For a moment I wavered uncomfortably between following the 'you slept with my grandson' conversation path, or pointing out the elephant in the room by asking how she was. Having grown up spending whole afternoons curled up listening to Nan's imperious views on the world ('never trust a boy who puts his hands in his pockets, you never know what he's doing down there'), I knew what was expected of me.
"He's been awfully loose with that information," I said through gritted teeth, genuinely annoyed at Elliot, but also aware that I was hamming it up a bit for Nan's sake. "What? Was he texting you during or something?"
Her dirty cackle was fainter than usual and so devoid of her usual spirit that I wondered whether she was acting for my benefit like I was for her. What a depressing thought.
"He's a good boy; he knows what'll amuse his old nan in her decrepit state." As if to provide emphasis to her 'decrepit' point, she stopped talking and I could hear guttural gulps as if she was struggling to swallow.
My hand gripped the phone tighter and I was swamped by a flood of sadness and guilt. Nan had been the blasting light of the Sinclair household; her visits had been some of the happiest times of my life. When she'd grabbed me to her bony chest and demanded that I call her Nan, just as Elliot did, I'd felt like I belonged in a way I never had before. So why hadn't I followed up on Elliot's weird little question about her sooner? This question led to: why didn't someone tell me what had happened? Then reached its natural conclusion: why didn't Elliot tell me?
"I can hear you thinking nasty things about my progeny, you know," the voice trembling down the phone distracted me from doing exactly what it accused me of. "I had hoped that finally working out your passions on each other would make you like each other a bit more."
"Despite what you might have heard, he's not that good in bed," I said dryly before finding myself choking in surprise as she replied tartly,
"From what I have heard, how would you know?"
"God, is there anything that boy doesn't tell you?" I groaned. "Your relationship is weird, you know that? Seriously weird. Why can't you have normal grandson to grandma interactions, where you make thinly veiled racist comments and he looks past them because you're old and don't know any better?"
Her chuckle was dry and raspy, but sounded genuine for which I was incredibly grateful.
"Darling, I was campaigning for equal rights long before my daughter became the inevitable consequence of the 'free love' movement. Elliot will have to talk to his parents if he's after unenlightened opinions." This kind of comment would usually have been delivered with the speed and cut of a whip, but no more. It took her a lot of stops, starts and stumbles, but she got there and her words still made me smile.
"You see that it's strange, though, right?" I asked, curling my legs up underneath me as I realised that, even though her allegiance was in Elliot's camp, I still wanted some reassurance from her about what had happened. "That Elliot and me...you know."
"I think what's strange is that you didn't do it earlier," she said, her tone definite despite the slight slur. "You were two moderately attractive teenagers who saw each other unsupervised every day in a house with multiple bedrooms, it should have been a foregone…thing…" She faltered, clearly searching for the word and then finished, "…conclusion. What happened was just statistical inevitability catching up with you."
I rolled my eyes, having heard this all before. All through our teenage years Nan had taken every opportunity to make cracks about Elliot and me getting it on; nothing gave her greater pleasure than to see us squirm in embarrassment. Knowing this, the first creep of an idea threaded its way into my head. Nan had always wanted us together and then pretty much the day she'd had a stroke...It all made a horrible sort of sense.
"I'm going to have to cut this short, darling." I was drawn back to the present by Nan's newly feeble voice. "There's some witch doctor of my daughter's coming to prod and poke me in a moment, as if there's any cure to being old."
I knew this was as much of a reference to her stroke as I was going to get out of her so I asked delicately, "Yeah, how's things, Nan? How do you feel?"
"Fine, and I'd be even better if people would stop asking me about it," she said, crabbiness clearly warring with fatigue now.
"Well, at least it hasn't impacted your manners," I said, trying to sound cheeky through the lump in my throat. "It was good to talk to you, Nan. You take care."
"You take care," she retorted. "I intend to do no such thing."
We said goodbye and, after I'd hung up the phone, I sat still for a while, feeling shaky and numb. My head churned with half-formed thoughts, accusations and fears, and when the door suddenly burst open, it took me a good couple of seconds to register the arrival of Abi and Jonah.
There's an expression that says 'no one knows what goes on in a relationship except the two who are in it'. I'd like an amendment to that which goes something like, 'no one knows what goes on in a relationship except the two who are in it and the roommate'.
When they came stumbling in I knew immediately that they hadn't expected me to be there; everything about them screamed 'we're here to have sex'. In return everything about me screamed 'not while I'm here you're not!'
"Oh," Abi stopped fumbling with Jonah's top abruptly as she saw me sitting stiffly on my bed. "Sorry, we were just-" she stopped trying to cover the awkward moment as she saw my face. "Hey, are you OK?"
The coolest person I know is hurt and sad and no-one told me, I ranted internally, of course I'm not OK! Out loud, however, I said, "Yep," accompanying the syllable with a brisk nod.
Because Abi looked worried I added, in silent, mind-to-mind, best friend speak, 'no, I'm really not, but I don't want to get into it whilst Jonah's here'.
She replied in kind, telepathically relaying, 'right, but let me know when you're ready to talk. Oh, and sorry about the almost having sex right in front of you thing.'
