberal vs conservative, I care about eyeballs, as do my friends at Fox. What we all want is to sell ad space, and marketers want their product to reach educated people with disposable income. And frankly it?s the last advantage newspapers have left.? ?We still won?t do it. The podcast doesn?t cost the paper money, not with the sponsor we already have. And we drive readers towards our content, increasing ad revenue elsewhere. You can?t afford to let us go.? Esme was impressed by Zoey?s stand, at her self-assuredness. All pretence of comradery was gone, Sandra took a deep breath. ?Look, you?re well aware that ad revenue is down, at least you should be. And if it isn?t back up in the next quarter, there will be job cuts. This isn?t like naming rights at Giants Stadium, but it helps.? Esme saw Zoey mentally searching job sites. Sandra looked at her and smiled, the same derisive smile. ?No, it won?t be your jobs, but it will be some of your colleagues.? ?We?ll speak to MM.? Zoey spoke, Esme was quiet. ?MM, as you call him, is the editor, not the publisher. He doesn?t run the paper, we do.? Esme felt like she?d been punched in the stomach. Zoey was about to speak but Esme, looking into the office at her colleagues, some of whom she might even call friends, cut in. ?OK, get them to send me a copy of what they want me to say. We?ll go from there.? Then she smiled and waved her hands up and down. ?They haven?t seen me, I take it.? The cloud lifted from Sandra?s face and she laughed, a warmer laugh. ?We?ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But, glad to hear that you?re on board. They?ll be in contact. We?ll schedule a sit down.? Esme just nodded, not liking the ?I?m your best mate? mode, but liking it more than the shark that came before . Outside the office Esme tried to speak to Zoey, ?Look, I?m really sorry about that. What she said to you, it was really out of order.? Zoey looked at her feet, not her. ?It?s not that. I. I just thought you would have fought more. For the podcast I mean.? ?I was blindsided,? Esme mumbled. ?And I was fighting for everyone else who works here too,? she said, feeling lame. Zoey had shamed her in the way that only the young could. ?Look let's go get a drink later. We can figure something out.? Finally Zoey looked at her, she even smiled a little. ?It?s OK. I?m not angry with you. There was nothing we could do. It?s just?? ?Thought they?d let us have it, just for a little longer?? Esme surprised herself by giving Zoey hug. ?Look, if not with me, then you and Sal should go out and get shitfaced tonight.? ?Shitfaced?? ?You heard me.? Afterwards she went to the toilet. She didn?t need to, she just sat in a stall, leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn?t sure why she was upset. She?d hated the podcast at first. It was just... It had become hers. Well, hers and Zoey?s. They got to pick what they covered, book the guests themselves. Now? Well, now she didn?t know. Then she remembered the text. She opened it hoping she hadn?t forgot something. /Hey E. Got a free weekend at end of month. Me and Ethan thinking of coming to NY. You and J around? Stef xoxoxo/ Stef? It took her a moment to realise she was Jay?s sister. Had they swapped numbers? Perhaps Jay gave it to her? She read it through twice. What was she supposed to say? /Hey Stef. That?d be lovely, I?ll check with J xx/ --- Esme could feel the sweat patches under her arms spreading and wished again she hadn?t chosen to wear her big coat. Spring was early this year. Standing on tiptoes she looked over the heads of the crowd. She couldn?t see them. People milling around her as if she was a tree fallen in the path of a stream. Looking at her watch she realised it was less than an hour since Jay had called. His assignment had run over, some diva writer called Kelly Cooper holding things up, and he needed her to go meet Stefanie and her boyfriend. When she finally spotted them they looked as out of place as she felt. She waved her arms but it took a few minutes for them to see her. Stefanie was sat on her case staring at the screen of her phone. The man next to her was tall and broad shouldered. He looked how she?d expected Americans to look when she first arrived: big. He rested his hand on her shoulder, which she gently stroked never looking up from her phone. Esme texted her. /Lookup!