by Vanda Symon
‘Assignments don’t have an if-it’s-a-sunny-day-you-can-skive-off-to-the-beach-and-make-the-most-of-it-instead clause. I wish they did.’ Maggie looked dressed for just such a sunny-day clause, complete with knotted hibiscus-patterned sarong skirt and white-rimmed Jackie-O style sunglasses balanced jauntily atop her head. ‘There were plenty of other poor unfortunates to keep me company in purgatory. And there was one positive – I got asked out on a date.’
‘Ooh, by who? Tell me more.’
‘You’ll laugh.’
‘He’s in the police?’ I said.
‘No, I’m not that desperate,’ she remembered the company and made a hasty apology. ‘Sorry, Paul.’ He waved her off. ‘Besides, when was the last time you saw a policeman in the university library?’
‘Considering I’ve never set foot in the place, that would be fairly obvious.’
‘They might have been doing a drugs raid,’ Paul said. ‘You know what they say about students.’
‘Rampant stereotypes aside, I got asked out by one of those earnest, long-haired, pale-faced, skinny, studious types.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘Well, considering he is drop-dead gorgeous, tall and, despite being a bit skinny, has broad shoulders and a make-your-insides-melt voice, I had no choice but to say yes.’
‘Doop, doop, doop, back up the bus a moment. Didn’t we have this conversation a few days ago and didn’t you say, in rather absolute terms, never the earnest types?’
Maggie shrugged her shoulders and said in a way that made it look like she was powerless to resist, ‘Lust: what can I tell you? It’s a fickle thing.’
‘So that’s where I’ve been going wrong,’ Paul said. ‘All this time I’ve been thinking the chicks go for the macho types, and it’s the pasty, nerdy boys who you girls dig. Maybe I should grow my hair long, stay indoors and get me some glasses.’
‘Oh no, I think Sam goes for the hunky outdoor type. Stick with that strategy, you’ll be alright.’
‘So if I keep up the tan and the workouts, I’m in with a chance?’
‘Yeah, she’s a buns-and-abs girl. Yours look mighty fine to me, so just pile on the charm and you’ll crack her.’
‘Excuse me,’ I said, amazed at the course of conversation. ‘I am in the room, you know.’
‘Yeah, yeah, we know,’ Maggie said, before turning her attention back to Paul. ‘Where are you going to take her for dinner tonight?’
‘I thought Nova looked good.’
‘You’re making a few assumptions here, aren’t you?’ I piped up from the cheap seats.
‘Shhhh.’ Maggie frowned in my direction. ‘Nova’s good. Good food, great wine list.’
‘She’ll like that, then?’
‘Sure bet.’
‘Hello, do I get any say in this?’
A simultaneous ‘No’ was accompanied by conspiratorial grins.
‘Oh, for God’s sake. What’s the point in arguing? Okay, whatever.’
46
This wasn’t so bad, after all. My left hand held a superb Central Otago Pinot Noir, while my right attended to the selection of breads and dips. I would never have imagined the humble beetroot could manage such an amazing transformation – my mother being from the just-pickle-those-suckers school of thought, I’d only ever encountered them sliced and diced.
Speaking of my mother, my only stipulation to agreeing to dinner was a stop at the hospital to catch up with Dad and check in with Mum. That was me doing the catch-up. Paul waited in the car.
The old boy had seemed in good form, although he was still complaining about the food. Mum was Mum and ensured I was warmly wrapped in guilt to go out.
I took another slug of wine.
‘You’d better pace yourself, Sam.’ Paul said, having observed my slightly generous quaff. ‘It’s a bit early for sliding under the table.’
‘Sorry, shitty week, I needed to drown that thought.’
‘If that was the case, I’d have brought you the cheap one.’
‘Apologies again, what can I say?’ I attempted diversionary tactics. ‘Is it really your birthday, or were you just having me on?’
He gave a melty smile and took a sip from his glass. ‘It’s really my birthday, so I appreciate you coming out and saving me the indignity of a lonely night in with delivery pizza and pay-per-view porn at the motel.’
