How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  Tim mouths some other words at me, then shoots me a look and walks away.

  "He's mean today," Ana mutters as she brushes past me, a plate of haloumi salad in one hand, the house burger in the other.

  "Right?" I shoot her a look. We share a smile of solidarity as she heads off to table three and I'm left alone at the counter.

  I let my gaze roam over the busy cafe. Everyone is seated, enjoying their meals or enjoying basking in the midday sun. The beach murmurs as the waves lap at the shore, and gulls cry overhead, looking for the next tourist to work.

  I close my eyes for just one moment, letting the warmth of this beautiful spring day sink in. After the sleepless night I've had, those seconds of shut-eye mean everything.

  "You can't ignore me forever."

  My eyes snap open.

  Shit.

  She's standing right in front of me, two hands knuckle-down on the counter, leaning close.

  "One day, you're going to have to speak to me again, Lia."

  I glance left and right, searching desperately for Ana, but Ms Haloumi Salad is pointing to different leaves on her plate and asking questions, no doubt about the bloody eco origins of her food—it's a presumption, but she looks the type to source lettuce leaf information—and I know that my save is a long way away. I bite my lip, my heart pounding in my chest, and—

  That.

  As my gaze flicks back from Ana at table three to the girl in front of me, I see someone in the distance.

  Someones.

  "Table for one, two ... five."

  No.

  No, no, no.

  "Right this way." Tim leads them to a table right in the middle of the outdoor cafe space, so they are surrounded by other diners. Mum trips over a chair and almost collides with someone’s designer dog as she makes her way through the crowd. Julietta's laughter is abrasively loud, and from the way quite a few people wrinkle their noses as the group walks past, I can't help but imagine the stench.

  "Isn't that your mum?" Ellie snaps me back to the present, and the real gravity of the situation kicks in.

  This could not get any worse.

  "Can I get you anything to start?" Tim's asking, and Mum and her friends laugh, as if it's the funniest question they've heard in their lives.

  "Well we ain't gonna finish, are we?" a man roars, and I can't for the life of me remember his name. At least I remember Elmo. There's no forgetting that.

  "Coffees, all round." Smith takes charge, then grabs the red wine list from the centre of the table. "And a bottle of ... ah, why not sparkling, 'ey?" He slaps Elmo on the back. "Bit of a breakfast beverage."

  Tim scuttles off to serve them, Ms Haloumi Salad raises her eyebrows at Ana, and I duck behind the coffee machine, trying not to be seen. Of course Mum knows I'm here, but perhaps if I just manage to keep out of her line of vision ...

  "I'm going to say hi."

  No.

  "Ellie, wait!"

  "Really?" She spins to face me, her arms folded across her chest. "You don't speak to me for eighteen months, and the thought of me saying hello to your mother is bad enough to get you to open up?"

  "I ..." I open and shut my mouth, racking my brain for an excuse that isn't just STOP.

  "Figures." Ellie turns around again and marches through the seats, making her way to Mum's table.

  My tongue feels swollen in my mouth, and I know I have to stop this. I cannot let it happen.

  I dart out and around the counter, dancing my way through the crowds.

  "Lia! Is that coffee machine unattended?"

  Ignoring Tim, I keep going, but my legs seem to be made of lead and they're slow, so much slower than I need to be. So much slower than Ellie is.

  "Hi, Mrs Stanton. It's—"

  "Ellie!" Mum cries, and it's like nails down a chalkboard meets women fighting at a clearance sale.

  Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Mum, reaching up to hug my childhood best friend.

  Smith, standing and yelling across the cafe. "Oy, Lia! Get us some wine, yeah?"

  Julietta, reapplying her lipstick while swinging back on her chair.

  Into the backs of Ana's legs.

  Sending Ms Haloumi Salad's salad ... all over Ms Haloumi Salad.

  Snap.

  "I'm so sorry," Ana says, leaning over the table to grab some napkins and awkwardly dabbing them toward the woman's ample chest.

  "Let me." Elmo grabs some napkins from his table and also reaches around to try and clean Ms Haloumi Salad, although the leer on his face makes it clear that cleaning isn't exactly his first priority.

