The Do-Gooder Page 5

"Mum?" I dumped my bag and the cake down on the side-table in the hallway, refusing to be calmed by the familiar suburban normalcy of the furniture and décor of my old home. Nothing could be normal or comfortable if Fletch was about.

  "In here, sweetheart."

  Following the reply, I headed round to the left towards the kitchen, coming to a sharp stop as I saw my mum and Fletch sitting at the old wooden kitchen table over near the window facing the scrubby front yard. Fletcher was leaning forward solicitously towards my mum, but I ignored him, it was the scrunched up tissue in her hand and the redness around her eyes I was focusing on. The son of a bitch had made my mum cry.

  "Oh, honey, don't look so panicked." Mum smiled, sniffed, and then rose to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Fletch and I were just talking about old times and you know how I get. Cuppa?"

  I touched her briefly on the arm, reassuring myself with the soft cotton of her top, and then glared over at Fletcher. "Get out."

  "Lara!"

  I ignored mum's horrified protest, holding myself stiff and unrelenting as I continued to stare at the unwelcome intruder.

  Fletch got slowly to his feet, putting the mug he'd been loosely cradling in his hands carefully down on the table.

  "Cool it, babe," he said gruffly. "I'm not here to stir anything."

  "And while that makes a nice change," I said sardonically, "that doesn't explain why you're here."

  He awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and shrugged. "Thursday night's family night, right?"

  Un-bloody-believable.

  "Yes," I agreed crisply, "but, as you're not family, the question remains. What do you want?"

  "Oh, Lara, that's enough," Mum's instruction was accompanied by a little laugh; she never had been one to be drawn in by drama. "Ignore her, Fletch, you're very welcome here anytime."

  "Thanks." His shoulders loosened from their tight set slightly and he sent her a smile of such softness I had an overwhelming urge to throw myself in front of Mum to deflect it away from her. I was too late, though, I could see her melt even more…and she was already practically mush in his hands.

  "But I actually do need to talk to Lara for a sec," he continued politely, "so do you mind if we step outside?" He still seemed to be addressing my mum, and I looked between them for a moment in disbelief before protesting,

  "Does she mind? Who cares? I mind."

  The look he sent me then was nowhere near as civil as the one mum had been treated to, and his voice turned brittle as he said, "I'll go once I've had a word, happy?"

  "Oh, yes, ecstatic," I replied sarcastically. Still, I was more concerned with getting him away from Mum at that stage than what he had to say to me, so I turned abruptly and stalked out of the kitchen.

  I was faced with a conundrum then. Despite Fletch's eternal shorts, t-shirt and thongs combo, it wasn’t warm outside and I wasn't keen on being frozen whilst he delivered whatever lecture he’d saved up for me that day. The lounge-room and my dad's old study were well within hearing distance of the kitchen, however, and there was no way I was letting him into Donny's old room, or my mum's, so that just left… I let out a heavy sigh, but then led the way down to the very far back of the house to my old room.

  It didn't hold the magic it had when it'd been my own personal refuge, so that was at least something Fletch couldn't corrupt. The cream coloured walls were bare, and the bed had new covers, but it was still my old furniture, and the same four walls; the exposed bones of my teenage sanctum.

  I didn't like admitting it, but Fletch had been thought about a lot in this room; thought about, plotted for, squirmed over... Ignoring the slight, but entirely unavoidable, buzzing feeling I felt in my chest at having him fulfil my teenage fantasies and be in this space with me, I waited until he'd entered as well and then closed the door after us. Maybe the lengths I was going to to ensure Mum didn't hear us were excessive, but, then again, considering what he'd accused me of the last time we'd spoken…

  As if reading my mind, Fletch crossed his arms and said bluntly, "You didn't give drugs to Saskia."

  I waited to see if he was going to add anything to that, and when he didn't, pointed out, "Yes, I know."

  There was another pause, which I allowed to last for a few seconds before rolling my eyes. "Is that it? Right, well, you know the way out so-"

  "She's out of control."

