CRAIG
CRAIG
I pull into the Maccy D’s drive-thru, turning my music way down. I’m ravenous and still desperately craving after the ribeye sub from Citreena’s Bistro, but after walking in there to be stared out by both Choirboy and Preacher, fuck that shit! A Big Mac will have to do.
As I’m paying and then driving out the other side, it does occur to me, though, that with the irrefutable evidence of Sebastian being out and about, now would be an ideal time for me to call in on Ashleigh, extend my dad’s invitation, and present my case.
I’m in no rush to return home. Mum has Kathryn around for drinks while Dad is out dining with clients. I escaped as soon as I settled Christopher down to sleep. It’s not yet eight p.m., and I reckon I have at least another two hours to fill before Dad returns home and Kathryn leaves.
However, when I roll up on its drive, the farmhouse is completely dark. An immediate sense of relief rushes me at the thought that no one’s home, as if it’s surely a sign; this whole endeavour is a mistake I should not be making. Except, I’ve already tried swaying Dad, and he’s having none of it.
Nothing happens for almost three minutes after I’ve knocked. I’m about to turn and head back to Roxy when Ashleigh’s voice rumbles through the door, her tone several shades lower than usual. “Who dat?”
I’m mildly amused by her attempt to sound menacing. “Just me. The Bogey Man,” I reply.
The door swings wide, and Ashleigh grins at me. “Oh, thank Christ!” She says, resuming her regular pitch. Her fluffy dressing gown slung on over her clothes, she has her pink hair tied up in a messy bun atop her head. “There’s nothing scarier than being home alone except having someone call unannounced while you’re home alone! Come on in.”
“I can’t stay long.”
“Nothing new there, then.” She motions down at my trainers as I step inside. I obediently kick them off, bending to line them up beside the doorway. Then she leads me through the disorienting maze of turns and corridors to the lounge. “Sebastian’s out with his mum, and I don’t know when to expect him home, but he’ll likely be in a foul mood. Fair warning.”
I think of the woman I saw him with at the bistro, copper hair and hazel eyes a near match for his. I took only a glance, but he didn’t appear to be in any worse of a mood than I’ve thus far seen from him. He also didn’t look set to leave anytime soon, so I think I’ll be okay. “And… Judy?”
“At the hospital,” Ashleigh shrugs, pushing open the door. “Another late shift.”
I step past her into exactly the same level of chaos as the previous times I’ve been here. “I need to ask a favour.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
“Yeah.” And that’s as far as I get before every other line of the script I’ve rehearsed in my head disappears. I abruptly lose my nerve alongside. My eyes flit restlessly around the clutter, but nope, I don’t find them there.
“Well?” It takes only a moment for Ashleigh’s excitement to morph into an impatient stare of confusion. “Spit it out, then. What can I do for you?”
“You know what, never mind. It’s ridiculous.”
But her next move tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I’m not being let off so easy. My foot has barely lifted toward the door when she swings it shut and presses her spine against it.
Still, I follow through on my step. “Seriously, forget it.”
“Nu-uh, Craig,” she says, a challenge reshaping her smile. “You can’t dangle out a treat and then just snatch it away from me like that. It’s cruel.”
Okay , a sigh huffs out of me; this is no big deal. Not as if I have a choice anyway. Not as if I’d be here if I thought I did. The landscape painting that caught my attention last time lures me in again, a small window of calm amid the chaos. I turn from Ashleigh and let it draw me closer. Working my jaw, words roll reluctantly from my tongue. “You free Friday?”
“Oh.” Her jarring change in tone makes me tense. “Um, I’m supposed to be at my dad’s this weekend.”
“Oh,” I echo, and my stomach flips over itself.
“But, I mean,” she hastens on. “I doubt he will mind much if I go over on Saturday morning instead. I’d only be missing out on TV and takeaway. Why?”
I’m shaking my head before she’s done. “You have plans.” Far more pleasant than what I was about to offer. “It’s fine.” I can think of something else to placate—
“Craig!”
I drag in a rallying breath and exhale slowly, and the indistinct figures poised on the rainbow-kissed bluff fill my vision. “My family is hosting a games night.”
“Oh. Kay.”
“With Gary and his family.”
“Oh.”
“My parents and his parents,” I rush into an explanation. “They’re really close friends, see. They arrange these nights a few times a year, and they make this huge thing of them because they’re all crazy competitive.”