  "Don't you dare," she hisses, and finally, finally I reach the group, and drop to my hands and knees, grabbing the wayward plate and gathering up as much of the salad leaves as I can onto it.

  "Just trying' to help, love." Elmo shrugs, then thrusts the napkin at her chest once more.

  Haloumi Salad is on her feet. "I will sue you for sexual harassment!"

  "Nobody touches my wife," her companion growls, and his eyes bear daggers into Elmo.

  "Easy on." Elmo burps. He actually burps. "No harm done."

  "No harm?" Haloumi screeches, gesturing to the oil stains that cover her sheer white blouse. "I hope you have a good lawyer, because I doubt this will come out even with dry cleaning!"

  "Bitch, shut your face." Julietta stands too, her lipstick now freshly reapplied.

  "Why doesn't everyone just sit down, and I'll get another round of coffees over here, right away," I say, placing one hand on Julietta's shoulder and trying hard not to think that I have seen her hideous boobs.

  But I can't unsee.

  Nothing will erase those wrinkled cucumbers from my memory.

  "I expect compensation." Salad folds her arms across her chest. "Where are your facilities? I need to try and remove this ... filth." She directs the last line at my mother's table, and as much as I can see that she's a bit of a snob, I know that she's well within her rights to be acting this way.

  Ana gestures to the rooms out the back, and takes the arm of Haloumi's companion, leading him to a spare table on the other side of the cafe.

  "Good riddance!" Julietta calls, and receives a scowl from the man, as well as about twenty other patrons in the surrounding area.

  "Can you all please sit?" I hiss. My eyes dart about the cafe for Tim. "Listen, you guys, are you sure you want to eat—"

  "Two bottles of sparkling." Tim smiles, pushing past me to place one champagne bottle on the table.

  "Tim, can I talk to you for a sec?" I ask politely. Maybe I can stop him opening it.

  Because once the bottle is open, I don't know that they'll leave.

  "Not now, Lia." Tim gives a sharp jerk of his head to the table in front of us, the silent we have customers reaching me loud and clear.

  "Are you the manager?" Ms Haloumi Salad is back, standing behind Tim with her hands on her hips.

  "Why yes, I am." Tim smiles, his eyes darting from her cleavage to her face.

  "I'd like to file a formal complaint about these patrons. I've been coming here for years, and today this group of people pushed a waitress so she spilt—"

  "I didn't push 'er, you idiot. She freaking fell."

  "Salad all over this three-hundred-dollar shirt. Not to mention this imbecile here who then tried to sexually harass me—"

  "Bitch was begging for it," Elmo mutters.

  "I am so sorry for all this." Tim frowns. His hands are on the top of the bottle, and I can see him wondering exactly how quickly he can get this table of trouble makers out of here. Tim may be money hungry, but there's a certain type of dollar he likes, and my mum and her friends definitely don't fit that upmarket category.

  "Lee Lee, can I've some fries?" Mum asks. Her eyes widen and she stabs the menu with her blunt finger. "Oh! And a burger? I'd love a burger."

  And as horrible as it sounds, I don't want her to order the burger. We can't afford it. Not these overpriced ones, anyway. "Maybe you should—"

  I'm
cut off by two voices at once.

  "I think perhaps it'd be better if your whole party left."

  "Your mother wants a burger, Lia."

  Tim turns to face me. The champagne pops and bubbles spew out from the lip of the bottle.

  "It's a boy!" Elmo shouts.

  "This is your family?" Your drunken, trouble-causing family? He doesn't say the last bit, but I know it's what he means.

  "I'm her mother." Mum smiles, and the dark purple under her eyes, the shake of her hand as she puts her menu down are just two more reminders to me that she isn't okay.

  "Hmph!" Tim exhales. The look in his eyes says it all. He turns to Ms Salad. "Please, go and be seated at your new table. Be assured that your meal is complimentary, and that we will be sending you a bottle of our finest wine."

  It's my turn to snort. I've seen the man decant from multiple leftover wine bottles into one new carafe before.

