Throw a Double for Spite

by Cherie Mitchell

  Riley carried the salad through to the table in the sitting room while Ruth went back to the kitchen to get a pitcher of iced water and some glasses. The sun shone brightly through the window, making the space feel cheerful and cozy. Riley sat down in front of one of the plates of charred chicken as Ruth returned with the tray of drinks. “Have you been talking to your sister lately?”

  “I spoke to her the other day. She missed you at Samantha’s birthday party.”

  “No she didn’t. I would’ve just got in the way if I was there. Help yourself to the salad.”

  “Did you even bother to give Samantha a birthday gift?”

  “Of course I did! What sort of grandmother do you think I am?”

  Riley dished up a serving of salad and kept her eyes on her plate to prevent her expression giving away exactly what kind of grandmother she thought Ruth was. They ate in silence for several minutes, the musical clink of silverware against china the only sound in the room.

  Ruth pushed her dried up chicken breast to one side and put down her knife and fork. She shoved the plate away, looking determined now. “Morgan needs help. I haven’t said anything up until now but all the signs are there.”

  “Help with the girls? Why? She has Kevin to help her. He wouldn’t be my choice of a husband but he suits Morgan well enough.” There, she’d done it again. She’d made another disparaging comment about a man. Perhaps Briar was correct in her assumption.

  “No, I don’t mean help with the girls. I mean she needs help with her drinking.”

  Riley frowned at her mother as she too pushed the remains of her uninspiring lunch aside. “She likes to have a glass of wine or two but I don’t think it’s any big deal. I like relaxing with a drink too.”

  Ruth looked at her steadily. “Have you ever wondered why I don’t drink?”

  “Not really. Some people don’t like the taste.”

  “I had a severe drinking problem when you and Morgan were little,” Ruth said flatly. “I’m an alcoholic, albeit a recovering one. The condition is hereditary and it’s always been my biggest fear that one of you girls would go down the same path. Truth be told, I thought it would be you rather than Morgan given your different personalities.”

  “What? Why didn’t I know this before now? Does Morgan know?” The admission was shocking but in some ways, it made sense. Riley had a vague recollection of times during her younger years when Ruth was hard to approach, of slurred and shouted arguments between her parents, and the constant clatter of empty bottles in the recycling bin.

  “Morgan doesn’t know. She’s closer to you than she is to me. I thought you could have a chat to her, but be prepared for her to deny it. We’re all in denial, every last one of us. It’s the catch cry of every alcoholic – ‘I like a drink but I haven’t got a drinking problem’. ”

  “Wow.” Riley gazed at her mother with a new appreciation. “I had no clue. How did you overcome it? Did you go to AA meetings?”

  “Not every alcoholic goes to a meeting, my dear. I had an excellent therapist and the strength of mind to see it through but I’m not going to tell you that it was easy. I nearly hit the bottle again during the divorce but my own pig-headed stubbornness kept me clean. There was no way I was going to allow Bill the satisfaction of knowing that his selfish actions had set me back on the road to drink.”

  “Wow,” Riley said again. “And you thought that I might end up as an alcoholic too? Why?”

  “A few reasons, but mostly due to the way you reacted after Bill left. You were the poster child for horrible teenagers. I’ve never seen anyone so cut up by the departure of a fool from her life.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m teasing you. He may be an old fool but he was once my fool. Despite what you think, I still care about what happens to him and I’m praying that he makes a speedy recovery.” Ruth’s expression grew serious once more. “I am concerned about Morgan though. Will you talk to her? She’s more likely to listen if it comes from you.”

  “I might go and see her after work tomorrow. I’m meeting a friend tonight to go and watch a movie.”

  Ruth’s eyes lit up at this suggestion of a piece of interesting gossip, especially as Riley seldom shared details of her private life with her mother. “A date?”

  “Yes. No. Sort of. It’s nothing worth shouting across the rooftops about.” Riley stood up and began to tidy away the lunch dishes. “You sit there and enjoy a few minutes in the sun. I’ll do the washing up. Your outstanding efforts in making that delicious meal were enough of a contribution to today’s mother and daughter session.”

  “You’ve got a mean mouth on you sometimes, Riley Preston,” Ruth said good-naturedly.

  “Like mother, like daughter. Can I make you a coffee to wash that burnt taste out of your own mean mouth? I know I need one.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Riley had taken over an hour to get ready for tonight’s date, wanting to make a good impression for her first meeting with Jack. She was excited to see him, especially as he’d texted her as she was leaving Ruth’s house to say how much he was looking forward to finally seeing her. She left the parking lot and crossed the footbridge over the canal, a fabricated waterway surrounded by a patch of lawn and manicured shrubs that attracted a few loud ducks and even louder small children on sunny days, and walked across to the entrance of the movie theatre. It was 6.45 pm. She had been eager to get here on time, keen to chat with him for a moment or two before they went in. She hesitated in front of the ticket office, wondering if he’d had the presence of mind to buy their tickets in advance. There was quite a crowd here, and a small queue had formed. She looked around, wondering if he was here yet. How would she recognize him? How would he recognize her? They hadn’t discussed the details.

