Deleilah Read online

  “What mate?” Leilah’s brows knitted as Tori used a buffing machine to remove the imperfections from her nails.

  “Tane.”

  “Tane’s still here?” Guilt and pleasure swelled in Leilah’s breast like oil and water. The urge to see him united with the desire to hide.

  “Yeah, he’s the local cop now. He’s been here about fifteen years. Married with three little kiddies.”

  “Married?” Leilah’s voice sounded harsh in the empty shop and Tori shot her a perceptive look.

  “Yup. Married. To a local girl.” She blew the dust away and admired her work, turning Leilah’s hand towards the light to see better. “Figured you knew that; it’s why you didn’t come back isn’t it?”

  Leilah swallowed, the moment uncomfortable and the woman nodded approval at her handiwork. “They’re good now. Like new hands.” She smiled and her eyes were kind. “Just be careful of Vaughan, Leilah.” Tori raised a hand in warning as Leilah opened her mouth in denial. “I mean it, girl. Watch yerself.”

  Chapter 17

  Secrets

  “Glad to have yer back.” Mari embraced Deleilah with affection, stroking the brown curls back from the younger woman’s face. “Tori’s done a good job for a change,” she conceded. “Last time she done me, she chopped my fringe when I told her not to.”

  Leilah pulled a face. “What? How could she do that?”

  “Fell asleep in her electric chair. I only sat down to rest me feet.”

  “Electric? Does it do massage?” She thought back to the Auckland salon which was once responsible for Dee Hanover’s entire image from fingernails to hair dye. A massage sounded lovely.

  “No!” Mari barked. “Electric ‘cause it gave me a bloody shock! Woke up to that woman waving a massive bill and pink hair.”

  “Tori had pink hair?” Leilah screwed up her face.

  “No! I had pink hair.”

  Leilah peeked sideways at the grey tufts unfurling from under the knitted hat. No pink strands revealed themselves and she smiled, wondering what the tiny Māori lady looked like without the hat. Mari clutched Leilah’s fingers in her fragile hand and smiled up at her, the crow’s feet at the edges of her almond shaped eyes betraying her happiness. “How long you stayin’?” Her enthusiasm seemed childlike and clutched at Leilah’s heart.

  “Not long. I bumped into Vaughan by accident and drove him home. He’s real crook at the moment.”

  Mari humphed and eyed Leilah with uncanny wisdom. “Youse runnin’ away again girly?”

  “What?” Annoyance and fear mingled in Leilah’s expression, cutting her to the core with the resonance of truth. Harvey’s angry face floated in her inner vision and she halted in the middle of the pavement as Michael’s drunken leer overlaid it. “No! Of course not.”

  “Good then,” Mari said, sounding satisfied as she pressed her top set of false teeth back into place with her tongue. “Happy to hear youse don’t do that no more.”

  Leilah’s jaw dropped open and she closed her teeth on her tongue with a snap. It hurt but proved a good tactic for squashing any hope of retort. “I need to go to the supermarket.” Leilah eyed the flat boxy structure at the end of the street. “I need rubber gloves. Vaughan’s place needs a clean up.”

  Mari snorted. “Youse should’ve got them earlier when you were there before,” she announced and Leilah’s eyes widened. Resignation closed her expression.

  “Nothing changes here, does it? When someone gets a new set of undies the town knows about it after only one wash.”

  Mari cackled. “Yep. This town would know about it before you bought ‘em. Get used to it. Come in the cafe and I’ll give you some gloves. Ted got me a large pair last week.” She held up elfin fingers and her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “I knows how you don’t like your hands being restricted.”

  Leilah’s lips parted at the memory of a pair of yellow rubber gloves which were too small for her hands. Hector made her wear them to clean out the barn and she’d sobbed for an hour at the feeling of restriction and panicked when her sweaty fingers swelled too big to come out. Mari removed them with orange handled kitchen scissors and then chased Hector around the house, threatening to cut off his extremities as punishment. Leilah’s expression softened until Mari lifted a questing index finger and dug it into the younger woman’s left breast, squeezing the mounded flesh as though expecting it to give a comic parp-parp.

  “Get off!” Leilah took a step back. “Leave them alone.”

