Heller’s Decision (43 page)

Scurrying
through the acres and acres of the colossal shopping centre looking
for the right store, I became rather offended by the startled looks
I received from other shoppers. Just because I had a terrible rash
didn’t mean they should feel free to stare at me. It was just bad
manners. A couple of kids even pointed at me. I now had an inkling
of how Daniel felt venturing out in public and could appreciate his
reluctance to put himself through the ordeal.

After rushing
around frantically searching for Miss Petunia’s Boutique, I
realised with a groan I was on the wrong floor. Almost pushing an
elderly man out of my way, I sprinted up the escalator, hunting
desperately for the correct location. By the time I’d found it, I
was out of breath, sweaty and a little ruffled. Not the best start
for an interview.

I couldn’t see
this going well, but I was here and I’d give it my best shot. It
was all I could do.

When I stepped
inside, a quartet of well-dressed woman instantly stopped what they
were doing to stare at me. One’s jaw dropped open and another
shrieked softly.
Geez
, I thought, disgruntled,
what an
over-reaction
. You’d think they’d never seen a person with a
rash before.

“I’m looking
for Miss Petunia,” I said with my brightest smile.

“I-I’m she,”
the woman who shrieked said faintly. I didn’t think this was
turning out to be a very promising start to what I’d hoped would be
a new, no matter how temporary, career. Particularly when two of
the women, who I presumed were customers, fled the store, carefully
skirting me. I was really beginning to become offended.

I gave her a
quick once over – a middle-aged, impeccably groomed woman with
nicely styled grey hair, fine, powdery skin and a pair of
flamboyant glasses. She had the kind of pinched features that
didn’t indicate a kindly disposition, not helped by the unhidden
repulsion on her face. Doggedly, I stepped towards her, my hand
out. “I’m Tilly Chalmers. I’m here for the interview.”

She shook her
head, edging backwards until she ran into the counter. “I’m sorry.
You’re not right for this job.”

“What? How can
you possibly tell that without even interviewing me?” I asked in
stunned disbelief. “I know I’m a little late, but aren’t you even
going to give me a chance?”

“You’re just
not right. I can tell,” she repeated, not even able to look me in
the eye. “Can you please leave? We’re closing.”

“What? Closing?
It’s just gone 11:30!”

“We’re closing
for lunch,” she insisted, becoming belligerent. “You need to leave
now.”

I stared at
her, bewildered. “I can’t believe this! You insisted I drag my butt
all the way over here, even though I don’t have any petrol in my
car and you can see I’m having some skin issues at the moment, and
–”

“Don’t make me
call security,” she warned, reaching for the phone.

“
Security?
What have I done wrong? We don’t need security.”
Though I didn’t expect the shopping centre security to be equal to
any of Heller’s men in size, beefiness or skill, there was no
reason to find out firsthand.

“Please leave
without causing any unpleasantries.”

“The only one
causing any unpleasantries here today is you,” I retorted rudely,
by now riled by her inexplicable behaviour.

“Are you going
to leave or not? Or do I have to call security?”

“All I did was
turn up for an interview.” Determination nipping her lips to thin
slits, she viciously stabbed at numbers on the phone keypad. I
surrendered, my hands up. “Okay! All right! I’m going.”

“Thank you,”
she said, her voice sour enough to make vinegar wince.

Resolute, I
walked out of her store with my head held high. She was making a
big mistake forcing me to go. It was her loss – she didn’t realise
what a jewel of an employee she was losing. Heller had even called
me a gem one time. Although he hadn’t exactly been talking about in
an employment sense, I had to remind myself.

My dark mood
grew only darker by the time I made my way back to the taxi rank,
becoming lost twice as I did. A small child started crying when I
stormed past, her mother’s small scream of shock not improving my
mood. A group of teens actually laughed at me when I past them.
When did the people of this city become so incredibly
bad-mannered
, I grumbled to myself.

My happiness
level plunged to new depths when I approached the taxi rank. Every
single taxi driver took one look at me and screeched away, the
smell of burning rubber hanging in the air.
What the hell?
I
thought, standing like an idiot, eating their dust. In his rear
view mirror, I even saw one crossing himself with his hand.

