by C. J. Duggan
“Heeey, look out, there goes the neighbourhood,” announced Ringer who spun around from the bar. Trust Ringer to always create a scene; we were usually vying for the limelight between us. I made a direct line to him, throwing my arms around him and only sensing Adam and Megsy’s eyes on me as they stood to my side.
“What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”
“Ah, see, the calibre of service is nowhere near what it should be on my nights off,” said Max, leaning casually against the bar next to Ringer.
“I’m standing right here.”
Our attention turned to the voice from behind the bar, to Chris who stood there with his arms folded, a mock-serious stare on his face. If there was one thing that could be said for Chris of late, his new girlfriend Tammy had really taken the broody edge off him; he seemed more relaxed, more in touch with the lighter things in life.
Chris’s eyes shifted to me. “Squash on the rocks?” he asked with a little smile.
I laughed, scoffing at the absurdity of it all. “Carlton Draught.” My insides had recoiled earlier from the thought of another beer under the forced hand of Adam, but suddenly I felt like I had a second wind. It’s amazing how rage can sober you up, as I placed money into Chris’s hand in exchange for a frothy pot of liquid sin.
“Thanks,” I managed before sipping on the froth that always managed to tickle my nose.
“Bloody hell, look out! Ellie, the two-pot screamer, is into it,” said Stan, as he squeezed past me, setting his empty pot on the bar top. I glared at him. “Shut up, I am not.”
Stan’s brows rose, not retaliating, but as if to silently say, “Really, Ellie, REALLY?”
I summoned the patience: now was not the time to embarrass myself; now was the time to appear cool and one of the gang, not make out I drank lemonade and couldn’t handle my beer.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve all held your hair back at one point or another,” added Ringer rather unhelpfully. “I know I have.” He saluted me with his beer and added a cheeky wink.
It was the usual Onslow Boy banter that had me feeling like I had never been away: the same old faces, the same old voices; well, except one. One very noticeable presence that I was very aware of was standing in my peripheral vision and then, of course, the thing I dreaded the most happened.
“Ellie, you remember Megsy?” Adam’s voice sliced through my body like iced water.
I turned toward them as if seeing them for the first time, my eyes lifting in mock surprise.
“Megsy?”
Megsy who-ripped-your-heart-out Swanston?
I wanted to act like I didn’t have a clue, that my memory had lapsed from that point in time of our childhood where I couldn’t quite place her. But I had to be smart, Adam would see through my bitchy façade in a heartbeat; it took everything in my willpower to appear surprised, delighted, happy to see her. We embraced like long-lost friends; I crushed her petite little frame to me with an oomph.
Yep, keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.
“My God, what are you doing here?”
No, really, what the fuck are you doing here?
I pulled back, still holding her by the shoulders, looking on at her in wonder. My academy award-winning welcome seemed to relax her; I could feel as much as her rigid stance melted under my hands in relief.
“Oh, my mum and dad still live out at Ivanhoe, so I come back on holidays from time to time. Adam convinced me to come out to the Onslow though, so this is a first.” She laughed, glancing at Adam who stood to her side.
It took every fibre of control not to dig my nails into her skin. So Adam had convinced her to come? Meaning this wasn’t their first encounter together, that he had talked her into coming along, where? When? This weekend you belong to me. They had been Adam’s words. And yet, he invited Megsy Fucking Swanston. This weekend. Of all weekends. I wanted to shine a light into her eyes and play bad cop. Instead, I let my hands fall to my side, tilting my head and pouting.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” I lied.
Dear God, I was going to hell.
I turned to Adam, who was looking all smiles. I so wanted to wipe it from his face.
“I know I escaped. I’m bad,” I winced, kind of delighting in talking to Adam about something Megsy wasn’t privy too.
Adam shook his head. “I never doubted you’d stay for a single second: nobody keeps Ellie Parker hidden for long.”