  I stopped in the act of opening the door again, and turned to see that he was staring over my shoulder, something apparently fascinating on the completely blank wall behind me.

  "Saskia?" I checked and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a couple of times before he nodded.

  And, see, this was exactly what I hadn't wanted to happen when I'd helped his little sister out the other night. The universe needed to cut me a break on this; I did not want to be involved with the Townsends.

  Thinking of my mum out in the kitchen and the way she fell automatically to mothering people, I shrugged dismissively. "So get your parents to sort her out. She's not your problem."

  He let out a funny noise halfway between a snort and a grunt and shook his head. "Parent, you mean. Mum's gone."

  "Gone?" I repeated, confused. "Gone where?"

  "South America last I heard," he replied with a good approximation of indifferent. "Saving the rainforest or the whales or some other hippy dippy crap."

  I thought back to what I remembered of Fletch's mum, bringing up an image of a honey skinned woman with long curls, a soft Canadian accent, and a penchant for sandalwood perfume.

  "She always did love a tie-dye skirt," I offered, and his mouth tightened in what was either a smile, or a wince.

  "In her defence, we all knew she'd wanted to go for a while, she at least waited until Saskia was a bit older…" he trailed off, uncrossing his arms and then crossing them again as if he couldn't figure out what to do with himself. "And, let's face it, if I had the opportunity to be shot of my dad I'd take it too, so you know, it just is what it is."

  It was an offering, perhaps; an 'I made your mum cry, but hey, look at how screwed up my family is'. I wasn't sure whether I trusted it, however, so kept my voice relatively neutral as I asked, "Leaving Saskia as, what? The cliché lost little rebel without a mother figure?"

  "Apparently."

  He still wasn't looking at me, but he seemed to forget that that didn't stop me from looking at him and I balled my hands tight against my thighs as I saw the way his jaw was rhythmically clenching and unclenching. I may have spent the last couple of years avoiding him (mostly unsuccessfully), but if there was one thing I knew about Fletch, it was that he worked his jaw when he was in over his head.

  Nothing for it then.

  "I'll see what I can do." I'd be lying if I said I didn't say those six words with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  "What?" He asked distractedly, as if he'd already started thinking about something else.

  "With Saskia," I explained patiently and, suddenly, he seemed to clock to what I was suggesting, incredulous anger spreading across his features.

  "No, Jesus, that's not…you think I came here to get Saskia involved in your screwed up atonement shit?" He was finally looking at me and I really wished he wasn't. "As if I would!"

  I recoiled at his smack-back, furious at myself. God, for the briefest second there I'd forgotten who I was talking to.

  "I'm serious, Lara," he continued as I worked to conceal how shitty his horror made me feel, "leave it. She isn't one of your pathetic charity projects, I'll sort it."

  "Of course," my voice came out just below a snarl, "the great Fletcher Townsend doesn't need anyone's help, he's got it all figured out. So I guess that brings us right back round to: what are you doing here?"

  Twitch, twitch, twitch went that jaw of his before he ground out, "I came to apologise for yesterday."

  His expression indicated forcing himself to stand there and say the word 'apologise' to me was on par with self-mutilation. Good.

  "Well, you've done
a crap job of it so far," I pointed out bluntly. As he stayed silent and rigid before me, I added, "So, go on then, let's hear it."

  His eyes narrowed at my insistence to force the actual words out of him, but he lifted his chin valiantly and growled out, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have accused you like that."

  "Like that?" I repeated with a scoff. "Try: or at all."

  His narrowed eyes slitted into an all out glare. "Or at all."

  I wasn't going to offer him a 'fine' or an 'OK' as I didn't particularly want him to think it was either. Instead, I turned silently and opened the door for him again.

  With his piece said, I expected him to march off into his self-righteous sunset, but still he hesitated.

  "Oh, for God's sake," I groaned, "now what?"

  "Your mum…" he said awkwardly, "is she, you know, alright?"

  My hand tightened on the door handle, a subtler reaction than reaching out and slapping him fair across the face which is what I really fancied doing.

