The Trust

Chapter 40: Fake out

"Darcey? Hello?" Jake is snapping his fingers in front of my face. I push his hand away. "Stop that!"

"You were off in la-la land. What, did you imagine Rob coming out of the shadows with a gun or something?" He snorts with laughter.

"No." I cross my arms, indignant that he always has a way of reading my mind.

"I told you that you watch too many true crime shows," he says. "Well, we have two choices, we go or we wait."

Neither one sounds appealing. "What if he does creep out of the shadows? Ok fine, he might not have a gun but what then?" After feeling like an angry hunter fuelled by pure spite or the past weeks, I actually had no idea what to do if I actually caught the guy. I doubted he'd confess to everything and politely join us to pay a visit to the police station.

The police were doing fuck all, saying that aside from the town fraud, it would be very hard to convict him of robbing the family; and that it was more of a civil matter and that we should sue. 

"I don't think he's here. In fact, I'm not sure he was here at all."

Jake was right. There was something off about the room anyway, like he wanted us to find it.

"I think this is a fake-out," I say. "Look, it's too neat."

Scattered among the refuse on the bed was an old photo black and white photo of an old woman. My great grandmother, perhaps?

There was also a dirty pillow with a perverse saying cross-stitched into it. Family Matters

"He's toying with us," Jake says. "Look, I don't mind staying but you should go."

"The hell I am. No way."

"He might not have a gun like your true crime shows, but he's a classic narcissist. Grandiose, a skilled liar and manipulator and dangerous when cornered. I know you think you can take him on, but you're like five-foot fuck all in heels and a hundred pounds soaking wet," he says. "I don't think he's a murderer, but he'll be like a rat when cornered. I'd rather if you left."

"I'm five foot and three quarters and 102 pounds," I say, outraged. "Tough titty, I'm staying."

We sat on the bed, staring into the shadows. 

"Tough titty?" He turned to me.

"It was something Uncle Jack said."

Silence.

"Isn't that terribly misogynistic?"

"He's a salty old fisherman, what do you expect? Was," I corrected myself, forcing back tears. "Was a salty fisherman."

Jake is full on belly laughing in seconds. "Tough titty," he mutters under his breath. "If I said that, you'd give me a smack upside the head." 

"Yeah well, priests shouldn't be talking like fishermen."

"Who says?"

"Forget about it OK? It doesn't matter. Jeez, man."

He was being a right pain in the arse. We got along like peas and carrots, but that doesn't mean we don't bug the shit out of each other sometimes.

I get up and search the room, but couldn't find anything of interest. I was starting to get annoyed — at Jake, at the situation and above all at my uncle who was going to apparently get away with all this.

 "Let's go," I say after another  half hour. "There's nothing to be found here."

"Right-o."

We make our way out to the car. "What other choice phrases did Uncle Jack say?" he asks when we were buckled up.

"I don't know, he had a lot of them."

"For instance?" The look in his eyes was pure mischief.

"Do you ever get tired of the terrible language in this town?"

"Never," he says, pulling out of the gravel driveway. "It brings a tear to me eye, reminds me of my dear, sweet homeland."

I sigh, racking my brain for the best of Jack's sayings.

"Useless as tits on a bull."

"Heard that one."

"So ugly, you couldn't draw him."

"Heard it. Harsh," he says, laughing.

"If she had one more wrinkle, she'd have to carry it in her hand."

"Insulting," he says, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, what else?"

I try to think of some really gross ones. "You got too much of what the cat licked his arse with."

"Meaning?"

I shoot him a look. "You talk too much, of course."

"Of course. I haven't heard that one yet."

"Stunned as me arse."

"Dumb as a bag of hammers."

"I'm off like a prom dress"

"I wouldn't piss down your throat if your heart was on fire."

"He should be shot with a ball of his own shit."

I go on and by the time we arrived home, we're both in tears and my stomach hurts from laughing. 

When he drops me off, I'm about to say sorry to him for the big waste of time. But he has the best laugh, and the car ride home was the most fun I'd had in a really long time. I decide that even though I'm no closer to getting justice for my family, nothing was wasted. And also that I had to stop obsessing about the fraud and the whereabouts of my uncle. I had to let it go, it was consuming me. I had to get on with my life, get out of the dark and into the light. 

There was much to look forward to. I was done with looking back.

That night, I had the best sleep of my life — completely dreamless and restorative. And the next night as well.

On the third night, I wake at three in the morning in a cold sweat with my heart pounding.

I know where Rob is.