Heller's Girlfriend (25 page)

“Clive, can you work out the
roster for the security detail and let me know by tomorrow so we
can give the men some advanced warning.”

“No problems, Boss,” Clive
grunted and left. I was about to leave as well, when he shook his
head.

“Stay please, Matilda.” I
flopped back in my chair. “Do you want to come on site visits with
me today?”

Normally I’d have loved to do
that and would have said yes in a blink. And truth be told, I badly
missed being with him. But then I thought about all that time in
the car together and remembered the last site visits I’d done with
him when he’d talked about Vanessa endlessly.

I stood up, shaking my head in
refusal, and left his office without speaking, returning to my
desk. And although it made me miserable to turn him down, I
literally just couldn’t keep talking about Vanessa any more. I’d
told him what I thought about her, he disagreed, and as far as I
was concerned there was nothing more to say on the matter. He
wouldn’t listen to me and I didn’t want to listen to him.

He set off for the day, throwing
me a troubled glance on the way out. As I had no assignment, I
helped Daniel with the mountains of filing he allowed to accumulate
until they formed an enormous paper tower threatening to topple
with any breath of wind. He then handed me a stationery-shopping
list and, for the first time since our accident, Niq and I drove
together.

He was his usual chatty self,
but his eyes darted to the side mirror constantly and he clutched
the armrest with a death grip. It was up to me to assume a calm,
uncaring demeanour to reassure him, no matter how much my own
nerves jangled. And I think I did a credible job helping him relax,
but I didn’t seem to be able to stop my eyes from constantly
flicking to the rear view mirror. We safely reached the
warehouse-sized office supply store and had a disturbingly fun time
replenishing the office’s stationery. On our return, I restocked
the stationery cupboard, tidied the office area, wiped down the
coffee machine, cleared out the fridge, washed up all the cups,
plates and cutlery that had amassed in the sink and cleaned the
office bathroom.

I took advantage of Heller’s
absence to visit my parents that evening, and craftily arranged it
so I was there in time for dinner. It was a happy surprise to find
them babysitting my two little nieces that evening. They were all
delighted to see me, especially Puddles, Mum’s over-excitable
little silky terrier, who showed me just how happy he was to see me
by peeing on my shoes.

After cleaning them for me, with
so much tender scolding of the tiny canine that he thought he’d
done something good, Mum turned her fussing to me. She exclaimed in
horror over my remaining wounds and I had to spend a few awkward
moments explaining to them about the fire. Once that whirlpool of
worry had been damped down, she started on how thin I was. I
assured her it was from exercise, not from starving myself, and
demonstrated by polishing off an enormous dinner. Then I played
Snap with my nieces, helped them take their baths and read to them,
each of them giving me a sweet little kiss and hug as I tucked them
into the beds that my brothers had used when they were kids. It
tugged at my heart that I didn’t see them more often. My other
brother, Sean, and his wife Elise, had yet to become parents, not
that I caught up with them much either.

I spent the rest of the evening
sitting on the lounge with my folks, looking at photos from their
recent trip to the mountains. There were a lot of photos of
mountains. And trees. And then, just to mix it up, mountains with
trees on them and trees with mountains in the background. I stifled
a yawn and discreetly checked my watch. It was growing quite late
so I gladly made my excuses, picking up my handbag from where I’d
carelessly tossed it in the foyer on my arrival.

I checked my phone.
Oh
dear!
I’d missed five phone calls from Heller. I hadn’t even
heard my phone ringing from inside my handbag. I rang him back as I
walked to my car, carefully watched by Mum and Dad from their
porch.

“Where have you been, Matilda?”
He sounded angry and upset. “No one knew where you were. I’ve been
ringing you for hours.”

“I decided to visit my parents.
I had dinner with them.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone
where you were going? I thought something had happened to you. I’ve
been out of my mind with worry.”

I was instantly contrite. “I’m
sorry, Heller. I didn’t think about it.”

“Come home at once.” It wasn’t a
request, it was an order.

“Okay, I’m getting in the car
now.”

