Chapter 26 #2
I close the email and sip. The possibility of moving home is still there; it has to be given Afterglow’s circumstances and Tristan upping the rent.
But one thing is clear: if I do move back to Pukekohe, Will Sharpe isn’t going to play any kind of role in my future.
That golden bubble of hope has well and truly popped.
Not only is Will a duplicitous creep, but the whole situation with my family has also soured.
Coming home won’t mean Sunday dinners and white picket fences.
I’ve been killing myself trying to prove my worth to people who will stand by and let my own brother undercut me.
When everyone who truly cares—Ada and Aggie and Davis—has been helping me in every way they can.
New tea towels and cutlery. Flaming crepes and dinner specials designed to appeal to the locals.
A safe working environment and an unsolicited, but incredibly sweet plan to turn my drunken dreams into reality.
And I almost fucked them all over for a ride on Will Sharpe’s community dick. He clearly never saw the two of us together. He just thought I’d be an easy lay.
The hindsight rubs me raw, a blister in my heart, pointing out that the biggest commitment I’ve made over the last year has been to denial, and putting off decisions hasn’t helped me any. But this nursing thing will have to wait until Monday.
Right now, the only thing that matters is taking down Thompson Farms.
I head back to Nikau Palms just before eight, and knock on Ada’s door. It swings open, bringing me face-to-face with Davis.
My stomach drops ten floors. “Ungh.”
Nice one, Cece.
“Hi.” He ducks his head. “Um, come in?”
I slide past him, trying and failing not to breathe in his delicious cologne.
What the hell is he doing here? He should be in Auckland doing chin-ups while building his cat’s investment portfolio.
Not in my best friend’s hotel room, wearing ripped black jeans and a khaki T-shirt like G.I.
Joe come to life, looking young and hot and like I didn’t yell at him two days ago.
Ada grabs me and spins me into the bedroom as there’s another knock at the door.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she babbles, her voice low. “I forgot to tell you he’s here.”
“Why is he here?”
“He drove down with Jake and stayed to help us because he was worried. He didn’t want you to know in case you thought he was here for you.”
He’s not here for me. A familiar discomfort pinches my heart. Of course he’s not. Why would he be?
“Oh.” I force a smile. “I’m glad we have as many people here as we can, helping.”
We head back into the main room as Betty, Mrs. Muldoon, and Colin troop in.
The room wasn’t designed to hold seven adults easily, but we make it work, dragging the balcony chairs into a loose circle.
Davis and I end up on the tiny couch together.
He’s so big he has to lean back with one arm behind the cushions to give me space.
Mrs. Muldoon is squeezed up on my other side.
I’m shocked by how much older she looks.
The last time I saw her was at Rhys’s funeral more than a decade ago.
I went to pay my respects, especially because Ada was cut up that she couldn’t make it back from New York.
Mrs. Muldoon is younger than my parents, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.
Grief takes its toll, and it’s hard to see its effect right in front of you.
Still, Mrs. Muldoon smiles and asks after my mum and dad, and I do my best to pretend like everything’s fine.
“Okay.” Betty claps her hands. “Let’s cover what we’ve got. Ada?”
“Ah…?” Ada casts a quick look at Mrs. Muldoon, then glances away, cheeks blazing. “Once again, I’m not sure how to begin to explain everything…”
My heart gives another uncomfortable twist. If it’s hard for me to see how much Rhys’s mother has changed, I can only imagine what it’s like for Ada.
But before I can jump in and rescue her, Jake pulls Ada onto his lap.
Her shoulders drop, and she leans back against his chest, her whole body loosening.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “As it stands, Thompson Farms uses the government’s Recognised Seasonal Employer scheme to source labour.
No harm, no foul. Except Thrasher’s getting the workers who are here legitimately to bring over family members on holiday visas, then paying them peanuts under the table.
After last night, we’ve got enough evidence to prove he’s holding passports and confiscating phones so they can’t leave.
He’s also shipping the undocumented workers to other farms so they lose contact with their families and have basically no way to get out of the system or file a complaint. Is that about right, Betty?”
“Yeah,” she says grimly. “Some of the passports Jake filmed belong to people who’ve never had a payslip issued to them through Thrasher’s system. It’s modern-day slavery, and it’s illegal as shit. But what’s really fucking crazy is how many people know exactly what’s going on at that place.”
