Page 92 of Malaise
I lean across the table, keeping my voice low. “I told your dad he needed to go down to the station and give you an alibi before your hearing.”
“Why? What did he say?”
Nothing you need to know. “He refused to help you, said it was up to you to sort this out.”
“You were asking him to lie,” Carver whispers. “Of course he wouldn’t do it.”
“You said you were with him,” I accuse. “Where were you really?”
He leans back in the seat, his legs wide and palms flat on his knees as he finally takes in everyone around us. His gaze roams the other tables as his jaw flexes, his brow in a hard line.
“Answer me, Carver.”
His turns his head my way, and shakes it slowly. “It’s been hard being away from you. I worry about you all the time: what you’re doing, who you’re with, how you’re coping.”
“Where were you?” My eyes sting, the answer seeming harder to stomach the longer he holds back.
“Don’t get mad at me—”
“But?”
“I went to see your parents.”
Our little corner of the room falls deathly silent. Looking at him is too hard, so I stare down at my fingertip as it draws lazy circles on the table instead. “Why?”
“I wanted them to know that you were studying hard for your exams, that you were doing well, your head was in the right place, and that you weren’t the irresponsible delinquent they make you out to be. I wanted them to be proud of you, Meg, and to fucking stand by you while the three of you worked past Den together.”
“You went behind my back.”
“I did it for you.”
“But you lied to me.”
“Because I knew you would have been stubborn and pig-headed about it.”
I close my eyes briefly and try to process what he’s just told me. He’s in here because the night he went to waste his time on my parents, somebody broke into his previous place of employment. Two things strike me about that: one, who the fuck did break in then, and two, my arsehole parents are the only people who can prove his innocence beyond a doubt.
“I have to talk to them.”
“No, you don’t.” He leans forward in his seat, rests his elbows on the table, and reaches both hands out, shaking them up and down a couple of times in frustration before he pulls them back to himself again. Arms folded over his chest, he asks, “What are you going to do now school’s over?”
I shrug. What does it matter? “I hadn’t decided, but don’t try and change the subject. Right now all I want to focus on is proving you didn’t do it, and if that means talking sense into my parents, I will.”
“You won’t, Meg.”
“Why the fuck not?” The guard to our right shifts at the sound of my raised voice.
Carver shakes his head at the man to indicate everything is okay. “If I’m released, Meg, what are we going to do then, huh?”
“Pick up where we left off.” I frown at him. What else would we do?
“With you working for scraps at the supermarket, and me out of employment because nobody wants to hire a criminal?”
“I wouldn’t work at the supermarket forever,” I reason. “I could apply at the textile factory.”
He shakes his head, laughing bitterly. “Oh, babe. No way.”
“If it meant rent was paid, and I had a better meal than damn noodles, I’d be happy with settling.” Am I even listening to myself? I’ve just admitted that I’m content with being the very thing I was trying so hard to avoid a mere month ago. Talk about a complete U-turn.