Paradise Road

by C. J. Duggan

  Mum looked taken aback. ‘Is that what you think we do? Pick apart your plans?’

  My silence said it all really, and Mum looked a little hurt by it. She looked at Dad.

  ‘I worked really hard to do all the right things. I have a job and a place to stay.’

  In a dingy, cell-like room, but who needed details?

  Mum smiled. ‘And we’re very proud of you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ added Dad. ‘I mean, look at this place. Jen, have you seen the view?’ Dad walked towards the window. ‘Honestly, I think Karen and Peter leaving is the best thing that could have happened for you,’ he said.

  I tried not to let guilt override the unbelievable feeling of relief, fearing the worst and hoping for the best. I took the moment to strike as Mum followed Dad out the open doors to the balcony, dreamy expressions plastered on their faces.

  ‘You mean, you’re not going to take me back to Red Hill?’ I asked tentatively.

  Dad spun around from his view, a little smirk lining his face. ‘Now if we were going to take you home, why would we have bothered to bring your birthday present all the way here then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It took a fair bit of arranging but we brought it with us,’ he said, giving Mum a knowing look.

  I slowly straightened, grinning broadly at the sheer weight my dad was putting on the emphasis of his words. ‘You mean aside from the books?’

  Dad laughed, ‘Aside from the books.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, eyes big.

  ‘Let’s just say it’s a means to get you from A to B,’ said Dad.

  ‘Don’t spoil it,’ warned Mum.

  ‘Is it here?’ I asked, a little bit too loudly. My heart was thundering against my rib cage. I was eighteen. A means to get me from A to B? Could it possibly be true? Had they bought me a car for my birthday? I couldn’t hold in my excitement and Mum and Dad knew it.

  Mum was hopeless at keeping secrets, so before she could burst with shared excitement she gestured to the door of the apartment. ‘Outside.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Okay, so it was most definitely not a car.

  The two-wheeled, Tiffany Blue vintage bike with cane basket strapped on the back of Mum and Dad’s Pajero was definitely not what I had expected.

  ‘The best thing about this is you don’t have to put your hand in your pocket for fuel,’ Dad said, unravelling the rope.

  ‘I bet no-one in Paradise has a bike like this. She’s a real beauty, but I’d store it inside your apartment, Lexie, I wouldn’t trust leaving it outside,’ Mum said, warily looking around as if we were hanging out on the wrong side of the tracks. All I could think about was how this was going to make things in my room, my real living quarters, very cosy.

  Finally the bike was free, Dad lifting it down with a groan. ‘So, do you love it?’ He swept his hand along it in a ‘ta-da’ motion, his chest puffed out with pride, and I smiled. I did love it and I could imagine myself riding along the boardwalk, the salty sea breeze in my face. There was many a time I could have done with a bike the last time I was in Paradise. Things were definitely looking up.

  ‘I absolutely love it!’ I said beaming, and clutching the handlebars. ‘It’s so beautiful.’ I kissed my dad on the cheek. ‘I’ll put it away some place safe, I’ll be back in a minute.’ I started rolling it towards the Wipe Out Bar.

  ‘Wait, we’re coming too,’ Mum said.

  I paused, glancing back in confusion. ‘I thought we were going out for dinner with Aunty Karen?’

  ‘Oh, we have plenty of time.’ Mum waved off my words. ‘Besides, we’re not going anywhere until we meet your employer.’

  Wait. What?

  ‘S– sorry?’

  ‘Well, I think that’s fair,’ nodded Dad. ‘If you are going to stay here, I think it only fitting we meet with the people who we are entrusting our daughter to.’

  Oh shit-shit-shit.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Oh, I think it’s safe to say that if they employed me then they’re an excellent judge of character,’ I said, trying to make light of the situation.

  Panic was bubbling inside, as my mind flashed to a scowly, smart-arse Dean and I was thinking he was definitely not the kind of boy you would want to bring home to meet your parents. He kind of lacked the social graces most people have and I didn’t know if he could be trusted not to blow my elaborate cover. Although he had been really good to me in the last twenty-four hours, I couldn’t deny that.

