Virtually Perfect (43 page)

'...Nothing happened,' she murmured.

By the time Ben turned back to her, the door was already open.  The interior light came on.  The door thudded shut.  Ben sat in darkness, watching the gate swing undone.  He saw her dash through it, curls bouncing as the high heels clanked up the steps.

There came a timid knock at the door, barely audible over the TV.  Ben watched the glint of the chrome handle turning in the darkness, shielding his eyes from the widening chink of yellow light bursting in from the hallway.

Monique  gently closed the door behind her.

'Here,' she said quietly.  'I brought you some tea.'

She felt out the glass coaster on his bedside table, placing the mug down with a soft clink.

'Thanks,' said Ben, his eyes flicking up to her briefly.

He was still dressed, lying on top of the covers.  The blinds were closed, billowing slightly from the part open window.

'What are you watching?' she asked, glancing up at the TV, flinching from the sound of gunshots.

'Training Day.'

'Do you want me to heat up your dinner?'

'No thanks,' he said.  'Sorry.  I just don't feel hungry.'

Monique perched on the edge of the bed, picking her nails, staring into her lap.

'I feel like we're in the way.'

Ben sat up quickly.  He grabbed the remote, turning down the volume.

'Please don't say that.'

She glanced across at him.

'...Look at the trouble it's causing already.'

'It's nothing to do with you,' he told her.

'If she hadn't seen us coming out of that restaurant—'

'If she'd bothered to ask, I could have explained!'

Monique's gaze fell to the floor.  She felt so guilty.  If she hadn't been showing off on Friday...  She must have called him twenty times.  He'd barely got through the front door, hadn't even put his case down, before she started hassling him. 

She begged him to take her out - get her away from Mamma.  Cara was driving her nuts.  She'd insisted on coming to Waterloo to meet them.  Monique's heart sank as she saw the overnight bag; realised she'd been ambushed.  Tuts of disapproval as Tristian played his Wii, unsolicited parenting tips.  Monique wanted to let her hair down, just for one night.  Be herself - not a mother/wife/daughter.  Go out and be a grownup - blow off some steam.  Maybe even get tipsy, for once. 

'Honestly,' said Ben, 'I promise.  It's got nothing to do with you.  It's... It's complicated.'

'They don't care, you know.'

Ben looked up. 

'Lydia and Antoine.  They don't give a shit about us.'

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. 

He remembered them skipping down the steps of courthouse together, hand-in-hand, laughing.  Monique didn't know how right she was.  Ben was never going to tell her. 

She smiled at him and passed him his tea.

'Don't let what happened with her spoil what you have with Eve.'

Ben watched the TV over the rim, taking a sip.

'That's got nothing to do with it.'

'Ben, you've been happier this past month than I've seen you in...'  Monique's eyes scanned the ceiling.  'Do you know?  I can't even remember...  Last night you said you could see a future with this one.  Now one misunderstanding and you're just giving up?'

'I told you,' Ben said impatiently.  'There's a lot more to it than that.'

'You know Mum and me never liked Lydia,' she admitted.  'She used to treat you like shit.  She only seemed happy when you were buying her stuff.  Mum always said she wasn't good enough for her boy.'

Ben shrugged.

'Yeah, well,' he said, leaning across, putting the mug down.  'Maybe that's the problem.  Maybe this one is too good.'

'Well she doesn't seem to think so,' Monique argued.  'There's enough blood on the floor to prove that.'

'...Please, Monique,'  Ben complained, lying back on his pillows.  'I've had a horrible day.  I just want to go to sleep.'

He closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose.  His head was killing him.

'So why are you still wearing your shoes then, huh?  Your jacket, your tie?  Why have you still got your phone in your hand?'

'Did the tenant drop the keys in?'

'...Yes.'

'Did you check that they'd cleaned it?'

'Yes...  It was fine.'

'When is your stuff arriving?'

'The freight company said it was coming next week...'

'Good,' said Ben, breezily.  'Well, it's furnished anyway.  I've got a TV you can have - plenty of bedding.  We can start moving you and Tristian in tomorrow if you like.'

Ben had always been this way, ever since he was a little boy.  When he was happy, you couldn't shut him up.  When something hurt him, he was like a brick wall.  When Nonna died, he'd barely spoken for weeks.  It was no good pushing, he'd only push back.  Monique knew her brother - he wasn't trying to be mean.  There was no point telling him how he should feel.  He had to work it out for himself.

Monique patted his knee and got up. 

'OK then.  Goodnight.'

Ben looked up.

He shouldn't have done that.  It wasn't her fault.  She was only trying to help.

'Night-night, Sis.'

She didn't look back, closing the door gently behind her.  Ben sighed loudly, flipping open the cover of his phone. 

He pressed the indented button. 
Slide to unlock. 
He stared at the picture on the screen.  She was happy then, arm wrapped around the bear, grinning wildly as Ben pressed a kiss to her cheek.  Before Dan called, before they bumped into Felicity Doodah.  Before it all turned to shit.

The screen went black.  He pressed the button again.  He repeated the process half a dozen times.  Finally Ben's thumb made contact with the cold glass, sliding across.  He scrolled to settings/wallpaper.  He made the background generic again. 

Back to the grey raindrops.  Back to monotony.  Back to life, before all of this madness began. 

Ben jumped back, flinging the phone down like a burning coal.  He stared at it.  It was ringing. 