‘Too much information, Paul.’ I hoped he was joking about the porn. ‘I wouldn’t think of me as your rescuer either because, as I recall, I didn’t get much choice in the matter.’
‘Oh, and it’s such a hardship for you, then?’
‘Not really, it was your company or my mother’s.’
‘Ouch. In that case, I’m glad to be of service, I think. Maggie can be fairly persuasive when she wants to be.’
‘You should try living with her. So, what grand age have you reached?’ I couldn’t quite pick it. His face was quite youthful with only a few lines marching to the corners of his eyes, but there was a peppering of grey through his close-cropped hair that, I had to admit, suited him very well. I’d have guessed thirty-two or -three.
‘I thought it was impolite to ask a person’s age?’
‘It’s impolite to ask a lady’s age. Men don’t count.’
‘That’s a bit of a double standard.’
‘Life’s full of them, I thought you’d be used to that by now. So ’fess up, how old?’
‘Guess.’
‘Forty-five?’ I put on my best wide-eyed look.
He laughed at my transparency. ‘Funny, but not that far off. I’m thirty-eight.’
‘Really?’ I’d have never guessed. ‘You don’t act it.’
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘And you’ve never married?’ His eyebrows shot up at the rather personal nature of the question. I’m not quite sure where it popped out from. Must have been the wine.
‘No. Does that seem so strange to you?’
‘No. Well, yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Come on, Paul – you make yourself out to be a bit of a ladies’ man, you’re always flirting with the girls. I mean look how you’re always joking around with me. I’d have thought a guy like you would have caught himself a dolly bird and settled down by now.’
‘And who said I was joking around?’
‘Right,’ I said, and laughed, then took another slug.
‘Anyway, I’m not going to answer your question. A man’s got to maintain an air of mystery, after all.’
‘Who do you think you are? James Bond?’
‘Taught him everything he knows.’ He leaned forward, even closer. ‘Maybe I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the right girl.’ He shot his eyebrows up in query and I spluttered on my wine.
‘Hey, don’t look at me, mister. I don’t date cops,’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the full-on flush I could feel rising up my face.
‘So you say.’ He seemed amused at my reaction and took another leisurely sip of his wine. ‘So what about you? What vintage are you?’
‘What did I say before about that question?’
‘You said it was rude to ask a lady, so I figured it’s okay to ask you.’
‘Funny.’
‘Come on, quid pro quo. I told you.’
‘This isn’t an I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours competition.’
‘Are you offering?’
‘You should be so lucky. Okay, if it will make you feel better, I’m twenty-nine. My next birthday will be the big three-O and I’m planning how I can do something big to divert my attention from the fact I’ll be old.’
‘And you’ve never married?’
‘You’re starting to sound like my mother. No, I’ve never married. Come close, sort of. Well, you know all about Lockie. So far, my career’s been my focus. Yes, the career thing. Even more so now I’m on the detective path. I want to do it justice, be damned good, not just ordinary. So I guess I’ll be a swinging sin
gle for a bit longer.’
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Sam, but there’s nothing even remotely ordinary about you.’ He delivered that with the kind of look and tone that created a warmth in my innards that was not entirely due to the Pinot.
Damn him.
47
A gentle snort eased me into semi-consciousness and I snuggled further into the warm arms wrapped around me.
Arms, warm, around, skin? Shit.
My eyes snapped open, my body tensed. What the hell was I doing here?
Dozy disorientation evaporated as memory flooded back. Me, Paul, oh shit.
In the dark, my eyes flicked to the red glare of the digital alarm clock: 2.14 a.m. Shit, shit, shit. I must have fallen asleep.
The next thought drove me bolt upright.
Mum.
Bloody hell.
I fair leaped out of the bed and started scrabbling around on the floor in a desperate search for my clothes. My head connected with the corner of the bedside table and the resultant yelp had Paul sitting bolt upright, patting around on the bed to find me.
