"What are you going to do if there's more Dunlop family out there?" Rob asked, tapping away at the keyboard. "Sometimes you find out that stuff from a bloke's mates."
Ian considered it for a moment. It didn't spark any feelings either way.
"They'd ask too many complicated questions," he said. "And if they were real family who mattered, Gran would have mentioned them."
Rob nodded as he scrolled down a page of black and white photos of Hueys. "That sounds very sorted."
So this was what sorted felt like. Ian analysed the moment. It was a reflex that said this is what you do next, effortless and automatic, with no doubt that you'd taken the right decision. He felt like he'd grown up without even noticing.
The day before Mike and Livvie were due back, Rob took Ian to the Aldi grocery store near the old mall at Mackay Plaza. It was Ian's chance to try out an ATM to make sure he knew how to access his bank account. He walked up to the console, working out what he had to do. He certainly didn't need to withdraw cash.
"Don't forget the camera on those things," Rob said.
Ian tapped slowly and studied the unfamiliar screen. "Wow. I've been paid."
"Ah, the first pay packet. It's a good feeling."
"I need to feel I've earned it."
"Been there, done that, lost the argument with Mike. Has he ever shown you his finances? Christ, it's like nuclear physics." Rob gripped Ian's arm the way he did with Mike to make a confidential point. "He tried to explain it to me once. Bonds, shares, trusts, rents, investments, all kinds of stuff. Bloody hell, Ian, you're really putting on some solid meat, aren't you?"
Ian retrieved his arm and pressed his finger into his sleeve to check what was insulation and what was him.
"Yeah. I hope so."
"Don't worry." Rob seemed to think it was funny. "They're not going to deflate."
The old mall wasn't as plush as the one Ian was used to, but it had a mezzanine floor with an amphitheatre view of the main shopping area. And there were a lot more women around.
"Good trapping territory, mate," Rob said approvingly, leaning on the rail to scan the shoppers below. "The trick is to get strong without too much bulk, or else you won't look good in normal clothes. Yeah, Mike's right. I'm vain. But any woman who says she prefers the skinny poet type or a cuddly beer gut is a bloody liar."
"Or a realist," Ian said. "Or maybe just kind."
Rob laughed so hard that he started coughing. While they watched people milling around below, Ian noted that guys of his own age appeared to roam around in small packs. That was another stage of life he'd skipped completely.
"I've never socialized with my own age group," he said.
"Don't worry. Mike didn't socialize much either."
"Yeah, but he went to school. I can't even remember the last time I was in a classroom."
"You can practice on Tom. He's very sociable."
Eventually Ian got bored with people-watching and they went downstairs to browse around the stores and the seating areas where people congregated. One spot seemed to be the main place for girls to hang out. They clustered around shopping bags and showed each other what they'd bought. Ian felt like he was watching a wildlife documentary where the cameraman zoomed in on an exotic, brightly-coloured species that he didn't dare approach too closely.
Rob nudged him. "I think you should sit down there and wait for me," he said. "There's nothing that crimps a lad's style as much as having his old man with him, if you see what I mean."
Ian didn't, at least not for a few seconds. "Oh."
"Yeah. All you have to do is strike up a conversation. That's your social confidence objective for tonight. I'll see you back in the car."
Rob gave him a discreet thumbs-up and walked off. Ian was now behind enemy lines, and on his own.
MACKAY MALL
THIRTY MINUTES LATER.
There was an art to looking casual in a busy mall, and Ian knew he hadn't mastered it yet.
He simply hadn't spent enough time in crowds. Children learned to navigate at an early age, Mike had told him, working out how close to pass and where to stand until it became automatic. Ian ambled around for a while, but there were no empty seats. He was forced to stroll aimlessly.
Sitting was easy. You could find a seat, open a book or take out your phone, and right away you were legitimate and invisible. Where and how you stood around strangers, though, sent out messages that you weren't even conscious of. Ian knew it.
