Saving from Monkeys (19 page)

I felt awful, but
was too wound up to back down, so it was through gritted teeth that I replied, "I'm not trying to hurt you, and obviously I enjoy my existence and everything, but yes, I guess like you did."

I'd gone too far, cut too close to the unrefined centre of our little family, and my mum dropped the pillowcase she was holding onto the bed and turned away.

"You can finish up here," she said stiffly, and then she was gone leaving both the bed and the conversation unfinished.

----------

"Where are her rings?"

There were so many things wrong with the picture of Nan fading away in the scarily industrial looking bed, that it had taken Elliot a while to figure out what was really bugging him.

It had suddenly become obvious, however, as he stared down at the hand he was gripping, that there wasn't the usual cacophony of mad decorations across her fingers. It was like Monet had painted the lake, but forgotten to put the lilies in.

He looked round for Chase, who seemed to be the master of blending into the background whilst simultaneously hovering solicitously nearby, and gestured almost impatiently at Nan's hand.

"Where are the rings?" He repeated. "There's not a medical reason why she shouldn't wear them is there? She'd want to wear them, she
should
be wearing them." He could hear himself teetering towards the edge of a panic, and he backed off, taking a deep breath before asking more calmly, "She keeps them in a purple box, have you seen it?"

"Purple?" Chase was already heading towards the large chest of drawers pushed up against one wall. "Yeah, I think I saw a box like that in here."
He dug around for a bit and then turned to triumphantly hold up the box Elliot recognised.

"That's it," he got up to grab it off the nurse, but then, as if Rox was tugging on his hand again, he paused. "Thanks," he said gruffly, taking the box, but then holding out his free hand. "You've obviously done a lot for my Nan and I appreciate it."

Chase shook his hand solemnly, then clapped him on the back.

"Loose rings only, mate. I don't think there'll be any swelling, but just in case."

Chase left then, perhaps recognising that some privacy was wanted, and Elliot put the box down on the bed next to Nan's skeletal legs. As he flipped up the lid he got an immediate waft of her perfume and something else, something he couldn't place, but that was Nan through and through.

The rings were all tangled together in a big heap and he almost smiled. Just because they were her prize possessions didn't mean Nan took care of them. He was sick of
everything taking on some new significance now she was at death's door, but he couldn't help but think that 'I love you, now go take care of yourself' had been her motto through life.

He'd started sorting through the rings, looking for the bigger ones as he worked to disentangle them, when the door burst open and Rox strode back in.
He'd thought she'd been upset before, but now she looked positively unhinged...not that he was going to tell her so.

"Rings," he said instead, gesturing fairly
redundantly down at the jumble of jewellery on the sheet as Rox threw herself into the chair opposite. She seemed to get it, though, and she wordlessly started to work at the mass too, separating out one ring after another and setting them down in a line on her side of the mattress.

As if he hadn't before, he knew something was seriously wrong when a ring that looked like Big Bird's belly button
fluff, and one that mysteriously, and kind of disturbingly, vibrated were both put to one side without comment.

They kept working in silence until a glare of hideous (and larger than average) rings were adorning Nan's knobbly fingers. Only then, looking down at the clash and drama of ten novelty rings all fighting for supremacy, did Rox say anything.

"You know that stuff you said about your ex last night?" She asked, spinning one of the spare rings round and round on her thumb. "That you can't fight history?"

God, had it only been last night?

"Yeah."

"I think you're wrong," she said bluntly, stopping the spinning ring and setting it down firmly with the others on the bed.

"You usually do," he pointed out.

"No, seriously.
You
can
fight history." What had started out as a sort of plea ended firmly as she added, "We're
not
our parents."

He met her gaze over Nan and felt a crooked smile pull at his lips.

"As per usual, Rox, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "This time, though, I totally agree."

Chapter 11
– The Dinner and the Robbery that Didn’t Happen

"What are you doing?"

My shoulders hunched, and the hand that had been furiously scrubbing at the woodwork froze.
I was so sprung. I rocked back on my haunches, blew the hair that had escaped its tie out of my face, and looked up to see Elliot scowling down at me.

It was early evening three days after we'd arrived at the Sinclair house. The status update was thus: Elliot and I were exhausted and Nan had continued in much the same form she'd been in since we'd first seen her. That was, bloody awful.

When I wasn't sitting with Nan, I'd taken to moving like a zombie through the soulless house, re-cleaning spotless areas my mother had already seen to. I'd never particularly enjoyed these domestic tasks when I was paid to do them, but now they were like my lifeline. Maybe it was because they were familiar and from back in a time when Nan was her proper, powerful self, or maybe I just enjoyed the monotony.

For Elliot's part, he seemed to be seeking solace in getting in his strange, plain car and barrelling off down the drive. I don't think he headed anywhere in particular; he just needed to get out. Frankly, as long as he returned in time to have my back when I went in to see Nan again, this suited me just fine. With him gone
, I was able to regress to my cleaner ways without interference.

