Page 77 of So Wild

Though he’d been tossing up the idea since his mother died, it wasn’t until that moment Scott made up his mind. The idea was burning like cold fire in his belly. He would use the money his mother left him to fly home. He’d get away from his father and his cold, empty house and the girl he’d wasted ten years of his life on.

“You’re leaving?” It wasn’t the Sergeant who asked, but Samantha. The first non-aggressive thing she’d said to him since they’d sat down in the interview room.

He turned and as always, was blindsided by the blue of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m going home,” he choked out.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Stupidly, impossibly, he knew what she wanted to say;this is your home.

But it isn’t, he thought.Home was my mother. Now she’s gone and I’ve got nothing but my dad and a stupid crush that’s lasted more than half my life. There’s nothing left for me here.

S/Sgt Worthington informed them that since Scott was leaving the country, a formal intervention order wasn’t necessary, though he strongly suggested they stay out of each other’s way. When they’d signed their statements and agreed to avoid one another, Samantha asked for a moment alone with S/Sgt Worthington and his partner. He and Mr DaSilva shuffled out and stood in the hallway. Scott tried to look innocent as a sea of cops walked by—all of them eyeing him suspiciously.

“Scott,” Mr DaSilva said in the gravelly voice that always reminded him of Tom Waits. “Are you okay?”

It had been so long since anyone had asked him that, or asked him that with any kind of sincerity that for a moment Scott was afraid he was going to tear up.

“I’m fine,” he managed. “Fine.”

Mr DaSilva eyed him closely. He didn’t look much like his daughters, he was dark-haired and dark-eyed with tanned skin and the chicken-y gauntness of an aging 70’s rockstar. His gaze was placid in a way that was almost unnerving.

“I don’t think you took the photos,” he said, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “In fact, I know you didn’t.”

Scott looked down at the ground. “Can you tell Samantha that?”

“I think she already knows it, Scott, but she’s wounded right now. Whoever stole those photos hurt Nicole and that hurt her.”

Scott stared at him. “You know…?”

“They’re my daughters. What surprises me, is thatyouknow.”

“I can always tell them apart.”

“Clearly.” Edgar DaSilva pulled a soft packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket and held it up. “Shall we go outside and have one?”

“Oh, er…” Scott looked around. “What about Samantha?”

“She’ll know where to find me. And I feel like a chat. What do you say?”

Suddenly all Scott wanted was to smoke a cigarette and chat with calm, reasonable Mr DaSilva. “Okay then.”

It was raining outside, so they huddled in a damp smoker’s corner and lit up. Scott wasn’t great at smoking but he figured that with university coming up, there was no better time to learn. He took a deep drag and sputtered immediately, sending out wide octopus bursts of smoke.

Mr DaSilva patted him on the back. “Easy does it. Now, first thing’s first. I want to apologise. Samantha shouldn’t have auctioned off your virginity online. That was cruel of her.”

“It’s fine. I’m, er, not a virgin.”

Mr DaSilva gave him another pat on the back. “Of course, but even if youwere,there’s no shame in it. Virginity doesn’t exist biologically, not for men or women. Our bodies have no way of knowing if we’ve put our penises inside a vagina or vice versa.”

“I know,” Scott said a little desperately. “But I’m not a—”

“Lots of cultures don’t even have a word for virginity, did you know that? It’s that irrelevant to their understanding of the world. Meanwhile, in western society, we treat sex as though it’s a product, instead of something two peopledo together. It’s ridiculous. If you cooked me paella for the first time, would you be taking my virginity? If you’re being operated on for the first time, is the surgeon taking some sort of virginity?”

“Er…”

“Of course they’re not, not unless you believe it’s so. It’s the same with sex. Totally subjective.”

Scott decided talking would only make this loud conversation last longer and kept his mouth on his cigarette, trying to draw the smoke into his lungs without immediately blasting it back out again.

Edgar stubbed his cigarette out on the police station and then tucked the butt into his jacket. “Are you serious about going back to England, Scott?”

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