He felt like a house that had been built in reverse, with the roof and a few windows installed first and the foundations laid piecemeal years later. He looked around to see what others were doing. Ah, the universal cloak of invisibility: the cell. He could stand anywhere and mess around with it for ages without looking like a jerk. Ian ignored Gran's warning voice in his head, switched on his phone, and started killing time with a game.
It took five or six minutes for him to glance up and catch a girl looking his way. She was with a friend. The ritual was slowly starting to make sense. Well, here goes. Ian smiled and went back to his phone, working out when he could look up again without seeming creepy. Then he got his break. Movement caught his eye, and suddenly there were a couple of spaces on the bench. He made a beeline for it. The girls got there first.
The one he'd smiled at looked up at him. She had frizzy brown hair, but a really nice smile.
And legs. Oh God, Rob, what do I do next?
"I'm sorry, did I take your seat?" she asked.
Ian switched to autopilot. Miraculously, everything he'd picked up watching Rob, and even how Mike behaved with Livvie, slotted into the movies and TV shows he'd watched over the years. He had his instant script.
"No problem," he said. "Is it usually this busy?"
"Yeah, at this time of day. Are you from out of town, then?"
"No. But I normally go to Porton Mall."
So they started talking, pathetically vague stuff about the shops and restaurants, but she was the one doing most of the talking. They hadn't exchanged names yet. What if she asks me a question? It'll be about jobs, college, or entertainment. New movies. Bands. Stuff I don't know about. Ian tried to concentrate on what she was saying while he got some stock answers ready. But the most distracting thing was that she looked him up and down in the same way that women checked out Rob: face, groin, upper body, and then face again, over and over. He watched the sweep of her eyes. It was the best moment of his life.
She'd finally moved on to asking him what he was studying at college, probably assuming he looked the right age to be doing a degree, when her friend looked away for a second and said something under her breath.
It sounded like, "Oh, not him." Ian followed her gaze, and that was when a bunch of guys stood out of the general crowd as something he needed to watch.
Poor situational awareness. Oops. Too distracted by sex again.
There were five of them. Three didn't look like they were going to do anything, but two – one dark-haired, one curly blonde – were definitely focused on him and the girls.
"Ignore them," the frizzy girl said. "They're total assholes. We keep telling them they're not our type. Because we prefer our own species."
"Yeah, humans," her friend added.
Ian's awareness snapped back to the wider picture reflected in a store window. The contrast between him and the other guys was clear. He looked bigger, older, and harder. It surprised him for a moment. His benchmark was Rob and Mike, not guys his own age. These kids weren't even the same shape as him. He could see from their faces that they were carrying a lot more fat.
Okay, I can understand why they're pissed at me.
The two guys took a step forward. Ian didn't need any experience to grasp that he'd invaded their space and this was now some kind of dominance thing. They looked both scared and angry, as if they'd either run or lash out but weren't sure which.
Ancient instinct told him to stand his ground because he knew he could take them. And if he wanted to talk to these
girls, he damn well would, because he was the biggest male. Then his civilized common sense reminded him that he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. He had to walk away. It rankled.
I really could punch the crap out of those guys. I know I could.
He smiled at the girl. He'd be damned if he was going to scuttle away with his tail between his legs. He delayed just long enough to make it clear that he wasn't retreating out of fear.
"It was nice talking to you," he said, turning to walk away. "Maybe I'll see you here next time."
The two guys were right in his path. It didn't look like they were going to get out of his way, and he wasn't going to walk around them. But they could see that. They lost their nerve and stepped aside at the last second as Ian walked on, quietly seething, and put on his cap again. He checked behind him in the reflections in windows and couldn't see anyone following. His pulse was still pounding – part anger, part something indefinable – but he was still in full control.
Ah, screw it. Live and learn. That's what Rob's going to say. Hey, I got talking to another girl. That was the objective. Sorted.
