Page 49 of Her Every Fantasy

She elbowed me in the ribs. ‘I meant how did you see me over the clamour and adoration of your rugby groupies and intense bro-loving?’ she asked, tongue-in-cheek.

I didn’t smile back. ‘I always wondered why you didn’t use the library in the afternoons like you did in the evenings.’

She grimaced. ‘At that time of the day, it was tedious. I couldn’t sit five minutes without someone coming up to pick my brain about something. It was more disruptive than it was worth. That spot on the bleachers was much more peaceful once you lot left.’

I didn’t tell her how distracting her presence had been. How I couldn’t resist glancing up there every chance I got, only to find her scowling into her book. That, even visibly annoyed with everyone around her, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. ‘Hmm, that’s the price you pay for being a brainbox.’

She stepped closer to the wall, reaching out as if to stroke it. ‘I wish I could touch it,’ she said longingly. ‘But I don’t want to ruin it.’ She stared at it for another minute before she turned to me. ‘You think it’ll be here tomorrow?’ she asked, a sad note in her voice.

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

She took out her phone and repeated my gesture, then we stood in semi-comfortable silence for another few minutes.

A light breeze blew through the alley. She reached up to brush her hair back and left a streak of faint yellow paint on her cheek. I glanced at my own hands, saw them covered in black, dark green and grey streaks.

‘You ready to go?’ I asked, suddenly wanting to get away from here and all the inner questions now amplified on a wall.

She put away her phone and gave a solemn nod.

‘Wait, you have paint on your cheek.’ She reached up before I could use the unblemished part of my hand to wipe it off, and left several more streaks. ‘You’ve just made it worse, rosebud.’

Surprised, she looked down at her hands, then at mine. And laughed. ‘How would you have made it better with those hands?’

A reluctant grin attacked my lips. ‘Guess we’ll never know. Let’s go.’

The atmosphere was lighter as we left the artists’ village and found a cab. The paint had dried on our fingersby the time we arrived at Marina Bay to pick up my car but we were still too messy to stop at any upmarket restaurants. By mutual agreement we decided to order takeout.

My phone rang as we entered the apartment. The name on the screen made my stomach drop.

Savvie eyed my ringing phone, one eyebrow lifted.

‘It’s Graciela,’ I confessed reluctantly.

Her brow stayed up for another second, then she nodded. ‘I’ll go warm up the shower. Come join me when you’re done,’ she said graciously. I wanted to kiss her.

What I didn’t want to do was talk to my sister. She’d either be in blame mode or in the other mode I hated even more.

Control freak mode.

My sister had developed that streak somewhere after her ninth birthday. Perhaps it was middle-child syndrome. But I suspect it had something to do with the letter she’d received from our parents.

My letter had broken something inside me. And overnight, something had snapped within her too.

Gideon, already a remote figure consumedby his own demons, had barely noticed the torment we were going through. But as the last born, I’d endured the brunt of Graciela’s reaction.

Since then, she’d deluded herself into thinking she could control life justby wielding the reins of any situation she found herself in. More often than not all she did was drive people nuts and alienate those around her. The one and only time I’d tried to point that out to her, we’d had a monster of a row. One whose ghost still drifted through our interactions.

After the emotionally charged few hours I’d been through, she was the last person I felt like dealing with.

Reluctantly, I answered...just as she rang off. A little relieved, I sent a quick text.

Not a good time. I’ll call you later.

Her reply arrived seconds later.

You’re avoiding me because you think this is personal. It’s not. Need a quote from you for the feature story for The Sylph, due in the next issue of Mortimer Quarterly. So get over your bloody self and answer your phone! G

I dismissed the bite of guilt after reading the text.

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