I waved to Mum and Dad and drove
home as speedily as I dared, which wasn’t very fast at all. I felt
guilty, because I knew how much he would have freaked out if I
wasn’t at home and nobody knew where I was. He would have feared
the very worst. Boy, would I be in trouble when I arrived home!

As I drove along a deserted
road, the steering wheel suddenly jerked and the car took on the
awkward thumping motion that meant only one thing. I pulled over
and stepped out.
Damn!
The front right tyre was flat.
Of
all the places and times for it to happen!

I glanced around. It wasn’t a
good neighbourhood, the street empty and silent. I was immediately
nervous. I slipped back into my car, locked the doors and rang
Heller. His phone was engaged.

I rang Daniel. No answer.

Niq. No answer.

Clive. No answer.

Sid. No answer.

Will. No answer.

I thought about ringing Dad, but
after a terrible heart scare a few months ago, I was loath to ask
him to do anything physical.

Instead, I left a series of
increasingly frantic messages on people’s phones. I kept trying
Heller for the next twenty minutes, but received the engaged signal
every time.

Where was everyone when I
needed them?

Burning with frightened anger, I
hauled myself out of the car again and opened the boot, pulling out
the jack and the spare tyre. I had a vague idea of what to do,
having watched Dad and various boyfriends fixing flats before, but
I hadn’t ever done it myself. It took me a while to work out how to
use the jack, but once I managed to prop up the car, I moved as
quickly as possible, looking over my shoulder every minute in fear.
I was tightening up the nuts on the spare when loud male voices
carried down the street, growing closer.

Hurry!
I entreated
myself.

I picked up the flat tyre and
lugged it into the boot, then lowered the car and removed the jack,
throwing it in the boot carelessly. I had just slammed the boot
shut and remembered I’d forgotten to pick up the tyre lever when a
heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

“
Shit!
” I shrieked and
spun around. A medium-height man in his early twenties with short
dark hair, a small mean mouth, wearing blue jeans and a black
t-shirt, crowded me against the boot. He looked and smelled drunk,
which triggered my red alert button. One glance over his shoulder
showed me that he had five mates with him.

Oh shit.
Trouble for me.
I thought longingly of my capsicum spray, sitting in my handbag in
the front of the car.

“Hello, darling. Need a hand
with something?” the man asked, his voice slurry, standing too
close to me.

“Thanks anyway, but I’m finished
now,” I replied politely, edging away from him towards the driver’s
door.

“What’s a pretty young chick
like you doing all alone at this time of night?”

“I’m not alone. My boyfriend’s
in the car.”

He leaned down to peer through
the back window, exposing my lie instantly. “I don’t see anyone. Is
your boyfriend the Invisible Man or something?” He laughed heartily
at his own joke.

“He’s on his way. He’ll be here
in a minute. With some friends. Lots of friends.”

The man smiled and scrunched his
nose. “Don’t think so. I think it’s just little old you all alone
on this deserted street.” He moved closer. “There’s nobody around
for miles.”

I swallowed. My heart battered
against my ribs.

“I have to go.” I attempted to
back away, but was caught up tight against the boot.

“What’s the hurry? Don’t you
want to talk to me?” He leaned over and grabbed my wrist, roughly
pulling me closer to him. His breath was foul.

“Someone’s waiting for me to get
home,” I said, trying not to sound panicky. I shook my arm. “Can
you let go of me?”

“They can wait a few minutes
longer, can’t they?” His tone was casually friendly, but his grip
on my wrist was painful. “You know, I was only just saying tonight
to Thommo over there about how long it’s been since I had a bit of
fun. Do you like having fun, darling?”

I didn’t answer him.

“We could have a bit of fun
together now, couldn’t we?” He turned around and grinned at his
friends. “What do you reckon guys? Is she ripe for a bit of
fun?”

“I have to go. Really.” My
stomach tumbled unpleasantly and tears of fear prickled in my eyes.
I couldn’t take on six men by myself and I didn’t know what to
do.

