The Do-Gooder

by Jessie L. Star

  Able to complete the drive on auto-pilot, his thoughts turned, unprompted, to the clusterfuck that had been that evening. Damn, but how different would it have been if he'd said yes to having a drink with Millie? Before she'd revealed her other side to him he'd probably have enjoyed her flirtatious smiles and had a pretty good time. He certainly wouldn't have ended up phoning his ex and digging around in that old wound. And, yet, despite it all, he didn't regret having answered Lara's summons, not least because it meant that he'd lessened the time she spent alone in that soulless room of hers. Because, damn, her accommodation was depressing.

  When he'd first met her, 7 or so years ago when her family had moved to the Bay in the hopes of the sea air and coastal lifestyle prolonging Donny's remission, her room at home had been in chaos. It'd been the usual teenage girl stuff, or so he thought if Saskia's room was anything to go by, and the couple of times he'd stuck his head round the door it'd been like being punched in the face by Lara's personality. The scents of different perfumes had hung in the air, pictures of dresses and shoes she'd liked had been ripped from magazines and stuck to the walls, and every surface was awash with the minutiae that had made up her life.

  He hadn't missed that, after Donny had died, it had all disappeared, and when he'd glimpsed her room after the funeral it'd been as impersonal as, well, her current room was. Bare walls, uncluttered surfaces, even completely white sheets, it was like no-one lived there, which, for someone as full on as Lara was, was distinctly unsettling.

  Don't go there, mate, he told himself fiercely as thoughts of sweeping in and carting her off somewhere she'd feel free enough to imprint herself onto her surroundings started trickling in. Whatever you do, don't go there.

  Like an idiot driving drunk, he wound down his window in the hopes that the brisk, fresh air would help clear away not only the scent of Lara on his skin, but the feel of her under it too. It worked about as well as it did sobering up drunk drivers, that is, not at all.

  It didn't take too much longer after that, however, for him to pull up outside his old house and shift his attention, unenthusiastically, to the familiar facade. If there was one thing that had the power to push Lara to the back of his mind, it was this place. Even years after moving out it still made him feel sick to see it; heavy and claustrophobic. He couldn't wait until Saskia was old enough to move out and he stopped having any reason to come back. He did the shopping and checked in on the place a couple of times a week for her benefit alone. As far as he was concerned, once she was gone, his old man could rot.

  Letting himself in through the front door, he was surprised to hear heavy bass thumping out of his sister's room. He was under the impression that Saskia pretty much only used her room as storage now, and to sleep in. He knew he should've been more worried that his 15 year old sister spent most of her time out somewhere, no doubt with that tattooed lizard freak, but he couldn't fault her decision to stay well away from this hole.

  Here she clearly was, however, and the fact that it was so out of character made him stride over to her door, knocking briefly, but sticking his head round before there was a reply. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to catch her doing – drugs? Her boyfriend? – but he knew he definitely hadn't expected to see her in the throes of an enthusiastic dance move. Her arms were thrown up above her head, her skin shiny and free of make-up, and she wore a bright yellow dress, the hem of which was swishing around just above her knees.

  She froze as soon as she saw him and he wasn't able to stop himself grinning as her cheeks went red.

  "Hey, don't stop on my account," he laughed, his spirits lifting from their Lara/Millie/Salida-induced depths on seeing his sister looking so ridiculous and happy.

  Not that she looked happy anymore, of course. Swearing creatively, she chucked a shoe at his head, which he caught easily, laughing even harder. As she picked up a boot with a thick, black chunky heel, however, and looked like she was going to aim her throw a little lower this time, he held up his hands in surrender.

  "Truce!" He said, trying to flatten out his smirk. "This moment never happened. If anyone ever asks I'll say that I opened the door to see you painting your nails black and contemplating existentialism, or spray-painting the anarchy symbol on your walls, or something."

