Plight Read online

  We owed him our lives.

  When we were just ten years old, Mr Hillier had heard our terrified cries for help and driven through a flash flood that had very quickly turned our storm drain hide-and-seek game into a matter of life or death. We’d become trapped underground behind a metal grated storm drain cover after being unable to return the way we’d entered the drain system we’d often hung out in. The rising floodwaters had been fierce, unapologetic, and rapidly climbing the height of the ledge Danielle and I were huddled upon.

  Recalling that memory, even after twenty years, still sent a chill down my spine. It had been the single most frightening experience of my life; helplessly watching as a ferocious aquatic monster chased us down.

  Thankfully, Mr Hillier — a local tree-lopper at the time — carried a chain in his utility truck and was able to winch the metal grate free of the concrete it was encased in, setting us free.

  I’d never forget that day, never forget the level of fear a person could feel, but, most importantly, I’d never forget Mr Hillier, which was why restoring the garden was so important. During the past decade, I’d allowed my busy lifestyle to overshadow what was once a fitting tribute to a hero, my hero, and that was about to change. Hillier Community Garden would return to its former glory and then some.

  My body stiffened once again as Danielle sheepishly smiled, waved, and closed the space between us. I went to lift my hand to return her gesture but fumbled with the planks of wood in my arms.

  “Shit,” I muttered, rebalancing them as she stopped before me.

  “Lots! That’s ‘lots’ of wood in your arms.” She giggled and nudged my shoulder, and I all but crumbled to the ground under the weight of nostalgia and tree offcuts.

  I managed a chuckle instead and raised my arms, flexing my biceps in the process — not that she could see them through the wood. “Na, this is nothing. I’ve only just started.”

  She dipped her head, and I caught a glimpse of a small smile before it was hidden behind several loose strands of hair that were still chocolate in colour, her manicured fingers poking them behind her ear.

  “So, how are you? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. You look … you look good.”

  Her stuttering puzzled me. Maybe she’s cold? I should lend her my jacket. I went to shrug out of the woollen coat I was wearing when I realised she was already wearing one of her own; a white puffy one with a furry hood that dangled over her shoulders. Maybe she just stutters now? Maybe she’s nervous?

  Realising I hadn’t yet answered, a playful idea entered my head, and I didn’t really think too much before deciding to just go with it. I was a little nervous, and that rarely happened.

  “This is bad luck, you know.” I gestured between the two of us. “I’m not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

  She laughed, but then her hand found her hip. “This again? This fake engagement stuff? Really?”

  I remained impassive. “You say ‘fake’ as if you mean it.”

  “I do mean it! We are not engaged, Elliot.”

  “Technically, we are.” I smiled.

  She laughed. “No, we’re not.”

  “Yeah, we are.” I stopped smiling, playing around with her a little.

  She shook her head, vehemently. “I don’t believe you.”

  I shrugged and stepped away, dropping the wood planks into a wheelbarrow. “Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant.”

  This time, both her hands found her hips, her fingers gripping the denim hugging her skin. I fought my rising eyebrow — her elevated frustration was so cute. As a child, she’d possessed a fiery attitude, except with her mum, Jeanette. Jeanette was all she had — no siblings, no father.

  “I don’t see how it is irrelevant. My not believing you is very relevant,” she stated.

  I smiled. “You’re wrong.”

  Danielle stared at me. Really stared. It was a defiant body language tactic I’d used in the courtroom many times, yet I was impressed with her determined eye contact dedication.

  I couldn’t help it and let out a laugh. “You haven’t changed much.”

  “You have!” she blurted while simultaneously scoffing.

  Her cheeks blushed, like polished apples, and I wasn’t sure whether that reaction was good or not. It was hard to tell from her broken stare and awkward shifting of boot-covered feet whether she was referring to my physical change or my playful baiting, which wasn’t something I’d ever done when we were younger — I’d learned to become a smartarse during my adult years.

