Cherry Pie (29 page)

I always reckoned they looked like girls. Maybe being raised with the lezzies warped her brain. Fuck, I dunno.’

I drew breath. She’d just described someone whose name had been coming up in a damn lot of conversations.

‘Daisy!’ I had to swish my fingers in front of her face to snatch her attention from Alex’s chest. She let go his neckline and it snapped back into place. ‘The guy that dumped her in high school. What was his name?’

‘Brendan.’

Not Dillon. Of course not. Dillon grew up in Canberra.

‘What did he look like?’ I asked.

She screwed up her face and looked into the middle distance, trying to think through all that beer. ‘Titanic,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Like the guy in
Titanic
. But before he hit twenty-five and chunked out.’

‘Leonardo DiCaprio?’

‘That’s the one.’

A bad theory came into my head. What if Andi and Dillon were having an affair, as Trip had maintained, and the phone call she received was him breaking it off. She’d been drinking, taking drugs and she freaked, drove into the bush, pills, razor blade, hose to the exhaust pipe … then left a message on my phone: ‘Simone, you’ve got to come find me. I’m gonna die.’ The phone cut out. Bush, bad reception. Jesus.

She could’ve changed her mind at the last minute, too late to save herself …

Why hadn’t I thought of it earlier? I’d been so sure her disappearance was part of some dastardly plot, I hadn’t seriously considered suicide. I thought of everything that had made me suspect foul play but was able to rationalise it away. Missing photos? Could be of Dillon. Person who attacked me in alley?

Random freak. Possum head? Kids playing a joke that I, paranoid android, took seriously. Andi’s laptop and files? They’d find them when they found the body. An image played itself out in my mind, almost like a film, bushwalkers trekking down a lonely dirt track, wondering about the strange smell, finding the Datsun with Andi inside, bloated, unrecognisable, green-purple skin splitting open like overripe fruit.

Hand shaking I reached for the water jug on the bar, poured myself a glass and drank it down in one go. But her bag. How did that end up in Sydney? She couldn’t have driven all the way up here, could she?

‘You right?’ Alex asked. I nodded.

The bass player, skinny lad with shaggy hair, tight black jeans and a studded belt, wandered over. I suddenly felt old.

I’d owned a studded belt when they were trendy in the eighties, in primary school.

‘Uh, Daisy, we’re going back on.’

She slithered off Alex’s lap but didn’t move too far away.

Standing in between his legs, she pushed her arse back into his crotch as she leaned over the bar and waved for a beer. Subtle.

The bartender shook his head. ‘You’ve had enough.’

‘But I’m the entertainment! I’m fucking entertaining! Aren’t I?’

‘Very,’ Alex said, and Daisy forgot about the beer, turned around and stood so his knee was in between her legs.

‘Come back to my place after the show.’

Christ. She was practically frotting him. Alex glanced my way, a half smirk on his face. If I hadn’t known him better I would have said he was actually enjoying himself. Daisy misunderstood the look.

‘She can come too. I swing that way. Yeah, the three of us can party, baby.’

She gave an exaggerated wink, rubbed herself against his knee a couple of times then turned and walked to the stage with much exaggerated swinging of hips. Alex watched her go.

‘This never happens when I’m single,’ he muttered.

‘Oh come on—’ my eyes were finally free to roll—‘she’s a total fucking nightmare.’

‘Funny,’ he said, ‘she sort of reminded me of you.’

When I told him Trip had taken me to Doyle’s place, Alex’s good mood started to dissolve. It had completely evaporated by the time I’d recounted my desperate escape.

‘Why didn’t you let me know right away?’ he said.

‘I was about to, but I had to talk to your girlfriend out there first. Sorry.’

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and made a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan. We were sitting at a table in the bistro. It looked just like the front bar except the floor was tiled and chalkboard menus hung on the walls, advertising mezze platters, burgers, chips and dips. I was jamming fries into my mouth, testing a new theory that having a mad bastard try to kill you burned off as many calories as a twenty k run. Alex was still drinking his beer but I was on another glass of water, partly because I was thirsty and partly because I wanted Alex to realise how unlike Daisy I actually was.

‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘This is a fucking disaster.’

‘Well, yes and no. I found out Rochelle’s laundering money for Don Davison, through the Doyle Group.’