  She reached for her phone, about to text him to say that she was standing by the ticket office wearing a navy jacket and jeans, and was dismayed to see a message already on the screen. ‘So sorry. Major car trouble. I can’t make it tonight.’

  “What? No. Don’t do this to me.” She spoke the words out loud while furiously typing her reply. ‘I’m already here! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.’

  The response was immediate. ‘Me too, beautiful Riley. I’m as frustrated about this as you are. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  “Dammit.” She thrust her phone back into her pocket and looked again at the ticket office. She glanced at the gory, slasher-themed posters advertising the movie they were supposed to see. She could go in on her own of course, but did she really want to sit in a dark theatre and watch a scary horror movie by herself? Not if she wanted to sleep soundly tonight.

  She remained where she was, unsure of what to do next, as the crowd around the ticket office moved away and the area gradually emptied. There was no point in standing out here in the cold and she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to go straight home after looking forward to this evening all weekend. She looked across the courtyard to where the sounds of cheerful music drifted out from a popular restaurant and bar franchise. Making up her mind, she marched across the expanse of concrete paving and walked inside to the welcoming warmth. She would treat herself to a bowl of fries and a drink before calling it a night. Jack couldn’t help the fact that his car wouldn’t start – it could have happened to anyone. I do like men.

  She ordered her drink and snack and went to find a table. She removed her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, looking up at the TV behind the bar as a game of basketball played out its final few frenetic seconds.

  “White wine and a bowl of fries.” The smiling waitress set both items on the table in front of her, the girl’s body blocking Riley’s view of the screen.

  “That was quick.”

  “Pre-cooked and pre-uncorked. It’s not as if we make much to order here, despite what the advertising jingle promises. Word has it that the marketing guy in his fancy office who came up with it has never set foot inside a single one of our restaurants.
Enjoy.”

  Riley laughed and reached for one of the crispy golden fries. It wasn’t quite the evening that she’d hoped for but after spending most of the weekend at home on her own, it was good to be out. Jack had said that he would make it up to her and she believed that his reason for canceling was genuine. Take that, Briar. I don’t hate Jack and he’s a man.

  “I hope they catch that guy soon. They said they found a cigarette butt by the young girl’s body and they’re running DNA tests on it now.”

  She looked up to see a man with in a blue sweater with sandy hair and a lightly suntanned face standing beside her table. He nodded at the TV above the bar. She followed his gaze to see the identikit picture of the Condo Killer filling the screen. The newcomer looked back down and smiled at her, his cheeks dimpling attractively. “I have my doubts about the accuracy of that composite though. Could be anyone.”

  “Oddly enough, I was talking about that with a friend of mine the other day.” She returned his contagious smile with one of her own. I do like men. Why did Briar’s throwaway comment still irk her, preying on her mind and refusing to budge? Was it because she was afraid there was a modicum of truth in the statement?

  “Snap.” He touched a fingertip to one of his own dimples and his grin widened as he indicated the dimple on her cheek with a lift of his beer glass. “Do you know what they say about a person with dimples?”

  “I’m not sure if I’d heard this one before or not. Tell me.” She probably should have ignored him rather than encouraging a conversation but perversity egged her on.

  “People with dimples have a divine role to play in the world...”

  “...and that role is to smile,” she countered. “Yes, I’ve heard it but I’m not sure if it counts when I only have one dimple.”

  He leaned closer for a better look, causing a lock of hair to flop boyishly over one eye. “Oh, so you do. Yep, I’d definitely say that it still counts. Perhaps God got distracted and put his paintbrush down when he was halfway through designing you.”

  She shook her head and reached for another fry, enjoying his banter despite his corny comments.

  He dropped his hand down on the back of an empty chair. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Uh...” She was about to say that she wasn’t looking for company but instead she just shrugged. He seemed harmless enough, pleasant and polite, and his conversational skills so far had been engaging. “Why not? It’s a free country.”

  “Sure is, but I don’t want to impose.” He sat down and again, he offered her one of those charming smiles. “Oliver Johnson at your service.”

  “Hi, Oliver. I’m Riley.” An abundance of caution, or perhaps common sense, made her withhold her last name. “What brings you here this evening?”

  He pulled a wry face. “Would you believe I was stood up?”

  “Oh, I can believe it.” She took another fry, glancing at his hand where he had rested it on the table as she did so. He had such huge hands, and they were strangely at odds with the average size of the rest of his physique.

  “And you? Why would such a lovely lady be dining alone?”

  “It’s part of that free country philosophy I mentioned earlier,” she said flippantly.

  He didn’t laugh. He picked up one of the ketchup sachets from the receptacle on the table and palmed it before closing his huge fist over it. “I haven’t had much luck when it comes to women.” He stared morosely over her head at the television.

  She’d been wrong to allow him to sit with her. He was about to launch into a long tirade about his love life, she just knew it, and she had no interest in sitting here while he vented. She ate a couple more fries before dropping her crumpled napkin into the bowl, her appetite now gone. “One day the right one will come along, a loyal, loving woman who is perfect for you.”

