Blood Feud (29 page)

I stepped up onto the little stage and picked a personal anthem, Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. It didn’t really matter who was singing because all the locals sang along so loudly that you couldn’t even hear me anyway. I attempted to step down after that, but the crowd insisted on another favourite, ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’. It was an ironic choice as I was probably the worst dancer, not just in town, but in the whole state – maybe even the whole country. I sang that too, everyone in the bar joining in with the chorus, karaoke being a real community affair at The Flying Pigs. Afterwards I handed over the microphone to Mr Love’s friend, freshly escaped from Frannie, who immediately started overworking Neil Diamond’s ‘Sweet Caroline’.

Back at the bar, Mr Love complimented me on my voice so I told him about Nana Fuller’s insistence on rigorous singing training when I was young. I was just about to tell him how it was a talent well balanced by my lack of dancing and guitar-playing skills, when the Sarge walked in, an uninviting expression on his face. He held up a sleepy Foxy by her arm.

He eyeballed Mr Love suspiciously, before pushing Foxy in front of him. “She’s ready to apologise.”

“I’m sorry for spitting on you, Tessie,” Foxy said, very subdued and much more sober.

“Okay. Just don’t do it again please, Foxy,” I said as a stray tear trickled from her makeup-smeared eye. “It’s disgusting and very unhygienic. You wouldn’t like it if someone spat on you, would you?”

She shook her head in dejection and the Sarge escorted her over to a dark corner where Gretel hastily scrambled off the married man’s lap, tugging at the hem of her dress, but not able to mask her smudged lipstick and mussed hair. With no eye contact, Foxy muttered a patently insincere apology which Gretel accepted with equally ungracious reluctance.

That done, the Sarge pushed her towards the door again, pointing his index finger at me before he left. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Gotcha, Sarge,” I said, wondering if I was in trouble for something.

Instead of worrying about that, because I usually
was
in trouble with him for one reason or another, I asked Mike about his group’s walking plans. He entertained me by telling me about their day spent circumnavigating Lake Big, an easy walk for experienced hikers. I learned that they’d also planned a few other comfortable walks before tackling the challenging hike up Mount Big. Never really able to give the job a rest, I lectured him about the various dangers of Mount Big, which he listened to patiently, the hint of an amused smile on his face.

“I hope you’re taking me seriously,” I demanded, slightly slurring my words.

“Of course I am,” he affirmed with haste, but I noticed his lips twitching slightly.

“Because the last thing the Sarge and I want to be doing is hauling your sorry arses down off the mountain because you’ve gone and got yourselves lost up there.”

“I promise we won’t, Officer Tess,” he said, holding his palm up. “Scout’s honour.”

“Were you a Scout?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what good –”

A tap on my shoulder made me spin around, hand reaching for my knife. It was just the Sarge.

“I need to speak to you for a second,” he said, grim-faced, eyeing off Mike again.

I slid off the bar stool, unfortunately not as graceful as I’d have preferred, one high heel hitting the ground at an awkward angle twisting my ankle and making me stumble headlong into the Sarge. Both men came to my assistance, helping me upright, the Sarge gripping my elbows with his hands.

“You’re going home now,” he directed firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Because I felt tired anyway, I didn’t debate, nodding agreement while I yawned.

“Tessie,” he said, frowning when I closed my eyes. He shook me. My eyes sprung open with that intense concentration inebriated people have to prove they’re not inebriated. “Tessie, listen to me. Did you sing tonight?”

I nodded in surprise.

“How many songs?” I told him two and he swore under his breath. “Was one of them ‘I Will Survive’?”

“Yes. Why, what’s the matter?” I asked him, growing concerned.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I found this under the patrol car’s wiper when I put Foxy in the car to drive her here.” He handed it to me.

Tessie lovely

That green dress is perfect on you. I’m loving the sight of all that flesh you’re flashing. Very tasty. And I love it when you sing ‘I Will Survive’ – so optimistic of you. I’m not happy about you talking to that man at the bar for so long though. I’ll be telling Jakey about that.

Hope you didn’t waste anyone’s time tonight in Big Town. I was only joking about going there :-)

love
always, Red xx

“He’s here in town,” I said, numb. “He didn’t go to Big Town. He lied to me.”

“You positive it’s his handwriting?”

“Yes! Stop asking me that all the time.” The amount of trouble I was in slowly dawned on me. “Have you rung the Super?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m so screwed. She’s going to kill me.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “We’re screwed. You stay here for a few minutes. There are enough people around to keep you safe. I’m going to the foyer where it’s quieter to let her know to call off the surveillance. We can’t have all those cops up all night waiting for something that’s not going to happen.”

I sat back down on the bar stool, waiting anxiously for him to return. I couldn’t express my gratitude to him for taking a bullet for me by ringing the Super. She was going to be angry.

“Trouble?” asked Mike.

I’d forgotten about him and whirled around in surprise. I nodded unhappily and rested with my chin on my palm, staring at the door, waiting for the Sarge to return. I started biting my nails.

When he walked through the door, I sprang up too quickly and tripped myself on the bar stool, stumbling forward yet again. The two men rushed to save me from falling flat on my face once more and pulled me upright.

“Whatdidshesay? Whatdidshesay?” I asked nervously.

“Her phone was engaged, so I left a message and hung up.”

“My phone’s broken so she can’t contact me. Turn your phone off now so she can’t ring you back.”

“Already done.”

I smiled at him with incredible relief. “Thank you so much, Sarge.”

He put his arm around my shoulder and leaned down close to my face, staring directly into my eyes so that I would pay attention. His warm breath breezed across my face. He’d been eating something minty. “Round everyone up, Tessie. You’re all going home. Enough is enough.”

“Okay,” I agreed easily again and turned to head off. He looked after me in surprise before addressing Mr Love.

