Stan

by C. J. Duggan

  “Well, I better call it a night,” he announced with a friendly enough smile, however faked I knew it was.

  Dad stretched in his armchair. “Yeah, I think we’ll be right behind you, Stan.”

  I stood lightning fast, my eyes on Stan who refused to look at me. Everyone said their goodbyes as Stan made a line toward the front door. I wanted to speak to him, to throw myself in his way and tell him how sorry I was, but just as quietly as he entered the room, he left it, without so much as a backwards glance.

  Stan and I had never been friends. He’d been friends with Grant and Ben, but not me. In fact, we were closer to sparring partners who knew to keep their distance. He had gained my respect over the years, simply from his constant commitment to his parents’ caravan park. But, other than that, we’d had little to do with each other. Up until now, I’d been thankful for that. Right now, though, I felt awful. I had never wished for a dirty look so much in my life, and never before had I deserved one more.

  Chapter Six

  Stan

  “Are you yanking my chain?”

  I did a double take from reading the label of the peanut butter jar in my hand to Ringer, who stood next to me in the supermarket aisle, a grave look on his face as he waited for me to respond. More disturbing than his look, though, was something else entirely obvious to me.

  “Did you honestly just say yanking my chain?”

  Ringer just stared on in stony silence.

  “Seriously, who says that?” I winced, putting the jar in the hand basket.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say is … are you fucking with me?”

  “Nope, the weekend’s off.”

  Ringer muttered more explicit words under his breath, pretty much the same ones I had repeated to myself as I kicked a frustrated line home last night.

  “So while your parents enjoy their piss-up for the weekend, you’re basically a prisoner.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You’re a fuckin’ slave to that place, mate; it’s not right.”

  Ringer’s contribution was not making me feel any better about the situation.

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is.” I shrugged, filling my basket up with the weekend essentials. Manning the park solo, which seldom happened, made it difficult to leave it unattended, especially in peak season. People were forever wondering in and out of the office, the front room of the main house. It was a day and night vigil which meant I would be crashing in my old room for the weekend. I had gone from the possibility of weekend escape, only to be downgraded to sleeping in my teenage bedroom again. It was a none-too-subtle slap of reality, one that reminded me I was going nowhere fast with my life.

  “Hey, is that Ellie?” Ringer said.

  I spun around, following Ringer’s stare. Sure enough, there she was at the opposite end of the aisle, sunglasses perched on top of her sun-bleached blonde hair. She wore a yellow singlet top that accentuated her tan, and frayed cut-off jean shorts; she looked like a model from a Jeans West catalogue.

  Shit.

  I ducked behind the chip stand.

  Ringer looked at me like I was an idiot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up,” I whispered as I motioned him to follow me in the opposite direction.

  “Mate, you need to get over this shit.”

  And by ‘over this shit’ he meant the painful awkwardness that ensued any time Ellie and I bumped into each other. It had been well over a year since we broke up, a mutual agreement with a life-long pact to be friends. We’d even had less awkward, more amazing, traditional break-up sex that we promised we would go to our graves with. And yet still, all the positivity and pacts of staying friends never quite rolled over into reality.

  “Well, I never. Ellie Parker!” Ringer called out, with a huge grin.

  “You’re a fucking arsehole.”

  Ringer flashed his biggest, toothy grin as Ellie’s voice closed in down the aisle.

  “There goes the neighborhood.” She laughed.

  “Oh, it’s worse than you could ever imagine,” said Ringer.

  I stepped into view smiling painfully. “Hey, Ellie.” I tried for light and natural, as natural as you can be from hiding behind a chip stand.

  Ellie’s smile faded as her eyes darted in disbelief from where I was standing to where I had emerged from.

  “Stan? Were you trying to avoid me?” she asked in all seriousness.

  “NO! No, I was just grabbing some chips.” I laughed nervously.

  Ringer stood behind Ellie nodding his head, giving me thumbs up as if to say, Smooth, mate. Real smooth.