  For a brief moment it looked like she was working to hide a smirk of her own, but then she hardened and started delivering a blistering lecture on privacy, complete with graphic examples of what she would do to him if he ever walked into her room like that again. He allowed her a couple of minutes on her soapbox as he knew she was desperate to save face, but then grew bored and cut her off with a loud, "I'm gonna have a shower. Why don't you order some food and I'll meet you in the lounge-room?"

  He considered that the odds were around 50/50 that she'd do as he suggested, so was impressed when he emerged from the bathroom ten or so minutes later to find her lolling on the couch finishing up placing an order with the local Indian place. An hour or so after that, they were both stretched out, feet on the coffee table in amongst the empty or half-scraped out containers that had been their curry dinner.

  Despite Saskia's clear and continued displeasure at having been caught doing something as uncool as dancing alone in her bedroom, dinner had been good. They'd not really talked beyond asking for the various dishes to be passed over, but the TV had blared in the background and it'd felt relaxed and normal.

  So relaxed and normal, in fact, that full and loose-limbed, Fletch was struggling to figure out why he'd been so determined to come round and see what was going on with his sister. She seemed fine, better than she'd been in ages, in fact.

  The reason for his visit was driven home, however, as she shifted slightly next to him, making the sunshine glare of her dress flash in his periphery. Damn, the dress... Yellow? Knee-length? It wasn't something he would've pictured Saskia wearing in a million years, and, if there was anything Lara had taught him, it was that some girls' clothes could tell you bucket-loads about what was going on with them. And that dress screamed that something was up.

  "New dress?" He asked, shooting for casual, but missing by about a mile as he added, "Looks expensive."

  The relaxed vibe dissipated instantly as Saskia levelled a long, flat look at him and drawled, "Geez, Fletch, why don't you just go ahead and ask if I stole it?"

  He felt a small sinking feeling of shame at accusing her, albeit indirectly, but then he reminded himself who he was talking to. "Come off it," he'd said wearily. "I wasn't-"

  But she didn't let him finish, already arching off the couch like an angry cat. "You were, and for your information, I don't need to steal because I've got-" she stopped abruptly and he rolled his head round against the back of the couch, looking at her frankly.

  "You've got…?" he prompted.

  "- really good at hacking into dad's bank account," she finished huffily.

  She was lying.

  "Right," he nodded sarcastically. "You know, for a moment there, I thought you were going to say you've got a job now, since that's actually the truth and all."

  Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him for a full, blissfully silent, two seconds before asking faintly, "How do you...?" But, in the next instant, she rallied. "God, this town! I wish I didn't have a brother who'd made himself such a bloody celebrity. I can't get away with jack."

  "You get away with plenty," he said darkly, before copping to what she'd said and asking pointedly, "And why is having a job something you have to get away with?"

  "It's not," she said quickly. "It's just my thing, not yours, and I don't want you ruining it."

  She sounded like Lara, he realised, Lara when she was overreacting to something as a defence mechanism. It wasn't a comforting thought.

  "So the dress...?" He pushed.

  "Comes from the place I work called Za-Za's," Saskia sulkily admitted. "Not that it's any of your business, but the owner lets me borrow the clothes sometimes as, like, an ad for the shop or whatever."

 
It sounded legit, and yet, remembering how Lara had been so quick all those weeks ago to want to butt into his sister's life, he had to ask. "Did Lara get you the job?"

  There was a pitch that only teenage girls seemed to be able to reach, and Saskia let it screech at that moment. "Oh my God! How pathetic do you sound? Not everything is about your precious Lara Montgomery, alright? Grow a pair, why don't you?"

  For all her posturing and the undeniable annoyance she was directing at him in that moment, he knew his sister well enough to see through it. She was in shield mode, something that made sense as it looked like, finally, she had something she cared enough about to want to protect.

  He was glad that this job seemed to be the thing that had got her straightening her shoulders in pride rather than defiance, but...he just wished it was something she'd done on her own. Because, the more Saskia denied it, the more he was sure that her current happiness was intrinsically linked to Lara's screwed up need for penitence. And wasn't that just the perfect end to his day?

  Chapter 15 – Mint Biscuits and Cowardice

  "Christ, no!"

