Inconsolable (17 page)

He stood, brushed the sand from his hands. When he was kid he used to collect strays; the dog with the stumpy tail, the cat with half its ear chewed off, the lorikeet with a broken wing and the neighbour, Benny, who always smelled of beer and told corny jokes, but was more fun as a babysitter than after-school care.

Benny became a surrogate uncle. The animals were smuggled into his bedroom and though he knew they'd be discovered, he got to keep them for a while; the cat, which curled up under the bed and slept, he got to keep a whole day and night.

There was the odd stray cat in the park, skeletal, wild-eyed and scared and he'd wanted to tame one and keep it, but that too felt like comfort and comfort was against the rules.

Foley wasn't a stray like the cat; like Benny, her humour was real, and so were her claws. She wouldn't be tamed or handfed. She'd trash the place. But there was something about her that was as comforting as it was challenging.

She stood beside him, brushing the sand from the back of her legs. “Drum?”

He didn't look at her. “I'll see you round.”

He kicked into a run. He'd stay on the soft sand where his body would have to work harder, and by the time he got to the other end of the beach he'd remember why he couldn't afford to have Foley as a friend.

15: Conspiracy Without a Theory

There was something about that moment of seeing Roger and Gabriella alone, together, at the end of the corridor that made Foley feel awkward. Maybe it was the way Gabriella turned her face away, or Roger didn't. He looked straight at Foley, smiled and said her name.

It was just a moment, and the corridor was the main one off which all the offices opened and in the very next moment, Hugh stepped out of his and joined Gabriella and Roger.

Hugh looked at her bemused. “Are you joining us?”

“No, she's not,” Gabriella said.

Thanks for that
. Foley gave Hugh a one-shouldered shrug and tossed off a, “Have fun,” and the whole thing was over, but it lingered, the bad aftertaste of marzipan when you thought the chocolate centre would be caramel. Maybe it was time for her to leave council, her one serious job, she'd gone as far as she was going to. Maybe what she needed was a new bunch of flavours in a new chocolate box less ordinary: chilli, ginger, wasabi, lavender, lime, banana, green tea, bacon, beer.

Back at her desk, after a meeting on the Winter Wonderland, she tackled her email inbox and checked in with the rest of the team. Things had been prickly there, her own fault. She'd made people nervous about the conflict between her and Gabriella and no one was stupid enough to openly take sides, especially as Gabriella had placed some of her old council colleagues in a couple of open jobs.

There was an email from Adro:
Howzit?

She wrote:
Good, you
and looked up to see if he was watching email.

He was. She got back:
PO

He was pissed off:
At?

You know.

Coffee?

Out the front in 5.

She gave him an okay and rummaged for her purse. On the short walk to their regular coffee shop he said, “I hate my job.”

She was slightly scared to ask why. Once she might've been able to fix it, because their old boss trusted her to run her own team without his intervention. Those days were gone.

“We used to be a team, now we're one of those competition cooking shows. We're all love and peace and pulled pork with, I dunno, caramelised artichoke, on the surface, and stab, stab, hatey hate, crush, kill behind closed doors.”

She had to ask. “Is it my fault?”

Adro fussed with his sunglasses. “Yeah, kind of. But I don't exactly blame you, it's just that it's a no win for the rest of us. Gabriella is so suspicious of you, and you just won't give her a break.”

“Crap.”

“You could give her a break, Foley. You didn't get the job, shit happens.”

“Gawd, don't hold back there.”

Adro ordered their regulars; his short black, her cappuccino. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “You can't do anything with what I'm going to tell you, all right?”

Foley handed over her money. “All right.” This wasn't going to be good.

“I'm on the shortlist for a job at the Opera House.”

“Holy shit, really. Wow.” If Adro left, odds on Gabriella would know the perfect person from her old council to take the role. “Oh no.”

Adro laughed. “Yeah, all of that and if I don't get the job I'm still on the market. I used to love working here, now I feel physically sick about coming to the office, the atmosphere is so toxic.”

