"Oh, you're here," was all she said, though, and the lack of enthusiasm in her voice made my spirits rise slightly. Maybe Zannie had been wrong, the dismissive way Saskia turned her back to me to discuss a customer's query certainly didn't make it seem like she was suffering from any sort of misplaced hero-worship.
As she and Zannie conversed, I took the opportunity to study my young good-deed recipient properly and was further cheered by what I found. She was looking somehow both older and younger than when I'd seen her at the club that first time, an effect, I realised after a second, of toning down the heavy make-up she'd been wearing then. Her eyes were still thickly rimmed in black, but the corresponding eye-shadow was a lot subtler and the blush brushed across her cheeks more closely matched her natural colour.
And that was without mentioning the clothes. She'd obviously had a good sense of style before starting work at Za-Za's, but now her outfit was on another level; simultaneously edgy and polished. It wouldn't have surprised me if Zannie was letting her borrow clothes and, with a model like Saskia, why wouldn't she? She looked cool as all get out.
In fact, the only problem with her new look, as far as I was concerned, was that the air of confidence it had given her made her look more like her older brother than ever. How would Saskia feel, I wondered, if she knew that only a couple of hours before I'd gasped meaningless words of climax against a jaw so similar to her own? Horrified, most likely, it wasn't exactly the type of thing I imagined anyone would like to hear about their sibling. It was seared into my brain, though, as every other encounter with Fletch was.
And I was still having these encounters with him, a fact that surprised even me. After the stunt he'd pulled calling Salida up, and his attitude about the Slut Scrawlers, my knee-jerk reaction had been to cut him off and try and avoid him as much as possible. Barely 14 hours later, however, when I'd felt that tell-tale tingle that had demanded an audience with Fletch, I'd texted him almost without thinking.
It was about getting back on the horse, I'd told myself. If I still wanted the sex, which I did, and if I didn't want things to be weird, which I didn't, then I needed to pretend nothing had happened; a plan that Fletch, apparently, was happy to go along with. Maybe he understood, as I did, that with Donny's memorial tomorrow, things were going to be bad enough without any help from our own little drama.
I was still in the midst of examining Saskia, but thinking about her brother, when Zannie excused herself, apparently needing to go and sort something out at the front of the shop. With her gone, Saskia reluctantly turned her attention to me, crossing her arms defensively across her chest.
"So did Fletch tell you-?" She started to ask, but I cut her off before she could properly get going into one of her 'you and Fletch are totally having sex' taunts. So what if they were true? She didn't know that, and they were annoying.
"I'm not here to talk about Fletch," I said icily and there was a split, gratifying, second where she looked genuinely taken aback.
"You're not?" She asked, sounding surprised, but then her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she added, "So what are you doing here?"
The petulant note in her voice was just what I needed to jerk me away from thoughts of Fletch and firmly back onto the Townsend before me.
"Oh, you know," I said, grimly, "I was just hoping to get a chance to bask in the warm glow of your sunshiny personality."
She rolled her not-so-heavily made up eyes and said bluntly, "So you're checking up on me?"
"Yep," I agreed, "pretty much."
"And?" Try as she might, she wasn't able to sound as disinterested as I know she would've liked to.
"And I've found out that you've been blowing Zannie off." Pissed as I was about it, I tried to keep my voice calm, knowing there was nothing surer than Saskia stalking off if it seemed like I was attacking her. "What's that all about?"
Arms tightening still further, she shrugged awkwardly. "I dunno, I've got better stuff to do, I guess."
"Better than this?" I asked pointedly, looking round at the room covered with bright material in all different patterns and textures, and the magazines, samples and sketches that were giving me a buzz I felt sure Saskia would share.
She was a tough nut to crack, however, and muttered, "It's just a job."
"And clothes are just fabric," I retorted. "Look, sit down for a minute, will you?"
Feet rooted to the spot, she narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Because I want to stab you to death, but can't be bothered standing up to do it," I said sarcastically. "How about we drop the 'why' crap for the moment and you just give me a second of your time?"
