SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN
Under Dobby's supervision, I'm finishing up the repairs on Craig's torn jacket when I hear the front door open and close on Ashleigh's return from school. "Home safe and well. Yet again!" She sings along the hallway.
"That's fantastic," Aunt Judy calls back from the kitchen, indulgent humour warm in her voice. "Another gold star for you!"
There's the distinctive sound of a heavy bag hitting the floor, and then, "Whatever you're cooking, Judes, oh my gawd ! The house smells delicious!"
"May well be my best stew yet!"
And as I draw in a deep breath of the richly scented air, my stomach grumbles its agreement.
A minute later, Ashleigh's flouncing into the snug, kicking off her shoes and dropping down on the sofa beside me. "Hey there, lazy house-elf," I'm promptly shunned in favour of Dobby. The instant her hand comes within an inch of his scruffy head, however, he's off his cushion and resettling himself by my feet.
I snort at her affronted frown. It's funny. "Every time!"
"Your dog's a jerk."
"Yep, because, of course, Dobby's the one at fault for your refusal to learn." My dog is a cantankerous fellow; loyal and loving though he is, he's not much a one for fuss.
Ashleigh folds herself up, tucking her legs in between us, and side-eyes me. "Least you seem to have cheered your face up a bit."
"Positively beaming." A shove to her shoulder has her retaliating with a vicious toe-jab to my thigh. I catch her foot. "On the inside."
The thick charcoal parka is swiped from my lap, needle and all, as she squirms herself free of me. "Cleaned and patched, goodness!" Her entire face lights up. "See, you can be sweet."
My lip's curl is swift to disillusion her. "These clothes of his are likely worth near as much as my truck."
"Ah yes," she nods sagely. It takes her very little time to notice the swanky phone that he's also left, resting by my elbow on the sofa arm. "That boy certainly has all of the best things." And it takes her less time still to reach around me for it. Waking the screen, she rolls her eyes at the passcode prompt, then slides the camera icon up. I rescue it before she can bomb his gallery with any more than a handful of pouting selfies. "Spoilsport!"
"Always." I relieve her of the jacket too, and she grins at me, getting a blatant kick out of being impossible. Tying off the thread, I snatch up the scissors from the coffee table. "You can take all his shit into school with you tomorrow, right?"
"Oh. Nope."
S'cuse me? My raised brow asks.
"Craig won't be there."
"Why not?"
"Well, because he—"
"Bickering again? Already?"
Judy's interruption whips Ashleigh's attention away from me, and I turn just as my aunt appears in the doorway, her mass of black braids coiled in a chaotic nest atop her head. She's dressed in her nursing scrubs, ready to leave for her fourth night shift in a row, and with a practised smile, I pretend I don't notice the weary pinch to her brow as she leans her shoulder against the door frame.
"Who'd choose to have kids, I ask you."
"You would," Ashleigh predictably feigns offence. "And I'm seventeen!"
"Almost twenty," I can't resist contributing, raising my hand.
Judy only flaps us off, too smart to take our bait. "And speaking of squabbles," she says, her tone becoming serious. "What are the school doing about the brawl that broke out on its grounds yesterday?"
Ashleigh's immediate grimace, her gaze dipping to the jacket on my knee and the phone in my hand, has me cutting in before she can answer. "Ah, the brawl. Of course. So, either Craig’s suspended for it, or he’s too chicken to show his face, huh?"
Indignant doe eyes glare at me. "Sadly, not a lot," she tells my aunt. "Just like I said, Gary Tinwell's untouchable."
Pursing her lips, Judy straightens and moves into the room. "His time will come." She retrieves a bright emerald scarf from the rainbow array of fabrics draped across the armchair and deftly wraps it around her neck. "Trust me."
"Yeah, but what will it take him doing for that to happen?"
"You just be sure you don't get yourself caught up in whatever it is, honey, okay?"
It's unsurprising that my aunt is more in the loop than I am. Ashleigh deems nothing unworthy of confiding in her, whether it's prudent to or not. Judy has enough worries of her own without taking on extra. "Probably best to steer clear of anyone dumb enough to get themselves on his radar," I add my two pence.
Dobby wriggles further under my feet as Judy skirts the coffee table to plant a glossy plum mark on my cheek. I try to be subtle in swiping it off, but the frown I'm given as she envelopes Ashleigh in a head hug would suggest I fail. "The stew's ready for whenever you want it. There's a tiger loaf in the bread bin. Please wash up after yourselves, and I trust the two of you can find something more productive to do with your time than provoking each other?"
"We can do that." I busy myself with packing away the sewing kit while sliding a pointed look down at Ashleigh's foot, slyly being driven into my leg again. "My to-do list is long, and I'm running woefully behind on it today." Thanks, in no small measure, to this morning's derailment.
"Don't work too hard, though, will you?"