He headed for the exit via the men's bathroom just inside the doors. While he was washing his hands, he checked his face in the mirror out of habit. Despite the adrenaline, nothing had changed. He really had this thing nailed down now. He opened the door, feeling a lot better about the confrontation.
But he walked straight into the two pissed-off guys. They were waiting for him outside the door.
Shit. Okay. Let's focus.
It was a side exit, not as busy as the main entrance. A few people were hanging around, but Ian was only aware of them in his peripheral vision. He kept his focus was on the two guys. He could feel his adrenaline flooding back.
"You think you're fucking tough, don't you?" the dark-haired one said. "You think you can make me look like an asshole and get away with it?"
His blonde buddy shoved Ian in the chest. "You want to take it outside?"
Instantly, Ian needed to punch the shit out of him so badly that it felt like starvation. Anger rose in his throat, a weird saltwater taste with a pounding pressure that seemed to radiate from the back of his palate. But he had to keep a lid on this.
"I'm going now," he said. I could take them. I know I could. He was only yards from the exit, but he wasn't sure where the security cameras were. He guessed they were directed at the doors. "Lucky for you."
Ian knew he had to walk straight past them and not back away or look over his shoulder. Those were victim gestures, Rob said. They'd tip the balance with a potential attacker who wasn't sure whether to have a go or not. He had to stay looking like too big a threat. He made his move, aware of people who'd paused to watch, and walked past the two guys.
The doors parted ahead of him. He'd done the sensible thing, however much it choked him. But as he stepped outside, he was almost knocked over by two impacts, one square in the back and one really painful blow to the side of his face.
Everything shrank to a narrow tunnel of critical detail as he spun around. It was instant, faster than thought. His fist landed hard in a face he didn't even see until he felt bone hit bone. His skin tightened for a second.
Shit. I've morphed.
He knew it. He snapped back to himself instantly. He could do that now. For a heartbeat, he stared into the shocked face of the blonde guy. The dark one stumbled like he'd just picked himself up. Then they ran.
There was a lull, probably far shorter than it seemed. Ian knew he was hurt – face, back, knuckles, wrist – but he couldn't process the pain yet. The background that had vanished while his brain zeroed in on the threat faded back in again. A couple who'd been watching at a safe distance came trotting over to him in a tap-tap-tap of heels on tiles.
"Oh my, are you all right?" The woman peered into Ian's face, all concern. She seemed completely unaware that he'd morphed in front of her. "Do you want us to call the police?"
"I'm okay, thanks." He had to find Rob. Jesus, how was he going to explain this to him? "It was just a couple of jerks."
He fended her off and made his way along the parking bays in the dark, trying to remember where Rob had left the car. He hadn't even reached it when Rob came up to him out of nowhere and grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Whoa, what happened to you?"
"I'm sorry. I got in a fight. Two guys. I'm okay."
Rob led Ian back to the car and put him in the passenger seat. He was oddly quiet and reassuring, no drama at all.
"Would you recognise them again, mate?"
"Why?"
"Because if they're still around, I'm going to slap the shit out of them." Rob started the Jaguar, backed out of the bay, and drove slowly along the row of cars, looking around. "Tell me what happened."
Ian took a breath. "I was chatting to a couple of girls and some guys didn't like it, so I walked off to avoid trouble. But they followed me. I got jumped outside the men's room. By the exit."
"Injuries?"
"Mine or theirs?"
"Yours."
"Maybe a few bruises." Ian had to tell him. "Rob, I think I morphed for a few seconds. Nobody seemed to notice. Well, not the people watching. Maybe the asshole that I punched did, though."
Rob lowered the window and cruised around the parking lot, scrutinizing everyone who was walking through or standing by a car. "Don't worry about it." He was still completely calm, like nothing had happened. "People don't see what's right in front of them."
"But what about the security cameras?"
"Mall security's more worried about shoplifters. Relax."
Rob stopped and looked up a parking lane at a couple of guys with a white Ford, one leaning over the open passenger door where another guy was sitting with his head lowered, hands to his face. The car's interior light was bright enough to see them.
