The Do-Gooder

by Jessie L. Star

  Numbly, I began to do so, looking through my calendar and negotiating a new time even as my brain sought around for some explanation of Merry's behaviour. How had she known I was taking the day off?

  The next four calls were much the same, and I was just finishing up the fifth when Fletch re-emerged from the bathroom in a waft of steam, a towel slung low across his hips, his dark hair still spiky with moisture.

  "All sorted?" He asked, as I lowered my phone and fought back the impulse to rise and lick off a droplet of water that was sliding down his neck. There was just something about a guy fresh out of the shower…

  "Did you tell Merry that I wasn't going to be doing my deeds today?" I was so busy trying to harness my desire for him, I forgot to moderate my tone and it came out much more accusatorially than I'd really meant it to.

  My brusqueness clearly didn't go unnoticed and there was a distinct stiffness in the way he shook his head. When I looked unconvinced by his denial he reminded me bluntly, "Your deeds aren't exactly something I want anything to do with, babe."

  I was about to ask how Merry had known then, apparently even before I had, that I was going to miss a day of deeds, but stopped as I remembered who we were talking about. Merry knew everything. Her level of nosiness was at practically Olympic level and was one of the major reasons I'd befriended her in the first place. No, hang on, 'befriended'? Where had that come from?

  As I worked through my surprise at this sudden reassignment of Merry in my mind, Fletch took advantage of my floundering to head for his bedroom, presumably for a change of clothes. It was the sight of his bare back, still glistening from the shower, that brought me back to myself and I was just about to put Big Blue aside and follow him when the front door suddenly burst open. As if summoned by mere mention of her name, Merry marched in, dragging a solemn looking Daz in behind her.

  Instantly the air in the small flat felt clogged with tension. It was far beyond the minor tiff I'd been about to resolve with Fletch so I looked for another cause and, after a split second's consideration, I realised the issue lay between the two boys. It was written into every tense line of their bodies.

  "Good, we've arrived during a sex break," Merry announced cheerfully, either oblivious to the testosterone-filled vibe going on or, more likely, just ignoring it. "That makes it less awkward for everyone."

  "Makes what less awkward?" Fletch asked suspiciously, halting by his door with his feet planted and shoulders back in full-on aggressor mode. While I tried to work out what about the sight of his best mate was making him look like he was chewing on something sour, Merry beamed round at him.

  "The veritable orgy of making up we're all about to do," she replied as if it should've been obvious.

  When this announcement was greeted with nothing but a stunned silence, she released Daz and marched over to seize me by the elbow instead. "Lara and I will take your room, Fletch, you two can stay out here. You've got ten minutes." And so saying, she hauled me up off the couch and practically frogmarched me right past Fletch before shutting his door in his face.

  "What are you doing?" I asked her once we were alone, pulling my arm free of her grasp and self-consciously crossing my arms across the front of Fletch's massive jumper. It was one thing to allow Fletch to see me sans makeup and in this ridiculous get up, but letting Merry and Daz do the same was not something I'd signed up for.

  Merry, however, didn't seem to notice my discomfit as she answered blithely, "I told you, we're making up."

  Spying my dress from Donny's memorial lying crumpled on the floor; I snatched it up and started to smooth out the creases, giving myself a moment to grasp what she was talking about. In all the drama of the past couple of days I'd almost forgotten that I'd been avoiding her.

  "Are we?" I asked eventually and she nodded firmly.

  "We are," she confirmed, "because I'm really, truly sorry I was stupid enough to push you with that 'find out why Fletch is studying Marine Ecology' stuff."

  I felt my mouth twitch, despite myself. "Not sorry you did it, then?" I checked as I carefully laid my dress out over the back of Fletch's desk chair.

  She shook her head emphatically. "Hell no, it was a great idea, but I'm sick of you being pissy at me about it, so..." she shrugged with a smirk and I found myself smirking unwillingly back. "Are we OK, then? Because I miss you."

  And, the extraordinary thing was, I was fairly sure I'd missed her too.

