The Do-Gooder

by Jessie L. Star

* * *

  And so it was that 15 minutes later we were all piling into Merry's yellow, bubble-like car; Stefano and Livvy squished into the back, Merry driving and I, as apparent guest-of-honour, scoring the front seat.

  Stefano had picked out a pair of tight black jeans and a large, dark green sweater that slipped off one shoulder for me to wear. He'd waxed lyrical about how his chosen 'reunion outfit' walked the line between sexy and sweet, an image he'd enhanced with a spiky silver necklace, and then a loose plait in my hair. It would've taken a lot more than 15 minutes to coax some life into my pale cheeks, but considering Fletch had found me next to a puddle of my own vomit the last time he'd seen me, clean and conscious was already a vast improvement.

  Despite knowing that I was in a much better position now than I had been when we'd had that nasty blowout, my nerves kicked up as we pulled out of the car park on our way to Yolinda Grove. There'd not been a single word from Fletch since I'd gone into hospital, which considering he'd spent the last few years constantly appearing by my side whether I wanted him to or not, shook me more than I was really prepared for.

  To distract myself from thoughts of Fletch slamming a figurative, or actual, door in my face, I sat up a little straighter and asked, with a dedicated attempt at bonhomie, "So, what's new with you guys?"

  There was an odd little pause, presumably as we all absorbed this strange new buddy-buddy side to me, and then Livvy fiddled with her seatbelt a little and announced quietly, "Well, I broke up with Taylor."

  There was a car-wide chorus of: "What?" that made her blush slightly and, after recovering from a brief coughing fit that I can only assume was brought on by shock, I turned in my seat to demand, "When?"

  "Couple of days ago."

  "The sex was that bad?" Stefano enquired sympathetically, and Livvy, rather predictably, blushed even harder.

  "No, it wasn't that," she said. "Or, at least, it wasn't just that, it was more…um…" she bit her lip, searching for the words and then said, all in a rush, "I re-read Man is to Woman Be."

  "The fem-lit book?" I asked, vaguely remembering this to be the one she'd chosen at the very start of her deed work with me.

  "Yeah, and so much more clicked the second time round," she said, suddenly with a bit more spark. "It was asking me who I am as a person and who I am without a man and I realised that I didn't really know. I got with Taylor pretty much the first day I got here and all of the parties and socialising I've been doing has been with his friends, doing stuff he likes. Not that he was being a bad guy and trying to squash me with his patriarchal values, or anything," she hastened to defend her ex, "it was just that I've been floating along doing whatever he wanted without thinking about what I might want to do. Meeting you guys and learning all the stuff you taught me, Lara, I just realised there was more, you know? And then, when the sex didn't really work for us, I started to think about other ways Taylor and I were incompatible and…it all just kind of snowballed."

  She heaved a little sigh and then looked round at her avid audience with a determined expression. "Basically, I don't want to be the girl who has a boyfriend just for the sake of having a boyfriend. I want to be with someone that I really want to be with. And Taylor wasn't that guy."

  There was a ringing silence after this little speech and then Stefano let out a low whistle. "Damn, Livvy, that's some inspirational shiz right there."

  "Truth," Merry nodded, her eyes still on the road, but one hand moving from the steering wheel to reach round and pat Livvy's knee approvingly.

  I knew it was my turn to affirm Livvy's decision, but the soft conviction of her words had struck me momentarily mute.

  How had I ever thought of her as weak? It was clear Livvy had known herself this entire time, her confidence maybe not as loud and flashy as Merry's, or as grim and bitter as mine, but still most definitely there.

  "I could spend the rest of my life trying, and not be even half as cool as you are," I said in the end, trying to keep the truth as basic as possible, but still making her eyes fill with happy tears and Merry and Stefano go,

  "Aww!"

  I turned back round to face out the front windscreen then and, in an effort to conserve my flagging energy, simply listened as the three of them turned their attention to the uni student's favourite pastime: competitive stressing. Stefano had just claimed victory with the explanation of the three 3,000 word essays, two tutorial presentations, and one practise exam he had due on the same day next week, when Merry turned her car onto Yolinda Grove.

