The Do-Gooder

by Jessie L. Star

  On Tuesday, when she didn't appear, I took a deep breath and counted to ten before I left her several sharp voicemail messages in which I demanded she cut the crap and clue back in. I was also forced to call Zannie and apologise for Saskia's absence, something that made my blood boil.

  By Wednesday when there was still no sign of her, I'd had enough. Collaring one of the girls I remembered being a gawker-of-note in Saskia's schoolyard audience, I asked what was going on. It was with some delight that I was informed that Saskia had been suspended at the start of the week for calling the Assistant Principal a whole raft of colourful names when he'd asked her to stop texting in class. Apparently she'd been on her last warning for her attitude. Shocker.

  So that explained why she hadn't been at school when I'd gone to collect her, but not why she hadn't responded to any of my messages or, the big one, why she hadn't bloody turned up to Za-Za's.

  I assumed it was a power-trip thing, remembering my own days of leaving my dad waiting an extra 10 or 15 minutes when he came to collect me just so he'd know who was boss. Well, if it was attention Saskia wanted, it was attention she was going to get.

  Once I'd finished my morning lectures on the Thursday, I set out to hunt her down. I knew the way to the Townsend's house from the number of times I'd 'happened to be passing by' in my teen years. Having decided at 14 that Fletcher was going to be mine, I'd spent many an enjoyable month concocting convoluted ways to parade myself before him whilst still maintaining that he was scum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

  I tried not to think of those times, however, as I pulled up outside the house and cast a disparaging eye over the overgrown front yard. Back in the day there'd always been a shirtless Fletch around to mow the lawn, but it looked like those days were over (and a tiny part of me seemed determined to add 'more's the pity').

  I'd dressed specifically to impress Saskia that day in a tight green dress I knew was her style, and shiny black boots with a killer heel. I was a walking poster for Za-Za's and had hoped to not-so-subtly show her what she was missing.

  It seemed that my careful choice of outfit had been for nothing, however, as I stood knocking at the front door for a full five minutes with no answer forthcoming. Whilst I was incredibly frustrated to be thwarted in tracking down Saskia, I reminded myself that I should at least be relieved that her dad hadn't opened the door.

  Mr Townsend, from memory, pretty much carried around a sign saying 'woe is me, my life hasn't turned out as awesomely as I totally deserved' and used it to bash people around the head…at length. I'd once got caught while he'd practically performed a 10 minute monologue for me entitled 'I never wanted to get married and have kids, they ruined everything'. The Townsends really were barrel-full of unattractive personality traits.

  So Saskia wasn't home, I couldn't say I was exactly astonished. She was a girl out on suspension with a boyfriend who'd already finished school; thinking she'd be at home had been a long-shot.

  I began to calculate what my next move would be on the search, but didn't get further than the initial planning stage as I turned away from the house only to come face to face with, who else? Fletcher.

  Seriously. This shit was getting ridiculous.

  "Lara?" His hands were full of grocery bags, their weight making the plastic and his biceps strain, but that strain was nothing like the sort evident in his expression at seeing me there. Having been presented with the same situation at my old family home only a couple of weeks ago, I had to admit to knowing how he felt.

  "What are you doing here?" He didn't seem to have had time to inject any venom into his tone, he just sounded surprised with a hint of that special brand of Fletcher frustration.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  There was no way I was going to reveal my good deed work with Saskia, but what other reason did I have to be at his family's house? To buy myself some time, I drew myself up as tall as I could, thinking that perhaps at least my choice of footwear hadn't been wasted. Nothing made you more in control of a situation than stiletto boots.

  Unfortunately, awesome as they were, my boots were unable to suggest a response to Fletch's annoyingly legitimate question and the only thing I could think of to say was, "I was looking for you."

  Well, really, what other option did I have? To say I'd started hooking up with his dad? Yeah, not going to happen.

  Fletcher looked at me for one, long moment before pointing out, "I don't live here anymore."

  "And yet here you are," I snapped.

