“Who’s he?” Isaac perked up now giving the situation his full attention.
“Don’t you know who Seth Masters is?”
“No. Should I?”
Isaac was shooting daggers at me with his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. It was written all over his face. Good thing he was a lifeguard not a poker player. Poor guy wouldn’t make a cent at the tables.
“Seth Masters is the new rookie for Northshore United.”
“And they are?”
“Isaac, get with the fucking program. You need to stop watching that crap you call football, that aerial ping pong shit, and follow a real game. Real football.”
“You mean soccer?”
I found my feet. This had full-blown argument written all over it. Taking my beer, I stalked inside to the kitchen to make the salad, leaving them to bicker amongst themselves.
I’d just finished chopping everything when Alfred appeared, holding his laptop and looking concerned. A sight I rarely saw. He might’ve known and understood more than the normal human being, and certainly more than my bonehead brother, who currently had Jason in a headlock on the back veranda demanding he apologise for calling Australian Rules Football a pussy sport, but Alfred was the emotional one. He felt everything. He’d cried with me through Titanic when Rose lied and let go. Even yesterday, after I got rejected for my third phone interview, he poured me a glass of wine, handed me the jar of Nutella and a spoon.
“How much do you know about this guy, Claire?” he asked gently.
If it’d been Isaac or Jason asking, I would’ve told them to stick it up their arse and mind their business, but this was Alfred. He wasn’t asking to be an arse; he was asking because he cared.
“Honestly, not much. We met on the beach a couple of days ago. We ran the dunes together and then raced. It’s not anything more than mates.”
“Did you know who he was?”
“What are you implying? That I know his bank balance and that’s why…”
“Whoa! Whoa!”
“Do you seriously think I’m like that? That I figured out who he was and saw dollar signs?”
Now I was pissed. Before, I’d been annoyed, but now, now I was fucking furious. I know Alfred didn’t know me that well, but to think so little of me, well fuck him. I didn’t have to put up with this shit.
Leaving the knife where it was, I stomped down the hallway to my bedroom ignoring Alfred’s apologies, grabbed my purse, and was out the front door before anyone could stop me. I had no idea where I was going or what I was planning to do, but I knew if I stayed there a minute longer, I’d stab someone with a fork.
I got in my car and heard it splutter. Glancing at the fuel gauge, I noticed it didn’t move. It didn’t even try to. It wasn’t a surprise but it just added to my frustrations. Climbing back out of the car, I slammed the door harder than was necessary and started walking down the street.
When I reached the pub on the corner a couple of blocks down the road, it seemed like as good a place as any to hide for a couple of hours. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I stepped through and was walked into almost immediately, beer sloshing over the top of the glasses the guy was carrying spilling onto my toes.
“Gross,” I complained to no one as I wriggled my sticky toes.
“Shit! Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine.” I waved him off before stepping around him and heading deeper into the bar.
It wasn’t the type of place I’d normally hang out, but tonight it was perfect. It wasn’t overly crowded. It was loud. And the last thing it’d ever be described as was fashionable. No one I knew would hang out in a place like this. With its threadbare carpet, high topped tables, and scratched wooden bar, it was more like the pubs from home than an inner-city fancy pants hotel.
After grabbing myself a drink, I spotted a table in the back corner and made a beeline for it before someone else beat me. Once I was settled in, I watched the car racing on the overhead screens, completely distracted. I hadn’t seen the guy coming towards me otherwise I would’ve been more prepared when he offered to take me out the back and give it to me good.
“Ah, thanks, but I have a boyfriend,” I lied quickly, hoping it’d be enough to deter the slightly drunk guy and send him back to where he came from.
“So what? I ain’t gonna tell him,” he slurred.
“Not happening. Sorry.”
“Come on. You’re nothing flash but I’d still root ya.”
