White Lady (13 page)

Karter’s nostrils flare. He lifts his finger off the hook and presses a button. “Freda, can you please book the earliest possible flight to Melbourne, Australia, for my lovely wife?”

I smile, hang my handbag over my shoulder, and adjust my left bra strap. I hold out my hand for Karter to shake. “Nice doing business with you, Dr. Schwörer.”

Karter stares. His eyes glaze with defeat.

I shrug, swivel round on my heel, and stride out of the office with a victorious smile on my face. Never in my life have I had the confidence to do what I just did. Today is the beginning of a new life. A life in which
I
will be the manipulator and acquire every single thing I desire.

And I will knock down everyone who gets in my way.

Chapter 32

Mia: Ciggies and cornflakes.

First thing Friday morning I have Social Sciences. When I get out of class, I notice Mick standing at the entrance of the building with his hands in his pockets, eyes searching through the crowd of students. I hold my breath. Maybe I’ll walk over to him, just to see what’s up.

I’m a masochist. Can’t deny it.

There’s something about him. Something that excites me. And I need a hit.

Mick sees me hesitating by the classroom doorway and raises his hand a bit. But he quickly puts it back down, stares me right in the eye, and flicks his head towards the exit. A flutter in my stomach silences the teenage corridor chaos in my head.

He wants to talk to me.
Me
.

I follow him behind the toilet block. Mick leans his shoulder against the brick wall and lights a ciggie. I stop about two metres away and hug my schoolbooks to my chest. Mick sniffs, takes a long drag of his ciggie, and looks at the ground.

“What?” I squint at him.

Mick laughs. “Yer comin’ over for dinner next weekend.”

I look at the asphalt between my feet. The sun is hitting it just right. It shimmers like black diamonds.

“And?” I say. Is this a message, or something else?

Mick’s ciggie hangs from the corner of his mouth. He shrugs.

“Do you need me for something, or are you still trying to ‘break’ me?” I say with a smirk.

Mick’s top lip twitches. He steps closer, sliding his shoulder against the wall until his breath brushes against my face. I don’t move, but I look at Mick’s chest. Usually I would hold his gaze, but today I’m nervous. I like him. A lot. I think he likes me too, but I’m really not sure.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I let out a tiny unintentional squeak. Man! I hope he didn’t hear that. How embarrassing.

Mick smiles. I think he did hear it. Oh man, really? I’m
such
a dork. He moves his face closer and closer until his lips almost touch mine.

He whispers, “I’m a cunt.”

Shit, you think?

“Uh, I don’t—” I whisper back, but he doesn’t let me finish my sentence.

“But I’m a cunt that can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout ya.”

My breath catches in my throat. Now I have to look up. And the butterflies in my stomach are going berserk. He likes me?

Oh my God oh my God oh my God …

Mick is still squinting at me with a wonky smile on his face. Almost sad, and somehow innocently sly. A total paradox. But it suits him. I think there’s a gentle person inside him. He just doesn’t want to show it.

I open my mouth to speak. I want to say something sarcastic. I don’t want to appear too interested. That’s the way it works, right? If I don’t play hard to get, he’ll lose interest in me. I definitely don’t want him to lose interest in me. I should tell him I’m not worth the effort, that I’m a fat cow, and that he must be trying to mess with my head.

But just as I’m about to tell him to get stuffed, he kisses me.

Mick’s eyes stay open as his warm tongue slides against mine. The taste of ciggies and cornflakes fill my mouth, but his fresh aftershave balances it out. It sounds disgusting, but it’s not. My stomach is doing dances. If we weren’t in school, I’d take his hand and touch it to my breast. Our gaze remains locked as he gently pulls away and takes another drag of his ciggie, making sure to blow the smoke away from my face.

My top lip twitches as I try to stop myself from smiling. Mick notices, laughs a bit, and then pulls me into him for a hug that feels more like how a bloke would pat a mate on the back. But he’s hugging me. Me. Hugging. Crazy.

“Meet you here after school?” Mick says.

I nod and watch him walk across the car park.

When I turn around, Kimi is standing right behind me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Mia!”

