From Robin Hood?
Libby
Some dude from 1348 being named Guy doesn’t really make your case for it being a suitable name.
Me
Anyway, technically Guy isn’t a real person
Libby
He looked pretty real to me.
This is just so . . .
I mean . . .
We really . . .
WE CREATED LIFE?!??!
Me
And we didn’t even have to give birth
Libby
I can’t believe you’re joking at a time like this.
Me
I can’t believe there’s a guy hiding under my bed right now
Libby
I can’t believe.
Me
Same
Libby
My sister thinks you’re some kind of sex fiend now, btw.
Me
Lmao yeah, the most virginal sex fiend in the world
She won’t say anything, will she?
Libby
Nah. But I guess for a while I’ll have to obey her every command like a good little sister, just to make sure.
I quickly slipped my phone under my pillow when I heard Mum’s footsteps coming down the hallway.
‘Maxie?’ She whisper-called. ‘Maxie boy!’
My bedroom door creaked open and light from the hallway spilled in. My heart pounded in my throat.
‘Just want to say goodnight to Max,’ Mum said softly, not bothering to check if I was even awake. She spotted Max’s feet sticking out from under my bed and moved towards them. ‘Maxie boy, what are you doing? Aren’t you going to give –’
‘Mum!’ I cried, sitting up suddenly, just as she was about to bend down. She straightened up, startled. I had to say something to keep her distracted. Out came the first thing that popped into my head. ‘Tell me about your first kiss.’
Mum’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I thought you were tired. Now you want to chat?’ She sat down on my bed anyway and reached out to smooth a stray strand of hair from my face. Normally it would soothe me. Right now it was only making me tenser. But at least she’d momentarily forgotten about Max under my bed. Apparently he’d found his new fave person and didn’t want to leave his side.
‘Well, let’s see. I was seventeen and working at the deli . . .’
I knew this story. It was a long one, the way my mum told it. What had I got myself into? I willed Guy to stay silent and still below me.
As Mum was talking, I heard the back door sliding open. As if I wasn’t stressed enough as it was. Had Theo returned? Like I needed more complications right now.
I was relieved when my dad popped his head through my bedroom door. He was drenched. He must have ridden his bike home, despite the storm.
‘Evening, ladies,’ he said with a grin. ‘Didn’t think you’d still be up.’
Mum got up to give him a kiss and scolded him for dripping all over the floor.
Then my dad said, ‘Max? Maxie? What’s he found under there?’ and the momentary relief I had been feeling vanished.
‘Whatever it is, it must smell good. He hasn’t budged,’ Mum said. ‘Probably dirty knickers.’
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was a nightmare. It had to be.
Please let it be.
What do I do?
I jumped out of bed and pulled on Max’s legs, dragging him out. I glimpsed Guy still curled in a ball. Please stay like that, I thought. I hefted Max up in my arms with a groan. He was a heavy boy. I passed him over to Dad.
‘Here. Get your kisses. Can I go to sleep now?’
‘Someone’s in a mood,’ Dad replied with a sniff.
‘What’s got into you?’ Mum said. She leaned over and let Max lick her face.
‘I’m just tired,’ I said as Max, having done his kissing duties, twisted his way out of Dad’s arms and scrambled back under my bed. When I heard a soft giggle I launched into my best attempt at a coughing fit.
Mum reached out and touched my topknot. ‘It’s still damp! What did I tell you?’
I shrugged her away. ‘It’s fine,’ I said through a fake cough. ‘I just have something in my throat.’ I moved towards the door, herding them out of the room. ‘Goodnight, guys.’
‘Alright, alright, we get the message.’ Dad kissed my cheek. ‘I’m gonna hop in the shower.’ He turned towards the bathroom.
‘You’re cleaning out your room tomorrow,’ Mum said to me. ‘If whatever’s under that bed has got Max’s attention, it will probably draw the mice, too.’ She shuddered.
