"But, seriously, you OK?"
"Just peachy." I threw my paper towel neatly into the bin, checked my make-up, which was impeccable, and faced Merry confidently. "Well, now I've finished dealing with my bodily waste, let's go make Livvy incredibly popular with her boyfriend's mates."
"Hey," she touched my arm briefly as I gritted my teeth and went to march back out into the bar, "I know you're too cool and tough to ask, but Fletch isn't out there. He was leaving as I came in."
Relief, pure and sweet, like a long drink of water on a hot day, coursed through me, but I made sure to keep my face completely impassive.
"Don't care," I shrugged and she looped an arm through mine and leant briefly against my side.
"Yeah, and I hate chocolate," she said sarcastically, but as I started to pull away, she added, "but, fine, you don't care. Good girl, let's go."
And go we did, back out into the swirl of what I soon discovered was a get together for Fletch's workmates. Of all the bars in all the world…
The group was wary of me at first, but also seemed to enjoy coming close to my notoriety and, with Stefano and Merry flanking me, we managed to get through the evening without too many enemies made or drama stirred. Livvy, in fact, came out of it very well as we concentrated our combined social powers and formed a sparkly social shield around her. It wasn't technically a good deed, but regardless of whether it was written up in Big Blue or not, I accepted the little spark of justification I got at seeing her so happy and popular. I'd take any vestige of positivity I could get that night, especially as I had to spend the evening keeping a good five metres between me and an attractive girl called Millie who somehow made my fists clench whenever I caught sight of her...
Whatever. Sexual attraction could go to hell; the fact was that Fletch was trying to tear down my whole carefully constructed reality and I wasn't going to have it. I wasn't going to let him destroy what I'd worked so hard to become.
----------
Daz glanced up briefly from his laptop as Fletch strode through the door of the tiny, two bed, flat they rented together. Usually returning to this space of uncomplicated masculinity shut out any of the other crap happening in Fletch's life, but it wasn't going to work that night.
"You're back early," Daz remarked, returning his gaze to the screen before him. "Millie coming on too strong for your monk-act to cope with?"
"Something like that," Fletch said tightly, walking towards the fridge out of habit, but stopping abruptly as he realised that it wasn't food or drink he was after.
"Back me up on something here," he turned back to Daz and something in his voice must have alerted his mate that he was serious because Daz lowered the lid on his laptop and gave him his full attention.
"Sure, what's up?"
"It was cancer that got Donny, yeah?" The words scratched at his throat, painful in the way speaking, or even thinking, about that time always was, but he forced himself to continue. "It was bloody horrible, but it was nobody's fault, right?"
They rarely talked about Donny, they weren't exactly the types to sit around chatting about their feelings, so it was fairly understandable that Daz's response was a surprised, "You drunk?"
"No."
"Sober and talking about Donny?" Daz blew out an annoyed breath. "I take it the bitch of the Bay got to you then?"
Fletch grimaced automatically at this description of Lara and Daz glared back. "Hey, she stops being it, I'll stop calling her it."
Unwilling to get into an argument, Fletch shook his head and muttered, "Just answer the question."
"Yeah, mate," Daz returned his gaze to the computer in front of him, exasperation underlining every word as he finished, "it was cancer, nobody's fault. If Lara's got you thinking it was then I really don't see how you can object to me calling her a bitch."
Fletch didn't have an answer to that so he just waved vaguely to acknowledge the hit and headed for his room.
Logically, he knew that Donny had been terminal before Fletch had even met the Montgomerys, but the last few years had taught him that logic didn't seem to have a whole heap to do with him and Lara.
Maybe it wasn't his fault that Donny had eventually succumbed to the tumours in his brain, but it was pretty hard going that, at the exact moment he had, Fletch had been hoisting his mate's sister up against the wall of a house and...
They hadn't known, he told himself fiercely, couldn't have known that the timing was going to be so sensationally shit, but that didn't seem to make either him or Lara feel a hell of a lot better about it.
