Thirty Days: Part One Read online

  “See, a good laugh is what you needed and breakfast.” He sounds relieved.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you feel about last night with your co-worker, now that you’ve gotten that off your chest?”

  “Angry—no, pissed off. What I can’t understand is why. Why him? Why now? Why after only just meeting him? That’s fucked up, right?”

  “Nope, it’s not.” His words seem believable.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know these things.” Rubbing small circles on my back, he says, “Abigail, it will be okay, trust me.”

  “You should never trust a person who says trust me.”

  He chuckles. “So what’s he like?”

  “In bed? Jackson, that’s fowl!”

  “No,” he replies with a grin. “What’s he like as a person?”

  I sit picturing his face. That scar, his eyes, those lips. The sound of his laughter as his head throws back. “He’s funny.”

  “Funny’s good, right?”

  “I guess so. He’s also witty and nice. Delicious in a suit or jeans or naked. God, he’s nice. I feel safe, even comfortable in his presence.”

  “You’re drooling, Abigail.”

  “Am not.”

  Mosby slaps my arm gently. “You so are. So what’s he do at the office?”

  “He’s an assistant like me. I think he works for one of the other solicitors. He’s not on my floor. That’s all I know about him.”

  “Well, maybe just give it time. See where this goes?”

  “This is going in the trash where I never have to deal with it again. To him I’m invisible from this moment on. I’d only ruin his life anyway.”

  “Whatever, Abigail, just give yourself time, okay?”

  Flipping Jackson the bird for the second time this morning, we are interrupted by the same stomping feet that walked these floors last night.

  “Quick, she’s heading this way, protect yourself,” Mosby says sarcastically, standing to his feet before dancing a short distance down the hall until he has Sammy in his arms. “Morning, beautiful, I missed you last night.” He swoons, staring deeply into her eyes.

  Sammy kisses him passionately, longingly and with need.

  “Get a room, you two,” I taunt.

  “You,” she scolds, breaking contact and pointing her finger towards me. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

  “Not that I know of.” I shrug.

  “Work, Abigail, you need to get ready for fucking work. Trish’s dad has done you a massive favour. I’m not allowing you to screw this up. Get in your car, go home, and get dressed. Turn up to work on time. Do you hear me?”

  “Shit! Loud and clear. Pms’ing, are we?”

  Her eyes roll. “No, my best friend is pressing my patience, and she needs to get her shit together before I commit her to a bloody mental institution.” Sammy’s voice rises as her statement concludes.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her this angry at me. Maybe the time I passed out on her front lawn?

  “Fine. I’m going.” I put my hands up in surrender. “Where’s my bag and keys?”

  “Over there.” She points at the small table by the front door.

  “I’m leaving,” I say, collecting my things.

  “Good. And call me tonight as soon as you finish work, capiche?”

  “Capiche.”

  I might have just pushed Ginger a little too far.

  Wrath

  “Where the hell have you been? Abigail, I’ve just about had enough. I’ve been sick with worry. Physically sick. You’re killing me, you know, killing me.” Mum’s rant, which is filled with fear, anger, and love, greets me as I make my way through the front door. “Why, Abigail? Why must you continue to give me so much stress?” Her eyes glisten with moisture.

  Part of me—hell, ninety percent of me wants to lash out at her. I don’t. Instead, I walk towards her and straight into crossed arms that soon wrap around me.

  “Abigail, please, petal, stop. Let this go and move on. It’s time. You can’t spend your life bitter and living in the past. Embrace your future and the opportunities it will bring, okay?”

  “Okay, Mum, I’ll try. I’m very sorry,” I whisper.

  “If you say so.”

  Trying to pull my body away from her, she squeezes me one last time, then lets go.

  “I need to get ready for work, so I’ll see you tonight?”

  She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself further. “Well, I’ve got five days off. Lord knows I need them with a kid like you.”

  “Hey, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m twenty-four, completely grown. I can take care of myself.” We stand there, both headstrong, both exhausted.

