by Cath Crowley
‘What?’ I say. ‘No afterglow?’
‘No time for it,’ Stu says.
I find my clothes, start getting dressed. I can’t help thinking about what Ady said. If I’m looking at Stu suspiciously he doesn’t notice. I’m trying to think of a way to ask him about the girl at the party, but then shouts rise up from downstairs. Shouts and thuds, like a fight is breaking out.
‘Shit. Wait here.’ And he’s gone.
I stand up. My mouth is dry. I’m pulsing all over. I see Stu’s scarf on the back of his bed, and I put it on and breathe in the scent of him. Stu’s phone is on his bedside table. I don’t know why I pick it up – it’s just an impulse – but the second I do a message arrives.
I stare at the name on the screen.
Anna.
I click on the message and then wish I hadn’t. It’s a photo, like the ones I’ve been sending, only not remotely arty.
The shouts from downstairs get louder.
I go to Stu’s photos. My pictures are in there, and the ones he’s sent me, but there are also photos of other girls. So many. A gallery of pink. I track back the messages he’s sent Anna and they’re a variation of all the ones he’s sent me.
I put his phone down. My head fills with noise. And god I’m such an idiot. I haul on my jeans and grab my jacket. I run, out the door, down the stairs, past the TV room, where Stu’s sitting on the floor, hugging a guy who’s rocking and moaning.
Once I’m on the street I walk for ages. I don’t even know where I’m walking to. I walk past a bar where a group of guys call things out. And past a restaurant where a loved-up-looking couple are eating off each other’s plates. I walk past posters for a ‘gentlemen’s club’; someone’s scratched the model’s nipples off. And I walk past a church with a shop attached: a thousand plastic Jesuses showing me their wounds. Stu calls once, twice, but I don’t pick up.
I get back to school to find that no one has missed me. The world hasn’t ended, but it feels like it has. I have a long shower and then I cry myself to sleep. I don’t even care that Jinx can hear.
Thursday 25 August
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to track the pattern in the ceiling rose. I’m thinking about the coming weekend – the room, the share house. I’m not going, but some small idiot part of me kind of wants to. It’s the same part that makes me sniff Stu’s scarf – like, I hate him but I still want to smell him. He’s sent me three texts: Where did I go? Did last night really happen or was it just a wild sex dream? Call me, Zaftig.
I know if I talk to him I’ll cry, or whine; I’ll show my age, I’ll be pathetic. I hate feeling so desperate. Why can’t I be enough for him? He’s enough for me. It makes me think maybe none of it was real. Maybe I made it all up. I think about the quote on the Wellness sheet: Happiness is an industry and an illusion. ‘Better we talk about joy,’ Malik had said. ‘Because the con with happiness is we think it’s everlasting.’
Four months ago I didn’t even know Stu existed. And maybe I wasn’t completely happy then, but it wasn’t because of missing him. Now I can’t imagine being happy again. Today I went to class. I masked my sads and kept to myself at breaks. I must have had a fuck-off vibe; no one came near me, not even Jinx. In the afternoon there was a message from Mum and Dad. Iris didn’t Skype them and they wanted to know why.
I wish I’d never come to St Hilda’s, never had the accident, never fallen for Stu’s smile.
There’s a knock at my door. Iris.
‘Go away,’ I say.
She ignores me and closes the door behind her.
Her glasses hang on the granny chain around her neck. Her sleeves are stuffed with tissues and her face looks like she’s been rubbing it with stinging nettles.
‘Are you still sick?’
‘No.’ She scowls and sneezes; snot flies out too fast for her to catch it. We both stare at where it lands on the carpet. Then Iris bends to wipe it up.
‘It’s just a cold,’ she says, her voice thick. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘My excuse for what?’
She waves her hand to indicate my general fug. Her eyes go to the mirror, Thing One and Thing Two. She’s having a good look at Ady’s fat ladies.
‘Do you want to Skype Mum and Dad?’
‘No.’
She’s silent, looking at me all judgy.
‘Can I help you, Iris?’
