Love Lives

by Emlyn Rees

  Despite all the space in her bedroom, Verity spent most of her time in the bathroom, where the MTV she could get on the oversized television in the bedroom was linked up to some surprisingly good speakers above the bath. It was only there, with the door locked, that she felt she had any privacy and could forget all the strangers doing the strange things that people did in hotels, in the rooms below her.

  The bathroom window had a wide sill and she’d rigged up a kind of window seat there with several pillows and blankets. Verity liked to sit here at night, looking over the rooftops to where she could see a glimpse of the cliffs beyond North Beach. It was here that she wrote her diary and composed poetry, not that she would ever show anyone any of it. And it was here, now, that Verity found her mobile phone, which lay on the cushion.

  Picking it up, she checked for text messages, but there was nothing new. She screwed up her nose with disappointment. She’d been hoping there’d be one from Treza, telling her when she’d left home. Until recently, they’d always walked to the bus stop together. But since Treza had started seeing Will, their morning journeys to school had become more and more infrequent until, in the last fortnight, they’d almost stopped altogether.

  Verity picked up her diary, walked into the bedroom and knelt down by the stack of schoolbooks by her TV and video stand and dialled Treza’s phone. Ripping open the Velcro strip on her bag and pulling up the top flap, she glanced at the photos of her and Treza inside the clear plastic pouch and ran her fingertip over the pictures of them both crammed into the booth in Woolworths.

  Even with their heads pressed together and their tongues sticking out at the camera, they couldn’t have been more different from each other looks-wise. Where Verity had dead-straight chestnut tresses, Treza had inherited her mother’s Maltese looks and had a bob of tightly coiled jet-black ringlets. Verity was gangly and flat-chested with long legs and tiny hips, while Treza was short and curvy, and would never need clever bras.

  But it was more than physical differences that separated them now.

  Verity looked away from the photos. They were only taken in the summer, but it already seemed like years ago. She couldn’t put her finger on when everything had started to change, but a few months ago she wouldn’t have had to call Treza, she would have known what she was up to every second of the day. Now that was Will Macdonald’s responsibility.

  ‘Hi, there,’ Treza answered breezily.

  Even her voice sounded different these days, thought Verity bitterly. Of course, both Verity and Treza had been out with people before. But the boys they had dated had been just that: boys. None of them had been serious. Not like it was between Treza and Will. For one thing, Will had left school and had a job, which meant he had a car and money to go out with. And for another, Treza had – she’d confided in Verity only a few weeks before – slept with him. As in all the way.

  All Verity had done was some heavy fumbling with Tim, her last ex whom she’d broken up with two months ago. It hadn’t worked out on account of the fact that he was a terrible kisser and because Verity had refused to have sex with him. She was saving herself and she’d thought that Treza had been too. Except that now Treza had found the person she’d been saving herself for.

  Verity was all too aware of this new gulf in opportunity and experience between her and Treza and, as a result, she couldn’t help feeling immature and silly, as if somehow she’d been left behind. And she didn’t want to be left behind. Not by her best friend.

  ‘Hey. What’s up?’ Verity said, deliberately trying to sound normal. ‘You nearly here, or what?’

  ‘Not exactly …’ said Treza. Verity could tell by the catch in her voice that Treza already had an excuse. ‘It’s just that Will wants to run in one of the cars …’

  Verity sat back and hugged her knees as she listened to Treza enthuse about Will’s latest two-seater that he was restoring in the classic car garage where he worked. Absent-mindedly, Verity gazed at the corner of the room where she’d set up a kettle and toaster on the side table. It would do for now, but one day she’d have a flat of her own and wouldn’t that be bliss, she thought.

  ‘Verity?’ Treza sounded concerned and Verity realised she’d stopped listening and had been childishly chewing on the end of her plait, relieving the dull ache left over from where her teeth had been imprisoned.

  ‘I’ll see you there, then,’ Verity said, immediately hating herself for sounding so stiff.