  These were the first words I heard as I walked into Za-Za's that afternoon and, for a split second, I was worried that my internal monologue from the last few days had gone external.

  It hadn't, obviously, the words had been exclaimed by a horrified Saskia who was staring at a woman who had just exited the curtained change-room in the corner of the store. Considering I'd spent three days replaying over and over the way Salida had so bluntly informed me that I was irrelevant in her life now, I really should've been wise to the fact that not every exclamation of horror was to do with me. And, once I'd taken a moment and shoved my neurosis back into the darkest recess of my mind where it belonged, I could see Saskia's point. The woman was in a dress that did absolutely nothing for her.

  "Really?" The customer asked, going pink as she smoothed her hands over hips much too wide for the unforgiving fabric.

  "Really," Saskia confirmed bluntly. "Take it off right now." She pointed an imperious finger back towards the changing room, but softened her demand by adding, "I'll bring you something that'll make you look so good you'll want to burn this one."

  "Sass, we've been over this, please stop inciting my customers to set my stock on fire." Wild hair aquiver, Zannie, the owner of Za-Za's, emerged from the back room at that moment, looking pointedly over at Saskia who rolled her eyes, but with a smirk playing around her lips.

  "Hello, you." Zannie caught sight of me and strode over, her high, jungle- patterned, pumps making her look like some sort of Amazonian warrior.

  "And hello to you," I replied, giving her flamboyant outfit an appreciative once over.

  "Like it?" Zannie turned in a circle, flicking the layered hem of her dress up saucily, a wicked look in her eye. "I'd suggest you go and try one on, but the day I see you in ruffles is the day the world ends so..."

  This woman got me.

  "I don't need that kind of responsibility," I agreed, wryly, "so I'll leave the flounces to you."

  "So, what can I do for you?" The older woman headed for the counter and began to rifle through a box of multi-coloured scarves. Picking one out, she used it to tame her curls, the bright red of the silk clashing dramatically with her flaming orange locks.

  "I came to see how Saskia was doing," I responded, throwing a quick look over my shoulder to check that the girl in question was out of earshot.

  "That's part of this do-gooder thing you do, then?" Zannie asked, stowing the scarves back under the counter. "Check up on people's progress?"

  No, that was usually Merry's arena, but as I was avoiding her like the plague at the moment...

  "Yes," I lied.

  Zannie gave me a shrewd look, but then obviously decided that, even if I wasn't telling the truth, it was no business of hers, and gestured back towards the room she'd emerged from a few moments before.

  "Alright then, come through." She raised her voice and added, "Sass, you're in charge for the minute."

  As we looked back into the shop, a hand rose from between the racks and flapped in dismissive acknowledgement. Clearly Saskia was much too focused on picking out some new selections for her customer to pay her boss much heed.

  "I guess that partly answers my question," I said as I followed Zannie into a cosy room dominated by an overstuffed hot pink couch. "If you're leaving her in charge it must be going alright."

  I felt my heart lift a little as I spoke and savoured the feeling. Now, more than ever, with Merry's prodding, Salida's dismissal, and most of all, Donny's memorial tomorrow, I needed the thrill of a good deed going well.

  Nodding, Saskia's boss gathered up the dozens of papers covered in hastily sketched clothing designs that littered the sofa, clearing a space for me to sit.

  "She's quite something," she said throatily, once we were both comfortably situated. "A massive pain in my arse most days, but she gets this business like none of the other twittery girls I've hired to work here over the years have. I even caught her doing her own sketches the other day, and they weren't half bad."

  She reached to grab a packet of mint biscuits off her desk, taking one out for herself and then offering them to me. As I shook my head she gave a sort of 'your loss' shrug and bit into her treat.

  "If that girl sorts out her attitude problem she could be headed somewhere," she continued, before a sly grin crossed her features and she added, "I bet you've heard that about yourself a few times."

  I ignored the truth of that, focusing instead on her comment about Saskia. "I warned you she had a mouth on her..." I started slowly, but Zannie waved me off with the hand still holding the half-eaten biscuit.

