Chapter 24
Ada
Iwalk for ten minutes around the main part of Pukekohe, finding only bars I don’t want to go in, and restaurants I don’t want to eat at.
I buy a new vape from the lone dodgy store and give the rest of my cigs to an unhoused woman who accepts them, Shannon’s lighter, and twenty bucks with gratitude.
Puffing my gross, but substantially less gross, ElfBar, I head for the nearby park.
Jake is calling me now. Jake and Davis. I ignore them, embarrassed and unsure of what I’d say and if they’d believe me.
I want to go back to the hotel and wash the smoke and fear-sweat from my hair, but I can’t stand to see Cece.
I told her I was going to have my revenge this weekend, and I knew she was staying willfully ignorant about my plans, but I can’t believe she’d bury her head in the sand this deep when I’ve found something that’s actually criminal.
Replaying our argument in my head, I know I fucked up. I shouldn’t have gotten sucked into all the Tristan shit and the school stuff. I should have just screamed Will’s a creep over and over until Cece had to understand.
It still shocks me how raw that old resentment was when it finally spilled out.
I thought I’d moved past the way things were with Cece in high school, but there it was, the old bitterness right under the surface.
The way she liked me, but not enough to jump in when I was getting tormented.
That she wanted to stay tight with her friend group more than she wanted to stand up for me.
If that fight had to happen, I wish I’d screamed the one thing I always wanted to know: Why doesn’t your chronic people-pleasing extend to me?
Why does everyone else get the apologies, the sympathy, the rescued-from-the-edge version of you, and not me?
But the more I relive the fight, the more I hear my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth. Always the victim. Never taking responsibility. Never believing that in her anger, she’s just as capable of hurting people as those who once hurt her.
I was unfair to Cece. She was just a kid, same as me, just trying to survive high school. She cared about me, and she didn’t know how to save me. But that wasn’t her job. And fuck knows I didn’t make it easy.
I’ve always been so hung up on how everyone’s failed me, I never stop to think about how I failed Cece.
I could have told her I was going to Thompson Farms today.
I could have said I hooked up with Tristan.
I could have tried harder to be nicer to her mates in high school instead of lashing out before they could hurt me.
Tears burn in the backs of my eyes. I have to apologise. To try and make things right. Even if Cece doesn’t forgive me, I have to say sorry.
I pull out my phone to call her, and my alarm sounds.
The cocktail party has started. I don’t have time to apologise and probably cry my eyes out, and still get ready.
I could always bail on the party but not showing up feels like letting Thrasher and his goons win.
They’ll think they successfully intimidated me, and fuck that.
Cece is not my enemy. She was never my enemy.
The bullying boys who became men while I was away are my enemies.
And whether they harassed me out of repressed sex feelings or because humiliating girls is a rite of passage, or for some other fucked up reason, I don’t care.
There were always alternatives to bullying me.
For example, they could have bitten each other’s dicks off.
And seeing as they didn’t, I’m going to give it a try.
I change course for Nikau Palms and the blood-red revenge dress I have hanging in the hotel closet. As I reach the entrance, my phone rings. It’s Betty.
“Hey,” I rasp. “Did you get my recordings?”
“I did.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re onto something,” she says, her voice tight. “But we’ve got bigger problems right now.”
“How—”
“Mum was on shift today. Everyone at the farm knows a girl called Ada Renaldo got caught talking to one of the workers. They all think you’re a journalist or something and they’re pissed as hell you went over the fence.
Everyone’s been told not to speak with you, and you’re not allowed anywhere near the farm.
They’ve got guys driving around the fences, making sure you’re not there. ”
“That’s good, right? I’m nowhere near the farm, and that means—”
“You’re not listening,” Betty interrupts again. “They’re after you.”
“I know, they already slashed my tyre. Cece’s tyre.”
“Holy shit.”
“It’s all good,” I say quickly. I’m so sick of people dwelling on the miscellaneous details of this situation, like I’m not totally fine, and we’re not so close to taking these pricks down. “Cece bailed me out. I’m at the hotel. What could they possibly do now?”
“Fuck me, are you for real, Ada? Do you not remember these guys beat Rhys half to death?”
I bite my lip so hard it stings. I hadn’t forgotten, but the reminder still doesn’t translate into any kind of fear. But why? Because I’m a girl? Because I’m Autistic? Because I think I’m special?