  ‘You do mind. I knew you would,’ said Treza, sounding upset.

  Verity straightened up. She didn’t want Treza’s pity. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Look, look, it doesn’t matter,’ Treza hurried on. ‘I’ll get Will to drop me off at yours as usual. I’ll see you in a minute –’

  ‘No!’ Verity interrupted, swinging round, so that her plait flipped over her shoulder. ‘Don’t be silly, Treze, you must go with him. Don’t worry about me.’

  Treza let out a hum of indecision.

  ‘Seriously,’ said Verity, meaning it.

  ‘Are you sure. Sure sure sure sure sure?’

  ‘You’re my best friend. Now go go go go go! Have fun!’

  Verity ended the call and stared at the phone, her false good humour dissipating into a disappointed sigh. Her comment about Treza being her best friend sounded hollow in her ears and she felt foolish for saying it.

  None of this would matter if she had an older sophisticated boyfriend of her own, she thought miserably. But what chance did she have? She wasn’t nearly as confident as Treza, or as pretty.

  Slowly, Verity packed the rest of her books into her bag. There was no point in wishing for the impossible.

  Verity’s mood hadn’t lightened as she headed up to the bus stop in town. She was still busy persuading herself that walking alone was fine after all, when she saw Jimmy Jones waving to her from the other side of the street and her heart sank even further. She put her head down, as if she hadn’t seen him and hurried on.

  She didn’t want to talk to Jimmy, not that she’d ever really spoken to him before. He was in her English class and was always fairly quiet, but that was because he was probably stoned half the time. He hung out with Tara and those other dope-heads, and while he’d never done anything to spite her, she knew Tara made fun of her behind her back. Last summer, as she’d passed the Sapphire, she’d seen Tara doing a stupid impression of her singing the aria from the Puccini opera that had won Verity the school prize.

  Jimmy’s bike’s front wheel was wobbling, as he caught up with her. ‘Hi,’ he said, jumping off his bike and falling into step beside her. ‘Verity. So … how are you?’

  He was grinning at her in a very strange way. She was so used to seeing him look bored that it took her by surprise. He was wearing the same grubby leather jacket he always wore, and his pink cheeks were dirty with stubble. He looked as if he were going out for the night, rather than to school. Maybe he was going to bunk off and wanted to butter her up to make an excuse for him. Maybe that was why he sounded so over-friendly. He probably thought she was some kind of soft touch with the teachers.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, walking quickly on.

  ‘Going to school, then?’ he asked, catching up with her almost immediately.

  Verity threw him a sceptical glance. Of course she was going to school. What was he on? ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘I thought I could walk with you,’ he said.

  ‘But you’ve got a bike,’ she pointed out. ‘And I catch the bus.’

  ‘I’ll go with you to the bus stop, then. Do you always go this way?’

  Why was he being so weird? ‘Yes, Jimmy. This was the way to school last time I looked. I walk down the High Street to the bus stop. That’s what people do when they catch the bus.’

  They walked on in silence for a while until they rounded the corner by the churchyard.

  ‘You were good in the play,’ Jimmy said eventually, as if they’d been talking all the while.

  Verity stopped and turned
to him. ‘That was last term.’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘I know, but I haven’t had time to say anything before. I haven’t seen you,’ he said, then stuttered on, ‘I mean … I haven’t seen you alone.’

  Verity had seen Jimmy nearly every day since the school play, so why was he waiting until they were alone? They’d never been alone before. Not as far as she could remember.

  Jimmy smiled and shrugged again. Even though he was squinting against the light, Verity could see now how blue his eyes were. He didn’t look half so much of a drop-out when he smiled.

  ‘I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing,’ she said, feeling guilty now for being so sarcastic a minute ago.

  ‘I like plays. I could never act, though. I’m not confident … not like you are.’

