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30: Whispered
Fluffy floated on her side, tail drooping, eyes staring. There was still food in the long-life block. Georgia tried not to see it as a sign.
“Goldfish, they’re fragile. Sometimes they just die.” Jamie watched her as if she was tissue paper about to tear.
It was a stupid fish, she’d half thought would asphyxiate in its plastic carry bag before she got it home. Who got upset about a goldfish turning belly up?
“Don’t not cry because I’m here.”
“I’m not crying over a stupid fish.” But her eyes were burning, aching.
“Okay, good.” Jamie quirked his head. “What about over a fuckwit boyfriend?”
She turned her back on him and blew out a breath. She didn’t want to cry in front of Jamie. She didn’t want to see Fluffy’s death as a symbol that her relationship with Damon was over. But both were a hard call. Jamie seemed reluctant to leave her, so she filled the kettle, got busy with cups and the teapot. When she heard the toilet flush and saw the now fishless tank, she realised he’d disposed of the body. She poured the tea and added milk and the sugar she knew he liked.
“I’ve never asked, are you musical, do you sing? Lots of engineers are frustrated musicians, according to Taylor.”
He’d driven her home from that horrible dive of a club Damon insisted on going to, but he didn’t need to stay and small talk her into feeling better.
“There is more music in a pair of scissors than in me. I can’t even hum in key. Damon thinks it’s a great joke.”
And there it was, Jamie with his according to Taylor and Georgia with her Damon thinks. They were both stuck.
Jamie took a seat at the breakfast bench. “I don’t know why he’s like this suddenly. Well, yeah I guess I do. He’s had a run of bad luck lately.”
She looked up. Jamie was a face load of frown. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a death wish. I’ve been over and over that night at the beach. He took a fucking stupid risk. The beach was closed, but there was no swell, it was dead calm, and we were in between where the flags had been, the safest place, and he had a whistle.”
“A whistle?”
Yeah, in the pocket of his boardies. I was so freaked I basically dragged him out to the shore. I felt it. It didn’t register till later, the shape of it. He used to carry a whistle when we were kids so if he got into trouble out on the farm he didn’t have to rely on yelling.”
“It was still a huge risk.”
“Shit, yeah, but he’s not suicidal. He’s just being a fuckwit.”
She gestured to the empty tank. “He gave me Fluffy.”
Jamie swallowed tea and a smile.
“He was trying to win my trust. Now he’s trying to destroy it. I don’t get it. Has he done this before?”
“Never. He could be a dick when we were kids—a real show-off, but he was a funny bugger. I don’t think we ever consciously made any allowances for him, he was just one of us. I had dreadful asthma, Angus was always in trouble at school, they said he was a slow learner. Taylor is adopted, Damon had bad eyesight. It was no big deal. When his career kickstarted he settled down. That was his proving ground—he didn’t have to worry about being special because he was, but in a different way to what everyone expected. Then he made allowances for us. He went guarantor on Angus’ loan for Moon Blink. Stumped up cash to help Sam buy tools when he started Royal Flush. He fed us, entertained us. What he wouldn’t do for Taylor or me. Or you. But that crap tonight, what he’s been doing to you…” Jamie shook his head. “You don’t have to put up with it.”
Georgia’s head was thumping. Her flat was stuffy from being closed up for weeks. The band had been awful, Damon was a stranger, her fish was dead. She had a tension headache and a problem. Damon was turning into Hamish and Hamish was turning into Damon and that was too much to deal with tonight.
Jamie poured himself a second cup. “Talk to me.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. It was late, she was tired and disappointed and Jamie didn’t need this. She popped two headache tablets from their blister pack and downed them with her tea.
“Come on.” Jamie scrubbed his face with both hands. “One Taylor is enough in my life.” He looked at her, a mock stern expression. “Don’t even think about asking about her and me.”
He wasn’t getting away with that. “I’ll give if you will.”
He groaned and laid his head on folded arms on the countertop. His, “You first,” was muffled in his shirtsleeves.
“I’ve never had the kind of magic, the kind of attention I got from Damon.” Georgia clamped her mouth shut, making a frog face with flattened lips. She paid Carmella for this. Listening to her lonely hearts confessional wasn’t Jamie’s job. He’d sat upright, watched her, nodding, encouraging. He was the nicest man, considerate and gentle; what would be so bad about telling him?
“You love him, don’t you?”