I searched
through my handbag, finally locating my long-unused bus card. I
slogged up the road to the bus stop, enduring a hail of honks for
no reason I could discern apart from my rash. This was turning out
to be a really bad day for me.

Of course I had
to wait forever for the right bus to arrive. Three of same bus
zoomed past within a minute of each other, then a different bus
came, then another one of the first bus again, then one of the
second – but, conspicuously, not the one I needed. After thirty
minutes, my bus trundled along towards my stop.

I hailed it,
but when I stepped in, the driver drew back sharply and bit her lip
until little beads of blood appeared. As I swiped my bus card on
the reader, I could tell she didn’t want me on her bus.
Tough
shit for her
, I thought, no sympathy left inside me today for
anyone else. Her day couldn’t possibly be even one-tenth as bad as
mine so far.

The entire bus
fell silent as I made my way down the aisle. I couldn’t fail to
miss the strong thought waves I received from every other passenger
–
don’t let her sit next to me, don’t let her sit next to
me
. There were no free double seats, so I had to choose some
unlucky sod to bless with my proximity. I picked the smallest,
meekest looking person on the bus and sat down next to her,
assiduously keeping my eyes straight ahead. She huddled even
further against the wall of the bus, somehow shrinking her body to
take up only half of one seat.

I plugged in my
headphones, lessening the misery of the rest of the trip by
listening to my favourite music and thinking about Heller. What was
he doing right at this minute? Had he even thought about me once
since he’d left? Would he come back alive? Though not being an
especially driven person myself, I could sort of understand his
need for adrenaline, being such an alpha male used to experiencing
what I could only assume was some kind of dangerous military
career. I also partially appreciated his obsession with his
business, because he’d built it up by himself with his own money
and hard work. It was being kept in the dark about what he was
doing or even where he was that killed me the most.

Jolted from my
reverie, I realised I’d almost missed my stop, ringing the bell at
the last second. I distinctly heard the driver swearing as she
swerved dangerously to a halt at the curb of the bus stop. I
stepped out of the bus, choking in its exhaust as it pulled away,
only then realising that I’d forgotten to swipe off with my bus
card.
Fan-fucking-tastic!
Now I’d be charged the most
expensive fare. I traipsed home with no enthusiasm. It was a fair
way to the Warehouse, but it was the closest the suburb came to
public transport. And being forced to walk a great distance in high
heels was just one more thing I resignedly added to my week’s
Long, Long List of Spectacularly Crappy Occurrences
.

By the time I
reached home, I was more than a little puffed by the exercise. It
was quiet inside the Warehouse. Everyone was probably working –
everyone except me. Climbing those bloody stairs again seemed like
conquering Mt Everest. By the second floor, I was puffing.
Must
get on the treadmill, must get on the treadmill
, I chanted to
myself. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do with my life.

Daniel rushed
out of the office on his way downstairs to deliver something to
Clive or Sid. He screeched to a halt when he saw me.

“Holy shit,
Tilly! Please tell me you didn’t go out in public looking like
that?”

It was the last
straw for me. “Daniel! I’ve had the shittiest day. I’ve just about
had enough of people staring at me and laughing at me and avoiding
me. Just because I have a little rash. It’s cruel. I don’t need it
from you too.”

“Tilly,
darling. No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What do you
mean?”

He gently took
my arm and started heading for the office, then pulled up. “No, not
in there. Niq’s in there. Come up to your place.”

“That’s where I
was intending on going before you stopped me,” I said, a little
snide but not too much – it was Daniel, after all.

He ignored me
and guided me to my place, into my bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he
said.

I jumped when I
saw my reflection. “Oh, my God! I’ve been walking around like this
all day! No wonder everyone thought I was a freak.”

