by Naomi Clark
“I just fancied him,” I lied quickly. “Wanted to check he was available, that’s all. I didn’t realize you were his girlfriend, okay?”
She scowled. “I’m not his girlfriend and he’s not available, so you can piss off, alright?” She backed off a little, giving me breathing space. The warmth of her body left mine and I felt a mix of relief and regret. Under different circumstances, I might have liked to be pressed so closely against her.
“Alright,” I echoed soothingly. “I didn’t mean any harm, okay?”
She took another step back and that might have been the end of it if the puking girl hadn’t lurched away from her sink and thrown up on us both.
I groaned in disgust as vomit splashed up my legs. The wolf—Ayla, the fairy had said—swore as her jeans caught the worst of it. The girl collapsed at our feet, weeping and muttering. Her hair was caked in vomit and she was deathly pale, eyes watering, make-up smeared across her cheeks. The wolf and I exchanged glances. Annoyance and concern showed on her face. I knew my expression was about the same.
“Are you okay?” Ayla asked, crouching by the fallen girl. She shook her shoulder gently. “Hey, can you sit up?”
I knelt too, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the dispenser as I did. I wiped my legs, trying not to think about it too hard. Once I’d cleaned myself as best I could, I helped Ayla ease the drunk girl into a sitting position and began wiping her face.
“I’m really sorry,” the girl slurred. “I feel really sick.”
“Are you here alone?” I asked.
“Dunno,” she said.
I sighed. “We should get you into a taxi. Best thing you can do is get home and sleep it off.”
“I’m hungry,” she whined.
“I don’t know if food is a good idea,” Ayla said. She got herself a handful of paper towels and helped me clean the girl. “Let’s just get you some water and see about a taxi, okay? What’s your name?”
“Vicky.”
“Okay, Vicky, let’s get you up then.” Ayla lifted her with ease, leaving me to pick up the mess of paper towels and bin them. I hurried after Ayla as she helped Vicky out of the toilets and back towards the bar. I wanted to make sure Vicky got home safely, given the state she was in, but I also wanted to stick close to Ayla. I wasn’t done with her yet and this little interlude might relax her enough that I could pry loose some information about Toby.
Between us, we managed to get Vicky to drink a glass of water and then helped her outside to the taxi rank. She clung to me as we walked, groaning and dry-heaving, but didn’t throw up again, thank God. When we got her to a taxi, she suddenly stopped, slapping her forehead.
“I don’t have my bag! Where’s my purse? My phone...” She burst into tears.
Ayla and I exchanged looks again, a silent accord passing between us. Ayla dug in her jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled five pound note. I rifled through my bag and pulled out my purse—dropping my PI licence in the process. The slim leather card holder I kept it in landed at Ayla’s feet and she scooped it up before I could. I frowned, more at myself than her, and bundled Vicky into the taxi. I snatched Ayla’s money and gave it to the driver, along with twenty pounds from my own wallet.
“Keep the change,” I told him. “Vicky, don’t throw up in the taxi, okay?”
She slurred her thanks and slumped down in the seat. I hoped she didn’t pass out before she got home. The taxi sped off. I turned to Ayla, trying to snatch back my licence.
She dodged me deftly and flipped open the card holder. “Shannon Ryan, private investigator,” she read aloud before handing it back to me with a scowl. “What do you want with Toby?”
The rapport we’d built up helping Vicky was disappearing quickly. I decided I may as well be honest—I had a feeling lies wouldn’t get me far with this wolf in any case. “His wife hired me,” I said. “She thinks he’s having an affair.”
Her jaw dropped, eyes wide. Yes, I decided, she didn’t like lies because she was an appalling liar herself. No poker face whatsoever. Her mouth flapped silently for a few seconds, fish-like, before she snapped, “He’s not!”
“He’s acting like a man who is,” I countered. “Sneaking off, lying to his wife about where he goes and who he’s with...”
“She wouldn’t understand,” Ayla jumped in. “She couldn’t... She wouldn’t get it.”
I folded my arms, resisting the urge to smile at her since I didn’t think she’d appreciate it. I admired her loyalty to her friend—her quick, hot defense of him—but I couldn’t go back to Manda with, ‘you wouldn’t get it’. Not only would I have utterly failed at my job, I’d have failed her too.
“Look,” I said, “I get that you want to protect him, but consider his wife. They’ve only been married a year, she’s worried sick he’s going to leave her. She’s at her wit’s end and he’s obviously lying to her about something. If not an affair, then what?”
“Well he’s not having an affair with me,” she said, then added quickly, “or with anyone else.”
“Then why is he lying to his wife about coming here with you?” I challenged.
That stumped her for a second. She glowered at me. “I don’t have to tell you anything. It’s not like you’re the police.” She made to stomp past me, back into Glitz. I caught her arm as she passed.