She wavered for a moment, but did eventually throw herself down into the opposite corner of the pink couch, albeit extremely ungraciously.
OK, it was time for a Talk, with a capital 't' and I was as apprehensive about the whole thing as Saskia looked. This so wasn't my area of expertise, but clearly someone needed to talk to her about what was going on and if it wasn't me, then who?
This ultimatum thinking was surprisingly helpful and I was able to compose myself sufficiently to say, "You know this is all for you, right? Zannie and I didn’t get you working here for our own amusement. We think you're absolutely deserving of our time and attention, but if you keep taking the piss like this, it's not us that are going to miss out."
Oh, God, I sounded like a teacher, or a guidance counsellor or something. Squashing down the rising panic I felt at being suddenly cast as the 'mature adult', I forced my voice to stay steady as I continued. "We're getting to the point now where you have to make the choice about whether you want to do this. And it is your choice. Zannie, me, your boyfriend, none of us can make your decisions for you."
I swore I saw a momentary flash of uncertainty on Saskia's face, but then she settled into her customary scowl. "I was wondering how long it was going to be before you brought Russ up," she said huffily. "Just because you and Zannie are single and bitter doesn't mean you have to shit all over people who are in love."
Deep breaths, I told myself repressively, just take deep breaths.
"But that's my point," I said carefully. "This isn't about you and Lizard-, I mean, Russ, it's just about you."
"Really?" She arched an eyebrow and I felt my heart give a massive thump as her resemblance to Fletch momentarily increased tenfold. "’Cos I thought the point of these good deed things was that they're always about you. You know, how you think you're this massively rubbish person because you cheated with Fletch and weren't there when your brother died, and now you're trying to make up for it."
Jesus, she got points for going straight for the jugular, but I was not going to be defeated by a precocious teenager. To that end, I drew myself up a little straighter and said crisply, "Let's say that's true, so what? What does it matter if I do deeds for purely selfish reasons? If the upshot is that you get something good out of it, something you can use solely for your benefit, wouldn't you be an idiot not to take advantage of it?"
She leapt to her feet and glared down at me furiously. "You calling me an idiot now?"
"Amongst other things," I drawled, relaxing back against the couch as I watched her hackles shoot skyward. That it was as something as inconsequential as the word 'idiot' that she was firing up about told me all I needed to know. I'd got through to her.
"God, you're so on yourself! You think you know everything, but you don't, you don't know anything about me or-"
She went off on a rant, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, and I let her go for it because it was just the bluster someone blurted out when they were fresh out of genuine arguments. It was surrender without actually having to surrender, and I was well enough acquainted with it as a technique to know that it was best to just let it run its course.
While she raged on, I gave her another once over. As she was actually facing me this time, I was able to study the detail on the front of her dress, specifically the beautifully intricate pleat folds that rose up from the nipped-in waist. Foll
owing the line of the folds upwards, however, I saw that the pleats weren't quite sitting right at Saskia's chest. I frowned, thinking back to that first trip out to Za-Za's, remembering Saskia's ill-fitting bra, and my note to myself that I'd sort that out at some stage. Well, no time like the present.
As Saskia's fuming simmered down to a dull heat, I got to my feet and asked calmly, "You done?"
Obviously thrown by the lack of a return attack, she glared down at the floor and muttered a low word of assent.
"Good." I gave her a little push towards the door and fell in behind her as I said firmly, "Let's go bra shopping."
----------
"You seen Lara recently?"
Fletch had just executed a spectacular 360 on a skateboard on the screen in front of him, but it took a quick key-mash to stay the landing when Merry dropped down next to him on the couch.
He worked to make it seem like his frown was related to concentration as he played, but couldn't see either Daz or Merry being fooled. But, come on, he could've done with a few Lara-free minutes. He was at home, playing videogames with Daz, there was no way she should've become his focus, but here she was, dropped inevitably into conversation by the dimpled blonde beside him.
