Mr Invisible

by Duncan Brockwell

20

  Fridays in Westfield Shopping Centre, Market Street, were busy. Being early January wasn’t putting off the shoppers, it seemed to Amelia, who hated crowded stores. “Let’s try Zara,” she said to Bronwyn Mason, needing a top for the opening night of Fever. “My feet hurt.”

  Bronwyn, Amelia and Georgina had met on the first day of primary school and had remained close friends up until the age of fifteen, when Georgina became obsessed with surfing. Pretty, with a size six figure, Bronwyn was far more suited to shopping than anything else. Amelia always chose her to shop with.

  The only thing Amelia wanted to do was sunbathe; she lived for it. If she had her way, she would spend every day lying on the golden sands of Bondi Beach, listening to the waves gently lapping over one another, taking in the scent of salty air and suntan lotion. Even holding a lovely top up in front of her, she daydreamed about being in a bikini, slowly turning a darker shade of brown. “I might’ve found a winner.” Her watch told her it was almost midday. If she bought the garment, she might go home, grab her things and be down the beach by half one.

  “You’re going to the opening of Fever tonight, right?” Bronwyn asked.

  Amelia took the top and continued scanning the rack in front of her. “Yeah, George got us tickets. Why? Are you?” Judging by the sad expression on Bronwyn’s face, no. “Shall I ask if she has any spare? I think she had ten posted to her.”

  “Ah, would you? I haven’t really spoken to her in months. I don’t want her to think I’m using her.”

  With another gorgeous top in front of her, Amelia smiled. “George isn’t like that,” she said, deciding against it and putting it back. “She’ll give you tickets if you ask. But I’ll ask her for you this time, okay? I wish you two would make up. I don’t even know why you’re not talking.”

  Bronwyn sighed. “If I’m honest, neither do I.”

  It was a lie, though. They both understood why: jealousy. The more famous Georgina became, the more distant Bronwyn grew. By the time Georgina turned pro-surfer, Bronwyn was on the periphery, an occasional friend. And just after Georgina wiped out so spectacularly at the WSL Championships, Bronwyn reappeared, there to give Georgina her condolences, which Georgina took very well, Amelia thought. Anyway, none of that mattered now. In need of a top for the opening of Fever, the hippest club in town, she made a decision.

  “Right, this one it is.” She had plenty of outfits in her wardrobe from her modelling contracts, but wanted to buy something special for herself. Knowing she made more money than Kereama, even with his recording contract and tours, made her happy. “Come on. Let’s go pay. Then we can go to the beach, or The Icebergs.”

  “I reckon I’ll be staying in town, babe. And anyway, I still need to find something to wear for tonight.”

  At the till, she paid for her new top and handed over her credit card when her ringtone told her she had a call. Reaching into her bag, she pulled it out and answered, only to be told she was speaking to a police officer.

  “I’m afraid he’s been injured. He’s in surgery, but it would be advisable to come along if you can?”

  She gasped, her shaking hand covering her mouth, tears welling up, and stared at a concerned Bronwyn, then at the cashier. The policeman told her that Kereama was stable prior to commencing surgery at Sydney Hospital, over on Macquarie Street, a short walk from the mall. If she ran, she would be there inside five minutes. Amelia hung up after informing the officer that she would be there.

  She apologised to the cashier for bailing on her and took her card. “I’ve got to go, Bron,” Amelia said, putting her purse back in her bag. “Kay’s been injured. He’s in surgery.” And without warning, she searched for the correct exit and started running.

  Behind her, Bronwyn chased after her. “Wait for me, Ames.”

  Amelia ran along Market Street until she had to cross the road and cut through the north end of Hyde Park, following a path that led to Macquarie Street. From Macquarie Street it was a short run up to the hospital, where Kereama would have been taken straight to accident and emergency, before being wheeled to surgery. “We made it.”

  Panting, she walked through the automatic glass doors.

  After a long to and fro between her and the receptionist, Amelia finally received directions. With Bronwyn in tow, she found the waiting area and asked the nearest staff member wearing a white coat how he was doing. The kind doctor, nurse, whatever, said he would find out. Alone, with only Bronwyn for company, Amelia sat. She needed Georgina by her side.