“I understand you don’t want to talk to me,” I told her, “but think about Toby. He’s living a lie and that’s going to get harder and harder for him. The guilt, the pressure, it breaks people down. I see it all the time. Whatever his secret is, eventually it will get out and it will ruin lives. His, his wife’s and maybe yours, if you’re involved. Is that what you want for him? Because if you’re his friend, or lover, or whatever, you can help him.”
She wavered, looking distraught. “It’s not that simple.”
“Tell me,” I offered. “Maybe I can help.”
She looked me up and down and laughed. “You wouldn’t get it either,” she said.
“You might be surprised.” I was gambling on Ayla. She might just walk away, go tell Toby his wife was spying on him and blow everything. But I had a feeling a girl who was willing to help a drunk stranger home even after she’d been puked on was a bit more of a soft touch than she let on. I hoped my appeal might tug at her heart strings.
Sure enough, the look of uncertainty was back. “I shouldn’t say. It’s not my secret to tell.”
I stepped closer, wondering how far I could push before I sent her scurrying away. “In the end, it will come out,” I told her. “It’s better Toby has the chance to tell Manda on his own terms than because he’s forced into it, or exposed by me.” I tried a smile. She smiled back reluctantly.
“He’s gay,” she said finally. “Manda doesn’t know. Nobody does.”
I bit my lip. It wasn’t the answer I was expecting, although it made sense. But... “Why on earth would he get married if he’s gay?” I asked.
She sneered at me. “Told you that you wouldn’t get it. It’s a different world for us, okay? His parents didn’t accept him, they pressured him, told him it was a phase. None of his mates wanted to know and he thought he could...pretend. Shut it off. He really cares about her, you know, he does, but he can’t... You know...” She trailed off, waving her hands vaguely.
“I understand,” I said softly. “I thought my parents would be the same so I pretended for ages. I dated this poor boy for almost a year before I decided I couldn’t take lying anymore. And then when I did tell my parents, they were fine with it.”
She gaped at me again. It was hard not to laugh at her. “You’re not gay.”
“I don’t really think that’s your call,” I replied. “Now look. I sympathize with Toby’s situation. Honestly, I do. But as his friend, is this what you want for him? A life of deception and fakery? Is it what he wants for himself?”
“You’re not gay,” she repeated.
“I didn’t know werewolves had gaydar on top of all the other heightened senses,” I
teased, oddly enjoying her disbelief. “And I don’t think my sexuality is the issue here.”
She seemed to recover herself, swallowing hard and glancing back towards the club. “It would kill him,” she said pleadingly.
I had to admire her determination to protect her friend, but it was pointless. No matter how much she pleaded, I had an ethical obligation to tell Manda the truth. I folded my arms and regarded Ayla seriously. “Isn’t it better that he does this on his own terms?” I suggested.
She wavered, so I pushed. “If you want to help him, this is the best way. I have to tell his wife what I’ve learned.”
She chewed her lip, anger and anxiety playing over her pretty face. Finally, she nodded, determination replacing the worry. “Let me speak to him. Just...just don’t say anything to his wife until I’ve spoken to him, okay?”
She looked desperately earnest. I had to smile. “Here.” I rooted around in my bag and found my business cards. “Why don’t you call me in the morning? First thing. I’m meeting with Manda at noon.”
She took the card and managed an ever-so-slightly flirtatious smile. “So is this how you pick up girls?”
“I don’t date girls,” I told her, mock-serious. “I date women.” That made her laugh. It was a good laugh, wild and careless. I felt a tug of attraction that I firmly suppressed. “Go and find Toby,” I said. “Buy him a stiff drink and talk to him. Make him see sense.”
She nodded, gave me one last, nervous smile and headed back into Glitz. I sighed, shoulders slumping as she disappeared. I hoped she would talk to Toby. I was asking a lot of her, but she seemed like a decent person. If there was any way to forge a decent outcome from this investigation, I wanted it.
***
I went straight home after that, desperate to wash off my heavy make-up and change into my cosy old flannel dressing gown. I reflected on the night as I curled up on my sofa with a bowl of ice cream and resisted the urge to check my phone every five minutes. I didn’t expect to hear from Ayla tonight. Part of me didn’t expect to hear from her tomorrow either. In her position, would I make my friend confess to his wife? Or would my desire to protect him override that?
I couldn’t honestly say and that bothered me. I didn’t enjoy moral grey areas. They made my job a lot harder.
***
Contrary to my expectations, my phone rang at eight am, jerking me from a strange dream about wolves with fairy wings. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes and yawning. I’d gone to bed late—well after two—and the shrill ringing of my phone was offensively loud. “Hello?” I mumbled into the phone.
“Is that Shannon?”
It was Ayla. I suddenly felt a little more awake. “Yes, hello. Can I help?”
She was silent for a few long seconds and I thought she might hang up. “I spoke to Toby,” she said finally.
