Page 45 of Rafferty's Rules
And speaking of small children, I suppose I should stop behaving like one and check my phone for the deluge of entreaties from my parents.
I slide the little airplane mode toggle off with a sense of great trepidation, then turn the thing to silent, placing it face up on the table while it searches for a network. I return to my cake and chai latte then, in a moment of inspiration, flip over to the camera app and take a quick photo of my almost unblemished dinky drinky dick as a souvenir of my trip before going back to ignoring my phone.
Well, I try. But it’s hard given the rapid rate of messages suddenly crowding my storage.
A dozen from Mom, beginning with soothing words that work up to threats.
What’s she gonna do? Stop my allowance?
A few from my dad telling me time and God heals all wounds, and that I should stop punishing my family.
Then stop trying to rule my life!
I pen my parents a quick missive telling them I’ll be home when my vacation is over, not to worry about me, and that I’m having fun.
Three messages from Trish, my supposed work friend. Was it really true? Did William hire a whole hooker crew for him and his friends?
And she’s sorry. That was crass.
And would I like to help setting up with her cousin.
Urgh!Delete.
And then from the man himself. I feel my lip curl as I read his dozen heartfelt entreaties, words I don’t care a lick for.
The man doesn’t know what a heart is. If he did, he would have had a little care for mine.
My finger hovers over the delete, but then inspiration strikes. I send him the image of my chai latter with the caption,Drink a dick, Willy boy!
‘How’s the cake?’
‘Delicious, thank you.’ I flip my phone to the page for the website I was looking at earlier, placing my phone back down.
‘Ah, you’re interested in the EZ-bikes. Those great clunky things out there,’ he clarifies, gesturing to the bike in the street.
‘Yeah. I was thinking about taking one home, but then I realised you need to book it using your credit card. And, well, I’ve had a bit of a mishap. I lost my cards, and I’ve had to cancel them.’
‘Oh, you poor thing. You’ll get new ones, though, right?’
‘Yeah, but it might take a week or two as they have to be mailed from the States. Don’t look so worried,’ I add with a little chuckle. ‘I’m not destitute, thankfully.’
‘You’ve got somewhere to stay? And cash in the meantime?’
‘I’m staying with a friend, and I do have a little money put aside.’ As I tap my shopping bags with my foot, I tamp down the kick of annoyance that’s swift to rise. I don’t know what it is about me that makes people want to take care of me. I sometimes feel I have the wordssick girlindelibly tattooed on my forehead. But he’s just being nice, I remind myself. Because in Sydney, I’m not that girl who grew up watching from the sidelines. ‘It’s just a pain because I can’t order an Uber. Or rent a bike.’
‘Yes, you can. I bung the bike on my card if you like.’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly let you,’ I protest.
‘Don’t be daft. It’s not like I’m ordering you an Uber to stalk where you live. You might have a cock in your cup, but that’s not enough for me to give chase.’
‘But really, I couldn’t.’
‘You don’t look the type to be peddling around for hours and hours just to bankrupt me. I can afford to shout you a few hours—it should last you for a couple of days.’
As it turns out, the bike is a couple of bucks to hire for a forty-minute stretch. Ten dollars gives me 200 minutes, if my math is right, and I insist on paying Charlie that ten dollars in cash.
‘But you might not even use the full ten bucks,’ he argues.
