“She was lying to you,” Noah muttered. “You didn’t meet her. You met a liar.”
“You don’t know that! I did meet her, and I did like her!”
Noah’s face was impassive. “Think whatever you want. But you don’t know her.”
Tabby glared at him, but she might as well have glared at the sky. Unlike the guy fly-tipping his dead Christmas tree, she knew Noah wouldn’t give her a fight.
Instead, they sat side by side as she finished her joint, and Noah hammered a third coffin nail. The night’s colour seemed to drain in the veil of their co-mingled smoke, turning the backyard into a shadowy jungle.
She wasn’t sure where the brightness had gone. Just like she wasn’t sure when she’d started pretending to be herself. These past few years, things had begun to fade like a couch bleached by the afternoon sun until, one day, everything was washed out. But there had to be colour somewhere, even if it wasn’t in Brunswick.
Years ago, she’d spent a few months in Cartagena, a beachside town along Colombia’s Caribbean coast. There was an art scene there, a tattoo scene, great live music, and white sand beaches. She’d rented a room off a local family and still talked to the eldest daughter, Mia. The Acostas could help her get settled while she looked for a tattooing gig. She still spoke decent Spanish and had a few friends in the area already teed up. What more could she want?
Beside her, Noah shifted, and she returned from her vibrant South American fantasy to suburban black and white. She’d always loved Melbourne, always called Brunswick home, but what was here besides family drama and the risk of finding Toby Tennant fornicating at every bar in town?
She imagined going upstairs, packing her bags and heading straight for the Tullamarine Airport, and lightness flooded through her.
I’m getting out of here, she told herself.I’m fucking gone.
“What’s up?” Noah asked.
Tabby realised she was shaking with excitement. She made herself go still. “You gonna tell me where Dad is or what?”
He grunted, leaving her free to return to her rapidly expanding plans.
Getting a job in Cartagena wouldn’t be a problem. She could guest tattoo in one of the existing studios or rent a place and advertise on social media. She’d done it a hundred times before. The problem was startup capital. After all the Sparkling Whine bullshit, she had about six hundred bucks in savings, and that was it. Nothing to start a life with while she built a client base in Cartagena. Not even enough for a dodgy ‘definitely going to get hit with a loose trolley during turbulence’ flight. Where could she get money? And without her sisters or Scott and Noah noticing? The Melbourne tattoo world was pretty small and if she started posting flash sales on Instagram, someone would tell Sam she was moonlighting. She needed a whale. A big client who’d pay extra for something?—
She froze, the solution so apparent she was surprised Noah hadn’t heard her thinking it. She knew the exact perfect whale. Sure, they sucked and were a cunt, but if she was leaving—and Jesus fuck, she was leaving—it didn’t matter. Toby Tennant would pay. She was pretty sure he’d pay anything for the chance to shove his dick in her face and laugh at her.
She shot to her feet so fast that her roach fell to the ground. “I’m outta here,” she told Noah. “Give my sisters my regards.”
“Where you going?”
“I’ll be home later,” she said, walking toward the back gate.The kidnapping gate,as she would now always think of it.
“Tabby? Where are you going?”
She didn’t answer. She was twenty-seven, and she could do what she wanted. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to Cartagena tonight. First, she needed to lay plans. Flicking open the slightly rusty gate latch, she headed into the nature reserve behind the house. Her heart was going gangbusters, and she took several deep breaths before pulling out her phone. It was crazy she hadn’t deleted his number; that it was still so easy to connect two points and establish a link between them. Many, many times, she’d thought about erasing his contact profile in case she went ape on LSD and called him, but she was glad she hadn’t. Ignoring her trembling fingers, she clicked on his number and watched the call come to life.
He won’t pick up, she told herself.Why would he?—
“Hello, Tabitha.”
Her phone wasn’t even near her ear when she heard his smooth, smug voice. Casual as though they spoke every day. Worse. As though he was inside her. She remembered the hot rasp of his tongue between her legs, the feel of his cock slowly stretching her ass. Then she saw him in the Village Belle, kissing two girls who weren’t her. Trembling for an entirely different reason, she brought the phone to her ear. “Let’s get something straight, you absolute candle. This isn’t me forgiving you.”
Toby laughed like an arrogant cowhole. “For what?”
“Fuck you. Want a tattoo from me or not?”
“You interested in doing it?”
“I’m not interested. But I will do it.”
“Excellent,” Toby said. “What do you?—”
“Shut up.” Her head was pounding, and years of pent-up anger poured from her like wine. “I’m gonna repeat my earlier point and say I’m not doing this by choice. I think you’re a capitalist swine, and when the time comes, I hope you get executed on live TV, and a bunch of impoverished children play in your guts.”
Toby—the asshole—chuckled. “Bit aggressive for someone who wants my business, Tabitha.”