Chapter 33

Sonia: 1, 2, buckle my shoe, 3, 4, open the door …

Numbers. Numbers are my thing. Numbers keep my life on track. Numbers are my safety net. Working with numbers keeps me calm. They’re a way to occupy my brain through periods of stress … and criminal cravings.

But not lately. Numbers are not doing their job. I’m scared I’m going to slip. Especially now that Ibrahim is back in town.

I sit at my desk in the staff room, staring into my tuna salad. Going over and over the possible reasons he would still be here.

What proof do I have? A faint army-boot footprint in my hallway? A stapled fertilizer bag in my shed? Mick claiming he didn’t clean the kitchen? It’s all pretty telling, even if not solid proof. The sole of that army boot has collided with my head more times than I can count. It’s Ibrahim’s footprint for sure. He slipped up. He missed one. Or maybe it was Mick’s footprint. Maybe I’m mistaken about the bag of fertilizer and I never noticed it before. It’s true I have tried to stay out of the shed lately. And maybe Mick is denying cleaning the kitchen simply because he— I shake my head. I can’t find a logical reason for that.

Maybe
I
cleaned the kitchen and forgot? Could I have experienced something similar to the other night in bed with Nash? If not, what was Ibrahim doing in the house? And why doesn’t he want me to know he’s back? Is he planning something with Mick? Is that why he has a stash of push daggers in his room? Trying to keep it a secret from me just in case I try to get him caught again? Or what if he’s planning a kill? But who? All the old crew are dead or crippled, and the ones that are left in action would be hanging on Ibrahim’s every word like their lives depend on it.

Well, their lives do depend on it. I scoff. Realize I may be muttering aloud to myself. I look around me, making sure there aren’t any teachers in earshot. No. I think I’m okay.

What if … what if he wants to kill … me? I wouldn’t put it past him. I betrayed him. And though I would never do that again, obviously he doesn’t truly know how much I regret it. Maybe his desire to look the other way to “preserve me” has reached an expiry date. And if it’s my life he’s waiting for the perfect time to expire, and he’s been in the house, why hasn’t he gotten rid of the pistol I keep hidden by the front door? He’s not stupid. It’s not something a man like Ibrahim would overlook.

I’m still staring at my salad when Nash kisses my head. I jump in my seat.

“Sorry, mate,” he says.

I spin around and smile. “Me too.” If only the smile signified genuine happiness instead of adulterated worry.

Nash sits on the edge of my desk and peels a banana, takes a bite, mumbling something with a shrug I can’t comprehend.

I
tsk
in jest. “Say that again?”

Nash takes a deep breath. It whistles through his nostrils. “Mia is on drugs.”

I widen my eyes in fake shock, then nod when I realize he probably already assumes I’ve thought the same. “Makes sense,” I say.

“Makes sense?” Nash says a little too loudly, then lowers his volume. “What makes you say that?”

“She’s trying to find an easy way to get thin. I knew it the instant I saw her dancing on your kitchen counter.”

Nash sighs. “I confronted her about it. But she has an excuse for everything. I don’t know. What do you reckon?”

“I don’t think you should beat yourself up over this,” I say. “There isn’t much else you can do right now.”

Nash nods and takes another bite of his banana. I watch as he squashes it to the roof of his mouth. I listen for the squish—it mixing with his saliva—and the swallow—the sound of fear when my victims see the knife. My heart rate slows as if I’m entering a meditative state.

I rest my hand on Nash’s knee trying to stay focused on the image of a potential kill. It feels so calming … so right.

Nash slides off my desk and into a chair. He rubs his forehead, and then his beard. “What do you reckon I should do?”

What should he do? I snap out of my reverie. If only I had someone I could ask that very same question. I take a mouthful of salad to buy myself a moment to think. But I believe Mia being on drugs is the least of his problems right now. Something is not gelling for me regarding Celeste’s claim that Mia is another man’s daughter. Ibrahim and I were a part of their lives so much so that I can’t remember a time when he and I did anything without them. And we were all so close. A family. I’m sure I would have noticed if Celeste had been raped. An event like that cannot be hidden from a woman’s face. And even if, somehow, she did manage to hide it, why would she want to? What was she afraid of?

I go out on a limb and tell Nash my thoughts. I don’t want to instill an unwarranted sense of suspicion; he’s got enough to worry about, but I can’t just keep these thoughts to myself. If the tables were turned, I’d expect the same from him.

