White Lady (19 page)

Nash walks over to me and rubs my shoulders. He smells like he’s had a rigorous game of football with sweaty teens. He digs his thumbs between my shoulder blades. I sit up straight and roll my head from side to side.

“You’re so tense. Tough classes today?” Nash moves his thumbs up to the base of my head. The crunch of my hair against my scalp reminds me of death. I flick Nash’s hand away.

I anticipate the question. I know it’s coming. Maybe I should prepare answers for all the possible questions Nash could ask from here on in. This isn’t going to be an easy ride.

Hell, has any of my life been an easy ride?

“So, how’s it all going at home? Have you gotten to the bottom of anything yet?” he says.

I spin around in my chair, smile, nod enough for it to be considered a yes but also mistaken for the mere acknowledgment of the question. That will give me a few more moments to figure out a response.

I swallow. Sigh.

Nash frowns and nods as if nudging me to speak. I can hear his brain ticking, thinking,
What’s gotten into you?

“Fine. Sorted.” I realize I sound like Nash and offer a crooked smile. I use Nash’s arm to pull myself up and hook my handbag over my shoulder.

“Shit, Sonia, that’s great.”

“Yes. It is.”

Is he going to push it, or is he going to get the hint that I’m not feeling very talkative?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I said everything is fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Can we just get going?” I purse my lips and squint at a fleck of ash stuck in Nash’s beard. His eyes are slightly red. Like he’s been crying.

He smiles, brushes hair from my eyes, and cups my cheek. “You’d tell me if it was serious?”

I nod and withdraw, clutching the handle of my handbag so tight the tips of my fingers sting. I release my grip and vertically straighten my arms.

“I’m sorry. I really need to get a move on.”

Nash frowns and steps forwards. He reaches out and gently touches my elbow. “Wait. Don’t you have detention duty?”

I smack my forehead into my palm. “Fuck.”

“Wow.” Nash laughs.

I forgot I haven’t sworn in front of him for ages.

“If you’ve got somewhere to be, I can cover for you,” Nash says.

“You don’t have plans?”

“None that can’t wait an hour.”

I peck Nash on the cheek and dash to my car without uttering another word.

Mick and I need to figure out our next move.

Chapter 45

Mia: S&M? Really, Dad?

Dark. Purple. Random crystals hanging from the ceiling. This restaurant reminds me of
Moulin Rouge
. Any moment now Nicole Kidman is going squeal and flash her frilly crotch.

“Why here?” I say. How does he know about this creepy place?

Dad shrugs, unfolds his napkin, and lays it on his lap.

“And what’s going on? You were fucking weird on the phone this afternoon.”

“I wasn’t acting weird. And can you watch your mouth, please? In public at least?”

I take a deep breath, puff up my cheeks, and look at the menu. It’s covered in red and silver glitter, and it sticks to my fingers. Reminds me of kindergarten. I hold my hand out to show Dad. “Think I’ll be shitting shinies by the end of the night?” I giggle.

Dad laughs through his nose, scratches his chin, but doesn’t look up from his menu. “Porterhouse Steak for me. Know what you’re having?” Dad turns his head towards the bar. Glitter glistens in his beard. I smile. He looks so sweet and gentle. I realize how much I love him, how much he’s been trying to be supportive, and how much I’ve been pushing him away. I feel a little sick in the stomach thinking about the way I’ve been treating him. Especially when I spat at him. That totally wasn’t me. I was wasted. And now I regret it so bad.

“What?” Dad laughs, as if my staring has made him nervous.

I open my eyes wide and shake my head.

A waitress approaches our table wearing a slightly see-through white bead-encrusted blouse with a bright-purple bra underneath. I want to laugh. But I control myself. I wonder if she’s trying to fit in with the decor, or if the owner of the place has made her dress like this. In which case, I guess I’d better not judge.

Dad glances up from his menu, notices the waitress’s blouse, and quickly looks down again.

“Ahem. I’ll uh … uh … I’ll have the Porterhouse Steak, medium rare, thanks.”

The waitress nods and pushes her crotch into the edge of the table. I internally gag. She looks at me with a flashy white smile—a wordless request to take my order.

“Chef’s salad,” I say, focusing on Dad’s beard.

“Mia, come on. Treat yourself today. We should celebrate.”

I frown. “What are we celebrating?”

“Your awesome effort in los—”

“Dad. TMI?”

“Oh—” Dad hides his mouth with the menu and whispers, “To lose weight.”