I knew, without really knowing why, that being on my hands and knees scrubbing away Sinclair grime would really get up Elliot's nose. And, judging by his expression at that moment, I'd been spot on.

"Did the slingshot dislodge your eyes? What does it look like I'm doing?" I resumed my work tetchily, jabbing at an almost invisible speck of dust with my wire brush and then wiping at it with my dusting cloth.

"It looks like you're scratching the paintwork off the skirting boards outside my room. I take it you're going to blame that on me too, just for old time's sake?" Elliot crouched down next to me, his face twisting as this move presumably pressed awkwardly against his fading bruises.

I glanced back along where I'd worked and reassured myself that he was just being a pain; there were no scratches, where I'd been shone proudly.

"Haha," I deadpanned. "You know, a simple thank you would suffice."

"
Thank
you?" He reached across and tugged the cloth out of my hand as I leant forward to wipe some more, pretty much non-existent, dirt away. "I think this is crap, Rox."

"Well there's gratitude for you!" I pressed my brush in against my chest in case he got any ideas about snatching that from me as well and glared at him.

"So is this what you've been doing when I've been gone?" He asked, a definite bite in his voice. "You're here as a guest and you've been sneaking off to do this?"

Oh dear. I wished then that I hadn't glared at him because
it blew away my ability to pretend that we were having normal banter. His skin was dull and his eyes were hooded as if he was just too sad to keep them open properly; he was heartsick and I knew exactly how that felt. I had a sudden, mad impulse to reach up and rest my hand against his cheek, like I could push his disjointedness back into place, but I gripped the brush tighter to prevent myself.

"You say '
do this' like it's some dodgy thing," I huffed, trying to keep up a semblance of normalcy. "I'm helping my mum, not hiding in a corner mainlining heroin."

"Your mum knows you're roaming the house double cleaning stuff she's already done?" He asked sceptically and I bashed him on the knee with the brush I was holding before I could stop myself.

"Stop being right," I snapped. "It's really annoying. And if you're here to drag me off to your family dinner you can rack right off."

It was a false bravado, I knew I'd go with him, and he knew it too. We'd been summoned
, after all.

Most of the time since we'd arrived at the Sinclair's it'd been like Nan, Chase, Elliot and I had been the only ones in the house. My mum was the master of gliding around making sure everything ran smoothly, but staying invisible herself, Elliot's mum was shut up in her study all the time and Elliot's dad…well
, God knows where he hung out. Frankly, who cared?

Elliot and I had
been fine with the isolation, using it to comfort Nan in peace, but it had been ruined that morning when Mrs Sinclair had suddenly strode into the downstairs guestroom.

Elliot had been reading out the Agony Aunt column from a
girly magazine at the time, and I’d been repainting Nan's fingernails, but Mrs Sinclair's appearance shattered the cosy scene. Nan's room was
our
space and Elliot's mum coming in felt like a full on invasion. In response, Elliot crumpled the magazine he'd been holding and I'd streaked one long line of hot pink polish down Nan's finger.

We hadn't seen Mrs Sinclair in days, but she hadn't bothered with any niceties as she said,
"I'm expecting you for dinner tonight, Elliot."

Whilst
I’d pretty much got frostbite from her tone, Elliot had simply flicked the flop of his hair out of his face affectedly and drawled, "Can’t wait."

She'd ignored his
less-than-enthusiastic reply, her eyes sweeping across her mother's prone form to where I was trying to melt into the background the way my mum and Chase were able to.

"You're welcome too, Rox."

It hadn’t been a request.

Back in the present, kneeling in the corridor, my stomach bubbled with anxiety at the dinner to come. I felt that if we'd been able to wheel Nan into the dining room that night, the amusement she would have gained from watching her dysfunctional family
had a chance of bringing her back to full health. Still, that wasn't an option and, anyway, I'd always found something vaguely unsettling in the way she took such joy out of the lack of love between the three Sinclairs.

"Seriously, you're not paid to do this anymore. It's not your job."

I'd been concentrating so hard on what a disaster the dinner was going to be that, for a moment, I had no idea what Elliot was talking about. When I figured it out, I wasn't impressed.

"Nan's in a stroke coma, your mum has issued a terrifying dinner invitation where I suspect it's
us
that'll be on the menu, and you're worried about me doing a bit of cleaning in my spare time?" I pushed myself to my feet and looked down my nose at him. "Organise your priorities, Sinclair."

I should
’ve told him that cleaning provided me with a sort of catharsis; that I wasn't doing it to bring back any bad memories or because I felt the servant role was the only one I could play in the Sinclair house. But I didn't, and as he too slowly rose to his feet, I could see him starting to shut himself off from me.

Panicking slightly, I grabbed his arm and gabbled,
"Your priority right now, for instance, should be making sure I don't walk into dinner on my own."

It was like I'd thrown my foot into the gap between a slamming door and the jam
b. He relaxed infinitesimally, the loosening up so slight that if I hadn't been so close to him I doubt I would have seen it.

"I mean it
," I growled, pushing the point. "Gentle-man up."

