‘As bad as you can imagine.’
‘What a dickhead. The universe has a perverse sense of humour sending him your way when all this shit is happening with Rich.’
Her words make me stiffen. It’s unintended, but she’s implying that Mark’s arrival is like some sort of karmic balance.
I hurt Leo, and now Rich has hurt me.
Guilt settles like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I drain my glass. With enough wine, maybe I can get the stone to float.
I carry our plates back to the kitchen, and Vandi follows me with the empty wine bottle.
‘I’ll take that to the recycling crate,’ says a deep male voice. ‘I’m on my way out.’
The Doll is standing at the kitchen door.
‘Oh, thanks,’ says Vandi, handing him the empty bottle.
His bright blue eyes crinkle as he smiles. ‘No problem. I’m meeting Jonno at the pub. Join us if you want. I’m sure he’d love having an audience while I demolish him at pool.’
He gives her a wink, nods at me and leaves.
Vandi risks serious injury by rubbernecking him all the way to the door.
When she notices me glaring at her, she huffs.
‘What?’
‘You’ve gone bright red.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ She laughs. ‘Okay, okay, but did you see his flipping jeans? They looked painted on. Christ, it’s a good thing he’s moving out because it’s getting harder and harder to stop myself taking a bite out of his peachy bum.’
Oliver, his muscled thighs, and his biteable backside take up alotof Vandi’s head space.
‘He’s leaving?’
‘Yeah, he’s moving in with his girlfriend. I told you already, but I forgive you for forgetting to offer me condolences.’
‘Sorry, Vand.’
‘Just be there for me when he leaves. I will be wearing black for a full month, mourning the fact I won’t get to see him stroll in after a hard day’s work landscaping, sweaty, stubbly, jeans straining around those glorious thighs, the top three buttons of his lumberjack shirt undone, then drink a pint of tap water while his Adam’s apple does that obscene swallow-y thing.’
She stops to enjoy the picture she’s painting, I laugh, but can’t help enjoying it along with her. Delicious really is the only word.
‘Right, washing up,’ I say, snapping back to reality.
I’m scrubbing the saucepan when my phone buzzes with a message on the kitchen counter.
My hands are wet with soap bubbles. ‘Check it, would you, Vand?’
She peers at the screen. ‘It’s a message, but it’s not a number in your contacts. Probably spam?’
‘Can you unlock it and see?’
I always open unknown numbers in case it’s a patient.
The pin is her birthday, a fact that still makes her smile.
‘Okey dokey,’ she says. ‘What do we have—’