  "Her son's dead, her husband's divorced her, and her remaining child can barely bring herself to visit once a week," I said bluntly. "What do you think?"

  I'd meant to just plain awkward him into leaving, but my verbal strike didn't seem to have had the intended effect as he shifted slightly from foot to foot and muttered, "I should've…" He faltered, looking down before finishing, "I used to come round all the time."

  "I remember."And I did, all too well. That'd been when my obsession, there was really no other word for it, with him had begun. It'd been in those early, heady days when I'd realised I had something boys wanted…and had been determined to make Fletch, specifically, vie for it.

  I didn't get too long to rue the stupidity of back then, however, as he interrupted my musings to say quietly, "I'm going to start coming over a bit to see how she's going."

  "Don't you dare," I snapped.

  "I wasn't asking your permission," he snapped back, jerking his head back up so that our glares snagged and caught.

  The feeling in the room shifted; instantaneous, visceral.

  The skin over my breastbone sucked in, flattening as I forgot to take the outward breath that matched the previous, inward, one and my heart started to jackhammer like it was on speed.

  Some distant, Fletch-unaffected part of my brain struggled to point out that it shouldn't still have been like this. The time and fighting should’ve squashed that stupid thrill that buzzed so loudly whenever he was around; it shouldn't have been able to survive, to spread to every inch of me and pulse out towards him just because we were looking at each other.

  I could see the understanding of the moment written all over Fletch's face, and that he was as unimpressed with our continued ability to do this to each other as I was.

  If he'd touched me, I would've been gone, and it was the knowledge of that power he could so easily wield that jerked me back to myself and made me take one massive step back away from him.

  "Out," I ordered and, this time, he did as he was told.

  I stood in the doorway and watched him go, hearing him call out a farewell to my mum and a promise that he'd be back soon.

  Throbbing with fury…and that unfortunate zing of something else, I waited until the front door had closed behind him, then marched out and grabbed my bag off the hall table.

  Telling Mum I’d just be a minute, I retreated back to my old room and perched on the edge of the bed. Turning to a new page in Big Blue, I whipped out my pen and, in sharp, angry strokes I wrote down two words. Saskia Townsend.

  Fletcher thought his family was above me and had made it perfectly clear how pathetic he thought my good deeds were, but screw that. In his own words, Saskia was out of control, and if I got to throw one over Fletch and help her out at the same time then so much the better.

  ----------

  "You're late."

  "I'm aware." Fletch winced as he heard the accent slip back into his voice, that tell-tale gift from his mother that rolled back in when he wasn't paying attention. Then he winced again when he realised who he'd snapped at.

  Turning, he grimaced apologetically at the girl sitting behind the front desk of the Aquatic Centre.

  "Ah, sorry, Mil," he said, and her slightly stunned expression melted instantly into a forgiving smile. After dealing with Lara at her prickly best, this instant let-off was like finally breathing fresh air again.

  "No worries. You OK?" His workmate rose from her seat, and came round to lean back against the counter, crossing her long, bronze legs before her.

  "Yeah, gold," he lied. "You?"

  "Pretty good, actually," her smile widened into a showstopper. "I just got my certificate."

  "Hey, onya!" He leant forward and gave her a nudge on the shoulder. "Congratulations."

  "Cheers, you should come to O'Malley's tomorrow for celebratory drinks. The others are coming, Taylor and that lot."

  "Yeah, I'll see." He kept his response deliberately vague, wary to the way she was arching her back out towards him from the counter. It was a Lara move he knew all too well.

  "So," he continued, changing the subject, "you gonna apply for the next instructor job that comes up now you're certified?"

  She nodded and then shot a look at the large clock over the doorway and laughed. "Although, at this rate, I'll probably get yours."

  He followed her gaze and swore. "You're probably right," he agreed, starting to jog towards his locker. "Catch you later, yeah?"

  "You bet."

  He brushed aside the decided flirt in her tone as he shoved his wallet and car keys into his metal storage box and then made his way down to relieve the previous lifeguard off-duty.