/ When she finally looked in her direction Stef?s face broke into a huge smile. Esme pushed through the crowd towards then. Several times she was barged out of the way. The second guy bumped into her so hard she was sure it?d leave a bruise. ?Hey, dick head!? She started. He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head and pushing past. ?You OK?? Stef had jumped up to meet her. ?I should go after him.? The guy spoke but Stef placed a hand on his arm. ?Honestly it?s fine.? She smiled, her shoulder still stinging. They must think she?s a clumsy idiot. ?Esme, it?s so great to see you.? Stef threw her arms around her. For the third time in as many minutes, she was nearly knocked over. ?It?s great to see you too.? Her shoulder stung and she wished Jay was here to help. ?Who?s the dish?? Dish? Had she travelled back to the 1950s? Freya had told her she needed to compliment the boyfriend. Stef released Esme and took the new guy?s arm. ?Esme, this is my boyfriend Ethan. Ethan, this is my big dumb brother?s better half, Esme.? ?Hey.? He took her hand in what felt like an overly informal gesture for the Port Authority. ?Hey Ethan. You guys hungry?? Esme regretted picking a place so far away from the bus terminal. On the train she watched them huddled together. Ethan seemed to be ever alert for trouble, probably convinced there were muggers around every corner. The bistro she did choose was a cute little place. Freya liked to meet here and eye fuck the cup cakes. At first she was only a little embarrassed that the woman serving them was wearing the same dark blue dungarees as her. Then Stef whispered to her. ?Is that like a hipster dress code or something?? she said, with a smile. Esme could feel her cheeks getting warm. She?d always taken pride in not being a hipster. ?How long do you think Jay will be?? ?Not long,? she hoped. She liked Stef but thought it wouldn?t be long before her slim reserves of small talk were all used up. ?So. How did you two meet?? When in doubt, get them to do the talking. First rule of journalism. Stef looked coyly at Ethan who just smiled. ?You tell it, I?ll get us drinks.? He got up and went to the counter. ?It?s not like some big story. Ethan is doing his rotes at the hospital.? Then she actually blushed. ?He had just been put on a pediatric rotation and he was doing the stitches all? Well I was having a bad day. A double shift because of Lisa, and...? She paused. ?You gave him a hard time?? Esme smiled, picturing the scene in her mind. Just then Ethan returned with three coffees. ?Thanks. Triple espresso? Woman after my own heart,? he said, holding up his own cup, while Stef shook her head. By the time Jay caught up with them, they?d moved on to a little bar near his flat. Esme was feeling a little giddy when she saw him. Partly from the alcohol and partly from getting away with talking to two new people for so long. There had hardly been any awkward pauses. ?How was it, a nightmare?? ?Just some stuck up Brit writer. Well, I mean that?s redund..Ow!? Esme?s punch on the arm had been a little harder than she?d planned. ?Actually the woman I was photographing was fine. It was just publicity woman. Kept butting in, really pissed off Jaz.? ?Jasmine, she?s our main literary critic.? Esme explained. Stef and Ethan nodded sagely. ?Anyway, it?s Friday night in New York and I?ve got my sister with me. What are we going to do?? She barely had time to realise it was three am when she woke. Something was burning in her stomach and it wanted out. Esme got up and ran. She could see the open door and the darkness of the living room where Stef and Ethan were sleeping. She didn?t want to wake them, but didn?t have the time to pull the door shut. All she could do was fling herself into the bathroom and pray to the porcelain god. The prayer was always the same, ?please make it stop. I?ll be good if you make it stop.? Sincere in the moment and always broken later. It was a few moments before she heard the gentle tapping on the door. ?Are you OK?? It was Stef. ?No.? Even amongst the heaving Esme could hear the sulkiness in her voice. Stef held her shoulders as she finished unloading the night?s work. Eventually Esme lent back on the cold radiator. She could feel the beads of sweat on her brow, her short hair greasy and matted. She was grateful that it was short. She had held Freya?s back on more than one occasion. Stef took her hands. ?Come on. You need to rehydrate.? They turned the light on in the kitchen but kept the door half closed. ?Ethan?? She enquired. ?Oh, don?t worry about him. You don?t survive rotes unless you?re able to sleep through pretty much anything.? Esme searched for the aspirin in the cupboards. Outside she could hear a guy arguing with a taxi driver. ?How long have you guys been going out?? She watched