‘’Night, Mum,’ I said, closing my bedroom door. I heard her sigh on the other side of it. I waited for the sounds of her moving around her own room before I crouched down as quietly as I could. Max was now curled into Guy like the little spoon.
‘Are you okay?’ I whispered as quietly as I possibly could. ‘Do you . . . do you reckon you can stay there until morning?’ I felt totally unreasonable asking this, but I didn’t know what else to do. My door was closed, but I didn’t have a lock. It was too risky to let him out.
Let him out. I sounded like some kind of jailer.
‘I’m quite comfortable,’ Guy whispered. ‘As long as I’m near you, I’m happy.’
I shook my head. There was no getting used to this. I slid some of my spare pillows towards Guy, grateful for the first time in my life for Mum’s obsession with loading every bed in the house full of decorative cushioning.
‘Goodnight, then,’ I said, climbing into bed for the third time that evening. Had it really only been a few hours ago that I’d been messing with clay and goop with Libby in my kitchen? And now . . .
‘Goodnight.’ The honey whisper drifted up from below me. Quiet, but there.
I suddenly felt really, really tired. Like all the adrenaline that had been pumping through me had finally dissipated.
As my eyes fluttered shut, I felt a pang of guilt. It was Guy’s first night on Earth – apparently – and this was how he was spending it.
I thought of Frankenstein. My nunna had lent me the book the year before. In it, the doctor, Frankenstein, was so horrified by what he had done that he abandoned his monster right after creating it.
Is that how I should feel? Horrified?
I didn’t know how I felt. But it wasn’t that.
And I knew one thing for sure. I might be forcing Guy to sleep on the wooden floor beneath my bed, but I would definitely never abandon him.
Five
Libby was slowly circling Guy. ‘I still can’t believe it.’ She reached out to poke his arm. He just smiled in response.
We were at the park down the road from Libby’s place to do our official Guy handover. I had to go to work, which meant Libby was on Guy duty for the day. I felt weird about leaving him and had been tempted to call in sick, but I needed the money more than ever now I had to pay for my glasses to be repaired. And it wasn’t like I could keep him under my bed all day.
When I’d woken up and checked under there that morning, I’d half expected to see him gone. Like the whole thing had been one long, lucid dream. But there he was, still curled in a ball as though he hadn’t moved even one centimetre all night. I’d actually got goosebumps at the sight of him. A part of me still felt like I was dreaming, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Maybe I was in a coma? The soap opera kind, where there’s a whole narrative and you learn profound life lessons. Yeah. That seemed likely.
It had been a mission and a half to get Guy clothed (my brother’s old footy gear), fed (an apple snuck from the kitchen) and out of the house without my family noticing. Frankly I was impressed by my own achievement, and was considering putting ‘spy’ at the top of my career wish list. Hey, it was probably more viable than ‘artist’ or ‘writer’.
‘You should see his bellybutton,’ I said. ‘Or lack thereof.’
‘What?!’ Libby paused in front of Guy, and he helpfully rubbed the smooth skin of his stomach. It was easy for him to do, since my
brother was at least two sizes smaller than Guy and his jersey was practically a crop top on him.
‘What are you?’ Libby said.
‘I am Guy.’
‘Oh, we’re sticking with that, are we?’ Libby said, looking at me.
I shrugged. ‘Well, it was either that or Frank.’
‘Frank?’
‘Yeah. You know, like Frankenstein.’
She shook her head. ‘Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monst–’ She looked at Guy’s smiling face, and cut herself off. ‘Not the you-know-what.’
‘Yeah. I know. So Guy it is.’
Libby turned back to him. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘From Kate’s room,’ he said simply.
Libby’s hand went to her hip. ‘But what about before that?’
Uncertainty clouded his face for the briefest of moments, then he shook it off. ‘There was no before that. Not for me.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘How old are you?’
‘My physical age is approximately seventeen, I believe.’ He ran a hand through his thick, golden hair. ‘But literally speaking, I am, oh –’ he glanced at the sky ‘– about twelve hours old?’
