Page 4 of In Step

Don’t eat them all at once and there’s vegetable lasagne in the fridge. Martha overestimated dinner. Love, Cora

I shook my head. Overestimated, my arse. No one could be that bad at math tooverestimateat least three nights a week since I’d moved into the damn bedsit. Not that I wasn’t grateful. Without Judah and Leroy’s mum, Cora, and her partner Martha acting as my personal food bank, I’d have been a lot skinnier than I already was.

I opened the lid and was almost knocked over by the explosive force of the sugar rush. I popped a chocolate chip cookie between my teeth and chewed on it while I unpacked the rest of the groceries. With everything stowed away, I headed to the large sash window at the back of the bedsit to get a good look at the storm rolling in over the bay.

On a nice evening, I could slide up the sash and step out onto the small but perfectly formed wooden fire escape landing, aka my deck. A month back I’d rescued a couple of old outdoor chairs abandoned on the roadside, and they took pride of place. It was my favourite spot on the entire property—a vision of Painted Bay all the way down to the wharf and out to the small offshore islands, the beauty of the ocean rolling out like a welcome mat. It was a slice of heaven that belonged just to me, and it offered a rare peace, at least for a little while.

But not in the maelstrom currently battering the tiny bedsit. The rickety chairs lay on their sides, the sash window banged ominously in its frame with the charging easterly, and beyond the wharf, through the curtain of rain and murky creeping night, the usually placid water of Painted Bay churned like a caldron, the surface lit by sheets of lightning that caught the dance of flung spume to explode like glittering fireworks.

Bossy let out a mournful yowl and I drew the curtains closed against the storm and stroked the cat through my jersey. “Me too, little one. Me too. I think Mack can wait until tomorrow for the dog food.” I pulled out my phone to text Leroy.

No problem. Leroy texted back.She can have leftovers tonight. You okay up there?

I winced at the graunch and creak of the roof trusses and hugged Bossy tighter.Yeah fine.

Come and join us if it gets too hairy.

Yeah, right. Like I was ever going to do that with Judah and his friend arriving for dinner.Thanks.Your new lodger arrive?

Flight was delayed. They’re on their way back now. See you in the morning.

I texted a thumbs-up emoji and pocketed my phone. Then I poked my head into the small laundry to check on my own lodger. “Hey there, Widget.”

The brown-and-white lop-eared bunny glanced up from his pile of vegetables, seemingly unfazed by the storm. I shook my head and lifted him from his cage to check on his leg, or lack of it, as it happened. The rabbit had been found in someone’s back garden with his rear leg half-chewed off. The local vet recognised a well-loved pet and removed the leg rather than put the rabbit down and I’d agreed to look after him until Gavin found the family. It wasn’t the first time.

The wound was clean and dry, so I puffed some antibiotic powder over the site and returned Widget to his dinner, which only made me think of my own rumbling stomach. Sour snakes did not a meal make.

I put Martha’s lasagne in the oven to heat and then showered, groaning with pleasure as the waterfall of hot needles washed the accumulated salt from my body. Water swirled around my feet and over the inky tiles. Come morning, the shower floor would be a mass of silver-crusted trails. Some days it felt like I carried half the ocean home with me, and if left to dry unwashed, my clothes would likely stand on their own by the morning. It was a never-ending battle that the salt inevitably won.

“You’re a damn pervert,” I grumbled at Bossy who sat watching me from my towel on the vanity.

He purred and began kneading the towel into submission, almost settling before thunder shook the entire bedsit on its foundations and lightning lit up the bathroom like a stage show. At the first rumbling boom, Bossy leapt from the vanity like he had a rocket up his arse and scooted behind the toilet.

“If you think I’m getting down on my knees to pull you out, you’ve got another thing coming.” I switched the water off before I drained the tank, dried, and then ran my forearm over the mirror to clear the fog.

My hair had bleached almost white gold over the summer, and I still carried a bit of a tan, which was an improvement on the pallor I usually wore. I badly needed a haircut, but I needed the money more, and the shoulder-length waves caught and pulled as I finger combed them into some kind of order that lasted all of a minute before they returned to doing whatever the hell they liked.

Just like your mother’s hair, my father’s voice came unbidden, although softer for once, and I could almost picture the brief wistful look before he’d inevitably scowl and turn away. “Fuck off out of my head, Dad.”

As if in answer, rain beat on the roof like maracas and the light bulb flickered. I eyeballed it. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I turned for a once-over inspection, not much pleased with what I saw, grimacing at the loose skin over my hips. I’d put on a little weight, although not enough to hide my ribs, and my once-solid arse still needed some rounding. But I looked better than I had six months ago when Cora found me in my car, so there was that. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if anyone was likely to see me naked anytime soon. My love life gave new meaning to the words dry spell.

“Get over yourself.” I stared hard at my reflection. “Let it go.”

I threw a couple of pills down my throat and padded out to the chest of drawers by my bed. The soft skinny jeans I’d grabbed from the local thrift shop fit me like a glove, and I threw a black thermal and a Pearl Jam sweatshirt that was two sizes too big over top. Then I added the pair of thick merino socks that Leroy had dropped off when the weather turned cool, claiming they were too small. He couldn’t lie for shit.

The cosy bedsit might be perfect for my limited needs with its tired but comfortable mismatched furniture, bright rugs, and small efficient kitchen, but it was built in an era with little regard for insulation. Its iron roof turned the space into an oven in summer and a fridge in winter, not to mention a war zone when it rained or hailed.

The heat pump Fox insisted on installing a month before was a godsend, but I couldn’t afford to run it all the time, and once it turned off, most of the heat bled through the roof and windows within minutes, leaving my breath fogging by the middle of the night. Still, they were small problems compared to sleeping in my car, and nothing that another blanket couldn’t fix. Not that it stopped Fox and Leroy checking on me all the time like freaking mother hens. But they’d done more than I could ever repay, and I wasn’t about to be a whiney little bitch on top.

I loved this bedsit. My own space.Mine.When I shut the door,no onecame in unless I wanted them to.No one. And that was worth the small inconvenience of inadequate insulation, even if the metal in my forearm ached with every degree below tropical holiday setting.

My phone buzzed on the countertop with a text, and I glanced over. My father. I rolled my eyes, wondering why I even bothered to look. The story never changed.

This is a family farm. We work it together or you hand it over but it stays in the family. That’s what your mother would’ve wanted. She wanted you to work the farm. Don’t be stupid about this.

I texted back.What family? And how the fuck would you know what she wanted?I flicked the phone to mute and threw it on the bed, knowing he wouldn’t give up at just one text. I stared at it for a moment, his words replaying in my head, stirring those doubts that always lay just under my skin. Was he right? Did it matter if he was? Should I just fucking let him have it and walk away? It would be so much easier. Whathadshe intended when she’d left me her half of the farm and then made me wait nineteen fucking years? What did she think I was going to do with it?

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