  My parents were giving me ‘this is non-negotiable’ stares and considering everything had gone surprisingly well thus far, I thought it best to meet them halfway.

  Oh God, Dean was going to be so pissed, I thought, as I reached in my pocket and felt the sharp corner of his business card.

  ‘Okay, but then can we get going back to Aunty Karen’s? I would kind of like to spend some time with Amanda before she goes.’ As far as lies went, that was the biggest one I had told to date.

  •

  ‘What?’ came the rather blunt response from the phone. I smiled at my parents from the kitchen as I turned my back to mask my face.

  ‘My parents want to meet you,’ I repeated.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line, so long I thought he might have dropped the receiver and bolted, but then he finally spoke. ‘I don’t do parents.’

  No shit, Sherlock, this wasn’t my idea.

  ‘Look, you’re not seeking permission for my hand in marriage, they just want to make sure that the person who’s in charge here isn’t a whacko.’

  ‘And you still want me to meet them. Are you sure?’ he asked, amusement in his voice.

  ‘Of course I’m not, but my mum isn’t one to take no for an answer.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s where you get it from? Like mother like daughter.’ Dean chuckled.

  I straightened my spine. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind. Listen, I have better things to do than cater to your constant demands.’

  ‘Well, I am telling you right now, they won’t be leaving until they meet you and that means sitting in your apartment drinking infinite amounts of your expensive coffee.’

  I didn’t have to imagine too hard the thunderous look on Dean’s face. He was right. I had been under his roof for two seconds and I was already proving to be extremely high maintenance. With each favour I asked I just knew I was digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole, and that somehow, in some way, he was going to call back the favour, and owing Dean anything bloody scared me.

  A weary sigh came down the line. ‘You have five minutes of my time, and then you get them out of my apartment. Is that clear?’

  ‘Crystal. Where are you? Do you want me to meet you in your office or –’

  ‘I’ll come to you.’ The phone went dead. He had said it like a threat, one that made my skin feel all goosebumpy.

  Yep, he was definitely not happy.

  •

  Waiting for Dean was like battening down the hatches for an impending hurricane. You knew it was coming but there was no real way of knowing how destructive the path might be. He had been charming enough to my aunty and uncle in the past. Would he deliberately try to make me squirm in front of my parents? As far as birthdays were concerned, this was by far the most stressful. Weren’t eighteenth birthdays meant to be special? Welcome to the new world of special. There now always seemed to be an element of unexpectedness in my life, a constant not knowing. My thoughts were interrupted by the loud knocking on the apartment door.

  Oh God.

  My mum looked up expectantly from her position sitting lazily at the table on the balcony. ‘That will be Mr Saville,’ she announced.

  Hearing Mum call him that seemed so wrong. It was as though she was expecting a balding, big-bellied man with oily skin and pants belted underneath his armpits to walk through the door, sniffing and pawing at his sweat-stained singlet that had bolognaise sauce down the front from his dinn
er the night before.

  ‘His name is Dean,’ I corrected, getting up from the table and making my way across the long stretch of the apartment towards the door, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it through the thick wooden panelling. Taking a breath to calm myself, I opened the door.

  There, standing before me, expressionless, was Dean, in his usual black t-shirt exposing the long line of intricately curved tattoos trailing down his right arm. He towered over me, his thumb casually hooked in a belt loop of his dark denim jeans. Obviously not one for any airs or graces even when meeting parents, and this would have worried me if I hadn’t noticed a very clear difference. Dean was freshly shaven. His aftershave hit me first then the realisation that his dishevelled stubble from before was gone and his chiselled jawline was now smooth and clean. I don’t think I’d ever seen him freshly shaven like this. He seemed so young, so innocent … well, that was until a cocky eyebrow lifted and any thought of him being innocent went straight out the door and flew over the balcony. I saw the mischievous spark in Dean’s eyes. There was nothing innocent about him, not by a long shot. His small smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth said as much. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked. It was then I knew he aimed to torture me in front of my parents, and there was nothing I could do about it. Because slamming the door now was not an option.

  ‘You must be Dean?’ my mother asked politely.

