I was right; it was a small storage room.
I reached inside the dark room, placed my palm flat on the cold wall, and moved my hand around in search of a light switch, but decided against it in case Darcy came home earlier than expected and saw the light. Just as I dropped my hand, the low hissing came from behind me again. I jumped with fright and spun around.
“What is that?” I whispered.
I stepped closer to the dark cover and carefully reached out with my hand. I hesitated when I touched the cover, but without a second’s thought I pulled it and gasped when something began flapping about in a cage.
It made a noise that instantly identified the creature as a bird.
A memory hit me then of Sean telling my mother that Darcy had bought an African grey parrot. The parrot continued to hiss at me and it freaked me out. I didn’t know birds could bloody make noises like that.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “Be quiet.”
“Shut up,” the bird said, then made the creepy noise again.
I froze to the spot and stared at the bird.
Was I losing my mind or did that bird just say what I think it did?
“What did you just say?” I asked.
“Water . . . You want some waterrr, baby girl?” the bird chirped.
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not what you said before.”
“Nealaaaaa.”
I stood rooted to the spot, and blinked.
The bird said my name.
“How do you know me name?” I asked, even more freaked out.
“Fuck off, Neala!”
What the hell?
“Be quiet!” I hissed and pointed my finger at the bird.
The bird hissed back. “Darcy, Darcy, Darcy.”
Oh, my God.
The bird was ratting me out.
“Shhh, you little bollocks!” I snapped, and thumped the cage.
It was a bad idea, because the bird went fucking crazy and squawked like it was being murdered.
“I’m sorry,” I pleaded in a whisper, “Please be—”
I froze midsentence when the light in the kitchen was suddenly flicked on.
“What are you doing, Clarke?”
Oh Christ.
I screamed with fright and stumbled backwards until I tripped and fell flat on my arse into the storage room. I groaned as I looked up, and widened my eyes when Darcy’s half-naked body came into view.
“You know I heard you coming up the driveway, right? I unlocked the back door so you wouldn’t freeze to death.”
I couldn’t believe it.
What the hell was he doing here?
Darcy grinned. “Don’t look so surprised; you weren’t exactly quiet, Neala.”
I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Darcy chuckled. “Cat got your tongue? I’m sure an hour or two in here will change your mind.”
What?
“What are you— Darcy!”
He closed the door of the storage room and turned the lock.
“Use this time to think about what you’ve done.”
“Darcy!” I screamed. “Let me out or I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Goodnight, Neala.” Darcy laughed.
He left. The bastard left me locked in his kitchen storage room. I was going to kick his arse when I got out of here.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DARCY! LET! ME! OUT!”
I opened my eyes and smiled.
“Music, sweet music.” I beamed.
I heard Neala scream in anger as she began to beat on the storage room door for the tenth time in the last few hours. I was originally just going to play a trick on her and leave her in the storage room for only a few minutes, but she cursed and banged on the door for a solid thirty minutes, and to be honest, I wasn’t opening the door while she was in that state. She would have just attacked me.
I did eventually open the door when she stopped banging and screaming, an hour after I’d put her in there, and I found her rolled up on the storage room floor lying on multiple tea towels, snoring like an old man. I didn’t want to move her for the simple reason that my hourly trips to the bathroom were her fault – I had no proof, but I knew she had given me diarrhoea – and I wanted her to suffer a little. I didn’t want her to get sick, though – I wasn’t as heartless as she was – so I got my spare duvet cover and some pillows and put them in the room with her during the night.
She didn’t move a muscle while I tucked her in, probably because she was exhausted from hiking up to my house in below-freezing weather wearing only a dress, blazer, and high heels while it was snowing. The girl wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.
“Darcy!” Neala bellowed once more from my kitchen.
I sighed and got up from my bed. I stretched, then put on a pair of comfy trousers.
I shook my head just thinking about last night. After shitting myself I’d spent thirty minutes cleaning up my bathroom, and bagging my soiled clothes and cleaning rags.
I threw them out into my bin out back, and that was when I heard the little criminal cursing up a storm in my driveway. She was wearing the wrong clothes to break into someone’s house when it was snowing outside, and she was so loud I could hear her from the back of my house.
Stealth definitely wasn’t her forte.
I couldn’t call her too much of an idiot, though; she had managed to pull one over on me and make me shit myself. I don’t think my pride will ever recover from that moment that she caused.
My stomach had only settled around five o’clock this morning. Unfortunately my arsehole still felt like it was in the fiery pits of Mount Doom, except I didn’t have to trek to Mordor.
Oh, and if having crippling stomach pain and a flaming arsehole wasn’t enough, my nose suffered terribly with the smell that had taken up residence in my bathroom.
I had gone through two bottles of bleach and a whole can of air freshener, and the smell of death still lingered in the room. I’d closed the bathroom door and had to leave the built-in ceiling fan on all night as an added method to air the room out. The smell might never leave, though – I wouldn’t be surprised if it moulded onto every surface at the molecular level.
I’m sure that’s what Neala wanted in the first place.
“The vile specimen,” I muttered as I exited my bedroom and walked down the hallway to my kitchen and Neala’s temporary prison.
I opened the kitchen door and winced when the love of my life made a whimpering sound.
“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” I asked, and rushed over to my African grey parrot.
She was my baby – she was seven years old and the boss of my house.
“Darcy, is that you? Open the door and let me out; the bird is driving me bleeding mad!”
I ignored Neala, opened the birdcage, and stroked my baby’s chest when she climbed onto my hand.
“What’s wrong with you, Einstein?” I asked.
I heard a frustrated wail come from the storage room.
“I told you, I want you to—”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Neala. I was talking to me bird.” I cut Neala off as I continued to stroke Einstein’s chest.
Neala was silent for a moment; then she laughed.
“You called your parrot Einstein? Why?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Einstein cut me off.
“Shut up, Neala.”
I beamed and scratched my Einstein’s head. I glanced at the storage room door, then laughed. Neala had gone silent in her makeshift prison.
“I named her Einstein because she is very smart, as you can tell.”
More silence.
I smiled smugly. “What’s the matter, Neala? Why are you quiet all of a sudden?”
I could practically feel her mind turning as she thought.
“You taught your bird to tell me to shut up?” she asked, low.
I taught her much more than that.
I simply laughed and said, “Yeah.”
“Why?”
I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me.
“I thought it would be funny for Einstein to tell you off if you ever came up here, and I was right. It’s hilarious. This prank was set in motion years ago.”
Neala banged on the door in outrage.
“You’re a class A arsehole!”
I couldn’t disagree with that statement.
“Waterrr . . . apple.”