I roll my eyes, look at the waitress, and mimic her smile. “Chef’s salad, thanks.”

“Sweet. Ya-wan-anythin’-ta-drink?”

Dad and I exchange glances and say in unison, “Carlton Draught Light.”

“Won’t-be-long. I’ll-bring-ya-beers-in-a-sec.” The waitress takes the menus. The flop of her thongs reverberates across the wooden floor.

“So,” Dad says, combing his fingers through his hair and making the front of it stick up like a cockatoo, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Mick lately.”

I look into my lap. “Yeah. So?” I say a bit too defensively. I knew he had an ulterior motive for taking me out.

“I think it’s good, that’s all.”

Silence. We both seem to be waiting for the other to say something.

“What?” I tense up. Is he onto me? He couldn’t be, could he? And even if he was, I’ve stopped. So he wouldn’t be able to prove it. But what if Sonia says something to him? Nah. That would never happen. She’d risk too much. And then Dad’d blame Mick. For everything. And then their relationship would be over. And that would suck. Because Dad’s happy with Sonia. She’s good for him. Even if she is a bit weird sometimes. And seriously? Mick’s so much nicer than he makes out. If only he would try to speak better, more people would like him. I’m sure of it. It’s all the “fuck this fuck that, cunt, blah blah blah.” I guess, though, it’s his toughness that first attracted me to him. So maybe I shouldn’t be complaining.

Dad rearranges the cutlery on the table, then puts it back where it was, takes a deep breath, holds it in, then exhales with a heavy sigh.

“Actually, we need to talk.”

Here we go. I knew it. I brace myself.

“Before it gets out of hand—” Dad squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and it seems like he’s banging his fists on his knees under the table. “Wait. Promise me something first—”

Oh no, he does know!

“Dad, seriously, you don’t have to be worried. It was just a phase. I promise. I’ve stopped.”

Dad frowns and cranes his neck.

“Phase? Stopped?”

“Yeah, I mean, it was stupid. I know it was stupid. I knew it was really fucking stupid, but I really hated myself, you know? The way I look? I mean, who would like the way I look, right? But then, you know, Mick, he’s cool. And he made me realize something.”

Dad slowly leans back into his seat and scratches his beard. “Okay. I’m sorry. We’re not on the same page.”

What? Shit!

“Uh—” I squash my hands between my knees and look away.

“I’m glad, though. That you stopped,” Dad says. “I knew you would. Eventually. I trusted you to figure it out for yourself.”

I look up. “You
knew
?”

“Yep.”

“And you never tried to stop me?”

“Thought about it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Sadness fills Dad’s eyes. “I didn’t want to push you away any more than I already had.”

That’s my fault. I’m the one who made him feel like that. How could I have been so horrible to him when all he ever does is do the best he can for me? “Dad, I would never—”

“Here-ya-are-two-Carlton-Draught-Lights-Yer-meals-won’t-be-long.” The waitress slaps our beers on the table so hard it makes the table shake and suds spill everywhere. She puts her hands on her hips and flashes her toothpaste-commercial grin at us again.

Dad smiles in thanks.

The waitress spins around on one foot and walks to the bar, thongs flapping on the soles of her grimy cracked heels. She sits on a bar stool, rolls her eyes, pulls a piece of chewing gum off the bar surface, and sucks it into her mouth.

“Man,” I say. “Really, who told you about this place?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I won’t.”

“Sonia and I come here sometimes.”

“Right.” I say, mockingly dragging out the word.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I sip my beer and nod. My teeth clang against the glass—it sends a nerve pain through my jaw. Ow.

“Seeing as you’ve been spending time with Mick, have you noticed anything weird about Sonia lately?”

I lower my pint and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. For some reason I don’t think that this is what he wanted to speak to me about.

I flatten my lips together and shake my head. This is not good. Not a good question at all. He can’t even be suspicious. Because if he is, he could get himself caught up in some crazy shit. And Sonia made it very clear that it wasn’t in his best interests. And he’s been to hell and back with Mum already. He couldn’t cope being betrayed again, she said.

I have to protect him from this. As much as I possibly can.

“No? She seemed a bit wired at work.”

“Haven’t noticed.” I shake my head again and look at the waitress sitting at the bar. I have to change the subject. I try to make him laugh by mimicking the waitress’s speech “I’m-hungry-are-you-hungry?-You-think-our-food-will-be-long?”

Dad smiles with suspicion in his eyes.