Because I
hadn’t used them for so long, the expensive concealer and
foundation I’d stuccoed on my face earlier hadn’t remained silky
smooth as promised in the ads featuring a famous actress. Instead
they’d set like some kind of thick mudpack. Though I’d looked okay
when I’d left home, by the time I’d been in the taxi, chatting away
with the driver, it must have cracked with the movement of my
facial muscles. That was bad enough, but the makeup seemed to have
reacted with the rash cream Dr Kincaid had given me, turning an
unattractive shade of orangey-brown.

“I look like
the Thing!” I wailed. “No wonder that nice taxi driver told me to
freshen up so vehemently. He was too polite to tell me I looked
like a hideous mutant superhero.”

“I guess it is
the kind of topic that’s difficult to bring up with a woman,”
Daniel sympathised.

“I went out in
public looking like this,” I continued to moan. “I was in a
shopping centre! I caught a bus! I made a little kid cry.” I
slapped my forehead, my hand immediately covered in thick makeup.
“No wonder Miss Petunia didn’t want to interview me. Imagine
someone looking like the Thing trying to sell high-end designer
outfits to snooty, rich women?”

Our eyes met in
the mirror and despite my misery, we both started giggling at the
thought, which quickly escalated into laughter. Tears rolled down
my cheeks, forging wriggly rivulets in my war paint. We clung to
each other, helpless with mirth. Daniel laughed so much he snorted
loudly a few times as he laughed, only making me laugh even harder,
my stomach soon aching with the effort.

When we
eventually subsided, I jumped in the shower to wash away, not just
the caked-on makeup, but all the disappointment and humiliation of
the day. Peering at my face in the mirror afterwards, I noticed my
skin was considerably less reddened, barely even a blush left.
Strange
, I thought. But perhaps that concealer/foundation
cement had given my skin what it needed to heal. Whatever – I
wasn’t complaining.

With Heller
temporarily absent, Daniel decided to give himself the rest of the
day off, which we spent goofing around on the rooftop, playing pool
and singing along loudly (and in my case, slightly off-key) to
energetic music. Niq joined us at dinnertime, having hunted us down
after conscientiously toiling over his schoolwork all day, vexed to
find us slightly sloshed and having a great old time without him.
He also didn’t really appreciate us laughing through his heated
admonishment, but I jollied him up with a huge tickling that left
him feeling a little silly with laughter as well.

We ate, we
drank, we chatted, we played pool. I fell into bed, relaxed, if not
exactly happy. As I laid in the quiet darkness, I reached my arm
out to where Heller would normally be, stroking down the pillow and
sheets, an approximation of his head and torso. My need for him
burned inside me like a physical pain. I missed him.

I fumbled
around for my phone, calling him. It didn’t even ring once before a
robotic voice cut in, informing me that the number was out of range
and to try again soon. What would be the point of that? He wasn’t
even close by.

“Please stay
safe,” I whispered into the void left by his absence, wondering if,
in some way, he could hear me or at least sense me, out there
wherever he was.

Chapter
29

After a
restorative breakfast and shower the next morning, I decided to
return to the shopping centre to apologise to Miss Petunia. Yes,
she’d been very rude and hurtful to me, but to be fair to her, it
probably wasn’t every day a candidate turned up having taken the
liberty to be interviewed as one of their favourite
Fantastic
Four
characters. The least I could do was try to explain. Maybe
she might even decide to interview me this time because of my
refreshing candour. And maybe she’d call security again.

Determined
today to snag one of the fleet vehicles to drive, my car still out
of petrol, I jogged down the stairs to be pulled up by Clive on the
ground floor.

“This came for
you,” he said gruffly, handing me a registered airmail parcel. It
wasn’t large, stamped with a postmark from the UK, but had no
return sender name or address.

“Thanks.”

Curiosity
overcame my need to apologise to Miss Petunia. Finding the wrapping
of the parcel too difficult to rip open, I climbed back up those
never ending stairs to my place, rummaging around in my messy
utensils drawer for a pair of scissors.

Once opened, I
sat for a full minute staring at the enclosed DVD and especially
its cover. An envelope had fluttered to the floor with my rough
opening, so I bent down to pick it up. Inside was a note.