  Bronwyn asked her if she wanted anything to drink. When she said yes, her shopping friend left, leaving her enough time to phone Georgina and Isla, who both dropped everything to join her. With a half-smile, Amelia accepted the plastic cup of coffee and sat back, imagining the worst.

  It took Georgina twenty minutes to arrive. Standing up, Amelia hugged her longest, dearest friend, ignoring an uncomfortable Bronwyn behind her. Georgina asked what happened. Even Amelia didn’t know. With a shake of her head, she answered Georgina’s question. “All I know is he’s been hurt. I left him at the Metro.”

  Isla came rushing in all concerned. Amelia hugged her and cried. Having her two best friends present meant the world to her and helped when two doctor types appeared with two police officers in tow. “Oh God, no, please don’t tell me he’s dead.”

  “Relax, Miss Thomas,” the taller of the white coats said. “He’s fine. He was brought in with a nasty stab wound we had to deal with, and he lost a lot of blood, but he’s going to make a full recovery. We’ve sewn him up, so he’s going to be sore for a while.”

  Amelia gasped through the tears. “He was stabbed? But he’s going to make it?” Her girls, her sisters, hugged her. “I don’t understand. Where? Why?” When the doctors shook their heads, she asked, “Can I go in?” She needed to see his beautiful face.

  The doctor told her that he might be out for an hour or so, to wait until a member of his staff gave the all-clear. “In the meantime, however, the police would like to talk to you,” the shorter doctor said.

  “Me? Why? I don’t know anything.”

  “Routine procedure with stabbings,” the female officer in her light blue shirt and grey shorts replied. “But please, Miss Thomas, it’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

  And so, Amelia stood in the centre of the waiting room answering a barrage of questions from Sydney’s finest, until she’d had enough. After the police left, she asked Isla and Georgina, “Where’s Bron?”

  “Rude!” Isla said.

  The tall doctor appeared and told her she could visit Kereama, although only for a short time; he was groggy and needed quiet to recover. Excited, Amelia took her friends’ hands and walked through the corridor until she stood outside Kereama’s door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find him lying on his back in bed, his eyes closed, his cut dressed beneath a hospital gown.

  Hooked up to a drip – which was normal apparently – he smiled.

  “You scared the shit out of me.” Amelia’s face crumpled as she rushed to his side, his eyes widening when she touched his bandaged wound. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you all right, baby? I didn’t mean to.”

  “What the hell happened?” Georgina asked.

  “What do you think? Elf Man.” Kereama grimaced. “I was on the packed Metro. We stopped at Carlton Station when I felt a stabbing pain in my side. I hobbled out onto the platform and I must’ve passed out, because the next thing I remember is seeing the paramedics around me.”

  Amelia put her hand in her bag when her mobile dinged. Taking it out, she went straight for her Chatter app: another private message from Elf Man, with a photograph. Listening to Kereama talking to her girls, she read the text. “This the kind of man you want?”

  The picture made her want to throw her phone at the wall. Anger rose, itching to escape and hurt him. It showed Kereama eyeing up a very attractive black girl in a suit, whose eyes were devouring him whole. She stood out because she was taller than most of the com
muters around her. “You piece of shit! You absolute, you total bastard!” She shook the phone.

  “What? What’ve I done?”

  She threw the mobile at his chest, catching him off guard. When he flinched and said, “ow”, she glared at him. “Go on! Look at it! There I was worrying about you, crying over you, thinking you were dead, and you were eyeing up some skank on the train? I’ve fucking had it with you. Always making an idiot out of me. Well, no more, Kerry!”

  Kereama tutted. “Wait! I can explain.”

  Had Georgina and Isla not been there to pull her back, she might have flown at him. He actually thought she didn’t know that he had all these groupies on tour, any girl who’d have him, more like. And as she stood staring at his ridiculous, speechless face, she realised that if she didn’t shed him now, she probably never would, and he would forever be making a fool of her. “Well, explain then, you useless mongrel.”

  “Nothing happened with her.”

  It didn’t matter. It was the way they were looking at one another, the way the black woman devoured him with her eyes. If he’d met her on tour, or at a bar in town, they would end up back at hers, ripping each other’s clothes off, laughing at silly old Amelia, back home waiting up for him. The final straw. For too long she’d put up with it. And to think he wanted to do away with protection. Before she exploded, she turned and left the room with her two best friends by her side.