“Like who?” Colin asks uncomfortably. “I didn’t know anything.”
“I don’t mean everyone who’s ever worked for Thrasher is in on everything,” Betty says.
“I mean, the farms in Tuakau and Waiuku taking the undocumented workers. The landlords putting them up in shitty apartments. Half the companies selling Thompson Farms machinery and shit. They all know exactly how the sausage gets made.”
She looks right at me, and my pulse skips.
“Cece recorded Will Sharpe last night,” Betty says. “He told her he’s been giving Thrasher personal vehicles to use as gifts for certain workers in exchange for permanent contracts and kickbacks.”
Hearing it laid out like that is so much worse than trying to piece together what was going on from Will’s drunken drivel.
And despite my disgust, only a part of me is listening to Betty.
Too much of my attention is focused on my right side, where my legs are pressed up against Davis, the warmth of his thigh heating me through our jeans.
Every time I breathe, I get a whiff of dark vanilla and coffee, with something else underneath—that familiar Davis scent that’s so good I just want to bury my face in his chest and inhale like a fifteen-year-old huffing spray paint.
He doesn’t move while Ada and Betty talk, holding perfectly still.
I risk a glance up at him and find he’s doing the same to me.
Sparks burst inside my stomach, along with something like hope. Jesus. I yank my gaze away and try to wrangle my attention back to the conversation.
“…The undocumented workers aren’t just getting abused for labour…” Ada says, as my mind continues to run.
Local conspiracy. Fraud. Worker exploitation. Davis’s hands on my body…
C’mon, Cece, focus.
“Verbal trigger warning,” Ada says flatly. “There’s an uglier side to all of this, if you can even imagine.”
“What?” Colin asks nervously.
“Betty and I found messages and photos from a few different employees that show Thrasher’s hosting farm parties.
Parties that are pretty regular and pretty exclusive to him and his mates.
And the only other workers that are ever invited are young, female, and don’t seem to have ever been in the Thompson Farm pay system. ”
Silence reverberates around our circle. I feel like someone’s punched me in the stomach.
“How young?” I’ve only heard that edge to Davis’s voice once before. The night that old dude took a swing at me. I shiver, and his hand wraps around my shoulder briefly before dropping away, and I suddenly feel twice as devastated.
“Young,” Betty says coolly. “These assholes aren’t too good at framing their photos, so you can tell there’s alcohol and drugs, but other than Ada’s recording of Grace, we don’t have any hard evidence for the sexual exploitation side of things.”
“Hang on, those guys aren’t all, like, sex criminals,” Colin says.
We all look at him, and he holds up his hands. “I know how it sounds, but I swear these guys aren’t like that. Booze and drugs are one thing, but what you’re talking about… Look, we can’t make assumptions here…”
“You can’t consent when you’re under the influence,” I point out. “Or if you’re underage. Doesn’t matter what comes out of your mouth.”
“Especially if someone’s holding your fucking passport hostage,” Ada snarls. “Or is that another assumption, Col?”
Colin looks to Jake, who stares back, stone-faced and unsmiling. Then he lowers his hands.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding defeated. “I saw the passports. I know you girls are probably right about all this. It’s just…”
“… Shit to think your old mates are predators,” Jake finishes. His voice is tight, and I have to remind myself that despite the James Bond antics this weekend, he and Colin and the farm guys have been friends for over twenty years.
“Yeah, it is,” Colin says sadly. “Really shit.”
“Still, though, mate. There’s no defending them anymore. They did what they did. It is what it is.”
“Interpersonal relationships aside,” Ada pipes up.
“There’s no stopping this train, even if you wanted to defend Thrasher and Co on the basis of being ‘good blokes’ or whatever.
We’ve got enough hard evidence to spark a full police investigation and that’s all there is to it.
The Chamber of Commerce and New Zealand Immigration will have to get involved at some point, but Betty and I think we should kick this thing off by going right to the Pukekohe cops. ”
Mrs. Muldoon shakes her head. “We can’t. Mr. Thompson is friends with half the station, and they’re always light-handed with locals.”
“True,” Jake grimaces and Ada twists in his lap to look at him. “What did they let you off with?”
“Indecent exposure. But I’d like to point out it was streaking, and I was twenty.”
“Classic rugby player.” Ada presses a kiss against his cheek, and he grins, worship in his eyes.
