Eleven Rules: A gripping domestic suspense (The Rules Book 1)

by PJ Vye

  Junior set his plate aside and asked, “Do you think it’s working?”

  “Still too early to tell.”

  “To be honest with you bro, I don’t think it will. I mean, if it were as simple as all that, wouldn’t someone else have invented it?”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  “Do you think, if this doesn’t work, that that’s it for me?”

  Junior eyes narrowed on him and Mataio couldn’t meet them. “It’s hard to say.”

  “You really are a typical doctor, you know that? ‘Too early to tell’ and ‘hard to say’. Just say it Taio. I won’t ever leave this room again, will I?”

  “Junior, I wish I had the answers, I do.”

  “I don’t mind, really. I mean, who wouldn’t want this life? It’s a dream life. I get to do all the gaming I want. I get to eat whatever I want, whenever I want. I’ve got someone taking care of my every need. There are plenty of people who’d want what I have. What’s not to love?”

  “Sunshine? Freedom? Choice?…Love?”

  Junior stared straight ahead a while and ignored the dessert on his tray. “Sure. There’s that.”

  Mataio sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms. “Tell me, what do you miss the most?”

  “I don’t even remember.”

  “What do you miss the most that doesn’t involve food.”

  “One thing, mostly.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “To swim in the ocean at Tanu. Lay on my back and float on the crystal water, the sun on my skin, my cousins singing and dancing and cooking on the shore. That’s what I miss the most.”

  Mataio felt a lump rise in his throat, wishing the exact same thing, even though he’d never been to Samoa. “Focus on it. Visualise the beach, the feel of the water. That’s the end goal.”

  “It’s a dream, bro. It’s never going to happen. I’ll never fit in the seat of a plane.”

  “Then we’ll get a bigger plane.”

  Fourteen

  MATAIO

  45 days to go

  A smaller man might have crumbled under the weight, and although Mataio’s arms strained against the sleeves of his shirt, he still managed to carry the dog up two flights of stairs to Sunny’s apartment without breaking a sweat. He rearranged the dog half over his shoulder to free up a hand and knocked loudly on the door.

  Closing time on a Monday afternoon in an industrial estate had the usual noises; truck engines dying, metal scraping, roller doors closing. He scratched Ipo under the collar as he waited, the dog strangely comfortable in his arms. He juggled the dog and knocked again, a sudden panic gripping him. Had he misread her? Had he been too quick to believe her when she’d said she’d wait two weeks? “Sunny?” He called through the door, surprised by the anguish in his own voice. He pounded with his whole forearm; the door whimpered against him.

  “Sunny? Are you there?”

  He heard the stomp of a foot hitting the floor and then the creak of movement.

  “Sunny. Open up. It’s me,” he yelled, unsure if she’d know who ‘me’ was. How many others had come and gone this week, trying to save her?

  “Okay, okay. God almighty, I’m coming. Keep it down will ya? You’ll wake the neighbours.”

  The door opened slowly, and she stood aside as he stormed in. “I am the neighbours. You scared me.”

  She wore her pajamas and looked at him from half closed eyelids. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

  “Ah, I hate to state the obvious, but you’re carrying a slightly circular dog. So clearly, I’m wondering, what brings you here.”

  “I need a favour.”

  “Don’t tell me it has anything to do with that thing you’re carrying. I don’t do dogs.”

  “Pleased to hear it,” He smiled, and she rolled her eyes. “The dog needs a home for a while. He’s been neglected.”

  “I’ve seen spoilt beauty pageant kids more neglected than that dog.”

  “He’s been overfed.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And he needs to be made to walk.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place. Sure, I can stop feeding it, and it can certainly lay around and be miserable here with me, but the walking part—let’s just say the dog and I are in agreement on that. There’ll be no walking here.”

  “Please?”

  She twisted her mouth into an odd line and put her hands on her hips. “Mat. I’m checking out in two weeks. Two weeks tomorrow actually. You know this. Do you really think it’s fair to bring in a dog, let him get attached, and then leave him?”

  “He won’t get attached.”

  “Are you kidding me? A few days laying around in this house with me and he’ll wonder how he ever managed without me.”

  “After two weeks I’ll take him back.”

  Her jaw dropped a little, but he wasn’t about to argue the point with her. Eventually she sighed and scratched the dog’s head. Mataio put him onto the floor, and he rolled over onto his back, hoping for a belly rub.

  “Not happening, my fine friend,” she said, and dropped herself on the couch. The dog recognised its error and took a position closer to Sunny on the couch, lying just beneath her on the floor as if he knew this was where he needed to be. Ipo had learned young, the most likely place to be fed human food was being close to a human.

  “I’ve left some food downstairs—I’ll bring it up to the landing. Only one cup per day. No other treats. Hide your chocolate. You might have to help him up and down the stairs until he can manage them himself.”

  “Can’t he just walk around the apartment instead?”

  “Can he toilet himself around the apartment?”

  “Help him down the stairs. Got it.”

  “I’ll be back every few days, to check in on him.”

  “Who does he belong to?”

  “My aunt.”