  Mari grinned and her false teeth clacked together exposing her top gum. “I was just thinking,” she said, “You don’t mind some things being too tight.” She lurched again for Leilah’s boob as it rose in a tantalising bulb above the neck of her blouse, joined by its eager companion. Leilah stepped back with a squeak and a passing family covered their children’s eyes as the Māori woman made another grab. “Come on,” she insisted. “I just wanna little feel.”

  “Me too.” The male voice halted the hilarity as Leilah whipped round in surprise.

  “Dante?”

  The blonde man bit his full lip and squinted in the sunshine, his expensive suit out of place in the farming community’s central hub. “Yup.”

  “It sure is a day for prodigals!” Mari exclaimed, using Leilah’s distraction to grab her right breast. “These don’t feel like udders no more. Thems do feel like sacks of flour.”

  Leilah took a step back and her cheeks flushed red as she pushed her breasts further back into her bra. “Mari! Enough!” she admonished.

  Dante winked and gave his half smile, a lazy expression of lust on his handsome face. “How long are you here?” he asked and Leilah shrugged.

  “Not long.” She glared at Mari. “I don’t think I can cope with the sexual harassment.”

  Mari looked confused but Dante laughed. “Hey, kuia, wanna see if mine are real?” He jerked his groin in Mari’s direction and she sputtered a laugh.

  “Dirty boy!” she exclaimed, half bashful, half thrilled.

  Leilah shook her head in disbelief. “Twenty years away and you’re as crazy as the day I left.” She shrugged and turned to leave, waving over her shoulder and fingering the keys to Vaughan’s ute.

  “Na, wait up!” Mari protested. “Gloves!” She jerked her head towards the cafe and Dante grabbed Leilah’s hand.

  “Come on, wahine,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Let’s go drink some dishwater and please the old woman.”

  As Leilah entered the crowded space, the cafe noise faded and a hush took over the room. Feet shifted and the whispering began. Tourists continued their hushed chatter and pushed artery clogging pies into their mouths, unaware of the local folks’ unease.

  Mari ushered Leilah and Dante to the counter and barked an order at the girl behind the coffee machine. The teenager eyed Dante with interest born of curiosity and lust, admiring his sleek blonde hair and air of success. Leilah placed her order and slumped into a seat, not wanting to argue as Mari refused her coins.

  “This is painful,” she whispered, feeling the glare of the towns folks’ eyes on her back.

  “It’s always like this,” Dante answered, glancing around with confidence. “You’re like their homecoming queen.”

  “Homecoming failure, more like,” Leilah hissed. “I drove out of here bound for bigger and better things and here I am, back again with a public divorce to show for it and ownership of half a company I don’t want.”

  “Sell it,” Dante said, narrowing his eyes. “Cash in.”

  Leilah shrugged, not wanting to discuss her business with so many flapping ears nearby. “What brings you back?”

  “I come at least once every week,” he replied. “Dad’s got cancer so I take him for appointments.”

  “I’m sorry,” Leilah breathed. “That sucks! Is that why you disappeared from the lavish Auckland social scene? I missed you.”

  Her childhood friend smiled his appreciation. “That’s nice. Don’t think anyone else did.”

  Lei
lah snorted. “Whatever! The city’s littered with broken hearted debutantes desperately looking for a man to equal your reputation in the penthouse suite.”

  Dante waved away her allusion to his sexual prowess and settled perceptive blue eyes on Leilah’s face. “What happened to the dumb blonde look?”

  She shrugged. “Guess I wised up.”

  A hand on her shoulder, accompanied by the foul smell of body odour and beer made Leilah jump. Dante stood and offered his hand for a handshake, forcing the man to break contact with her. “Kia ora, Ted,” Dante said, acknowledging the old man and narrowly avoiding a hongi. Leilah wasn’t so fortunate as the pensioner bent and pressed his forehead to hers in a traditional Māori greeting. Leilah heard his teeth clacking in his mouth as he chewed something which smelled of curry.

  “Hey, Ted,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  “You come in before,” he said, perceptive brown eyes searching Leilah’s soul. “Then youse went away.”

