Stan

by C. J. Duggan

  “I think I’ve seen her.”

  I straightened. “What? When?”

  “Today, this arvo. When I rocked up here.”

  “Where did you see her?” I said a bit too loudly, a bit too quickly.

  Sean stared at me for a long moment, a war raging behind his heavy-set blue eyes as they flicked toward Ringer briefly and then back to me.

  “She was drinking with a bloke at one of the cabins.”

  Wait. What?

  My mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour. The moment of worry soon turned into a different feeling altogether, and I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my cool.

  “Which cabin?”

  “Oh look, I’m not sure, mate. Just as you come into the park, on the right?” He relayed the information as if it pained him to do so. The others watched on with a guarded anguish of their own.

  “It might not have been Bel,” added Ellie.

  “What did the bloke look like?” I asked coolly.

  Sean coughed. “Tall, blondish hair, unshaven I think.”

  Max Henry.

  Cabin seventeen.

  It was Bel all right.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bel

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Have you not listened to a word I have been saying? He has a girlfriend.”

  I hiccupped in despair, my elbows resting on the little dining table inside Max’s cabin. We decided to venture indoors as soon as the mozzies started to feast on us. And several hours later, a few too many beers, and with the certainty that Max wasn’t a serial killer, I started to talk. And talk and talk about all that led me to his door.

  “Ah, that old chestnut.” He nodded sympathetically. “The girlfriend is a definite problem.”

  “The worst,” I said, resting my cheek on my palm, letting the waves of misery wash over me.

  “I wish I could offer some words of wisdom, but I’m afraid the girlfriend is a bit of a deal breaker.”

  He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know, and Lord knows I had thought about it. I wondered how happy they were, looked for the little signs of any cracks in their facade. They weren’t lovey-dovey, or mercifully, I hadn’t seen any displays of public affection. But they had been together for years, so they were basically an old married couple, which explained that.

  Adding to my misery was the memory of the way Stan had looked at me. The way he made me feel whenever I was in the same room with him. The connection we felt between us was surely not just from my side. I had been certain he was going to kiss me. And then of course the loop went around again, and as loops do, it didn’t matter what memories I had of the moments with Stan—about the warm fuzzy feelings that melted my insides—because no matter what, the loop always led back to one thing, Ellie. And the thing that strained my mind the most? I would never have thought Stan Remington would be someone who would cheat on his girlfriend. Cue the waves of despair and all I wanted was for this weekend to be over, for this summer to be over. I would go back to Maitland and come next year, I would be old enough to venture out and do my own things, and Onslow would be nothing but a distant memory, and Stan would be just that boy I had a crush on one summer.

  A really, really big crush.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Max knelt beside me, his blue eyes peering through the curtain of his hair until he flicked it out of his eyeline, exposing his eyes to be even more stunning than I had thought.

  He looked upon me with earnest concern—no pity—which only caused my chin to tremble. I had worked myself into such a state of loop-de-loop in my mind, albeit now a drunken one. I felt my insides churn in a way that had me convinced that aside from the disaster that was Stan and the way I felt for him, I suddenly knew for certain I was not all right. But in a different way. A horrifying way.

  I breathed deeply, closing my eyes from Max’s handsome face, shaking my head vigorously, attempting to fight the chunks that threatened to rise.

  “Bel?”

  More deep breaths. “Do not ask me questions.” I could feel a light sheen of perspiration along my skin, the heat prickling along my flesh. I would have given anything for a cold face washer and at the very thought, I couldn’t contain it any longer.

  My eyes flew open, wide and panicked. “Max, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  ***

  The only cool compress I had was the feel of the cold porcelain against my cheek, as I groaned above the toilet bowl.

  Such a good look.

  With every heave I could hear the mumbled words of Max as he patted me on the shoulder, offering words of comfort.

  “That’s it, better out than in.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that, as I heaved and heaved until my stomach ached and tears streamed down my face. The last thing I recalled was the sound of the toilet flushing before I slid to the bathroom floor and assumed the foetal position.

  Max’s voice and movements became distant as I zoned out, finding peace finally in the oblivion of unconsciousness.

  I didn’t want to die this way, from alcohol poisoning on the floor of a stranger’s bathroom floor in a caravan park. If I died, Max would be the leading suspect and that would make me feel bad—guilt by association.

  Maybe I had passed out for a minute, maybe it was hours, but the only thing that stirred me was the unwanted assault of cold water splashed onto my face, shunting me out of my slumber, even more so with the slaps on my cheek.

  “Bel, wake up!” Slap-slap-slap.

  Jesus! Max had gone from gentle, back-patting soother to bitch-slapping me. But as the unwelcome slaps brought me back into my own body, I kept my eyes shut, knowing the glow of the bulb overhead would most certainly blind me, and my head was already pounding like a son of a bitch. So I lay there pretending I was dead, hoping the old adage would work: if you ignore it, it will go away. But the theory didn’t last too long as a sudden realisation hit me, in the form of voices, not just Max, but a conversation of mutterings, familiar tones that had me thinking maybe I was dreaming, or rather having a nightmare. But then when another series of slaps hit my other cheek, an all-too-familiar voice made my blood turn cold.

