by Davina Stone
He reckoned it was all wrong. He reckoned this was heading somewhere at the speed of light that he couldn’t do anything about. His head was starting to spin. But then he remembered the desperate sense of longing, the need to belong and to be part of the group when he was Avery’s age.
He couldn’t say he liked the dress, but he couldn’t let her down either.
Carts hung his head and a splice of hair fell over his eyes as he muttered, “Okay, Aves, I’ll talk to Mum about it.”
Avery squealed and the next thing he knew her arms were round his neck. “I love you, soooo much.”
He hugged her tight. “I love you too, Aves.”
Yeah, so much it hurt.
Chapter 3
Judith typed the account password into her laptop, a pulse pounding at her temples as she stared at the screen.
Her eyes scanned the account details.
Balance: zero. She blinked hard. Looked again. Still zero.
Fingers of ice crawled across her scalp and down her spine. This could not be happening.
Her three thousand dollars was gone. The money she’d squirrelled away from her pay packet each month, feeling empowered that she was saving towards their overseas holiday. Gone.
Fingers shaking, she pulled up the details of the account.
Her eyes widened at the last entry. Three withdrawals of nine hundred dollars, on three consecutive days, which was the limit she’d put on account withdrawals.
Oh, and a neat little thirty dollars to round it all off on day four.
All paid into the account of one Mark Downing.
Now the tight, icy feeling had spread to her chest, like poison ivy threatening to squeeze the breath out of her lungs.
Why would Mark do this? She’d paid him his share; it had never occurred to her she would need to close off that account.
And now, without asking, he’d taken what wasn’t his.
Her forehead was so tight she was worried her skull might crack with the pressure.
There must be some explanation. She scrubbed two fingers across the crease that had formed between her eyebrows, as though if she got rid of it, this would all magically go away. She racked her brains. Maybe his salary hadn’t come through this month, or he’d had to pay some extra bills. No, that didn’t make sense. He’d had enough for the bond and two months’ rent payments. They’d organised all that.
Sure, Mark had fallen out of love with her, but that didn’t make him a bad person.
It didn’t make him someone who would steal from her.
She stood up so abruptly her chair clattered to the floor. Hugging herself, she paced the kitchen, rubbing the tops of her arms, which were numb with shock.
Finally, she grabbed her phone off the island bench and brought up Mark’s number. Typed in, Have you stolen my money?
Erased it. She hated sounding accusatory, there had to be some more logical explanation. Mark, we have to talk.
That would have to do. She pressed send.
Then followed it with URGENT.
Before the split, he’d been good at phoning her, admittedly more often than not to check if she’d bought chocolate on her way home from work. She hadn’t heard much since he’d moved out. Truthfully, she was worried she’d go around to his apartment and find him dead from gaming. She’d heard that could happen on a talkback show about problem gaming. She’d recognised the classic signs in Mark. People just sat at their computers, so immersed that they forgot to eat, forgot to drink, forgot to pee. And then their hearts stopped. They simply dropped dead in the middle of slaying dragons or demons or whatever.
The minutes ticked by loudly on the clock above the stove.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and called him.
No answer. He’d taken off his voice message. That was strange.
She tried again, tapping in his number manually even though it had always gone through on automatic dial before.
Still no answer.
There were only two possibilities: Mark had died at his computer or run off with her share of their savings. Both options were too horrible to contemplate.
As she put her phone down, her eyes caught on her bag of new frocks.
Her lower lip wobbled.
It wasn’t just about the money, was it? Now it felt like all the joy she’d had anticipating her date with Carts had been stolen from her.
Judith slammed her laptop shut and fought back tears, sinking down at the table and staring into space. She needed to talk this through with someone. Polly?
She’d collapsed on Polly the night Mark had left her and Polly had been wonderful, but, no, it didn’t feel right to do that again. Their friendship was quite a new thing and what if Polly just thought she was being super needy and hysterical?
