Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fin
Driving Ivy’s battered Fiat, I take her to Glasgow airport very early the following Tuesday hoping to get to the bottom of Saturday’s mail; the catalyst of her sudden trip. Lord knows I’ve tried to get her to open up over the weekend, but she’s been so closed lipped. To my shame, I’d even gone as far as sneaking into her room to search for clues, or rather, the letter, only to be rumbled when she’d walked in. The worst of it is she seemed too distracted to recognise I’d given her a bullshit excuse.
‘You’ll message me when you arrive?’ I ask again, anxiety creeping into my tone as Ivy turns her gaze from the passenger side window.
‘For the twentieth time, yes,’ she replies wearily. ‘And once more, just for your benefit, I already have a hotel room booked and I’ll be getting a cab there straight from the airport. No murderous hitchhiking for me.’
‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’
‘And I’ll be sure not to talk to any strange men on the flight,’ she says, ignoring me. ‘Or in the airport, and I definitely won’t pop to the loo and leave my glass unattended. I don’t want to get roofied and ravished in economy class. I have lived and travelled on my own, remember. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.’
I don’t need to be clairvoyant to know this is untrue; there’s something going on. I just don’t know what.
‘I really can’t see why you couldn’t have gotten a lawyer involved. This contract bullshit seems very... well, bullshitty.’
‘Trust me,’ she says, turning away once again. ‘This is the best way. The only way.’
‘But best way to what? That’s what I don’t understand. I know I’ve been a mess the last few months, but don’t think I haven’t noticed... noticedyou.’ The lack of lightness that usually surrounds her. The negativity with which she seems to paint all men. ‘You’re not yourself, and sometimes when I look at you, you seem to be almost shimmering.’
Ivy huffs, folding her arms. ‘I think you’re right. You’ve spent too much time in your pyjamas these last few months, overdosing onTwilightand now your imagination is working overtime. Anyway,’ she adds with an audible huff. ‘The lion can eat the flippin’ lamb for all I care.’
‘Exactly my point.’ My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. ‘Mrs Vegetarian.’
‘Your skin is pale and ice cold and... and your eyes glow red.’ Hands clasped at her chest, she lays it on pretty thick. ‘You don’t sleep. You rarely go outside. I know who you are—Fin!’ Her loud cackle echoes in the tiny Fiat, sounding ridiculously false.
‘Real funny. I didn’t mean to imply you look like Disco Vampire Barbie. It’s more like you shimmer like you’re supressing... I don’t know, words, maybe?’ I slide my gaze her way. ‘Rage?’
She shoots me a withering look, her responding tone flat. ‘There’s nothing going on, so you can stop with the conspiracy theories.’
‘Theories,’ I repeat. ‘How’s this? I theorize there’s a guy at the bottom of this flight.’
She huffs again, her following words more than a touch brusque. ‘Please keep your eyes on the road. I need to get to Glasgow, not Inverness.’
‘Fine, have it your way.’
‘If I had my way he’d be at the bottom of the ocean.’ This she mutters almost under her breath.
Ispendthe rest of the car journey worrying about her. And then on my way back, worrying about seeing Rory. I didn’t call him Saturday, not after Ivy opened the damn letter. There was no way I could’ve left her alone, especially as she’d taken a vow of temporary silence while erecting a shelf of concern over her eyebrows. We’d gone upstairs after Natasha and June left for the day and she’d immediately logged onto her laptop to book a flight, point-blank refusing to discuss any of the reasons beyond what she’d already said.A contractual thing. She had to go back.
I thought about calling Rory to explain—maybe take a raincheck?—but it just seemed a little too much. Too familiar. Too easy. Too much like I was looking forward to seeing him again.In not calling, I’d decided, I was sending a message. A signal high into the sky, sort of like the one Batman has, only mine says,Not that interested.
Obviously, I didn’t think it through properly. Didn’t project the possible outcomes beyond the evening itself, because I’m now on my way to work and I’m pretty sure he’ll be there. And Iaminterested. Interested, that is, in what he has to offer.Namely some awesome sex. I know I oughtn’t, that I should keep on sending those uninterested signals, but it’s easier to ignore someone you don’t have to see.
And I have a really bad poker face.
Not to mention I’m currently dressed for ease of access. I’m wearing a dress to a building site, for fuck’s sake. And long, black boots.God, I’m such a cliché.
Awkward doesn’t even cover it.I’m going to spend my days drooling over him, aren’t I?Why did it have to be him contracted to design the gardens, anyway? I can only hope the universe is looking out for me and he’ll have been called away to other jobs today. Though not permanently because...see above reference to sex.
I don’t think I’m through having sex with him... which is probably a sign of another kind. Maybe this one needs to be placed inside a red triangle and labelleddangerous.
Oh, but sex. He wasreallygood. The best. And therefore, I’d like to do it—him—again.
There I go thinking with my recently installed metaphoric dick.
Or maybe I’m ovulating?