  She nodded. “I had some stuff to sort out.”

  Ted nodded and dug food from his bottom teeth with a dirty forefinger. “Took yer twenty years did it, this sorting out?”

  Leilah’s eyes widened at the misunderstanding and she found herself speechless. The old man referred to another time; a day likened to a trip to Hell and back. She swallowed and offered no reply.

  The coffees arrived and the old man shuffled away, pinching Mari’s bum as she carried three plates at a time. She cackled and shimmied past. Dante wrinkled his nose and looked back at Leilah, seeing how shaken she appeared but choosing to ignore it. She saw the question cross his face and then be dismissed, feeling a surge of gratitude. “When did this place turn into a city of sin?” he demanded, stirring sugar into his latte.

  Leilah peered at his beautifully made beverage, complete with fern etched into the frothy milk and then stared at her own. Dishwater swam in her cup, adorned with an algae-like scum around the outer rim. She pushed it away, feeling tired. “I don’t know. It seems the same to me; like the town which time left behind. Ted pinches everyone’s bum.”

  Dante sipped his drink, giving himself a white moustache. “Yeah, I know. He pinched Aunty’s once; that’s how he lost most of his front teeth.” He winked at the girl behind the coffee machine and her cheeks flamed red. Leilah kicked him under the table.

  “Stop it! First rule of living in Te Mutunga Iho, don’t crap on your own doorstep.”

  Dante gave Leilah a lascivious grin. “You’d know.”

  She rose before the smirk left his lips. “Shut up!” she hissed and turned, leaving the cafe and hearing the jingle of the bell as the door clanged behind her.

  “Leilah!” Mari’s anxious voice cut through her misery and she turned, fixing a practiced smile on her face. “You forgot your gloves.” The arthritic fingers dangled a pair of pink rubber gloves and Leilah reached out for them, swallowing the mingling taste of fury and dismay.

  “Thanks, Mari.”

  “You ok?” The old woman reached up and brushed Leilah’s dark fringe out of her eyes. “Something’s wrong, aye?”

  The thin veneer of pretence slithered back over Leilah’s psyche, guarding her inner angst from scrutiny. Dee Hanover worked the thin, protective mask into place and Leilah relaxed under the sham and forced a smile onto her face. “I’m fine. It was a long drive towing the horse trailer. I’ll be better after a night’s sleep.”

  “Righto then.” Mari’s eyes kept their veil of suspicion. “You know where I am if you get into strife.” She held out a plastic bag and Leilah saw bottles of cleaning fluid clanking together. Her fingers shook as she grasped the handle and her confident smile drooped for a second.

  Leilah fired up Vaughan’s ute and pulled out into the lessening stream of traffic. In her rear-view mirror she saw Mari gripping Dante’s wrist and wagging her finger in his face. With a huge sigh, Leilah pointed the vehicle towards the petrol station huddled just off the main street, filled the tank and headed back to the rickety house on the hill.

  Chapter 18

  Stay or Go?

  “Don’t worry, I’ve given up.” Vaughan leaned against the doorframe and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

  “I’m nearly done.” Leilah stripped off the gloves and threw the cleaning cloth in the dustbin bag by the back door. The whole house smelled of bleach and she’d opened the windows to allow the fumes to escape.

  Vaughan glanced around in surprise at his clean house, his eyes widening as though having forgotten how it could look. “Where’s the curtains?” He pointed at the kitchen window which framed the darkness outside, his hand trembling.

  “I washed them.” Leilah rinsed her fingers under the tap and dried them on a tea towel. “I’ll rehang them tomorrow. Lay on the sofa and I’ll look at your stomach.”

  Vaughan stumbled across to the sofa and spread himself on the cushions, raising the bloodstained shirt with jerky movements. Leilah busied herself retrieving the dressings she bought in the supermarket and wrestling the cap off the antiseptic cream. She knelt by the sofa and rustled the packet of cleaning wipes. “I’m not sure I can do this.” Taking a big swallow and holding her breath, Leilah lifted the loose edge of the first wound pad. The awful sucking sound as the plastic parted company with Vaughan’s flesh was accompanied by the oozing of watery blood through the gap. “Ugh.” Leilah let go and rested her forehead on Vaughan’s thigh. “I feel sick.”