  "Fine, whatever," I said, with a great pretence of disinterest and, as I should've known she would, she let out an ear-splitting shriek and grabbed me up in a hug.

  "So, go on then," she said cheekily as I pried her arms off me, "seeing as how we're best friends again and best friends share everything, what was his answer?"

  I actually laughed then, although without really intending to, I turned it quickly into a dry cough. She was like a speedball at the gym, it didn't matter how hard you punched her, she always sprang back. There was, it seemed, no stopping Merry being merry.

  "I'm surprised you don't already know," I said when I'd cleared my throat. "I'm beginning to think you've got the whole campus bugged."

  "I'll take that as a compliment," she said dismissively, although her smile faltered slightly as she saw that I was still looking at her pointedly. "Oh," she said, comprehension obviously dawning, "you're talking about me telling people you had today off, aren't you? You're not mad at me for that? I really wasn't trying to interfere this time; I was just trying to help out."

  I didn't have the energy to try to explain to her (again) that helping out was interfering. Besides, as I believed Fletch when he said he'd stayed out of it, I was more curious to know how she'd known than angry that she had.

  "So how did you-?"

  "Daz," she answered before I'd even fully got the question out, "although he wasn't trying to interfere either," she added quickly. "He just said you'd gone pretty hard at it yesterday and were probably out for the count today."

  'Hard at it', it was an expression that covered a multitude of possibilities. Hard at what? Drinking? Fletch? Myself?

  I realised after a moment that Merry was looking at me worriedly, clearly thinking she'd put herself back into my bad books. It took hardly any introspection at all before I was able to tell her honestly, "I'm not mad."

  "And that's as effusive thanks as I'm ever going to get from you, hey?" Despite her words, Merry seemed content with my response and flapped her hands at me encouragingly as she pushed, "So, go on then, why is Fletch taking Marine Ecology? I'm properly curious now."

  I was struck again by how long ago it seemed since she'd needled me in the ref about not really knowing Fletch. Everything previous to the day before had become somehow indistinct; the world outside Fletch's flat a grey mess that I was having trouble bringing to mind. One thing was clear, however, I wasn't going to tell Merry what Fletch had told me about what ecology meant to him. It had been too private, too much of an insight into how he managed to get through the stuff he had to deal with...and I wanted to keep it to myself.

  "It was nothing too earth-shattering," I said offhandedly. "He just likes that he can pretend he's studying when he goes out for a surf, that's all."

  Merry looked at me for a long moment and then her mouth widened into another one of her dimpled smiles. "Liar," she said fondly and I didn't bother contradicting her.

  "Right then," clearly feeling the air was sufficiently cleared, she headed for the door saying, "I wonder if the boys have sorted themselves out yet." She leant her ear against the flimsy wood and then beckoned me over to join her. "I can't hear any man-wailing, can you?" She asked, and I copied her stance, listening intently against the slightly rough surface.

  "I can't hear anything," I agreed.

  "So there's either been a battle to the death, or they're giving each other the silent treatment." Merry sighed and slid down to sit on the floor. "We'll give them a couple more minutes."

  "What's their problem?" I asked, sitting down next to her with
a horrible feeling that I knew the answer to my own question.

  Sure enough, Merry flicked me a quick, 'don't be stupid', look and said bluntly, "You."

  My stomach sank and I leant my head back against the door feeling suddenly tired again, despite having spent the entirety of the day sleeping.

  "Hey, don't let it get to you," Merry added, bumping me with her shoulder. "Daz is pissed, but it's nothing to worry about. It's just a continuation of the way you two wilfully misunderstand each other. You've got as much right to have sex with Fletch and be comforted, or whatever, by him as Daz does to have a cry about it."

  "Hmm," I said, noncommittally. It was easy for Merry to say, she hadn't seen the way Fletch had been stiff with me just before; a stiffness I was only now realising probably had something to do with why Merry and I were shut in Fletch's room waiting for the boys to make up.