‘You never talk to me. You don’t respect my opinions.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know how you are.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine.’ She sits on Jinx’s bed. She looks like she’s got something to say, like she’s been thinking on it for ages, and then she says it. ‘I used to hear Mum talk about you to her friends and get so jealous. You know, you suck up a lot of energy.’
‘Me? You’re the one they’re proud of. You’ve got the bright future. You don’t even need people.’
‘I need people,’ Iris says. She starts coughing. I wrap Stu’s scarf around my mouth as a protective measure.
‘How long have you had that cough for?’
‘About a week.’
‘It’s sounds bad.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Hey, Iris?’
‘What?’
‘I had sex.’
‘You did not.’
I nod. ‘Twice.’
Her eyes go wide. ‘Does he go to Basildon? Are you taking him to the formal?’
‘It was the guy I ran into – who brought flowers.’
‘Him? But he’s so old!’
I’m enjoying shocking her. Talking to Iris I can pretend Stu and I are still a thing, still what we never really were – boyfriend and girlfriend. ‘I don’t know if he’ll come to the formal. It’s a bit . . . babyish. You and Theo will have fun.’
‘What do I do if Theo wants to – you know.’
I start laughing.
Iris goes red. She looks like she wants to hit me.
‘I can’t see it,’ I say.
‘Why do you have to be such a bitch?’
‘I don’t know. Because I feel like it, I guess.’
What is it like to be Iris? So closed off, so self-sufficient. I remember her Google search – How do you know if a boy likes you? – and I want to laugh, because it’s such an innocent question. But even now, even after having sex, it’s still the question. I feel myself soften towards her.
She starts coughing again. It sounds like someone tearing off huge strips of wallpaper. She blows her nose copiously. Then she lets out a wail of frustration. ‘I hate being sick! I’ve got Kate’s this weekend.’
‘You know, Kate invited me too.’
‘She did? Why? I mean, I know you had that thing for Wellness, but . . . Kate’s totally not your kind of person, Clem. She’s refined. You’re like . . . primitive.’
‘What, like a monkey?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ But she’s smiling. And I’m smiling. It’s sort of funny.
Iris spits phlegm into a tissue. She stares at it. ‘It’s yellow. Does that indicate infection? Or is that when it’s green? Or grey? Or bloody?’
‘Go see the nurse. Get some antibiotics.’
Iris stands up, but she lingers at the door. I’m flashing on a hundred childhood photos of us – where one or the other of us is always pushing to the front. Where if one of us looks happy, the other looks destroyed. The way we roll.
‘What are you going to do if you’re not going to be a champion swimmer?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll just be nothing. I’ll just be me.’
Iris shivers, like the thought of that is a fate worse than death. Then she sneezes three times and leaves.
I go back to staring at the ceiling rose, thinking about Stu, feeling stupid. Maybe I could go to Kate’s. Maybe getting away would be good for me. But Iris would hate it if I went. And Ady might not be so happy about it, considering the doughnut.
Ady was
right. Iris was right. Jinx was right. I should have been more careful.
The sun sets outside my window and the heaters click on. Just before dinner, Jinx comes in and tells me that Iris fainted in the nurse’s room and has been ordered to bed. ‘She’s going to have a great long weekend in sick bay.’ Jinx shakes her head. And then, when I fail to move, ‘Aren’t you going to go and see her?’
I make a care package for Iris. Chocolates, and some DVDs and, only because I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it, How to Hook Up, the booklet from Fuss. I think about writing some words of encouragement regarding Theo, but can’t think of anything to say. Because I still can’t see it. But what would I know?
Friday 26 August
God I’ve missed the river, I think, as we round the last bend to home. There were whole years where it had dried up, and Ben and I stood on the side, longing for it to come back. It’s nearly full again now, Mum wrote in her last email and I imagined swinging over the water, anchored by the rope that’s tied to the ancient eucalypt. I imagined myself floating, face up, ice cold body, sun warmed face.