  Sunny moved her arm outwards and Ipo nuzzled her hand. “I really am doing you a favour? This isn’t just some desperate ploy to stop me from killing myself in two weeks is it? Because I can see right through you.”

  “This dog has eaten so much he can barely move. It’s no kind of life for anyone.”

  Sunny sat up abruptly. “Hang on.” She looked from the dog, to Mataio and back to the dog. “I’ve missed the entire point, haven’t I?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is this about my weight?”

  “What?”

  “My depression has nothing to do with my weight.”

  “Hang on a minute—”

  “No, well, it does but bringing an overweight dog in here, well that’s just plain offensive to us both.”

  “Why should I be offended?”

  “Not me and you, stupid. Me and the dog. We’re offended. Just because we’re both fat, doesn’t mean we should be gathered up together.”

  Mataio rubbed at the tightness forming at his temples. He’d inadvertently insulted two women in two days, with the same dog and the same insult. “Can you be clear, because I’m not good at this. How does me asking you to care for an overweight dog offend you?”

  Sunny kneeled down beside Ipo and covered his ears. “Please, Mat lower your voice. Words can hurt you know.”

  Mataio joined her on the floor beside the dog and began again. “You’re right. I did bring the dog as therapy. But only because I thought the company might be helpful. It had nothing to do with his size. That was a convenient excuse. Although in hindsight, not as convenient as I expected.”

  Sunny sighed audibly and scratched Ipo’s ears, who lifted his neck appreciatively. Sunny stretched out her legs in front of her and the dog rested his head on her thigh. “I’m sensitive about my weight, that’s all,” she said.

  Mataio took a long look at her pajama clad legs and bare feet. Her toenails were painted a pearly pink and half the nail had regrown. They needed a trim and would hurt if she wore covered shoes. He made a quick assessment
of her body mass index and considered her to be in a healthy range. Her pajama top sat tight against her skin and she regularly pulled the front of it away from her stomach so that it wouldn’t pinch up and show the ring of padded skin. If a man had to make a judgement, he’d say she was perfectly proportioned in every way.

  “Why do you want to kill yourself?” He asked and focused on scratching Ipo’s belly and not Sunny’s proportions.

  She continued to pet the dog’s head for a while, crossed her ankles and let out a long, slow breath. “Because everything is too hard and I’m sick of trying.”

  He nodded and considered his words carefully. “What would make you change your mind, about the whole dying thing?”

  “You can’t, Mat.”

  “So why tell me then?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d care that much. We’ve been neighbours for nearly a year and you’ve barely said three words to me.”

  “I’ve been working on an important project. It’s taken all my attention.” Then he added, “And I’m not good with people.” His usual excuse for when people asked too many questions.

  “I don’t know, Mat. I think that’s just an easy way out for acting plain rude. That’s what I think.”

  Mataio let that sink in a moment as the dog let out regular puffs of contentment. Ipo hadn’t received so much attention in years. Neither had Mat. He looked for a diversion. “Sunny, if you had a magic wand that could change anything or give you anything, what would you wish for?”

  “Some strong medication to take the pain away. Hey, is that why you’re here? Are you the euthanasia godmother I wished for?” She gave him a sharp look and quickly turned away.

  “Why did you move here from the UK?”

  “Judd. The work ran out for me in London. He promised it would be easier to get a job here. So, I followed him.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Back in the UK, I was a musician.”

  That didn’t surprise him at all. “But not now?”

  “I work as a masseuse down at Newsborough Shoppingtown where you need no qualifications at all. Other than strong fingers, which I have, so I guess all those years of playing the violin was good for something.”

  “The bits I heard, through the ceiling, sounded incredible. You’re really good.”

  “Look, stop with the pep talk. I’ll take the dog for a couple of weeks, just to help you out. But if I do this for you, you have to do something for me, okay?”

  “Like what?”

  “Give me any prescription I want. That’s the deal.”

  “Tell me about the UK. Where did you work?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You want to make a deal with me, I need to know the big picture, okay?”

  She assessed him a moment and he stared back, undaunted. She eventually shrugged and continued. “I played the violin. For money.”

  “You must be really good?”

  “Depends on what you mean by good.”

  “On a scale of one to virtuoso?”

  “Not symphony orchestra good, but I got paid to look good on stage with an instrument in my hand.”

  “There’s a market for that?”

  “You bet. I had a great agent. One of the best actually. She got me some huge, high profile jobs that led to other jobs. By twenty I was booked on tours. I did a season touring Scotland and Wales with Michel Meier, you heard of him? Just like Andre Reiu only younger with less hair. Conducts his own orchestra?” She flipped through her phone and showed him some photos of a tall man in a dark suit and cravat, holding an instrument to his chin and showing the camera a great set of teeth.

  “Anyway, I toured with him for a year, not as part of the orchestra, but as one of the up-front stage musicians. After that, I did a season with The Celtic Flora, a ten-piece contemporary strings group. Sex sells in the music industry in case you hadn’t heard. Even the classical music industry.

  By 22 I had a contract with Delatite Productions who produce Britian’s X-Factor. It’s one of the most sort after gigs in the country and I beat hundreds of others for that job.” She hesitated and the sides of her mouth dipped, like she’d remembered something distasteful.