"Fine."
He shoved the wave of his hair out of his eyes and I saw a faint glimmer of trouble in his dark irises. "I've got you on one condition." He looked down, his gaze taking in my cleaning outfit of old ripped jeans, faded t-shirt and socks with a hole over the left big toe. "Don't change."

Maybe I was just copping a back-draft of all the emotional stuff flying around, but some weird little part of my brain let out a girly shriek as it took those two words entirely out of context. Even as I told myself not to be stupid, I couldn't help clutching his arm just that little bit tighter and murmuring,
"You can count on it."

~*~

Three things told me right off the bat that the dinner was going to be just as much of a disaster as I'd feared.

First, Mr Sinclair had walked into the dining room, seen Elliot and me sitting next to each other at the massive table and stopped dead. He'd then looked around as if checking to see if he'd walked into the wrong room.
Elliot had snorted and leant over to mutter, "Can't you just see his facebook now? Daddy Sinclair 'likes' that awkward moment when you remember you have a son."

Next, I'd realised that
of course it was my mum who had cooked the food in front of us and the previously delicious smells curdled in my nose. I was just glad that she'd gone home for the day and wasn't around to see me sitting there amongst the Sinclairs. I knew I would choke on every bite.

Finally, Mrs Sinclair had breezed into the room fixing Elliot and me with a look of such calculated determination that my shoulders had snapped back, squaring
themselves for whatever was to come. I didn't know how, and I didn't know why, but this was a set up. Mrs Sinclair had invited us to dinner for a reason. We were so screwed.

Whatever Mrs Sinclair's intentions, however, she didn't seem keen to jump straight to them, so the dinner started out in oppressive silence.
I saw her eyes flick over me, once, twice, three times and knew that Elliot's request for me not to change into fancier clothes had hit the bull's eye. It bugged her.

I ignored the
looks, her distaste wasn't what bothered me. I picked at what I had renamed the 'traitor food', stirring it around my plate as my stomach churned. I couldn't help but think this was exactly what my mum had feared when Elliot invited me to stay. It made me want to stand up and shout 'I'm not one of you! I don't
want
to be one of you!'

I was spiralling down into a mad realm of freak out and beginning to twitch in my seat when I suddenly felt a little prod against my leg. Looking down, I saw Elliot withdrawing his fork in a scene reminiscent of that first lunch with Jonah and Abi when I'd jabbed him. Payback had never been so welcome; it was like his fork had punctured my balloon of crazy and the claustrophobic panic I felt began to withdraw.

Maybe Mrs Sinclair saw the way I'd turned towards her son and sent a muted smile in his direction, because that's when she decided to get the ball rolling.

"So, how are you enjoying university, Roxanne?" She asked politely and I snapped my head round to look at her so fast I felt momentarily dizzy.

Me
? Why was she starting with
me
? Why ask about
my
life? She never had before. Unless... My heart sank.
Please don't
, I thought to myself,
don't make me even surer about what I think you've done. Not now.

I was going to have to face her sooner or later about my suspicions, but what with one thing and another, I was definitely choosing later.

"Fine," I managed to gasp out, even as my internal monologue continued to rail against her. "It's fine."

For someone who clearly thought that 'effusive' was a rude word, Mrs Sinclair seemed rather put out by my lack of enthusiasm. God, what did she want from me?

"I mean it's really,
really
great. I love it...heaps!" I could feel sweat starting to break out across my forehead and, beneath her blandly polite expression, I could tell that Mrs Sinclair thought I'd gone nuts. "Elliot's doing really well too," I blurted out desperately. "I mean, he's enjoying it," I added awkwardly, in case they’d seen his results and they weren't as rosy as I thought they would be.

"Really?"
The quirk of Elliot's mum's eyebrows suggested to me she wasn't convinced, and Elliot muttered sarcastically,

"Yeah, I get a big gold star for every lecture I go to."

OK then...

"We're very lucky," I tried as a last ditch attempt to smooth things over, accidentally tugging open a hole in the hem of my threadbare t-shirt as I fiddled at it anxiously. "The campus is beautiful and the courses are very...uh...scintillating."

Everybody around the table decided to ignore me this time and Mrs Sinclair levelled a serious look across at Elliot that suggested she was ready to move onto the main event.

"So, Elliot, how are your finances?"

I gaped, my hands stilling on my top from sheer shock. What kind of question was that? Surely she knew better than him?

"Finances?"
Elliot asked, clearly playing dumb. "You mean like the magic cash that comes out of those money machines?"

"Because you can't expect anything from Nan's estate."

In unison, Elliot and I sucked in low, shocked breaths.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he hissed beside me.

There was a sharp 'ting' and we all looked across to see that Elliot's dad had tapped his knife impatiently against his plate. We waited to see if he'd add more, but he just continued to eat and Elliot's lip curled in disgust.

"As always, D
ad, your input is a real game-changer. And as for you," he fixed his mum with a steely look that made me sink down in my seat, "could we at least wait until Nan's actually dead before we pick over her bones?"