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Ruining the Cashmere Jumper
A few things happened after that.
Trevor took a swing at Hayden, aiming straight at his nose, and Hayden somehow managed to twist away so the blow landed on the side of his head. Which hurt. He staggered, and then did what he’d thought of before, which was still the only thing he could think of. He stepped into Trevor and grabbed him by the shoulder. Or, actually, by the jumper. Cashmere, he thought. So soft, even as his head rang and pulsed with pain. Trevor pushed back and tried to wrench away, then slapped Hayden across the face, which hurt more, while Hayden hung on for dear life, because it was, yes, still all he could think to do.
They staggered around together like that, and Julian said, “What the hell. Do stop, Trevor. The police are coming. Let them handle it.”
Trevor didn’t answer. That was because he was levitating backward. That was because Luke had grabbed him by the back of the jumper and was literally holding him up off his feet. Trevor’s legs were kicking, and he was yelling. Something like, “Get the fuck off me!”
Which was when Julian dashed in, grabbed the front of Trevor’s jumper, and then stepped on a potato. Agrias, they were, unfortunately extremely oval. Julian’s leg went out from under him, he yelped, and Luke let go of Trevor’s jumper and stepped back.
It was like a ballet, if the dancers were extremely clumsy and the choreographer was rubbish. Julian’s arm flailed, he let go of Trevor’s jumper, his other arm flailed, and he stepped on the bunch of bananas with the leg that wasn’t already in the air. The bananas squished, his foot slipped, his entire body twisted, Trevor grabbed for him, and the two of them went down together, bang-crash, straight onto the pavement in a pile of assorted fruit and veg.
Hayden said, “Pity you never … thought of another reason I’d be lurking. And that the reason can beat both of you at once.” And laughed. Possibly hysterically. Also held his head and thought, I was in a fight. I fought.
Well, he’d held on, anyway. He hadn’t run, and he hadn’t dropped and cowered. He was counting it.
Luke asked, “Are you all right? Let me feel the head.”
Hayden said, “I’m not sure if I’m excited or sick. Or sick and excited.” Then he decided, because he turned, staggered, and vomited into the gutter.
Brilliant, he thought dazedly. This is attractive. Also, all that lovely food.
Luke had a hand on his back, fortunately or unfortunately. By the time Hayden managed to stand again and was wiping his mouth with his hand, wishing Luke weren’t standing quite so close, Luke had his mobile out and was talking.
“I don’t care that it’s been phoned in,” he was saying. “Or about the police. I need an ambulance. Got a TBI here. Hard blow to the side of the head, over the ear. Dizziness. Vomiting. Ambulance.”
Hayden said, “You’re terribly … capable.” And tried to laugh.
“Don’t talk,” Luke said. “Sit down.”
Hayden would have, but Luke had turned and was running faster than Hayden would have credited from a man his size. He was grabbing Trevor again as he legged it for Julian’s place, and once more, Luke had the back of Trevor’s jumper. This time, he practically dragged him over to the others.
That’s cashmere, you know, Hayden would have said if he weren’t still in “gasping” mode. He still, somehow, wanted to laugh. Probably silk as well. Probably cost six hundred dollars. He’s going to hate that.
Julian had been picking up the fruit and veg—more of it now, since both he and Trevor had dropped their bags. There was also a carton of eggs leaking yellow goo onto the bricks. Now, he whirled and said, “Take your hands off him, you barbarian,” like Prince William objecting to a scene unbecoming to royalty. “We’re leaving,” he decided to add, as the two-toned wail of a police siren approached.
“No,” Luke said. “You’re not.” He grabbed Julian as well, not seeming to care that Julian topped him by half a head. Julian swung an arm, and Luke swung him around. The blow landed on Luke’s shoulder, and he said, “You’ll have to do better than that, mate, to bring me down.” Sounding … almost amused.
The police car had stopped, and two officers got out, a woman and a man. Hayden could see that, because he’d staggered over to lean against the hotel window, his hands on his knees, feeling sick again. A couple at a table inside were staring at him, he noticed. He wanted to wave at them in an insouciant sort of way, but he didn’t have the energy.
The older cop, a woman, asked sharply, “What’s going on here?”
“This one punched my mate here,” Luke said, jerking his chin at Hayden.
“Which one?” the cop asked.
“This one,” Luke said. He lifted Trevor again and shoved him toward the cop. “All yours.”
“Excuse me,” Julian drawled. “Would you lot kindly ask this fellow to unhand me?” Sounding like a nineteenth-century novel, and Hayden thought, What if he’s actually an imposter? Is this really how the upper crust talks, or is he an international con artist? I have no idea. No, not possible. What, in Auckland? Not exactly the second home of the jet set. He’d be in New York City, or maybe Palm Beach. Pity.
“And who are you, sir?” the woman cop asked Julian. The male cop had hold of Trevor, was snapping cuffs on him. Good.
“I am an innocent bystander,” Julian said. Luke had let go of him, and he straightened his clothes and attempted to assume his usual superior air. “Or, rather, the victim of a stalking. My friend and I came upon this person, the one against the wall, whose name is Hayden Allen. He’s been stalking me recently, and here he was, doing it again. It’s honestly been rather frightening, and my friend, who is possibly a bit rash at times but whose intentions are, obviously, excellent, attempted to … to push him out of the way.”
“With his fist,” Luke said. “In the side of the head.”
“I’m not a … stalker,” Hayden managed to say. He was still feeling sick, and now, Luke was there, lowering him to the pavement, where he wanted to put his head between his knees but didn’t. “I was just … waiting for my own friend.”
