For a few seconds I just stood there gaping like a goldfish out of water. It sounded incredible, but made sense at the same time.
I stared at Rafe as he stood in front of me. The poor guy was breathless and close to tears. “I’m sorry, Rafe,” I murmured, resisting the impulse to comfort him. He looked so forlorn, and I knew that he’d been hurt by Jenny as well. We were both victims of hers, and whether or not she had some deep-seated resentment for me, Rafe didn’t deserve to be a pawn in her game. “I’m so sorry but I can’t be with you after that. It wasn’t your fault, I see that now. But you were weak, Rafe. You should have loved me more.”
I left him sitting on his sofa, head in his hands.
After deciding I couldn’t take any more drama I headed to the only place left for me to go.
Another cab ride later and my dad opened the door.
As soon as I saw him I burst into tears.
“What is it, honey?” he asked as he instinctively stepped out onto the stoop to hold me.
“It’s Jenny, daddy,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. “She’s wrecked everything again.”
I thought I heard my father mutter a few swear words under his breath as he led me into the house with his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulder.
“Ah, shit,” dad sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t know why that girl turned out the way she did.” I told him about what I’d pieced together from Melissa while I sat at the kitchen table and dad prepared dinner. I’d offered to help but he’d just smiled and shook his head, saying he enjoyed doing it and that I’d only get in his way. He said it kindly though, just to show me he didn’t mean it nasty. “I gave her everything she wanted,” he added, mystified at Jenny’s seemingly relentless quest to ruin my relationships. “Every damn thing.”
“Rafe said she’s jealous of me.”
My father paused as he stirred the Bolognese sauce, turning to look at me with a quizzical raised eyebrow.
I went on. “Rafe said that Jenny told him once, when she’d had a couple of drinks, that Jenny told him that after I was born you didn’t have much time for her.”
“Bullshit!” my father exploded. He dropped the spoon into the pan of bubbling, delicious smelling sauce. “That’s just crap. She’s just a spoilt brat, plain and simple.” His jaw worked and I saw his fingers clenching and unclenching. “Goddam but she’s pissed me off!”
Anxious to deflect my father’s anger, and sorry I’d mentioned it and upset him – yet again – I said softly, “Daddy, the sauce. It’ll burn.”
“Shit,” my father blurted as he fished the spoon from the volcanic, bubbling mix. He sighed, his stirring recommenced. “Anyway,” he began, “you stay here again tonight, sweetheart. Forget your sister for now, and forget those guys who aren’t good enough for you anyway. You sleep in your old room again and forget about those two assholes.”
A laugh bubbled from me when I saw my father’s scowl. I don’t know why, he just looked so serious it was comical; all indignant and waving the spoon around.
“I feel better already, dad,” I said as I rose from the chair to give my old dad a hug.
7
At first I lay there with my eyes closed. I didn’t want to open them because I knew it would hurt even more when I did. Everything had that surreal, dreamlike sensation about it; like I wasn’t really present in my own life, as though stuff would go on around me and I wouldn’t really be there. I was thirsty as hell and I could feel that deep ache behind my eyes. I examined my teeth with my tongue – what the fuck had I eaten? My mouth tasted like I’d eaten a skunk, complete with its fur. The hangover, as I knew from experience, would only get worse as the day wore on.
Snatches of the previous day came back to me. The morning was fairly clear. I recalled the story in the paper about Kylie and the pain of betrayal, my heartache, hit me again. I remembered driving home as my mind reeled at what she’d done. Getting to my house and the satisfying snap of twisting the top off the Johnny Walker black – Hello my old friend, we’ve shared some times – is still clear.
I remember Alexandra’s arrival …
Shit. Alexandra!
I opened my eyes a crack, a peep just to ascertain where in the hell I was. I found myself on my side in my own bed. The clock told me it was seven twenty – but whether morning or evening, I wasn’t sure. I groaned when I moved too quickly, the dull throb cranking up to head-splitting levels, an ice-pick of pain.