  Before I could question her new rosy complexion, Jeanette sprung out from behind the garden shed and encased her daughter in a hug. “Good morning, Pumpkin.”

  “Mum! Hi.” Danielle tried to gently struggle free. “Okay, ow… you’re kinda hurting me. And you’re covered in dirt!”

  “That’s generally what happens when you do gardening, Danielle.”

  I bit my lip at Jeanette’s response. From memory, she was a force to be reckoned with, a gale force that often blew poor Danielle right over.

  “Very funny, Mum,” she muttered.

  Jeanette released her grip and stepped back, holding her daughter at arm’s length for assessment before tutting. “You’re wasting away. And why on earth are you wearing a white jacket?”

  Danielle opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, which didn’t seem to bother Jeanette because she was already dismissing any pending response by kissing Danielle on the forehead before turning to me and laughing, mockingly.

  “And you wanted to marry her when you were younger?” She patted my head, as if I was a child, and that’s when I did one of the most stupid and quite possibly bravest things of my life.

  I lied the truth.

  “I still do,” I blurted, stepping next to Danielle and pulling her to my side. “In fact, we are already engaged.”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  The air from within my lungs wooshed from my body like a balloon with a puncture that had been let loose around the room. I tried to open my mouth, to object, to speak … to just bloody take in another breath, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but register Elliot’s warm, hard, body somewhat adhered to my tiny frame.

  My God he smelled good; clean and earthy, a bit like the garden but in a yummy kind of way. And my god he looked good, too, just like his profile picture, but in an extra yummy kind of way.

  I couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment, adrift in sea-blue eyes and hair as black as ink that was somehow both neat and dishevelled. And for a second I wondered how it came to be that way, my fingers twitching and desperate to sweep it from his face so that I could study the chiselled contours of his jaw and the softness of his lips.

  “You’re what?”

  I turned my head in the direction of Elliot’s mother, Helen, who’d screeched her surprise as she halted only metres away from us, two paint tins dangling from her hands.

  My eyes bounced from her stunned face, to my mother’s equally stunned face, to Elliot’s God-knows-what-expression face, and back to Helen’s, whose mouth and eyes were slowly morphing into an incredulous smile.

  “REALLY?” she shouted, lowering the tins to the ground. “You’re both getting married? To each other? Oh my goodness, there is a God, and he’s finally listened to my prayers.” She ran toward Elliot and me and threw her arms around us, squeezing so tight that I was sure I was only seconds away from passing out. “How has this happened? I didn’t even know you were both still in touch let alone dating.”

  “We … we aren—” I stuttered but then choked on my words when she burst into tears.

  Big.

  Ugly.

  Tears

  … of absolute joy.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she sobbed. “My Elliot marrying his Danielle.” Helen released her grip and placed both her hands on either side of Elliot’s face. “I’m just so … so happy for you both.” She turned to my mother and gestured that she, too, joi
n the lovefest. “Jeanette, are you hearing this? It’s our dream come true!”

  Mum’s jaw was slack. Open. Almost detached from her face. Wisps of her greying, brunette, shoulder-length hair had fallen free of her ponytail and were covering widened eyes.

  She blew them out of her line of sight with a puff. “I’m hearing it. I’m just … confused.” Mum stepped closer and mimicked Helen’s hold of Elliot’s face by doing the same to me, her sceptical eyes, piercing and accusatory. “Danielle? Why didn’t you tell me?” Because it’s not freakin’ true.

  I wanted to cry, to punch Elliot, to grab the shovel leaning against the wheelbarrow and dig myself a grave. I wanted to die.

  “I … I didn’t because it’s not—”

  “Because it’s still new for us,” Elliot interrupted, slicing my confession like a guillotine. He pulled me to his side again, but this time his grip was harder, stiff … seemingly panicked. “We’re still testing the waters of our relationship and wanted to wait before letting our families know our intentions.” Our intentions? What bloody intentions?

