This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Kirstie. Your mum is wrong, and you are brilliant, and also to Corrine, who is many different kinds of awesome.
Three days.
Three days before Howard actually knows where Vince is.
He's tried, its not to be mistaken. Rang his mobile, everyone scrawled down in the crumbling phonebook in neon gel pen, and even asked Mrs Figg, the nosey old busy-body in the flat beneath if she's seen Vince in passing, or seen him at all really, but the answer is always the same. A terrifying "no".
Its round about then, that he begins to imagine the worst, that perhaps Vince has gone off and done something stupid again, or even succeeded in doing something this time, and that prospect doesn't even bear thinking about, because if he does so for too long, Howard gets ridiculously choked up, then flies into a bit of a rage and trashes random items of furniture, before sitting and brooding for the rest of the night, in a way which has Naboo and his girlfriend on edge.
The he sees the post it note stuck precariously to the front of the fridge, half hidden beneath a till receipt from god knows when, but its there, and it takes a few seconds before relief takes hold and Howard can actually focus enough to read it properly.
"Staying at Jasmine's.
I'll be in touch.
Vince
X"
And that's it. Not an explanation, address, landline number. Not even an apology. He feels unexplainably hurt.
It's Monday, and despite Naboo's best efforts to find where Vince says he's staying (which have included a useless encounter with a TomTom sat nav, that told him Jasmines House was a Disney attraction, before he hurled it out the window, and a trawl round Camden and Shoreditch) he still remains clueless, and tries to be upbeat about the situation, but its damn near impossible, and he just ends up snapping at Corrine or someone, then apologising profusely and making dinner, and maybe crying a tiny bit because something is really fucked up.
Bollo, however, in such a time of crisis, has taken to doing most of the housework, and subsequently lectures anyone if they leave a paper on the sofa or shut the cat in the cupboard or something, then announces he's off djing, as at present he is the only person bringing a regular wage into the house, since Howard did not like the prospect of going back to work with his vengeful, manipulative ex.
Eventually though, despite numerous hare-brained ideas, everyone realises that the most they can do is wait.
Vince has been having a considerably better time. He actually has his own room now that Jasmine has cleared out the old box room, and it's pretty big, and tastefully decorated if a bit bare. But, more importantly, he has a job, at Zavvi, with flexible hours and pretty cool people working there, so that's a definite improvement, and yeah, things are going pretty good.
Then there's a stab of guilt, because it's like he's saying he prefers it here to back in the flat, and it suddenly seems like staying here is much more permanent that he expected, which is damn scary.
Anyway. He can't dwell today, because it's just gone eight in the morning, and he needs to be at the shop for nine, so after dragging himself out of bed and having a quick shave, he heads downstairs, feeling proud that all he's used the razor for is shaving, even though he's itching to use it for an ulterior motive.
Pushing the thought aside, he eventually heads into the kitchen, and sits down at the table after switching on the coffee machine, whilst Vivienne was sat at the kiddy table, scowling, and Jasmine was perched on the counter top, mixing a bottle of formula milk with practiced ease.
"Morning!" She says brightly, though there are dark circles under her eyes. "I'll get you some cornflakes or something in a minute, I've just gotta get Will in his carry cot..." She trails off, and urges her daughter to eat her cereal faster otherwise she'll be late for school again.
Vince feels quite happy, because it's such a normal, mundane carry on, and nobody is treading on eggshells around him, which is good because he hasn't felt this relaxed in ages. So, after downing his drink and briefly checking his appearance in the mirror, he begins to collect his thing together, and is almost out the door, when the little girl jabs him none too softly in the leg with her lunch bag.
"You haven't had breakfast!" She says, somewhat accusingly.
"Shut up!" Vince manages to hiss, before Jasmine is coming back down the stairs, tiptoeing , presumably to ensure she does not wake the sleeping baby upstairs.
"Mummy, Vince hasn't had breakfast!" She says, tapping her foot impatiently. Snitch, thinks Vince, digging his nails into his palm. Jasmine looks up, slightly concerned.
"It's okay – I'm never hungry in the mornings." He mutters, smiling, despite the fact he now seems to be more bone that flesh- no, fat. And likes it.
I updated! Whooo!
But meh, dunno how I feel about this chapter – tell me if I've cocked it up!
Please review!