  “Just leave it.” His voice sounded husky and Leilah reached for her fake bravado, finding it gone. “I’ll sort it out myself.”

  “You won’t be able to.” Her voice wobbled with reluctance but she steeled herself and eased the pack free with the help of the greasy wipes.

  It took half an hour to lay Vaughan’s damaged stomach bare and Leilah sat back on her heels, her complexion white and her guts heaving. She squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. He watched her from under long dark eyelashes, his brow knitted in a mixture of pain and fear. “Did I do it wrong?” Leilah asked, her voice wobbling. “I’m sorry it hurt.”

  “It’s not that.” Vaughan sighed and tried to pull his shirt over his wounds. “It’s ugly.”

  “Don’t!” Leilah slapped his hand away, peering at the weeping mess spread across his midriff. “Look what you did!”

  Vaughan put his head back against the arm of the sofa, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. “It’s ugly,” he repeated, sounding like a child needing the last word.

  “Stop being a baby.” Leilah examined the wounds and pushed Vaughan’s shirt back. It wouldn’t go as far as she needed and intent on her task, she unfastened the lower three buttons. It still wasn’t enough and she undid more, pushing the material back to reveal an older scar that plunged from his sternum in a faint white ridge. His skin felt soft against the backs of her fingers and Leilah pursed her lips, feeling his eyes flick to the blush on her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said, her touch gentle as she ran her index finger across the healed ridge. “It’s hard when your body won’t behave as you want. These look ok though. Hopefully the others will heal the same.” She smoothed her palm along his stomach and stopped herself, removing her hand and swallowing back the thoughts in her head.

  “Leilah?” Vaughan’s voice sounded husky and an urgency appeared in his tone.

  “I’ll boil hot water,” she said, leaping to her feet in a fluid motion. “I need salt to clean up the leakage.” Breathing through pursed lips Leilah busied herself in the kitchen, filling the kettle and plugging it in. She made a cup of strong salt solution and raided her makeup bag for more cotton wool pads.

  Leilah felt Vaughan’s eyes on her as she moved around, the fragile connection growing with each moment in his company. He lay back against the sofa and placed his arms behind his head, his stomach exposed and the loose shirt parting to reveal a muscular chest. Leilah fussed, putting off the moment when she needed to kneel next to him again. “Stop this!” she muttered, pep talking herself back into a position of power.

  �
��The water’s still too hot,” she said, standing over Vaughan and swirling the mug of liquid.

  “That’s ok,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Leilah winced and ignored the barb from her past, blowing onto the surface of the water. Her suitcase stood by the door, its contents disgorged onto the floorboards and her makeup bag spewing cosmetics far and wide. Vaughan jerked his head towards the mess. “You’re not staying?” He sounded disappointed and Leilah swirled the water again.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Vaughan shrugged. “Ok.”

  “You don’t want me here?” She struggled to keep her tone light, telling herself his opinion didn’t matter.

  His dark eyes connected with hers, the pupils dilating as he fought his interest. “Don’t do that,” he said softly.

  “What?” Leilah bridled and tossed her hair, the dark curls tumbling freely around her shoulders.

  “Don’t mess with my head; I’m too old.”

  Leilah snorted, her eyes twinkling with mirth at Vaughan’s unexpected humour. “If you want me to stay; I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you.” He sighed and closed his eyes, remaining still and wincing occasionally as Leilah used the warm water to sterilise the wounds on his stomach. The cotton wool caught on the raised edges of dull staples and she hissed with anxiety each time, eager not to cause added pain.

  “All done,” she said with relief as the last cotton ball landed on the floorboards next to the others. “You’re healing already but it takes time.” She bit her lower lip in frustration at her tendency to state the obvious to a man who’d undergone the same surgery four times before.

  “What next?” Vaughan’s lips twisted in a smirk as he observed Leilah, her brow furrowed as she peered at the nearest edge of the longest scar.

  “No idea. What did you do before?”

  “Got angry, felt cheated, drank heaps, got arrested and bust my guts open.”

  Leilah heaved out a sigh. “I meant with the wounds.”