Tigerland

by Sean Kennedy

  I squeezed her hand, waiting for her to continue.

  “I didn’t even think I wanted kids. Until I was told there was a chance we mightn’t be able to have any. Now it’s all I want.”

  “So you changed your mind. There’s nothing bad about that.”

  She shook her head. “But is it that I really want them? Or now that I’ve been told it will be difficult, is it just because I want something that’s desirable just because it’s being denied me?”

  We sat there in silence for a while, just taking in the moment of reflection between us. It’s funny how a woman feels different to a man. They feel nice and soft, but because there isn’t that spark of attraction there it’s more of a sisterly or maternal warmth that you feel from them. It’s wonderful. And it brings out this strange protective streak that seems borne from intuition if you have man parts, regardless of whether your man parts like other men’s parts. And I wanted to protect Fran. But she had Roger for that. I would have to protect them both, and Declan would help me. Together we would be a shield for our friends.

  “You know what?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “You and Roger will be fantastic parents. Whether it’s the so-called ‘normal’ way, or whether you have to go a different way around it, or whether you end up adopting. And that’s all that matters.”

  “That sounds remarkably adult of you, Simon.”

  “Maybe we’re just growing up, that’s all.”

  Fran laughed. “I still feel like we’re kids, but just pretending to be adults. I thought there would be this turning point where you would just wake up one day, and bam! You’re mature!”

  “I know I’m still waiting for that day.”

  A snort came from the semi-darkness beside me. “It’s never going to come for you.”

  That sounded more like the Fran I knew and loved, and I gave her a sharp poke in the ribs. She jumped and giggled and settled back next to me.

  “Do you really think it will happen?” she asked.

  “What? Becoming adult?”

  “No. Me and Roger being parents.” I hated hearing the sadness and yearning in her voice.

  “It will.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  That was a shitload of responsibility. “Like I said, it may not happen the traditional way, but fuck that. Why the hell should any of us be traditional? We never have before.”

  She leaned up and kissed me. “You’re right.”

  “After all, I need to be a godfather slash uncle. I think the term is ‘guncle’.”

  “Guncle?”

  “Abbreviated, ‘gay uncle’.”

  “They really need to think of a better term. It sounds like cheap Muppets or something.”

  “Whatever. Declan and I will be the best guncles ever.”

  “You already are,” she pointed out.

  Oh, yeah. I had forgotten for a moment that both Dec and I already had nieces and nephews. I was so enamoured of the thought of Roger and Fran producing kids. “Well, we need to be guncles to your kids too. I will teach them to love Richmond—”

  “You mean indoctrinate them.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Roger will never let that happen.”

  “The power of the guncle will win out.”

  “What the hell’s a guncle?”

  Both Fran and I jumped at Roger snapping on the light.

  “Well, well,” he teased. “What’s going on here?” But his face dropped when he saw Fran had been crying. “Honey?”

  That was my cue to leave. I slipped past him and briefly rested my hand on his shoulder. He looked at me, then back at Fran, and he knew. He patted my hand and turned back to his wife. As I entered the hallway I could hear the soft murmur of their voices, but not what was being said. I waited for a moment, a brief sadness taking hold of me, but I tried to shake it off before making my way back to the kitchen.

  Declan, however, knew something had gone down, but he also knew to wait until we were in the privacy of our own home before asking me about it. He even waited until we were getting ready for bed, knowing that it was in our room under the cover of darkness I was able to speak much more freely than I could anywhere else.

  Before he could ask, I spilled everything. He watched me speak and didn’t say anything until I had finished.

  “What can we do to help them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think they really know, honestly.”

  “Are they getting into debt? How are they paying for it?”

  “We didn’t get that far. Roger came in, Fran was upset, and I knew they needed time alone.”

  “Do you think they’d let us give them money?”

  It was weird being Dec’s partner, financially. He was the one who made the big bucks; my salary didn’t really bring in much. But Dec had always made his money my money, as a true partnership would, and had the positions been reversed I would have gladly done so as well. But I was in the position of the “parasite,” and there were times when I definitely didn’t like it. Was it a man thing, a power thing? I had no idea. Declan was a wise investor, and with the help of his accountant brother-in-law he had bought investment properties before the housing market skyrocketed, and got out before the bubble burst in a nicely mixed metaphor. He was also under a development deal with his station, starting his own production company. He had tapped me to step up, but I felt nepotism could only take you so far. It was good that we had separate work lives that only occasionally crossed over.

  But the good thing about Dec was he wasn’t stingy with his money. He wanted it, sure, to be comfortable for the rest of his life, but it didn’t stop him from helping out his family and doing the usual good footy boy thing of paying off his parents’ mortgage.

  The problem would be Fran and Roger—they just wouldn’t take it.

  “Hey,” Dec whispered, sounding sleepy. “Come back to earth.”

  “I don’t think they would.”

  “We’ll just have to find a way to convince them,” Dec said, and within seconds he was snoring. I always envied how quickly he could fall asleep. He said it came from years of travelling while playing footy, as you got accustomed to getting sleep wherever and whenever you could.