Libby rubbed her face. ‘This really can’t be real.’
‘I assure you, I’m very real,’ Guy said. He reached for Libby’s hand and placed it against his chest, right above his heart. ‘See?’
She pulled her hand back and turned to me. ‘Do you have any idea what this means?’
‘That you and I are now proud co-parents of a newborn, full-grown teenager?’
‘Oh yeah, I’m sure you feel super parental about him.’
I felt myself blushing and glanced at Guy. He didn’t seem fazed. To be fair, nothing seemed to faze him. He was perpetually calm – when he wasn’t completely joyful. He took delight in the most random things. Like that morning, when I’d given him that apple to eat, he’d taken one bite and his eyes had widened and he’d said, ‘This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’ Then, a beat later, ‘To be fair, it’s the only thing I’ve ever eaten.’ And he’d laughed his glorious laugh.
‘Forget about your hormones for a second,’ Libby said now. ‘This is huge. This is history-making. Think about it. We’ll be rich! Famous!’
Alarm bells were ringing in my head. I looked at Guy, wanting to get him away from this talk. ‘Have you ever swung on a swing?’ I said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘No, but it sounds wonderful.’
‘It is!’ I grabbed him by the wrist and led him over to the sad little swing set that was the only play equipment in the park (a generous word for this patch of grass, really). A few moments later he was pumping his long, muscled legs and hooting with joy. It really didn’t take much to make him happy.
I turned back to Libby to resume our conversation, standing far enough away from Guy that I hoped he wouldn’t hear us.
‘Okay, we cannot tell anyone about this. You know that, right?’
‘But – this is so huge. How can we not?’ Libby asked.
‘Are you serious?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, no one would believe us, for starters. You didn’t even believe it.’
Libby tilted her head, reluctant agreement on her face. She pulled out a packet of cinnamon gum from her back pocket and stuck a piece in her mouth. She didn’t offer me one. She knew I hated it.
‘And even if they did,’ I continued, ‘you know what would happen. They’d come and take him away and chop him up into a thousand little pieces. Hell, they’d probably lock us up.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Come on. Look at any TV show or movie. That’s what happens every single time.’
‘But this isn’t a movie, Katie.’
‘I know! It’s real life, with real people and real –’ I glanced at Guy ‘– whatever the hell he is – who could get hurt.’
Libby chewed thoughtfully. ‘Well, what do we do now?’ she finally said.
‘I for one have got to go to work. Take good care of our baby, okay?’
She pursed her lips. ‘What am I going to tell my parents? I can’t just bring home a giant white guy and hope they don’t notice.’
‘So don’t take him to your house.’
I walked over to Guy.
‘Hey, I’m heading to work,’ I called.
‘Oh! I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘As soon as I figure out how to stop this.’
‘Oh, you uh –’ I was about to explain how you had to drag your feet along the ground, but before I could even blink he’d leaped off the swing in midair and landed on his feet like some kind of Olympic gymnast ‘– do that. Sure.’
‘You can’t go with Katie, she has to work,’ Libby said. ‘You’re stuck with me, buddy.’
Guy looked at Libby doubtfully. ‘But Kate –’
‘Will be back in a few hours.’
‘Like, five. Six, max,’ I said.
He stepped towards me and reached for my hand. ‘Do you have to go?’ he said softly. Whew. I was never going to get used to him looking at me like that. Talking to me like that. Touching me like that.
Whew.
‘Uhhh . . . yes?’ I said, not sounding particularly convincing even to myself.
Libby cleared her throat loudly, and I broke away from Guy.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you guys to it, then,’ I said in a rush, my voice coming out rather hoarse.
‘Bye, Katie,’ Libby said.
‘I miss you already,’ I heard Guy call after me as I walked away.
Six
‘I’m backed up worse than a priest during Lent,’ Mrs Morrison was saying to me as I reached for the laxatives we kept behind the counter.