I raised my eyebrows slightly to say, 'really? Or are you just sorry you had to stop?' She grinned cheekily and then we broke eye contact and I saw that poor old Jonah was looking between us bemusedly.
Ha! Maybe he had Abi every second of every day now, but it looked like he hadn't yet got the hang of silent girl conversation, something I was very glad about.
"We're going out to Haze tonight," Abi skipped over to my bed and plonked herself down in front of me, putting a hand on my knee to show silent support over whatever was bugging me. "You should come."
"Haze?" I repeated in astonishment even as I gave her hand an appreciative squeeze. "That wanky club that only knobs go to?"
Abi's eyes widened and she tilted her head slightly to the left where Jonah was standing idly, clearly working hard to redirect the blood from his penis to his head now sex was off the cards. For a moment I didn't clock to what Abi was getting at, but then I remembered that Jonah’s dad owned a string of clubs, and it was highly likely Haze was one of them. Frankly, this did nothing more than solidify my point that it was for tossers, but for Abi's sake, I added, "And by knobs I clearly mean awesome people who are after superior entertainment in their evenings."
"Real smooth, Cinders," Jonah said sarcastically, but I could see that he wasn't angry and why should he be? As per every rich kid cliché in the book, there was no love lost between Jonah and his folks; I think it was the major point of bonding for him and Elliot. Speaking of whom...
"Will Smelliot be there?" I asked.
I could see from Abi's shifty demeanour that, yes, Elliot was going to be at Haze that night and Jonah confirmed it, saying, "Yeah, should be."
"Right then," I got off the bed, filled with sudden purpose. "Yes, I will be coming tonight."
"You got that I said he was coming, yeah?" Jonah checked after sharing a startled look with Abi.
I nodded curtly, marching over to my chest of drawers and starting to rifle through it to find my best 'eviscerate Elliot' outfit. Over my shoulder I replied, "Yes, I got that. Your little buddy Elliot and I are going to have a nice
little chat."
Aha! I pulled out a tight little red top in triumph. Red for anger, red for bloodshed, it was perfect.
"A nice little chat about what?" Abigail's voice sounded faintly concerned, as well it might. I turned and fixed my eyes on hers, the top clutched tightly in my hand representing the total opposite of a white flag.
"Sex and grandmas."
----------
Elliot arrived earlier than usual at Haze.
He'd received a text from Jonah saying simply Cinders on warpath so maybe he should’ve spent a few more precious hours with his head before Rox bit it off, but he hadn't been able to stay away. He needed to know ASAP whether Rox was just on one of her regular, run of the mill warpaths, the type he'd weathered many times over the years, or whether it was the warpath, the one that was seriously going to screw everything up.
Usually on nights out at Haze Elliot went against the strict dress code just to piss Jonah's old man off. Not that ripped jeans and scuffed sandshoes paid Mr Powlski back for all the missed rugby games and snide crap he'd given his son over the years about his weight, but it was something. That night, though, was different and, by the time he was ready, he looked like a walking poster boy for Haze in black jeans and a green designer t-shirt. Exactly what Rox hated. Sometimes it was like he didn't even have to try.
Earlier it might’ve been for him, but Haze was already pumping when he arrived; noisy patrons spilling out of the queue round the block in a colourful snake. Elliot joined the line, ignoring, as he always did, Mr Powlski’s insistence that he could skip the queue.
Considering how packed the place was, when he finally made it inside he thought he might have trouble spotting Rox, but she was the first person he saw, standing at the bar almost directly in front of him. He ducked to the side for a second and took the opportunity to check her out before she saw him.
Completely alone, she stood out with her bright red top, tight jeans and decidedly fed up expression. She'd mussed up her hair, giving it that sexy bed head look, her rumpled curls instantly making him think of when he'd seen her with real bed hair, her lips puffy from kissing him and her naked body soft and warm against his. It was a good memory, but he pushed it aside almost immediately. One thing had become pretty damn clear over the past month, his punishment for not telling Rox what had happened that night was feeling like a pervert every time he pictured any of their time together.
Maybe that was one good thing that would come out of tonight, if she really had remembered what had happened; those memories might stop coming with a guilt blow to the gut. Of course everything else would go to pot…
He pulled himself together and was just about to go over to Rox and get the ball rolling when he saw that someone had beaten him to it, or rather, her. Haze might’ve been crowded, but Rox's scowl had managed to secure her a patch of the bar to herself; as Elliot watched, however, a big guy with dark curly hair sauntered over to impose himself on her solitude. And impose he did, pushing his muscular frame into her personal space until her small form was swamped.
Rox looked up in surprise at this sudden invasion, her green eyes looking over this random for some familiarity and then, obviously seeing none, glazing over with polite disinterest.
"Girls with arses like yours shouldn't have to buy their own drinks." That was the stranger's opening gambit and Elliot froze, something between a laugh and a snarl stuck in his throat.
Rox went similarly still and then stared up at him incredulously. "Um...wow," she said, although Elliot had to move in closer and concentrate on her lips to work out what she was saying over the music blasting up from the dance-floor downstairs. "I didn't realise I could use my arse as currency. I used the Australian dollar to buy my drink,” she nodded at the glass on the bar in front of her, “and that seemed to work alright, though."