I laughed, clinking my beer against his. “You know me too well,” I said, ensuring to look into his eyes as our glasses touched. I sipped on my beer, never once breaking my eyes from Adam, knowing that Megsy was watching on.
Game on, Megsy, game on.
***
Oh God, I really was a two-pot screamer. I was fading, and fading fast, but I couldn’t be defeated, I couldn’t. I had to stay, I couldn’t let Adam and Megsy bond. I just couldn’t let them go down memory lane to remember the good times of Onslow High, that’s if there were any—I couldn’t remember—but then again everything seemed a bit foggy, or maybe that was the Carlton Draught talking. I held my chin on my hand, trying to blink my eyelids from drooping as I tried to listen to Megsy talk about her missing years, how she had missed Onslow and blah, blah, blah. I felt an elbow in my ribs causing me to snap to attention. My head swung around to see Adam casting me a dubious if not amused look.
“You okay, soldier?” he asked, trying not to smile.
My brows lowered. “It’s been a big day, you know; I’ve been up since five.”
“Hence the nanna nap I interrupted this afternoon.”
“That’s right, interrupted, so I’m even more fragile now.”
Adam burst out with laughter, causing Megsy to still, mid gripping conversation about her arts course.
“Sorry, Megsy, Adam’s just being a …”
“Play nice,” he warned.
“I always play nice.” I straightened, secretly loving the banter between us that always had a way of separating us from everyone else. Adam didn’t reply to me, he merely shook his head and sipped on his—wait, what the? Was he drinking water? Had I blacked out when that had happened?
He must have read the wide-eyed look of horror across my face, as he examined his drink.
“What? I said I’d give Megsy a lift home. Thought I better take it easy for a bit.”
As much as you had to admire Adam’s responsible water intake in order to be a designated driver it had me instantly feeling ill. No more could I pretend that I was okay; maybe it was the alcohol that had worn me down, encouraging me to pretend to be nice.
“So, Megsy, are you coming to Sean’s lake house tomorrow night for the surprise party?” Bel asked.
My head snapped around, my vision glowering into Bel’s profile. It was an innocent enough question, but one I seriously didn’t want to know the answer to.
“Ah, yeah, Adam invited me to tag along. It’ll be great to see Tess again.” Megsy beamed, skirting on the edge of excitement.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
I wanted to be sick. No, really, I think I was going to vomit.
No-no-no-no, not here, not now.
I pushed myself to stand, swaying and scurrying past Ringer. He was boxing me into the table; I slapped at his shoulders.
“Move!” was all I could manage, as I felt the chunks rising.
“Want me to hold your hair back, Ellie?” Ringer joked, but I had no time to respond. I hit the ladies’ toilet doors at a run, barely making it to the empty cubicle and being violently ill. My life flashed before my eyes, black spots danced under my eyelids, and the tiny little room spun. It was still spinning even as I slid down the wall, convinced I had nothing left to give. Flushing the toilet, I hugged my knees to my chest.
Classy, Ellie, real classy.
If I hadn’t felt so awful I would have let the wave of humiliation wash over me, but I was far too sick to care—that would come tomorrow
in the light of day.
For now I just concentrated on breathing, in and out, in and out. The door to the bathroom opened, flooding the small room with music and chatter momentarily until the door swung closed.
Oh great.
Footsteps made their way around the privacy barrier and stilled in the opened doorway to my toilet cubicle.
“You okay?” Bel stood there, her eyes narrowed in concern as if she was identifying a body at the morgue or something, which by all accounts wasn’t too far from the truth. Unlike any of the Onslow Boys who had held my hair back, dunked my head under a faucet and slung me over their shoulder, Bel crossed her arms across her chest, mindful not to make contact with the side of the door possibly out of fear of catching any germs.
“I guess you drew the short straw on coming to check on me.” I wiped the light sheen of perspiration from my brow.
“Well, Adam made it as far as the door, but then I kind of reminded him best not to linger in the ladies’ toilets.”
Ha! Not like he hadn’t before, I thought.