  ‘I’m not confident. I’m just used to it. If you’re saying words you’ve learnt by heart, they’re like a mask,’ Verity replied. ‘You can hide behind them.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t come across that way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, realising that this was the start of the first real conversation she’d ever had with Jimmy. Maybe there was more to him than she thought.

  Suddenly he grinned, as if remembering something. ‘I thought you might like this,’ he said, reaching inside his bag. He wobbled his head with embarrassment as he tried to extract something from the pocket inside. Eventually he pulled out a small carrier bag and handed it to her.

  ‘What is it?’ Verity took a step back, wondering if this was some practical joke, where she’d accept the bag and it would turn out to have something gross inside.

  ‘Nothing much,’ he said, shaking the slim package until she took it.

  Verity didn’t know what to say. She was about to open it when there was a loud roar and Denny Shapland sped past them down the road on his scrambler motorbike and pulled to an elaborate stop outside his surf shop, Wave Cave. Distracted, Verity stared down the road and craned her neck to get a clearer view of Denny.

  Even though she saw him every few days on the way to school, Denny, who was without a doubt the best-looking guy in the whole town, never failed to rouse her interest. He had money and he had style – albeit of the designer surf bum variety. But at least he was fashion conscious and took care of himself.

  Now there was an older and sophisticated man indeed, thought Verity, watching as he cocked his leg over his bike and took off his helmet. Despite the time of year, he had a deep tan and sun-streaked wavy brown hair. She watched as he stopped and ran his hand through his hair, before unlocking the door of his shop. Everything about him was just so … so cool, she thought, disappointed that he’d stepped out of sight.

  Wrenching her attention away, realising that she’d been absorbed in taking in every detail of Denny’s arrival, Verity turned back to Jimmy, noticing that she was still holding his package in her hand. But Jimmy had gone. Perplexed, Verity looked around, but there was no sign of him. How odd that he should just disappear and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Without bothering to open the bag, she stuffed it into her school bag and walked towards Denny’s shop. She’d just had an idea and it was much more important than Jimmy Jones and his bizarre gifts.

  Afterwards, Verity decided that fate moves in the strangest ways. While she was busy resenting Will for taking Treza to school in a sports car, all the time he was providing an amazing reason for Verity to be dawdling alone past the door of Denny’s shop. Dawdling, that is, at the very moment that Denny turned the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’ in the door and happened to look through the glass directly at her.

  It was at that moment that everything changed for Verity. It was as if in that private moment when his eyes met hers, a whole new world opened. And, of course, there was the all-or-nothing smile she flashed at him. That couldn’t have hurt either.

  ‘Hi,’ said Denny, lounging against the door frame, a curious grin on his face.

  Verity nodded, the burst of confidence that had got her this far suddenly deserting her.

  But Denny didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he flicked his head to the dark interior behind him. ‘Why don’t you step inside, Verity? There’s something I want to show you,’ he said, before turning and walking away from her. But in spite of his apparent confidence that she would follow, Verity was rooted to the spot, thinking only that he knew her name.

  Verity hadn’t been in Denny’s shop much. If fact, she could only recall being here once or twice, when Treza had encouraged her to push through the throng of teenage groupies who lurked around the door on a Saturday and step inside to browse the rails.

  On those occasions Verity had spent her time glancing furtively at Denny to see what all the fuss was about, but she’d never actually spoken to him. She wasn’t like the girls in her school who flounced around discussing the merits of Australian imported sweatshirts and competed with each other to get the latest funky gear at a discount from Denny’s shop. Neither did she want anything to do with the crowd of boys who gathered to enthuse over extreme sports videos and wince in contented unison at the horrific wipe-outs.

  Verity looked nervously up the street. She couldn’t run away, not now. Not after he’d invited her in. For a split second she longed for Treza to be with her to do all the talking, but then she remembered where Treza was and stepped inside.

  Denny had done up the shop like the inside of a cave and the walls were covered in stone effect cladding. Two large, expensive-looking televisions hung from the ceiling and carefully angled spotlights illuminated the circular racks of clothing below. This morning, though, the televisions were off and the pumping music, for which the shop had a bad reputation, was silent.

