Sweet Sixteen: Part 26

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Josh took me to a plush hotel on Westminster Bridge. We sat by a large window with a spectacular view of Big Ben and The Houses of Parliament sitting majestically on the banks of the River Thames.

Our coffee arrived accompanied by a selection of miniature: biscuit, pastry and cake type treats; they looked so pretty and tasted stunning.

"You like?" Asked Josh, noticing the obvious relish with which I consumed the delicacies.

I took a sip of coffee, it tasted rich, bitter and expensive, "It beats the weak tea and poundland biscuits in the school canteen," I said, woofing down a marzipan morsel.

He nodded his head and smiled gently. But his smile was like the coffee, bittersweet, so I cut to the chase, "Josh, what gives you the privilege to bring me here, one of London's most expensive hotels?"

"Money, and lots of it," he replied.

"Obviously, but you know what I'm asking, don't you?"

He nodded his yes, and in that gesture I felt that his reluctance to talk about how he came into money was borne not of guilty wrongdoing, but by a kind of pain or grief.

Josh stared out the window, and he seemed to be struggling for the words, but eventually they came – "I helped a very wealthy man to die, and to thank me for the release his death gave him, he left me all of his wealth." He paused for a moment, before switching his gaze to me, "But I didn't knowingly help him to die," he said.

"What, you accidently helped him to die?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Yes. My full story's out there, in the public domain," he said.

"Can I read it?"

"You can, it's called Bruv." He said. "Read it in your own time."

His reflective gaze turned back to the view, "But what you won't read in my story is what happened next," he said, his voice dropping.

"Will you tell me?" I asked, gently.

When he looked back at me, I saw sadness in his face and when he talked it was with a different voice, hesitant and hurting – "I had a moral dilemma, didn't know if I should accept his gift, concerned it would bring me bad juju. But I took the Solicitors advice and signed all them papers. I'd just turned fifteen, and I was a multi-millionaire."

He stopped, gulped and continued, "Just one week later the bad juju came – my beautiful mum and little sister were smacked by a car – drunk driver." He looked at me with moist eyes, "But it was just bad luck, not juju – I know it wasn't connected to my inheritance; but I'd blash back the cash to hold mum and sister, even for one more sweet second – money can't buy what we really want, in that sense, it's only paper, plastic and steel."

His face was tight as he struggled to hold back tears, until I took him in my arms and pulled him into me. The warm wetness of his tears bathed my skin in his sorrow and as he gently heaved, I knew that this was probably the first time Josh had wept for his sorry loss.

###

"Is everything ok, can I get you some water?" Asked the waitress, concerned with our distressing scene.

Josh broke from me, and sat up, "No. All's fine – good – sweet sister – thank you!" He said, his South London street sound slipping back into his accent.

He wiped his eyes, "Sorry, that was well weak," he said, an embarrassed look overtaking his sadness.

"Don't lie, there's no weakness nor shame in crying," I said, his tears still trickling down and caressing my chest in a wet warmth. "What about your father, is he still alive?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. He was an abusive drunk, mum kicked him out when I was a kid; don't know if he still breathes or not." He shot me a look that made me melt: a big, brown-eyed vulnerability, coupled with a chisel jawed steely strength, "But my dad is no loss, your dad is; I want to help you find the truth Benita," he said, supportively.

"It is messing with my head, I won't lie." He took my hand and my tummy tumbled, shaking up a flurry of flying butterflies, which made my body quiver and my voice shake, "Granny Grace told me that my dad knew Dylan's dad and that really freaks me out, the thought that he was involved with a mad man," I said, hoping I'd diverted him from my physical state.

Josh pulled me into him, "Is you gonna cry?" He asked, concerned.

"No, I'm fine."

"You're all shivering, trembling, like you frightened."

"I'm feeling emotional, that's all."

He lowered his head and moved it closer to mine, "We will solve this mystery together, trust in me."

"I trust in you," I said, while trying to supress the lust that his physical touch and emotional care ignited and lighted within me.

In an effort to control the hormones that were flooding through me, I asked, "How'd you get caught up in all of this?"

My question caused a shift in his temperament; he became slightly evasive, "Through mum's church. I started hearing about Juju and the harm it was having on the community. Mum talked about it a lot, 'this fear of magic is damaging the church, they is importing young girls for bad things,' she would say to the Pastor. So when she died I made it my duty to try and help." He let go of my hand and stood up, "Let's go, we need to get you a new phone," he said.

Gently I took his hand, and eased him back down; he didn't resist, but he avoided my eye.

"What about Granny Grace, how'd you meet her?" I asked.

He flustered, "She erm – she – through the church – as well," he said, his stumbling caused a heavy dread in the pit of my stomach.

Remaining calm, I said, "Don't lie, Granny Grace don't have a religious bone in her body." I waited for him to look at me, when he did, I said, "Don't disrespect me with obvious lies."

He dropped his head.

Watching him rub his hands over his head, I said, "Are you feeling shame?"

When he looked back up, he stared me straight in the eye, "No – I have no shame, only regret – should have told you the truth from the outset, but things snowballed so quickly, I lost control," he said.

I repeated my question, "How'd you meet Granny Grace?"

His eyes didn't waver from me, "She was Dylan's legal guardian, although Dylan didn't know that – she made her self known to me, when it became clear that Dylan was..."

...He trailed off, his stare fixing on a boat speeding up the Thames.

"Clear Dylan was what?" I asked, snapping my fingers in his face, forcing his answer.

His eyes fixed back on mine, "In love with me..."

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