  “Ames, come back!” he shouted. “Please!”

  21

  “Are you sure you want to go to this tonight?” Georgina asked. “We don’t have to. We can stay here if you want. Let’s dial in a pizza, the boys can grab some coldies.”

  “I appreciate what you’re doing, George, but I’m not letting him ruin my night out. Fuck him! I don’t care.”

  Fiddling with her hair in front of the mirror in her hallway, adding some finishing touches, with her girlfriends stood behind her, looking stunning in their chosen outfits, Georgina thought all three of them looked amazing. Amelia wore a cute top and short skirt, while Isla sported an unbuttoned shirt over a vest, with denim shorts. With Amelia’s mind made up, Georgina thought her friend was making a mistake going out. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Can we go now? Please?”

  She took one last peek in the mirror. “Let’s go!”

  The boys were waiting outside in the cab. Even with Elf Man on the loose, he didn’t scare her; she was with her best friends and boyfriend at a nightclub cram packed with people. Georgina gathered her girls and locked up the house.

  The lads looked and smelled amazing, particularly Shane, she thought, who wore black trousers and a white shirt with four buttons undone. His body visible through the flimsy material, she smiled.

  Not missed by anyone other than Amelia, Georgina thought Kereama was a sleaze. She’d tried broaching the subject of his infidelity with her friend on a couple of occasions, but fell short for fear Amelia would accuse her of jealousy.

  The drive to Fever, on Oxford Street, only took seven minutes. At half past eleven on a Friday night, traffic around the city was busy. Oliver and Shane exited first, turned, and waited for them. In front of a huge throng of revellers queuing, Georgina, the last to leave the cab, took Shane’s hand to a chorus of approval from the crowd. She loved the fame, loved everyone knowing who she was. If that made her a vain person, or a narcissist, to hell with it, she thought, she also raised loads of money for four charities. When she waved, the crowd cheered.

  A suited man approached her. “Georgina? Will you and your guests please step this way. We have your VIP area waiting for you.”

  Georgina took Shane’s arm and followed her friends inside. Feeling a little guilty at queue hopping, she focused on walking in her new heels. Tripping in front of all these people would be as embarrassing as being resuscitated live on TV, she thought, concentrating. Once in the foyer, she relaxed a little, knowing if she tripped, most partygoers queuing would miss it.

  The bass of the music reverberated through the floor: disco, her favourite for dancing to. While she loved heavy metal to her core, Georgina had a soft spot for disco after her dad made her listen to it when growing up.

  Fever, situated on Oxford Street, just up from Hotel Centennial and across the road from Centennial Park, benefitted from a genius location, because it was the only nightclub in the area, and it would attract customers from all around. Fever boasted lots of rooms, where music styles would vary in each room. With two floors, it promised to be a lively and vibrant venue.

  The club manager walked them through to the main room, along the huge dance floor and up a flight of stairs to an impeccably decorated VIP area, sectioned off with a cordon consisting of two stainless steel posts and thick red rope.

  “This zone is for you and your friends. Champagne and canapés are over there. If I can help in any other way, don’t hesitate in calling me over.”

  Georgina giggled when the boys and her girlfriends descended on the drinks table, like locusts finding food after a long day’s flying. “Save some for me.” She joined them and accepted a glass of champagne from Shane.

  Taking Amelia by the arm, Georgina walked her over to the railings and observed the revellers in front of the bar below. The dance floor was empty, but given an hour or so, would be jumping when the DJ turned up the volume and started playing the great disco tunes. Georgina, up for a dance, wanted to forget about Elf Man for the night. “I’m so sorry about what’s happened.”

  “Why? You’re not to blame for him being a mongrel.” Amelia leaned her cheek on Georgina’s shoulder. “I feel so stupid. I mean, I knew he had girls on tour, of course, but he’s never looked at anyone else before, at least not in front of me, or, well… I would physically grab his testicles and rip them off.”