Mum? Nope. Mum hadn’t got over her separation from Mark yet. After her brother Luke had married his long-term girlfriend Kirsty last year, Mum had turned her attention to Judith and Mark as the next wedding in the family. She knew Mum would get all uptight and anxious if she told her about the money. And Dad would just go straight to bluster and solutions, which would make everything worse.
The sudden jangle of the doorbell made Judith jump so hard her butt nearly lifted off the chair. Had Mark seen her calls and decided to come around instead of phone?
That would be ominous. He wasn’t the spontaneous type. Shakily she got to her feet and went to open the door.
“Pippa!” Her younger sister stood bouncing on the heels of her Adidas trainers on the doorstep. “What are you doing here?”
“We had a match round the corner, so I thought I’d drop by. Seeing you are all on your lonesome.” Pippa gave her a bear hug. “How are you?”
“I-I—” Pippa’s presence, all bright and breezy and full of the joys of a good hard game of netball made Judith’s own miserable plight whack her like a home goal. The wobble returned to her lower lip, but now it seemed to have spread to her chin as well. Her whole face felt like a half-set jelly. Pippa turned into a blurry blob in front of her as tears filled her eyes.
“Aw, honey, have I hit a raw nerve? You’re missing him, right?”
Judith gulped and shook her head.
“What is it then?”
“Oh, Pippa, Mark’s stolen my savings.”
“Jesus Christ!” Pippa’s hands landed firmly on Judith’s shoulders, pivoted her 180 degrees, and propelled her down the hallway.
Once seated on a stool at the breakfast bar, Judith told Pippa the full story, or at least what she knew of it while Pippa rushed around the kitchen, putting the kettle on, and managing to break a cup—Pippa was like that, her movements too large for anything other than the netball court or pummelling people in her job as a physio.
“Oops, sorry.” Pippa chucked the broken pieces in the bin. Hooking a foot round another stool, she plonked her butt on it, shoved a mug at Judith and cupped her own between her hands.
“Okay, start from the beginning. How did he get hold of your money?”
Judith hung her head miserably. “We haven’t separated our accounts yet. I’d saved money for our holiday, but we’d agreed to split it and Mark used his for the bond and first two months’ rent. But now he’s taken my share in three lots just under the daily withdrawal limit, so I wouldn’t get a notification.”
“Bastard!” Pippa snorted with the cup at her lips. A spray of tea arced across the benchtop.
“Have you had it out with him?”
“No, he’s not answering his phone.”
“Oh, Jude, babe! That’s terrible.” Pippa reached out and squeezed her arm. Pippa had always been the expressive one of their family, loud and extroverted. Unlike Judith, and Luke, who were very happy with their own company, Pip needed people around her, which accounted for her passion for team sports. Personally, Judith had always preferred a needle and thread and some relaxing music playing in the background.
Pip slammed her cup down on the table. “I’ll go round if you like, demand he
gives it back. He’s always been scared of me.”
Judith pulled her hair up on top of her head, coiled it round, then let it drop. “It’s okay, I’ll sort it out.” She avoided confrontation, when possible, but there was no other option now.
Pippa patted her arm so firmly it almost hurt. “Have you got enough money to get by?”
“Yes, I’ll use my credit card.” She thought of the dresses; she hated going into debt almost as much as she hated confronting people. She could return them, but then… no, darn it, she was going to look good for her date with Carts, whatever the cost.
“Dad will lend you money.”
“I don’t want to bring Dad and Mum into this.”
“I didn’t say bring Mum into it.” Pippa’s lip curled. Pip and Mum had a strained relationship. “I bet she’s still pushing you to try and get him back.”
“Kind of.” Judith took another sip of tea and gave up, her mouth furry with the tannin. Mum just wanted her married and settled. To Mum, that meant her children were protected from the dangers of the world. Judith got that, even if Pippa didn’t. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. How are you going?”
