by Sean Kennedy
Luckily, work was busy. Nyssa seemed to calm down when she saw that I wasn’t going anywhere, especially when I commissioned a local documentary maker to film the events of the festival. Her name was Alice Provotna, and she took her work very seriously. She had started trailing around us with a camera to get some behind-the-scenes footage. I became more adept at hiding around corners and behind stacks of film and tape canisters while Nyssa treated it as if it was her audition reel for Neighbours. I was only too happy to push her in front of the camera and let her take the limelight, as I continually berated myself for thinking this was a good idea.
Fran had already become an on-air victim when she wandered over bored one day and found herself having to reenact a scene with Nyssa where we discovered one of our major sponsors had fallen through.
“Wow, that’s really… bad,” she said flatly, staring right at the camera.
“Bad?” Nyssa gasped like a Victorian heroine finding a ghostly nun upon the belltower of her Gothic mansion. “It is an abomination! This could well be the end of our festival!” She turned her back on Fran, now becoming a modern-day soap star, about to begin a lengthy monologue while not at all facing the person she was speaking to.
Fran looked at me, bewildered.
I said, “Oh, don’t worry. We will find someone else.”
Honestly, I don’t know who sounded more robotic.
“That’s going to be one exciting documentary,” Fran said as we fled to the safety of my office.
“I’m wondering if it’s too late to pull the plug.”
“It would be an abomination to do so,” she teased.
Luckily Alice wasn’t around all the time. We couldn’t afford to keep her on call, for one thing. We arranged a series of important dates for her, and the office returned to some sense of normalcy for a little while at least. Nyssa and I ran all over town in a series of endless meetings to pick up more sponsors. I don’t think there was one building on either Queen or Elizabeth streets that we weren’t in at some point, and we still had Collins and Bourke to cover. At least it meant the fortnight began to pass quickly, and Declan and I were soon making plans to meet in person once again.
“SO, THE Devils are in town this weekend,” Roger said nonchalantly as we drank beer on his back porch, waiting for Fran to get home from work.
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied, just as nonchalantly.
Roger’s eyes narrowed over the neck of his bottle. “So, you’re not seeing Declan, then?”
“Maybe. Depends if he has the time.” I’m such a liar.
“You fucking liar.”
He knows me too well.
“Well, his schedule is pretty tight,” I said defensively.
Roger smothered his laugh.
“Oh, grow up!” I glared at him, to no avail.
“Seriously, are you seeing him?” Roger asked, trying to contain himself.
“Yes.”
“Aha. So when are we going to see him?”
That was almost enough to make me panic. “You see him? Why would you be seeing him?”
“Well, you’re going to have to do the meeting-the-friends-thing sooner or later.”
I hesitated. “We haven’t discussed that.”
“At all?”
I shrugged. “It hasn’t come up.”
No repressed laughter at that line; Roger was now in serious mode. “Really?”
“That’s what I said.”
The thing was, we talked every day. But there were certain topics we navigated around. Like what we were going to do if this became really serious, how aspects of his life would affect what we could do together as a couple. We hadn’t even gotten to do the fun things new couples did yet, like spend days in bed with the only interruption being the delivery of pizza.
Okay, so I had a bit of a one-track mind at the moment, but how could I think any further about the heavy stuff?
“You don’t think you’ll ever introduce us to him properly?” Roger actually sounded a little hurt.
“Of course I will,” I said to assuage him.
“But will he do the same with his friends?”
I frowned and couldn’t disguise it before Roger noticed.
“He won’t?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“But—”
“Rog,” I said calmly. “Drop it for now.”
“But—”
“Please.” My tone was firm.
He wasn’t happy, but he nodded. I wondered how long it would be until he brought up this potentially painful subject again. Somehow I didn’t think it was that far away.
Fran emerged from behind us with a quiet tread that she often used to her own advantage. “Okay, who died?”
Roger accepted her kiss and rubbed the small of her back. “What?”
“You two are being very quiet. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” we replied in unison.
Fran shook her head. “Fucking liars, I hate it when you do that. I need a beer.”
“Make that two,” I said, shaking my bottle at her.
I could see the concern in her eyes, but I smiled slightly to try and alleviate it.
It didn’t work, of course, but Roger stuck to his word for the rest of the evening, and as a consequence, the subject of Declan Tyler was not referred to at all.
“GOOD news,” Declan said.
He was talking to me on his Bluetooth as he drove himself to the Hobart airport for his flight to Melbourne.
“I could use some,” I said gloomily, remembering the strained atmosphere at Roger and Fran’s the night before.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Come on.”
“Just work. So tell me the good news.”
“I’ve arranged to go back later than the rest of the team, so I have a couple of extra days in Melbourne.”
That was good news. If I was involved, of course. But I had to play it cool. “Do you have a party or something?”
