Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [47]
‘They’re your wages. I’ve got a meeting at four at one of the beach cafés with a friend, and then another one straight afterwards with Bolo. Why don’t I drop you at the shops on the way there and pick you up on the way back? You might want to buy yourself some tee-shirts and undies. And a toothbrush.’
There was an ominous silence. Cass didn’t like being told what to do.
‘You can’t keep washing the same pair every day,’ I added more gently.
A sigh escaped her lips. ‘Yeah. I guess.’
‘Maybe you should call your mum too?’
That got no answer.
Chapter 15
WE GOT BACK TO Lilac Street with enough time for me to shower and change into a pair of fresh jeans and a halter top. At the last second I grabbed a short jacket in case Smitty thought I was showing too much skin.
I dropped Cass off at the Napoleon Street lights with a promise that I’d be back to pick her up. She didn’t have a phone, which made it all a bit tricky, but we agreed on a time and place. Ten minutes later, I was walking into the Beach Café, scoping for Smits.
She was at a table on the beach side, wearing pearls and a cherry red aura, sitting ramrod straight. As I got closer, I saw that her hair was styled to within an inch of its life and her make-up was Clarins perfect. Smits’ aura was normally a lovely halo that was restful on my psyche, but today it was swirling like suds down a drain.
When she saw me, it slowed a little and her face lit up. ‘T. So glad you made it before she did. Sit here.’ She beckoned me to her side of the table.
‘You don’t think it looks a bit intimidating? Like we’re ganging up?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘And we are.’
The waiter came past and I ordered cheesecake and a milkshake.
‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked when he’d gone. ‘Threaten to take her out the back and smack her around with my beach bag?’
‘Not yet,’ she said slowly, as if considering it.
‘Hey!’ I punched her arm. ‘I was joking.’
‘Of course you were.’ She fanned her cheeks with a serviette.
Smits was right off her game. Normally, witty repartee rolled from her lips. She was always the one with the comeback when I got mad and tongue-tied.
‘Smitty,’ I said, ‘chill.’
‘Crap, she’s here.’ Smits took a deep breath. ‘As you’d say, T, game on.’
I looked up and saw the cheesecake and the demented parent arriving at the table at the same time.
The cheesecake was strawberry and chocolate. The demented parent was well-fleshed and well-dressed, a matronly type in a tailored suit and understated expensive flats. Her hair sat in a bob and she wore minimal make-up. The diamond rock on her ring finger, however, belied the whole subtle look, flashing enough ker-ching for a Hollywood premiere. Her aura was a thick red-brown that made me think of raw chocolate-cake mix – without the yumminess. I guessed we were all around the same age but she made me feel ten years younger.
‘Jane,’ she said and sat down.
Her voice was so plummy I swear I could taste the syrup.
‘Victoria Tarrant. This is Tara Sharp.’ Smitty pronounced it Tar-ah.
‘Hi, Vicky,’ I said, blithely shortening her name.
The stare she gave me could have stripped paint. I suddenly felt like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl about to be chastised by my most loathed teacher, Mrs Rolly. Victoria’s jowls even wobbled the same way. That wasn’t a good thing. Mrs Rolly had always brought out my worst side.
‘Now, what are you going to do about your son, Jane?’ she said, leaning her forearms on the table.
‘I apologise for Joe’s behaviour,’ said Smitty in a cool voice. ‘But it wasn’t unprovoked. He tells me that Reece peed on his shoe in the toilets and then called him “piss foot”.’
Nothing like private-school kids for excelling in crass. The burden of guilt I’d been carrying around about teaching Joe to punch disappeared.
‘Gross,’ I said. ‘Sounds to me like Reece got his just deserts.’
‘Reece would never say or do something so disgusting,’ Victoria responded haughtily. ‘I demand an apology or I’ll seek to have your child removed from the school.’
Smitty’s hair just about straightened out of its blow-wave in anger.