  "Fine." He shifted one of the bags across to the other hand, clearly impatient to move things along. "So you found me, what do you want?"

  Ah, right. Another very good question.

  For one, very uncomfortable, second I scouted around for an excuse before landing suddenly, and brilliantly, on the conversation I'd had the previous week with that Aidan guy.

  "There's some guy who wants to be a poser surfer," I said, the cockiness in my tone coming easily as I was so proud of my save. "And since you're the most poser surfer I know..." I let my explanation trail off and Fletch stared back at me, his face a mask of incredulity.

  "You want me to help you out with a good deed?"

  Well might he sound surprised, given our history and his well-known opinion on my do-gooder-ness, the suggestion was utterly ridiculous. Shifting into damage control mode I started to say, "'Want' is too strong a word-"

  "Me?" He repeated, over the top of my protest. "Have you had some sort of blow to the head?"

  "Yeah, let's go with that," I muttered. "Look, you're clearly not the one for the job so just forget it." Smiling tightly, I went to move around him, accepting that, in this case, retreat was absolutely my best option. As I moved, however, there was a sudden renting sound and one of the bags Fletch was holding split down the side, releasing its contents onto the ground where they started to roll towards me.

  I automatically looked down at the escapees and then immediately back up at Fletch, my eyebrows raised.

  "Tampons?"

  He met my gaze defiantly. "Yep."

  "Having a heavy flow day?" It was the sort of question I expected him to recoil from, but all I got was a slight thinning of his lips and a completely out of nowhere question. "You remember my dad, right?"

  Tampons to his dad, not what I would've considered a logical progression, but I managed to flatly reply, "Yes."

  "And you saw Saskia the other week."

  For a moment I froze, but then I realised he was talking about the mint fiasco and carefully relaxed as I said again, "Yes."

  "Anything about either of them suggest that they're capable of keeping on top of the grocery shopping?"

  It didn't take more than a second's thought. "No."

  He gave a little shrug that suggested 'so there you go then' and bent down to retrieve the sanitary products. Unfortunately, this move only prompted a packet of aspirin and some paper-towel to escape through the broken bag as well.

  Without thinking, my foot shot out, halting the flight of the shopping, and I leant down to retrieve the items. Straightening, I found my forehead concertinaing in bemusement as I realised that my move constituted as 'helping'. Helping Fletch? This weird, tampon-buying-for-his-sister, Fletch? It was definitely not something I'd considered on my agenda for the day, but other than dumping the stuff back down on the ground and storming off, I couldn't really see a way to get out of it.

  Not wanting to appear as disconcerted as I definitely felt, I jerked my head towards the front door and snapped, "Open it, then."

  It was difficult to say which of us was the more uneasy as Fletch wordlessly obeyed, manoeuvring a key out of his pocket and sticking it in the lock.

  He'd dealt well with the Earnest Gays, I could admit that if I gritted my teeth hard enough, but that didn't even come close to atoning for the O'Malleys incident. Still, without anything specific to attack him on at that moment, and at a significant disadvantage with my flimsy excuse for my presence, I followed him silently into the house.
I just needed to dump down the stuff and then I could make good my escape.

  It was gloomy in the entrance, the doors on either side tightly closed, but it got lighter as we headed down the back of the house towards the kitchen. Everything looked just as it had done when I'd seen it years ago, but the atmosphere felt heavier somehow. There wasn't that waft of sandalwood from Fletch's mum's perfume, or some God-awful whale music floating through from the rumpus room. Everything was silent and kind of oppressive; I didn't blame Saskia for not wanting to rush home after school.

  "So what's the deal with the poser surfer?"

  I'd just dropped the items I carried onto the central counter when Fletch spoke, his back to me as he shoved packets of noodles and canned ravioli into a cupboard. For a split second I had no idea what he was talking about, so busy remembering the past that the present had momentarily slipped my mind.