  I decided to see the silver lining in the cloud; at least I wouldn’t have to put up with Ringer for a weekend, who was becoming less like a mate and more like someone I wanted to punch in the face.

  “Speaking of chips, um, I’ve gotta go grab some dip,” Ringer threw in. “You know for the party?”

  What?

  “Party?” Ellie asked.

  “Yeah, there’s a party at Stan’s parents’ house on the weekend. You should totally come.”

  Ellie’s demeanour changed. “A party? Cool. I was just going to go to the Onslow anyway, but it just isn’t the same these days; that new bartender, Matt, is a complete douchebag.”

  “Forget the Onslow, forget Matt, it’s all happening at Stan the Man’s.” Ringer pointed as he backed away, no doubt headed for the dip aisle.

  My head was spinning; in true Ringer style, he had taken it upon himself to completely railroad any occasion. That was usually how any party at the park happened.

  “So is it in the shed or—”

  “Hmm, um, no, the house I reckon, less likely chance of there being gatecrashers. I mean, not that it’s going to be big or anything,” I stumbled, explaining the details of a plan I had no freakin’ idea about.

  “Well, that makes sense. Are your parents not home?”

  “Ah, no, they’re headed away with the Evanses for the weekend.”

  “The Evanses? As in Dr Evans?”

  “Yeah, they’re staying at the park for the summer.”

  “They have a daughter right? Um, Melinda?”

  “Belinda; well Bel, actually.”

  “Right; I vaguely remember her going to our school for a while. She is kind of petite, right?”

  “Yeah, she has short black hair, big greeny-blue eyes, fair skin, fine features … definitely petite.”

  And I have probably said too much. Shit.

  Ellie stared at me for a long moment. “Riiiight.”

  Awkward silence.

  “So, what time is the party?” She readjusted her bag over her shoulder.

  “Oh, umm, eight, eight o’clock.”

  Ellie leaned over. “Formal or casual?”

  I blinked in confusion. “Casual.”

  Ellie laughed. “I was kidding. Geez, Stan, you need to lighten up.” She reached past me and grabbed a large bag of salt and vinegar Samboy chips. “For the party, you know, seeing as you don’t have any in your basket.” She gave me a knowing look; one thing about Ellie was when it came to me she could detect bullshit from a mile away. “See you tomorrow night then.”

  Ellie smiled, moving past me.

  “See ya.”

  It wasn’t until Ellie was visibly out of sight did I let my shoulders sag in relief. What the hell just happened? As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, I was now roped into playing host to a party tomorrow night. Knowing Ringer, he had probably invited every local from here to the deli; the usual quiet Friday night drink had a funny way of being ambushed by an array of uninvited guests. How had my life gotten so completely out of control? This was the shit that happened in my teens, not my twenties: it’s like I was stuck in some kind of time warp where everyone else was growing up but I stayed the same age. My best mates, Toby and Sean, had left the state and were earning a bundle of cash on opposite sides of the country. They were flat out even making it home for holidays. I mean, don’t get me wron
g, I was happy for them and every week when my mobile would ring out of the blue and one of them was on for a yack about the local Onslow goss, I was happy to oblige, but while they gave me the update on the happenings, I had nothing to elaborate on. Nothing. And while it didn’t seem to faze Ringer, it really annoyed the shit out of me.

  Seriously, what was I doing with my life?

  I couldn’t even manage what had seemed like something as simple as going away for a weekend’s fishing, and yet my parents wanted me to run the show. I honestly wouldn’t put myself in charge of a lucky dip, and then I remembered the reason behind my weekend taking an unexpected turn, and sobered from my thoughts of hopelessness.

  Bloody Bel Evans.

  Chapter Seven

  Bel

  In a mere moment, I had thought all my Christmases had come at once.

  My mum, in all her infinite wisdom, was going to save me from a weekend of guaranteed insanity by organising Alex to sleep over at his friend’s house for the weekend. I wanted to pirouette around the annex and hug her until she snapped in half. She no doubt read the euphoria all over my face.