Pippa’s face relaxed into a big grin. “Good—great in fact.” She straightened her legs in front of her and flexed her quads. “We won again.” Judith noticed the downy ginger hairs on her sister’s calves. She loved that Pippa didn’t care about things like shaving her legs and armpits. Judith just couldn’t quite bring herself to throw out her razor.
“You remember Shaz, right?”
Judith frowned. She’d been to a few of Pippa’s matches, but tended not to hang around afterwards for the socialising.
“Dark wavy hair, blue eyes. I introduced her to you last time. She’s awesome at goals. Just bounce, bounce, wap! In it goes.”
“Who were you up against tonight?”
“The Western Divas. A bunch of stuck-up ex-private school wankerettes. I always love working out their moves.” Pippa grinned, cheerfully patting down her top over toned abs. “They try all the dirty tricks, but no-one could match Shaz tonight.” She made a plane flying motion with her hand through the air. “She’s freakin’ amazing.”
Despite herself, Judith smiled. Pippa’s enthusiasm for life was infectious. “How’s work?”
“Busy. Loving it though. Andrew is giving me a few professional footie players to work on.”
Judith tried for a suggestive brow waggle. “Oooh, that sounds like fun.”
Pippa shrugged, “Yeah, I guess, if you’re into muscle-bound guys with tight hamstrings.”
It was hard not to feel envious. Here Judith was, having defined herself by her relationship since she was seventeen, while Pippa guarded her single status proudly. Right now, she wished she’d been more like Pippa that way. “I’ll look out for one for you.” Pippa grinned. “A nice bit of beefcake might be just what you need.”
A tinge of a blush edged her cheeks. “Not really my style.” She thought of Carts, so tall and rangy, with his cute smile and that little crooked incisor that made his face all the more interesting. And those gorgeous long-lashed eyes. Big and brown. And kind.
Pippa slapped her palms onto her thighs. “I’m starving. Gonna grab myself a kebab round the corner with a few of the team. Wanna come?”
Judith shook her head. She wanted to console herself by looking at her new dresses. Maybe alter the one that was a little loose in the left boob area, so that it fit her more snugly.
“I could bring you one back if you like?”
“No thanks, I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you don’t need me to lend you some money?” Pippa’s eyes were full of concern.
“Pip, you haven’t got any to spare.”
Pippa kissed her clumsily on the ear. “I’ll always look after you, you know that.”
“Thanks Pip. What would I do without you?”
“Your life would lack all meaning.” Pip grinned. And then she was gone, bounding out the door and down the path with a wave and, “Text me if you get any more news on the missing fuckwit.”
Judith closed the door.
Pensively, she took her bag of dresses into her bedroom, smoothed them out and put them on hangers, then laid them neatly side by side on her bed.
She wasn’t going to think about the money right now.
On reflection, the mint green one was her favourite. But it did need work around the top. She often had to alter dresses due to the fact that her right breast was a cup size bigger than the other. It was a fact she’d come to terms with. Mostly. Except… she hadn’t shown her breasts to a man, other than Mark, ever.
Mark had been it, as far as sex went. Unless you counted a grope in the sand dunes with a guy when she was barely sixteen. She’d only let him touch one of her breasts, the bigger one.
What if… The tingle in her cheeks intensified. Oh, no, not yet. Not for a long while. She’d go slow, very, very slow.
Besides, how did you really know you could trust someone? She’d trusted Mark, and suddenly out of the blue he’d upped and left. Not a single sign, or at least none that she’d recognised. The money issue scooted into her head again and her stomach turned into a tight, hard ball of tension. She decided to face it when she’d calmed down. Trying to tackle problems when you were riled up never solved anything. She’d watched Pippa do that with Mum and it never, ever worked.
Nope. She scooped up the mint green dress and headed for her craft room.
Right now, she was going to get out her sewing machine and make that dress fit like a dream.
Chapter 4
“Wells!”
Tiptoeing past Ron Towers’ office, Carts froze.