I’ve missed everything about the farm. I’ve missed the house – huge, rambling, comfortable – sitting in the middle of the fruit trees. I’ve missed the wisteria, working its way over the iron frame that Dad built so it can’t pull down the house. I’ve missed the honeysuckle and the ancient rose. I miss the kitchen, with the old Aga, the old floorboards, the nicks in them, the scuffs. I’ve missed my bedroom with all my albums, organised in genres, and then in alphabetical order within the genres, so I can find anything I want at the moment that I want it.
Dad is sturdy and the same when I hug him. I’ve gone off and changed and I’m so grateful that he and Mum haven’t. The kitchen smells of sweet plum cake. I introduce Ady and Clem to Berry our dog, Poco the horse, Amadeus the goat. I see them taking it all in and I love them for loving it the way I do.
Clem is actually smiling, which is a huge relief. Ady looks wary, and I wonder if she and Clem are okay now. ‘She didn’t take it well,’ was all Ady said afterwards. ‘I wouldn’t have either,’ she added.
‘Bathroom through here,’ I say, opening up the door of the ensuite.
‘I’m never leaving,’ Clem says. ‘I am never leaving.’
We walk around the whole house, and I explain it’s big because Mum and Dad sometimes take in boarders when they need money, or use it as accommodation for the seasonal workers. There’s heaps to show them and I show it all. The track that leads to the old shed, the petrol pump we have on our land, the road that leads to the river, the lavender, the veggie patch, the treehouse Ben and I built.
‘Who’s Ben?’ Clem asks, and I tell her she’ll meet him soon.
Get over here, I text him. Actually, scrap that. Get to the river.
Be there after lunch, he texts back.
We eat, and then walk there. Down tracks I know by heart. There’s a rhythm to the bush that’s different to the city. Slow, dry and blue, I think. Wattle and quiet. Night skies that go all the way to your edges. I want to bring Oliver here to write, I think, and think at the exact same time that I can’t bring him here, because he won’t want to talk to me when he knows I’m not auditioning.
Ben’s waiting for us at the river, standing on the side near the eucalypt. Exactly where he was when we said goodbye. I run over, and he punches my shoulder shyly, and I punch his back. Then I grab him and hug until he laughs and reminds me we’re not alone.
He, Clem and Ady hit it off immediately.
In fact, from the way Ben looks at Clem, I know he won’t argue when I say that we should go out on the river in two boats. ‘Me and Ady in one, Clem and Ben in the other.’
‘Nice move,’ Ady says, as she and I drift away from them.
I smile, and start to row while she leans back and stares at the sky.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘I am for now. I’ll tell you later.’
I understand. She needs this moment. Under this sky.
I need it, too. I row and imagine that things can turn out how I want them. Maybe they can. There’s a peacefulness here that makes me think I can talk to Mum and Dad calmly, and they’ll understand and help me find a way.
I make myself believe it, so I can carve off some time to think about Oliver, and the kisses we’ve had. I think about the messages he’s been sending.
Him: Hello.
Me: Hello.
Him: I find myself missing you. I find myself thinking about Iceland. I find myself thinking about you and me in Iceland.
Me: J
Him: What is your home like?
Me: Trees, birds, sky, cake, open fires, a river.
Him: I love rivers. Bring me back a river.
‘Kate,’ Ady says, her eyes still on the clouds, ‘I can see now how you got to be you.’
‘Quiet and studious,’ I say.
‘You’re solid. Loyal. Different. Addictive,’ she says.
I want to find out what’s making her sad, and fix it.
If I said that I bet she’d say, ‘Not all things can be fixed,’ in her oracle speak.
I want to fix it just the same.
Friday 26 August
Ben is the cute guy from the photo on Kate’s pinboard. He is standing by the river – like he comes with it. Ady and I watch him and Kate hug. I can tell we’re thinking the same thing: that it’s strange to have someone else in our sphere. What if it puts us out of balance? What if it’s awkward? What if Ben doesn’t like us, or we don’t like him? But we needn’t have worried because he’s great, funny, lovely – like Kate. And inside of ten minutes we’re all gabbing like mad and laughing our arses off at nothing and everything.