  “Under one condition,” she counted sternly on her finger.

  “Anything. I’ll clean the van, wash the car, anything you want.”

  “Well, I should have clearly put more thought into this.”

  “Mum!” I said; the drama was killing me.

  “All right, hear me out. I have spoken to Paula and Glen and they are in total agreement. In fact, it was Paula’s idea.”

  Mum was rambling; she had that faraway look in her eyes as she clutched her necklace.

  “What idea?”

  “Oh, um, I’ll get Alex minded for the weekend if you agree to stay up at the main house. I don’t want you in the van on your own all weekend.”

  WHAT?

  Either the look on my face said it all, or my dumbfounded silence, but my mum shrugged.

  “It’s your call. Be here with Alex or—”

  “But what difference does it make? Alex isn’t exactly going to fend off any would-be murderer.”

  “Well, you have a point; do you want Alex to stay at the house with you?”

  “No,” I blurted out.

  God, no.

  The idea of a weekend free of Alex and his never-ending questions of ‘why’ seemed like an amazing holiday, no matter where I spent it.

  “Wait a minute, what difference will it make? Either I’m alone at the van or at the main house, I’m still going to be alone.”

  And then it hit me like a freight train.

  I wasn’t going to be alone.

  My mum was about to speak, until Dad popped his head through the canvas opening.

  “Lisa, have you seen my bushman’s socks?”

  “Honey, we’re going wine tasting not mountain climbing.”

  “But what if the nights are cold in the valley?”

  Mum stood up, exasperated. “It’s summer. Honestly, John, how an earth did you get your PhD?” Mum huffed her way outside. All their bags were packed hours ago and in the car. Anyone would think they were keen to get away from us or something. I had even been keen for them to go, knowing Alex wasn’t going to be my responsibility; I had been overjoyed for the whole 2.5 seconds. The joy soon leant itself to great unease as I shifted my legs into the cross-legged position on the sofa lounge in the annex; I chewed on my thumbnail thoughtfully. I hadn’t managed to apologise to Stan for ruining his weekend plans; I still felt really awful about my big mouth even though it was nice to see Mum and Dad so excited to get away and have some grownup time. I really wanted to break the ice of sorts before, God help me, I ‘crashed’ at the main house. This was going to be so awkward. Wow, Mum and Dad must have really trusted Stan, and I guess, more importantly, the Remingtons must have trusted me. To not only stay in their home but in close proximity to their son. Wait a minute, what was I thinking? A boy and a girl can coexist innocently in a space. Even if I could have sworn that last night, as I stood before Stan in the hallway, there had been a moment when his eyes had looked at me in a way a boy appreciates a girl. I had known, because the smallest gesture of his brown eyes flicked to my mouth and caused my tummy to summersault. It was an unnerving feeling that I had been excited about the tension between Stan and me. Hell, it was unnerving that I had as good as checked him out in good detail by the van, admittedly admiring the view in a way I had never before.

  It was true, Stan was hot, and I could appreciate that, but now I was going to be essentially living under the same roof as him. Just the two of us. I could feel my anxiety grow. I rubbed my clammy palms on my thighs and laughed nervously.

  I was being ridiculous. Our parents were going away for what? Four days, three nights. That’s nothing, and to be honest, I doubt Stan would even speak to me after what I had done and I wouldn’t blame him, not one bit. So maybe that would be in my favour? If I just forgot about the ice-breaker and stayed out of his way, then that would be that. I could feel my anxiety levels lifting already at my new plan of attack.

  Perfect! That’s exactly what I would do.

  ***

  I had waved off my parents who were headed up to the main house to pick up the Remingtons. Mum had taken an excited Alex over to his friend Ollie’s house; he hadn’t even had time to poke his tongue out at me through the window as they drove away—very unlike him. He must have been so excited. In fact, everyone was excited, buzzing around with a hive of activity. It was an almost identical feeling to what it was like every time we packed up to head to Onslow for the summer. Except this time I was less excited.

