Page 123 of Catch a Kiwi
“Yeah, well, he’s not going to let you pay back everything he paid for it,” Delilah said. “You already dumped him. Leave the guy some pride. EvenIknow that, and I know just about nothing.”
“I didn’t really—” I started to say, but she wasn’t listening. She plowed right ahead. “And, what? You keep living in thisverysmall caravan and owning exactly five work outfits,ifyou wear the same pants twice, so you can send me to college and I won’t have to worry my pretty princess head with student loans, because I’m somehow more fragile than you? I don’t care what you promised Aunt Iona, that’s not happening, and I’mnotmore fragile than you, or all that much dumber, either, so knock it off. Imayhave been a little less serious than you—all right, a lot less serious than you—but, hey, I’m nineteen, and Ididhave you and Aunt Iona propping me up for almost my entire life. That doesn’t mean I need you to prop me up forever. Look at me. I have two feet to stand on and everything.”
“Wow,” I said. “Where did allthiscome from?”
“I don’t know,” Delilah said, “maybe my life? Your example? Everything?”
“That’s great,” I said. “Seriously.” I tried not to think,She doesn’t need me,and panic about it, and went on, “And I don’t mind this place, as long as Daisy’s willing to keep renting it to me. If she’s not, I’ll move. But it’s cozy, especially being in here reading at night when the rain’s beating down on the roof, and I do have those laundry privileges. I like cooking dinner for the family some nights, too, and helping Frankie with her homework.”
“Oh, yeah,” Delilah said. “Because who needs more than a hundred square feet? And it’s so much better to be an outsider than to live with, you know, actual people you love. Which is why you don’t want me to stay, except, whoops! You do!”
“I’ve come to appreciate simplicity,” I said a little stiffly.
“That’s great,” Delilah said, “if that’s the only choice you have. I refuse to be the person who sticks you with this much ‘simplicity’ for four more years, though. If you want that, have a kid. I’m going back to Seattle before everybody gets out of school and snatches up all the summer jobs, and I’m getting a room in somebody’s terrible apartment and calling it paying my dues. Thanks to you and our enforced austerity program, I’ll be glad it isn’t a tent.” With that, she picked up her backpack and headed for the caravan door—all two steps of it—then turned and said, “But I’m leaving you to wash my plate so you know you’re still more mature. You’re welcome.”
I was still laughing when she left.
But how much was I going to miss her?
That afternoon,I was buried deep in unraveling some old code that had more knots than Delilah’s little-girl hair—andpossibly wondering why none of those first four firms had hired me, since, wow, was I ever needed here—when I surfaced to the sound of my phone.
“Summer,” the woman at the front desk told me, “there’s somebody here to see you.” Her voice lowered. “A man.”
Roman,my stupid brain immediately thought, before I could bring it back in line. “Who is it?” I asked.
“He didn’t say,” she said. “Just that it’s personal.”
Right. Now my heart wasreallypounding. Maybe because I’d lied a little bit to Delilah and I was longing for connection?
No. Because I was longing for Roman. I was almost ready. Maybe. If he wasn’t with somebody. If he …
Stop it.I ran my hands over my hair, considered asking Sam, my neighbor in the bullpen of an office, whether I looked OK, reflected on the confused stare he’d give me from the depths of his twenty-four-year-old soul, reminded myself that the ladies’ toilet was out by the lifts and there was no hope there, pushed back my chair, and walked what felt like a thousand meters to reception.
It was a man. Just not the one I wanted to see. In fact, my heart took a major dive.
No, it wasn’t Felipe. Felipe, unless he’d escaped, was still in prison. It was, in fact, Philip Crawford, my UK divorce solicitor. Fortyish, graying, handsome, and smooth. I could see why Amy had been excited, I guessed. She didn’t know how relentlessly unemotional Philip was. That “gray rock” technique they teach you, where you don’t react to anything a person says? That was Philip. The original gray rock. Protective carapace or original packaging, who knew.
“Hi,” I said, shaking hands. “This is a surprise. I’m guessing you’re not in the country on holiday and popping in to catch up.”
He didn’t smile, of course. He never had. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked, in his ultra-posh accent.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go for a coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee. A conference room is fine.”
I had to smile. “I want a coffee, though. You’re in New Zealand. Embrace the vibe. I’ll even buy.”
He stared at me. Well, I’d changed. I wasn’t shattered anymore.
When we were sitting in The Perc after a dash through the rain—itdidhave the best scones in Dunedin—and I, at least, had my latte in front of me, I said, “My divorce was final almost a year ago, so I can’t imagine why you’re here, but I’m prepared to be shocked. Shoot.”
He said, “HMRC have found the money.” His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, he meant. The tax authority.
All right. I was shocked. “Really,” I said, holding it together with an effort. “That’s … unexpected. And you couldn’t call me with this news?”
“I couldn’t find you. You’re not on social media, or accessible via the usual search engines. My assistant looked in the UK and the States, but we didn’t think of New Zealand at first. Let alone here.” He sent a meaningful glance around the slightly shabby café and the casually dressed pedestrians outside. London it was not. “Took her weeks. If you were here because you’re hiding, it seemed unlikely that you’d respond to a voicemail. It’s a bit complicated as well. Better in person.”
“Ah.” I took a sip of coffee. Oddly, my heart rate wasn’t speeding up that much. I’d swear that I wasn’t numb anymore, so why not? “Well, here I am. Explain why I should care.”