Trying not to show that he'd been effectively sucker-punched by the Lara reference, he shrugged. "Saw her this arvo, why?"
His mate's girlfriend released a heavy sigh as she deposited a bowl of chips onto the coffee table before them. "Ah, just me she's avoiding, then."
With great effort, he didn't respond, calmly reaching for a chip instead and then focusing back on the game. Whatever Merry was talking about was girl stuff, he told himself firmly, and not something he wanted to get involved in.
He'd lost his concentration, though, and barely managed a feeble 180 at the next jump. He persevered for a minute or so, but then the game suddenly froze as a fluoro PAUSE stamped itself across the screen.
Looking across at Daz in surprise, he saw his friend roll his eyes and gesture with his controller towards Merry. "For God's sake, just ask her, you're not going to be any sort of competition until you do."
Fletch considered protesting, but there was no getting anything past Daz, so he decided to just take the free pass he was being offered.
"Fine," he threw his own controller aside and looked over at Merry. "Why's Lara avoiding you?"
He caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction on Merry's face before she shrugged, leaning forward to inspect the polish on her toenails. "You know how it is, I pushed her on something she didn't want to be pushed on and I'm receiving an icy shoulder in punishment."
"What'd you push her on?" Daz asked and Merry looked past Fletch to stare at him in exasperation.
"What do you think?"
"So you, then." Daz reached over to thump Fletch on the knee before grabbing up a huge handful of chips. "Big surprise."
Fletch barely noticed Daz's punch, he was too busy staring at Merry in horror. She'd pushed Lara on the two of them? Bloody hell, what with the Salida thing and Donny's birthday coming up, the last thing he and Lara needed was someone poking around in the uncertainty of what they were doing with each other.
"Leave it," he muttered after a moment, wishing Daz hadn't paused their game as he could've done with something other than his mate's girlfriend to scowl at. "It's not anything to do with you."
Daz snorted, spraying chip crumbs across the carpet. "Like that's ever stopped her."
The usually adoring Merry ignored her boyfriend and said, in tones of great dignity, "Lara's my friend, whether she wants to admit it or not, and if she doesn't sort out how she feels about you soon it's going to be too late. She's going to go off into the world with this giant, angsty chip on her shoulder, never able to develop a fully functional relationship, so no, I won't 'leave it'."
"And what's that then?" Fletch asked sourly, "Your version of a good deed?" Even he was surprised by the amount of bitterness he forced into those last two words, and he saw Merry's face cloud with frustration.
"God, Fletch, what is your problem with Lara's good deeds?" She demanded. "Seriously?"
"Mer..." Daz muttered warningly, not sounding at all amused now, but Merry remained focused on Fletch.
"No, I want a reason, because you've been such a prick to her about it." She paused for a moment and then leant a hand against Fletch's arm in that touchy way of hers. After spending a couple of intensive weeks with Lara who had such strong rules about where and when there could be hands-on contact, it was kind of disconcerting. "Look," she continued, more gently, "I've not always been your biggest fan, but even I know that the way you get all mean and intense about her deeds isn't like you."
A wry smile twisted his lips. It was impressive the way she could wrap a compliment around an insult; she was a cotton-wool killer. When he really copped to what she was asking him, however, any sort of amusement instantly vanished.
"It's past stuff," he said heavily, in what he already knew was a futile attempt to head her off.
"Clearly not," she scoffed immediately, "as it's been the defining thing for the whole two and a half years I've known you."
He briefly considered some empty, trite answer, but knew he wouldn't get away with it. Nothing for it then.
"Lara thinks she owes the world something," he burst out. "Because of me, what we did and the girlfriend that I cheated on while Donny was dying. Every time she subjects herself to sorting out someone else's problems for them it's my fault and…" he'd been speaking too fast and, hearing the rushed note in his voice, he made himself pause and add, with significantly more control, "it makes me feel like shit."