  The intensity with which her friend described castrating Kereama, told Georgina she meant it. “Here’s hoping I never piss you off, eh!” Amelia downed her glass of champagne in one huge gulp. “Careful, babe, this stuff’ll knock you on the floor if you drink it like that.” And have her crying on her shoulder, no doubt, she thought, shaking her head when Isla gave Amelia a second flute which she drank in one gulp as well. “Going to be like that, is it? Great!”

  Georgina had Amelia on one side and Isla on the other, all watching the activity below them. A group of lads huddled on the dance floor looked up at them. Georgina groaned when Amelia tugged on her arm. “Might be best if you stay up here, Ames.” Amelia wanted to go down and chat the guys up. “You’ll only regret it tomorrow. You still love Kay; I know you do.”

  Georgina’s mobile bleeped in her bag, the glow of her screen catching her attention. She had a message from Elf Man on Chatter. “Shit! It’s him!”

  “Shit! He’s here.” Shane stood behind her, his hand on her waist.

  The photo in the message was of the foyer, a non-too-subtle hint that he had entered the building. Georgina couldn’t believe the guy’s nerve. She thought she would have a safe outing tonight. “For fuck’s sake,” she puffed. “When’s this guy going to leave us alone?” She wanted to shout at Oliver. The frustrating thing: if she’d taken her phone with her at The Starfish, none of this would be happening. Kereama wouldn’t be staying overnight in hospital after being stabbed; Oliver’s car wouldn’t have been keyed; her car wouldn’t have been stolen, and then returned; and Shane wouldn’t have had to pay thousands of dollars to the guy he beat up. When was this nightmare going to be over? “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  “No way! We just got here,” Amelia said, having downed her third glass. “Let’s go and say hi to those boys!” Her eyes were glazed.

  “Elf Man’s here, Ames. The dude who stabbed Kay’s here. We need to leave.” Shane grabbed her phone. “Hey! What’re you doing, babe?” She peered over his shoulder as he typed a reply to the pom. She read out aloud for the group. “What’s your problem, mate? We’ve already apologised. What do you want from us?”

  Shane sent the message and han
ded her the phone.

  “What do you expect to get from that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, to open a dialogue maybe?”

  The mobile vibrated in her hand and the screen lit up. “Here’s his reply.” She held it up. Amelia was too busy waving at the boys below. “To be your friend. But you blew it. You had to go thinking you’re so much better than me.” And before she finished reading it, Oliver had it in his hand.

  “I’m fucking sick of this.” He quickly typed a reply, reading it aloud as he did so. “And why should we be friends with you? Why do you deserve to be our friend? We’re all high achievers, what’ve you done? Give us one good reason why.”

  “No! Oli, please don’t send that; you’re only going to make it worse.” But he turned his back on the group before she got to her phone. And her spirit sank when she heard him say, “Oops!” Staring at Shane for support, she grabbed her phone back and glared at Oliver. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You idiot! You’ve gone and made it ten times worse! I’m sorry, Isla, but enough’s enough.”

  “No, you’re right, George.” Isla slapped her boyfriend. “You never behave. This isn’t a joke, you moron. This guy stabbed Kereama earlier today, remember? We’re not dealing with some socially awkward pommie here. You make me so mad I wanna thump you sometimes.”

  Georgina jumped when it vibrated again. “Oh God! He’s replied.” With Chatter open, she checked her messages. With one eye closed, she pulled up the picture: of them stood by the railing, taken from below them on the dance floor. She gasped, then glanced down, hoping he would be down there looking up at them.

  “What’ve I done? Ha! You’ll find out soon enough,” Shane read. “And high achievers? Don’t make me laugh. Shane’s the captain of a third-rate football club. The Swans are useless since he took over. Congratulations, Shane, you’ve taken them from top flight to bottom of the premiership. And Oli, second place on some reality show, really awe inspiring, I guess, for losers. Kerry’s the guitarist for a totally shit ‘heavy metal band’ and looks like an aftershave commercial model, yeah, rocking. Amelia lives on the beach and gets paid to wear clothes – what a role model! Your mum must be so proud. Then we come to Isla, with all those muscles. Wasted your life on vanity, well done. And finally we come to the lovely Georgina: wiped out mid-competition. Resuscitated on live TV. Model and Chatter royalty. Why the fuck are you with this mob of losers? You should ditch them and come with me. I’ll love you and treat you like the queen you are.”