Thirty Days: Part Two

by Belle Brooks

  The sound of mumbling fills the line.

  “Yes. No. Can you not see I’m on the phone?” he says to someone.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” a male’s voice replies, but it’s not Grady’s. Well, it doesn’t sound like him. This voice sounds more aged—mature.

  “Just wait a minute,” Marcus huffs.

  “Yes, sir,” the same voice replies.

  “Abigail, I have to go now. Ring me back. Oh, your luggage has been found and returned, so I’ll bring it with me. Stay safe, baby, see you soon. I love you.”

  “To call back press two. To delete, press five…” the automotive voice says when the message is completed.

  I choose none of the options and end the replay. My head whirls, my heart races, and my palms are slick with moisture. Marcus is on his way back to the Coast and before long my eyes will fix on his…am I ready?

  “Holy shit, I never thought I’d see the day,” Mum mutters after she answers a knock at the front door.

  The tone of her voice and her selection of words has me inquisitive, so I begin to approach to see who provoked such a greeting. Oh God, I hope it’s not Marcus. No, he just said he’s getting on the plane soon. Was he lying? Was it a trick? Who knows, he seems talented at the art of telling major porkies to benefit himself.

  I gulp loudly before my eyebrows pull down. “What?” My words are suddenly trapped behind a clogged throat.

  Mike tips his chin in greeting as I stare. What the?

  “Pamela, sorry for disturbing you. I was wondering if I may have a moment of Abigail’s time.” He pulls at the cuffs of his business jacket. He’s nervous.

  Mum’s head shakes. “No, you may not.” Her voice is serious and strong.

  “It’s important. It won’t take a moment. I promise I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

  “Mum, it’s fine. Go.” I push these words through my still thick throat before nudging past her. “Go,” I mouth.

  “Abigail,” she whispers in my ear.

  “Mum, it’s fine, please.” Glancing over my shoulder, I watch her walk away and my heart is sprinting. Softly, I close the door behind me, stepping outside rather than inviting Mike in.

  “Look, I know you weren’t expecting to see me and I probably shouldn’t have turned up here without an invitation, but I needed to see you.” A genuine smile pulls at Mike’s lips. “I really just wanted to check up on you and make sure everything is okay…you know, after—”

  “I’m fine, thank you. Now is that all?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” His hands tuck into the pockets of his business pants before he flashes his infamous apologetic smile.

  “Well, take care.” Twisting on my heel, my hand touches the door handle.

  “Abigail, actually, that’s not everything. I’ve come to ask if we can talk.”

  I’m torn. I want closure and answers, yet I worry that right now I can’t handle what he might say, so my hand forces the handle downwards and I enter the house, hopefully closing the door to our past once and for all.

  Knock, knock, knock. He’s not giving up.

  “Yes.” I fling the door open with eyes that scream leave me the fuck alone.

  “Where’s Bella?” This question comes from nowhere and I can’t look at him.

  “Are you seriously asking me this now? Really?” My face warms, and I’m instantly mad, boiling mad.

  “Abigail, I’m sorry, I am—just after seeing you and—are you sick, Abigail?”

  “No, Mike, I’m not sick. I’m fine. I’ve been having a rough time lately, but it doesn’t concern you. Bella died, you arse, six months ago. Why are you here at my house, dammit? Tomorrow is your wedding day, isn’t it? Go celebrate, go marry your fiancée. I won’t be your excuse to run from this wedding. Just leave me alone. You don’t deserve anything from me.” My tongue lashes these words with venom as I glare with hate into his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he mutters before turning and walking away.

  “Fucking twat,” I groan before stomping past my mother, who stands a few metres behind me.

  Entering my room, I slam the door. “How dare he? Who the fuck does he think he is turning up here?”

  ***

  At one p.m. I call Sammy.

  “Hey, babe, what ya doing?” Her voice radiates cotton candy and rainbow skies.

  “You are not going to believe who showed up at my house this morning,” I spit.