  Merry's earnest expression suggested she was about to offer me more reassurances so I was glad when there was a sudden loud knock on the door behind us, making us both jump.

  "Ten minutes are up," Daz's muffled voice said from the other side and Merry leapt up, reaching a hand back down to help me up as well. I took it, and then found myself having to use it for support as a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. As I worked to clear my vision, I tried to remember, in a detached sort of way, the last time I'd eaten.

  "La-La, are you-?"

  "I'm fine," I said quickly, dropping Merry's hand immediately and opening the door before she could make any more out of my moment of weakness.

  Those mind-reading skills of hers were obviously in peak condition, however, as she considered me for a moment and then pushed past me into the main room, announcing to the flat at large, "We need food, Lara and I are starving."

  I went to follow after her, but stopped just outside the doorjamb as I felt the strain in the room twang sharply against my skin as if I'd just been flicked with a rubber band. Daz was standing stiffly off to one side, his arms crossed, while Fletch, still towel-clad, sat on the edge of the couch staring down at the floor. It seemed safe to say that their making up hadn't gone as well as Merry's and mine had.

  For a second or so I was unsure where my place was in this tableau, but then, as Daz scowled at me and Fletch stayed hunched forward, it became abundantly clear. I crossed quickly to the couch and sank down next to Fletch, leaning into him slightly. There was the smallest hesitation and then he slipped an arm around my waist.

  "You and Merry good, then?" He asked as Daz made a quiet scoffing sort of noise and went to argue which take-away place to order from with his girlfriend.

  I nodded and then, although I already knew the answer, I muttered, "You and Daz?"

  "Same as usual," he said dryly, "we've agreed to disagree."

  "Look," I started to say, "I don't want-"

  He stopped me with a kiss, swallowing my protestations that it wasn't worth him defending me to the detriment of his and Daz's friendship.

  "I've had enough drama for a while," he sighed against my lips after a moment. "I'm sick of it. Can't we just have a normal night with our mates?"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that, no, of course we bloody couldn't, but he looked so shattered that I stopped myself. He'd given me last night, after all, the least I could do was give 'normal' a go for him tonight.

  ----------

  "People choose names for their kids when they're babies, right?" Lara murmured an hour or so later as she leant back against Fletch's, now clothed, chest and watched Merry attempt to cajole Daz into dancing with her to a song on the radio. "So how on earth did Merry's parents know she was going to turn out like she did? What if she'd ended up as some totally dour, miserable person?"

  As there was a knock on the door and Merry literally skipped past, clapping her hands and singing a little ditty about how much she loved dinner, Fletch leant a cheek against Lara's hair.

  "I guess we'll never know," he replied lowly and felt, rather than saw, her answering amusement.

  For a moment he felt the pressure clutching his chest ease slightly. Lara was trying, she was clearly trying to do as he'd asked and have a normal night and he was grateful, even if he could tell that it wasn't exactly coming naturally to her.

  "Come on, La-La," Merry called over from the doorway where she was snatching the bags off the delivery person and breathing in the scent of the Thai noodles like it was oxygen and she was drowning. "Let's get this in you."

  Fletch was surprised by the comment, and even more by the way Lara immediately pushed herself off the couch and went over to help herself. It was only as he watched her use the disposable chopsticks to pull a large clump of the noodles to her mouth, but still with her usual lack of gastronomic enjoyment, that he got that Merry had been serious when she'd said Lara was starving. Well, of course she was. Counting back, he realised she hadn't eaten anything in the past 24 hours, if not longer.

  He sighed, the tightness around his chest not only returning, but intensifying. His automatic thought was that he should've stopped Lara from launching straight into her deed recovery earlier, that he should've made her eat and drink something and re-centre herself when she awoke. In the next second, however, he wondered who the hell he thought he was kidding. He couldn't stop Lara from doing anything. She'd been stressed enough about missing the whole day; he could just imagine her reaction if he'd suggested she take it easy for another hour or so and look after her own needs first.

