Tigers and Devils

by Sean Kennedy

  Oh. “You heard my message, then?”

  “Of course I did.”

  I wanted to ask her so much, but I didn’t want to put her in the middle again. “I might go for a calzone.”

  “You always go for the calzone.”

  “Not always.”

  She snorted, laid aside her menu, and changed tracks. “You can ask me.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t play dumb, although you try to do it so well. You can ask me about Roger.”

  I relented. “What did he do when he heard the message?”

  Fran sighed and began pouring water while we waited for our other drinks to arrive. “At first he was happy, really relieved you had finally come round. Then he had time to think about it and got shitty it took so long.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now he’s decided to play the arsehole and avoid you. Even though he still talks about you incessantly and worries about you. You should have heard him the night of the Brownlow. Oh, I hope Simon’s okay. He’s probably not dealing with it too well.”

  I smiled faintly. Fran could always do a good Roger impression, greatly exaggerated of course. “I tried calling you that day.”

  She sipped at her water, trying to hide a slightly guilty expression. “I know. I ignored it.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Well, I was trying to be the good wife! But I had to be the bad friend to do it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t try to sound too magnanimous there, Simon. A lot of this is your fault.”

  “I know.” I wasn’t trying to rile her up; I was just admitting the truth. It didn’t stop her from looking at me suspiciously, though.

  “How were you that night?”

  “Better than I thought I would be, surprisingly enough.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but maybe that’s all because of context.”

  “What context?”

  I filled her in on the phone call with Jasper, and how I hadn’t heard from Dec since. Fran grasped my hand sympathetically, only dropping it when the food arrived and she could no longer have her arm across the table.

  “No wonder you look so frigging miserable,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but it’s what a friend’s supposed to say.”

  I nodded.

  “I think Dec has the right idea, but, I mean, Jasper Brunswick could just be trying to get info out of you. He doesn’t know for sure.”

  “He probably does now.”

  “But he told you he wouldn’t print it.”

  “Can I trust him?”

  Fran shrugged. “I wish I knew. When does the Reach Out come out, pardon the pun?”

  “Every Thursday.”

  “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Declan’s in hiding. He’s just sweating it out.”

  “I wish he would speak to me. This is the second time he’s done it, just run off and hid. I guess it’s his thing.”

  “Here’s a thought: have you called him?”

  I squirmed in my seat under her unflinching expression. “No.”

  Fran groaned, her head in her hands. “What the hell are we going to do with you?”

  “I don’t want to look like I’m pushing him. He’s gone into hiding for a reason. Maybe he needs some alone time without me bothering him. Maybe it’s the way he copes.”

  “And maybe he wants you to run after him a little. So he knows you give a shit.”

  “I do give a shit. He knows that.”

  Fran looked like she was going to start beating her head against the table. “Why do I try to give you advice? You never bloody listen!”

  “Fran—”

  “No, seriously! I tell you to call Roger before it blows up into something bigger, and you let it go to the point where he’s too upset with you now you can be bothered. And you’re going to do the same thing with Declan! You’re a fucking idiot.”

  Wow, that was harsh. But maybe true.

  Who am I kidding? She was right. If Fran’s eyes were lasers, I would have been a smoking pile of ash by now.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “I promise you, I’ll call him. And I won’t give up on Roger. I’ll call him again.”

  She sighed with relief. “Thank you! Now, do you want to share tiramisu after we eat?”

  I did.

  WITH the righteous fire of Fran’s wrath burning within me, I sent Nyssa to lunch once I got back. Alone in the office, I felt some of that fire leave me, but I knew I had to pick up the phone; maybe not in the service of earning my paycheck, but at least to try and salvage my personal life on two fronts.

  I called Roger first. His mobile went to message-bank, which wasn’t a surprise. He was usually hard to get at work anyway. I left a message saying I hoped we could catch up soon.

  The ball was in his court again. I wondered what the shelf life of payback was.

  When I called Dec he answered almost immediately.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m glad you called. Hang on a minute.”

  I could hear him moving, and the unmistakable sound of a door shutting.

  “Hey, I’m back.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still at my folks’.”

  “Oh.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I said. “You?”

  Oh yeah, this was going great.

  “Better.”

  “Better as in you weren’t fine?”

  “I had a minor panic attack, yeah,” he admitted.

  “Well, why didn’t you call me?”

  “I knew you were already stressed enough.”

  “To be honest, you stressed me out even more by disappearing and not talking to me,” I said in a measured tone.

  He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Silence fell.

  “Am I going to see you before you go away?” I asked.

  “Of course you are, don’t be stupid.”

  He and the rest of the Devils would be leaving the Monday after the Grand Final to go on their end-of-season trip to New Zealand. It was a tradition that every club followed, and more party-hard destinations such as Las Vegas were now frowned upon after a few cases of questionable behaviours and stomach pumpings hit the press.