  I clocked back in pretty quickly, however, to answer, with a calculated vagueness, "Just some guy who's run his mouth off to his cousin about how great a surfer he is when he wouldn't know a boogie board from a tri-fin." I started to back away towards the door as I added, dismissively, "Doesn't matter, though, I've no idea what momentary insanity had me thinking you'd be any help."

  "I'll do it." He didn't turn around, but his words came through plenty clear.

  I halted my retreat and stared at his back in astonishment. "You'll do what?" I asked.

  "Teach the poser to surf."

  "What?" I repeated, followed by the more pertinent, "Why?"

  Before answering, Fletch grabbed up another bag and started to chuck cup-a-soups in after the tinned food. Eventually, however, he grumbled, "Christ, you're hard work. Didn't you come here to get me to do this?"

  "Yes," I said slowly, the direct lie tasting sour on my tongue.

  "Alright, so I've said I'll do it." He shrugged like it was no big deal. "I'm free now."

  "Now?"

  OK, what the hell was going on here? I wished he'd turn around as his expression would probably give me some indication of if he was about to go 'ha, I'm just screwing you around, as if I'd ever help you with your do-gooder crap'.

  "Yes, now," he said with a patience that sounded like it would shortly have an 'im' at the front of it. "This is my day off from work so I'm free now."

  And, still, he didn't turn around.

  It wasn't as if I didn't have the option of throwing his help back in his face, and that was probably what I should've done. Even if I wanted to spare his feelings, which I most certainly didn't, I could've just said that Aidan was busy that day or something, but… The problem was that, actually, he was a damn good choice to help out with this deed. Had he been anyone else I would've been ticking Aidan off in Big Blue as another good deed done without a second thought. Fletch was a freaking life-surfer, for God's sake, he taught surfing lessons in summer, he was available and willing to do it.

  True, there was the chance that he was just building me up to smack me back down, but if I refused his help, didn't that equate to letting him ruin the good deed anyway?

  Well, damn.

  In as surly a tone as I could muster, so he'd know there would be big trouble if he reneged, I muttered, "I'll check if Aidan's free."

  I chose to go back outside to make the call, welcoming the weak, winter sunshine and cool, fresh air after the stifling atmosphere inside.

  I wasn't sure whether I was more hopeful for Aidan to decline or accept the option of that afternoon for his deed, but didn't get too long to consider it as I swiftly received a thoroughly enthusiastic 'yes' to the question of whether he was free. So that was that then.

  "It's a goer?"

  I whipped round to see that Fletch had followed me out and, presumably, had been able to tell Aidan's response by my side of the conversation. I was finally getting to see his face, but it was too late. If there'd been anything to glean by his expression back in the kitchen, he'd wiped it clean.

  "Apparently," I agreed around my clenched jaw.

  "I'll get my stuff, then."

  It wasn't my imagination, there was genuine humour in his voice as he said this and I just knew he was getting off on my annoyance. In a way, that helped me to relax. Maybe that was it, Fletch was just managing to turn a good deed into a way to torture me by his presence. That was fine, I could handle that. Not that I wasn't going to wring Saskia's bloody neck next time I saw her, but…

  Working to get back in control of the situation, I went to fish my keys out of my bag, throwing out a casual, "Fine, we'll meet you at Shelbys beach."

  "Wait, 'we'll'? You're coming to watch me teach some guy to surf?" Fletch asked, sounding less amused than bemused now.

  I found my keys and looked up to reply bluntly, "Yes."

  His eyes narrowed. "What? Don't trust me?"

  This surprised a laugh out of me and, as I started to walk to my car, I was sure to throw a dismissive ponytail flick his way as I replied, "Not as far as I could throw you."

  "Nice." I ignored his sarcasm, but wasn't able to ignore his next words so easily. "But, unless you want me to teach him how best to drown in a rip, we're not going to Shelbys. Not this time of year."

  Bloody surfers and their bloody knowledge of currents.

  "So where then?" I asked, before rolling my eyes and answering my own question, "The Bluff, right?"

  Of course Fletch was going to take Aidan to the Bluff; down below the steep cliff was a sheltered bay where the waves were small and fairly predictable, it was the go-to spot for beginners, even I knew that.