"Well that sounds like your problem, then, not hers," Merry pointed out bluntly. "Lara's not responsible for how you feel about something."
"She hates herself, though, you get that, right?" He asked, finding himself suddenly desperate for Merry to understand. He wanted someone else to see it, someone who gave a damn about Lara. "She doesn't think she's any good and every person who demands a deed off her just reinforces that. Knowing that, what am I supposed to do? Just go along with it?"
"Oh, Fletch." Before he'd realised what she was going to do, Merry had wrapped her arms around him in a tight, sideways hug. He sat still and awkward through the embrace and, thankfully, she pulled back before too long and gave him a piercing look.
"You moron," she said finally. "There's a whole spectrum of reactions available to you between being a prick to her about it and just going along with it. I suggest you investigate that continuum...before it's too late."
And, piece said, she grabbed up some chips and then nodded towards the TV. "OK, I'm done, feel free to resume."
Daz took this permission and ran with it, unpausing the game and immediately ripping out a move that made him whoop with his own cleverness. Fletch, however, was slower to get back into the zone.
Merry hadn't got it; unsurprising as he knew the words just hadn't come out right. How, though, was he supposed to verbalise the sick, twisted feeling he got in his gut whenever he saw Lara pull that bloody folder out her bag? He didn't even get it himself; he just knew that, given half a chance, he would happily destroy Big Blue. That obviously wasn't going to happen, however, not only because Lara never let her precious folder out of her sight, but because he couldn't see himself having the guts.
After all, he hadn't even been able to confront Lara about his suspicions re Saskia and her job. He'd wanted to, and God knows he'd confronted her about other things with less proof before now, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that as soon as he brought it up he'd get angry and Lara would lash out and that'd be that.
He'd been surprised enough that he'd got away with calling Salida. He'd fully expected that, after that little stunt, Lara would block him for days, if not weeks, but it'd been only the next day when the text had arrived demanding a rendezvous. He'd been suspicious, but hadn't questioned it and, if she seemed even tenser than usual for the first few minu
tes, she'd soon relaxed into her usual, admittedly still tense, state and they'd gone on as normal. Or as normal as they ever managed, anyway.
So, yeah, he was a coward, but he was starting to realise that he'd rather be a coward with Lara, than a hero without her.
Chapter 16 – Red Light
It was Thursday evening, a few hours into Donny's memorial birthday party, and I was drinking Scotch whisky. Neat. I hated the stuff. It was Dad's drink of choice, though, which highlighted two things: one, Mum had put it out for him, two, I was the only one drinking it.
Well of course I was, it wasn't as if Dad was suddenly going to have changed the habits of a lifetime and actually turned up for his family in their moment of need.
I hadn't slept much the night before, despite bra shopping with Saskia proving to be a truly exhausting experience, and my eyes were blurry as I looked around the lounge room, observing those who had turned up. It was the usual assortment; neighbours, family friends, hospital staff nipping out in their breaks. We'd been a popular cancer family or, at least, Mum and Donny had been. They'd both been cheerful sufferers, the type of people who made others feel appreciated for what they did, but not guilty for what they didn't.
They'd all been so sorry, these people had said, when Donny lost his battle with cancer. 'Lost his battle', what a stupid euphemism. It hadn't been a fight, or if it had, it hadn't been a fair one. Donny'd only been 13 when the tumours had first started blossoming in his brain; giving him headaches and making him wobble on his feet. I'd thought it was hilarious the first time he reached for a cup on the table and missed by a couple of centimetres, I'd teased him about it for days.
The specialists had been hopeful the first time, cutting the lumps out and then radiating my brother over and over again until they thought they'd fried every last chance of the disease out of his body. That's when we'd moved to the Bay, for a fresh start my Mum said. Only a few years later, however, the cancer came back and, the second time, there'd been no getting rid of it. By the end I hadn't even been able to remember what it was like to have a healthy sibling, a sibling with hair, a sibling who squirted tomato sauce on my favourite top in retaliation for laughing at him for missing a cup.
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