Pretty sure he knows I’m trying to distract him. Why why why? Please, Dad. Just drop it. Let’s enjoy this dinner together. Let’s forget the world and the shit and the fucked-up people in it and pretend we are the only ones left. Because him, sitting here, in front of me tonight, it’s nice. I miss … us.

I want to tell him how much I love him. I want to tell him how much I appreciate all the times he cooked me healthy meals even though he was dying to order pizza and drink beer. I want to tell him how much I appreciate him fobbing Mum off every time she called to speak to me. I want him to know that I’ll never forget the day he risked his job by giving one of the dudes in his PE class a detention for no reason because he bullied me about my weight.

But all I can muster is touching his hand and saying, “Don’t worry, Dad. I think you’re just being paranoid.”

And I swear to God, I feel like my heart skips a beat.

Chapter 46

Mick: Sometimes
fuck
means a lotta shit.

I gotta thank Mia for clearin’ the air between Mum ’n’ me. I’ve never felt so at fuckin’ ease with ’er before. It’s like I’ve just hooked up with a mate I haven’t seen in ages or somethin’. I was so fuckin’ stupid to keep this shit with Dad a secret from ’er. She’s the one with the fuckin’ experience in this shit. But she was tryin’ so hard, ya know? It hurt deep inside me chest to think that I’d be the one to ruin that for ’er.

Fuck it. I guess this is for the best. Once ya see the blood, it’s in ya blood. There’s no escapin’.

Mum ’n’ me sit on the back porch ’n’ share a smoke. She don’t do it much. But sometimes she says she jus’ likes to chill with one. She takes a real long drag ’n’ then passes it to me.

“I have an idea,” Mum says, blowin’ the smoke towards the sky ’n’ then turnin’ to face me. “But I need you to approve it first.”

I frown ’n’ rub me hands up ’n’ down me knees. “Me? Why me?” I laugh. She’s gotta be kiddin’. “You’re the old-time pro with all this shit.”

Mum screws up her mouth ’n’ nods, “Well, I can’t help thinking that we could somehow use Kimi as bait to get Ibrahim caught.”

“What the fuck, Mum? You have a fuckin’ death wish for ’er, or somethin’?”

“No, I’m serious. We could do this. Here’s what I’m thinking.” Mum grabs the smoke off me, sucks in the last bit, drops it on the step, ’n’ butts it out with ’er foot.

“Kimi needs money. That’s the whole reason she’s doing this funny business with Mia and trying to get your knives. What if we approach her and offer her a bit more cash than what she could earn by selling them, to lure Ibrahim here?”

I look at ’er. Like she’s off ’er fuckin’ rocker. But it’s genius.

“We could anonymously tip off Narcotics. Tell them that Ibrahim is going to turn up at such and such a time. They wouldn’t ignore it.”

I shake me head.

“It would be the best arrest they’d made in decades. They’ve been after him since you were born. Did you know that?” Mum stares at me ’n’ hooks ’er feet under ’er bum, sits like a li’l girl on the floor of a classroom. I didn’t know that. I hardly know nothin’ about me parents. All I know is that every time they went out, someone came back with blood on their clothes. Or skin. I used to think it was me mum’s blood. From Dad hittin’ ’er. But I’m startin’ to think it wasn’t hers at all. Ever.

“We can use her as bait, Mick. She can make it so Ibrahim ‘accidentally’ sees her steal something from his office,” Mum says, doin’ those quote things with ’er fingers. “And walk out the door with it, then head to a pickup point, collect a brick of cocaine, and bring it here. You know your dad. There’s no way he’d stop her in the middle of it. He’d follow her. The thrill is in the catch. Forever and always. And he’d want to make her suffer for it.”

I take a deep breath ’n’ shake me head. “Mum, it’s too fuckin’ dangerous. Not only for us, but there’s no way Kimi’s gonna do that. Mia said she’s shit scared of ’im. And anyway, how would it work? How’s she gonna get the coke without gettin’ hold of the knives to sell first? Dad’s been trying to get me to trade ’em for it.”

“That’s not the point of the weapons, Mick. He’s just testing you. He wants you to know how it feels to be under pressure. He’s training you. It’s what he did to me. He has all the cocaine in the world. He doesn’t need you to get cocaine for him; he needs you to show him that you
can
get cocaine for him, that with the right motivation you would put yourself in danger to get a job done no matter the consequence. Anyway, just leave that part to me.”