‘Sam?’ His voice was groggy, husky and laden with confusion. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Fell asleep. Shit, got to get home.’ I’d got one leg into my knickers, but with my foot caught with the other hole, I was unbalanced, hopping sideways three steps before crashing into the wall at the end of the bed.
‘Christ, woman, you’ll wake the whole building, come back to bed.’ I heard him pat the mattress. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, so I could make out the trail of clothes as they disappeared towards the lounge.
‘Can’t. Gotta go.’ Staccato replies. ‘Mum, shit.’ I followed the trail to my jeans and bra but had to ferret around again to find my shirt and socks. ‘She’ll kill me.’
‘I doubt that. You’re a grown woman, you can do what you like.’
‘You haven’t met my mum. Oh, God,’ I called back. My brain flashed samples of the inevitable conversations and recriminations and I had to shake my head to clear them. I brought the pile of clothes back into the room and perched on the edge of the bed while I attempted to struggle into them. The sock I’d pulled up my foot was way too big, but I stuffed it and my foot into my boot, regardless. ‘Keys, keys, where did I put my car keys?’ I hobbled, one-shoed, back to the bedside table. Not there. Patted my jeans pocket. No, they must have been in the lounge.
‘You’ll have trouble finding them,’ Paul said, with more than a hint of mirth in his voice.
‘Don’t play games. Where are they?’ I’d found the other boot by this stage. And at least the other sock was the right size.
‘Who drove us here, Sam?’
Shit, piss, fuckity fuck. Paul. My car was in its usual possie, a block and a half away from the Highgate Hilton.
‘Shit. I’ll have to get a taxi. Where’s the phone?’ I was pretty sure there was one on his side of the bed.
‘Don’t be so bloody silly. I’ll drop you back, if you must insist on leaving.’
Ugh, my eyes were assaulted by the sudden light and I raised my arm up to cover them. Paul climbed out from under the covers, and even in my state of panic my heart rate ratcheted up a bit more at the sight of his physique. Hadn’t quite intended for things to work out like this.
‘Where’s my sock?’
‘On my foot.’
‘Well, I’ll have it back, thanks. I don’t do floral, plus I don’t think I’d even get my toes in this thing.’ He held up my missing hosiery, and then flipped it in my direction. ‘What a way to end a perfect evening,’ he said and came over, cupped my cheeks and kissed me gently. ‘I hope ditching me for your mother at this hour of the morning is worth it.’
Oh, God, yes. He didn’t know the half of it.
48
The click of the key turning in the lock and the creak of the front floorboards sounded like gunshots to my paranoid ears as I skulked into the house. I paused, listening for any sign of life, before advancing towards the staircase. A shaft of light cut into the hallway from beyond the partially closed kitchen door. Someone must have forgotten to turn it off. I pushed the door open slightly and reached around for the switch.
‘Sam, is that you?’
It was just as well I didn’t have a full bladder.
I pushed the door open and was appalled to see Mum, seated at the kitchen table, wrapped in her towelling robe, hands wrapped around what looked to be an empty mug. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. A sharp pang hit me in the stomach.
‘Oh, God, Mum, what’s happened? What’s wrong?’ I asked, afraid of what news that kind of face must surely convey. I came around and pulled up a chair beside her, reached out my hands, one on her knee, one on her shoulder. My heart pounded, not wanting to hear, not that.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, between sniffs. ‘You have the cheek to ask me what’s wrong? Your father is lying in hospital, ill, dying for all we know and my daughter cares so little for him, for us, that she won’t even grace us with her presence, slinking in at some ungodly hour of the morning, and you ask me what’s wrong?’
I felt a surge of heat as it rushed up my face and I leaned back into my chair.
‘My God, Sam. What’s happened to you that you don’t even care about your own family? What if we’d needed you? Your father would be heartbroken if he knew we mattered so little to you that you’d rather spend your time out partying or doing God knows what, rather than support your family.’ She had to play the Dad card. ‘You could’ve at least dressed yourself properly after sleeping with God only knows who.’ I didn’t think my mortification could creep any deeper. Wrong. My eyes dropped down and I was sickened to see I’d put my top on inside out. Betrayed by side seams. ‘Have you got a boyfriend, or is this what you do now you’re a big-city girl, go out and sleep with any guy who comes along? This would kill your father, you know that.’