  "Yeah," Fletch nodded, "and you'll never get that Euro-trash out there. Not in one piece, anyway. You'll have to bunk in with me."

  We both stopped to eye my 'Euro-trash' car and I sighed. He was right. Appropriate as the Bluff was for beginners, it was only accessible via a rough dirt track characterised by gaping pot holes and massively corrugated sections that would spell death for my fancy little vehicle's delicate undercarriage.

  When I glanced back at Fletch, it was to see that his expression was as smart-arse as his next words, "Still sure you wanna come?"

  I made a face, refusing to admit defeat in actual words, and Fletch smirked before grabbing a sports bag from next to his board in the back of his car and heading back into the house.

  With a string of nasty words directed towards Fletch, Saskia, Aidan and the world in general running through my head, I leant back against the bonnet of the station wagon and forced myself to wait for his return.

  The corners of Fletch's mouth lifted again slightly when he re-emerged a few minutes later, clad now in a rashie and wetsuit peeled down to his waist, and saw me still there. Wisely, he made no comment, but there was a certain mocking in the way he swung open his passenger door for me before making his way round to the drivers' side.

  Despite the whole point of the station wagon being big enough to accommodate all Fletch's surfing paraphernalia, it felt very small indeed as we set off. I ignored the impulse to cling to the doorhandle to stay as far away from Fletch as the cabin allowed, and instead, sat ramrod straight in the centre of my seat. Oh, yes, I was channelling the ice queen like I never had before.

  Fletch, for his part, seemed unconcerned by our proximity, although his grip on the steering wheel was perhaps a little tight…

  "Don't you think it's time you upgraded from this piece of crap?" When an entire five seconds of silence had crawled past, I'd had enough, and broke it with a rap of my knuckles against the faded dashboard.

  He snorted. "Says the girl whose car can't hack half the roads around here."

  "Yes," I said, although the word in no way indicated an accord, "but it can shift from second to third without sounding like the gearbox could double as a coffee grinder."

  He flicked a glance towards me and then refocused on the road with a shake of his head. "If you're that bothered, I'm happy to stop the car and you can walk the rest of the way."

  "And your plan then would be to what?" I demanded. "Leave Aidan and me wa
iting for you whilst you ran off to your buddies and giggled about how you thwarted one of my good deeds? I don't think so."

  "Thwarted?" He repeated. "Where do you think we're going right now? What do you think I'm doing? This is what you asked me to do. It's not like I'm expecting you to be grateful, or anything, but you could probably cut me a break here."

  Unsurprisingly, a break was not cut. It couldn't be. If I let up on him I didn't think I'd be able to breathe what with his strong hand on the gear stick so near my leg, and the way his profile was being thrown into sharp relief by the sun streaming in through the windscreen.

  So I continued to snap, and he continued to bite back and, in a twisted sort of way, time passed fairly agreeably until we pulled up at Shelbys Beach and saw Aidan standing by his car, board in hand. He looked for all the world like a kid ready for his first day of school; even to my untrained eye his board looked brand, spanking new.

  "Christ," Fletch breathed upon seeing him. "This should be good."

  It was on the tip of my tongue to snap something like 'be nice', but I’d certainly never made that a condition with a good deed before, and the important thing was to try and keep things as normal as possible. With that in mind, I hopped out of the car as we pulled up beside Aidan and plastered a no-nonsense look upon my face.

  "Hello, Aidan," I greeted him as Fletcher rounded the car to stand beside me. "This is Fletch, he's going to be teaching you how to be a fake because he has many years experience at it. Fletch, Aidan. Aidan, Fletch."

  "Ah..." Aidan looked uncomfortably between us until Fletcher saved him by reaching out to shake his hand.

  "How's it going?" He asked, before dropping the social niceties and adding, "Ignore Lara, she lashes out when she's backed into a corner."

  I choked out a strangled noise of outrage at this and shook my head at Aidan. "Don't listen to him."