Chapter Nineteen
Kingi
I don’t know what’s happened with Mark, but it’s clear that both the girls are upset, and at the moment it’s probably not a good idea to talk about it.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” I say to Thea. “Come on.” Releasing them, I gesture with my head to the stairs that lead down toward the living room on the floor below, and Thea starts descending.
“This is a beautiful house,” Chessie says as we follow Thea down.
“I bought it a couple of years ago. I looked around hundreds of houses, and nothing felt quite right. Then I walked into this one and I knew immediately I wanted it.” The stairs curve to the right, entering the back of the living room, and when Chessie gasps I know she’s having the same reaction that I did when I first came here.
The whole front of the house is glass, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. There’s a generous lawn circled by a small fence, and on the other side, steps cut into the hillside lead down to the beach.
The living room is large, bright, and full of sunshine today.
The walls are painted a pale lemon yellow, the floorboards are kauri wood with lots of rugs, and the furniture is comfortable—a big soft sofa and chairs, and a wooden dining set at the other end, although I don’t use that much because I don’t entertain here.
The kitchen is pine, big and practical, with a square pine table and chairs in the middle. I either eat there, or out on the deck.
By the window, in a crate, is a Parson Russell Terrier puppy, approximately five months old.
Thea squeals, runs over to the crate, and drops to her knees beside it. “Oh, he’s gorgeous!”
“Kingi!” Chessie goes over to and bends to look at the pup, who’s wiggling his tail frantically. “I didn’t know you were getting a dog.”
“He’s not mine. He’s Orson’s—my friend’s,” I explain to Thea, joining them at the crate. “I dogsit sometimes if he’s going away.” I smile. “I’m guessing you’re okay with dogs?”
“I love them,” she says with enthusiasm.
“His name’s Bearcub.” I wink at Chessie, undo the sliding catches holding the crate door closed, and the puppy pushes it open and dashes out. He jumps straight onto Thea’s lap, and she falls backward with him, laughing.
“Aw…” Chessie holds her hands out for the puppy to sniff, then strokes his soft ears as he goes back to play with Thea. The little girl retrieves a rope toy from the crate and starts playing tug with him.
“He’s just had his final vaccinations,” I advise Thea, “so he’s not supposed to go to public places for another couple of weeks, but you can take him out into the garden if you like.
” I unlock the sliding doors and open them, and she and Bearcub go onto the deck, then negotiate the couple of steps onto the lawn.
“Here,” I call, and toss her a ball, and soon she’s throwing it for Bearcub, who trots around looking up at her as if she’s a princess.
“Is Orson really away?” Chessie says as I lead her across to the kitchen.
I give her a wry smile. “Busted. No. But I do dogsit for him, so Bearcub knows the house. I asked to borrow him for the night.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” She climbs onto a barstool at the breakfast bar.
I gesture at the coffee machine, and she nods, so I start making us both a cup. “I’m glad you came over.” I set the espresso pouring and retrieve some milk from the fridge. As I pour it into the jug, I glance at her. “You sounded as if you’d had quite a shock.”
“Yeah.” Her smile fades and she scratches at a mark on the countertop.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She glances over her shoulder, makes sure that Thea is still in the garden, then looks back at me. “Mark took an overdose.”
I nod slowly and swap the cups. “I thought that might be the case.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Really? I was so shocked. Why did you think that might have been it, and not an accident or something?”
“Because of what’s been happening, with the money and everything.” Once the second espresso has poured, I set the milk steaming, and turn and face her, folding my arms.
“I don’t get it,” she says, clearly confused. “I paid off the debt. He had no more worries. All he had to do was concentrate on getting better. It was a new start for him. He has everything—a job, a wife, a daughter, a roof over his head. Why would he try to kill himself?” She’s close to tears.
“I don’t know,” I say carefully, “but I imagine he was ashamed.”
She blinks. “Ashamed?”
“He enjoys gambling. He likes the buzz it gives him. But he knows it’s wrong. The fact that he likes it, and that he can’t fight it, will probably make him feel weak, and maybe worthless or stupid.”
“But it’s not,” she says, her brow furrowed, “addiction isn’t a character flaw.”
“Well, you and I know that. But being ashamed of an addiction is very common. People will try and hide it, deny it, rationalize it, do anything rather than face it and address it.”
I pour the steamed milk over the espresso, stir it, and slide hers across to her.