"Same to you, Aunt."
She pats my head fondly before moving away. "I'll bring bagels home for breakfast."
"Love you, Momma Bear!" Ashleigh smiles at her like the angel she isn't, waiting until Judy's exited the room before she swivels on me. "I know what you're thinking, Bas."
"Yeah?" I'm sure she does. I'm making no effort to hide it.
"But Craig's really not the terrible miscreant you've pinned him as, okay?"
Choking back a scoff, I angle myself away from her, leaning over the sofa arm to indelicately cram the parka into the shopping bag with the rest of his clothes. "Okay."
"You should know better than to make a snap judgment."
"Sure," I say. Because it's not like my opinion ever matters to Ashleigh anyway. But she didn't feel the rush of horror and panic, stumbling across a body that looked all too lifeless; it wasn't her mind triggered by dark memories of another body, found all too often in much the same state. She should perhaps know better than to assume my judgment's not valid. "Now, if you could just drop another call to… Alex, is it? Get him to unburden us of his brother's small fortune. That'd be great."
Judy hollers out a final goodbye, the sound of the front door echoing through the house, and at Ashleigh's conspicuous silence, I straighten around to find her lilac head shaking.
"What?" I sigh.
"I'm pretty sure that's not how this is meant to play out."
And I'm pretty sure I must have missed something. "What?"
It takes a small eternity of puzzled staring until she relents to elaborate. "Well, I can't help but feel this whole thing with Craig is kinda fated."
My eyes narrow. "Sorry, still not following."
"Come on, Bas! Of all the places, he lands himself smack bang in the middle of your walking route, out in the sticks. And of course, you bring him here."
"Okayyy. Where else would I bring him, exactly?"
"Here," she continues as though I haven't spoken. "To me, his awesomely intuitive friend. He's having a tough time, and that state he was in this morning was a clear cry for help. Not just anyone would've done what you did for him—a total stranger—and not just any family would've taken him in, never mind care enough to recognise his desperate plea…"
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Then he goes and leaves his phone behind! The one thing guaranteed to give the boy a compelling reason to return. It's all just too… neat to be random, you know? He'll come back, and when he does, my gut tells me his stuff isn't all that he's supposed to take away."
I'm gaping. I know I am. Verily at a loss. "You worry me, Ash." I tap her crazy head with Craig's phone, and she blinks. "That's absurd! You're seriously casting yourself as some kind of fairy godmother?"
"Bibbity-bobbity," she smirks, once again plucking the Samsung from me. Lifting it up to my face, she slides her thumb over the screen and says, "Boop!" A sharp white flash sears my eyes. "If the glass slipper fits, Prince Charming."
Yep, Ashleigh's taken full leave of her good sense. "I'm just going to pretend like you didn't say that out loud," I say, seeing no point in further contesting her sanity.
Two-three-four more snaps blind me before I manage to wrestle the damn thing back from her and slip it safely away in my hoody pocket. "I'm also going to ask you again to please give Alex a call. Because the very last thing I want to be waiting on is Craig showing up and accusing us of intentionally withholding his property."
"That's not how this plays, Bastian. Trust me."
Dropping my head back against the cushion, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"But, actually, you do make a valid point."
"Only one?"
"A prince wouldn't wait and see." She uses my knee to propel herself off the sofa, and no attempt is made to stifle my groan at her knuckles' gouging. "He would act."
As she steps over my feet, Dobby leaps into her vacated space without hesitation. I let him settle his chin on my leg and remain resolutely seated. "Whatever it is you're thinking of now, there's an excellent chance I'll say no."
"I've been to Craig's house once before," she mutters while I track her move to collect the shopping bag from the floor. "I think I can remember where it is."
My head's already shaking when her gaze fixes back on me. "Long to-do list, Ash, remember?"
"Oh, please. You're your own boss. Reigning lord of our rural land. Cut yourself some slack, Bas. It's not like anyone'll call you out on it."
"From the girl with no sense of duty."
"You've spared the effort to mend his jacket, so what's a little bit extra going to matter?"
"Such respect for the value of my time!"
"Just one short trip and I'll owe you a favour. Pretty please?"
Countless seconds tick by as I hold out on Ashleigh's expectant stare, yet more of my day lost to Craig and this nonsense she's fabricated around him, but it does me no good. She refuses to let up, and even Dobby seems to recognise my inevitable defeat, raising himself off me like he's withdrawing his support.
I scratch his floppy ear while he yawns, stalling for another moment before I stand. "For starters, I'd appreciate you ditching all the fairytale madness."
"As you wish," she replies — then curtsies, "my liege." Her grin stretches impossibly and unreasonably wide as I stalk by her toward the door. "I'll also forget it was you who instigated that whole analogy in the first place, should I?"
"And while you're at it, you should keep everything crossed that my truck is up for the trip."