“That sounds awful!”
“It is.”
“So. You, what? Need my help to get out of it?”
“If only! I can’t skip.”
“You want me… to go with you, then?”
“Kind of.” Except not at all. “My dad does.”
Silence follows my admission — a long and heavy stretch of it. I almost glance back at her, unable to sense her reaction. Then, “Why?”
And here we are, neatly arriving at the part of my script that is most glaring in its absence. How the hell am I supposed to explain the calamitous misunderstanding that forced me here without giving myself away or giving her the wrong impression? Without sounding exactly as deplorable as I feel?
“Because of the other night?” Ashleigh steals into my hesitation, stiffening my spine. “You got in trouble for the party?”
Close enough. I nod.
“Ah, yikes. So, you told them you’d been here? With me? And that triggered some assumptions being made?”
To say her deductions have thrown me for a loop would be an understatement. Like what the actual fuck?! “Uh, pretty… pretty much.”
“Now, your dad’s pushing you to invite me over, to give him the opportunity of vetting the girl who led his golden son astray? He thinks there’s more chance of me agreeing to a fun, social evening of games?”
It’s disconcerting — blatant witchery.
“With Tinwell. Urgh!” I can hear a shudder to match my own in her voice. “Also, though, maybe…” There’s a conspicuous pause. And then she takes her Sherlock-Holmesing too far. “Maybe you want to feed the assumption… just a little bit?”
My head snaps around, but before a single word of protest manages to leave my gaping mouth, the thunderous slam of the front door jolts us both near out our skins.
Bouncing up and away from the lounge door, Ashleigh cracks it open. “Bas,” she calls out. “That you?”
Appearing as little more than a brown blur, Dobby throttles through the gap into the room and immediately disappears behind the armchair.
Heavy footsteps stomp along the hallway, and six counted seconds later, Sebastian joins us. My chest constricts.
For a change, he’s dressed smartly in a grey shirt and black jeans, his wavy hair somewhat tamed. My eyes linger for a beat too long before I slam to my senses, noting the vicious curl to his lips.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” He explodes at me. “Why are you fucking everywhere?!”
Ashleigh backs away to the sofa, dropping down on the cushion, and her eyes — when they catch mine — seem to say, ‘Called it.’ “Not go so well, huh?” She asks him.
“Stupid question!” His glare continues to sear me. “What’s this prick here for?”
“Hey, no need to take it out on Craig, Bas.”
He rolls his eyes, skimming the painting beyond me, and then blinks down to the small unit below that I only now register I have in a one-handed vice-grip. It’s the glass-fronted cabinet in which the amber-filled Drink Me bottle he caught me with previously still stands proud, undrunk. “There’s every need.”
“If there was ever a good time,” I manage to collect myself enough to grit out, “for you to crack open that bourbon, I’d say it’s now.”
A fleeting smirk suggests I’ve just proved his point. “Get out!”
“Since when do you get to tell me who I can and can’t spend time with? I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough night with your mum, but —”
“Dobby,” Sebastian cuts Ashleigh off, a sharp dismissal. “Here, boy. Come on.” He drops to his haunches as the dog hesitantly creeps out from his hiding place. “Mum’s as hopelessly brainwashed by her snake of a husband as she ever was, and I come home to find him trying the same on with you.”
“Oh, shut up,” she admonishes. “He is not!”
I don’t know what possesses me to bend down and stroke Dobby’s shaggy head as he passes, but a rumbling growl tells me the gesture is not much appreciated. If I meant to provoke Sebastian further, though, I’ve succeeded. The flare of his agitation is palpable, and with a powerful thigh slap, he hastens his mutt away from me. “I was leaving anyway,” I straighten up.
“You going to show your friend out, Ash, or should I?” He sidesteps clear of the door the instant I start toward it.
“Don’t bother.”
“Craig.” A soft hand on my arm interrupts my move past Ashleigh. I think she’s about to insist I stay, talk some more, and I really don’t want to hear it. Instead, she says only, “I’ll be there.”
“What?”
“Friday. I won’t play the part of girlfriend, but I meant what I said. You can count on me, and I’m not about to let you face Tinwell alone.”
It’s then Sebastian’s turn to say, “What?” He aims the word my way like an accusation. Then adds, “The shit?”