  A hush of expectation settled over the vehicle, intensifying as we pulled up on the asphalt before the block of flats that marked our destination. Merry cut the engine and we all sat there for a moment staring at the set of stairs that led down to the basement flat I'd sequestered myself in the week before after my Donny meltdown.

  "You know Daz's home, right?" Merry said after a few seconds and I suppressed a grimace and nodded.

  "Just as well," I said stoutly, "I need a word with him too."

  There was a pause during which I just knew that Merry was exchanging an incredulous look with Stefano and then she laughed in a slightly strained sort of way and said, "Right, well, good luck with that."

  The unspoken 'you're gonna need it' in her tone was obvious and warranted, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it. The road to Fletch may have been paved with barriers, but most of them I'd put there myself so I just had to suck it up and get on with it.

  With this in mind, I climbed out of Merry's car, firmly instructing the others to stay put, and made the trek across the car park and down the stairs to Fletch and Daz's front door. It was only a short distance, but even so, it taxed my still recovering lungs and I stopped for a moment to catch my breath before I knocked. My heart was thumping so loudly some latent theatrical part of me wondered whether the summons was actually necessary; surely whoever was inside the flat had heard the throb of my pulse from halfway down the street?

  In reality, obviously, it was my knock that drew the footsteps I heard approaching prior to the door being thrown open...and Daz's formidable form looming before me. He glowered upon seeing me, his thick eyebrows slamming together in a way that indicated he was as happy to see me as I was to see him.

  "He's not here," he grunted without preamble, reminding me of the one thing I did at least like about Merry's boyfriend. He didn't pussyfoot around.

  "And even if he was you'd say he wasn't, right?" I said grimly, my stomach sinking as I realised the 'immediately' part of my find Fletch plan had been incredibly optimistic.

  Daz shrugged unabashedly. "Yeah, but he's not, so I don't have to bother." And he shut the door in my face.

  Hmm.

  I couldn't see Fletch's car, and there was something in Daz's no bull approach that made me believe him, anyway, but that didn't mean I could just walk away. This thing I had going on with Fletch was a 360 affair; finding and talking to him alone just wasn't going to cut it because he wasn't the only one who'd been affected by us over the years. In short, there was no dealing with Fletch without dealing with Daz.

  Oh boy, this was going to suck.

  Before I lost my conviction and bailed, I rapped once more on the wood before me, balling my hands into fists as the door was wrenched open again to reveal Daz glaring at me in frustration.

  "You pick up a short term memory problem, or something?" He asked in disbelief. "We just did this, Fletch isn't-"

  "Here, yeah, I know," I interrupted quickly. "I wanted to talk to you."

  There was a heavy beat of stunned silence and then, slowly and purposefully, he folded his arms across his chest and asked, almost menacingly, "Yeah?"

  "Yes," I said crisply. "I wanted to say that I get your issue with me. I've done nothing but mess you around and screw with your mate, so-"

  His expression hardened and he growled, "Is there a point to this?"

  "Yes," I repeated, finding the 'no pussyfooting around' thing less appealing now it was being used to throw off my equilibr
ium. Still, shoulders back, chin up, I got to the point. "I'm saying I'm sorry. For all of it."

  Daz's fingers tightened on the jamb and, for a moment, I thought he was going to slam the door shut again. All things considered, that could've been the best case scenario for me, but I wasn't that lucky. After a couple of seconds he asked bluntly, "What am I supposed to say to that?"

  "I don't know," I said honestly, "you don't have to say anything."

  "So you get to just throw out some bullshit apology and swan off thinking you've done the right thing?" He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Screw that."

  "Well, go on then," I said through gritted teeth before gesturing expansively and adding, "the floor is yours."

  He was clearly suspicious of my motives, but he'd never passed on an opportunity to give me what for in the past, a trend he continued by launching immediately into a speech that made it clear he didn't have far to reach for what he wanted to say to me.

