A Shark or A Mole?

Internal alarm bells sounded when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I hadn’t ordered any packages. And anyone who I am happy to turn up unannounced knocks or just walks in. They don’t use the doorbell.

I checked that baby Mia was still safely in her Moses basket. Yes, she was still asleep, thankfully. The bell rang again. I headed to the door. Through the window, I could already tell who it was. A burst of breath escaped my lungs. I would never have guessed it’d be him.

“Twelve years is a long time,” he said. His hair was shorter now, but it still flopped over his forehead. His eyes were the same intense dark brown I remembered from my teenage years; sixteen-year-old me used to wonder why I couldn’t have dark eyelashes like his. They were as long as a girls’ and framed his eyes perfectly. I could tell he was muscular beneath the tight-fitting shirt he wore, and the shark tattoo he got on his fifteenth birthday using fake ID still peeked out at his wrist. We used to call him the Shark - I can't remember why now, some insignificant joke that stuck. “Good to see you, Marigold.” It was a nickname he gave me a lifetime ago, when those orange flowers in my garden matched the colour of my hair. And it was, unfortunately for me, so similar to my actual name.

“Maribella” I muttered under my breath, as I didn’t know any other words to say to him.

“Well, you’re still as ginger as ever,” he smiled. His teeth shone white in the sunlight. They were perfectly straight: he must've had braces since we were sixteen.

“And you’re still as charming, I see. What do you want?”

“To see my cousin’s baby, of course.” He had never been there, so why on earth was he here now?

“You could’ve come a month ago. Where’ve you been all these years?”

“Doing this ‘n’ that. Joined the police force, what, eight, nine months ago. What about you?”

“Babysitting currently,” I said.

“Well, are you gonna let me in?” He asked. I stepped aside, and he went past. I shut the door, and when I turned around, he was already looking into Mia’s Moses basket.

“For goodness’ sake, don’t wake her,” I said impatiently. “She’s only just gone off to sleep.”

Obediently, he took a step back and smiled at me. “She’s a beaut. What’s her name?”

“Mia. Can I, erm, get you something to drink?”

“Ooh, yes please, that’d be lovely. Do you have any tea?”

“Yep. Still milk, three sugars?” I asked. I don’t know why I remembered that.

“I’ve cut it down to two now,” he smiled at me again. I was sure he was hiding something.

I put the kettle on. Then, I went over to him, standing in the doorway. “What are you really doing here, Kyle? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

He pulled his arms away from me and looked down at his feet. He shifted them uncomfortably, moving his weight from one leg then another. “I may be on the run,” he murmured eventually.

“I knew you weren’t –“

“I ain’t done nothin’ though! I swear to you Merrie, it wasn’t me! They’ve got the wrong guy, and they’re not gonna believe me, and, well, I thought if you spoke to her about it –“

“Her? You mean she is involved in this?”

“Well, yeah, seen as she thinks I’m a mole.”

“Flippin' heck.” I sighed. Not only had he got mixed up in trouble – like we all said he would – he had got mixed up in trouble with her. Mia started crying.

“I said, it wasn’t me.”

“You said that last time.” I murmured. It may have been twelve years ago, but the shame was still evident on his face at the mention of it. When we discovered it had been him, it was the last time I saw him. Until now.

“Seriously, though, you really think I’d be betraying her, of all people?”

I thought about for a second: no, I didn’t think he would. Gang politics was never his motivation – it’d always been greed. And if the right price had been offered, well, who knows how he would act? Who knows how he had changed over the twelve years? My silence told him volumes.

“We’re twenty-eight now, Merrie, we’re not teenagers anymore. I’m not that stupid.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I muttered, picking Anna up and trying to console her. I hated it when she cried.

“And I’m a shark, remember - I'm no mole!”

I was the first to notice my sister Ada standing on the stairs. He saw me looking in her direction, and turned around. It must’ve been a shock for him to see her now – dressing gown, unkempt hair, none of her usual make-up. A stark contrast to the perfectly made-up teenager she always was. He stood there silently for a moment, taking in her new appearance.

“Wh-“ She stopped and cleared her throat. “What is the Shark doing there?” She asked me.

I looked at him. “Running,” I said simply.

“Please, Ada, hear me out over a cuppa. I can explain everything.”

“I hope so." She replied, entering the room. "But please, I think wine would be more appropriate.”