Page 20 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“Yeah, well, that may be true. But I made sure that didn’t happen.” Her face dimples in a smug smile. “You should have seen me duck and dive in and out of streets and trains. I didn’t know I could be so sneaky.” She studies my face, the fact I’m not convinced written there for her to see. “Christian, it’s OK. I wasn’t in any danger.”
I’m not sure I believe that, but smart girl she is, she avoided the possibility of him tracking her.
“If you need Haley to do anything else, I’ll go with her,” Sam volunteers enthusiastically. “She’s safe with me.”
“Yeah, I absolutely believe that,” I say. I can’t help but crack a smile at this crazy woman’s offer, even though my head still throbs and I’m not sure she hasn’t fucked up my right arm permanently; although she assured me it will be fine in a day or so. “But I think I’ve got all I need here.”
Inside, the bright blue folders in orderly rows on the screen are copies of the documents I signed. My last hope is there’s some tiny loophole I can wriggle through. Some obscure clause that allows me to spill all on what’s happened. However, the production company is large and experienced in this game, and so my hope is like a tiny fish gasping for air in the polluted ocean of shit suffocating me.
“God, I’ve got to go,” the ninja nurse says, looking at her watch while stuffing almost the whole of a beignet in her mouth. She gulps a mouthful of the coffee and gathers a tote bag from the floor. It’s huge and I’m glad she dropped it on her way to investigate my bedroom, otherwise I’d have probably worn a blow from that to my skull as well.
“Might catch you tomorrow, Hales,” she says. “My first day off in a week.”
“I’ll be back at work,” Haley says. “That’s if Christian will watch Tully for me.” She glances over at me under those thick lashes. “Work will give me as many days as I need, but with the current situation, I’d rather not risk it. You know, if they have to decide who keeps their job and who doesn’t…”
Guilt nips at me, knowing I threw away the chance to keep the job she loves safe.
“You got it,” I say. “Anything for my girl Tully.”
I rub the head of the grinning dog. They’re both camped at the table, no doubt hoping for beignet crumbs.Anything for my girl Haley.That’s what I’d like to say, but it’s too soon to even think of going there.
After Sam leaves, the house descends into a scene of peaceful domestic bliss. Haley folds onto the couch in the room next door with a book. How she can read with a giant flashing snowman in a Christmas hat on the table beside her is beyond me. I adore this girl, so I suppose I’ll have to get used to her obsession with the season of the year I hate.
For me, it just brings back unpleasant memories; my family, all trapped in the house together, with Mum tiptoeing around Dad’s grumpy mood. Him resentful at her insistence he not work on the farm for this one day of the year; and my brothers quietly siding with him, while happily stuffing their faces with the food she’d spent days preparing. Perhaps, in this time here with Haley, I might see another side of Christmas. Maybe, for her, I could even learn to like it a little.
Mularkey snores comfortably at Haley’s feet. Perched on the armchair, Tully swivels her head framed in its huge cone, like Queen Elizabeth the First surveying courtiers gathered in her chambers. Eventually, accepting neither of us will free her from the confines of the plastic ruff at her neck, she collapses with a resigned canine sigh and is soon snoring, too.
I settle back in the dining room, burying my brain in numbing legal jargon, searching for something, anything, as a way out of mydilemma, staring at the screen until my eyes hurt. Two hours flick by before I give up. I’m not an unintelligent guy, but I need help.
I stand and stretch my body tall and wide, then lean through the lounge room door. Haley raises her head with a smile. It’s a small smile, but my brain, desperate for any sign that her feelings towards me have possibilities, magnifies it so it’s like I’m basking in the heat of a high wattage spotlight.
“Don’t happen to know any lawyers, do you?” I ask. The record company could produce one in an instant, but I want to keep a clear line between them and this disaster.
“I do, actually,” she says. “My friend Rachel is an absolutely kick-butt corporate lawyer.”
“You have some pretty impressive friends there.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little wistfully. “I’m the slouch of the group, no doubt about that.”
“Don’t say that. You’re no slouch. Just because you don’t go around literally or metaphorically kicking arse, doesn’t mean what you do isn’t important.”
“It’s OK,” she says. “To tell it like it is. I’m perfectly fine with it. Growing up with Ollie the musical wunderkind as your brother, you learn to accept being ordinary.”
I’m speechless. The words I’d like to say—that she’s not ordinary, that there is some indefinable quality about Haley that makes her the most extraordinary girl I’ve ever met—stick in my throat.
I’m torn. I’d love nothing more than to dispel this lie she’s told herself by holding up a mirror to show her how I see her. But if I do, I risk her glimpsing what lies beyond that; realising how obsessed I am with her. How I’ve always been obsessed, ever since seeing herunassuming goodness, her gentleness, her kindness; and that might frighten her off.
I’m saved from the decision.
“She’s on her way back from Scotland today. I’ll call her after dinner,” Haley says, heading for the kitchen. “Do you like lasagne?”
Chapter 11
Day Three
Christian’s face is expressionlessas the third episode ofWild for the Winblares into life on the TV screen. That’s no surprise—he’s seen all of this before. Although from what I’ve heard, the edited versions of these so-called ‘reality’ shows bear little resemblance to the reality of those living them.
I hadn’t realised how annoying the theme tune is. It’s deliberate, of course; they want to etch it into your brain, triggering an automatic response every time the endless trailers air, stimulating anticipation of what’s to come in each new episode.