  He whipped his head around to glare at her. “Loyalty is overrated. People need to realize that the only way to survive in this dog-eat-dog world is by putting yourself first.”

  The turn the conversation had taken was making her feel uncomfortable and he no longer looked quite so genial and friendly. She finished her wine and pushed her chair back. “It was lovely to meet you but I have to go now.”

  He dragged his eyebrows down into a deep frown. “Women wonder why men commit hate crimes against them but they only need to look at themselves. There’s the reason right there.”

  She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and gave him a tight smile as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. She spun around and walked quickly across to the door. She could see the little bridge from here, the shallow arch of the structure clearly visible across the courtyard, and on the other side of the bridge was her car. There were people about and it wasn’t late. She had nothing to fear from crazy Oliver. She glanced around the restaurant, seeking out the chatty waitress. She could quietly tell her that the man at the table had been bothering her and ask her to watch out for her until she reached the parking lot. It was a simple request, and one that she knew any woman would agree to do for another. However, the waitress was nowhere to be seen.

  She looked back over her shoulder just as Oliver tipped his head back and swallowed the last of his beer. Seizing her moment, she pulled the door open and walked quickly back across the courtyard.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Riley’s footsteps echoed against the curved boards of the bridge as she jogged across it. The water of the canal was a black ribbon beneath the bridge and the pretty shrubs had taken on a beast-like, hulking appearance in the shadows of the night. She reached the other side and hurried through the parking lot to where she’d left her car. She looked back at the bridge and across the courtyard to where the neon lights spelling out the restaurant name flashed boldly on and off. There was no sign of Oliver and the only people in the courtyard now were a small family group heading across to the movie theatre. She plunged her hand into her jacket pocket to get her car keys but the pocket was empty. She tutted and tried the other pocket. Nothing there.

  Sighing, she opened her handbag and fumbled blindly inside. The light wasn’t good here and she was creating her own shadow from the street light behind her. She moved closer to the light, over to where a bench seat stood on the edge of the grass, positioned at the flat point just before the lawn sloped gently down to the canal. A couple walked hand in hand across the nearby bridge and a burst of feminine laughter floated through the night air. Riley sat her bag on the back of the bench and opened it wide, peering in at the flotsam of her phone, her purse, a tube of lipstick, a comb, a stick of chewing gum and a receipt from a clothing store. No keys. She scrabbled her hand down to the lining at the bottom of the bag. She was now absolutely sure that the keys weren’t there – her bag would feel heavier if they were inside and she had a faint memory of shoving them into her jacket pocket. She slapped her hand against her empty pocket again and stared back over at the restaurant. They must have fallen out when she hung her jacket over the back of her chair.

  “Dammit.” She hurriedly zipped up her handbag and stepped away from the circle of light. She would have to run across to the restaurant to look for them and hope that odd Oliver had moved on. She strode past the rows of silent cars in the lot and she had almost reached the bridge when she saw a figure walking purposely across the courtyard. She stepped onto the creaking boards just as Oliver quickened his pace and stepped onto the other side of the bridge. His face was in deep shadow with the lamp light behind him, but his voice was unmistakable. “You left so quickly, without a real goodbye. It made me sad.”

  “I said goodbye,” she said hotly. “Could you please move out of my way? I need to get across the bridge.”

  “Why the big hurry? It’s nice chatting down here by the canal.” He took a few steps closer and Riley gripped the wooden handrail, forcing herself not to step back. It was safer for her to remain here on the bridge, close to the courtyard where people were moving around, rather than returning to the almost deserted parking lot. “W
hat do you want?”

  “What do I want? Not much. I never want much when it comes to women but even that can sometimes be hard to get.” He bent and casually leaned his forearms on the handrail, angling his body so that he completely blocked her passage across the bridge.

  “I’m sorry that your date stood you up, but that has nothing to do with me. Please let me pass.” Over the arc of Oliver’s stooped back, Riley could see the restaurant neon sign clearly but for now, it was out of her reach. She looked at the movie theatre, hoping to see someone by the ticket office who she could call out to, but the entrance was free of people.

  “Do you know what I think?” Oliver continued to stare down at the ebony water of the canal, speaking in low, thoughtful tones. “I think that women have had it too good for too long. You’re all too full of yourselves. Someone needs to take you down a peg or two.”

  “You don’t know me, Oliver. You can’t compare me to any of the other women that you’ve met. You can’t compare me to the woman who stood you up tonight. That’s the wrong thing to do and I think you know that. Can you move aside? I’m meeting my boyfriend after his movie ends and he’ll come looking for me if he doesn’t see me waiting outside when he comes out.” She was proud of herself for her quick thinking. He would move out of her way now and she could run across to the restaurant to get her keys. She would ask the waitress to send one of the male staff to accompany her back to her car. She needed to be more careful in future, smarter about her own safety.

  “You have a boyfriend? See, now you’ve gone and lowered my high opinion of you. You shouldn’t have flirted with me when you’re already seeing someone else. That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

  “I didn’t flirt with you,” she said through gritted teeth. “You invited yourself to sit at my table.”