They took their coffees and walked back the way they'd come. “What can I do to get you to stay?”

Adro looked at her over the rim of his sunnies. “You'd have to give me your job, so nothing, there's nothing you can do.” Which was entirely reasonable and everything they'd planned before Gabriella arrived. She hadn't been the only one whose career aspirations were trampled.

“I could talk to Hugh.”

“I've talked to him and you know what he's like, party line, told me to suck it up. Made me feel guilty for being unhappy. That's when I knew it was time to go.”

Foley punched his arm. “You can't go and leave me.”

“I'd say watch me except that would be arrogant and my mamma brought me up better, and I might not get this job. I'm telling you because I owe you and I trust you and Jesus, I'll miss you.”

It would be inappropriate to fling her arms around Adro and say take me with you, but that's what she wanted to do. They stood in the sun outside the council offices entrance and looked at each other. Five years they'd worked together, plotted together, gone on coffee runs together, Foley's seniority was rarely more than an on paper factor, they were colleagues and friends and this was going to hurt.

“I'll miss you too,” she said it grudgingly, like it was a required line giving voice to a mandatory sentiment, then added, “like a bad smell.”

He grunted. “So classy. How have I ever lasted this long with you?”

She followed him up the steps. “You love me.”

He held the door open. “Against my better judgement.”

She stood in the open door way. “And the rest of the team?” She braced for his answer, she'd been so busy, so full of excuses, she'd been ignoring all but the basic workflow needs.

“Holding for now.” He took his sunnies off. “A little more insulated from the brawling.”

“We're not brawling.” Seriously, she wasn't that obvious. She moved through the doorway, Adro at her back.

Gabriella was standing in the entrance. She smiled. “Afternoon tea.”

Foley tensed for no good reason, remembering that moment earlier, Gabriella turning her face away in avoidance, Roger's perhaps too bright smile. “We're desperados.”

“Java addicts,” said Adro.

“Team meeting is in,” Gabriella consulted her watch and having seen it enough times, Foley knew it was a posh brand, “two minutes.”

“What team meeting?” she said.

Adro gave her a nudge in the back, a shut up nudge.

Gabriella tapped her watch face. “One minute.” She walked towards one of the conference rooms.

“What meeting?” Foley muttered. Fifteen minutes ago there was no team meeting. “She's up to something.”

Adro nudged her again, this time in the direction Gabriella took. “See what I mean, duelling menus at dawn, sharpened spatulas in the back. She's entitled to call a team meeting whenever she wants one.”

“She called it to catch us out.”

“Why would she bother and she didn't, so what's the issue?”

Was she jumping at shadows, so uptight about Gabriella she was seeing conspiracy without a theory? She turned to face Adro. “Why?” She meant why did he want to leave and she knew he'd know it.

He grinned. “Because she called a meeting to try and catch us out and much as it's entertaining to watch the two of you go head to head, I've honestly got better things to do.”

“Like your hair,” she hissed. Adro was balder than Hugh.

“My hair is perfect,” he said and this time outright shoved her in the direction of the meeting room.

It was a meeting about nothing, about Gabriella hearing the sound of her own voice, about taking up time and messing up people's afternoons. Foley sat silently because there was no call on her to speak and because that seemed the least obtrusive and obnoxious thing to do, but forty minutes later when they were all filing out, Megan said, “Why didn't you say something?”

Foley opened her hands in a what gesture.

“You could've said something.”

She repeated Adro's line, “Gabriella is entitled to call a meeting whenever she wants one.”

“She's not entitled to waste our time and that's what,” Megan pointed behind them towards the meeting room, “that was.” She pushed past Foley. “I'll have to work back late now. If you don't say something, what hope do the rest of us have?”

