"You betcha," I agreed.
"Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
I shoved him in the back again with my foot, playful-hard, like I used to do tussling with Paul. He tapped me, hard, on the foot again. "Ow!" I snatched my foot back.
His brow creased anxiously, so I dug my toe into his back to show it hadn't been as bad as all that. He tried to shift aside but I toe-jabbed him again. Then he wrapped his hand around my ankle, and wouldn't let go.
"Do you reckon Evan's going to take your advice and leave town?" he asked.
"Bloody hell, Gary," I said, wriggling against his grip, "eavesdropping again."
"A bit," he conceded, holding gently but firmly.
"Do you mind I called him?"
Gary let go of my foot. "Not really. I wish he'd just go away. That'd be best."
It would be. The idea made me hurt.
Then Gary reached up and ruffled my fringe gingerly. The tip of his tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth while he concentrated on not being too rough. I laughed and batted at his hand, and he grinned and tugged on a lock of my hair before letting go.
"Are you two always like this?"
Gary and I looked at Kate looking at us. Gary's expression dissolved into a kind of abashed guilt and I couldn't stop laughing at it.
"This or running like the clappers for our lives, eh Gary?"
"Most of the time we just watch movies," he protested in an aggrieved tone. "Really."
"Watch Hepburn and Tracy," I instructed firmly.
Gary grinned and settled against the sofa again. On the cushions, I leaned against Kate, who draped an arm across my shoulders.
"You guys are weird." She sounded half-troubled, half-amused.
"No we're not," I countered. "It's just our lives that are weird."
I woke up in my own bed, in my rocket ship pyjamas, having managed with Kate's help to change. Gary, I gathered, had spent the night finishing Great Expectations in the living room.
By the time I had showered and climbed into a loose fitting skirt and top for my first day of official recuperation, Kate had made three cups of plunger coffee and started on herb-dusted poached eggs for breakfast.
Watching Gary periodically sniffing at his cup of black plunger coffee made me wish I'd thought of making one for him before. Kate was so good at the little touches.
Still limping, I laid the table for three. Kate dished out two plates of eggs and a shallow dish of herbs and spices, inviting Gary up to the table. He hesitated for a long minute, as though this was a strange and alien ritual he wasn't sure how to perform. Finally, edgily, he sat down between us with his coffee.
"What's that?" he asked, peering at the eggs.
"Dukkah," I said, pushing the extra dish towards him so he could sample its scent. "It's a spice mix. Thyme, hazelnuts, sesame seeds and some other stuff."
"And it's good on eggs?"
"Very good on eggs," Kate assured him.
All very cosy and family-like.
"I was thinking I'd go home today," said Gary, with a sideways glance at Kate.
A forkful of my breakfast tumbled to the table and the fork hovered mid-air, but protest was forestalled by Kate.
"You can stay a day or two longer," she said, watching me carefully, "I don't mind. I'd rather not induce another of Lissa's panic attacks."
"Sure." Gary nodded firmly. "Thanks again for the films, by the way. I didn't have any of those ones."
"Good to hear it. Lissa, I have to get off to work now. I'll catch you tonight.
I ceased brushing crumbs from my shirt long enough to nod at her.
"Make sure you rest. Films and books, not running like the clappers today," she instructed.
"Couldn't get the speed up anyway," I assured her with a lopsided grin.
She quite rightly didn't find that funny. She dropped a kiss on the top of my head and left.
Gary sat staring into his cooling cup of coffee while I finished breakfast.
"I called Smith this morning," Gary blurted out at last, "He said. Um. He said they've lost track of Abe and Evan. He thinks they've cleared out. Smith asked if. Um. If someone had tipped them off."
My hands tightened around my own near-empty cup. "What did you say?"
"I said I'd been with you all night and we didn't know anything about it."
My mind was non responsive. I didn't know if I was grateful or disappointed or something else completely.
"Do you think they've really gone?" I asked at last.
"I don't know."
"Maybe I should phone Evan again. See where they are."
Gary only blinked at me, which was no help at all. So I picked up the cordless phone and I dialled. The phone rang out. That was even less help.
"Want to watch one of these new films?"
We made ourselves comfortable on the lounge and watched the Swedish film, which was no more accurate than anything else we'd seen but wasn't as ridiculous as most, either. I excused myself and, from the bathroom, tried dialling Evan's number again. Nothing.
Gary saw the phone in my hand when I came out and asked for it. He made his own call. No news from that end either.
We gave up on the serious film and tried to watch a far more ridiculous one. I couldn't concentrate. I tried Evan again, with no more success than before.
No words can describe the awfulness of waiting.
However today ended, I lost. Evan gone. Evan dead. It shouldn't have mattered so much. He wasn't the person I'd thought, to be capable of what he had done. Sunday had been the happiest day I'd had for a long, long time, and it was all illusion. I missed the Evan I thought he was, for those few hours. I missed how that Evan had made me feel.
I didn't even bother to hide it the last time. I sat on the sofa and dialled Evan's number, and when the call rang out, I handed the phone to Gary with a demand that he try Smith again.
The call was short. Before he hung up Gary said: "If you find them, you could let the man go. It's the kid who's dangerous." He listened to the reply, then hung up.