  Dean’s expression morphed into something unrecognisable. It was lighter and more carefree and I frowned at the unexpectedness of it.

  ‘You must be Mrs Atkinson?’ he replied, reaching out his hand, causing me to step aside.

  ‘Please, call me Jen. This is my husband, Rick.’ Mum turned her attention to Dad, who had reluctantly moved himself away from his comfy position on the balcony.

  ‘We can’t thank you enough for employing Lexie.’

  Oh God. I cringed.

  ‘Lexie was a worthy candidate, and I’m sure she will bring a lot to our team.’ Dean nodded his head, his hands on his hips as if he was a PE coach addressing a sports team on the field. ‘I have to say, Lexie, I really love what you’ve done with the place.’ Dean looked around as if he was totally amazed by the space, as if seeing it for the first time.

  Smart-arse.

  ‘It’s an impressive space,’ added Dad.

  ‘Best views in town,’ agreed Dean. ‘Have you been in town long?’ Dean guided my parents back onto the balcony, beginning to point out the city view layout like an astronomer viewing the night sky, captivating my parents with such charm you thought it might have made me feel at ease, but it didn’t. Not one bit.

  Mum broke away from their conversation long enough to subtly mime a drink with her hand and a nod towards Dean.

  Oh shit, yep, I was going to be awesome working in hospitality.

  ‘Dean, would you like a drink?’ I asked politely.

  Dean broke away mid-conversation from my dad, glancing over at me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘Thanks. Coffee, black.’

  Like his soul I thought, smiling politely.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  Mum and Dad respectably declined, which was of no surprise after my disastrous efforts last time. Note to self: turn the bloody kettle on.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Laughter – loud, genuine … and sickening.

  Who was this creature before me? Dean was polite, warm and, dare I say it, charming. I didn’t have to worry. He was expertly easing my parents into letting me stay here because they believed he wasn’t a whacko. How wrong could they be, I thought. I hid my smile, sipping my cup of tea. To my relief my parents’ million questions were now being fired at Dean, questions that he answered without hesitation, even though I was sure he was making up half of the answers.

  Mercifully, Dean managed the old ‘look at the time, I best excuse myself while I tend to some important manager duties’ announcement, which prompted Mum and Dad into scurrying into a panic about heading to Aunty Karen’s.

  We all walked Dean to the door, which felt a bit weird and over the top, and having zoned in and out of the praises and thank yous to Dean for giving their daughter a means to survive, their next question threw me completely.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if we crash the night at Lexie’s, Dean? My sister and her family are leaving in the morning and you can’t so much as breathe at her house.’

  Wait. What?

  Dean’s smiley, carefree facade froze as he stood in the doorway.

  ‘Um, Mum, I haven’t officially moved in yet,’ I said.

  ‘Well, they are leaving tomorrow, when were you planning to? Karen won’t have time to bring you over with your things, and we could organise it tonight, if that’s okay with you, Dean?’

  ‘It’s only one bedroom,’ I interjected, panic spiking inside me as Dean’s five minutes was morphing into a twenty-four-hour period in HIS apartment.

  I was never going to hear the end of this.

  Dean, for once, didn’t have an immediate response to Mum’s question. His reply came slower and his expression was more a grimace than a smile. ‘You can stay in my office if you like? It’s nothing fancy but there’s a sofa bed and a mini fridge, you can even make a cuppa.’

  ‘Sounds better than most shearing quarters I’ve stayed in,’ said Dad with a laugh.

  Dean smiled. ‘Well, you’re more than welcome.’

  This must be really killing him. This may in fact kill me.

  ‘Thanks, Dean, that’s really kind of you, seeing as the thought of us staying in Lexie’s massive apartment seems so unsavoury to her.’ Mum gave me a pointed look and I just wanted to die. I wanted to be wrapped in plastic and at Aunty Karen’s, making sure I didn’t touch anything.

  ‘Have you got your things with you? Bring them up now and settle in if you want. We’ll get the room ready for you.’ Dean glanced at me then back to my parents, his friendliness back in place.