“Or something,” he replied. I could hear the gentle prodding in his voice. “I thought you might have liked to see me a bit more.”
“Yeah, it’d be cool.”
“You’re a cold bastard, you know that?” he asked, although once again there was laughter hidden behind his angst.
“You know I want to see you, so don’t play dumb.”
“Why not? Aren’t footballers dumb?”
“Only to wanky arseholes.”
There was a pause as I heard his indicator activate and then switch off. “Look, I’m almost at the airport. I have training, but I should be done by six again. Mind if I come over at about seven?”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you have food in your house?”
“No, I don’t eat. Of course I have food in my house.”
“Well, I could bring food. Save you from cooking?”
“Who said I was cooking?”
“That’s why I said—”
I laughed. “I could try subjecting you to what passes for cooking from me.”
“Shall I bring takeaway, just in case?” he asked.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Gotta go, Simon. I look forward to both you and your attempt at cooking.”
I grinned and closed my mobile. Then I immediately rang Fran at work to gain ideas of what would be both palatable and easy enough to make so that I couldn’t possibly fuck it up.
FRAN had suggested pesto; I didn’t want to admit I was uncomfortable with the idea of garlicky morning breath just in case something happened. And Fran being extremely smart and prescient, guessed it without me having to try and arse about bringing it up indirectly and moved on to Indian. Then she discounted Indian in case of unwanted effects upon the gastric system.
And not once did she tease me for my attention to every detail and possible scenario.
“You do know once you’ve gone out for a while, you stop caring about all
this stuff, right?” she asked me.
“Yes, but in my defence, I remind you how much Roger tried to hide all his faults from you when he first started going out with you.”
“He didn’t hide them well.” She snorted. “Hey, Simon, you going to let me in on whatever you two were fighting about before I came home yesterday?”
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Well, something happened.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No, and he was remarkably resilient at refusing to let me get it out of him.”
I wondered if he was actually worried that she might have told him off for trying to pierce my temporary shield of obliviousness.
“It was nothing, really.”
“One of you will crack sooner or later and tell me.”
She was right about that.
In the end, it was decided I would make stir-fried veggies and tofu with rice.
“It’s nice and simple,” Fran said. “And you’ve made it before, so you can’t possibly screw it up. Plus it probably fits in with whatever crazy football diet the coach makes them stick to during the season.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. It was a good point.
“It’s just going to add to him thinking that I am a crazy, wanky, greenie, hybrid-driving hippie,” I complained.
“Has he seen your bomb of a car?” Fran asked in disbelief. “Greenpeace arranges a protest every time it leaves your driveway.”
She had a point. I would have to make sure Declan took a drive in it soon enough.
I LEFT work early again. It’s good to be the boss sometimes. Nyssa was past suspecting me of going for interviews although she tried to grill me for details once more about what I was up to. I told her to be grateful she was also leaving early, and she wisely collected her coat in silence and followed me out the door at a quarter to four.
“Fran said something about you being besotted with someone,” she unwisely said as we were waiting for the lift. “Who is it?”
I counted to three in my head before saying nonchalantly, “You know, I think there’s a pile of filing that you could probably be doing—”
“She was probably teasing, after all, you don’t go out,” Nyssa said quickly, punching the elevator button once again in the hope that it would arrive immediately.
“I think so,” I agreed. We got into the lift without further incident.
On the way home I stopped off at Safeway to pick up ingredients for the dinner. A bit of wishful thinking perhaps, but I also picked up a pack of condoms. Better to be prepared than unsafe or sorry. I lugged everything back onto the tram; I suppose I could have gone home and picked up the car and backtracked, but really, it was just as easy to do it this way.
It was just past five when I got home. Declan would still be at practise, so I had plenty of time to start chopping the veggies, put the rice in the cooker, and get a quick shower before starting to piece everything together. I had never been so organised and time-efficient before.
He sent me a text telling me he was on his way just as I was finishing dressing. I ran into the kitchen and began heating the wok. Now the nervousness began settling in. It had been two weeks since we had last seen each other, and I was filled with both anticipation and fear of the moment he would cross back over my threshold.
But I didn’t really have time enough to think about that at the moment, thankfully. Between Maggie wanting to be fed, timing when the tofu should be added to the veggies so it wouldn’t fall apart, and then having to scoop some shit out of the kitty litter tray because she knew company was coming and wanted to mark her territory before their arrival, I was running around and starting to work up a sweat. Flustered was not a good look on me.
I had just mixed vegetable stock and corn starch together when my doorbell rang.
“Fuck,” I whispered. I looked down at myself and realised I was covered in corn starch. I dusted myself quickly and tried to walk calmly to the door. How bloody domestic. Maggie jumped onto the couch arm, an expectant glare on her face as she was cognizant of the fact that the normal peace of the house was about to be disrupted.
