Page 41 of The Tape Job
“Didn’t you get the email?” Vicky pauses. “Actually, you replied to the email. All the information is on there.”
I’m concentrating, listening hard, and give Ryan the signal to keep her talking.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m a dumbass. How’re you feeling, anyway?”
I scowl at him. He mouths an angry ‘What?’ as Vicky replies.
“Still sick. I think Bella will have to do the media stuff that’s planned.”
I’ve heard enough. She’s not sick, and she’s not even pretending to do her fake sick voice. I signal with my handthat Ryan can cut the call. He makes pleasantries and hangs up.
“Happy?” Ryan asks.
“No. She’s not sick, so you can do your meal prep in your own goddamn kitchen. I bet she’s faking to avoid the media stuff she’s got to do with me, so someone else has to do it.”
“Bro, she literally just said that Bella is going to do it,” he says.
“Who the fuck is Bella?” I hadn’t been listening to what she was saying, but how she was saying it. Before Ryan can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
“It’s Vicky!” I yell as I glance at the screen.
“Are you going to answer it?” Ryan asks.
“Can you keep the noise down, mate? I’m trying to watch something here,” Danny calls from the sofa.
I shake my head. She’s forgetting that I agreed to leave her alone aside from when it comes to her doing her job. I guess I’ll have to communicate with her—I’m not that much of a dick, but I can’t answer the phone as if I’m waiting for her to call me. I let it ring off and wait a solid fifteen minutes before calling her back because I’m as fake busy as she’s fake sick.
“Hi, Liam,” she says after it rings a few times. Now this is Vicky’s fake sick voice, I’m sure of it. I’ve heard it at least a dozen times when she used to call in sick to her Saturday job so we could spend the day in bed.
“Hey, I missed a call from you?” I ask, trying to sound formal.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks for calling back. I just need to let you know the plan for your social media drive: I’m sick, so Bella is going to cover for me.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. Hope you feel better soon,” I say, but I realise I need to be more meh. “Can you text it to me? I’m kind of swamped right now.”
“Oh, sure,” she mumbles.
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I round the call up before we can talk any further. Just speaking to her brings so much emotion. I want to ask her how her day has gone. I want to ask her if she slept well. I want to just talk to her. I already feel like hugging her at the rest stop was a step out of line, so making idle conversation now isn’t a good idea.
I can feel Danny and Ryan watching me, so I get up and head to my room, locking the door behind me. I lay on my bed and try to block out all thoughts of Vicky. But it doesn’t take me long to stray. Soon enough, I cycle through my Google drive of all the photos I’ve got of Vicky, with Vicky, some of them by Vicky too. It’s hard for my heart, but I can’t help myself.
As I’m flicking through the photos, my thumb scrolling, I come to a stop on the media folder—and one file in particular. It’s a file that I haven’t forgotten about, but I’ve not actively thought of either. I wonder if I should open it, but it feels … wrong? I’m not sure. My heart is beating fiercely in my chest. I make a split-second decision and tap on the video to start the download.
“Lee, are you eating?” The bang on my door comes before the video even downloads, snapping me back. “Jen’s cooking,” my brother shouts. I lay there for a moment, wondering if I can watch just a few seconds of it, but he bangs again. “She’s doing potatoes.”
I guess that’s the universe telling me I shouldn’t watch the damn clip.
Chapter 11
Vicky
I’ve been ‘fake-sick’ for a few days now, and I’m wondering how long I can keep up the façade. Jen must know I’m not actually sick. Ryan’s been acting like I’m a leper, whereas she’s still happy to use the same kitchen as me, which is where I am when she gets home from work. She’s carrying groceries and sets them down on the white marble effect counter before turning to me.
“I’ve got you a few things. You know, to keep your strength up.” She searches through the bags. I can smell freshly baked bread and crane my neck to see what else she has.
She lines a few items out on the counter: the bread, some fresh soup, a bar of Galaxy chocolate. She rummages through the bags and pulls out a magazine and bubble bath.
“I appreciate it, Jen, thanks.” I don’t offer her a hug, but I gave her my warmest smile because she’s so considerate—even when I’mfaking it.
