Chapter 22 #5
Strong arms wrap around me, smelling of soap and peanut butter. Des. I want action, not a bloody hug, but I sag against him all the same. Press my face into his jumper like some lovesick girl. He holds me tighter, rubs firm circles down my aching back. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I sob. “The girls are down there alone, and I can’t make these idiots understand—”
“Fuck,” Jake says, staring at his phone like it bit him.
I twist in Des’ arms. “What?”
“Ada’s just called. She left a voicemail. She never does that.”
My stomach knots like a noose. “Play it. Now.”
Jake fumbles with his screen, and I pray for a smart remark, a cheeky ‘fuck you.’ Anything that means Ada’s okay.
What comes through is Ada’s voice, flat and strained, barely holding its shape.
“Jake. Hi. Hey. Sorry for calling. I don’t know if you’re around, but I can’t get onto Cece, and I don’t know what’s… There’s just so much shit happening. Everything’s so fucked up—”
She breaks off with a tiny sob.
“Christ,” Davis says, as Jake stares, dead-eyed, at his phone.
“Someone slashed my tyres. Cece’s tyres. I’m in Cece’s car. I went to the pub near Thompson Farm.” Her voice hitches. “And now everyone’s mad at me, and I don’t know—”
A violent slam, metal on metal, makes all four of us flinch.
“Shit,” Ada hisses. “Gotta go. Someone’s here. Outside the car. I’ve gotta—”
The line goes dead.
Jake pounds a thumb on his screen, and I know he’s trying to call her back. I hold my breath and hear the phone beep, cold and uncaring, “The person you’re calling isn’t available—”
“Fuck!” Jake says, pressing the button again. “What the fuck is going on?”
Davis whips out his own phone, and a new dial tone echoes across the bar.
“Hi! It’s Cece! Leave a message—” her cheery voice blares tinnily from the phone speaker, and his face goes pale.
“Go,” I whisper.
“Aggie,” Des says, pulling me in closer.
I push him away and roar loud enough to rattle every window in the bar. “Go! Go find my girls. Now!”
Jake and Davis are already on their feet.
“I’ll drive,” Davis says, grabbing his keys. “I only had one drink. Do we have somewhere to stay in Pukekohe?”
“Yeah, my nan’s. We’ll leave now, grab some clothes, and we can be there in a couple of hours.”
“What about Cece?” I ask Davis. “Are you gonna tell her you’re coming?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. You’re right, I’ve been pushing too hard. I’ll make sure she’s safe, but I don’t want her to know I’m there. I’ll tell her how I feel when the time’s right.”
“Good boy,” I say.
“Thanks, Aggie,” Davis says.
“Yeah, thanks!” Jake calls from the doorway. “We’ll keep you posted.”
“Drive safe, love,” I tell Davis. “And call me as soon as you find them.”
“Of course.”
He rushes after Jake, and I stand, listening until I hear the rumble of Davis’s car, then I turn to collect the abandoned glasses and garlic bread platter. “They’re fine,” I tell myself. “Everything’s fine.”
The person outside Ada’s car was just some do-gooder offering to help her change her flat tyre.
A flat tyre she got from running over a rock because no one could have slashed her tyre.
Why would they? And Cece’s not answering her phone, but that’s because she’s having a nap or sharing a wine with the blond flower-sender. They’re both fine. Everything’s fine.
“Aggie?”
Des is watching me with careful eyes. “You okay?”
“No, Des. I’m bloody not.”
He nods. “Makes sense. You gave those boys a proper serve, but you weren’t wrong about anything.”
“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta knock sense into them.”
His mouth twitches into a smile. “You care about those girls.”
A flicker of warmth cuts through my fear. “Course I do. They’re my girls.”
“So…” Des clears his throat. “That advice you gave them. Stand up when it counts, tell the truth. Does that apply to everyone?”
“Only advice worth giving.”
“That’s good to know.”
The air shifts between us, a quiet that’s full of things that have gone unsaid for years.
I gesture toward the kitchen. “If you’ve got something you want to say, let’s hear it before I start the dishes.”
He swallows hard. “You know… You’ve gotta know… I-I love you, Aggie.”
Something fragile stirs in my chest. Not forgiveness exactly, maybe more like tenderness, with a big side of exasperation. “I know, Des. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
He rubs his fist over his chest, his worn knuckles dragging against the faded denim shirt. “I’m sorry about what happened back then. All that with Gwen. I buggered it completely. But I mean it, I’ve always loved you.”
“And I already told you, Des. I know.” I can’t keep myself from smiling. Just a little. “Thanks for saying it, anyway.”
A grin breaks across his face, bright as a sunrise. “So, are we finally going on that date? Dinner and all that?”
“No.”
His face falls.
“… But I’ve got a bit of time off work thanks to this bloody mouse situation. You might be able to take me to dinner sometime next week, then we’ll see.”
His grin returns with interest. “I’ll take it. Need a hand with the dishes?”
“Why not?”
We clean together side by side, rinsing, stacking, wiping.
The kind of work that always eases my nerves, and somewhere between the soap and the silence, I decide to break my own rule.
Des is coming back to mine tonight. Not because I’m so swept up in his declaration of love, but because it’ll probably be hours until Jake and Davis find the girls, and I can’t clean forever.
A warm body is a better distraction than cigarettes, and after everything I’ve gone through today, I’ll permit myself another vice.
“Ready to go?” Des asks when the dishes are done. “I can give you a ride home, if you like?”
“Need a cig first, but sure.”
“I won’t try and come in or anything, I promise.”
“Well,” I say, my heart pounding a little faster. “Thing is, my sink’s been stuffed for weeks. Could you take a look at it?”
Des looks away, fighting back a smile. “Sure, Aggie.”
We lock up and slip out the back door, and head into the carpark arm in arm. I’m fishing in my skirt pocket for my smokes when a string-bean of a kid steps out from behind a Honda Civic. He looks about twelve, all elbows and bleached hair.
“You right, mate?” Des asks, his hand shifting to my back.
“Hi,” the kid says, looking from me to him. “You work at the pub, yeah?”
“We’re closed,” I say, cigarette between my lips.
“I know. I just… I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
He flinches. “Um, the mice inside the pub yesterday?”
Christ on a rail. One step forward, six bloody back. Whoever this teenager is, I’d bet my right arm he’s here for a cash payout for imaginary food contamination.
“Things do have a way of getting worse, don’t they?” I say to Des.
“Seems that way,” Des replies, his gaze still locked on the kid.
I strike my lighter, level the flame at the stranger. “Right then. What’s all this about the mice?”