“Bryan.” Colin looks at Jake. “Bryan Ogilvy. He’s a cop, and he’s honest enough, from what I’ve heard.”
Jake winces. “He hates me.”
“He does. Which is why he’d probably be keen to hear all our so-called mates are actually cunts who should be hauled in for questioning.”
“Why does he hate you?” I ask Jake.
“Banged his missus?” Betty guesses.
Pink steals up Jake’s neck. “His sister.”
Ada laughs. “Classic rugby player.”
“How do we get ahold of Bryan without going to the station, Col?” Jake asks loudly.
“He lives down the street from me,” Colin replies. “His wife’s friends with my missus. We can pop over and see him at his place.”
“Great,” Betty says, tapping away at her screen. “Next step is to go to the media and try and get enough exposure so the cops and the farmers can’t sweep this under the rug.”
Ada nods. “The sooner the better. Does anyone know any journos they trust enough to speak to?”
Betty salutes, without looking up from her screen. “Vanessa Grey at the New Zealand Herald.”
“Fuck, you’re cool, Betty.” It’s supposed to be an inside thought, but it slips out. Betty laughs, and I feel my cheeks burn.
“Maybe I should get more tattoos,” I say to no one.
Davis grunts. “You don’t need more tattoos to be cool.”
“Easy for you to say. You have tons of them.”
“I’m not cool.”
“I think you are.” Once again, the words are out before I can stop them. But instead of running away, Davis smiles softly.
“I think you’re cool, too, Cece.”
The wall I’ve constructed between us since the moment we met seems to shimmer and melt away, leaving me exposed and trembling in a crowded room. My nipples tighten and I fold an arm across my chest. I really wish Mrs. Muldoon wasn’t sitting right next to me. “Um, thanks….”
My horny inappropriate focus is broken by Colin slapping his knees and standing in the time-honoured tradition of a Kiwi male leaving a room. “I’d better go. I’ve gotta take my kid to his basketball game. But I’ll come pick you up at eleven, JGH?”
“No problem,” Jake says. “That good with you, Betty?”
“Perfect.” Betty shuts her laptop. “Anyone need anything else from me?”
Ada shakes her head. “You’re a fucking legend. I’m glad you’re on our side.”
Betty’s grin is black cat evil. “Right back atcha. I’m gonna go, too. Give Vanessa a call. Come on, Mum.”
Mrs. Muldoon struggles to her feet, then looks around at us. “Well… I won’t say it’s been a lovely conversation, but it has been nice to see you all again.”
“Thanks,” I say as Ada presses a palm to her heart. Jake’s grip around her tightens.
Everyone trails out until it’s just the four of us: Jake, Ada, Davis, and me. There’s more room on the couch, but I stay exactly where I am, squashed up against Davis and looking at anything but him.
“What can I do to help?” Davis asks, and Ada’s gaze flicks from me and back to Davis. A sly smile spreads across her face, and pressure squeezes my chest.
What do you want? I remember his asking me, and suddenly I wanted to suggest he help by coming back to my hotel room for yet another shower. A much nicer shower.
But Jake beats me to the punch. “My nan’s been on me for ages about getting her gutters cleaned. You and I can get that done before I head over to Bryan’s?”
“Sure.” Davis stands, taking his heat with him.
I stay frozen, looking up as he plucks a baseball cap from the small dining table and puts it on. Backwards. My ovaries deliver a standing ovation.
“I’ll see you later, I guess,” Davis mutters to me.
“Bye.” My own voice is hoarse.
Ada waves. “Later, boyfriend. Later, Mall Pig.”
Jake kisses her goodbye, then he and Davis leave. Now it’s just me and my best friend, alone again.
“Heavy,” I say.
“Yeah.” Ada chews her lower lip. “Jake and Betty still want to go to the reunion, and I wanna do what you want to do. Think we should go?”
I roll the idea around in my mind. There are plenty of reasons for us to avoid the impending shitshow, but knowing Ada, Jake, and Betty would be by my side is enough to give me the strength to see this weekend through.
“I think so,” I say. “Besides… it would be a shame to let the gold dress go to waste.”
Ada smiles. “Definitely.”
“Then it’s settled.” I toast her with my cup of tea. “To your revenge.”
She raises her glass of water in response. “To our revenge.”