the kitchen and snatched my keys off
the counter, flinging the soggy peas into the dustbin. “Slam the door on your
way out!” I called over my shoulder and left, ramming my phone into my jeans
pocket.
Chapter 9
I skulked in the alleyway between streets until Alysha
arrived, scraping her alloys along the curb as she pulled up. She gasped as I
dashed out and climbed into the passenger seat, bobbing down beneath the window
line. “Bloody hell! Your face is a right mess!”
“Thanks!”
I pursed my lips. “Just drive.”
“Where?”
Alysha checked her fringe in the rear-view mirror and primped it, fluttering
her eyelashes at herself.
“Your
house?” I asked, my tone pitiful.
She
shook her head. “Craig’s home. He’ll tell your dad he’s seen you. I’m picking
that’s who you’re hiding from.”
I
thought for a minute. Who was I hiding from? “Yeah,” I decided out loud, the
memory of Teina’s confusion causing an involuntary wince. “Take me to your
mum’s.”
Alysha
pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tyres and grinned at my apprehension.
“This is exciting,” she confessed.
I rolled
my eyes and lolled out of view, the seatbelt choking me as she shot around
corners too fast. “If you’re trying to attract the attention of the cops to
force me to give a statement, it won’t work,” I grumbled.
Alysha
narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t think of that. Good idea.”
“Do it
and we’re finished!” I threatened. “I’ll never speak to you again.”
She bit
her lip and ignored me, our relationship degenerating into how it was as
children, me the sensible cousin and her the tear away. The unfairness of life
stung like a tick bite; she snagged the good marriage and I got dealt the fake.
“Craig
did well as captain,” Alysha said, eyeing me sideways. “They held a minute’s
silence before the game for Pete and one in the clubroom after.”
“He’d
have loved that,” I breathed, managing to turn my sarcasm to gratitude in the
nick of time. I struggled with the irony of the notion of silence in relation
to my husband. He barely shut up when alive and I wondered if they’d been
waiting for him to speak from the grave and give the other occupants of Hell a
break. I turned the unfeeling snort into a cough.
“You
should speak to the cops,” Alysha sighed as she slid between two cars on the
motorway in a dangerous lane change and I closed my eyes and sank further into
the seat. “Terry Saint can’t be allowed to get away with that kind of
behaviour. It’s ugly and I’m tired of it.”
“Did
they turn up?”
“Yeah.
But you’d left so Craig gave them your address. How did you get home?”
“Hitchhiked.”
“What?”
Alysha swerved as she turned to scrutinise me with disbelief in her eyes.
“Liar!” she snapped, almost rear ending the car in front as it braked.
“I
caught the bus,” I said, my tone acerbic. “Not that anyone bothered to follow
me and offer a lift or some sympathy.” I touched my cheek and felt the pain
flare. “Just hurry up and get me to your mum’s place. Nobody will look for me
there.”
Alysha
rolled her eyes. “True dat!”
I
relaxed and laid my head back against the leather seat as Alysha lurched her
husband’s expensive car around Auckland, chattering away about her son, Mikey.
I dozed off, scrunched up in the seat and woke to her ceaseless diatribe about
Craig’s leadership of the first eleven All Saints. “You don’t mind, do you?”
she asked and jabbed me with her finger to make sure I heard. “I know it was
Pete’s role but Craig’s stoked your dad asked him to captain the squad. He couldn’t
believe it.”
“Yeah,”
I mumbled. “It’s fine. He’ll do a good job.”
“I’m so
relieved,” Alysha gushed and it occurred to me she’d been jabbering about it
the whole time I slept. Guilt pricked at my chest, knowing other people still
wrangled over Pete’s death even though I’d let it go the second I stepped from
the
the counter, flinging the soggy peas into the dustbin. “Slam the door on your
way out!” I called over my shoulder and left, ramming my phone into my jeans
pocket.
Chapter 9
I skulked in the alleyway between streets until Alysha
arrived, scraping her alloys along the curb as she pulled up. She gasped as I
dashed out and climbed into the passenger seat, bobbing down beneath the window
line. “Bloody hell! Your face is a right mess!”
“Thanks!”
I pursed my lips. “Just drive.”
“Where?”
Alysha checked her fringe in the rear-view mirror and primped it, fluttering
her eyelashes at herself.
“Your
house?” I asked, my tone pitiful.
She
shook her head. “Craig’s home. He’ll tell your dad he’s seen you. I’m picking
that’s who you’re hiding from.”
I
thought for a minute. Who was I hiding from? “Yeah,” I decided out loud, the
memory of Teina’s confusion causing an involuntary wince. “Take me to your
mum’s.”
Alysha
pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tyres and grinned at my apprehension.
“This is exciting,” she confessed.
I rolled
my eyes and lolled out of view, the seatbelt choking me as she shot around
corners too fast. “If you’re trying to attract the attention of the cops to
force me to give a statement, it won’t work,” I grumbled.
Alysha
narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t think of that. Good idea.”
“Do it
and we’re finished!” I threatened. “I’ll never speak to you again.”
She bit
her lip and ignored me, our relationship degenerating into how it was as
children, me the sensible cousin and her the tear away. The unfairness of life
stung like a tick bite; she snagged the good marriage and I got dealt the fake.
“Craig
did well as captain,” Alysha said, eyeing me sideways. “They held a minute’s
silence before the game for Pete and one in the clubroom after.”
“He’d
have loved that,” I breathed, managing to turn my sarcasm to gratitude in the
nick of time. I struggled with the irony of the notion of silence in relation
to my husband. He barely shut up when alive and I wondered if they’d been
waiting for him to speak from the grave and give the other occupants of Hell a
break. I turned the unfeeling snort into a cough.
“You
should speak to the cops,” Alysha sighed as she slid between two cars on the
motorway in a dangerous lane change and I closed my eyes and sank further into
the seat. “Terry Saint can’t be allowed to get away with that kind of
behaviour. It’s ugly and I’m tired of it.”
“Did
they turn up?”
“Yeah.
But you’d left so Craig gave them your address. How did you get home?”
“Hitchhiked.”
“What?”
Alysha swerved as she turned to scrutinise me with disbelief in her eyes.
“Liar!” she snapped, almost rear ending the car in front as it braked.
“I
caught the bus,” I said, my tone acerbic. “Not that anyone bothered to follow
me and offer a lift or some sympathy.” I touched my cheek and felt the pain
flare. “Just hurry up and get me to your mum’s place. Nobody will look for me
there.”
Alysha
rolled her eyes. “True dat!”
I
relaxed and laid my head back against the leather seat as Alysha lurched her
husband’s expensive car around Auckland, chattering away about her son, Mikey.
I dozed off, scrunched up in the seat and woke to her ceaseless diatribe about
Craig’s leadership of the first eleven All Saints. “You don’t mind, do you?”
she asked and jabbed me with her finger to make sure I heard. “I know it was
Pete’s role but Craig’s stoked your dad asked him to captain the squad. He couldn’t
believe it.”
“Yeah,”
I mumbled. “It’s fine. He’ll do a good job.”
“I’m so
relieved,” Alysha gushed and it occurred to me she’d been jabbering about it
the whole time I slept. Guilt pricked at my chest, knowing other people still
wrangled over Pete’s death even though I’d let it go the second I stepped from
the
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