Chapter 7 – Favourite Soap Opera
"Oh my God, you hanging out around schools now? You're like a paedophile."
Of all the things I'd been called over the years, it must be said that paedophile was a new one.
I raised my eyebrows and took a sip of the large cappuccino I'd been nursing as I'd leant against my car and waited for Saskia to come out of school. It was the Monday after the O'Malleys disaster and my argument with Fletch had only further spurred me on to see what was what with his sister. If she had stuff going on and her arsehole brother was the only one looking out for her, someone needed to step in, and that someone looked to be me.
"You're not my type," I assured the cocky teenage Townsend as she sashayed over to me and she smirked.
"Everyone's your type, isn't that supposed to be your thing?"
I ignored her sly words, more interested in noting that there were no twittery girlfriends gathering behind her and she hadn't exited the school buildings laughing and shrieking with a group like most of the other kids had. She was getting her fair share of 'looks' from the other students, however, and the whole thing was feeling eerily familiar.
"So, what are you doing here?" Clearly annoyed at my lack of reaction to her snark, Saskia turned her head and defiantly met the gaze of a particularly persistent starer. Her heavily glossed lips lifted in a snarl and the berth the other students were giving her went from wide to abundant.
"Oh, I just wanted to see your smiling face," I pushed myself off the car and flicked open my passenger door. "Get in, I'll give you a lift home."
"I'm not going home." Saskia's hair was dyed the scary white blonde colour that was so inexplicably popular, and it almost glowed in the afternoon sun as she shook her head self-importantly.
"Hot date with Lizard Boy?" I asked, thinking back to the possessive freak with the not-mints in his pocket at the club.
"Maybe."
"Blow him off," I said promptly, catching the tiniest flicker of surprise cross her heavily made-up face, as if she'd never really thought about not running immediately to her boyfriend's side once school was out.
"Seriously," I pushed her, "it'll do him good to not have you at his beck and call."
"I'm not at his beck and call," she snapped immediately, making me nod towards the open passenger door and counter,
"So come on then."
She blew out a dramatic sigh before grumbling, "Fine," and slouching down into the proffered seat.
"Loving the enthusiasm." I shut the door after her, feeling exhausted by her company already, and made my way round to the drivers' side.
Sliding in, I waited for a few of Saskia's gawkers to clear out of the way and then pulled back out onto the road.
"So what is this?" Saskia demanded, arranging her choppy haircut artfully across her shoulders. "Did my dickhead brother tell you to keep an eye on me or something?"
I let out a short, harsh laugh. "Trust me, Fletch isn't in any position to tell me what to do," I replied coldly. "Besides, do you really think he would set out to put me around his little sister?"
"He was weirdly pissed about you giving me those mints..." Saskia trailed off with another smirk and then, in a move that took me by surprise, she suddenly pulled her school polo shirt up over her head and chucked it into the backseat.
"What are you doing?" I took my eyes off the road for a split second and copped an eyeful of her breasts spilling out of a bra that was way too small f
or her. I made a pact with myself then and there to see her in a properly fitted bra before I was done with her, but Saskia seemed unconcerned as she drawled,
"Changing, what does it look like?"
"Stripping," I replied tartly as she started to shuck her way out of her tartan school skirt. "You couldn't just wait until you got home?"
"If you'd been in this polyester crap all day, wouldn't you want out as soon as possible?" She returned sourly and I had to admit she had a point.
As she reached down I realised that the messenger bag at her feet was filled, not with books or anything even vaguely scholastic, but rather clothes for her to change into. And not just one outfit, I saw, but multiple options; the girl was nothing if not prepared.
Arrogantly reaching out to turn up the dial on the car heater, Saskia adjusted the temperature to suit her state of undress and reverently laid the options out across her knees, apparently in no hurry to make a decision.
I couldn't help but be amused by this attitude. The structure of her face was familiar, but with each move she proved just how different she was from her brother. Fletch, whilst so easy on the waves, could be stiff and awkward off them; a problem that certainly didn't seem to affect his precocious sister.