  “Well, I didn’t know what to think when I didn’t hear from you.”

  “I said I was sorry, Simon.” He sounded tired.

  “Look, I didn’t call you to berate you. I just wanted to know you were okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And I wanted to know if we were okay.”

  “We are.”

  “Good. I’ll let you go then.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.”

  “What?”

  “We’re okay.”

  “You said that already.”

  “I wanted to repeat it.”

  “I—”

  “Shit, someone’s coming. I’ve gotta go. Call you later.”

  The line disconnected, and I stared at my phone, willing him back onto it. I hung up just as I heard Nyssa coming back into the office and went to meet her and make a much-needed cup of coffee.

  Chapter 18

  DECLAN sent me a text message later on that said

  One more night here. I’ll see you tomorrow if that’s okay with you.

  His choice of words troubled me. Since when did he feel he had to ask permission to see me? I had a feeling this fallout from Jasper Brunswick’s phone call would be with us for a while.

  Roger didn’t call at all. I wasn’t expecting him to, really. I wondered if he would even tell Fran I had attempted contact again, but knew that with Roger being Roger he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. So I could at least give myself the satisfaction his time in the dog house would probably be lengthened.

  Declan’s car was already in the driveway when I got home from work the next night. It was ni
ce to see the lights on in my house as I trudged through the growing darkness, and even nicer to think that there was somebody in there waiting for me.

  Especially when they’ve prepared food for you. I could smell the garlic before I even stepped in the door.

  “Hey!” Declan greeted me as I entered and peered around the corner of the kitchen.

  “Hey yourself.”

  He jogged over to greet me, surprising me with a bear hug and a passionate kiss. “Hope you don’t mind that I cooked for you.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked, pleased that he seemed to be more like his old self. “I never turn down a free meal.”

  “Don’t know how free it is, most of the stuff came from your cupboard.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  He looked at me earnestly. “It’s part of my apology for being a jerk the past few days.”

  “That was you being a jerk? You need to step up your game, man,” I said with far more joviality than I had felt within that specified timeframe.

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.” I rested my chin on his shoulder. “You did make me worry.”

  His hand rested upon my back as if he were trying to settle me after the fact. “We can take on Jasper Brunswick,” he laughed softly.

  “Jesus, a four-year-old could take on Jasper Brunswick,” I said, rolling my eyes. I sniffed the air. “So what did you make me?”

  He pulled back to look at my reaction. “Comfort food of the highest order. Macaroni cheese and mashed potato.”

  “Hopefully neither of those come from a packet?” I asked, as they probably would have if I had been cooking home alone.

  He looked offended. “The macaroni cheese is Fran’s recipe.” He pulled me towards the stove, and it took a couple of seconds for it to dawn on me.

  “Hold on, Fran’s recipe?”

  “Yeah, she gave it to me.”

  “When were you speaking to Fran?”

  Declan looked at me quizzically. “I’ve always been speaking to Fran.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy about them getting along or suspicious about how that reflected upon me when my own dealings with my friends had been so fractious lately.

  Distracted momentarily by checking the contents of the oven, Declan turned back to me, caught sight of the expression on my face, and sighed. “Okay, it’s time to come clean.”

  Oh, here it comes. “What?” I asked warily.

  “I’ve also spoken to Roger.”

  I felt like I needed to sit down; instead I turned around and reached for a beer from the fridge. “Right. Why?”

  “He wanted to apologise to me himself for what happened at dinner that night,” he replied. “Got one of those for me?”

  I took a swig to calm my nerves and grabbed one for him. “When?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “And you’re only telling me this now?”

  “I figured it would piss you off.” He studied me carefully, while twisting his beer open. “And I guess I was right.”

  “You should have told me,” I said.

  “Yeah, obviously.”

  “But I’m glad he had the balls to tell you that himself, at least.”

  “Well, he’s had the balls to tell you too.”

  “Don’t start on that again.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Tonight’s about us.”

  “That sounds better.”

  “But just let me say one thing,” he murmured quickly. “Keep trying with him. Even if he’s being the stubborn one now. Don’t you think, especially in light of this Jasper Brunswick crap, we need our friends? Especially those in the know?”

  He was wearing me down. And holding the Jasper Brunswick card over me was low, but it worked.

  “You could be right,” I conceded begrudgingly.

  He tapped his bottle against mine. “I love it when you say that.”

  “Don’t get used to it.” It was an empty threat, and we both knew it.

  “You know, the phone’s just over there, while I finish up here—”

  “Let a man eat first,” I protested.

  “You always have an excuse.”

  I snuck up on him and hugged him from behind. His back was warm and broad, and I snuggled into it unabashedly. “This is a pretty good one.”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled. “It’s not bad.”

