AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Orhan pulled off the road and into the service station. He parked further away from the building that he had to, so that Ambrose had to do a dash through the rain to get inside.
Orhan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was pissed off, and Liam felt like more of a bastard than Ambrose, because Ambrose was only being a dick because Liam had paid him.
“The fuck was that?” Bridget huffed.
“I don’t know,” Liam said, guilt biting at him. “I’m sorry.”
“He wasn’t like that at dinner,” Bridget said with a scowl. “What the hell happened between now and then?”
I paid him to be a dickhead, Liam didn’t say. Instead he said, “Maybe it’s just nervous babbling. He did say he doesn’t have a filter, and it must be nerve-wracking, going to stay the weekend with virtual strangers.”
“Hmmm,” Bridget said noncommittally. “We’ll see.” Which Liam knew meant she was still pissed. After five minutes when there was still no sign of Ambrose, Bridget sighed and glanced at her watch. “Pull up closer, Orhan? We might as well make this our one stop.” Bridget didn’t believe in stopping more than once on a trip, and Orhan didn’t believe in risking life and limb by asking for more than one stop, so he obediently parked closer, and they all trooped inside to use the toilets.
Liam craned his neck looking for Ambrose and saw him over near the bain-marie, looking over the selection of overwarmed pies and limp chicken strips. He hurried over. “What’s taking you so long?”
Ambrose shrugged. “You said your sister doesn’t like to waste time on the road.” His face grew serious. “Hey, about the whole where are you from thing? It felt like it crossed a line, you know? I actually offended myself. I think I’m gonna apologise.”
“Yeah, it was a bit much,” Liam agreed, and ignored the relief flooding through him that Ambrose actually did have limits. It’s not like Liam had any stake in which way the needle on Ambrose’s moral compass pointed. It was just nice to know that his hard-earned money wasn’t going to an utter arsehole, that was all.
“Okay, so I’ll say sorry, and then be awful in a series of milder but equally annoying ways, yeah?” Ambrose grinned.
“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Liam said, and immediately regretted it when Ambrose’s grin dimmed.
He went and used the toilet, then held Balian while Orhan and Bridget did the same. Ambrose was still at the counter, taking his time and browsing the chocolates, and Bridget muttered under her breath about people who had no consideration. In the end the three of them went back out to Orhan’s HiLux and waited. When Ambrose came out a minute later, he was holding a tray with four coffees and he gestured with his elbows at the door. Liam leaned forward and opened it, and Ambrose scrambled in out of the rain, shaking his head and flinging drops of water everywhere like a particularly attractive Labrador.
He plopped the container of coffees on the centre console and did up his seatbelt before turning to Orhan. “Hey, um. I just wanted to apologise for that whole Turkey thing. I was kidding, but obviously it wasn’t funny. It was actually rude as fuck. So, I’m sorry? And no hard feelings?” His face assembled itself into something both sincere and penitent, and he picked up the tray of coffees and waggled it. Orhan heaved out a breath.
“Yeah, we’re good,” he said. “It definitely wasn’t funny, but we’ll let it go. Apology accepted.” He reached for a coffee cup.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Ambrose pulled the tray back into his lap.
“I thought you bought coffee?” Orhan asked, confusion evident.
“Yeah, for me,” Ambrose said, picking up one of the cups and licking at the foam peeking out of the hole in the lid. “I need a lot of stimulation.”
“So…those are all yours then?” Bridget asked, brows furrowing.
“Yep.” Ambrose took a loud slurp. “If you wanna go get yourself one, it’s fine, though, I can wait. There’s no rush, right?”
Bridget’s voice was clipped. “It’s fine. And thank you for the apology.”
“Hey, I can admit when I’m wrong. I’m a big enough man.” He winked. “Just ask Liam.”
Even as he mentally tipped his hat to Ambrose, Liam had to resist the urge to hide his face in his hands.
Maybe this was going to be the world’s longest road trip after all.
Chapter Seven
Ambrose
The rain got heavier, and the day got darker the further north from Sydney they drove, and Ambrose wished that the weather was the worst thing about the trip, but to say the rest of the drive to the Hunter Valley was awkward was an understatement. Even Ambrose, who was a professional arsehole, felt his anxiety rise as the kilometres clicked over. He meant what he’d said to Liam—he felt like a shithead for asking Orhan where he was from. And while he’d apologised for that, and his apology had been accepted, it was clear that both Orhan and Bridget weren’t really the forgive and forget types. The water under this particular bridge was stinky, full of sewage and completely stagnant. Despite Ambrose’s apology, things in the car were tense. Although Ambrose hadn’t done himself any favours with the coffee bullshit either. Now he had heartburn and palpitations from drinking so much coffee. Also, his bladder felt ready to explode. He was pretty sure he had a second heartbeat happening down there at the moment. He wondered if Balian had a couple of spare nappies in his nappy bag, and exactly how much volume those things could hold.
It didn’t help that he was worried about his mum. Not that someone had broken into her flat and stolen the framed photograph of her and Bert Newton at the 1998 Logies like she seemed to think had happened—who the fuck would want it?—but that she was starting to spiral again. It had been a while since she’d last had an episode, but there had been enough over the years that Ambrose knew the signs. The last one had ended with a week’s involuntary stay at the acute mental health unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Mum had since twisted the whole thing into some sort of spa stay, as though she’d been at some swanky resort to detox and reset her chakras or some bullshit. Her memory of events was as malleable as her perception of the present, and Bella Newman always came out smelling of roses. Ambrose didn’t hate her for it, but it frustrated him. She loved living in her fantasy world where everything was a million times better than reality, but he was the one who had to keep things rolling in the real world, wasn’t he?
He chewed at his thumbnail anxiously and tried to think of something else.
Something apart from his throbbing bladder.