We go out on the river. Ady and Kate, me and Ben. I don’t even have to row. I just sit back and listen as he tells me about river sprites and the names of all the plants. When he gets excited about something (land, plants, river, rocks) his cheeks flush a little. It’s not unbecoming. As he gets used to me, he stops talking about the natural world and starts asking questions.
‘Do you like boarding school?’
I shrug. ‘It’s okay. It was lonely at first. It’s getting better.’
‘I couldn’t do it. I know it sounds uncool, but I’d miss my parents. I already miss Kate. I’m a bit lost without her.’
I’m quiet for a bit. ‘It must be good to have someone to rely on.’
‘Wait – don’t you have a twin?’
‘We don’t really get on.’ I stir the water with my fingertip and make up a credo. ‘How about, if you don’t get attached then you can’t get lost?’
Ben looks at me. ‘Nah. I don’t believe you think that for a second.’
I’m trying to give him a brave stare, but I don’t think it’s convincing.
‘Kate says you’re a swimmer.’
‘I was. But I stopped. I don’t want to do it competitively.’ This is the answer I’ve been practicing for when I have to explain to Mum and Dad.
‘If it was summer I could show you all the secret swimming spots.’
‘I’ve never swum in a river.’
‘What? Never?’
I shake my head. ‘Just a lot of pools.’
‘You’ll have to come back. River swimming is the best.’ He ducks his head and there’s an awkward silence – all sorts of thoughts and feelings are swimming in that space – like, is Ben asking me out? Is it crazy to think that maybe I would come back here?
Ben breaks the silence. ‘What’s a Clem dream?’
Stu arrives in my mind. I wish he wouldn’t. I think about how with Stu I felt like I had to work to hold his attention. Ben’s gaze is unswerving.
‘Uh,’ I say. ‘Pass.’
Ben rows us to a point where the river widens. In the middle there’s an island. He stills the canoe. Ady and Kate have gone in the other direction. It’s so quiet.
‘Why are we stopping?’ I mock-whisper.
‘There was a painted snipe’s nest here.’ He
guides the canoe around the edge of the island with the oar. It looks less like an island than a swampland, and is covered in grasses. Ben reaches in his bag stealthily and brings out binoculars.
‘Woah,’ I whisper. ‘You brought the big guns.’
‘Impressed?’
I kind of am. He looks through and then hands them over.
‘Do you see him? Look along the ground – more to your right. White on his eye, white on his wing.’
‘I see him!’
‘Can you see the eggs?’
I nod and pass the binoculars back. ‘The male looks after the eggs?’
‘Uh-huh. And they may not even be his. The female is polyandrous.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She gets around.’ Ben uses the oar to push us back into the river. ‘But it’s a good thing, because they’re endangered.’
My fingers skim the water. The sun is sinking and the sky is changing from blue to mauve; the winter sun is like a low fireball. ‘It’s so beautiful here.’
Ben nods. ‘It’s pretty special. There’s nowhere else I’d want to live.’
‘You don’t feel like you’re missing out, not being in the city?’
‘The city makes me nervous. I don’t like crowds, and I don’t care about having to have the latest whatever. I like space.’
I look around. I entertain the idea of living in the country. I could move here and get a job fruit-picking or something. I could work and live life moment to moment. I wouldn’t have to be anything but present.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Ben asks. ‘Sorry. Dumb question.’
‘It’s okay. I was just . . .’
Ben’s listening. His waiting face. I don’t know why but I feel like I can talk to him.
‘Did you ever feel like you really got it wrong?’
He smiles. ‘Which it?’
‘Love.’ I shrug, half smiling because I think maybe I sound stupid, but Ben’s considering, his face serious.
‘My dad says that matters of the heart are always complicated.’ He looks at me. ‘I don’t have a whole lot of experience.’
‘Me neither. I mean, I’ve done stuff . . . but . . . I don’t think it was love. Not really.’
The red rises in Ben’s cheeks. ‘Are you . . . involved . . . with anyone now?’