  "Is there a problem, Lia?" Tim cocks his head, and I squirm.

  "No."

  "Well, this place is just lovely." Mum widens her eyes, her face bright and cheery. Again, people from the surrounding tables turn to look at her too-loud volume. Some had never looked away in the first place. "Such a beautiful view, and the menu looks lovely ..."

  "Sure does." Smith kisses the top of Mum's head. "We'll have to start coming here every week."

  "A word, Lia?" Tim asks, jerking his head toward the store room out the back.

  "Sure."

  This can't be good.

  Tim takes the second bottle of wine from the table and places it on the counter next to the coffee machine, despite Julietta's protests about him taking their bottle.

  He marches out the door, across the car park and into the room. I close the door behind us quietly, and look in what I hope is a respectable manner at my feet.

  "What the hell was that?" he hisses, and he steps close to me, so close I can taste the salami lining his breath.

  "I ... I don't know."

  "You know how much we pride ourselves on reputation here, Lia. And in one bloody morning—make that less than one hour, your family comes along and manages to embarrass not only me, but my paying customers in some of the worst ways imaginable!"

  "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry?" Tim throws his hands in the air. "Sorry isn't going to make people want to come back here again. Sorry isn't going to stop Mrs Evanova from filing a sexual harassment lawsuit, or selling her story to the papers, all pinpointing this cafe."

  "He's not related to me—"

  "Does it matter?" Tim sighs. "Your mother is! Lia, I'm at the end of my bloody tether. Broken bottles, upset customers, your rude refusal to speak to that paying customer who comes in every Saturday—"

  My heart falls. He's noticed that?

  "Don't think I haven't noticed it, because I have. Everyone else you're as chipper as a bloody Disney club member, but you won't give her the time of day."

  "I ..."

  Don't really have a good enough excuse.

  "You're done here, Lia. There are a dozen other kids out there I can teach to make quality coffee."

  My heart thuds so hard I feel it in my throat. No.

  No-no-no-no-no-no.

  I need this job. I need it to pay the rest of my way to Melbourne, to give Mum a few bucks to kick her life off without me.

  There's only 145 days to go.

  "But I ... I'm so sorry, Tim. I'll do more hours." The words rush out of my mouth.

  "Not good enough." He folds his arms and shakes his head. "It's the quiet ones ..." Then he shoulders past me and makes for the door.

  Tears are sticky in my eyes and panic crushes my chest. I grab onto his shirtsleeve. "No! Please. I'll—I'll take a pay cut."

  He freezes, and this time when he looks at me, a cruel smile lines his face. "Get outta here, kid."

  He walks out of the storeroom, and this time the tears aren't sticky. They're flowing down my face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I run. I grab my bag and barrel out of that cafe, past Mum and Smith and their friends, ignoring their calls of goodbye. I tune out Ana's question and Ellie's stare and then I hit the beach, needing to get as far away from that part of my life as possible. I run and run and run, the thick, soft sand grains sucking my Cons in. Families tentatively braving the spring weather and attempting a nice beach day look at me, open-mouthed, as I bolt past them all until I reach the part where the lake meets the sea, where it's always deserted, and finally there I double over, my hands on my knees, the cool spring air ripping at my chest.

  I've stopped crying, I don't know when, and I wipe at my cheeks, the sand sticking to the tear track marks. My reflection stares back at me in the still lake. Long brown hair, and red, red cheeks and eyes.

  I'm a mess.

  Already my mind is running through what I've lost, calculating and devising a new plan of attack. I've lost my job. Okay. I've lost my job. I still need another few thousand dollars to make it to Melbourne with the help of the scholarship. I'll just—I'll ration our grocery spend. Yes. That. I'll apply to the other cafes in the area, although with the holiday season officially started, I know most of the hiring will be well and truly closed.

  Perhaps I could get a job in Sydney? I cringe at the thought of driving two hours each way, and shake my head. I don't think I'm cut out for that.

  Thoughts of the mysterious new bar owner float through my head, but I banish them just as quickly. A few hours on a Thursday night wouldn't earn me enough cash to make a difference. Besides, it's a bar, and I'm not eighteen. I can't work there, not even if I had a—

  I could get a fake ID.

