I look down guiltily at my pyjamas.
“I’ve been dying to take Frank to Europe before we’re too old,” Celia says wistfully. “That shop of his, it’s a millstone. Not been farther than Auckland in the last twenty years.”
“Well, there are worse places to be.”
“You’re right, there.”
She’s gazing out at the lake too.
Now that we’ve broken the ice, I pluck up the courage to broach what I’ve been dying to ask.
“Uhh… my new employer, Mr Cobain,” I throw in casually. “What’s he like, then?”
“You not met him yet? Have you not had a skype call with him, or anything?”
Celia gives me a concerned mother look.
“Struth!”
“I answered an ad online a friend sent me. Then Mr Cobain texted me.”
“So, how d’you know he’s not an axe-murderer? Or that he’s not one of them dodgy types that’ll lock you up in a basement or’ll sell you to a gang and auction you off for the Asian sex trade?”
“Uhh … I …,”
“Y’ need to be more careful, love.”
She shuts up abruptly, realising that I’m rattled.
And I am. I feel the knife on my neck again and the blood draining out of me as I go a little giddy.
“Honey, are you alright?”
She clucks over me, making me sit down on one of the green velvet sofas. She’s staring at the scar on my neck.
“You’ve gone white as a ghost. My big mouth runs away with me sometimes. I’ve been watching too many films. You’ll be fine here. Mr Cobain’s a real gent.”
“Yeah, he seems nice.”
He’d left me a note on the worktop.
‘Welcome to NZ’
It said that he’d stocked up the fridge and to make herself at home in any of the empty bedrooms.
“He said he’d call me once I’ve settled in.”
I took the room at the front of the main house with a glorious view of the lake. It’s next to the one his things are in. If that’s awkward, I’ll move.
“He’s a Pom,” Celia runs on, eager to recover things. “Early thirties, I’d say. But I think he might be...?”
Celia looks at me searchingly.
“What?”
“You know?” she adds conspiratorially, “I think…. he’s… batting for the other team.”
“You mean he’s gay?”
“Frank says I’m a loony, but I’ve sussed him.”
“Why d’ya think he’s gay?”
“When I hinted about a couple of lovely girls who’d jump at meeting a handsome fulla like him, he says to me he’s not interested.”
“P’raps he’s got a girlfriend?”
“And him out here, on his own? No, there’s no one else, I’m sure of it. And y’ gotta admit, he’s pretty handy, eh? He’s done this place up real tasteful. He’s got that artistic eye they have, ya know, for colours and design and whatnot.”
I relax a little and take a sip of tea.
“Hmm … I did get the advert from this job sent to me by my gay friend.”
I realise I’m adding more weight to Celia’s theory.
“If Mr Cobain is anything like my friend Jason, I’ll be fine.”
Celia looks at me triumphantly.
“And he can’t fish to save his life, sweetie,” she shares with me in confidence. “So don’t be thinking you’ll be livin’ on trout from the lake. The fish are quite safe from him. My advice to you, love, is to fill up your freezer.”
???
After the morning madness of boys showering, getting their school stuff together and clamouring for their breakfasts, Shaun found daytime at the hostel eerily quiet. And if he was being honest, a little tedious.
In the mornings he helped with cleaning and laundry, shopped for groceries and prepared the boys’ meals. In the afternoon he tried to go for a walk or he’d go with Ari to throw a line off the rocks into the sea.
What was it with Kiwis? Every time, Ari caught three, even four fish. He’d still caught nothing. Ari thought he might have better luck spear-fishing and promised to take him when the sea was calmer. He had a sniper’s aim, after all. He hoped to God he’d be better at that.
Shaun checked his watch and felt that now familiar churn in his gut that came every time he thought about her. Claire had been at the lodge for two whole days.
When would be the appropriate time to contact her?
And if he called would she recognise his voice? Probably. It was too risky.
As her employer he needed to keep it formal. Dictate the terms of communication he concluded, overruling his impetuous fingers that were itching to video call her there and then.
Everyone was busy with homework and Ari was over at Michelle’s parents’ place, where he lived when he wasn’t at the hostel. Mateo had his final exams coming up, so he’d hardly seen him and Rawiri had finished his work and was playing a video game. They were a good bunch of boys.
He sent her a short chat message. He hoped she’d settled into the lodge and that she was enjoying living at the lake. It was quite vanilla. But, it was all he could think to say.
There was no reply. Feeling restless, Shaun fetched Jake’s diary from under the bed. He needed something to distract his thoughts.
January 17th
The weather’s been real hot lately. I think we might be in for a drought. The lake level’s dropped to the lowest I seen since I’ve been here and I’m visiting all the campers reminding them about the fire ban. Nine times out of ten they’re as good as gold.
Every day over the last few days I seen them Cobras buzzing around on bikes near the lake. Something’s off. Never had no bother in ten years from them, and all of a sudden it’s like they’re circling.
I called the station about it. Mikey says that they’ll keep an eye. They’ll probably send a squad car this way when they’re up north next.
Perhaps it’s just me, but I kind of feel protective of these two. They’ve been with me a week now, and even though I shouldn’t get attached, that little one she’s as cute as. A bright little button of a thing she is.
Her mum got a bit munted last night on the wine and let it all slip out. First time she’s said anything about why they’re here. The little girl’s dad was mixed up in drugs in London. An accountant or something like that, she said. Anyways she was the main witness at the trial.
It explains why it’s taken a good week to get rid of that strung out look of hers, but she’s starting to relax a bit more now. Get used to our Kiwi ways.
Shaun’s head was spinning. He’d presumed the place was a weekend fishing retreat. But it was, in fact, a safe house all along. He flicked through the diary, there was one entry left and it was short.
Jan 24th
All I can think is that they’ve had a tip-off from someone. How else would they’ve known?
Why else would they have tried to shoot Chantelle and litt
le Isla?
I put the fire in the kitchen out before it could take hold. It was damn lucky I heard the glass smash or those petrol bombs would of done for the whole place. Bastards would’ve torched us in our beds.
The police whisked the two away right there and then. In the middle of the night.
I called my man in the consulate the next day but he was clammed up tighter than a gnat’s arse too. Would only tell me that they’re both safe. That’s good I suppose. But I miss them and I don’t mind saying it. It was nice having them around.
It’s real quiet here now, though there’s plenty for me to do. The potshots those Cobras took went right through the roof on the west side wing and it’ll need fixing before the winter rains set in. I’ve boarded up the kitchen as best I can ‘til I get some glass.
A shiver ran through him as he began to join the dots. He flicked through the diary. There were no more entries. He couldn’t leave it like this, he needed to know more.
Did the Cobras have a contract to kill the woman and the girl?
Posing as a hitman he knew how the contracts worked. Like some old-fashioned wanted poster in a Wild West saloon bar. Wanted Dead or Alive. Only now it was posted up on the dark web. And somewhere, on an encrypted message board in cyberspace was a wanted poster, a contract out on him too.
He only had half the tale. What had happened afterwards to Jake?
He grabbed his phone.
“Frank, it’s Shaun.”
He hoped he didn’t sound rude but this couldn’t wait. He had Claire out at the lake. He needed to check that the threat was gone.
The line was a little crackly with a poor signal.
“I’ve read Jake’s diary. I need to know. Was he killed by the Cobras?”
He talked softly into his phone in his room, hoping that his voice wouldn’t carry and the boys couldn’t hear him.
Frank confirmed the worst.
He told him everything. It was a relief, Frank admitted. He hadn’t known what to do for the best. Keep it zipped or blab.