The door was only open a crack, how the heck did Ron know it was him? Some kind of chemical reaction as he walked past? Photosynthesis, like plants? He’d started a book last night on the language of trees in an attempt to keep his mind off his date with Judith. Because one infinitesimal thought of her, and his body was at risk of some very serious chemical reactions of its own.
“Come in here,” Ron bellowed.
Carts sighed and nudged the door open with his foot. “Yes, Ron.”
Ron’s bulbous eyes pinned him, glasses on the end of his nose. A pudgy hand waved in the air. “I’m over here, boy.”
“Yes, Ron, I can see you.” Unfortunately.
“Ah, so there is a pair of eyes under that thatch.”
Carts gritted his teeth until his jaw felt like it would crack.
He’d actually tried to get a haircut at lunch time, after he’d had no luck with his phone screen repair. “Have it back to you next week, mate,” the dude in the arcade had said with a shrug. So, he’d kept his smashed phone for now and walked two doors down to The Right Cut. A woman with blonde hair tied into a messy ponytail wearing a T-shirt with “HAIR VIP” scrawled over the front in glitter, called out, “Hullo, there.”
Carts could only stare in confusion. “Where’s Bernie?”
He’d been coming to Bernie since he’d started working at Pearson’s Accounting eight years ago. Bernie got his hair. Never insisted on cutting off too much.
“Bernie’s retired.” He watched as the woman did something weird with foil on her client’s head. “I’ve taken over the business. We’re unisex now.”
Carts had to struggle not to recoil.
“I’m Tara.” The woman advanced, pinging off her rubber gloves. “I could do you while the colour sets on my client. Haven’t got time for a full wash and blow-dry, but if you don’t mind me cutting you dry…” She chortled; a sound that put the fear of God into him.
‘Maybe I’ll come back later,” he managed.
Tara shrugged. “Okay, darlin’, open till 8 pm. I do walk-ins. But there might be a wait.” She cocked her head and her eyes narrowed. “Sure you don’t want to go for it now?”
“No! Thanks. Are you open tomorrow?”
“Here until midday. Got my kids’ sport in the arvo.”
“Okay. Morning it is then.” Grinning like a hyena, Carts backed rapidly out the door.
Bernie retired? Bernie was an icon in the city with his barber’s pole and his habit of grunting and smelling of cigarette smoke and whisky. He hadn’t said a word last time Carts came for a trim. Mind you, last time had been three months ago. And Bernie barely spoke anyway.
In a bit of a daze, he’d gone to Myer and bought a pair of scissors, but every time he sneaked into the men’s bathroom at work, intent on trimming a fraction off his fringe, someone would burst through the door.
Travis Green, the office loudmouth, had spied the scissors before Carts could whisk them behind his back and snickered. “Working here that bad, is it?”
Now it would be all round the office that Carter Wells was doing weird shit with a pair of scissors in the men’s loos.
So he gave up, reassuring himself that grunge in a suit was “in” and battled through his workload for the rest of the afternoon.
But now, standing in front of Ron’s desk, the bolstering of his ego fizzled. Of course, Ron wouldn’t think to mention Carts’ beautifully cut suit. Or his sea blue tie with embroidered silver shells on it. Oh no, Ron loved to accentuate the negative. That was the trouble with men in their late fifties who hadn’t made it past middle management. Bitter and twisted. As if the only power they had to wield was making the world a more mean-spirited place.
Carts raised himself up to his full height. “Did you want me for anything in particular, Ron?”
“Yes. I was just sending you an email. I’m taking some leave from Monday. I need you to cover my clients.”
Carts frowned. “Monday? I didn’t know you were planning a holiday.”
Ron scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “Yeah, well, decided I needed a break. Work my backside off for Pearson’s, and what do they do for me in return, eh?”
Carts didn’t say a word; everyone knew Ron milked the Pearson cow, had done for years. Ron glanced up and growled. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my bloody marbles. I don’t like having to do this, my clients aren’t overjoyed at being passed over to you, but you’re the most experienced I’ve got. I’ve told them not to expect great things. But they get that the boss needs a break from time to time.”