  "Alright, here's the thing," he snarled, "I can barely remember a time when everything wasn't about you. My best friend and then my girlfriend got sucked into whatever weird pull you have and I've had to stand by while you've made them feel like less than shit whenever you've been in the mood."

  Succinct and, worse, correct. I nodded to show I wasn't disagreeing with his assessment, but he clearly had more to say.

  "Salida was my friend too, you know?" He changed tack harshly. "But she didn't talk to me after you pulled your little stunt the night that Donny died. So I lost her and half the rest of the school as mates and then had to spend the next few years trying to keep you out of Fletch's head so it didn't happen again. I've been there through all of it; through those God-awful memorials when I've had to try and comfort your mum while you've sulked in the background, and through every one of your run-ins with Fletch where he's walked away thinking he's somehow to blame for you being so messed up. So don't for a second think that you can just turn up because you're having some crisis of conscience and expect me to forget everything you've done, because it's not going to happen."

  I bit the inside of my cheek as he laid it out, letting the physical pain distract me from the other kind that his words inflicted. This whole 'actions have consequences' lesson I was learning was a pain in the arse, not least because I'd never really considered that the consequences in question would end up being shouldered by other people.

  I had to admit I'd thought Daz would hit me with some rubbish about me sleeping with a whole bunch of guys in my first year of uni as part of his rant, but no, he'd packed a far bigger punch than that. I tried to imagine how it would've been for him spending all that time dealing with my angst with Fletch without the fantastic sex that we'd at least had to balance it out somewhat. It didn't bear thinking about.

  If I'd have been him, I probably would've walked away at the first sign of drama, but that's not who Daz was. It was like Merry said, he looked back to hold doors open for people and so he'd stood by his mate despite me coming along as an unwanted extra.

  "You're right," I admitted, forcing myself to hold his furious gaze, "I've had a crisis of conscience, but I'm not here asking you to forget, or forgive, or any of that. I just want to make things better, primarily between Fletch and me, but I get that that involves you, so I suppose I'm hoping that you and I can at least hash out some sort of...uneasy accord."

  When he didn't react at all, I found myself adding, with more bite than was probably advisable considering I was supposed to be appeasing him, "I'm not going anywhere, Daz. I'm sticking with Fletch and I'm sticking with Merry so we're going to have to deal with each other."

  It didn't sit quite right with me that I was admitting that to Daz first, rather than to Fletch, but I tried to tell myself it was something of a trial run. I could only hope my attempts would improve with time, however, as after staring at me for a long moment, Daz let out a loud snort and said, "Well shit," before closing the door on me once more.

  Well, it was the first step.

  I returned to the car, shaking my head in reply to the three, eager enquiring faces pressed against the windows. I knew Merry would want to know the details of my chat with her boyfriend sometime soon, but for now, it was all I could do to let them know Fletch hadn't been there.

  "So where now?" She asked as I slumped back into the passenger seat.

  Where indeed.

  There were any number of places Fletch could've been, maybe he was rostered on at work, or was seeking solace, as he so often did, out on his board, but that's not where my brain went. No, with a surety I had no reason to feel, it was to his old family home that I directed us, the nervous anticipation that had been simmering in the pit of my stomach reaching a furious boil as we turned onto the familiar street and I saw Fletch's station wagon.

  "You guys should go," I said to Merry, Stefano and Livvy, my voice as unsteady as my hands as I reached down to unclip my seatbelt. As they all made noises of protest, I shot them a repressive look. "No, seriously, you've been great, but I'd rather not have an audience if..." I trailed off, unable to vocalise my fears of being rejected. "I promise if I need a lift home or someone to come and scrape me off the pavement after Fletch's done with me, you'll be the first ones I call."

  After a few more back and forths, they accepted my dismissal with enough bad grace to elicit a wobbly sort of smile from me, and drove off, leaving me to walk the path up to Fletch's old front entrance alone. Time seemed to slow down as I did so, doing that weird syrupy thing where I became incredibly conscious of every single step I was taking and just how freaking long the Townsend's front path was. Eventually, however, I finally reached the door and raised a trembling fist to knock. As I had at Yolinda Grove, I heard footsteps, the lock turning...

