Toby didn’t look like he believed him.
The whole way to Silver Daughters Ink, Scott mapped the visit in his head. He would look Sam in the eye, give her his father’s new and undoubtedly bonkers offer and tell her he’d moved to Melbourne but he wouldn’t be around anymore. He needed a fresh start and he wasn’t getting one panting after the same girl he’d had a crush on since he was eight.
He parked his BMW in a two-hour zone and headed for the studio on foot. The place was open late on Thursdays and he could have gone home and changed into something a little less formal than a suit, but he didn’t want to. This was who he was, dammit. He was a posho and wore suits and worked in finance. What was the point of pretending he was anything else?
Scott’s hands were clammy as he pushed open the door to the studio. A loud lion’s roar sounded and a girl with bright blue hair looked up from the reception desk, grinned and then bobbed a terrible curtsey. “Hello good sir, how mayeth I help you today?”
He wondered if she was making fun of his accent, then realised he hadn’t said anything yet. “Ah, I’m here to speak to Samantha DaSilva?”
The girl’s mischievous face brightened. “Oh right-o guvner! Samantha, you say? Yeah, she ain’t in right now and she don’t have a personal tellyphone, but I can take ya numba and give ya a bell when she gets back in, yeah?”
She was combining several British accents—all of them terrible—but there was no mistaking she was now, officially, making fun of him. Scott cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that in a slightly less mocking sort of way?”
The girl grinned. “Sorry, your accent is lol. Plus, I’m bored. Why do you want to see Sammy? Does she do your work?”
Scott was briefly confused then realised she meant tattooing work. “No, I don’t have any tattoos.”
The girl looked him up and down. “That’s a shame, you’re rocking a pretty solid rig under that outfit, guvner.”
She gave him a mock-lascivious wink and Scott attempted to smile in return. He never knew what to do with outlandish flirting and he especially didn’t know what to do when it was coming from this girl. Everything about her was energetic—her hair color, her bright red swing dress, her voice. Her tattoos were so large and colorful she looked as though she were carrying a whole children’s book on her skin. Scott was about to make an excuse and beg off when he noticed the incredible blue of the girl’s eyes. “Tabitha?”
“Whoa! How d’you know my name, brah?” She looked down at her chest, as though she might be wearing a name tag she didn’t know about.
How could he have missed it? His dad hadsaidshe was here and, blue hair be damned, she looked exactly the same. “I used to live next door to you. I’m Scott Sanderson?”
Tabitha’s bubble-gum pink mouth fell open. “Galahad?”
“I…yes?”
“Oh wow! My sister used to fucking hate you!”
Scott grimaced. “Yes, she did, you all did, as I remember.”
Tabitha DaSilva’s buoyant expression was suddenly severe. “You threw my Polly Pocket roller skates over the power line!”
Scott had forgotten about that. He’d forgotten most of the things he’d done to the DaSilvas, forgotten or forced down out of guilt. “I’m sorry.”
She pointed a pale bejewelled finger at him. “I loved those skates!”
“I mean, you did spray paint my bike pink?”
“That’s not even close to being the same thing! You could still use your bike; I had to look up at those skates, day and night, knowing I’d never use them again. It washeartbreaking.”
She was saying all of this very loudly. Scott could see this was all theater to her. All play. The kind of girl who loved to raise the stakes in any situation.
“You put spackle in my hair,” he reminded her. “I had to get my head shaved. Everyone at school thought I had lice.”
Tabitha doubled over laughing. “I forgot about that! That was hilarious!”
“I’m glad you remember it fondly,” Scott said, working hard not to smile. “I missed a week of school.”
“Amazing.” Tabitha wiped an imaginary tear from under a heavily mascaraed eye. “So, you’re like…British now?”
“I was always…” Scott decided not to bother. “Yes. I’m British now.”
“Good for you. And you still want to bone my sister? Is that why you’re here?”
Scott felt his blood temperature shoot upward. “No.”