  “Well, I’m guessing it was someone you didn’t want to see by that tone.”

  “You would be correct.”

  “Well, spill. I’m growing old here waiting.”

  “Mike.” Each breath flows as hard puffs of air.

  “Get the—no fucking way.” Yeah, she’s shocked.

  “I’m not shitting you. He asked about Bella. I’m so mad, Sammy. Mum has been trying to talk me down from this ledge I now find myself standing on. I want to strangle him. Why now? He’s getting married tomorrow—”

  “Calm down, Dorothy. Let’s go to lunch. The Coffee House.”

  “Not a chance will I step foot back in that place.” I become even angrier thinking about the last time I was there and Mike appeared out of thin air.

  “Well, how about the new place that opened up on the Mooloolaba strip last week? You know, that fancy restaurant?”

  “That three-story joint?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Pick me up. I have to get out of this house. I’ll get changed.”

  “Give me thirty minutes,” she says in response.

  “Perfect.”

  The line goes dead.

  I shower before slipping on a navy maxi dress. The straps are thin, requiring me to find a strapless bra. After trashing my room by throwing the contents of my underwear drawer onto the floor, I locate one. With my mobile phone and purse now in a handbag, I let Mum know I’m waiting on Sammy and that I’m going to head out for a few hours.

  “Where exactly are you going, petal?” Her eyebrows rise as I glare in her direction.

  “Lunch,” I snap.

  “When will you be back?”

  “When I get back.”

  “You need to calm down, Abigail. Don’t let that man slither under your skin.”

  “I am calm and I’m not.” The strap of my dress slips from one shoulder, so I adjust the metal clamp into the correct position.

  “Doesn’t appear that way to me. Come here.” Mum’s arms open, reaching out for me to enter her embrace.

  Hesitantly, I do.

  Mum holds me tightly and whispers, “You are much stronger than this. Have a nice lunch and then tonight we can go and see a movie. What do you think?”

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  “Good. I’ll have a look at what’s playing at the cinemas and call you later.”

  “It’s a date.” A half smile parts my lips as we separate. I can’t take this crap out on Mum anymore. I need to cut her some slack.

  Sammy arrives, barging in like she owns the place. “You ready?”

  “Yep. Talk later, Mum.” Slipping the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I follow Ginger’s lead.

  “That dress looks lovely on you,” she compliments as I close the front door.

  “It’s yours.” I laugh.

  “I know,” she replies as I trip on the pathway, still managing to stay upright. Another close call for my bottom that, quite frankly, is permanently spotted with bruises.

  “I’ll be loaning the one you’re wearing now as well, just so you know.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. I stayed upright. Go me.”

  “Good. And no, you won’t be borrowing my favourite black maxi dress. It will not be leaving my place…hey, are you hearing me?”

  “I’m sorry…did you say something?” My fingertips press behind my ear.

  “Smartarse.” She giggles as we both climb into Sammy’s car.

  The engine turns over and a new track plays on the CD through the speakers. I sit listening to the words as
Sammy drives our usual route.

  “What’s this song?” I smirk to the side of Gingers face.

  “Umm, I’m not sure what it’s called. Check the case in the door. It’s the Demi Lovato one on that disc.”

  “So Fresh,” I mutter outwardly on inspection of the front of the case. “Gift of a Friend.”

  “I love it.” Sammy’s baby blues sparkle into mine as she takes her eyes from the road momentarily.

  “It’s okay.” I sigh as my body relaxes. I’d be lost without Ginger.

  Finding a park proves difficult at first, but after stalking a number of vehicles and completing countless laps, we finally park across the road from the newly opened Treasures on Mooloolaba.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. Will it be just the two of you dining?” a slender man with curly greying hair says as we enter. Picking up two menus from a white counter, he looks at me, waiting for a reply.

  “Yes, thank you, table for two.” Sammy sounds suddenly cheerful.

  “Do you have a booking?”