It takes approximately ten minutes longer to reach Craig's house than it should because it turns out that Ashleigh is a terrible navigator. And when we pull up outside, I'm disgusted by the awed gasp that escapes me.
My drive through this affluent neighbourhood did not prepare me nearly enough.
The place is unreal: An elegant fortress, alluring and formidable, its landscaped grounds secured by ten-foot-high walls and gate. It's missing a moat, but I can see a huge pond and a water fountain. The sleek black sports car parked out front of the cavernous garage makes me wonder what finer pieces of engineering could be secured behind its two wide red doors.
"Told you he had all the best things," Ashleigh mutters beside me.
My battered old Ford has never felt more conspicuous. "I'll wait here," I say, recovering myself. I incline my head towards Craig's belongings, nestled at her feet.
"Erm, not likely!"
"Doesn't need two of us."
She makes no move to get out of the truck.
"Ash, this was your big plan."
"True."
"He's your friend."
"Also true. And his mum might remember me."
"Exactly! Hold up," I narrow my eyes on her. "What did you do?"
"No." Her head shake isn't at all reassuring. "No, no. It's not that. Just…" She angles around in her seat to better face me. "Okay, so, when Craig left school, it was this whole big mess. His parents pulled him out, moved him to some big, fancy college out in the wilderness someplace. And, well, Alex told Steph — who told me — that Craig's not actually supposed to have anything to do with us YCSer's anymore."
I stare. "Craig's forbidden from seeing you?"
"Not me, specifically."
"He's meant to stay away from the school and everyone in it?"
"His situation's complicated," she sighs, rolling her eyes toward the house. "And completely not his fault."
"He's doing himself no favours, though, is he?" My fingers drum the steering wheel, an agitated beat. Just when I thought I understood the worst of this farce—
Why on earth would she insist I bring her here, knowing that?
Yet here we now are. And Ashleigh's no longer looking quite so sure of herself. Her shrug says she's shared as much as she's willing to, which suits me because I've heard more than enough.
Collecting the shopping bag from the passenger footwell, Ashleigh shoves it onto my lap. "I don't want to be the cause of any more trouble for him."
"Yet being the cause of more trouble for me is totally fine, right?"
It's my keen desire to just have this over and done with that finally motivates me out of the Ranger, white-knuckling the bag's plastic handles. I leave the engine running because it's anyone's guess whether the damn thing would ever start up again were I to shut it off, and I don't bother closing my door. This will only take a moment.
"Ask to speak to him," she calls after me. "Tell him to come out."
I most certainly will not be doing that.
There's a buzzer set into the wall to the left of the security gates, and I press it. Ridiculously, my heart's pounding.
It feels like forever before I hear a short burst of static followed by a clipped male voice asking, "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, hi, my name's Sebastian?" I have no clue why my tone rises to make that a question. "I, um, have some of Craig's stuff here to return."
"Sorry, my son is not entertaining visitors this evening."
"I don't—"
"You can deposit whatever you have of his in the post box there. It's quite secure."
"Okay, no, I—" The return of the static cuts me off, and my argument dies in my throat.
I stare at the buzzer, but it makes no further noise.
I push on the gates, but they don't budge.
My scowl lowers to the post box, its slit far too narrow for fitting the jacket and its depth far too risky for dropping the phone. I jab my thumb on the button again.
"Is there a problem?" The same voice snaps through the speaker.
"Yes." Looking straight into the camera angled down on me, my jaw tight, I lift the bag. "I'd very much like to be rid of this. Please."
"What is it?"
"Your son's clothes and—"
"Clothes?" he interrupts me yet again. "Oh, for Christ's sake, boy, leave the bag by the gate."
"Also, his phone," I finish, reaching a hand into my hoody pocket. Only it's too late. I've already been crisply dismissed for a second time — arrogant prick. Drawing the device out, I display it to the lens. "Which I'm sure he's keen to have back in one piece."
My next slam of the intercom is fuelled by a wilful intent to provoke. "One measly minute of Craig's time!" I sell myself out.
"Unless you have other business here, I will ask you once more to please deposit what you have and remove yourself from this property."
Any deliberation of bowing to that hostile request barely registers as a notion.
Two counts of sixty I spend, glaring through the gates in pure spite.
When I return to the truck, still clutching the bag, Ashleigh can barely contain herself. "What happened?"
"We were not well received."
"So…?"
"So, if Craig wants his stuff back, he knows where to come for them."
"Well, at least he can't say you didn't try, right?"
"Right." I get the distinct impression she's not entirely disheartened by the result of our visit.
Honestly, though, looking at this place, I doubt Craig's spared a second thought for any of what he left with us. Never mind the clothes of mine that he has; I'm not holding my breath on ever seeing them again.
Flipping a finger to the fortress, I crank the gearstick hard into reverse and gun it back onto the private road.