‘We already knew that.’

‘What?’

‘A tri-state fraud and tax office taskforce have been working on this for the last month and simultaneous raids on the restaurants, hotel and Doyle’s accountants were scheduled for tomorrow.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m not allowed to. It was none of your business and it was my job to keep you out of it. The shit’s really gonna hit the fan.’

‘You sure?’

‘Rochelle knows you were hiding under the bed, listening in. She’ll assume you’ve gone straight to the police. Who knows what she’ll do to cover her tracks?’ He rubbed his eyes again, like he was trying to sweep them right out of his head. Maybe he was so pissed off he didn’t want to look at me.

My ‘escape from death’ high was gone, replaced with self-reproach. It sat in my stomach like a small, hard stone and made the chips taste like cardboard. I pushed the basket away.

Alex stopped with the eye thing and started rubbing his temples. He had his elbows on the table. ‘Right. We’re going to the police and then you’re going back to Melbourne.’

‘I can’t go to my place. Where will I stay?’

‘A locked box if I’ve got anything to do with it.’

‘I have to go to Mum’s first. I need clothes, a shower, money, ID.’

‘Shit,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Chances are that Perry bloke’ll be looking for you. They know about your mum?’

‘Not much. Just her name and that she lives in Sydney, works at the uni. Phone’s in Steve’s name.’

‘There are other ways.’

‘They’re not cops and it’s Saturday evening. Gonna take them some time.’ But he’d got me worried. ‘Gimme your phone. I’m calling her.’

I dialled her mobile and she picked up after a couple of rings.

‘Where are you?’ I asked.

‘Out to dinner. Why? Don’t tell me you’re still in Sydney.’

‘Yeah, and we need to talk. Urgently. How soon can you get to your place?’

‘The food’s just arrived. I don’t know, an hour? What’s happening? Are you in some kind of trouble?’

‘Not really,’ I lied. ‘Me and Alex are coming around. I’ll tell you then. Oh, and look, no dramas, but you might have to move out of your house for a couple of days, just till some shit blows over.’

‘No dramas?’ She started to go off at me so I made crackling noises, pressed the end button and handed the phone back to Alex.

‘Gonna call the taskforce,’ he said.

I nodded and took the opportunity to go hang a leak. On the way in I accidentally caught a look at myself in the mirror.

Jesus. The heavy makeup had migrated from its intended position, my jaw was swollen and bruised and my boofed-out hair was studded with bark from the palm tree and grit from the van floor. Daisy must have really had her beer goggles on to invite me to a threesome.

I left the loos and was just passing the back bar, heading for Alex, when a woman with red hair roped into two thick plaits turned around, holding a Bloody Mary. She was about to move aside and let me pass when she glanced up and I caught her eye.

My stomach dropped. Her hair was longer, she’d put on a bit of weight, but there was no doubt it was Meg. And I recognised the people she was standing with. Dave, Siobhan, and oh god, there was Ben. Quick exit, my brain screamed, get the fuck out, now! I put my head down and tried to steamroller past but she stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

‘Simone?’

I stared at her. I didn’t know what to say. Her freckled face got tight, as though someone was pulling the skin from behind, and she smiled like an animal baring its teeth.

‘It is you.’ She looked me up and down. ‘You’ve got a nerve, coming back here.’

‘Don’t worry, I was just leaving.’ I tried to get around her but she grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging in like claws.

‘Somebody told me you were working as a hooker down in Melbourne. Is that true? I always thought it would be a fitting career …’ She’d raised her voice so the whole bar could hear. Alex looked up from his phone call. ‘You certainly look like one—tragic makeup, bruise. What happened? Pimp beat you up?’ Her eyes turned black and glittering.

I looked past her to the others. Tall, blonde Siobhan had crossed her arms and was staring me out. Dave met my eye, shook his head and glanced away. Ben, who had lost hair and gained a beer gut since I’d seen him last, kept his head down and became very interested in ripping the label off his Coopers Red. If only Matt had been there my humiliation would have been complete, but last I heard he’d gotten married and moved to the North Shore.

‘Why’d you do it?’ she said.

‘Why don’t you ask Ben?’

‘He’s a guy. They’re weak. What’s your excuse?’