“Look, I get you, but have you looked into Grace? Have you found anything?”
“Nothing concrete,” Betty says. “I’ll keep looking, but Grace—”
“Isn’t her real name?”
“No.”
“Shit.” I turn, staring through the hotel doors. “Well, I’m gonna head to the cocktail party. Maybe I can get Thrasher—”
“Fuck off, you can’t go anywhere near the reunion. Mum’s terrified. I’ve never seen her this way. She wants you to leave town.”
“I can’t do that! They know I’m onto them, and they’re going to start burying shit. I need to find out more.”
“No, you need to stop acting like the bitch who gets murdered at the start of horror movies. This isn’t a game, Ada.
These people are dangerous, and you’ve all but walked up to them and promised to send them to prison.
If you’re right about what they’re doing, and I think you are, then there’s probably enough shit to keep them behind bars for years.
And what do you think men like that do when you back them into a corner? ”
“But they don’t know about you and what you’re doing. They don’t know this is bigger than just me.”
“Exactly, they don’t know, and until we’ve got enough to indict, I’m not gonna put my hand up and have them come after me, too.
I’ve got a fucking kid, Ada, and my mum works for Thompson’s.
The place is her livelihood, and half the town’s.
A lot of people are gonna be more than willing to go to bat for them. ”
“So you’re backing out?” I demand, pushing my way through the revolving door of the hotel.
“Never. The whole thing can come crashing down and fuck anyone who’s left standing inside as far as I’m concerned. But if tomorrow you’re missing without a trace or dead behind the wheel of a rental car—”
I stop listening. Not because I don’t want to hear what Betty says, but because Henry, of Bachelor Party fame, is smiling at me from the hotel bar. He’s wearing a suit, a wedding ring and the ugliest grin I’ve ever seen. It could be a coincidence he’s here, but somehow I doubt it.
“Gotta go,” I tell Betty, ending the call.
“Hey there, Ada,” Henry strides toward me like we were planning to meet. “Not dressed for the party yet?”
“Just about to head upstairs,” I say.
“Got time for a chat first?”
My heart jumps into my mouth.
“Not really.” I pull out my phone and open the camera function. “But I will inform you that anything you’d like to say to me, you will be saying on film.”
Henry jerks backward, ducking his head as though it’ll help him avoid the lens.
I grin. “What did you want to chat about, Hen? Does it, by any chance, pertain to Thompson Farms?”
He shakes his head.
“You sure? Because I’ve heard the migrant workers aren’t being treated too well up there.”
Henry looks at me like he wants to kill me, and I realise I’m doing it again. Baiting. Pushing too hard. I’m so bad at this shit, but I can’t back down now.
“Are you involved in Thompson Farms?” I press. “I know you work there, but do you have shares? Own a little land? Gone to a few parties, maybe?”
Henry blanches, and I force a laugh. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”
I move toward the elevators, and he blocks my path. “You’ve got nothing on Thrasher.”
“We’ll see.”
He drifts to the side, out of my camera’s frame. “You’re full of shit. Those migrants get a decent wage, and if they don’t like it, they can fuck off back to where they came from.”
I wrinkle my nose. Of course, Henry’s dumb enough to spit racist clichés into a camera.
He probably thinks he’s just stating facts.
I give him the finger with my free hand.
“Unless we just time-warped to Europe, you’re an immigrant, you fucking clown.
So why don’t you fuck off back to whatever inbred barley bog your grandparents crawled out of because I’ve got crimes to investigate. ”
Henry leans over my phone, his breath hot in my face. “You’re outta line.”
I take a step back. “Maybe. But like I said, we’ll see what comes out this weekend, won’t we, sheep-shagger?”
Henry shoves a finger in my face. “You’d better not show up tonight. Or tomorrow. No one wants you here.”
“I fail to see how that’s my problem.” I raise my phone. “Hey, I heard Sophie Claudine’s gonna be at the cocktail party. You know, the chick who fucked Jack Otama on a bathmat while you guys were still together at school? Was that sad for you, or what?”
His face darkens. “Bitch.”
“Cuck.” I jiggle my camera at him. “I notice you’re wearing a wedding ring. Congrats. I heard your fiancée dumped you, but she must have hit her head and decided to take you back. I think Jack’s gonna be there tonight, too. Maybe he can have a go on her and make her see sense?”
Henry bares his teeth. “You keep going, and I’m gonna—”