  “You’re almost twenty-five, for starters, but the way you’re acting you would think you were still five years old. You should be out there living, Abi, not in here waiting to die.”

  “Dramatic,” I sing the word, making her head shake in response.

  “Go to work, Abigail, and come straight home afterwards. You’re grounded.”

  Placing both hands over my heart, I mouth the word, “Crushed.” Marcus.

  “Work, now,” she scolds.

  “Right away.” I salute before the bedroom door closes and operation get to work on time commences. I’m cutting it close. The clock reads 8:30 a.m. It’s never going to happen.

  ***

  Bertha pulls into the car park, barrelling over a small speed bump.

  “Fuck, I’m late.” I leap from the car.

  The doors of Sims, General, and Klein part, and Asher is standing behind the counter as I clop heavily on my heels.

  “Good morning, Abigail.”

  “Hi, Asher. I’m late. Jasmine is going to be pissed.”

  “Calm down, she’s in a meeting this morning. Here, take these documents and get copies of them. She will never know. I’ll take your bag into your office.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Ash, thank you.”

  “Anytime.” Her eyes narrow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hey, sorry for standing you up last night.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” I say reassuringly. “How’s your brother?” I question, passing over my bag.

  “He’s fine, a few bumps and bruises. He’ll survive. Brad, my brother, was released around eleven last night. The doctor’s orders were rest and pampering. Mum has it covered.”

  “Good to hear. I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “So am I. I swear that boy will be the death of my parents.”

  I laugh.

  “What’s funny?”

  “My mum said the same thing to me this morning.”

  Asher looks puzzled.

  “Long story,” I call out, entering the room where the photocopier is housed. “Please don’t let Marcus come here,” I pray quietly, loading the documents into the machine. He doesn’t come, and I’m relieved.

  Jasmine is none the wiser about my tardiness, so the day goes off without a hitch. Well, that is, until four p.m. when she enters my office holding an envelope.

  “Abigail, you have done a good job today.”

  Praise, really? “Thank you.” But then I wait for a sarcastic lecture about how she was joking and I actually didn’t perform well at all. It doesn’t come.

  Sitting down across from me, she passes the envelope over.

  My hands shake as I remove it from her grip. “What’s this? My letter of dismissal?”

  Her eyes narrow. “No. Why would you think that?” she questions while straightening her scarf.

  “No reason.” I take a moment. I’m strangely relieved that I get to stay. “So what is it?”

  “Open it and we will discuss the contents.” She waits patiently.

  My shaky fingers tear the seal open. “A plane ticket?” I gasp. Each line of information makes me more confused as I read it, trying to understand that what I’m indeed seeing is correct. “Sydney, departing Sunday afternoon. Why?”

&nb
sp; Jasmine takes a long inhale, then places her hands heavily onto the table. As she does this I notice how tired she looks. Maybe her day has been extra hectic.

  “Abigail, we need you to assist another one of our solicitors for a week at our Sydney office. We have a big family court case that is being heard, and we need the extra hands.”

  “I’ve only been here for two days. Surely I’m underqualified to assist?” Confusion.

  “These are my orders, and travel is part of the job.”

  “Since when?”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “Well, is it for Mr. Sims?”

  “No, he does only property and contract law. Mr. Klein does family and criminal law, so you will be assisting him.”

  “I don’t even know him. Why aren’t his assistants going?”

  Jasmine starts to get annoyed by my questions, but I don’t have any idea why I need to go.

  “Both have been struck down with influenza and are very sick.”

  It dawns on me that this is probably why I haven’t seen Marcus today. He’s sick. Or pretending. Fuck, what if he is sick? Maybe I’ll get this flu before the weekend? Should I tell Jasmine? What would I say? So I fucked Marcus last night. You see, I didn’t mention I’m a big whore on my application. That’s because prior to last night I wasn’t one, but now I am, and I’m probably going to be out of action before Sunday. Anyway, if the flu is that bad, find someone else. I shake my head. What a fucking mess!