  God, if only I could get a fake life to go with it.

  I shake my head, because the effort isn't worth it. I might hide the truth, but I'm not an out and out liar.

  Am I?

  I pick up a rock and throw it across the lake's still surface. It sends ripples spiralling out toward me, and I hate how life is like that, how one tiny action has a lake's worth of consequence. I hate how one stupid mistake my father made—

  I will not think about my father.

  Instead, I turn and trudge back toward home. The walk is quick, far more so than usual, and I shake my head, thinking how just a few hours ago Kat and I made this same trek. Then my biggest problem was guilt that she liked my boyfriend. Now, things are so much worse.

  Still, the thought brings me calm. Duke. I'll go see Duke. He'll make me feel safe. Make everything better.

  When I reach our yard, I jog over to the open front door, cursing Mum at the same time. Sure, we don't have a lot of value, but you can't just leave ...

  "What's the point?" I mutter. I don't have the energy to waste on even a mental lecture.

  I slam the door shut, locking those toxic fumes inside the house, then get in the car and drive, my hands shaking from emotion and exertion. I'm far from a hot mess—more like an out-of-control one, and I need Duke, my safe place, to bring me back down. Surely he'll have a plan. He'll be able to think of something.

  He always does.

  I pull up outside his house, and notice only Duke's car is in the drive. Then I realise it's a Saturday, and Mr and Mrs Finnegan will be at Olive's weekly netball game. I go on inside the unlocked front door. Good. I need the physical release his touch will bring.

  I storm up the stairs, taking them two at a time. My mind isn't here though. His mouth on mine. His hands tracing patterns on my body.

  My hand is on the partially open door, ready to push it further open. His lips on my neck. His fingers caressing my boobs. His hardness inside—

  Kat.

  My eyes bug out of my head. Through the five-centimetre gap, I see clearly what's going on.

  My boyfriend is having sex with my best friend. Right now. Right in front of me.

  I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. They're both so wrapped up in it, so wrapped in each other that they don't even notice the door has cracked a centimetre.

 
It's too much. I just can't.

  I tiptoe backward down the hall, then I do what I do whenever things get too hard.

  I run.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It's not until sometime in the early hours of the morning that I open my eyes. They hurt, glued shut from crying.

  At least I didn't have another nightmare.

  My phone buzzes again from my bedside table, and I pick it up, then hit cancel on the incoming call. Duke. At four in the morning.

  I can't deal with that right now.

  When I think of what happened yesterday afternoon, I shiver, pulling the quilt up and tucking it under my chin. I don't know if they heard me; I can't help but think they must have. Why else the fourteen missed calls, six texts and two emails?

  It rings again, and I rest on one elbow and clap my hand to my forehead, trying to wipe away some of the exhaustion I carry there. I wonder how long I can escape this for. How long I can put off the inevitable.

  As I slide back underneath the covers, I accidentally hit accept.

  Apparently about ten seconds.

  "Lia! Lia, finally." His voice is breathy, raw, and it sounds hurt. As if I've somehow hurt him.

  "Lee Lee, I'm so sorry about today. You saw ..." He swallows, and a cough echoes down the line. "You saw something you shouldn’t have."

  I flick on my bedside lamp, and check out the time illuminated on my LED clock. Just after four.

  "Lia? Are you there? Say something!" Panic bleeds through his tone, and I surprise myself with how numb I am to his pain.

  Perhaps that's it.

  Perhaps I find it odd that he's calling me in tears, when I'm the one whose best friend and boyfriend were sleeping together.

  "I don't know what to say." My heart hammers in my chest and it hurts, hurts so damn much to think of how I’ve been betrayed. Of how I don’t matter.

  Of how they chose themselves over me.

  Just like my father did.

  “You have to say something, Lia. Don’t clam up like you always do,” he hisses.

  "I ... I'm sorry," I stutter. For not being enough. "For everything."

  Silence echoes down the line. Somewhere in the depths of my house, the dull strains of "I Will Always Love You" begin to play.