“Did you hypnotise her or something? She never does what I ask normally.”

I turned back. “I can hear you, you know!”

“Off you go and do what you’re told,” the Sarge called after me, almost smiling. I shot him a look over my shoulder and managed to pick my way over to Lizzie. She sprawled on one of the corner lounges, her head lolling backwards, lightly snoring. She was in worse shape than me and the only one I cared about tonight because I’d promised Brett I’d look after her. I shook her shoulder and called her name softly.

Slowly, like a deep sea diver rising to the surface, she roused herself into consciousness.

“Time to go, Lizzie. The Sarge is going to give us a lift home. Do you have your handbag?”

She patted her hand around the lounge next to her, panicking when she couldn’t find it. I leaned down and plucked a bag from between her feet.

“Is this it?”

She nodded and stood up, but then clutched my arm. “You haven’t sung anything tonight. I wanted to hear you sing.”

“I did sing, Lizzie. You must have been asleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep! Who the hell sleeps at their own hen’s party?”

I flinched at her vehemence. “Okay. Sorry. Maybe you were in the ladies?”

A notoriously stubborn woman, she decided to dig her heels in. “I’m not going anywhere until you sing. It’s my hen’s party and I want to hear you sing.”

“But it’s late and –”

“I want to hear you sing,” she insisted, plonking herself back down on the lounge. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shoulders slumping with tiredness, I caved in and unfortunately, the karaoke machine happened to be free. “What do you want to hear?”

“Some party music. Surprise me.”

Well, that’s not going to happen
, I thought with not a small amount of snarkiness. Abe hadn’t updated the karaoke songs since he’d installed the machine five years ago and there was no such thing as a surprise in song choices. Everything had been previously sung to death a million times. Wearily, I scrolled through the list of songs, finally picking one that I thought Lizzie might like.

I had everyone’s attention from the heavy opening guitar riff (one that Jake had tried unsuccessfully to teach me), earning myself a cheer for choosing Joan Jett’s ‘I Love Rock N Roll”. Leaning on the bar, the Sarge raised his palms in a
what the hell are you doing – you’re supposed to be going home
gesture. I busied myself with the microphone, deliberately ignoring him.

For some reason, whenever I stood on that little stage with a microphone in my hand, my inner extravert uncurled. Jake and I had performed enough duets on this stage to make me feel comfortable when I stood there. Sometimes it almost felt as though I was singing in front of my bedroom mirror using my hairbrush as a microphone like I did as a kid. And because I knew Nana Fuller had instilled technical competence in me as a singer, I wasn’t as self-conscious as many others about my voice when I sang in public.

I urged the crowd to gather around, reminding them that Lizzie and Brett were soon to be married. A huge cheer almost raised the roof – even from the tourists who didn’t have a clue why they were rejoicing – making Lizzie smile and, yes, even blush a little. I dedicated the song to the happy couple.

It was a great rendition. I felt like a rock star, strutting around on the stage, nearly slipping off it a few times. I gave it everything I had, singing my heart out, the crowd enthusiastically if not tunefully, joining in the chorus. At the end I bowed a couple of times before realising the men in the crowd were only encouraging me to do so because they could see down the top of my dress when I did.

“Stage dive!” shouted someone and it was taken up with great enthusiasm by the rest of the crowd, until they were all shouting and clapping, “
Stage dive!
Stage dive!
” And at that moment, filled with the exhilaration of a good performance and too much alcohol, it seemed like a brilliant idea. I moved to the edge of the stage and flung my arms out in preparation, laughing.

“
Tessie, NO!
” I heard the Sarge’s loud voice and saw him as a blur as he ran towards me, but I’d already launched myself off the tiny stage into the crowd. Somehow it was a successful stage dive, despite the fact that most people were inebriated and the stage was only half-a-metre high. I was caught, body surfed for a few minutes, groped a little bit (which earned those responsible an ungentle elbow in the stomach afterwards) and let down gently onto my two feet, safe and sound. I threw my arms up in the air in triumph and we all cheered.

“We’re leaving now,” the Sarge snapped, putting his hands on my shoulders and propelling me towards the door.

“Free lift home by the Sarge in the blue light taxi!” I called loudly over my shoulder at the crowd. When a group of people stepped forward, I hastily clarified, “Hen’s party women only. Sorry.”

Amid the groans, ten of the fifteen women decided to cut their losses and head on home, most of them farmers. Even with my fuzzy brain, I managed to calculate that ten women plus me weren’t going to fit into the patrol car no matter how hard we tried. The Sarge was going to have to run shifts.

In front of everyone, we argued in fierce whispers for a good couple of minutes over whether I should sit in the front seat for each trip where he could keep an eye on me. Fortunately I won the argument and he screeched off with his first load of four passengers, while I waited outside the pub with the rest of the women. We sat on its tiny front log fence, freezing in the night air.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” asked a voice tinged with sadness from behind me. Mike Amour leaned against a tree trunk, lighting up a cigarette. I half-smiled apologetically.

“Sorry Mr Love, but the Sarge frogmarched me out of there before I had a chance to say goodbye to anyone.”

I gripped myself tighter, bunching up closer to Lizzie, trying to steal some of her body heat. When the Sarge returned, he ushered another four women into the car, throwing Mike another suspicious glance. He took a moment to drape his leather jacket over my shoulders. I clutched it around me, gratefully savouring his recent body warmth, and also his intriguing and sophisticated cologne trapped in the material. I had no idea what it was but I liked it a lot.

Mike finished his cigarette and ground the butt under his shoe before giving me a resigned farewell. I turned back to him then and wished him well for the rest of his trip. I couldn’t resist reminding him about the dangers of Mount Big and how deceptively treacherous it was.