  He liked Millie, but nothing was going to happen there. She was just a kid, only 18 a few months ago and still in school, and besides, he knew what would happen if he took her up on her numerous openings to ask her out. They'd go out for a while, it'd be fine, then someone would say something about Lara, or he'd have a fight with her in front of Mil and she'd turn into a suspicious, paranoid mess until they self-destructed. Girls, it seemed, could sense that something had gone on there a mile off. That or they knew Lara's reputation and lost their minds at the thought that he was just another guy that panted after her. Been there, done that.

  Daz called it the mother of all cock-blocking, and Jai thought it was hilarious, but he ignored them. The whole bloody thing was just a hassle and if he could avoid drama by not getting into anything serious while he was still at uni then that was just how it had to be.

  Remembering that last moment with Lara, when he'd been what felt like a hair's breadth from slamming her back against the wall and covering her mouth with his own, made it easier than ever to push Millie's accommodating smile to the back of his mind.

  Lara would mess up anything he tried, or he would, so it was best to just leave it be.

  Chapter 5 – Hot Babies and Sticky Floors

  "Hey, beautiful girl!"

  A rush of exclamation marks and male cologne enveloped me as I entered the main refectory and, with a great flurry, Stefano jumped up from one of the plastic chairs near the door and planted himself in front of me.

  "Hello, Stefano," I replied, not quite as exuberantly, as I skirted him to pick a pre-wrapped sandwich out of the fridge to the side and joined the queue to pay.

  "I've been waiting for you for ages." He followed me to the check-out, his indignant tone suggesting he was an Antarctic explorer and I was the helicopter pilot who'd just plumb forgot to pick him up.

  "We didn't have plans to meet," I pointed out, confident in this as I always was in my schedule for the day. Big Blue ensured I never forgot an appointment.

  Stefano seemed less impressed by my logic and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Was I supposed to make an appointment through your secretary?" He teased and I pursed my lips, reaching inside my gorgeously soft burgundy tote to withdraw my wallet.

  "Apparently you don't need to." I paid for my food and then headed for the seating area, Stefano close on my hee
ls.

  "Of course I don't need to, you're so freakin' anal retentive about your routine I knew you'd turn up here eventually and buy the same cardboard food you do every day. Honestly, it's like you're allergic to flavour and, as a red blooded Italian, I take that personally."

  As we walked through a shaft of sunlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows of the ref, Stefano turned his head and beamed at me, the warm light silhouetting his strong profile. He really was a good looking bastard, and it was perhaps his understanding of the benefits of a good skincare regime that saw me taking the time to sigh and say patiently, "Right, let's start again. What do you want?"

  "You're so hot when you're being masterful," he cut a quick look across at me as he added, with a decided reduction in volume, "I guess that's why we're so good together."

  Ah, it all became clear.

  I nodded to show I understood and asked, equally quietly, "When?"

  "Next Saturday; Nonna and Nonno are looking forward to seeing their big, butch grandson and his sweet, gorgeous girlfriend."

  In total contrast to his usual theatrics, Stefano's voice was sober as he mentioned his grandparents and it would be an idiot who wouldn't see the significance in that. I wasn't an idiot.

  Wordlessly, I stepped to the side of the ref, out of the flow of traffic from the shop to the tables. Handing Stefano my sandwich, I pulled my bag round to my front and withdrew Big Blue from it. Flipping to the date he was referring to, I promptly crossed out the plan I already had in place, shifting it to the Sunday and writing Stefano in on the Saturday instead. I may never forget an appointment, but I have no qualms shifting them around like a never-ending game of Tetris.

  It'd taken me a while to see it, but Stefano wasn't all outrageous campness and impeccable grooming. He was also, as it turned out, someone I would reschedule a previously standing appointment for.

  "Done." I held the change up for him to see and then shut the folder again, shoving it back into the tote I'd bought for the way it hugged Big Blue so snugly. "Sandwich," I stuck my hand out, he returned my lunch, and we continued into the seating area with no need to discuss his request any further.