Somebody had seen what had happened.
Somebody had seen her.
Wesley had known for a while that there was little hope for his future, but he would have thought he was at least qualified to wash cars. The one-hour tutorial before he was even allowed to hold a sponge suggested otherwise.
‘The second coat of wax is where it really counts,’ said Dave zealously, Mum’s latest boyfriend. ‘It might seem like overkill, but a good shine can really make up a customer’s mind.’
Although he was there to work, Wesley had known in advance that the whole endeavour would be set up like a bonding experience. Still, Dave seemed more interested in romancing the electric lime Ford Focus at his fingertips than playing dad-in-waiting. Even though he owned the used car dealership, he’d stripped down to a T-shirt as soon as Wesley arrived and started filling buckets with water (‘power hoses damage the paintwork!’).
While Dave dabbed on the second helping of wax, Wesley watched him closely. He was better looking than the last couple of boyfriends: head shaved to fuzz, tattoos so dark on his black skin they could have been etched there at birth. This was the first time Mum had dated anyone since they finally got away to their own place. Two months together and counting. Long enough that Wesley needed to worry.
‘How long have you had this one?’ he asked. The oil-stained forecourt was only big enough to hold seven or eight cars, parked in two tight rows.
‘A few months,’ said Dave. ‘I think the colour might put people off.’
Usually, Wesley would refuse to do anything like this with one of Mum’s boyfriends. They always got on better without them. It had been an unspoken rule with his older brother Jordan that they would never relinquish any of their power to some new bloke on the scene. Except Jordan had betrayed all that when he left.
If only Mum hadn’t looked so hopeful when she asked. Plus, the extra money would finally give him the chance to contribute.
‘All right, grab the chamois,’ said Dave.
‘You sure you two don’t want some alone time?’
Dave whipped the cloth at him playfully, and they spent the next few minutes quietly buffing the wax like it might magically transform the car’s fortunes.
‘That’s the ticket.’ Dave beamed, showing off his wheeler-dealer silver tooth.
The repetitive work did little to take Wesley’s mind off Kat Waldgrave. He had expected to feel in some way different when the attack was over. It should have proved that he wasn’t soft, that he could act like Tru said men were supposed to. The trolling campaign had been a success, but instead of basking in triumph alongside Luke and Justin he was still stuck here washing cars. He was still himself. Hopefully they had reported their success to TrumourPixel by now. He wasn’t sure exactly what might come next, but it had to be better than this.
Thinking of Kat made his stomach drop, like an airlock opening. He couldn’t shake the thought that the effects of their attack had been worse than intended.
Behind him, hanging on a hook in the dealership office, was Kat’s bag and MacBook. It would offer some answers. The more Wesley tried not to think about it, the more he needed to uncover the truth.
Kat woke inside the sweaty cavern of the duvet pulled over her head. Somebody was knocking on her bedroom door.
‘Are you coming down for dinner?’ said Dad.
The door was locked, and she knew giving no response would quickly make him give up. She couldn’t risk him seeing what had happened. Against all reason she felt embarrassed, as if she was to blame. On the way home she had kept her head down and walked quickly, determinedly not noticing if anybody was noticing.
If there was something wrong. She was still hoping the whole affair was some kind of hallucinatory panic attack. She couldn’t bring herself to check. She had fallen asleep while watching Tinker videos to comfort herself.
‘You need to eat,’ said Dad.
This was how he went through the motions: meals cooked, clothes washed, schoolwork checked. If he did what was expected of him, and she played along, they could both avoid ever acknowledging that the last year had reduced them to little more than strangers.
‘I’ll put it in the oven so it stays warm,’ said Dad.
Kat listened to his feet padding down the stairs and drew the duvet tighter to her skin, willing herself to sleep again so that waking afresh would chase the nightmare away.
There was no denying the iridescent shine of the paintwork after the second coat of wax.
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