Page 68 of Just Say (Hell) No
“Somebody Nyree, ah, had a thing with,” Kors told her. “When he was at the Highlanders. Coach’s daughter, when she was still a schoolgirl. Poor form. Didn’t realize that was you, though, Nyree.” He looked like he didn’t want to know it now, either.
“Oh, wonderful,” Nyree said. “That’s just brilliant. I’m a legend to people who were hardly born at the time. I’msoglad this has come out into the open, and in such a private way.”
“Marko told you to go inside,” Kane pointed out, and she glared at him and said, “Whose side are you on?”
“Right, but wait,” Ella said. “So you’re embarrassed, Nyree, because you hooked up with some player, and the other boys heard about it, and you’re the daughter of the coach. Really? The Highlanders coach isn’t Maori, I didn’t think, if it’s the same one as now. Ginger, isn’t he? And I thought you were from Northland.”
“Stepdaughter,” Nyree and Kane said together.
“OK, stepdaughter,” Ella said. “When you were my age. So what?”
“So,” Nyree said, “he had a girlfriend already. I was for… revenge. For using. Laughing at. And he told the whole…” Her voice shook. Herlipsshook. “The whole team. All about it. And they laughed, too. I wasn’t pretty. I told you.”
“The pig blood,” Ella said.
Kane said, “What the hell? Nyree. I told you totellme. I told you I’d take care of it. What pig blood?”
Nyree uttered an audible sigh. She didn’t have her forehead in her hands anymore, at least. “It’s a metaphor. There was no blood of pigs. Nobody has to take care of anything. It was ten years ago.”
“Which would be why,” Marko said, “you didn’t tell me who you were. Because it was ten years ago, and you didn’t care anymore.”
“Wait,” Ella said again. “Couldn’t you just say, like… eff them, or something? What do you care what they think? How much hooking up havetheydone?” She turned on Kors. “Like you. How much?”
“Wait,” he said. “What?” If he’d been a horse, he’d have been showing white all around his eyes.
“See,” Ella said, “you won’t even answer. It’s not…” She waved her arm. “Nineteeneightyor something. So what? It’s not like you slept with the wholeteam,Nyree. And even if you did—so what then, too? Maybetheyhave pig blood onthem.MaybeMarkodoes.”
“Definitely,” Marko said, not sure if he was still furious, and if so, with whom. “Pig blood all over the shop.”
“I told you,” Kane said to Nyree. “Blondes.”
“Mate.” Marko gave him a stare that he hoped Kane wouldn’t have trouble interpreting. He remembered a few items from Kane’s past well enough. He’d settled down now, like most of them did, but before that? Pot calling the kettle black there.
Ella said, “So could we juststopimagining who’s slept with how many people? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here who’s slept with onlyone,and I’m also the only one who’s pregnant. With twins,” she informed Kane, who looked impressed. “So I’m the one walking around in the pig blood, except I’m not, because that’s stupid, and I’m not going there. Also, Nyree, it’s after twelve-thirty, and Pookie’s wedding is at two, and you’re going to miss it.”
Nyree yelped, stood up with a major flash of thigh and breast, from which Marko hoped everybody was averting their eyes, and said, “Oh no. I forgot Pookie.”
“Who the hell,” Kane asked, “is Pookie?”
“Dachshund,” Marko informed him. “Portrait. Never mind. And why are you worrying about Pookie when you’re painting like that?” he asked Nyree. “Pookie’s rubbish.”
“Oh, yeh?” Her chin went up. “And rugby’s a boy’s game, and why’s a grown man spending his life playing it? Because he’s getting paid for it, that’s why.”
“No,” he said. “Because I love it.”
“Well, hooray for you,” she said. “I love painting, too. But so far, the only thing people will pay for is dogs. My other work is decorative. Nobody’s hanging decorative. So I’m painting dogs. And right now, I need to go get myself looking artistic so I can convince some more people with more money than taste that they don’t want another Neo-Expressionist piece, even though their neighbor just bought one and they know how much it cost, so it must be good even though they actually hate it. That what they’d reallyloveis a painting of their overfed, nasty Chihuahua, who tried to bite the postie on the ankle last Christmas. And that is what I am going to do. If you need me,” she told Kane, “I’ll be in the shower. And next time, justask.”
She stalked straight by Marko and up the stairs past Ella and Kors, yanked at the door, and bounced off it. She tried to punch in the code, yanked again, and swore, and Ella said, “Here,” and did it for her. Then Nyree flounced inside, and the last thing Marko saw was pale skin showing through red laces.
Not pig blood, no. Hot blood. Hers. And his.
“I took a girl to get ice cream,” Kors said into the silence. “Nek minnit…”
“I have a feeling,” Kane said slowly, “that I’m going to have to rethink this.” Then his eyes met Marko’s. “But what I said before still goes.”
“What did you say before?” Marko asked.
“Oh. Maybe I didn’t say it before. Anyway. That if you’re playing some game with her, you’ll answer to me.”