  I tried to shrug out of his heavy concrete grip. “Elliot, this isn’t—”

  “ … how we wanted to tell them? I know,” he interrupted again, his eyes pleading with mine for a split second. “It’s—”

  “It’s perfect!” Mum blurted. “Oh my God! This is so, so, perfect. I knew it! I knew the two of you would end up together. All those years ago, when you would venture off to play together as soon as the sun rose and until it set, and then sometimes afterward.” Her critical eyebrow once again lifted and, once again, was directed at me. “Yes, darling, I knew about those times you snuck out of the house to meet Elliot behind the lemon tree.”

  I blushed so hard that my cheeks could’ve toasted a marshmallow.

  “You were both inseparable.” This time it was my mother’s turn to burst into tears. “And then … when we nearly lost you both during that storm … I …”

  Helen, too, resumed her intemperate sobs. Mum reached out and hugged her shoulder, and they both shared a fleeting moment of reflection that only two people who’d experienced something so emotionally scarring ever could.

  I knew that moment. I, too, had experienced it.

  Glancing up at Elliot, I noticed his welling eyes. He blinked and looked away, which was when my chest tightened and, once again, I couldn’t breathe.

  Memories of the day Elliot and I were trapped underground came crashing into my mind like the torrential floodwaters that had thundered at our feet, threatening to swallow us whole. I hadn’t thought about it or had nightmares for quite some time but, standing there, in Elliot’s and our mother’s arms, I swear I could feel the chill of the water and hear the roar of its power as it had closed in on us. No, you can’t, Danielle. You’re safe. Just breathe.

  I needed air.

  I needed out.

  I needed away from the memories I’d long buried.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened after Elliot had lied to our mothers. It was all a big blur of bullshit coated in Helen’s occasional quick hugs and Mum’s rendition of the seven dwarfs as she’d happily sung and giggled while sweeping and raking the ground around us.

  Elliot had been quiet. At least I think he had. I’d kinda switched him off the moment his fingers had laced with mine when Mum and Helen continued to cry and talk about the flood and how they nearly lost their babies. I’m sure they even yelled at us at that point, because periodical outbursts were something they never ceased. Apparently, no matter how old you were, if you’d done something that was stupid and dangerous and nearly cost your life, your parents had every right — at any moment of any day — to remind you of your idiocy with either a verbal scolding or a quick slap to the back of the head.

  And they did.

  Well, my mum did. I was fairly sure it was her way of counting her blessings, I guess, so I never complained when she did it. I could still tell that her pain and fear from that day was very raw. Mine was, too. I just tended not to think about it much. The less I allowed it to enter my mind, the less my anxiety would hold me prisoner.

  A loud bang from the slamming shed door snapped me out of my inner thoughts and nearly resulted in my underwear becoming pee-covered. My body straightened, my heart pounding, the newly cast darkness making it difficult to focus on what and who was inside the shed with me.

  My sense of smell instantly overcompensated my blackened vision, the earthy aroma of rich, damp soil assaulting my nose. Apart from thin rays of sunlight splintering through the broken window and gaps where shards of wood were missing from the shed walls, there was no other light source after the door had closed.

  I squinted, my eyes quickly focussing on Elliot, standing with his back against the door, holding it shut.

  “Danielle, I’m sor—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped quietly, pointing at him while trying not to burst into tears. “How could you do that? How could you just outright lie like that?”

  “Technically, I wasn’t—”

  “Technically, you’re full of shit!” I turned my back to him and let the garbage bag I was holding slip from my fingers to safely land on the ground by my feet. “We’re not engaged, Elliot. We never have been, so enough of the ‘technically’ crap.”

  He didn’t argue with me, but I heard his feet shuffle, together with the scrape of a shovel along the ground.

  “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I never meant to say what I did. And I never meant for our mothers to believe me and react the way they have. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

  I shook my head and gritted my teeth. “I’m so mad at you right now. You need to fix this.”