  “No. Is that a problem?” Sammy’s face screws up.

  “No, not at all. This way, please. Follow me.”

  My eyes dart from left to right as if I’m watching a tennis ball in flight at a major tournament. I can’t believe how much this venue resembles that of a fun house of mirrors. Everything’s reflective, and there are too many shiny surfaces. The colour scheme is matte white with black trimmings and tiling. It completely lacks warmth.

  “By the window,” he announces, sliding the menus in front of black high-backed seats.

  “Lovely,” Sammy replies.

  “Your waiter is Thomas, and he will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” we both mutter in unison.

  Looking out of the window as I sit, I can see the ocean waves tumbling into shore. The scenery definitely makes up for the lack of ambience, that’s for sure.

  “This is not what I was expecting. You?” Sammy says openly, sitting opposite me.

  “No, not at all. However, the view is better here.”

  “Not as obscured as our usual spot. I mean, it was pretty good there, but here is much better.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So…”

  “So…” I counter.

  “Mike, hey?”

  “Yeah, he’s a pig. To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about Mosby’s homecoming.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down, causing a genuine smile to lift up her lips.

  “I will never get tired of the ‘I’m home’ airport greeting. In fifteen years I hope he still kisses me the way he does now when he flies in.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  Swoony eyes. Heaving bosoms and limp jaw. She’s definitely love-struck. Sammy makes me sick.

  “So, I do have some news.”

  “Okay,” I enunciate each syllable.

  “Jackson asked me to move in with him, and I said yes.” Sammy’s eyes drop to the table.

  Is she not happy about it?

  “That’s great, right?”

  “It really is, but—”

  “But…?”

  “I don’t want to move out of my place. It’s bigger than his.”

  “Well, tell him that.”

  “I did. He said my place was perfect and it doesn’t matter where we live as long as we are together.”

  “There you go. So, when’s his big move-in happening?” I want to vomit in my mouth.

  “Already happened. Yesterday. He was practically living at mine, anyway. After he blurted the words out in the airport, we decided to do it straight away, just in case I changed my mind.”

  “Like that would happen,” I mumble, pretending to look through the menu.

  “Jackson’s decided to put his furniture into storage and sign the lease to his apartment over to one of his friends so he doesn’t have to continue paying the rent there.”

  “Sounds like you have it all sorted then?”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  My mind drifts off to the day Mike asked me to move in with him. We were walking along the soft sand of the beach only a stone’s throw away from my current vision. Then it drifts back to the douchebag who stood at my door today…things could have been so much different if he didn’t dump me on my arse for no reason. Why did he leave me? It’s the one question I will never know the answer to now. It’s probably for the better, anyways.

  Big Mistake

  “Are you sure you want to stay, Abi?” Sammy’s eyebrows furrow as we split the bill and pay.

  “Yeah, I’m not ready to go home. I might just wander up the beach or do a bit of window shopping, you know?”

  “Look, I can cancel dinner with Jackson and his parents tonight if you need me. You know I’m always going to choose you.”

  “No, don’t be silly. You need to go and be with Mosby. I’m fine.”

  “Well, ring me if you need a lift home. I’ll swing by and get you.”

  “Okay, Ginger.”

  A quick hug and a peck to my cheek finish’s our lunch date, and within a few minutes I’m sitting at the table alone. Watching Ginger’s car pull out from the car park from the window, my cheeks puff out before I release a forced breath. I haven’t been able to get Mike’s stupid face out of my mind during the last two hours we’ve sat here, and the only thought that continually plagues me is why? I should have asked him why.

  Slipping the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I head towards the open doorway in the hope that some shopping will dissolve these constant thoughts that scream why in my mind.

  “Oh, hell no.” My heart skips a beat as I sidestep like a crab to my right, passing as many tables as humanly possible in the few seconds I have before I’m seen.