I had mentioned to them I was going out to dinner when at the hospital earlier, but I’d embellished the truth somewhat and said it was with some of the girls to avoid the ‘boyfriend’ interrogation. Not my best call, it would now seem. I didn’t bother to mount a defence, or even an attempt at an offence. Besides my being too flabbergasted and embarrassed to speak, any effort would be futile. In my mother’s eyes, I was tarred, feathered and performing the chicken dance.
And there was no recovery from the chicken dance.
49
‘That was a nice atmosphere down there over breakfast. What did you do to piss your mother off this time?’ Maggie asked. We were in the relative sanctuary of the upstairs bathroom.
‘I think the fact I breathe pisses her off sometimes.’ I turned to face Maggs, rather than talk to her reflection in the mirror. ‘I know she’s worried about Dad, and I tend to cop the backlash sometimes, but hell, she sure knows how to turn on the guilt.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
‘I got in a little late last night.’
‘How late is a little late?’
‘Half-two.’ I still cringed in the telling.
‘But you were out with Paul.’ A huge grin spread across her face. ‘Does that mean you two…?’
‘Ugh.’ I leaned my head against the wall, but slightly misjudged, so there was a fairly hefty bang.
‘What happened to Miss-I-don’t-screw-the-crew?’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘But I take it from the look on your face, it’s not looking so good now.’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ I set my toothbrush down on the counter, trying to corral my thoughts. ‘I got a bit carried away with the moment, and you know, things happen. I didn’t mean to.’
‘I didn’t mean to. Do you realise how juvenile that sounds?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. And now, I don’t know quite what to do about it.’ Life was complicated enough already, and I’d gone and made it a whole heap more challenging.
‘I can’t see the problem. Come on, admit it,
you really like him. You two have been doing the ol’ pull-ponytails-and-poke-out-tongues ritual for ages. And you have to admit, he is hot.’
‘Yes, but…’ That wasn’t the problem.
‘What’s the matter, then? Was he lousy in bed?’
My face broke into a sheepish grin, despite myself. ‘Ah, no, hell no.’ I even blushed. ‘No problems in that department.’
‘Okay, so he’s fun, he’s hot, got a great bod and rocked in bed. What’s not to like? Don’t you think your standards might be getting a little high if you’re prepared to throw this one back into the ocean?’
‘You’ve heard of buyer’s remorse? I have bonker’s remorse.’ I did a slow-motion face-palm. ‘What was I thinking? For heaven’s sake, I have to work with the guy. That’s always going to end in tears. Things will get awkward and messy, people will talk.’
‘Sam, in case you didn’t realise it, he lives in another town. It’s not like you’re going to be tripping over him every day. In fact, it’s perfect, really. Work hard during the week, catch up and shag each other silly on the weekends. You don’t even have to commit yourself. Anyway, since when did you worry about what people say?’ she asked, between flossing her teeth.
‘Woah, let’s not talk commitment. It was only one spur-of-the-moment, unexpected shag. In fact, knowing Paul, now that he’s conquered me, so to speak, he’ll lose all interest and move on to the next challenge.’
‘Ouch, that’s a bit harsh. Not much faith there. He might surprise you.’
‘Trust me, I’ve been dealing with him for years, I know his type. He hunts for the thrill of the chase. Now he can tick me off his list. I bet he doesn’t even call.’
‘Bet you he does. In fact, I bet you coffee and a Modak’s cinnamon pinwheel you see him today.’ That was high stakes.
‘You’re on. You better get your money ready though; you’re destined to lose.’
I checked my watch. ‘I suppose I’d better get my act together and go face the music at the hospital.’
‘You never did explain why your mum was so frosty with you at breakfast. How did she know about Paul?’