“He’s a guy, Chess. You can tell us we’re equals until you’re blue in the face, but we all feel it’s our responsibility to be the man, to look after our families, and to provide for them.
He let his family down. He risked his parents’ home.
He caused his wife stress and anxiety and probably lied to her, too.
He was a bad role model for his daughter.
And he forced his sister to go against her better judgement for money because she wanted to help. ”
“He doesn’t know it’s a fake engagement,” she whispers.
“Most people won’t guess, but he’s a smart guy.
He knows we haven’t seen each other for a while.
And then, out of the blue, at a time he needs you most, we bump into each other, get engaged in a fortnight, and then you miraculously produce enough money to pay off his debt?
Believe me, he knows.” She should probably have told her family the truth from the beginning, but the stupid contract took away that option, and now we’re caught up in this web of lies.
I can see understanding sinking in slowly like a stone tossed into the ocean. And I know immediately what she’s thinking.
“No,” I say firmly, pointing at her, “don’t go down that road.”
“But… if I hadn’t tried to help…”
“You can’t blame yourself, Chess. He’s an addict. He’s fucked up. It’s nobody’s fault, not even his, and certainly not yours.”
It’s too late, though. Her face crumples, and then she covers it with her hands and starts crying.
“Ah… fuck…” I walk around the breakfast bar, go up to her, and wrap my arms around her. She’s still sitting down, and she buries her face in my chest and sobs.
“It’s okay…” I rub her back and kiss the top of her head. It must have been a huge shock to her.
I’m surprised she didn’t go to the hospital considering her dad has gone too.
But someone has to look after Thea, and it wouldn’t surprise me if her mother suggested it.
I know Chessie has been working super hard to try to keep the family on its feet, and I’m sure her mother knows the impact it’s having on her mental and physical health, and is trying to give her a break.
A skittering noise on the floorboards causes me to look over, and I watch Thea come in with Bearcub, whose nails clack on the wood as he trots in to have a drink from his water bowl.
“Chessie?” Thea asks, approaching us. “Are you okay?”
Chessie nods but doesn’t look around.
“She’ll be all right in a minute,” I say to Thea. “Do you want to give Bearcub a treat? They’re in that box over there. He can’t have too many or he’ll get fat, but you can give him one if you like.”
She looks at Chessie, obviously decides from my casual manner that it’s nothing to worry about, and goes over to get a treat.
“Tell him to sit,” I advise as the puppy approaches her.
“Sit,” she says firmly, and the puppy obediently drops his bottom to the floor. “Good boy!” She bends and gives him the treat, and he chews it, then gives a delightful burp that makes her giggle.
Chessie rests her forehead on my chest, then pushes back a little and wipes her face. “I’m okay,” she says as Thea looks up at her. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” I say cheerfully. It’s important in Māori culture to show emotion. “E kore te pāraire e hoki mai i te tangi.”
She lets me stroke her hair. “What does that mean?”
“The bellbird will not return from its cry. It means once emotion is released, it cannot be undone. It’s natural and necessary to let it out. That’s how you heal.”
She nods and gives Thea a shaky smile.
“Drink your coffee,” I tell her. “Now, Thea, what about you? Would you like a drink? I’ve got juice, milk, or bottled water.”
“Juice, please.”
Bearcub has flaked out on one of the rugs, so I leave him there rather than put him in his crate.
I pour her some orange juice from the carton into a glass, add some cold water from the fridge to water it down, drop in some ice cubes, and slide in a straw, then pass it to her.
“Now, what about dinner tonight? I can send out for something if you like, or I don’t mind cooking, if you’re brave enough to try it.
” I pull a face at her, and she giggles.
“What do you like? I do a mean spaghetti Bolognese.”
“That’s my favorite.”
“Then that’s what we’ll have.” I check my watch; it’s four thirty.
“I’ll start soon. But there’s time yet. You want a snack?
” I open the fridge, and we both study the contents.
“A chicken sandwich?” I suggest. She agrees, so I get out the bread, cold chicken, and Lurpak, and proceed to make her a sandwich.
“Do you want one?” I ask Chessie. She shakes her head, although I suspect she hasn’t had lunch today.
I make an extra one anyway, and when Thea climbs up onto the stool next to her to eat hers, I have a bite out of the other sandwich, then push it toward Chessie.
She looks at it, then picks it up and starts eating. I wink at Thea, and she winks back.