  Obviously feeling his eyes on her, Lara swallowed her mouthful and looked over at him. "What?" She asked.

  "If you were that hungry you should've-" he broke off, realising Merry and Daz were listening in. "Doesn't matter," he finished in a mutter. The damage was clearly done, however, as he watched her lower her chopsticks and then only pick at a few vegetables from then on. He knew the feeling; he'd lost his appetite too.

  There was an awkward silence after that, and it was only broken when Merry suddenly turned to Lara and asked bluntly, "Have you got a cold? You sound a bit-"

  "No," Lara snapped before Merry could finish. "I don't get sick."

  Daz glared at her abrupt response, but Merry appeared unfazed as she said, "Bully for you. I seem to spend most of winter with a runny nose."

  "Well that's you, not me. Are you finished?" And, without waiting for an answer, Lara snatched up the scattering of noodle containers and started to stuff them into the plastic bag they'd been delivered in. Once the table was cleared to her satisfaction, she marched away to shove them in the bin.

  Merry, her chopsticks hovering over the empty space where her dinner had been seconds before, shot a quick, bewildered look at Fletch, but he shook his head repressively hoping she'd get the hint and drop it. She might not have known where that overreaction had come from, but he thought he did. What was it Lara had told him about sick people? That they suffocated her? It looked like she didn't just mean other people.

  He sagged back against the couch, at a loss as to how to proceed where it had seemed so obvious the day before. Taking Lara away from the crowd and the house that had panicked her and helping her best he could through the aftermath hadn't been easy exactly, but it'd been clear. It’d been a black and white move same as it was whenever Saskia called him for a lift; nothing ambiguous about it.

  From the moment Lara'd snatched Big Blue back to her chest, however, everything they'd gone through the night before had started to seem kind of unreal, leaving him feeling somehow cheated. How she'd been with him hadn't been unreal, it had been the most real he'd ever seen her, so watching her slowly morph back into the caricature that Daz thought she was…it was just so bloody frustrating.

  A part of him knew he should cut her some slack. This was the same part of him that understood logically that Donny had had to die because his body was too destroyed to continue. This part of him knew that his mum had left because her marriage was slowly crushing her. This part reminded him that Lara didn't share things easily, that she didn't put herself in positions where
she could lose control and that, despite that, she'd fought against all her instincts to allow him in on Donny's birthday. This sane, understanding part of him knew that she'd given her all and needed time to adjust.

  There was another part to him, though, that disagreed. This part screamed that people beat cancer all the time so why hadn't his mate been strong enough? This part howled that he didn't care that his mum had been choked by her marriage, that she should've toughened up and rode it out like him and Saskia were having to. This part wanted Lara's progression with him to be a bit more God-damn linear!

  The conflict between these two equal and opposing parts of him continued for the rest of the evening, clawing inside him even as Lara returned to his side, fitting her body back neatly into the space she'd previously occupied as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The feel of her against him was good, but it didn't cancel out the way her and Daz steadfastly ignored each other or how it did sound like she had the beginnings of a cold, however much she wanted to deny it.

  Maybe he hadn't slept 12 straight hours like Lara had, but he didn't think it was just lack of sleep that was making him feel so tired.

  Chapter 19 – Can’t Breathe

  The thump of my footfalls exactly matched the thump of my week-long headache as, shoulders hunched, I made my miserable way across the deserted campus. The usually bustling paths were empty as what had been barely a weak mist of drizzle only 10 minutes before had turned into a downpour, and I was apparently the only one stupid enough to be caught out in it. Rainwater dripped off my eyelashes and down off the point of my nose in an irritatingly tickly trickle, but I didn't have the energy to try and wipe the drips away.

  The cold, the one that I'd eventually been forced to admit to myself that I had, had settled firmly into my chest sometime the day before and so shielding myself from the downpour was the least of my problems. Much more pertinent was the fact that I didn't seem to be able to drag enough oxygen into my body; my breath sawed in and out in short pants, but didn't seem to make any headway in appeasing my lungs as they ached for air.