  ‘Thank you, Dean, good idea.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, mate, it will save us on a hotel room in peak season.’ Dad slapped Dean on the back of the shoulder on the way out the door. I closed my eyes. Dad was always watching the budget – could he be any more embarrassing?

  ‘No problem at all. Do you need any help?’

  ‘Nah, we’ll be right, we pack light. Well,’ Dad glanced towards Mum, who was already out the door and walking down the hall to the staircase, ‘I do anyway,’ he said with a wink.

  Dean and Dad shared a silent, knowing look, one that said, ‘Ha! Women.’ I had seen that look plenty of times before between men.

  Dean and I stood in the doorway, watching as my parents made their way along the hall and down the stairs. I was ready to let out a sigh of relief and congratulate Dean on an Academy Award–winning performance when I felt him grab my arm and yank me into the room, slamming the door behind me, with my back pushed up against the door.

  ‘What the fuck, Lexie?’ Dean growled. Gone was all the humour and lightheartedness from moments before. Instead, there was now a steely, murderous gaze that bore down on me, one that I met dead on and unblinking. I had been all ready to kiss his feet for doing such a stellar job of convincing my parents that despite the rough exterior of the Wipe Out Bar, I was in good hands.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t invite them to stay, it was your suggestion to get them to stay in your office. I tried to get them to leave.’

  ‘Not good enough,’ he said, stepping back from the door and walking away, running his hands through his hair as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  ‘Don’t blame me just because you’re a charming bastard.’ The words fell out before I had a chance to stop them, before I had a chance to open the door and run in the opposite direction, but it was too late.

  Dean turned slowly, his narrowed, questioning eyes fixing on me before a slow, devilish smile lined his face. ‘So you think I’m charming?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Trust you to take that from what I said.’

  He shrugge
d. ‘Everything else you say just sounds like high-pitched ringing in my ears.’

  My brows lowered. ‘You’re such an arsehole.’

  ‘I thought I was a bastard?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t listen?’

  Dean’s eyes sparked with amusement, as if he was enjoying my anger. He crossed the floor, then reached for the handle.

  ‘Come on, we better get Mummy and Daddy set up for their slumber party.’ His words were laced with sarcasm.

  ‘Wow, if only they knew what you were really like,’ I scoffed.

  Dean paused, looking down on me, his eyes burning, a crooked smirk tilting his mouth, a mouth I tried not to look at as I lifted my chin.

  ‘Do you want them to know the real me?’ he said, leaning in, his voice all smoky and suggestive.

  ‘No!’ I blurted out, before clearing my throat in an effort to appear casual and completely unfrazzled by the fact his aftershave was still strong, and his eyes seemed almost luminous in the light streaming in from the balcony. A hot wind blew in from the sea, swaying the loose wave of his brown hair. I shook my head. ‘Does anyone know the real you?’ I asked, mainly to myself but he heard, I could tell by the way his expression changed – his brows lifted in surprise.

  ‘And who are you, Lexie Atkinson? Are you a badass independent woman or a shy, mousey school girl looking for Mummy and Daddy’s approval so you can stay and play with all the cool kids?’

  I breathed out a laugh. ‘You don’t know a thing about me.’

  Dean burst out laughing, the sound so loud and foreign I blinked, his sternness all but melted away by the lightness in him now as he looked back at me, twisting the door handle to open. ‘Ditto, kiddo, ditto.’

  •

  Creepy monitors switched off, paperwork cleared from the desk and the foldout couch set up, Mum and Dad were as happy as clams in their free-room-for-a-night. For me, it was just bloody awkward as I left them to get ready for dinner and headed back to my fake apartment. Dean, who had managed his own amount of fakeness with my parents, didn’t hold back on the deep scowl he threw me behind their backs as he headed down the stairs. It was a none-too-subtle you owe me, big time. And no doubt I did. As the day went on my hole was getting dug, deeper and deeper. I envisioned working twelve-hour shifts, seven days a week, shovelling coal into a fiery pit in the basement or whatever other kinds of hideous things my boss could think of. Actually, being Dean’s personal slave was the worst thing I could imagine and after all the favours he’d done me, I was seriously worried about what I’d have to do in return.