"Is that them?" Rob asked. "The kids in the Ford?"
"Rob, please leave it."
Rob's voice took on an edge. "I said, is it them?"
Ian had a very good eye for faces and detail. The blonde guy was standing up, and the dark one was in the passenger seat nursing his nose. He didn't look so full of shit now.
"Yeah." Ian felt like he was pulling the trigger. "That's them."
Rob stopped the car, got out, and walked over to the Ford. The blonde guy must have seen him coming because he zipped around the front of the car and opened the driver's door like he was going to make a getaway. Ian wasn't sure if he'd connected Rob with Ian. He probably didn't have to. When Rob was bearing down on a target, he looked like a total bastard. The blonde guy was just stepping into the car when Rob slammed the door hard against him and pinned him to the vehicle by his leg and shoulder.
Ian heard the dull thud, the shout of pain, and raised voices. It must have hurt like hell. It was also very hard to see that any violence was being inflicted, nothing as obvious as punching a guy out with cameras everywhere. Rob was damn good at this.
"Hey, we're cool, yeah?" the blonde guy said. The sound carried. "We're sorry, man. Get off, get off — "
"You want a nose to match his?"
"Sorry. Really. Please."
"If you two fuckers ever come near my boy again, I'll fucking break your legs as well. Got it? Now piss off."
Rob was pure cold venom. Astonishingly, he stepped back, took out his cell, and calmly snapped a picture. For a moment Ian wondered what the hell he was doing, but then it dawned on him; he'd taken a photo of the Ford and the licence plate to identify the two guys. It was a silent threat.
The Ford pulled out and roared away. Rob got back into the car as if nothing had happened and drove on. Ian didn't dare say a word. As they approached the exit, they came up on the Ford's tail. It was hard to identify a car behind you in the dark with its lights on, but the two guys must have thought it was Rob anyway. They raced off with a screech of tyres. They probably thought he was following them.
Rob turned off for Westerham, apparently unconcerned. He reached out and patted I
an on the shoulder.
"Nice punch, mate." He smiled. Then the smile turned into a broad grin. "I think you broke the bastard's nose."
"Oh, shit."
"It's okay. They're never going to report it to the police, are they? Not if the mall CCTV picked them up attacking you. And even if it didn't, what are they going to do about it?"
"But I morphed."
"I think they were too busy shitting themselves to notice." Rob seemed oddly pleased with Ian, not angry at all. "So you had a nice chat with the ladies, then. Objective achieved."
Ian was at the shaky post-adrenaline stage by the time they got back to the house. The first thing he did was check his face in the hall mirror. There was a red, swollen patch on his cheekbone close to his ear.
Rob checked him over in the bathroom. "I can't see any marks on your back. You might have some bruising on your face tomorrow, though." He inspected Ian's right hand. "Your knuckles are going to hurt for a while. If you've broken something, it'll heal on its own, but let's keep an eye on it."
"Why was the punch in the face so painful, then?"
Rob tapped his own jaw to indicate the joint. "The nerves around here. If you hit it hard from the side, it fucking hurts. That's probably what made you morph."
Ian had to learn to take pain better than that. "I'm sorry, Rob. Really."
"No, it's my fault for leaving you to it." Rob took a tube of heparinoid ointment from the bathroom cabinet. "It's a fact of life, mate. You're a good-looking, well-built lad now, and that gets the old rivalry thing going with blokes. There'll always be someone who'll want to take a pop at you if they've got their mates with them. But you know you can kick the shit out them. Okay?"
"Okay."
"If you hadn't walked away, they'd probably have backed down. But I know why you did it. Just remember that it might be better to be outed than stabbed one day. Which reminds me. It's time we added knife work to your training."
It was a funny sort of reassurance. Rob seemed to think this was a normal rite of passage. He took Ian into the kitchen and sat him down with a beer and an ice compress. Ian rubbed the ointment into his knuckles and held the ice pack on top.
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