  “Bel! Wake. Up.”

  I slowly squinted my eyes open, and sure enough, there was the blinding light I had feared, but it wasn’t as bright as I had guessed, because blocking out the beams was a face, a worried—okay, more angry looking—face belonging to Stan.

  Great!

  I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear, even more so when I saw the likes of Max and another person I didn’t know. A tall, well-built, blue-eyed boy sporting a crooked smile. Maybe he was the angel of death come to collect my soul?

  The Angel spoke. “Nice to meet you, Bel. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh my God.

  I barricaded my eyes with my arm, shutting off the various stares: his humorous one, Max’s concerned one, and worst of all, Stan’s angry one. Most of all, I didn’t want them to see me cry, but as my shoulders shook and a sob escaped me, I was doing a pretty lousy job, especially when those hidden sobs turned into the wailing of a baby. Humiliation complete.

  So this was what rock bottom looked like?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stan

  Oh Christ!

  Anything but tears.

  My efforts to stay mad at Bel teetered on the edge of non-existent when there she was, sprawled on the bathroom floor, hiding her face and crying.

  My resolve melted in an instant as I looked back to the doorway, seeing Max shift with unease and Sean grimace and shrug.

  “Okay, show’s over,” I announced, stepping to the door.

  “Is she going to be all right?” asked Max.

  “Yeah, just give us a minute, yeah, and we’ll be out of your way.”

  “You don’t have to move her, she can just crash here for the night, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Max meant well. He meant well the moment he had knocked on my door to tell me Bel was sick. It wa
s the only thing that had stopped me from wanting to punch him fair in his handsome face, a journey I was just about to make until he darkened my door. His offer of looking after her felt like someone had stuck a hot knife in my gut and twisted it.

  Yeah. I don’t bloody think so.

  “Thanks, but she’s my responsibility, so I’ll take care of it,” I said, dismissing his offer.

  “Sean, mate, you can head back, but don’t tell the others she’s sick from the grog, okay? She’s just sick.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them it’s a highly contagious forty-eight hour bug that’s going around. They’ll be out of your hair by the time you get back.” Sean smirked.

  “Thanks, mate.”

  “You sure you don’t need a hand?” Sean’s eyes looked past me to the sobbing bundle on the floor, who had now turned away from us.

  I sighed. “Nah, it’ll be right.”

  I closed the bathroom door, turning to see the little bundle, crumbled on the floor. My heart ached.

  How could I stay mad at her?

  I crouched down beside her. “Bel, don’t cry. Come on,” I said, softly rubbing her on the back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  “I feel so stupid,” she said quietly through the tears, still turned away from me.

  “Well, you haven’t officially been drunk unless you have passed out on the bathroom floor. And don’t worry. The floor is spotless. I cleaned it myself.”

  Bel wiped her tears. “You did a really good job.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  Bel still had her back to me, and after her little moment of light-heartedness, the crying had eased, so I reached out, grabbing her shoulder to motion her to look at me. She slowly, if not reluctantly, did as my hand cupped her hot, tear-stained cheek; her watery, bloodshot eyes looked up at me. I rubbed tears away from her cheek with my thumb, gently rubbing the salty streaks away.

  “You shouldn’t touch me like that,” she whispered.

  My brows narrowed, confusion flickering through my amusement. “Why not?”

  She wrapped her tiny hand around my wrist, pulling my hand away. “Because,” she said, moving to grab onto the vanity. Bel hitched herself to stand so quickly, she swayed.

  “Whoa. Head spin.” She blinked, clasping on the edge of the sink.

  “Yeah, careful,” I said, steadying her with my hand.

  I didn’t know if it was a matter of her making up her mind to finally get a move on, or she just wanted to distance herself away from me touching her. Her irrational actions toward me today bothered me, really bothered me. Maybe she had a thing for Max and I was just an annoying person in her way. That made sense, so I let my hand drop from her lower back.

  “Here,” I said, turning on the cold tap. “Wash your face and get yourself together, I’ll walk you back,” I said coolly, leaving Bel to her own devices. Her eyes widened in surprise, I could see that much in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Her hair was dishevelled, her skin pale and her eyes red. And even though she looked like a hot mess, she was still so heart-stopping beautiful in her vulnerability, it took every ounce of strength to leave her side and make my way into the main room to wait for her, shutting the door behind me.

  Max sat perched on the edge of the sofa, but he stood as soon as I entered the room.

  “She okay?” he asked, genuine in his concern. I’ll give him that.

  “Yeah, she’ll be right. Just can’t hold her beer.” My eyes shifted to the impressive collection of bottles on the sink. “And there was certainly enough of it.”

  “Over half of those are mine, and it’s only light.”

  “Which is enough to make anyone sick.”

  Max smiled reluctantly at my dig. “Hey, mate, I’m sorry. If you want me to leave just say so and I’ll pack up.”

  My head snapped around to study Max’s serious face. “Why would I want you to leave?”