I laughed politely, even though I wasn’t quite sure what she meant (other than ‘extremely constipated’). Mrs Morrison was one of the chemist’s regular customers, coming in for different medications and supplements every single week – sometimes multiple times a week. I guess that’s what happens when you get old. You need a little extra help keeping your body functioning.
I was scanning the barcode and listening to her go on about her poo when I spotted who was next in line and froze. It was Declan Bell Jones. He noticed me staring and gave me a little half-wave.
I did what any normal person would do in that situation and quickly looked away.
I don’t know why I was so shocked to see him there. I mean, he lived down the road, in one of the big houses by the beach. I’d seen him skateboarding past, usually with a package from the fish and chip shop next door tucked under one arm. But he’d never come in before. At least, not during one of my shifts.
I glanced over at Alex, my co-worker, just as he was handing over change to a customer. He’d be ready to serve Declan before I was. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.
‘– and then on Thursday, I ate about half a kilo of prunes, and would you believe, still not a nugget to be seen. So I went to visit my friend, Helen, because she always manages to give me the shits.’ Mrs Morrison grinned at her own joke. ‘But then –’
My smile was becoming strained as I waited for an opportunity to inform Mrs Morrison of the price of her purchase, while also clocking Declan sidling up to the counter out of the corner of my eye. Alex had his customer service voice on – ‘Hi, how you going? Still warm outside? It’s such a nice day after that hectic storm last night’ – and Declan was responding politely, but I swear I could feel him watching me. I chanced a look over at him just as Mrs Morrison said, very loudly, ‘Do you ever get constipated, dear?’
Declan broke eye contact immediately, his eyes darting down towards his wallet. I could tell he was trying to suppress a smile.
That’s when I saw what he was buying.
Condoms.
I suddenly felt queasy.
I turned back to Mrs Morrison, my face reddening. ‘Uh, that’s $9.95,’ I mumbled.
‘What’s that, my love?’ she said.
�
��It’s $9.95,’ I repeated, louder this time.
‘Alright, no need to yell, I’m not deaf yet.’ She chuckled. ‘Hope you don’t mind some shrapnel.’ She began counting out coins from her heavy purse. She seemed to have an endless supply of them.
Declan had completed his purchase and was hanging back. I was trying very hard not to look his way. I hurriedly counted Mrs Morrison’s mountain of money.
‘Here’s hoping this clears the pipes, eh?’ she said as she popped the laxatives in her bag with a flourish.
‘Good luck,’ I said with a fake laugh that died on my lips as Declan stepped up to the counter again. Right in front of me.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘Hi,’ I said in a voice I didn’t recognise as my own. ‘Um, yeah, since last year.’
‘Cool.’
I glanced behind Declan. There was no one waiting in line. Alex was busy serving another customer, but he shot me a curious look.
‘Can I, um, help you with anything?’ I said to Declan.
He rested his forearms on the counter, bringing his face closer to mine.
‘I just wanted to say sorry again. For yesterday.’
‘Oh.’ I swallowed. That felt like a year ago already. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was only my head.’ I laughed, going for nonchalant but probably just sounding ridiculous.
‘Your glasses,’ he said. My hand reflexively went to the broken frame. ‘Can I replace them for you?’
‘Oh! Nah. You don’t have to do that. It’s no biggie.’ I waved my hand dismissively. I noticed that an old man was now waiting to be served.
‘I think I do. Or at least let me get them fixed,’ Declan said, looking right into my eyes.
‘Um . . .’ I seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
Declan straightened up. ‘Really. I insist.’
Behind him, the old guy cleared his throat very loudly.
‘Uh, okay, sure,’ I said quickly.
Declan looked gratified. ‘What’s your number? I’ll text you and we can sort out the details.’
I recited my mobile number, trying not to look as astonished as I felt over this surreal turn of events. Declan Bell Jones had actually asked for my number. And I’d thought creating my dream guy out of clay would be the weirdest thing to happen to me this weekend.
You Were Made For Me Page 5