  Mataio had never watched X-Factor. “So how does it work?”

  “Basically, I was paid to mime on camera. When you’re young, with long legs, long hair, can prance about onstage in six-inch heels and a short skirt and can play a string instrument, you’ll find work.”

  She stared at him like she willed him to object. He didn’t. He had no reference point to disagree.

  Sunny flipped through her phone some more as she spoke. “I got to walk around television studios like I belonged there. I believed I belonged there.”

  She passed him the phone and pressed play. He watched her, a younger, skinnier version of the woman beside him, her blonde hair billowing from the wind of an unseen fan. The violin tucked under her chin looked weightless as she moved her body around with the music, sexy and inviting. She exuded a confidence he’d only guessed at and he found it hard to take his eyes from her. The video stopped and she leaned over his shoulder and pressed play on another. This showed her seated in a small circle with two other players, a singer in front on a TV singing show. It was a slow song he vaguely recognised and the three string players sat on the edge of their seats, their eyes closed, absorbed in the music. The camera scanned past Sunny and moved on and he willed it to move back. He wanted to see more. The video ended and she played another, and another.

  “I’m impressed,” he said eventually, handing back the phone. “I think.”

  “Fast forward ten years and twenty kilos. And voila,” she said, gesturing her hands the length of her body in a broad sweep.

  “I think you look great, by the way,” he said, feeling uncomfortable with the words as soon as they were out. He stood up and moved towards the kitchen.

  “Dr Mat. Are you blushing?”

  “I should go.”

  “Are you looking at me differently now you’ve seen me young and beautiful. Are you thinking, ‘she could be that again? Maybe my initial impression was wrong. Maybe, beneath the pajamas and the sorry-for-herself attitude lies a beautiful women?’”

  “Why not find a job that doesn’t rely on your looks?”

  “Wow. That hurt.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She ignored him. “I’m not skilled enough for orchestra work. And what else is there?”

  “You could teach.”

  “I could. But quite honestly, I’d rather slit my throat open and jam my neck full of rat poison than teach. It’s a cruel world out there and I’m not sure I’d send the right message to a child.”

  “So, that’s a no then?”

  “Look, it’s not just the job thing, okay? That’s not the only reason I want out. I’m never going to be that young again. Did you know your nose and ears never stop growing?”

  He nodded. He poured two waters and returned to the floor and handed her a glass.

  “What am I saying? Of course you know. Well, look at this nose, it can’t afford to get bigger. I’m growing uglier with every day. I was a beautiful baby. Everything on my face was proportioned perfectly when I was a baby. I’ve got the pictures to prove it. I won prizes as a toddler. But everyone knows the earlier you peak, the uglier you become. I’m destined to be an ugly middle-aged person and an even uglier senior. And nobody wants to see that.”

  “I’m not sure I agree.”

  She drew her hand down the length of Ipo’s back, careful to avoid contact with his own hand still resting on the dog’s outstretched legs. Her fingernails were dirty and cracked but she had elegant hands. Long, smooth fingers with narrow nails that gave the illusion of length despite being cut short. He had to keep this woman alive.

  “Two short walks a day initially,” he said. “Maybe just up to the blue Parer Street sign on the corner at first. Then a bit further every day. A half scoop of dry food
twice a day. No scraps from your kitchen, no left-overs and definitely no chocolate.”

  “Are you talking about me or the dog?”

  “Two weeks of healthy living will make all the difference. You just might save his life.”

  “This might be a new career for me. I’ll open a health farm to save obese dogs from themselves. How ironic.”

  “I’ll be back every couple of days to check in on him.”

  “And me?” She looked him straight in the eye.

  “Well, I barely know you,” Mataio said with a straight face. “But the dog. It’s important he lives.”

  “You’re very funny.”

  She shoved his legs as he stood and he almost fell over, righting himself just as she threw her hands out instinctively to save him. She slapped the ground and laughed, a loud joyous sound that had him staring in surprise. He had no idea how badly he’d wanted to hear her laugh. She stopped suddenly, almost as if she’d realised it too, and laughing wasn’t permitted on her list of things a depressed person should do. She clearly wanted to fit the profile. The suicide club was a place to belong.

  He resisted the instinct to hold out a hand to help her up off the floor. She stood on her own and walked him to the door.

  “I’ll see you in two days?” he asked.

  “If you must.”

  “Dog’s name is Ipo.”

  Sunny sighed. “Ipo? How cute. Is it Samoan? What does it mean?”

  “Sweetheart…darling…lover.”

  “I think it’s better if you just call me Sunny.”

  He shook his head in mock disgust and walked out the door, sensing her silent laughter behind him.

  Fifteen

  SUNNY

  True to his word, he returned two days later with a dog bed and a coat. Too late for the dog as she’d already converted the spare quilt and an empty drawer into a makeshift bed. Not putting a cover on the quilt had been a mistake—the dog slept only once before the quilt was covered in dirt. She’d washed the dog the second day in the bath. He didn’t complain, resigned to his fate, not enjoying it but not hating it either. Her back hurt from the lifting him in and out.