“How did it go?” I kept my tone neutral, encouraging her to talk. Too eager might scare her off, make her feel pressured and cornered. Another tip from human-lupine relations.
“It was pretty horrible,” she said frankly. “We had this massive row and he wanted to find you, but I wouldn’t give him your number, and... Well... It just wasn’t nice.”
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. She sounded despondent and I could too easily imagine her sad expression. She felt guilty, I guessed, responsible for Toby’s anger. That made me feel guilty. I didn’t want her to be upset. “But it’s not your fault,” I told her. “You did the right thing.”
“I know,” she said, although she didn’t sound sure. “He went home to talk to Manda in the end. He said he’d call me, but...”
“It’s early,” I said, checking my alarm clock. Very early, I thought with a grimace. “They’ve probably had a long, tough night.”
“Well so have I,” she said, sounding grumpy now. “Thanks to you and your ‘honesty is the best policy’ bull, which is completely hypocritical coming from someone who spies on people for a living, by the way.”
That stung. “I don’t think either of us are in a position to talk about honesty, are we?”
“Is that some sort of dig about me being a werewolf?” she snarled.
“What?” I laughed, more out of confusion than humor. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”
She inhaled deeply and fell silent again. I wondered if I should hang up. I was too tired to deal with snappy wolves, even cute ones. I had a ton of chores to get through before I met Manda and I had a feeling I’d need all my mental reserves for that meeting. Just as I was about to make my excuses and hang up, Ayla spoke again.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault Toby can’t be honest.”
“It’s not yours either,” I told her gently, oddly touched by the apology.
She sighed heavily. “I should go then. I probably woke you.”
I started to say that no, of course she hadn’t, but that would be silly. We had nothing to talk about, no reason to prolong the conversation. I wanted to keep it going. I wanted to tease a smile back into her voice.
Instead, I said goodbye, hung up and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t. The image of Ayla’s face outside Glitz last night—worried and determined—came back to me. I wondered bleakly if I’d done the right thing by forcing her to get involved. I could have kept quiet, showed Manda the pictures and let her and Toby fight it out.
Of course, Ayla was the girl in those incriminating pictures, so she’d be involved either way. But I felt personally responsible now. She’d acted tough last night, but I’d seen flashes of a softer side, when she helped Vicky and when she so fiercely defended Toby. I guessed Ayla wasn‘t as tough as she wanted people to think.
***
“I’d rather he was cheating!” Manda screamed at me, flinging the photos in my face. “I could deal with another woman! But gay? How am I supposed to deal with that?”
We’d met in a small coffee shop, me figuring a public place might keep Manda from reacting too badly. I’d figured wrong. She was weeping openly, clutching a huge coffee mug with shaking hands. I had a nasty feeling I’d be wearing that coffee before too long. I reached for her hands, drawing the mug down to the table.
“Manda, I know this is hard for you—”
“I’m not paying you,” she said abruptly, pulling away from me and sloshing coffee onto the table. “I’m not giving you a penny!”
That wasn’t an unusual reaction when I gave clients unpleasant news. It didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Mrs Miller,” I said severely, deciding a more business-like tone was needed. “I understand you’re upset, but yelling at me in public isn’t going to solve anything.”
She cringed at that, glancing furtively around the cafe. One or two people were watching us, but they hurriedly averted their eyes when they saw Manda glowering at them. “I’m not paying,” she repeated, quietly now but just as firmly. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
I suppressed my sigh. “You wanted to know what your husband was doing, what he was keeping from you and where he was going on Saturday nights. That’s what we agreed on and that’s what I found out for you. I do understand—”
“No you don’t!” she shouted again, eyes glistening with tears. “I thought he was cheating on me with a woman! But he’s been out chasing men! How am I supposed to explain that to people? They’ll blame me, they’ll say I wasn’t enough for him...”
I didn’t want to listen to this anymore. I’d heard this rant before, or variations on it. I wasn’t in the mood for it today. It would get ugly. I held up my hands for silence and, surprisingly, Manda stopped shouting. “You’ve had a shock,” I said calmly. “Maybe you need to go visit a friend and talk this over before you and I meet again.”
She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes, nodding. “Alright. Fine. But I’m not paying.”
I smiled sweetly, pushing my own empty mug towards her as I rose. “How about you cover the drinks and we’ll call it quits?”
***
Outside in the pale spring sunlight,
I spent a few seconds breathing deeply and pushing down my annoyance at the woman. I felt bad for her, I really did. Nobody deserved to be deceived so cruelly, least of all by their own spouse. But blaming me for bringing her the information she’d asked for was just sad. Not to mention highly irritating. I didn’t want to have to chase her for payment—it would be time-consuming and tedious.
I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and walked away from the coffee shop, feeling listless. I prided myself on solving my clients’ problems but I’d failed miserably with this case. It was times like this I wished I’d taken my gran’s advice and become a teacher instead.