  “I HAVE something else to tell you,” Declan declared while we were eating.

  “Good something else, or bad something else?” I asked cautiously.

  He scratched his chin mockingly, his eyes glinting. “You’ll probably think it’s both.”

  I laid down my fork and put up my fists in a defensive stance. “Okay, tell me.”

  He laughed, reached over, and pushed my hands down. “I made an offer on an apartment yesterday.”

  I had just taken a sip of wine and had to swallow the mouthful with some difficulty. “Details?”

  “It’s in the Docklands, great view of the water, security entrance—”

  I didn’t want to do the vulgar thing, but I had to ask. “How much?”

  He named a figure which would have taken me over ten years to earn. In fact, longer. I gulped more wine at just the thought of that. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Uh, wow.”

  “I don’t think ‘wow’ is a proper reaction.”

  “Well, I’m happy if you’re happy.”

  “Also not a reaction,” he pointed out. I could tell he was starting to get a little pissed off.

  “No, really. I mean, it’s your apartment, Dec. And if it means you have a place to anchor you in Melbourne a little more, then I’m over the fucking moon about it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Then you’d be happy to know they accepted the offer?”

  Okay, there was no way I could finish this wine just yet without winding up with it spilled embarrassingly all over me or the table, so I put the glass down. “They did?”

  “Yep.” He looked very pleased with himself.

  I leaned across and kissed him. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “When do I get to see it?”

  “Soon, hopefully. I can show you the pictures and everything after dinner.”

  “You are such a real estate mogul,” I teased. “You’ll have the orange section of the board bought out in no time.”

  “I hope you like it,” Dec said. “I mean, I hope you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”

  “I guess my humble home on Old Kent Road fades in comparison, huh?”

  He gave me a little wink. “Not at all.”

  DECLAN jumped back into bed, brandishing a manila folder, and immediately spooned into me again. “I paid for the quickest settlement offer. I should be able to get the keys in forty days.”

  “Wow, that’s fast.” Everything still seemed pretty surreal to me. I couldn’t believe in little over a month Dec would have a permanent space here, even though he would still be spending the majority of his time in Hobart. I also had to admit, despite what I said about it being an anchor to keep him in Melbourne, I was disappointed as it meant my house wouldn’t be the lure for him that it used to be.

  He started laying photos out on my chest, proudly showing them off as if they were of his kids. “Look at that view.”

  “Doesn’t have the mountains like your place in Hobart does, but it’s still pretty spectacular.”

  “It looks even better in person.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.”

  “Plus there’s also three restaurants on the ground floor, a minisupermarket, and a residents-only gym.”

  “There’s a gym?” I asked in awe, even though it would most likely be the last place I would frequent.

  “Yeah, with a pool and a steam room.”

  “A steam room, huh?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he chuckled.

  Po
rny fantasies and the reluctance to show an interest in something so obscenely bourgeois aside, the concept of this apartment was beginning to grow on me.

  Declan gathered up the photos, tossed the folder aside, and took up one of his favourite positions, which was using me as a pillow. My arm began falling asleep immediately, but I wouldn’t dream of moving it.

  “I also bought an extra car space next to my own, for any, uh, visitors I might have,” he said.

  “Your parents?” I asked, playing dumb.

  He reached up and flicked me across the temple. “Yes. They’re coming for really long visits.”

  I remember reading once in an online article about space-starved New York City that such an act like the one Dec had just made was tantamount to buying an engagement ring. And okay, so we were in Melbourne, but it still was a nice feeling.

  “I even made sure there wasn’t a no-pet policy in case any visitor who wanted to stay awhile had to bring their feline companion along.”

  Holy shit, this was like an engagement. I kissed the top of his head. “You thought of everything.”

  “I’m going for another viewing on Saturday. Would you like to come?”

  “Sure. But aren’t you going to the Grand Final?”

  “I’m going to go to the apartment beforehand. Abe and Lisa are probably also going to come, and they want to see you.”

  It burned slightly that they would all be going off to the final together, and I would have to trudge off home. Dec and I had avoided talking about it, a kind of unspoken agreement that we both knew it was impossible for me to go in any guise with him as he would be going with the rest of his team and their girlfriends.

  But he knew I was thinking about it, because he murmured sleepily, “Call Roger.”

  That oft-repeated mantra continued to echo in my head as I closed my eyes.

  I CALLED Roger the next day and left a message. Would you be surprised he didn’t call back?

  I drove by their house the next night. Their lights were on, and I could see shadows moving behind the curtains. He and Fran were unaware that there was a stalker in their midst. A stalker who was too shit-scared to leave his car and actually confront his demons by knocking on their front door and demanding his oldest and best friend speak to him; a stalker who rather feebly just put the car back into gear and drove away.