  Aside from wanting to beat the living shit out of him the moment I found out where Bel had been, I soon realised he had been acting protectively, that the only crime here was a man drinking a light beer and a foolish girl who couldn’t handle her grog.

  “Well, just with the way everything went down tonight.”

  “No one died; you pay your rent on time, be a law-abiding citizen, and you can stay for as long as you need. But as far as any future damsels in distress go—”

  Max held up his hands. “Hey, I’m locking my door from here on in.”

  “Good idea.” I nodded, turning to the sound of a sheepish-looking Bel skimming through the bathroom door.

  “How you feeling?” Max beat me to the question.

  Bel rubbed her upper arms as if to ward off an imaginary chill, her steps were still a little on the crooked side, so I was glad I was there to help her back to the house—where I wanted to lock her in for the rest of the bloody weekend.

  “Not gonna lie. I don’t feel crash hot,” she croaked, a small coy smile lifting her mouth. The smallest of movement of her mouth had my heart spiking in approval. I turned away, shutting down the whimsical emotion.

  “Well, nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

  “Thanks, Max,” Bel replied sweetly. A moment of bonded kindness exchanged between them.

  “Anytime.”

  So much for locking your bloody door.

  “All right, let’s go!” I announced.

  I all but wanted to frogmarch Bel out of there but remembered she was pretty shaky on her legs as she gingerly made her way out the door. I waited at the stairs, offering my hand to her, ready to help her down, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she chose the banister to help guide herself down.

  Fine.

  I clenched my jaw, throwing a dark look toward Max who was standing in the doorway watching on.

  “Night, Max,” I said coolly.

  He nodded his head, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.

  Bel was a few steps in front of me now, moving like an old woman.

  “Bel, wait.”

  She didn’t, but it only took a few strides to catch up with her. I grabbed a hold of her arm.

  “Let go, I’m not a bloody child.” She ripped her arm away from my grasp.

  “Yeah, well, you could have fooled me,” I said, plunging my hands deep into my pockets and storming ahead of her.

  As I rounded the corner, I felt relieved Sean had made good on his plan, and Ellie and Ringer were gone. Even Sean’s car was nowhere to be seen. The porch lights flooding the drive made the white piece of paper pinned to the front door clearly visible. I skipped every second step up to meet it, then yanked it from the tape and moved to read it under the main light.

  Stan,

  I like her. I like her style.

  I think you have your hands full there, mate, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

  Will call in tomorrow. Still have to have a yarn about those life-changing plans, so hurry up and sort out your love life, Romeo.

  Sean

  I shook my head, scrunching up the note and pocketing it, making my way back down the steps to sit and wait for a darkened figure to appear into the light, like some scene out of a Michael Jackson film clip. But when the figure didn’t emerge I looked at my watch for the hundredth time, my leg jigging impatiently. My mood shifted into something else entirely and as time stretched on and Bel was nowhere to be seen, I cursed under my breath. Stepping up onto the verandah, I unlocked the office door, reaching in to grab the torch I kept handy by the phone. Slamming and locking the door, I descended the steps heading into the night with a new determination.

  She is going to be the bloody death of me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bel

  The night air was actually serving me well.

  My nausea was long gone and my head began to clear as I slowly but surely put distance between the main house and myself. Oh, how I longed to collapse onto the familiar, deliciously soft mattress in my parents’ van, wrap myself into a cocoo
n, and sleep for forty-eight hours straight or until my mum and dad and my annoying little brother came slamming back into my life. I was a way off but I plunged my hand into my short jean pocket for the key to van, only to come across something else. I stilled, smiling as I pulled out two mints, saved from early in the day.

  I laughed out loud, delighted at something so simple, so bloody welcome. I had rinsed my mouth out a thousand times at Max’s, but this was what I desperately needed, so I popped the mints in my mouth. Crunching the super-hot mints into chewy gum, I breathed through the discomfort of them as they pulverised any possible stale beer tang from my mouth.

  I walked on, locating my key in the other pocket with a sigh of relief, a relief short-lived as an illuminated flash lit before me. A beam flickered from behind my shoulder. I quickly spun around; at a guess I suspected who it might be, but I had to be sure. The light shone deliberately in my eyes; I held up my hand, annoyed, and blocked the offending beam. Footsteps crunched closer and as the silhouette neared, so did the torch until it finally lowered and a familiar voice pierced the dark.

  “When I said let’s go home, I meant my home.” Stan’s voice sounded stern. I couldn’t see the lines of his face but judging by the tone of his voice he was annoyed.

  I shrugged. “I know.”

  “You know? Then why are you—”

  “Look. I just want to call it a night, it’s been a long day.”

  “Well, you’re going the wrong way.”

  I sighed, tired from his ‘my way or the highway’ routine.

  “I will tell your parents you were the prefect host and that I crashed at your place, all good. I’ll get my things tomorrow and no one will know.”

  “Yeah, that’s a neat plan, but considering they’ll be back tomorrow morning I don’t think that is going to work somehow.”

  “Tomorrow? But I thought they were coming back Monday?”

  Stan shrugged. “Dad called this arvo, said they were heading back early.”