"Smith said it depends."
I nodded miserably. "Thanks for trying."
Gary picked needlessly at a fingernail for a moment, then looked at me. "Do you wish he was here? Instead of me?"
"What? No, Gary. Absolutely not. What gave you that idea?"
"You're really worried about him."
"He's a bastard."
"He made you happy. That night when we played pool."
"That was before he tried to kill you."
"You keep calling him."
"That's not the point. I don't do trade-offs."
"But."
"Gary, I'm not swapping you for anyone else, even if I could."
He looked back at his nails. "I've killed people too," he said.
"That's different. That wasn't murder. They all wanted to go. I don't know what it was, but it's not the same."
Gary let it go, unconvinced, no more able to counter my argument than I could articulate it clearly. He disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee instead of pursuing the conversation while I selected the next televisual treat. He came back with the box of chocolates.
"You might as well eat them," he said, "I can't."
"Have you tried, I don't know, licking them?" I suggested, taking a praline-filled one. I made a point of describing the sensations and flavour of it as fully as possible. It made him look wistful.
My film choice was not very stimulating, apparently, as I fell asleep half way through it. I awoke with a violent start to the sound of someone retching their spleen up in the bathroom.
"What? Ngh. Errngh." I'm not at my most articulate when I wake up. "Gah? Gary?" I surged awake in sudden panic. I threw myself onto my feet, staggered under the disobedient rigidity of my muscles and swore. "Gary!"
"M'fine." Retch. "Fine." More retching. "Bugger."
My awkward progress in his direction halted as he appeared at the bathroom door, his expression a combin
ation of embarrassment and irritation.
"What the hell?"
"I wanted to see if I could taste it." He had a wadded up tissue in his hand.
"What did you try to eat?"
"Taste. A chocolate. I swallowed it by mistake." He sighed heavily.
My pounding heart settled. "Could you taste it?"
"A bit. Before I started heaving it up again." He smiled briefly. "It was bloody good."
The phone rang. I leapt on it. Kate was on the other end, saying she was having dinner with Anthony after work, and that Oscar was fit and feisty.
Gary and I went back to the TV. Fidgety hours passed.
No more calls came. Eventually, Gary made a few calls of his own. On his third attempt he found someone with something to say. He muttered into the receiver for a while, listened and then hung up.
"Smith says. He says..."
The waiting was almost over, and I suddenly didn't want it to be. Hope only lived in the waiting.
"He says it's dealt with."
"Dealt with?"
"He says Magdalene and Giorgio dealt with it. With them."
My throat tightened. Hope, it turns out, is only unbearable until loss takes its place. It's better to let hope shred your heart to bits than to know for certain there is no hope. "What does that even mean?"
"Smith said Evan's car crashed while they were chasing them. Abe got pretty smashed up but he got out. He took off with Evan before the others could reach them. There was a lot of blood. Easy to track. If they're alive, it won't be for long. They're both badly hurt."
I don't remember folding to the floor, but that's where I found myself, with Gary saying sorry, sorry, sorry. I was shaking. I was not crying.
The waiting wasn't over. Hope wasn't yet dead, and it hurt.
One deep breath. Another. I was not going to turn into marble. Not. It never helped. Sometimes, it nearly got me killed. Deep breaths. I tried to get up and my legs were too sore. I muttered "help me up" and Gary hooked his hands under my arms and up I got.
"I guess you can go home now," I said to Gary.
"Okay." He looked at me again, all confusion and concern.
It made me want to grab him by the shirt and shake him, and shout: This is me, grieving for all the things that will never happen now. Again. Whether or not he dies. It's not that hard to understand. Get used to it. I have to.
Instead I said, "The danger's over now. For you, for me, for the whole vampire community. Hooray us. Now I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Go home, Gary."
He blinked a bit, then rose and picked up his suitcase, still packed and at the end of my bed. He paused at the door. "Thanks. For having me here."
I nodded curtly.
"So. See you later?"
"Yes." I closed my eyes. Opened them. "I'm not angry with you," I said. "I just need to be alone for a little while."
Gary stared at me, as though by doing so he would understand what had just happened. Then he left, shutting the door behind him.
CHAPTER 21
Kate refrained from performing a happy dance when she returned to a Gary-free home, though she was noticeably more relaxed. Her report that Oscar was being spoiled rotten by the lovely Anthony was comforting. It also made me envious. Lovely Bloody Anthony had better not steal my dog's affections from me. He already had Kate's, after all.
My emotional state was not to be hidden from her. I tried to explain but couldn't work out how. I stumbled through telling her that Evan and Abe were badly injured, soon to be dead, that they could no longer threaten Gary. That I was relieved and broken-hearted.
She sat with me while I cried, but I felt so, so alone, even with her right next to me. I keep loving people who turn out not to be who I thought they were; who die; or who walk away.
Kate would be among them, one day. She'd go to Anthony, which was right and proper. And she'd have a wonderful life, which I wanted her to have. Yet I missed her already, despite her arms around my back and her voice whispering that it was going to be all right, that everything would be all right, and I clung to her and didn't tell her I was afraid of the future.