  Laughter booms from a group of men—there are about ten on estimation from my quick glance—who enter through the doorway I had planned to exit. These men are dressed in black suits, minus ties, with top buttons undone…

  Here come the men in black, led by none other than my douchebag ex-fiancé, Mike. They continue to stay in this formation as I hide, watching them turn sharply, taking a tiled staircase. One I didn’t even notice was here when Sammy and I entered earlier. Their laughter continues and my skin crawls from the sound.

  Oh, screw you, curse.

  Leave, Abigail. My feet, however, remain planted. Slowly my legs find strength and I begin following behind them at a distance. I take each stair quickly as I play catch-up in what I now realise is me stalking my ex. Another sharp turn and the group continues up another flight of stairs…

  Back off, Abigail. I discontinue pursuit and turn, eyeing an open door that provides access to a large room. A circular bar and a large grand piano are the first things I notice before the sound of piano music drifts past my ears. Fancy. Must be where all the Richie Rich hang out here.

  There are about thirty people sitting in different lounges and table set-ups as I enter. I’m quick to note that the space can entertain so many more.

  “Hi,” I say after approaching a glass bar that is embedded with specks of gold.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Bowdi asks. I know his name is Bowdi because his name badge tells me so.

  “Oh no, thank you.”

  His turquoise eyes have a distinct olive fleck, which causes my head to tip to the side in amazement.

  “Are you sure? Mr. Zenith has politely offered all patrons free drinks for the next hour on his account.”

  “Mr. Zenith?” My head rears back.

  “Filthy rich business man. Look to your left…”

  I swing my head.

  “No, no, look at me,” he tuts immediately.

  I do.

  “Now this time look to your left discreetly.”

  “Oh.” Slowly I allow my eyes to roam and I see an older man, late seventies or early eighties, with a cigar peeking out from his breast pocket and gold rings hugging his fingers. A thick gold watch rests around his wrist and a necklace hangs proudly looped around his neck. “The
dude draped in gold with the cigar,” I whisper from the corner of my now twisted mouth.

  “Yes.” His voice is just as quiet.

  “Why is he paying for everyone’s drinks?” My attention focuses back on Bowdi.

  “It’s just what they do, miss.”

  “More money than sense. Gottcha.”

  Bowdi’s lips strain, holding back laughter that threatens to escape. “So what will it be, miss—” He draws out the word miss in sourcing my name.

  “Oh, Abigail. My name is Abigail.”

  “What will it be, Miss Abigail?”

  My fingers begin tapping against the bar as I play eye-spy with all the pretty coloured liquids in different bottles. I know I’m not supposed to consume alcohol, but after the day I’m having it seems only fair to have one. It’s free, after all. Who can say no to free liquor? Not Abigail the booze hound, that’s for sure. I opt for something expensive and worth it.

  “This is a tough one, but let’s start with the most expensive champagne you have in stock, please.”

  “Champagne, it is.” Bowdi blows a puff of air from his nose in amusement as his head tips back slightly.

  I like this bar.

  One bubbling glass of champagne sparkles like moonlight against a calm sea in front of me. So pretty, so tempting. After the first mouthful leaves behind tingles and popping sensations against my tongue, I know immediately that I can’t deny myself another and then another. Bowdi keeps them coming as I continue to empty my glass and settle in on a seat high enough to perch me above the bar.

  “So Bowdi in the gold blazer, what say you to something a little stronger?” My tone has a hint of seduction as Bowdi offers me a kind smile.

  “Yes, Miss Abigail, what would you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  His eyes gleam with ill will. “Oh, I’ll surprise you. How about a mix?”

  “That sounds intriguing.” I bite at my lip.

  “The Bowdi Nightmare coming right up.”

  “Sounds naughty. I like it.” A girly giggle follows shortly after as he begins pouring eight different liquids into a tall glass.

  “Here you go, and no, it doesn’t come with company—straight liquor.” His baby smooth face and soft features add to his hypnotic gaze.

  “Dangerous.” My throat burns like an inferno as I gulp the contents of the glass as a shot.