  And there he was.

  ----------

  And there she was.

  Pale and shaking just as much as she had the day he'd suggested they give in to each other, but with a determined look in her eye that he knew all too well.

  "Fletch," she said, his name little more than an outward breath, but with enough weight in it to make him feel like she'd physically pushed him.

  "Lara," he replied heavily, unable to stop himself drinking her in, checking her over for any signs of lasting damage from the state she'd been in the last time he'd seen her. "You look better."

  "Yeah, well. Hospital. Antibiotics." She winced, as if regretting the lack of grace in her response, but for once, he was glad of it. He didn't want a graceful Lara, he wanted the tough one, the one that could cope with what he was going to have to tell her…

  "Look-" he started wearily, his reluctance to talk weighing his shoulders down so much that she seemed to see it and cut him off.

  "No, can I go first?" She asked quickly. "Please?" She added, as an obvious afterthought.

  No, he wanted to say. No, I need to take one thing at a time, I can't deal with you and whatever you've got to say right now.

  He sucked at denying her, though, always had, but he at least continued to block the door, nodding stiffly to show she could talk, but not letting her step over the threshold into the house. It wasn't entirely clear to him who he was trying to protect - her? Him? Saskia? - just that there had to be a line somewhere, and the door was where he'd drawn it.

  She took a deep breath, one that crackled slightly as whatever the antibiotics hadn't managed to clear out of her caught at her throat. "I need to say thank you," she began, not seeming to notice the way her words made him wince. "For turning up when I texted you, despite what I'd said. If you hadn't-"

  "Lara?"

  He shouldn't have been relieved that Saskia cut off Lara's speech, but he was. He should never have let her begin it, knowing what he did.

  A brief, fierce look of frustration crossed Lara's face, but she clearly put a big effort into sounding calm as she called back, "Yeah, Sass, it's me. Do you mind if Fletch and I just have a few-?"

  But it was too late, he could already feel his sister at his shoulder, standing back in
to the shadow of the dingy front entrance in a shielding move that made his chest contract.

  "Come to say I told you so, have you?" She asked bitterly and he watched with a hollow feeling in his gut as Lara looked suddenly confused.

  "No, why would I-?"

  He heard Saskia give a little sigh and then she was brushing past him, moving out into the feeble winter sunlight and making Lara's face crumple into confused dismay. Turning his head slightly, he saw the way Saskia had defiantly angled her chin, the better to highlight the ugly bruise and butterfly bandaged cut that seared across her left cheek.

  "Ta-dah!" She said, trying and failing to sound blasé. "I know how you like to be right about things, Lara, so this must make your day."

  "No, Saskia, God," Lara choked, her eyes fixed on the damage that had been done to her protégé. "...what happened?"

  "Haven't you guessed?" Saskia swallowed and then lifted her shoulders in a poor imitation of her customary sulky shrug. "Russ got pissed and hit me. It's not like it's a big deal or any-"

  Almost as if unaware she was doing it, Lara jerkily reached out for her, her fingers reaching for Saskia's sleeve and then seizing it. This was apparently all his sister needed to abandon her tough-girl act as, in the next second, she'd barrelled into her, wrapping her arms tightly around Lara's waist and burying her head down against her neck like a small child hiding her face from the world.

  As he watched, Lara grasped her back, one hand reaching up to awkwardly stroke at the younger girl's uncharacteristically dishevelled hair. Her face, as she turned it to him over Saskia's shoulder was eloquent in its horror and panic; a mirror, he was sure, for how he'd looked when he'd first seen his little sister at the police station the day before. Lara was obviously after some sort of explanation, or advice on what to do next, but with a slight shake of his head, he made it clear that he had nothing to offer her.

  Far from deflating her, his weak response seemed to trigger something in Lara, the problem-solving instinct that made up so much of who she was, maybe. He was intensely, unashamedly glad of it then as she stood a little straighter, gripped Saskia a little tighter and said, "It's OK." And then, louder, as if daring the universe to contradict her, "it's going to be OK."