  ‘Close the door, will you?’ said Denny, rubbing his hands together. ‘It’s freezing out there.’

  Verity smiled weakly and feebly pointed to the street. ‘My bus will be here …’ She fizzled out as her eyes met Denny’s.

  He was probably in his mid-twenties, but still young to be as successful and rich as he was. Leaning back against the glass counter with his arms folded across his lithe torso, he looked like a man totally at home. His Police sunglasses were pushed up into his hair and his cheeks were flushed from where he’d been riding the motorbike. Despite the time of year, he was wearing long surf shorts and his toned tanned calves were crossed as if he were casually leaning against some kind of Caribbean beach bar. MTV, was all Verity could think: he looked like a model off MTV.

  What was she doing? This was crazy, she panicked, coming to her senses. Denny was way out of her league. She must be out of her mind.

  But it was too late to run away now.

  Forcing herself to be brave, Verity quickly pulled the door so that it clicked from its stopper. It closed behind her with a conspiratorial whisper, sealing her into Denny’s world.

  There was a moment of silence as Denny stared at her. Verity looked down at the carpet.

  ‘I’m getting new stock in,’ he said suddenly. In an animated turn, he pulled some glossy catalogues off a pile by the till and spread them open on the counter. ‘I wanted to know what you thought.’

  Wow! Verity wanted to gasp, but she knew it would make her sound pathetic and girlish, so instead, she tried to act nonplussed as she asked, ‘Why me?’

  ‘Well, you know, you’re a girl and you’ve got good taste,’ said Denny, flipping over some pages.

  She waited for Denny to turn round and tell her he was joking, but he didn’t, and Verity felt the adrenalin rush she got every time she sang in front of an audience without drying up.

  It was almost as if she were watching herself from the corner of the room in slow motion, as she moved towards Denny. As she got closer, she could smell his musky aftershave. She looked at his profile, tracing the line of his immaculately manicured goatee beard and dreamily wondering what he’d be like to kiss.

  ‘I’ve got to get my orders for the summer stock in. I was looking at beach wear,’ Denny said, pushing the catalogue along to face her. ‘What do you th
ink?’

  Verity could tell that her whole complexion was pulsing red, but Denny didn’t seem to notice. On the contrary, he seemed totally serious and, realising he required an answer, Verity took the last couple of paces and stared down at the catalogues. ‘Nice,’ she mumbled, looking over the pictures of sun-drenched blondes draped over surfboards in cut-away swimming costumes.

  ‘The thing is … you’ve just given me a fantastic idea. If I got some samples in stock, would you model them for me?’ asked Denny.

  Verity stiffened.

  ‘I mean, nothing funny … all very tasteful. It’d be good to have some authentic pictures for my new website…’ Denny stopped as he caught her embarrassed glance. He clicked his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘That’s a no, huh?’ he said, as she stepped away from him. ‘Your parents wouldn’t be too pleased?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Verity quickly, ‘it’s not that.’ Although that was most of the reason. She couldn’t imagine what her mother would say if she found out that Verity was modelling bikinis. It was more to do with the fact that she couldn’t imagine baring that much of her flesh in front of anyone, let alone Denny.

  There was silence as Verity looked at her hands. She’d known all along that she was out of her depth and now she just felt like a fool. Her brain was telling her to run away, but her legs wouldn’t obey her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Denny said, breaking the tension. ‘Really. I mean we hardly know each other and I get you in here and ask you to model …’ Denny let out an embarrassed laugh and made a spire out of his fingers over his mouth. ‘What must you think? Look, forget it, OK? Forget I ever asked. Is that a deal?’ he said, stooping to search out her eyes.

  Verity nodded. She couldn’t hold his gaze. Surely he could see that she was a sham. Why would Denny ever think that she was anything other than hopelessly naïve?