Stef put the kettle on. In her fuzzy head, it seemed like an intricate procedure. ?Three months. Well about a year really but three months officially.? ?Oh?? She sensed a story. Stef searched the kitchen and Esme pointed to a cupboard above her head where they kept the mugs. ?Yeah. First it was work nights out. You get a lot of those in hospitals. It?s kinda like being in the army.? ?They?re the only ones who?ve seen what you?ve seen.? She paused, putting herself in their position, ?And want to drink to forget?? ?Exactly.? The kettle switched itself off and Stef poured out the hot water. She?d already placed too ?nighttime tea bags in the mug. She handed Esme Jay?s chipped Wolverine mug. ?How?s he get on with your mum and sister?? Stef stayed silent for a minute. ?We took ?mum? out to Olive Garden. That went well, she seems to like him.? She looked Esme in the eye. ?As far as I know. You?ve met ma. She kind of acted like he was a visiting ambassador. Even if he was a doctor,? she laughed. ?And Amber?? She noticed Stef couldn?t keep eye contact. Stef looked out of the window. Somewhere down below, the nasal wail of a police siren passed by. ?She didn?t show.? Stef sighed. ?And she didn?t show the next time either. We were leaving dinner when I got a call from the security at Kennywood to come get her.? She pulled in on herself, as if she was reimagining the night all over again. Esme wasn?t sure what Kennywood was but security calling you was security calling you. ?That?s not good.? Esme put the mug to her mouth and took a sip, dreaming of proper tea. ?No, it isn?t,? she said, looking up. ?It really isn?t. I mean she?s too old for this kind of shit, but at least I used to know what she was doing, even the stupid stuff.? ?Something?s changed?? She looked down at her bare legs and thought how bruised they had been the last time with Max. It seemed like a different life now. ?A guy.? ?Isn?t it always?? The two women laughed. They both turned when they heard Ethan turning over in the next room. Silently and slowly, Esme pulled the kitchen door shut. ?Who is he?? Stef eyed Esme for a while. ?Can I trust you?? Esme nodded. ?You won't tell Jay?? Esme thought for a while. She worried she was betraying him, but balanced that out by considering Stef was family now. It frightened her to think she now had family beyond Jay, Freya and Jason. ?I won't. But you should at some point.? Stef nodded, seeming to consider it, then she bit her lip. ?This guy is bad news.? Esme already knew that. ?I mean, look, she?s always gone for jerks?? Esme smiled, ?Who hasn?t?? Stef looked toward the bedroom and smiled. ?Yeah, but before they were your usual dropouts and meatheads. This one, Ilya is different?? ?He?s Russian?? In spite of herself, Esme shuddered. She had had bad experiences with Russian guys. ?Sort of. I think he was born there. Came here when he was a baby and then got bounced around the foster care system?.? ?That?s rough,? Esme said, then added, ?I?ve heard.? Stef took a sip of her tea. ?It is. I?ve seen it a hundred times this year. Kids born addicted. I feel for those poor kids, but Ilya is different?.He runs with, no he runs, a bad crew. I bet if you asked half the addicts ma sees, you?d find Ilya and his guys involved somehow.? ?Does she know, your mum?? Stef shook her head. She looked small, like a little girl confessing to her parents. For a second Esme got a picture of what being a big sister would have been like. ?Do you think he?s got her hooked on anything?? She remembered how Jay?s mum denied everything at Christmas. The tears seemed to come out of nowhere. Esme put down her mug and hugged the girl. Stef didn?t answer, just cried while Esme held her tight, feeling her body shake. All Stef said, after a while, was, ?T--t-thanks.? ?You should tell Jay.? When Stef stared at her, she fumbled. ?I mean, it?s too much for you to deal with on your own.? Stef just nodded , a serious look on her face. ?And if you need an escape, you and Ethan, or just you, you?re always welcome here.? They finished their tea and and cleaned the mugs. She tried to sneak back into the bedroom, but Jay rolled over when she sat on the bed. ?You OK?? he said sleepily. ?I?m fine. I threw up but I?m good now.? She placed a hand on the duvet covering him. ?Go back asleep.? ?Urgh. Sure you don?t want me to get you something?? ?I?ve had painkillers and your sister made me tea. I?ll be fine.? He grunted and rolled over on his side. She climbed under the covers and put her arm around him leaning her head against his back and listening to him breathe.