  “I know.”

  His voice was much closer than it had been seconds ago. So close, I could almost feel it. Heat surged the length of my spine, and the skin on my arms and the back of my neck prickled with curious unease. I turned to face him once again, as I didn’t want the disadvantage of him out of sight. My senses were already on high alert, not to mention his close proximity wasn’t helping.

  With my eyes now adjusted to the low light, I noticed he’d propped a shovel against the door, keeping it shut. Such a thing would normally freak a person out, as it was your typical serial killer move. But fear for my life as he stepped toward me wasn’t my natural response. And though I did feel fear, it wasn’t that type of fear. It was the fear of how my body was reacting to his advance, mixed with familiarity of a time I’d long forgotten.

  Bending down, I quickly picked up the garbage bag I’d dropped, needing some form of protective shield — my faster heart rate, elevated temperature and quickened breaths were freaking me out.

  “You need to stop,” I blurted as I straightened.

  He stopped walking toward me, as if he’d suddenly encountered an invisible wall.

  “I mean you need to stop this lie,” I continued. “It can’t go on any longer. You need to tell them the truth.”

  He tilted his head to the side and lightly dragged his gloved finger across his chin. “I’m wondering why you didn’t tell them the truth.”

  “What?” My arm fell to my side, the garbage bag clunking to the ground yet again. “I tried to but you stopped me, remember?”

  “Initially, yes. But you’ve had more than enough chances between then and now to come clean, so I’m curious as to why you haven’t done that.”

  I swear the arsehole was smirking behind his big, gloved hand — his ice-blue eyes cool and mischievous. I wanted to block their vexatious glare by tossing the garbage by my feet at him.

  “Why?” I growled, gobsmaked. “Because you got us into this, so you can get us out.”

  “What if I don’t want to get us out?”

  His response was so cool, calm and collected that it made me laugh. And not a hyena laugh, more a you-can’t-be-serious laugh. “When did you become so ridiculously crazy?”

  “When did you become so cynical?”

  “CYNICAL?” This time I did laugh lik
e a hyena. “This is not me being cynical. This is me being rational, and normal.”

  “So you’re saying I’m not normal?”

  “Um … ” My eyes almost crossed over with the weight of sarcasm behind them. “I’m not saying that. But what you’re playing at isn’t normal, Elliot. We haven’t so much as spoken in seventeen years. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

  He took another step closer, his invisible wall no longer holding him stationary. “I do know you, Danielle. A person doesn’t change with age. Only their layers do. Their core doesn’t. I know your core.”

  I didn’t know what to say so went with the first thing that popped into my head, which, of course, was stupid and a result of watching back-to-back episodes of Game of Thrones during my me time.

  “You know nothing, Elliot Parker!” I yelled, hastily fleeing for the door.

  He caught me in passing and gently but firmly held me still. “Oh, I know that.”

  The way he said “that”, and how he’d quickly glanced at where our hips brushed, how his grip tightened, and how the ice in his eyes flamed with fervour, told me he was referring to his abilities to please a woman, which also told me he was a Game of Thrones fan as well.

  I pushed him back. “I … I have a boyfriend, so you need to stop. And you need to set the record straight with our mothers. Now!”

  He chuckled and leaned back against a rotting workbench, crossing his ankles and folding his arms over his chest. “Now who’s lying, huh?”

  I crossed my arms, too. “I’m not lying.”

  “Yeah, you are. You already told me you’re single, remember?”

  “I lied then.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because lying then suggests that you wanted me to think you’re single, which contradicts you trying to fool me into believing you’re not single now.”

  What the actual fuck?

  I was so confused. “Stop trying to trick me with your cross-examination lawyer crap.”

  Elliot burst into laughter, and I couldn’t help but let a small smile find its way to the surface of my face as well, despite how grossly pissed off I was. Unfortunately, his laughter was infectious. It always had been. It was those damn glittering, giant elf eyes.