  “Why can’t you go? Or one of the other personal assistants?” My fingers press hard into my sudden pulsing temples. Ones that now threaten a killer headache.

  “Because we are needed here. Look, you will do fine. I’ll give you a folder with all your duties for the week and the case notes before you leave. You can take tomorrow off to prepare and to look through the documentation. On Sunday afternoon you will catch the flight. Your food and accommodation are paid for and everything you will need is provided. Mr. Klein will meet you on the plane. You will be seated with him and can run through the week’s itinerary.” Jasmine takes a needy breath as hope fills her gaze. Hope that I just do as I’m told, I’m sure.

  “Fine,” I scoff.

  “Good. Now finish up what you’re doing and then come by my office. Everything you need is there.”

  “Right.” The door closes softly before my head drops to the table. “Why me?” I whine.

  At the end of the day, I greet Bertha with tired eyes and a massive binder. The drive home is so slow I take micro sleeps at the traffic lights. Mum is home when I finally get through the door, and she looks pleased to see me.

  “Abigail, good you’re home. Do you want to come for a walk with me?” She’s dressed in workout gear and sneakers. I’m guessing she wants to go soon rather than later.

  “Walking is exercise. I don’t exercise.” I roll my eyes, placing my bag, including the binder, onto the table.

  “The fresh air will do you good, petal. We can talk.”

  “No, I’m good, Mum. I need sleep.”

  “Are you going to at least eat dinner tonight?”

  “Pass.”

  “You have to eat.” Her expression fills with worry.

  Why is Mum worrying so much lately?

  “I ate lasagne and salad at work. I’ll nibble later. Sleep is so much more important.”

  “If that’s what you want.” She sounds disappointed.

  “Mum, I promise I’ll go for a walk tomorrow. Night, Mum.”

  She kisses my forehand. “Night, petal.”

  My eyes close the moment my head hits the pillow. Drifting into sleep, I think of Marcus and for some reason these thoughts take me into a peaceful dream. The memories that normally haunt me give me some time off as I rest comfortably for the first time in a long time.

  Bon Voyage

  The last two days I’ve washed, packed, eaten, watched movies, and sulked.

  Mum…Sammy, well, everybody thinks it’s great I’m being forced to travel for work. “Time away will be good for you. You’ll be busy and away from this place you so desperately want to leave anyway.”

  I strongly disagree, not with the leaving this crap-hole of bad memories, but with the having to work away shit. I mean, it’s not a vacation, people. It’s work. I’ll be spending time with some up himself solicitor with a big stressful case. Real fun.

  Sunday goes so slowly, I want to rip my hair out just to pass the time.

  “For fuck’s sake! Hurry up so I can get this over with,” I yell in frustration, while watching mindless television, lying across the couch.

  “What’s wrong, petal?” Mum calls from the laundry room.

  “Nothing, Mum, I’m cursing at the television.”

  “Okay.”

  Not able to take the boredom a second longer, I leap from the couch and begin ripping through my bedroom wardrobe like a whirlwind with a mission, a mission to locate my sneakers. “When was the last time I wore them?”

  Shifting boxes from inside the wardrobe into the middle of the room, I finally locate them in a shoe box, which is right at the back of the cupboard. Of course it’s in the farthest corner. “Shit! They still look brand new.” I’m shocked at their lack of scuff marks upon opening the box. That’s probably because they are still new, Abi. I bought the shoes a week before my life became a bigger mess than it already was. Determined at the time to get fit, an entire wardrobe full of gym gear was charged to my credit card. A debt I’m still paying off.

  Squeezing my body into a pair of yoga pants and a tight singlet takes way too much effort. Enough to think a walk now is not necessary.

  “Fuck it!” I huff, stomping through the door. Fresh air will do me good, hopefully.

