Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [58]
She shrugged. ‘So Wal’s your security guy, right?’
‘Aaah . . . yeah.’
‘Then I’ll be your assistant.’
‘Cass –’
‘After I’ve learnt how to read better.’
I ignored her and began to pack up.
At the gate, I slowed the van to say goodbye to Jase, but there was another security guy there. He said Jase had been called in to work on the weekend so he’d gone home early.
After saying our farewells at Jim’s, I drove straight home. I wasn’t sad to see the back of the van. A week of serving lunches had confirmed my opinion that I only liked to eat food, not prepare it. Cass, on the other hand, looked a little sad.
‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ I said as we pulled into Lilac Street.
‘Yeah. Beats hanging out at Burnside Station. And I got paid.’
‘Speaking of which . . .’ I parked near the kerb and handed Cass the rest of her pay. ‘You did a good job. Maybe you should think about working in the food industry.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘Nup. I want to work for you.’
I sighed. ‘Look, Cass, it’s been cool this week, but I can’t afford to keep paying you. Plus you need to get on with your life.’
Her face took on a stubborn set. ‘I’m gonna go to TAFE and get better at reading. Your mum’s gonna try and get me a job at the Claremont Growers Market. But when I can read, I’m coming to work for you.’
She was ready for an argument and I wasn’t in the mood, so I let it go. At least she had some short-term direction. She was doing better than me.
When we got home, Cass went off to see Joanna and I called Bok.
‘Sweeeeetie,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you in over a week.’
‘Just checking that you’ll be at the photo shoot this afternoon.’
‘Course. Can’t let you loose around Jenny Munro without supervision.’
I could tell he was smiling, but I wasn’t. ‘I need to talk to you about Ed.’
‘Something wrong?’ His tone changed instantly to match mine.
‘Yeah . . . and yeah.’
‘Okay. Stay cool and I’ll see you at four. We’re shooting at Swanbourne, opposite the Vomit House.’
Bok and I had gone to a schoolies party years ago in a house near Swanbourne Beach. Of the sixty teens present, fifty-eight had vomited in the garden, or the toilet, or the sink, from excessive alcohol consumption. We still couldn’t drive past the house without groaning.
‘Don’t be late,’ he added. ‘The photographer’s constipated about the light. We need to be ready to go when he says so – I’m paying him a crapload of money for this.’
‘Got it.’
When I hung up, I felt better. Bok would have a plan. He always did.
I collected the address for the Aprilia office in Fremantle, then got changed, planning to go straight on to the beach shoot.
What to wear took some thought. I needed a business suit for Aprilia and then something more casual for the beach shoot. The suit part was easy: a navy blue light jacket and pencil skirt that I hadn’t used since my last government job. The beach thing was more difficult. I had a fair bit of hurt ego to dress. That meant my best cut-off jeans with strategic tears, and a sexy singlet top. Eat your heart out, Ed, I thought as I packed them into my beach bag.
I walked back up the driveway, pulling faces at the birds as I passed them. Brains steadfastly ignored me, but Hoo flapped his wings and did his Linda Blair Exorcist impersonation.
Out by Mona, the prickling feeling I’d had all day came back with force, as if an acupuncturist had cut loose on my skin. I glanced up and down the street. Was there someone behind that tree? In that parked car? On that roof? Behind that bush?
I jumped inside Mona and accelerated away from the kerb way fast.
By the time I made it to the highway without incident, I began to settle down again.
By the bridge, I figured I’d been imagining things.
Parking was hard to find in the afternoons in Fremantle and I ended up having a fair walk to Aprilia. Normally I enjoyed the Freo buildingscape but today I was preoccupied.
I stepped up to the counter of the small but attractively appointed office in my best businesslike manner. The girl behind it was well groomed and smiling.
‘Hello,’ I said.