Choice apparently made, Saskia gave the selected fabric a gentle stroke before lifting the dress up to pull over her head. As she did so, I caught a glimpse of a hot pink label with silver stitching.
I'd spent a bit of time over the weekend trying to think back to what Saskia had been like when I'd briefly known her during the time I'd practically stalked her brother. I couldn't bring forth any particularly strong memories, seeing as how my focus had been so firmly not on her, but the word that did spring to mind was 'sullen'. Puberty had obviously given her curves that had cheered her up some, but I still felt that her obvious enjoyment at her choice of clothes was something of note.
Idea sparked, I pulled to a stop at a red light and asked bluntly, "Do you shoplift?"
"No." Saskia didn't seem too concerned by this out of nowhere question and shrugged, flipping down the visor to admire herself in the mirror stuck there before clarifying, "I mean, no more than anyone else."
"How reassuring," I said sardonically. "I'll re-phrase, do you shoplift from Za-Za's?"
"Are you kidding me?" Suddenly animated, Saskia twisted in her chair and glared at me contemptuously. "No, I don't shoplift from Za-Za's, I'm not an idiot. The chick that runs that place is hardcore and I'm not losing out on wearing her stuff ‘cos she's put me in gaol."
I nodded, pleased with this response. "Good answer." As the light turned green, I spun the wheel and pulled a u-ey, sending us back down the way we'd come.
"What are you doing?" Saskia grabbed at the handle above the door to steady herself and glared at me. "Seriously, if this is a kidnapping, it's totally lame."
"Hold back on the hysterics," I said with a roll of my eyes. "I'm just going to try something."
Truth be told, I hadn't really had a game plan for Saskia when showing up that afternoon. I'd half-thought about just taking her home and seeing what came up, but the meet-up seemed to have paid off even sooner than I'd expected.
A few minute's drive saw us pulling up outside a shop bearing a sign in the exact same shade of pink I'd seen a moment before on Saskia's dress, and announcing, in the same bright silver, Za-Za's.
"You're taking me shopping?" Saskia asked with a certain hopefulness that I quickly squashed.
"Yeah, no, the goodwill pot doesn't stretch to shopping sprees."
"So why are we-?"
I wasn't the maternal type, and her continual questions were giving me a headache, so I cut her off with a brisk, "just wait here a minute."
I wasn't planning to be gone for long, but I grabbed my bag containing Big Blue all the same. There was no way I was courting the kind of disaster that could ensue if Saskia saw fit to stick her nose into my schedule and accompanying notebook.
It was nearing closing time at Za-Za's, but there were a significant number of customers still wandering around, flicking through the racks of the Bay's premier clothing boutique. The patrons included a somewhat lost guy who I presumed was waiting on his girlfriend and who I only noticed because he leapt forward to open the door for me. Smiling tightly in thanks, I breathed deeply as I stepped across the threshold, instantly forgetting the random door-opener as I was enveloped in the crisp lemongrass scent the owner favoured, and the distinctive smell of quality fabric.
"Jesus wept, hot stuff, you warm the cockles of my shrivelled designer's heart, you know that?"
I turned towards the throaty exclamation and saw Zannie, the proprietor of the store, her head ablaze with a riotous jumble of orange curls, step out from behind the counter.
"I thought of you when I was designing the peacock, you know," she said, gesturing towards the spray of jewel tone blues and greens that shimmered across the front of the soft, grey wool dress I was wearing. I'd bought it at Za-Za's only the previous week and, like all Zannie-designed clothing, it really did feel like it'd been made just for me.
"I thought, 'this dress needs to be worn by someone who can stick her nose in the air and wear the hell out of it'," Zannie continued, "and here you are."
"Any time you feel the need to design a dress for me to wear the hell out of, you'll get no complaints from me," I replied truthfully, but I caught myself before I got too into the conversation. "I'm not here to shop now, though, I was actually after a favour."