  It is as hot as shit outside, and this was one hundred percent a stupid idea. My feet, however, without my consent, continue to stride along the never-ending footpath as I break into a full sweat. Something about each foot landing and then breaking contact brings clarity. The sound of cars cruising by and the world moving at a similar pace helps to settle my nerves.

  “Sydney will be fun,” I tell myself between long puffs. Life goes on, right?

  The streets look the same as I make my return journey.

  “At least I didn’t get lost, yay me.” I applaud, entering the gate, exhausted and smelly. But then I see Mum waiting by the door that is flung wide open.

  “Where have you been?” She’s pissed.

  “Went for a walk?” I push past her and head for the kitchen.

  Irritated mother is hot on my heels. “In the middle of the day?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Did you take any water with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Abigail!”

  “What? I’m a big girl, Mummy.” I giggle before gulping from a cold bottle of water.

  As I turn to face her, she exaggerates an eye roll.

  “Go shower. Lunch is almost ready.”

  “What did you make?”

  “Egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.” As soon as she says it, thoughts of Marcus pop back into my head. Leyton’s and my attempted disappearing act play like a television show.

  “I’m going for a shower. I’ll be out soon.”

  “Next time tell me you’re going out.”

  I shake my head as distance falls between us. “Whatever, Mum.”

  ***

  The afternoon flies by, thankfully. Before long, Mum is driving us to Maroochydore for my flight out. A week away from the Coast will probably do me good. Mum definitely needs a break from me, and I could use some space as well.

  “Did you get everything?”

  “Well, hopefully. It’s a bit late now, if I didn’t.”

  “True.” She smirks. “So what do you know about this solicitor you’ll be working for?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I’ll meet him for the first time on the plane. Apparently, he was in meetings all afternoon Thursday, so I didn’t have an opportunity then. Asher says he’s nice, a little smug at ti
mes, but he’ll treat me well. So that’s something. Maybe he will be like a father figure. That would be refreshing.”

  “You miss your dad, don’t you?”

  “Every day.” I sigh.

  “Me too, petal, me too.” Instant sadness crosses her face.

  The silence resumes. It’s a welcome quiet because I’m guessing this week will be crazy as shit.

  “Have a good time, petal. Answer my calls and don’t drink alcohol. No alcohol,” she scolds as we pull up outside the departure doors.

  “Almost twenty-five—big girl—capable of taking care of myself,” I reply slowly and clearly upon exiting the car.

  “Well, prove it.”

  “Mum, it will be fine. Stop.”

  She smiles sweetly. “Love you, Abigail.”

  “Heart you, too, Mum.”

  There’s a quick wave goodbye before I’m standing alone just outside the doors. Mum did offer to wait with me, but let’s face it, I’m not bloody twelve. It’s funny, though, because I know I’m going to miss her while I’m away and she’ll miss me, too. I guess since Dad passed, I’m the only one she has left, and she’s a natural born carer, so amplifying her love for me is probably how she copes.

  Entering the airport, I head straight for a little coffee shop and purchase a bottle of juice. Today’s newspaper gets my attention with the headline, ‘Bad luck for Jessy-Mae.’ I grab a copy, needing to know how unlucky this Jessy-Mae is and if we are secretly soul sisters. My mobile begins vibrating in my jeans pocket just as I take a seat in the check-in area.

  “Hey, babe, you ready for your big week away?” Sammy asks excitedly.

  “I’m only going to Sydney, for starters. It’s not like I’m backpacking through Europe. Do you people realise that this is for work?”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “No, Ginger, I’m not excited.”

  “Come on, it will be fun. You’ll learn heaps, meet new people, and eat great food. Just enjoy it, will you?” Her encouragement is so annoying.

  “I love how you look at things, which are not great, and try and make them pleasurable.”

  “You’ll see. It will be fun, so stop being so sarcastic.”

  “Sure, if blistered feet, extra sore legs, dehydration, and being bossed around nonstop is your definition of fun?”