“I think you’re doing fine. But I also think there is something more serious you should consider.” I pause and wipe my mouth with a serviette. “I’d investigate what Celeste told you a little further.”

Nash squints at me and flops his banana skin in my bin. “Huh?”

I fold my hands together on my desk and look at them. “I mean, I’m not convinced Celeste is telling you the truth. About Mia.”

Nash scoffs. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

To be honest, I thought he’d react a little more in her defense. Perhaps he really is over her? I had always thought he would have a soft spot for her regardless. I guess she really did do a number on him.

“I’m not going to tell Mia anyway.” Nash crosses his arms and gazes towards the entrance of the staff room. More teachers are rolling in.

I pucker my brow and consider telling him it’s a bad idea to keep such a big secret from her, but I do understand why. Putting myself in his shoes, I’d probably feel the same way. I’d want to be my son’s mother for as long as possible.

“I’m also going to insist Celeste keep it a secret for now too.”

Now this, I must oppose.

“Nash, no. If it is true, she has to know.”

“It’ll kill her. Not to mention, she’ll probably try to run away.”

“Run away?”

“Yeah. Why are you saying it like that?”

“I don’t think she would. She’s seventeen. If she intends to leave, she can do it legitimately. And she doesn’t seem the type to want to support herself yet.”

Nash
tsks
, and makes a move to get out of his seat. I reach for him and grab his elbow. “Sit down. I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“You’re just what? Ever since that morning Celeste called me you’ve been really cold. You’re not jealous of her, are you?”

I laugh. “Of course not. If you took a moment to ask how
I
am, then maybe you wouldn’t be making such an assumption.”

Nash rubs his hands over his face and sits back down. He sighs. “You’re right. What happened? You said something about guns?”

“Shh!”

“Sorry.”

“No. Knives,” I whisper, leaning forwards. That word slipping through my lips gives me goose bumps.

“So he has a few knives. He’s a street-wise kid. He’s probably trying to protect himself.”

I shake my head and lean in closer. “He has
lots
of knives. Military knives.”

“So … he’s selling them?”

I wonder whether I should tell him. Maybe it’s the only way. I trust Nash. A lot more than I have trusted anyone my entire life. Maybe it’s time to let him in completely. I need him.

I
love
him. Maybe not as much as I loved Ibrahim, but I’d do anything to protect him.

“Nash.” I clear my throat. “I have a feeling he’s selling them for Ibrahim.”

Nash slowly leans backwards, puts his hands behind his head, looks at the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. His seat creaks as he leans forwards again, exhales, and rests his elbows on his knees. “He’s …
back
?”

I nod and dig my front teeth into the tip of my tongue.

Nash coughs and says, “Fuck.”

Chapter 34

Mia: No. Way.

When I turn around to see Kimi sneering at me, I laugh. She has her hand on her hips and a frown so deep her face looks like clay. Talk about drama queen. What’s the issue now?

“How long have you been watching me?” I say.

“Does it fucking matter?” Kimi cranes her neck forwards, and her nostrils flare.

I step closer in defense. “Yeah, man, it matters. Just ’cause I’m in on your shitty little revenge mission doesn’t mean I need to spend every second of my life with you. Gimme some space.”

“You’re kidding, right? You really think I want to be with you all the time, and that’s why I’m pissed off I saw you with Mick?”

I swallow and shrug. Maybe I’m reading too far into it. We haven’t been friends long. Hell, I don’t even know if this is even called a friendship. What exactly is it? And who does she think she is speaking to me like this? Do I have a tattoo on my forehead that says “I’m a weak geek, please walk all over me?” I mean, come on.

“I’m pissed off because this messes with my shit.”

“How is Mick kissing me messing with your shit?” I throw my arms in the air. Maybe it’s a little overdramatic, but I can’t help it. Kimi makes the entire world seem melodramatic. The least I can do is try to fit in when I’m around her. I chuckle to myself.

Kimi tosses her bag on the ground and pulls up her T-shirt to flash me her massive scar. “Because of
this
, Mia.”

I groan. Again with the tragedy that is a scar. “Whaddaya mean?” I look at her stomach and then at Kimi’s sneer. I want to physically pinch it off her face.