“Whatever you say.” Dax grins, holding open the door like he expects me to say something. I spin on my heel and whisk myself off to the kitchens, picking up the slack and getting my shift officially started. Dax’s laughter rings out as the bells chime with the closing door.
“I want to ask,” Charlie whispers, “but I won’t.”
“Okay.”
“Are you okay?”
“Annoyed but fine.”
“Okay.” There’s a five-minute break filled only with the clang of metal bowls and the opening and closing of oven doors. Then Charlie breaks the silence again. “So, you have a shiny new phone?”
“Looks like it.”
“Great…that’s great…” She sweeps the scotch eggs out to the display cabinet in the shop proper and leaves me to stew in my mood. But in true Charlie fashion, she can’t help trying to smile straight through my personal rain cloud. Her head pops around the door and she grins. “So, you’ll call me later to give me all the deets on Dax Sexy-San and Aiden O’Hotsuff, right?”
Her eyes are as bright as the year end fireworks. I catch all the naughty ideas sparking within them and, before I know it, I’m laughing. She nods as if breaking my bad mood was her end goal, but I know she’ll be calling me later to hear all the details of last night. Good and bad.
I let work sweep me up. Chatting about nonsense with Charlie, listening to her banter with Koko, preparing the displays and the notice board with today’s specials. Things are almost normal. For a second, I can forget about the drama of last night and the hell I’ll be walking into at home. By the time my shift is over, and I’ve grabbed a paper bag filled with goodies for the kids, I’m able to smile and really mean it.
Until I’m stopped at the door by one of Dax’s suited guards.
“Miss Feelan?”
“Yes?”
“These are for you.”
The nameless suit places two plastic shopping bags at my feet and then leaves. I stare down at the bags. They bulge from top to bottom, filled with fresh milk, vegetables, fruit, yogurts, cookies, bread, even diapers for Casey.
My chest hurts. Gratitude and concern war within my breast. Dax has done a good thing—a wonderful thing—and yet I’m terrified. My father is going to ask so many questions. If I tell the truth about Dax, who knows what he’ll do to turn this situation to his advantage. Who knows what he’ll make me do? If I lie and say I bought them with my money, I’ll get a kicking for sure. My earnings are his. If he thinks I’ve been saving anything for myself, effectively stealing from him, I’m done for.
I can’t do right for doing wrong.
The apartment is silent when I enter. It’s late enough that the kids should be up, but still too early for my dad to make an appearance. Mum should already be five-hours in to a twelve-hour shift at the factory. I use the quiet to sneak into the kitchen and unpack some perishables; the rest I’ll store under my bed for now.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Dad slurs at my ear.
Shit. I’ve been so preoccupied with getting the shopping put away that I didn’t even hear him get up. I can smell the booze on his breath. Whether he’s been drinking this morning or its residual from last night, I can’t tell.
“Charlie gave me it,” I lie. “Leftovers from her fridges and things she didn’t need.” I came up with the idea on the journey home, but it isn’t without its flaws and with the way my dad fishes for arguments these days, I know he’ll pick it apart.
“Just gave you it, huh?”
“The supplier drops off too much sometimes—things Charlie doesn’t order—so she has to get rid of it. I said I’d take it off herhands.” There, that sounds reasonable enough. Only an idiot would look a gift horse in the mouth. If I’m lucky, he’ll be grateful he’ll not have to pay for groceries this week.
“She gave it to you, or you asked for it? Which is it?”
Fuck. He’s definitely looking for trouble. “Both. She offered; I said I’d take it.”
His eyes scan the bags, and the food now dotted across the countertops. With the way his eyes narrow, I can tell he’s totalling up the expense.
“What’d you pay her?”
“Nothing. She’d have only got rid of it anyway.”
“I don’t fucking believe you.”
“I swear, Dad, I got it at Charlie’s.” Not a lie. If there’s anything Dad and I share, it’s the ability to seek a lie. He’s just a little better at it than I am, so I know when to bend a truth.
