Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [29]
‘You take it,’ he said. ‘I was waiting for the bench press machine anyway.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, hoping he was. If I didn’t get on the machine now I was going to curl up on one of Craigo’s funky couches and zed out.
‘Yeah.’ Another friendly smile.
My tired brain began to register him properly. He was attractive in a short-haired, well-built, decent-faced kind of way. Not outstanding like Ed, or Mr Charisma Tozzi, but just . . . nice.
I mustered a semi-decent grin. ‘I owe you.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He tossed his towel over his shoulder and headed to the bench press.
I exercised until I’d exorcised cooking oil and chiko roll from my pores, then dragged my spent carcass via the Vege Express back to Lilac Street. At the drive-through, I got vegetarian cannelloni and vegetarian lasagna; not because I didn’t like meat, but because I felt like pasta and I was too tired to get out of my car and go in search of anything else. A quick trip through the local bottle-o added a sixpack of Crown Lager and a two-litre bottle of ginger ale, all thanks to Bolo’s advance.
The birds hung upside down and squawked for attention as I staggered past but I didn’t stop to play with them. Dinner was calling.
Cass was asleep.
I dropped the hot food on her lap. ‘Half each,’ I said before trooping back out to the shower.
Cass had the plates and cutlery out by the time I returned. I unearthed my sleep-shirt from a neatly folded pile beneath the clothes rack. Who’da thunk Wal for such a neat-freak? Two beers and a huge plate of vege pasta later, I was able to speak again.
‘Thanks for helping out today,’ I said.
Instead of my comment making her happy, it seemed to unsettle her. Her aura deepened from cinnamon to a burnt colour, and her mouth pinched into a line as though she was worried about what was coming next.
To give her a moment, I leaned over and retrieved my laptop from under the couch where Wal had put it. We sat in silence until it booted up.
‘Look, do you want to help me for the rest of the week?’ I said. ‘You’ll get your forty bucks and I’ll make sure you get fed as well.’
She nodded but still no smile.
‘You do need to ring your mum and tell her where you are though,’ I added.
‘No way.’ She almost spat it out.
‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
As far as I knew, it was legal to leave home at sixteen but I’d double-check with Garth Wilmot, my ex. He was an accountant but he knew lots of other useful stuff.
‘Staying with me isn’t a permanent thing, right. Just until we can find you somewhere else,’ I said.
Her frown deepened, and I saw a flicker of anger in her eyes.
I rubbed my forehead. I was dead tired and suddenly not at all sure I wanted responsibility for a homeless teen who I barely knew. Worst of all, I was going to have to tell JoBob I had an unemployed kid from the Bunkas sleeping on my floor before they saw Cass’s piercings and rang the cops. Both those thoughts conspired to make me even more direct than usual. And I’d played enough competitive sport to know when not to play soft.
‘Listen. You came to me, remember. I’ll help you to find a place and some work if I can. If you don’t like that idea, you’ll have to find someone else to doss with.
And lose the sulk. If you like what I’m saying, good. If you don’t like it, speak up, or use the door.’
Listen to me. What a hard-arse!
Cass’s aura flickered and it looked as if she might be preparing to spit out a mouthful of abuse, but then she settled back into the couch, shoulders relaxing.
‘Okay,’ she said finally.
Crisis averted.
‘Right. Now I’m going to find you some more clothes and you can have a shower. Then you’re going to meet my parents. This is their house – garage and all. It needs to be okay with them.’
‘How come you’re still living with your oldies at your age?’
‘Circumstances.’ I tried to keep the grim