Stop it!
I admonished
myself.
You are not going to start crying. Now, think! What
would Farrell advise you to do?

I knew the answer as soon as I
asked myself the question. I could even hear his gruff voice in my
head.
Protect yourself.
Find a weapon.
I slipped my
hand into the pocket of my denim skirt and closed my fingers around
my car key. It flicked out like a switchblade when a button was
pressed. It was the only thing I had on me that could be used as a
weapon apart from my hands and feet.
What about the tyre
lever?
Brilliant! Except it was still lying on the road near
the front tyre and I was currently nowhere near it.
Punch him in
the stomach and run for the tyre lever
, I suggested to myself.
Excellent plan! I thought I’d have a good chance of fending off the
men with the lever. At least for long enough to get into my car and
lock the doors. And reach my capsicum spray. And my mobile, not
that it had done me much good so far tonight.

I felt calmer already. Now I was
thinking like a real security officer.

But first, I’d better try things
Heller’s way.

I looked over to the man’s
friends, encouraged by the fact that none of them had joined in
with him in hassling me and none had moved closer to me. I was
polite. “Look guys, can you please tell your friend to back off and
to let me go? He’s being really aggressive and it’s frightening
me.”

“Ooh, widdle diddums is
fwightened by the big scawy meanie,” mocked the man, looking over
his shoulder seeking support from his friends. He really was an
obnoxious jerk. Maybe I should just stab him in the neck with the
car key to teach him a lesson about manners? It was tempting.
“Shouldn’t be out by yourself this late at night, darling.
Especially flashing your legs in that short little skirt and your
tits in that tight top. Looks to me as if you’re cruising for some
meat tonight. What’s a man supposed to think?”

“Guys, please. I had to change a
flat tyre and now I just want to go home,” I implored his friends,
not needing to inject any distress into my voice. It was already
there. “He’s hurting me.” And he was, his hand encircling one of my
wounds that hadn’t quite fully healed yet.

The men glanced at each other
silently, but none spoke.

My heart sank. They weren’t
going to help me. They must operate as a pack – the Six
Musketeers.

I tried once more. “Please,
guys. I just had dinner with my parents and played with my little
nieces. I had to suffer through my parents’ holiday photos. And
their dog pissed on my shoes.” I hoped that providing a few small
vignettes from my life would help make me a real person to them,
not just a pair of boobs on legs in a vulnerable situation.

They remained silent and the
jerk grinned back at them, appreciating the brotherly support. And
hadn’t we all once too often heard the story of a woman being
attacked while a group of men, not participating, stood by and let
it happen?

But nothing was going to happen
to me tonight without me first inflicting as much pain on as many
of these men as I possibly could. I wasn’t going to let Farrell
down. I didn’t dare.

So with my left hand tightly
gripping the car key, I bunched the fingers of my right, ready to
slog the jerk one in the guts and make a run for it towards the
tyre lever. Heller should have been speeding on his way to help me
now, but here I was on my own. That thought was as sour to me as
curdled milk.

I was just about to move my fist
when one of the other guys finally spoke up.

“Fitzy, let her go, you
dickhead.” That came from a tall man, also in his early twenties,
with equally short, blond hair and also wearing blue jeans and a
black t-shirt, but with a buttoned shirt flapping loosely over the
top.

“Fuck off, tosser.”

One of the other guys rolled his
eyes. “Oh great, here we go again. Get over it, you two.”

“No, I won’t,” insisted the
blond-haired guy. “I’m sick to death of this dickhead spoiling
every night out.”

“You better shut your fucking
mouth,” warned the jerk.

“Maybe you ought to think about
shutting
your
fucking mouth for once. Every time a decent
chick even comes near one of us,
you
have to scare her away
with your pig man routine.”

“What the fuck do you know?
Chicks love being treated mean.”

“You’re so full of crap.”
Blond-man’s eyes swivelled to me. “Go on, ask
her
if she’s
hot for you. I’ll give you a clue for free – she’s not. She’ll
never be. She thinks you’re worse than a steaming fresh pile of dog
shit in her handbag.”