The answer to that was not much. Back at their desks there was a lot of surreptitious significant eye contact and a loud call from Megan to her husband about having to work back. Foley couldn't wait to get out of the place. She put her head down and powered through, and was one of the first out the door. She was home and changed into her running gear and parked at the beach ready to pound her frustrations out before Megan's husband could pick up their baby from day care.

She'd run alone the last two nights. No sign of Drum. She figured she'd be doing it alone again tonight. She'd managed to scare him right off with her talk of friendship, but she hadn't been able to forget about him and tonight she could do with a friend.

She trudged down to the water's edge and got her feet wet, took a few deep breaths and stretched her quads. She started off slowly and soon became aware of another runner coming behind her. She'd let herself hope that sound of feet slapping wet sand would be him the last two nights and damn her stupid heart if she didn't hear those feet behind her now and think the same thing. The runner passed her with a cheery, “Hi,” and she slowed further till she was walking, all of her get up and go, gone, like her incentive to make things better at work.

She stumbled when Drum walked up beside her, tripping on her own footfall but so crazy glad to see him she almost started skipping.

“Hi,” she said it lightly, blithely, breathlessly like the runner who'd passed her, like it meant nothing and couldn't scare him off.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and warm like the blast from an open oven door. It hit her full in the chest, how much she'd missed him the last two nights, how great it was to look on his sun-drenched body. “Not running?”

“I should. I'm crabby.” She looked away. “I'm probably bad company.” It might be better if he knew that straight up. “Crap day at work.” She willed it not to matter to him and as he walked beside her, it no longer mattered to her.

He strode past her, put himself directly in front of her and jogged backwards. “Let's run it off you.”

She grinned at him stupidly, like she'd swallowed too much sea water and was delirious. “No, really. Walking is good.” She loved running with him, but if they walked maybe they could talk as well.

“Bok.”

She lifted her elbows, making them wings of mini outrage. “You did not just bok at me?”

He smirked. That was definitely a smirk lifting one side of his face, tightening the skin around one eye.
Cocky bastard
. He didn't know she had a weakness for smirks and his was so gorgeously executed, with true devil may care that spoke to her inner bad girl, the one who pierced and tattooed.

It was the smirk, it was the teasing, it was delight at seeing him after the stress of the day. She lunged forward, planted her hands on his wide, bare chest and pushed him.

He laughed, a glorious sound, moving backwards easily with her motion, turning and taking off. She watched him kicking up sand, picking up pace, for all of two heartbeats. She chased him as if her happiness depended on it.

And he wouldn't be caught. He could outrun her easily, his longer stride, the power in his body, he stayed ahead of her, within catching distance, but out of her reach. They thundered down the beach and Foley was breathless with her effort and her laughter, losing pace, falling further behind.

He'd come, he'd called her chicken. She hadn't scared him off. It was better than junk food.

As they reached the rock fall at the end of the beach he stopped, turning to face her as she finally caught up. He was physically a god, head squared, chin down, hair falling over his forehead, and the breeze caught in its strands, hands on his hips, easy breaths swelling his chest. She had to stop herself from running at him, hoping he'd catch her up. She was breathing much harder than he was, not all of it from the effort, a good deal of it from the excitement of seeing him again.

His eyes went navigator on her, moving head to toe and back again, looking for a familiar landmark, making her throat tight, because that was different and she felt lost in it. He locked on her eyes. “Feeling better?”

She nodded. “More.”

His chin came up; query in his expression.

She wanted more of the anxious anticipation, more of the chase, more of the delight, the teasing, more of his eyes telling her they wanted what he saw, more everything about him and the way he made her feel.

He was a risk and she was taking him.

She turned and took off, pounding back the way they'd come and he was on her, the sound of him louder than the sea in her ears, then beside her and she settled the pace, no longer trying to outrun him, or wind herself, just trying to be free and complete in the experience. He was right, running could be a meditation and this, now, was the clarity she needed after the confusion of the day, it was lime and ginger and green tea, the thrill of a something familiar yet tasting so very different.