The Passenger Daniel Hurst (books for men to read .TXT) 📖

and broadened her horizons. Sure, I’d have had fewer funds for myself if I did that, but at least my daughter wouldn’t hate me. But now I’m going to lose my money anyway, and Louise will hate me even more because that money is going to neither one of us. It might be her big mouth that got us into this mess when she told her “boyfriend” about the safe in my bedroom, but I doubt she’ll fully accept the blame. Besides, it’s my big mouth that let her know about the safe. I should never have told anybody about it. Not even my daughter. But it’s hard to keep secrets from someone you live with, especially when they are family.

‘I don’t mean to spoil your enjoyment of the view, but your daughter is presently sitting at home with a very dangerous man,’ he says calmly as my eyes gaze at the picturesque scenery whizzing by outside.

But while the view on the other side of this glass has always remained the same, my mood when looking at it has changed over the years. Whereas before I was often feeling helpless and detached, I operate on much firmer traits like grit and determination these days. I learnt a long time ago that feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

The only way to get what I want is to fight for it.

With the knowledge that Louise was okay when I spoke to her earlier, I feel confident enough to test the men trying to steal from me. I have to try something, at least until they really force my hand.

I cannot allow that safe to be opened.

‘What is it with men these days? Why can’t they make their own money?’ I ask. ‘Why is it that the women of the world are often the only ones capable of fending for themselves anymore?’

I’m hoping to get a little more of a reaction out of him than a simple shrug.

‘I don’t see it like that,’ he replies calmly, not reacting to my attempts to push his buttons. But I won’t give in that easily.

‘I do,’ I reply. ‘Every man I have ever known has been just as weak and desperate as you. The need to beg. The need to steal. The need to take what doesn’t belong to them. And you are no different. You put on a suit and try to make yourself look successful and important. But in the end, you’re just like all of the other men I have ever known. Pathetic losers who have failed at life and now need to use somebody else’s money to keep yourself going. Well, bravo. I applaud your power.’

I put my hands together, clapping sarcastically, and he glances around at the carriage a little nervously, as he has been doing whenever I start to make too much noise. But I don’t care. If he is happy to make me feel uncomfortable, then I’m more than happy to do the same thing to him.

‘Look, it’s not my fault that you’ve been treated badly before. And it’s not my fault that you’ve got all your money in a safe at your flat instead of in the bank. Why have you done that, by the way?’

‘None of your business,’ I snap back.

‘Well, actually, it is because that money is going to be mine now, so I’m interested to know where it came from and why it’s hidden away. It’s not drug money, is it? Are you a drug dealer? Is that why you’re quitting your job?’

He seems to be amusing himself with his joke, but I’m not laughing. Of course I’m not a drug dealer.

I’m much more than that.

‘You want to know why I don’t keep my savings in a bank?’ I ask, leaning forward in my seat towards him in an attempt to telegraph that I am not as afraid of him as he might think I am. ‘It’s because I got screwed before. Just like you’re trying to screw me now.’

16

AMANDA

TWO YEARS EARLIER

It’s a typically blustery day in Brighton as I make my way along the seafront towards the bank. There is a quicker way to get to where I’m going, which involves cutting through some of the streets set back from the Promenade, but I prefer this way for the view. While the waters of the English Channel can’t compete with their illustrious counterparts in more exotic locations around the world, I still love being down here by the sea. That’s because being by water has always reminded me of the bigger world out there beyond these shores, and while everything in my daily life might seem small and humdrum right now, it isn’t like this everywhere. That is the thought that keeps me going until the day I will eventually figure out how to get to where I really want to be in my life.

I pass several people as I walk, some of them looking like locals clutching shopping bags from the local supermarket, but many of them apparently tourists holding more exciting things like ice creams and buckets and spades. It’s not a particularly nice day to visit the beach, especially one made from pebbles instead of sand, but that never seems to stop the intrepid hordes who descend on this town every weekend to take a break from their lives in landlocked communities. According to the local council that likes to report on such things, tourists visit here from all over the UK, from as far as Scotland or as close as London, and I wonder how far some of the people in front of me now have travelled today just to be here by the seaside.

I smile as I spot the young girl in the black cagoule skipping along the Prom with her parents on either side of her. She is pointing at the sea and asking her mum and dad if they can see it too, which of course they can because you