The guy hitting on her obviously hadn't been expecting that reply and, for a moment, he seemed to be at a loss as to what to say in response. Unfortunately he soon recovered and, clearly thinking he was some sort of witty genius, replied, "I'll buy you a drink then and you can pay me back in arse currency later."
Rox choked, her face a picture of horror. "Thanks, but no, I'm good. I can get my own drinks."
"So you want to just skip straight to the arse stuff then?" The guy clapped a hand onto the area in question and she reared back as Elliot made exactly the same move forward towards them.
Rox wasn't some damsel in distress, and he knew she wouldn't thank him for getting involved, but everything in him said that the time for hanging back had passed. A line had been crossed.
Unaware of the incoming rescue mission, however, he saw Rox take control of the situation herself, pushing the stranger away and saying steadily, "I said no thank you. Hands off."
Elliot lost sight of her for a moment as a mob of people pushed forward to the bar, and by the time he'd thrust his way through, the dickhead had been put in his place and was turning away.
"Careful with that one, mate," he grimaced, in what he clearly thought was a 'bros before hos' kind of mateship as he saw Elliot approaching. "Someone should put a 'beware of the dog' sign on her, you know?"
"Piss off," Elliot spat, shoving past him.
Rox looked up in apprehension as he came up beside her, clearly thinking the other guy had returned. He caught the spark of relief in her eyes as she saw it was him, but then she remembered herself and thunked her head down onto the bar.
"You right?" He touched her elbow lightly making her swiftly lift her head and shift her arm deliberately away from his concerned contact.
"You saw that did you? Unbelievable!" She lifted up her glass and then slammed it down on the counter in front of her with a loud bang. "The drinks here cost twice as much as they do at the uni bar, but the arseholes are exactly the same calibre, where's the fairness in that?"
"You said arseholes," convinced that she was in no way traumatised by her recent encounter with the lowest form of Haze's clientele, Elliot leant back against the bar next to her. "Very impressive. What happened to monkey?"
"It went militant," she said viciously. "Someone grabbed its arse."
He laughed and then held his hand out to get the attention of the bartender. The guy recognised him and a few seconds later his beer of choice was slid along the bar to him.
"Well, that was a typically disgusting display of entitlement," Rox remarked as he lifted the bottle to his lips. "Took me about half an hour to get my drink."
"Maybe you should have paid in arse currency," Elliot suggested with a wicked smile. "I hear that gets you good results around here."
She looked at him, and for a split second, he thought she was going to crack and laugh, but then the moment passed and she glared at him instead.
"Being hit on by some creepy random is all your fault by the way," she said, sucking an ice cube into her mouth and then crunching it angrily.
"Of course it is," he said sardonically even as he scanned the room to make sure the 'creepy random' had well and truly moved on. As he confirmed that he had, he saw a couple pressed against each other against the far wall. Considering the size of one of them, this was almost certainly Jonah and Abi. Well, that explained why Rox had been on her own.
"It is!" She insisted, stabbing her straw into the bottom of the tumbler. "There is no way I would've come to this stupid place if it wasn't for you."
She joined him in looking around, although her gaze was rather more pointed and he couldn't help but see what she was getting at. The long bar they were at curved around taking up most of the space at ground level, but there was a large dance-floor in the basement. You could hear the music thumping and throbbing through the bar, kind of like having a permanent headache. Everything was chrome and hard red plastic; the kind of place where if you fell, you fell hard.
"So why are you here then?" He asked, leaning towards her and dropping his voice in a way that, he had on good authority, was sexy as hell. "So desperate to see me again you'll go to any lengths?
" It was juvenile, but there was something so entertaining in the way her jaw tightened and her cheeks darkened at his flirting.
"What is it with the losers that come here and personal space?" She put a small, pale hand on his shoulder and pushed him back before tilting her head up to look at him and letting him see just how properly mad she was.
"You suck, Sinclair," she said haughtily, "and the only reason I came here tonight was to tell you that I know what you did."
Ah, her feet had found the warpath.
He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach, but he worked desperately hard on not showing how winded he felt. "If you finish that sentence with 'last summer' and pull out a butcher's hook I'm out of here," he said and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"You think you're funny," she emphasised each word by poking his shoulder with her finger, but before he could make some comment about who was invading whose personal space now, she pulled back. "But you're not and I see right through you."
"Yeah?" He asked.
"Yeah," she said firmly. "You-" she stopped as if she suddenly couldn't find the words.
"I...?" He prompted, taking a sip of his beer that he couldn't swallow past his clogged throat.
"You had sex with me because of your grandma," she said all in a rush, and the beer he hadn't been able to get down sprayed back out of his mouth and onto the polished bar top.
"I what?"
"You wanted to make Nan happy so you had sex with me, and that's what you've been hiding." Her piece said, she folded her arms and stared at him, waiting for his reaction to her big announcement.
He looked at her for one long moment and then burst out laughing.
Chapter 5 – The Years she Doesn’t Have and the Help
Elliot laughed for a really long time.
Saving from Monkeys Page 6