  I lay awake for what felt like ages, listening to him breathe. The melancholy feeling that had started in the lounge room with Fran was still weighing upon me. It seemed bloody unfair—why shouldn’t Fran and Roger want to make children together that would be a mixture of the both of them?

  After all, they were two of the best people in the world. So there had to be a great kid that would come out of them.

  And I believed it when I said that they would become parents somehow. My relationship with kids was strained at best in their early years, but how could I not love someone that was raised by two of the people I loved most?

  It would be impossible not to.

  Chapter 6

  SATURDAY morning dawned innocently. The weather forecast promised cooler days, and it was starting to look like autumn was finally on its way. Melbourne would rear back with one final hot spell, and then that would be it.

  I stumbled to the lift, rode it to the lobby, and grabbed our paper. I tore the plastic off, which took far more effort than you would have thought. I wish my mum had wrapped sandwiches like that when I was in school. Her cling wrap was too loose and would inevitably come apart so the air would hit the bread and turn it into a weird kind of faux toast by lunchtime.

  Covering a yawn, even though there was no one in the lift to see me had I ignored social convention, I dropped the paper, and it fell into about sixty-seven sections at my feet. That was The Age, the only broadsheet in town, for you.

  I debated leaving the real estate section where it lay—after all, I didn’t want to give Dec any more ideas—but when I scooped it up Heyward stared at me from the cover of the magazine supplement:

  A NEW HERO STEPS OUT. How Greg Heyward came to terms with his sexuality, and will no
w change the lives of others

  What, by ruining ours? I wanted to scream and rip the magazine apart with my bare hands, showering myself in its confetti as if it were Heyward’s blood. A new hero? What the fuck had he done? Let him do something before proclaiming him to be worthy of such a title.

  But one “Motherfucker!” slipped out, just as the doors of the lift opened on my floor.

  Mrs. Gupti, who owned the apartment across from us, was waiting and ready to walk in. She stared at me with silent disapproval.

  “Morning, Mrs. Gupti,” I said, shamefaced.

  She sighed heavily. “Is it, Simon? It doesn’t sound like it.”

  “It’s super, Mrs. Gupti,” I said in a singsongy way. For some reason, whenever I was around Mrs. Gupti I started talking like a Hardy Boy.

  She let me pass her, my papers crushed against my chest.

  “Is everything okay with Declan?” she asked as she stepped into the lift and pushed the button for the door.

  “Super!” I called inanely, giving her the thumbs up sign and dropping the papers yet again in the process.

  As the doors slid shut, I saw her shaking her head at me.

  She probably thought there was marital discord between Dec and me, and wanted to see if she could get any details out of me she could then sell to the media. Okay, so I didn’t really suspect her of having ulterior motives like that, but she ran a mixture of cold and sweet with me while maintaining a sickly faux-grandmotherish relationship with Dec.

  Speaking of, he was standing in the kitchen scratching absent-mindedly at his chest while waiting for the kettle to boil. He looked at me with amusement as I walked in with the newspaper scrunched up in a huge, messy mash.

  “You’re very impatient, you know that?”

  I flung the papers on the couch and started pawing through them, discarding the ones I didn’t want in the air behind me.

  “I’m the one who will have to clear that up!” Dec protested.

  I pulled the magazine free and threw it across to him. “Look at that!”

  A momentary discomfort passed over his face as he stared at Heyward on the cover, taking in the byline.

  “He’s a hero!” I scoffed. “Apparently there’s Batman, Wonder Woman, and Greg Heyward. He’s replacing Superman in the Holy Trinity.”

  “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”

  “Ulcers aren’t caused by stress,” I told him. “Scientists discovered years ago they’re actually caused by bacteria. Australian scientists, actually.”

  “Of course you would know that.”

  “But—”

  “Fine, then you won’t get an ulcer. You’ll probably just shoot your blood pressure up until you have a heart attack.”

  “You’re being really cheery this morning.”

  “Excuse me for wanting you to stick around.”

  I felt like picking up the couch, Hulk-style, and throwing it across the kitchen counter at him. If I tried, Dec would probably say I’d give myself a hernia. Even just thinking that made me want to throw the couch even more.

  And then he came around and hugged me. His skin was warm and inviting, and the hair on his chest tickled my hand, which had somehow gotten crushed between us. “Calm down,” he murmured. “I mean it.”

  “Stress is my natural state.”

  “I know. And that’s what worries me.”

  “You’re turning on the drama a little bit this morning, aren’t you?”

  “Says the guy who came in here tearing the newspaper apart with his teeth,” he laughed.

  “Every time I see his face, I want to punch it.”

  He pushed me back so he could look at me. “This anger isn’t healthy.”

  Ugh, save me from Dec’s own personal brand of Zen. “Everybody has anger. Repressing it is what’s unhealthy. But I do have an idea of what could make me get rid of some pent up aggression.” I pulled my trapped hand free by sliding it down his chest and letting it creep under the hem of his boxers.

  Dec kissed just above the neckline of my T-shirt, pulling on the skin lightly with his teeth. “So do I.”

  I WONDERED what would happen if I aimed for Declan’s face, and before I knew it my hand had slipped, and the boxing glove wrenched forward as if it was that possessed hand from that Michael Caine movie.