  And now I was alone. In the van. It was mid afternoon and the deal had been that I could spend my days at the van, but come nightfall, I was to head to the main house. I had never been so grateful for daylight saving time. It didn’t get dark until after eight, so it just meant I could take my time, have dinner here at the van, and then sneak off to the main house.

  I had declined the offer to go check out my ‘sleeping’ quarters earlier in the day when Paula Remington stopped by. I kind of thought back bedroom on the right was pretty self-explanatory, but now I kind of wished I had checked it out. Now who was going to show me my room? A pissed-off Stan? Who not only had to look after the entire workings of the caravan park on his own, but now had to babysit me. Boy, if I were in his shoes I would totally hate me. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a horse’s head in my bed. But then something occurred to me; even amidst receiving the news last night that his entire weekend plans had been shattered, he seemed to cop it on the chin. There was a definite air of disappointment, but he never chucked a tantrum over the grave injustice that it was. Not like I would have. Was that an age thing? He was older than me; still, age aside, I just couldn’t imagine Stan ever losing his cool. Through all the years of seeing him around, even being put under the pump in some occasions, he was always courteous and polite, cool-headed. No wonder Mum and Dad trusted him, no wonder his parents trusted him. They knew him pretty much better than anyone—hellraiser he was not; in fact, he might have very well been a saint? Well, only time would tell, I guess.

  Chapter Eight

  Stan

  Now they had to be yanking my chain?

  But as my laughter fell away and I saw the stone-cold look of ‘I’m not joking’ across my parents’ faces, it became very clear they were serious.

  “What, here?”

  “Yes, it’s not fitting for a young girl to be on her own in a caravan.”

  “You’ve seen that van. It probably has bullet-proof glass and blue light laser alarms,” I said, my voice sounding a bit too high-pitched.

  “I honestly don’t see what the big deal is,” my dad added. “You’re not planning on having any wild parties while we’re gone, are you?”

  Shit.

  To avoid total damnation I replied in a semi-innocent way.

  “Who am I going to party with? No one lives in Onslow anymore.”

  “Yeah, well, Bel won’t be cramping
your style now, will she?”

  I scoffed. Not only had she completely sabotaged my weekend, she couldn’t cramp my style any more if she tried. What was worse, even though I had resigned myself to the fact I was stuck here for the weekend, the gatekeeper to the park, I didn’t have the energy to be pissed. All I worried about now was the weirdness of having to be here with her, alone.

  I had gotten quite accustomed to the idea of being home alone, aside from said wild party that was supposedly happening tonight. Hopefully wild, as in Ringer and Ellie bringing chips and dip; hopefully that was as wild as it would get. Listen to some music, watch a movie. No stained carpets, no crooked picture frames or broken vases. Everyone safe and happy – no police intervention. It was all anyone could hope for.

  “You can stay in our room if you like? I made it up for you,” Mum said, thinking I could have it as a semi man cave with access to the en-suite.

  “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll just crash in my old room.” I grabbed my bag and headed down the hall, past the bathroom for the last door on the left. I knew it wouldn’t have to be made up as it served as a guest room and was always ready for me anytime I needed. I think Mum always hoped that one day I would get sick of living as a bachelor in the cabin and just come back home to live, but I had my limits. In some way, I needed my independence and by moving out to the cabin a few years ago, cutting that umbilical cord had never felt so good.

  Dumping my bag inside the door, I blew out a long breath, taking in my old bed that had been made with military-style precision, the dresser and side tables with not so much as a speck of dust settled on the glossy wood service. I sat on the edge of my childhood bed burying my head in my hands, thinking about the weekend that loomed and the massive task that lay in front of me: toilet blocks, shower blocks, pool maintenance, clean the onsite cabins, clean the park barbecues, mow lawns, paint shed, service the boat.

  “Knock-knock.”