“Yeah, mate, nah, nah, nah, I told you! It’s sweet.”
I worked on twisting the lever of the Venetian to let in some sunlight.
“Can I help you?”
I turned to smile sweetly and met the wary face of Matt, who pocketed his phone. His beady eyes swept briefly over my face and then slowly lingered on my body with sleazy approval.
Ew.
I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Instead, I forced my smile even broader.
He relaxed his stance, leaned his hip against the bar, and crossed his arms.
“Well, I must say, this is an unexpected start to the day.”
“A rather late start to the day, isn’t it?” I quipped.
He looked like he had slept in his clothes, so it probably was his start.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s a welcome start to the day.” He smiled.
Ugh! Gross.
“The name’s Matt.” He held out his hand. “Matt King, but the locals call me Kingy.” He added a wink.
It took every ounce of my strength to reach out and take his hand. I grasped it as firmly as I could, just like my dad had taught me. Dad always said you could tell a person’s worth by their handshake, and, sure enough, Matt’s shake was clammy and limp. Seemed about right.
“Amy. Amy Henderson.”
I watched with great delight as the colour drained from Matt’s face. His smile fell as his handshake turned to dead weight.
That’s right, dip shit, that Henderson.
I sighed and looked around with my hands on my hips. “Well, I can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place, but I guess it can be expected to be a bit stuffy. It’s not like it’s used to being closed up for such long hours,” I said, giving Matt an extremely pointed look. “And opened so late in the day. Nothing that can’t be fixed with a bit of TLC, isn’t that right, Kingy?”
Matt’s mouth gaped, seemingly struggling to string together a coherent sentence.
I shouldered my bag. “I’m beat. I best drag myself upstairs and unpack.” I flashed another winning smile.
Matt just nodded, it was like he had seen a ghost, and I guess he kind of had – a ghost of Hendersons past.
I made a point of pulling open each blind I passed in one violent yank that in return made Matt wince from the bright sunlight. Each tug was like marking my territory; stamping a claim on what was mine. Dusty, dirty, dank, and depressing as it was, there was no taking the Onslow away from me. I headed towards the partition to peel myself through the restaurant to the back staircase.
“Oh, Matt?” I stilled and turned towards him.
His troubled, dazed eyes met mine.
I held my hand out … “Keys?”
Chapter Four
Unlocking the door, I kicked it open and dropped my bag inside.
Urgh. What was that smell? I winced and covered my nose, my eyes threatening to water with the pong that emanated from Dad’s two-bedroom apartment above the pub. The place looked eerie and deserted, as if Dad had literally upped and left for the day and simply not come back. His reading glasses were lying on an open book and the cushions were all skew-whiff on his favourite chair. It had his unmistakable butt indentation in the brushed suede fabric, created from many years of sitting there, kicking back. A stack of newspapers made for a stained side table; cigarette burn marks had singed the carpet; an overflowing ashtray sat at the foot of Dad’s chair; and there was a stack of pizza boxes on the coffee table that could barely be seen under all the paperwork and junk. It was the epitome of a bachelor pad set in the pits of hell; it was as disgusting as a teenage boy’s bedroom … I imagined.
It would have deeply saddened me that my father had been living like this, if I had allowed the emotion to override my anger.
Which I didn’t.
I kicked an empty, crushed soda can across the room and stormed towards the window to open it. I needed fresh air; bile threatened to burn the back of my throat if I took in one more putrid breath. I unclipped the latch on the window and groaned in frustration as the old-style latch window wouldn’t budge.
“Come on!” I bent my knees and pushed upwards with all my might, but it was no use. I felt all hot and flustered and I had to get out of this space. I stepped to my left and flung aside the heavy red velvet curtains that smelled of cigarettes and second-hand smoke. As I pushed aside the drapes, I revealed a set of grotty French doors that led onto the balcony.
Oh, please open.
I turned the lock on the handle and twisted with a silent prayer. A magical click of freedom and the door opened, rewarding me with a burst of fresh, crisp air that rolled in directly off the lake.
I stepped out and embraced the sun on my face and inhaled a much-needed breath. The balcony creaked and groaned under my feet and I smiled at the familiarity; it was as if the old girl was speaking to me. I clasped the railing and looked out over the lake and the town of Onslow that nestled directly at the bottom of the hill. The hotel was perfectly positioned up here, overlooking Lake Onslow. I was so immersed in nostalgia looking out at the sweeping views that I had almost forgotten the ashtrays, empty beer bottles, and pizza boxes, the smell! Oh, the smell …