You didn't get to be a leading businesswoman in a town notorious for its cheapskate uni students by jumping into deals before you had all the details, so I was unsurprised that Zannie simply raised her eyebrows and waited for me to continue.
"There's a 15 year old fashionista out in my car after someone to give her a go," I began, switching firmly into negotiation mode. "Have you got any capacity to take her on in some way? She's in need of someone to call her on her shit and give her something to think about other than her wildly inappropriate boyfriend."
"Her shit? Her wildly inappropriate boyfriend?" Out of the corner of her eye Zannie saw a customer and made her way back round behind the counter to serve her. "You're not exactly selling this girl."
"I'm not going to lie to you, she's mouthy as all hell and full of attitude," I waited whilst she made the sale and then leant forward to recapture her attention. "But she knows clothes and the hero worship I just saw in her eyes when she talked about here makes me think she'd give you a fair chunk of her soul if you'd give her a chance."
Zannie's amazing hair was like a personality in itself and it shook slightly as she said slowly, "I can't really afford to take anyone else on right now..."
"So don't pay her," I interrupted. "See this as work experience, mentor her, and if she turns out to be more trouble than she's worth, get rid of her. I'm just asking for you to give her a go, I doubt many people do, and I think she's due a break like this."
A contemplative look entered Zannie's eye then and she leant forward over the counter, mirroring my stance.
"I heard some girls the other day talking about this stuff you do," she said. "They called you a do-gooder and I thought to myself that they couldn't be talking about the same bamf who wears my clothes like a God-damn superstar."
"Bamf, superstar, do-gooder, I'm a busy girl, so will you help?" I pressed, and she tapped a blood-red nail against the counter, giving it a few second's thought.
Eventually she asked, "You'll vouch for her?"
I didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"And she's out in your car now?" When I nodded, Zannie shrugged. "Fine, bring her in and let me get a look at her."
My heart leapt as it always did when I felt myself close to nailing a good deed, but I kept my excitement to myself and just turned stiffly to fetch the teenager in question.
Returning out to the car, I found said teenager glaring at me through the window.
"I'm not a dog you tie up outside while you enjoy some retail therapy," she snarle
d and, after putting myself so far out there for her in my favourite store, I felt like throttling her.
"Not a dog, but definitely bitchy," I bit back. "Come on, Zannie's agreed to meet you and, if you play your cards right, she might take you on to work with her."
"Oh, work, yay," Saskia replied flatly, but I had seen the straightening of her shoulders and, oh God, she was working her jaw just like Fletch did when he was on edge.
It was a reminder of the Townsend connection that I really didn't need just then, so I might have been slightly rougher than necessary as I bundled her out of my car and gave her a shove towards Za-Za’s.
"You're not coming in?" Saskia stopped just shy of the doorway and it was on the tip of my tongue to snap, 'I'm not your mother'. Remembering my conversation with Fletch on this touchy subject, however, I hastily swallowed it back down.
"You can handle it," I said in an attempt at reassurance that was instantly rebuffed as she glared furiously back at me.
"'Course I can, I wasn't asking if you were coming in, I was telling you that you weren't."
And off she went.
I shook my head in exasperation, then firmly told myself that where it went from there was Saskia's responsibility, and settled myself back into my car to wait.
Pulling out Big Blue, I started to problem-solve some of the deeds I'd taken on over the weekend; as always taking advantage of any spare time I could get to organise things. This desire to fill up any free moment had grown stronger since Saturday night as the slightest pause saw my head filled with the image of Fletch as he'd talked about Donny, and I wasn't having that. I just wasn't.
I didn't get long to immerse myself in Big Blue, however, as only a few minutes had passed before a shadow fell across the page I was writing on. Glancing up, I saw the guy who’d opened the door to Za-Za's for me earlier hovering by my open car door.
"Yes?" I asked, my tone chilly.
The guy, all dirty blonde curls and designer surf-wear, looked around nervously and then said, "You're that chick, aren't you?"
I sighed and closed Big Blue. "Probably."
The Do-Gooder Page 8