  "I know you did," she agreed, "and if it was just that there'd be no problem; I've never believed in being mealy–mouthed if you've got something to say. It's when she doesn't even turn up that it's a problem."

  What?

  "But I've been bringing her here every day," I said, straightening defensively. "I know she had a week there when she went AWOL, but I've dropped her off right outside every day after school since."

  "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink," was Zannie's sage response. "And, let me tell you, unless it's that boyfriend of hers that's offering, that girl ain't drinking jack."

  "So – what? – I drop her off and she pretends she's coming in here before making a break for it?" I asked furiously, and Zannie nodded.

  "Pretty much. To be fair, mostly she makes it all the way in before she nicks off early, but either way, it's a rare day that she stays for a full shift."

  "It's the boyfriend," she continued when I was too angry at being played by Saskia to speak for a moment. "Russ, is it? He's got her on a tight leash, that one, he only has to give it a bit of a tug and she goes running to him."

  Remembering the sullen boy I'd met all those weeks ago at the club, with his shifty eyes and dodgy tattoos, I felt my heart sink straight back down.

  "He hasn't given you any trouble, has he?" I asked, and Zannie let out a sudden, husky laugh.

  "Him? Have you seen him?" She asked incredulously. "He must be barely 60 kilos soaking wet, and I could snap those twig legs of his in half if I had half a mind to." Her chuckles died down, however, as she said, more seriously, "But, then, I'm a 40 year old woman and I've been dealing with worms like him my whole life. I reckon he's Sass's first, and he's got her feeling like she doesn't know whether she's coming or going."

  I grimaced, struggling to match the feisty, defiant Saskia I knew with the image Zannie was conjuring.

  "Doesn't really fit with the rest of her personality," I pointed out and Zannie tipped her head to the side, considering.

  "Doesn't it?" She asked after a moment. "From what she's let slip, it doesn't sound like she's got the best situation going on at home, and she's clearly no more popular at school. Girl like that gets shown the right bit of attention and-" Zannie clicked her fingers, "that's it."

  I didn't want that to sound ri
ght, but laid out for me like that, it started to come together. I remembered the way the other kids steered round her when I picked her up from school, and the way she'd let Lizard Boy tug her away from me that time at the club, like a dog on a lead. I felt suddenly sick.

  "She talks about you a fair bit, you know," Zannie went on as I worked to control my nausea.

  "Really?" I asked faintly, not sure I'd been prepared for all this insight into the younger Townsend.

  "Yeah, it's all 'Lara would look good in this' and 'Lara has a skirt like this, but in russet." Zannie suddenly looked at me somewhat sternly. "I reckon, to her, those lifts you give her aren't just about being brought here, you know?"

  And, apparently, it was time for another stomach-sinking moment of realisation.

  It'd been a few weeks now of me seeing Saskia nearly every day for the 10 minute car ride, and I'd neatly boxed them as a blur of bickering and bitching in my mind, a penance if ever there was one. For Fletch's sister, though, I suddenly understood they might constitute one of the few constants going on in her life, and giving it yet more thought, I realised we'd had more actual conversations recently than outright cattiness.

  Ah, damn, that had not been the plan. It was supposed to be about doing something constructive with her time at Za-Za's, not forming a connection with me. I was exactly the sort of person she didn't need in her life right now.

  "No need to look so horrified," Zannie smirked, biting into another biscuit as she watched me have my moment of clarity. "I reckon you're one of the best things that girl's got going for her at the moment."

  I didn't want to hear that, and my tone was sharp as I snapped, "I'm nobody's role-model."

  Zannie flicked a crumb off her skirt as she said unconcernedly, "If you say so."

  "Zannie, there's someone here who-" It was lucky we'd lapsed into a moment of silence, because Saskia herself chose that instant to barrel through the door. Her eyes were fixed first on her boss, but then slid across to me and stopped her in her tracks. A definite look of panic flickered across her features, something I attributed to her not wanting me to find out that she'd been wagging off work. Well, good, she should be worried.