"We don't have to do this thing with Dad if you can't," she said quietly, when I had calmed down.
Confusion reigned until I remembered. Dinner, with Dad and Anthony, scheduled for Friday night. I had forgotten about it so completely that obviously my subconscious had done it on purpose. I nearly lunged physically at the offer, but a stillness in Kate stopped me.
I had said I would do it. She had let Gary stay and now I had to fulfil my end of the bargain. With everything I had been through so far this week, seeing my father again had certainly slipped way down in the list of things for me to dread.
"I'll come," I told her, and I felt her arms around me lose some of their tension, "Maybe if it's not a late night, though?"
"Of course. You should rest. It might be good to keep it short, anyway. We should ease our way back into this."
However you are meant to ease your way back into a relationship with your father. I let it go; and fell asleep.
In the morning Kate tried to take the day off to spend with me. I wouldn't let her. I made breakfast for her, all smiles, to show I was fine, and when she left I sat and stared out the window at the blue sky for the longest time.
Pulling myself together.
Counting my blessings.
One. My body was bruised but intact, all limbs accounted for.
Two. I had a job I loved and an understanding boss, and I would return to both and a normal life on Monday.
Three. My sister was alive and well and in love with a man who loved her, and her happiness was more important to me than my own.
Four. Gary was unscathed and going to stay that way. And, unpleasant discoveries aside, Gary was still my friend. I'd email him today and tell him so and organise our next movie night.
Five.
A five eluded me, until the house phone rang. I almost didn't answer it, struck as I was with nausea at the fear of what news it would bring. It turned out to be Mez, who had dropped into the library yesterday and was now offering to swing by with things to amuse and divert the invalid. She had her friend Casey in tow and they had undertaken to bring cake.
Five, six, seven. New friends, cake to be eaten, life to be lived.
Life may knock you sideways, but that's no reason to not get up again. Dust yourself off and enjoy it, damnit, until the next body blow. I knew the alternatives - death and undeath - and I wasn't choosing either of them.
Mez and Casey were a wonderful antidote to my private pity party. Casey's pale face and tranquil demeanour were brought to life by piercing brown eyes that noticed everything. She was a quiet counterpoint to Mez, whose hands were always on the move as she spoke. They teased each other and laughed with mad delight, then got all serious about the metatextual meanings behind superhero sidekicks.
In the middle of one debate, they had a creative brainstorm about a steampunk rock band that played music by day and fought crime by night. Casey hauled out her sketch pad and made frantic and perfect scrawls to capture the lunacy, embellishing as instructed and peeling the results out to spread on the floor in a rough page layout. Mez provided a script. I made some flippant comment and the next thing I knew, Casey had drawn me as a steampunk librarian, wearing a strange eyepiece with a magnifying glass at the end of it and carrying teetering piles of books with titles like The Library of Alexandria Index: Volume 378 and Descending Stairs for Dummies. Mez made Casey draw steampunk-me with much frizzier hair for, she said, verisimilitude.
Mez sometimes worries that she is in no way a proper grown up. I mostly think that her passion for music and writing and her friends reflects the only proper way for grown ups to behave. We should all be passionate about something in our lives, or what's life for?
And I loved watching them, being let into their world for a few hours.
Casey concentrated on the fine detail of a flame-throwing Fender guitar while Mez served up slab
s of chocolate cake. She sat next to me on the sofa.
"I take it things didn't work out with your Sunday hottie," she said.
"No. He wasn't who I thought he was."
Mez slung an arm across my shoulders. Her forehead pressed against the side of my face. "That sucks. You okay?"
"Not yet. I will be."
She squeezed my shoulders gently. "Good for you."
Casey looked over her shoulder at us. "I hear you have a friend with a black belt in snooker who's teaching Mez his moves this weekend."
I'd forgotten those plans. I thought of piking out of that on Gary's behalf, then decided that a game was exactly what we both needed. "I gotta confirm with him, but that's the plan."
Casey seized upon cake, offering up recently drawn pages to Mez to admire, and I fetched the laptop.
Among the new emails was one from Gary with the hideously formal subject heading: 'Thank you for your hospitality'. The message was written in an odd, stiff manner, like he was following the 1950s etiquette for thank-you notes.
"Thank you for having me at your home this week. I appreciated your hospitality. Please thank Kate for me, too. I am very sorry about Evan. I have decided not to do that thing we discussed any more, even if they ask. Thank you again for letting me stay. Your friend, Gary."
I replied immediately, telling him he was welcome, that I was happy about his decision, and was he still on for pool on Saturday? I didn't thank him for his sympathy, but I signed it "your friend, always, Lissa". I figured even Gary couldn't misinterpret that.
After cake and comics, Mez and Casey had to leave to loiter in the offices of a street press magazine which published Mez's music reviews and interviews. Casey left me with one of her sketches of an Elizabethan punk band, inspired by a random comment I'd made about Shakespeare and Marlowe being the rock celebrities of their day.
It was marginally easier being alone during the afternoon. I made plans for the weekend which mainly involved getting my dog home. I missed Oscar's tiny, energetic warmth, his completely unconditional adoration.
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