I peered through the burglar-hole. It was Declan, and he looked as good as he always did. There was no bag hanging on his shoulder; maybe I had been too presumptuous in buying the condoms. I shook that thought out of my head and opened the door.
“Hey, you,” Declan said, grinning at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I said, as concise as usual with him. I moved aside to let him in, and he closed the door behind him.
I found myself suddenly enveloped by him as he drew me in. “Hey,” he said again.
“You already said that.”
“What the hell are you covered in?”
“Corn starch.”
“You trying to be Jamie Oliver?”
I was going to make some crack about Nigella and fellating cucumbers but couldn’t because he was kissing me. And I suddenly became a hell of a lot more relaxed. I leaned further in to him; I could almost feel the muscles of his stomach through the layers of clothes between us. This time it was me who stupidly said “Hey,” when we pulled apart.
He didn’t say anything. He just gave me another kiss.
“I thought you were bringing food?” I asked, pointing out his hands, that although now full with me, had been empty before he entered.
“I didn’t want to insult your culinary skills,” he said, still holding me close. “I thought if we needed to, we could order pizza.”
“Good call,” I approved.
“Whatever you’re making, it smells good.”
“Stir-fry. Hey, wouldn’t pizza be on the banned list during the season?”
He winked at me. “What the coach doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.”
I guess that could cover a lot of things. Such as knowing that his star player was currently pashing his sorta-boyfriend at the moment.
Declan had become distracted by Maggie, who instead of treating him like an invading enemy had suddenly become wildly enamoured of him and desperate for his attention. I knew how she felt.
“I don’t think you’ve formally introduced us,” Declan said. I liked how he bent down to pet her while still keeping one arm around me.
“Maggie, meet Declan,” I said, although Maggie was now too enraptured with her new find to care anything about me and what I might have been saying.
“Hey, Maggie,” Declan cooed. He instantly found her weak spot, scratching behind her left ear. She was now his for life, although he was momentarily in her bad books for letting her go and turning his attention back to me. “So, did you call her that because it was close to ‘moggie’?”
I bit the inside of my lip, knowing he was about to give me shit. “No, she’s actually named after a character from George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss.”
Declan smothered his laughter.
“Oh go on, give it to me.”
“Do you know what my family’s cat is called and why?”
“No idea.”
“Socks. Because it looks like it has socks on its feet.”
“So I named my cat after a literary character. Is that so bad?”
“No, it’s just something I like about you.”
“Pretension?” I asked grumpily.
“That’s not the way I would put it. Stop being so defensive.”
There was nothing negative in his tone of voice, so for once in my life I listened to somebody else. “It’s a good book. All about how we try to make our own free will, but sometimes catastrophes are thrown in front of us and our lives become determined by them.”
“It sounds heavy. Is there at least a happy ending?”
I winced. “Maggie drowns. Along with the brother she only recently reconciled with.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Declan laughed. “Let’s eat.”
We moved into the kitchen, and Maggie followed, winding herself around Declan’s legs. He tripped and fell against me, and I grabbed him.
“So much for the reflexes of a professional footballer.”
He gave me a playful shove and bent down to scoop the cat up out of harm’s way.
I added the stock mixture to the wok, and a satisfying cloud of steam erupted from it.
“Do you always cook?” Declan asked.
I shrugged. “I try to get out of it as much as I can. Living by myself, it’s mainly a diet of takeaway and toasted cheese sandwiches. Do you want a drink?”
“I brought beer,” Declan announced. He grinned when I looked at his empty hands again. “I left them in the car.”
“Stupid place for them,” I told him.
“I’ll be right back.”
He jogged back to the front door and disappeared outside. Maggie watched him go fretfully and looked back at me.
“You too, huh?” I asked her.
She replied in the affirmative by jumping from the stool Declan had placed her on and hovering over by the door watching for his return.
“Yep, you too,” I murmured, now throwing the tofu into the wok.
Declan moved like a cat in more ways than one. I didn’t even hear his tread when he returned and placed a cold bottle of beer against my hand. I ran my thumb along the raised glass on the neck that formed a familiar image.
“Beer from your home state, huh?”
He twisted the cap off his bottle and lobbed it perfectly into the bin. “Yep. Is it okay?”
“I like Cascade. Although probably more for the Tasmanian Tiger than anything else.”
Declan grinned. “Why aren’t I surprised?”
“Come on, you can tell me. Have you ever seen one while driving around late at night?” I twisted the cap and threw it towards the bin, and was pleased that I made it.
It turned out, that like Roger, he could raise one eyebrow. “Have I seen an extinct animal in the suburbs of Hobart while driving in the dark?”
“Supposedly extinct,” I told him before taking a swig of the crisp malty goodness.
“No, I haven’t, but if you throw a stone in Hobart you’ll more than likely hit someone who will claim they have seen one.”