There were a million reasons. There were none.

‘What’s going on?’ Alex stood up.

Meg looked at him and her lip curled. ‘Don’t trust her, mate, not as far as you can kick her.’

‘Bye, Meg,’ I said.

‘Oh, before you go?’ She paused, jerked her hand back and threw her Bloody Mary all over my face.

The whole back bar was watching but I didn’t react, just let the thick tomato juice meander down my neck. An ice sliver had lodged in my bra and it burned like a lit cigarette.

I kept my back straight, head up high, and strolled out the door as though nothing had happened. The side street was full of cramped terraces, wire fences and bins and once I was out of sight I ran, but only made it half a block before sobs over-took me. I leaned into a wall, pressed my cheek against the scratchy brick and cried. Tears ran into my mouth, mingling with the salt from the chips. I heard footsteps, felt a hand on my back.

‘Hey,’ Alex said. ‘Hey.’ He tugged on my shoulder and turned me around to face him. He was clutching a handful of damp serviettes and dabbed at my face and shirt. The harder he tried, the worse it got. The red stain spread and the napkins disintegrated, leaving little spitballs on my skin. I started to laugh and cry at the same time.

Evening had turned into night and the overcast sky reflected the city’s orange glow. The air was charged and tasted metallic, like touching a battery with the tip of your tongue. Thunder grunted in the distance and on nearby King Street an ambulance wailed.

Alex finished wiping me down, chucked the sodden mess on top of a bin and put his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. When would he learn that that shit just made me cry harder?

‘Let me get this straight.’ His voice hummed in my ear. ‘You slept with her boyfriend when you lived in Sydney. So fucking what? It was years ago.’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’

‘Tell me.’

‘You don’t wanna know the whole sorry saga,’ I gulped.

‘Yes I do. Sit.’ He took my hand and pulled me down next to him on a low wall in front of a dirty single storey terrace and handed me a hanky. Who the hell carried hankies, let alone clean ones? I blew my nose and crumpled the handkerchief into a ball in my palm.

‘I met Meg and the others through my boyfriend. Matt and I lived together in my early twenties when he was a medical student and I was doing arts. We partied, saw bands, had a lot of fun, but it was a serious relationship, we talked about getting married one day. Anyway, Matt finished his degree and started an internship and he couldn’t go out much anymore but it didn’t stop me. Big weekends, lots of E and speed.

‘I started up this kind of flirtation with Ben. He was a guitar player, funny that, and living together with a chick called Fran. Meg’s sister. The flirtation, surprise surprise, turned into an affair and we both knew it was fucked up and bad but that only added to the excitement and when you’re on the gear you don’t much give a fuck about right and wrong, you’re more interested in what feels good. Right here, right now.

‘We got addicted. And, of course, one day we got caught. Fran came home from work early and busted me and Ben in their bed. Must have been too dumb, broke or drug-fucked to get a hotel. Can’t remember now. Fran ran out, crying, and no one could find her. Not until the next day when the minister discovered a body hanging from an oak branch in St Stephens Cemetery,

‘Fuck,’ he said, simply.

‘Yeah. So that, in a nutshell, is why everybody hates me and I moved to Melbourne. Can’t say I blame them. If I was Meg I’d have punched me out.’

‘Hang on, it’s not your fault.’

‘You sure about that? I knew what I was doing was wrong. I was friends with Fran. I liked her. If she hadn’t found me and Ben together she might be alive today. How can I not take responsibility for that?’

‘To take her own life she must have had mental problems… a history of depression. You didn’t kill her.’

I shrugged.

‘And what about the guy, Ben? They’re still friends with him.’

‘They’d known him for years. I was just the blow-in. And you heard what Meg said. Us women are supposed to be able to control our urges and if we don’t we’re the evil temptresses that lead the poor, defenceless blokes astray. As you’ve probably figured, urge control has never been my strong suit. Add drugs to the mix and I have no fucking willpower at all. Meg comforted Ben at the funeral. When she saw me she spat on the ground. No one else would talk to me, or look me in the eye. I couldn’t really blame them. I was halfway through my last year at uni, but I just took off. There was no point in staying.’

‘And there’s no point in continuing to punish yourself. You were what? Early twenties? No one’s perfect.’