He did a double take at the name on the screen. 

He nearly shit himself.

'...Hello Roger.'

'Hello Ben.  How're you doing?'

'Oh, you know.  Not too bad.'

10.47pm?  It seemed a bit late for a catch up.

'Good, good.  It was nice seeing you today.'

Vivaldi was playing in the background.  Ben could hear him puffing away, taking a slurp of something - probably Scotch.

'...You too.'

'Listen Ben, I hope I didn't say anything out of turn.  About Evelyn I mean...'

Ben raked his hand through his hair.

'...No, not at all—'

'I wouldn't like to think that I left you with a bad impression...'

Roger Blake?  Worried about leaving
him
with a bad impression?

'...You haven't.'

'Evelyn's a good kid, you know.'

'Of course.'  Ben bit his lip.  'She's the best.'

'Right...' said Roger.  '...Right then.'

There came a long pause.

'She left her keys behind at the reception.'

Ben sat up, rubbing his head.

'...I'll pop back,' he said, hopping up.  'Just give me five minutes.'

'Well, that's the thing...' said Roger.  'There was no one at the flat when I called around.  I presumed she must be with you, so I brought them back with me.' 

Ben started pacing. 

'I thought I'd drop them down in the morning,' Roger told him.  'I must have called a dozen times...  I only just got her to pick up.'

'Is... is she alright?'

'She said she was fine.  She said she'd stay with you.  Then her phone cut out.'

Ben frowned.  Roger cleared his throat.

'Has something happened, Ben?'

There came a long pause.

'...Because I know my daughter, and
'fine'
she sounded anything but.'

'I'll go around there,' Ben told him.  He was halfway down the corridor already.

'Are you sure?  I don't mind driving back—'

'No,' said Ben, running down the staircase, gazing at the smears of blood.  'Don't worry, Roger.  I'll find her.'

Eve sat on the wet planks dangling her feet over the edge, forearms resting on the rail, knitted fingers supporting her chin.  She didn't know what time it was.  The rides had stopped.  Pretty soon, they'd be kicking her off. 

She stared out to sea.  The drizzle had stopped.  There was no wind, but the water was choppy.  

Ben was right.  There was nothing for her in Brighton.  Not anymore - maybe there never was.  She'd paid her dues to Marcus; he'd said as much, in a roundabout way.  But Ben was wrong about one thing.  She didn't want to go back to London.

She wanted to take off.  Go back to Waimea. 

...No, not Waimea. 

Once he'd found another blank cheque, Dan was bound to go back. 

OK then, somewhere new...

Somewhere warm, with white sands, where she could lie on the beach all day, feel the sun on her skin, forget about the world. 

...Maybe Bali?

But Ben was right.  Again. 

He was always right. 

God, he's so annoying!

She'd dug herself into a hole.  She had been given it all on a plate.  She'd pissed it up the wall.  The only way out, was by asking her dad.  And then there was Mr Bojangles.

Eve closed her eyes.

Poor Bo...

She'd been talking to him through the door as she rummaged for her keys, shushing his chirrups.

'Won't be long, sweetie!  It's OK!'

He must be starving...

She'd turned out her bag in the damp dirt of the doorstep, rifling through the stockings, cosmetics and fags.  Clenching her hair in her fists as she realised: her keys weren't there.

'...Shh-shh-shh!  It's alright!'

Eve reached under the planter for the spare.  She had a habit of locking herself out - she always kept one gaffa-taped there.  She felt around in the darkness, wincing at the slime of an upended snail; then balking with the cold realisation.  It wasn't there.

She'd left it on the kitchen table, after she'd taken it from Dan.  Eve closed her eyes, the drizzle misting her face.  She put her head in her hands.  Bo meowed back frantically, through two inches of impenetrable oak.  Eve started to cry.

Ben was right (again).  Her flat was a shithole, but for one thing.  It was secure.  Bars on the windows, yale locks - there was no way she was getting in.  Eve was royally screwed.

Eve's eyes blinked open.  Her phone was ringing.  She rummaged for it, amongst the pile of junk.  She wiped away her tears, sniffing deeply, frowning down at the screen. 

Number withheld.

'...Hello?'

'Hiya kiddo!'

'... ... ...Dad?'

Her voice cracked.

'...Evelyn?  Are you alright?'

She sniffed again, scanning the mess for a tissue, before wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

'Of course!' 

She even put on a smile. 

'Everything's fine!' she told him.

'Listen.  Someone left their keys behind.  Marcus thought they were—'

'Oh you found them!'

Eve was grinning for real now. 

'I'm on my way!' she said, holding the phone in the crook of her neck, stuffing the crap back into her bag.

'I brought them home with me,' Eve heard him say. 

'... ... ...Oh.'

'I was going to drop them down in the morning, if that's alright?'

She closed her eyes, sinking down on the top step again.

'Yes,' Eve told him.  'That's fine.'

She stared up at the amber streetlight, eyes glazing over.

'...Is that Beau I can hear?'

'Yes,' Eve admitted.

'Oh, so you got in then?' said Roger.

'Not exactly...'

'Evelyn, what's going on?'

No response.

'...Stay where you are,' said Roger.  'I'm coming back.'

'No!' cried Eve.  'No Dad, don't worry.  I've only just arrived.  I wondered why I couldn't find them...  Silly me!' 

Eve faked a laugh. 

'I'll stay at Ben's tonight.  Bo will be fine till the morning.'