  Declan anticipated it, however, and deftly leaned back so that I swung into empty air. “You meant that!” he accused me.

  “What do you expect? I was initiating sexytimes, and you bring me to the gym!”

  Declan coloured slightly at my loud tone, especially as it attracted the attention of a couple of girls nearby who were pretending they weren’t watching my partner in his gym shorts and tight old guernsey. “Best thing for it,” he grunted.

  I aimed for him again, and his padded hand blocked me. I fell forward, and he caught me as I stumbled into him.

  “Besides,” he whispered. “You never know what may happen later.”

  As I pushed myself off him, I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Knowing you, you probably mean lat pull downs or something.”

  “I like to surprise you occasionally.”

  Flirting in a gym. How very Playgirl fantasy.

  “But until then, time to do weights.”

  Every muscle in my body screamed in agony, and I wanted to fight back, dig in my heels, and cry to be taken downstairs for a blue heaven thickshake in the cafe instead, but my mobile started going off in my pocket.

  “Thought you were turning that off,” Dec said suspiciously.

  “I thought I did,” I lied. I shook my gloved hand at him, and he helped me pull it off before the phone rang out. Checking the display, Roger’s face stared up at me, wincing in a moment of me sticking a camera phone in his face. “Hey, Rog, what’s up?”

  He sounded subdued. “Hey. Just wondering if you guys want to meet for a beer.”

  Beer. That sounded even better than a blue heaven thickshake. Especially if it came with beer battered fries and wholegrain mustard aioli. “Sure thing. See you at the Napier in an hour?”

  “Yep. See you then.”

  It wasn’t like Roger to be so short. He could gasbag on a phone like there was no tomorrow. And Dec could tell I was concerned, because he was starting to return the equipment to their rightful places.

  I watched him for a moment, the ache of love stopping me in my tracks. We had long reached somewhat of a comfortable stage of our relationship. It wasn’t inertia; it was just we had settled in a good place. We weren’t just in love, we also happened to like each other as people. And that was why I resented Heyward and his disruptions so much. Dec and I had earned this peace, and no fucker should have been intruding on it.

  “Are you ready?” Dec asked, dusting off his hands as he walked up to me.

  “Always,” I said.

  He gave me a puzzled look, but didn’t question it. “Let’s go.”

  His fan club was disappointed to see him leave. I knew I would never have to experience that moment. Suck on that, Heyward.

  ROGER was already in the corner with the tiled mosaic wall. He was staring glumly into his pot of beer.

  “I’ll get a round,” Dec said. “You speak to him first.”

  Roger brightened a little when I sat across from him.

  “Did the ball and chain let you out for an afternoon?” I asked.

  “You better hope she doesn’t hear you say that.”

  “She’s not here, is she?” I said bravely, even though we both knew Fran’s sixth sense would catch me out somehow.

  “Courageous man,” Roger mused. He downed the rest of his beer. “Do you want one?”

  “Of course, but Dec’s getting the next round.”

  “Ah,” Roger looked up to spot him in the crowd. He wasn’t the only one. A few footy fans were speaking to him as he was waiting to be served. He’d probably be a while.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  He shot me a look. “Don’t.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t what?”

  “Give me that look.”

  “I’m giving you a look?” It was news to me.

  “Yeah. It’s the look Fran and I didn’t want to be getting when people found out.”

  “People get concerned for you. They want you to be happy. And they share your disappointment when you’re not.”

  “Thanks, Oprah.”

  I sucked at pep talks. I looked around for Dec, who was always good and ready for a pep talk, but he was still bailed up by his adoring public.

  “You know it has nothing to do with your dick, right?”

  Oh, smooth, Simon. Smooth.

  Roger looked at me as if I had just slapped him.

  “What I mean is, it’s no one’s fault. Not your dick, not your sperm, not Fran’s ovaries or her….” I trailed off, because Roger was now looking horrified. “Okay, I could have put it better than that.”

  “You think? What if it was your dick, or your sperm—”

  “I picked the right time to come into this conversation,” Dec said, setting our drinks on the table, a packet of cheese and onion chips wedged between them.

  “Hey, Dec,” Roger said. “Simon was just discussing my dick. Does he do this often?”

  Forced to play the straight man in this comedy of errors, Dec scratched at his eyebrow. “I can honestly say your dick doesn’t come up that much between us.”

  “Is that meant to be funny?” Roger asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “I try not to be funny,” Dec said.

  “Rog,” I reached for my beer and took a long gulp. “I know nothing about what you’re going through, or how you feel, so I’m not going to pretend I do. But I know you can’t blame yourself, and Fran can’t blame herself for whatever is the cause. It’s just stuff that happens.”

  “It’s not just stuff!” Roger hissed. “It’s our life!”

  “He isn’t trying to downplay it,” Dec said. “What Simon means, in his own special way”—he shot me a look suggesting complicity in whatever he said, and I gave him a small nod—“is that it’s human for us to look for blame when something goes wrong, and that isn’t going to help you in this case. What’s going to help you is how you actually deal with it.”