“Want a chewie?” Bel held out a packet of Juicy Fruits and I thought based purely on that, she could easily be my new best friend.
“Thanks,” I said, holding my hand out so she could squeeze two little white parcels into my palm.
The door to the bathroom opened again, causing music and laughter to echo off the walls. The unmistakable sound of girls struggling to walk in high heels clicking against the concrete floor. Stacey Palmer and Kim Winters rounded the corner, pausing mid giggle before taking in the sight before them. They gave each other a knowing look and curve of a brow before Kim made her way to the vacant cubicle next to mine. Their chat was shallow and gossipy, as much as I could bring myself to care, but as Kim came to the basin and washed her hands as Stacey reapplied her lipstick, her eyes never tore away from me in the reflection of the mirror. Shutting the tap off and turning to the paper towel dispenser she stood before me, drying her hands and shaking her head.
“Some things never change,” she said.
“Well, you know what they say,” said Stacey, pocketing her lipstick and turning her attention to me. “You can take the girl out of Onslow but you can’t take the Onslow out of the girl.”
Their laughter erupted, and I watched steely eyed as they left the bathroom, grinning like fools and revelling in my demise. But what was worse was, they were right. Nothing had changed; I hadn’t changed. I was still looked upon as little Ellie Parker, class whore of 1999, the kind no boy would want to take home to meet his mother. The girl who got smashed and got sick and passed out in boys’ beds, the girl that was a bit dumb but had a nice arse.
My eyes burned with tears that threatened to rise through anger, anger for all those things, but mainly angry with myself.
Bel looked uncomfortable, proving the simple truth that we really didn’t know each other, and that she didn’t know what to say to offer me comfort. Unlike Tess, who would have slid down next to me and looked at me with big sad eyes, or Adam who would have crouched before me and made me laugh, Bel simply stood there, uncomfortable.
“You okay?” she asked again, as if not really sure what else there was to know.
“Yeah, just give me a minute,” I said, turning my face away from her, hiding the tears, praying she would just take a hint and leave, and mercifully she finally did.
Chapter Ten
By the time I re-emerged from the toilets Adam was gone, and so was Megsy. Instead of returning to the table where the Onslow Boys awaited with their funny one-liners, I decided to slink back into the back bar and drown my sorrows alone … and admittedly wait for Adam.
Chris peeled his way through the divider from the front bar, raising his eyebrows in question, in the speechless way bartenders did: it was the universal code for ‘you want a drink?’
I couldn’t feel any more rock-bottom than I did. I took in a deep breath.
“Hair of the dog, old man, hair of the dog.”
Chris laughed. “You may not be able to hold your liquor but you do have a cast-iron constitution.”
“Aw, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Chris laughed. “Jesus, you need to get out more.”
“Clearly,” I scoffed.
A painful hour had passed and there was still no sign of Adam. I sat slumped at the bar, drunk, squinting through a broken pretzel and using it as a monocle.
“I say, old chum,” I announced in a mock English accent.
Chris watched on from behind the bar, his eyes narrowed. Clearly he was not amused.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t do British.”
I removed my makeshift monocle and aggressively snapped my teeth onto my pretzel. “Sod off.” I straightened.
Chris shook his head, an exasperated sigh expanding his chest. “You’re a pitiful sight.”
I grabbed the straws from my drink, wedging them under the corners of my top lip, creating fluro pink fangs, and scrunched up my face.
“Yeah, that’s attractive,” he deadpanned. “I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to tap that?”
My instinct was to hiss at him, but was interrupted by a rather defiant, “Shut up, Chris.”
Tammy rounded the corner of the bar like a breath of fresh air, tall, tanned and lovely. Usually a vision in lycra, tonight she rocked jeans and a white tee, her light brown hair loosely tumbled across her shoulders. It was a wonder why of all the men in the world, Tammy was with Chris, the moody, sullen bartender. She was such a delight.
“Termmy!” I managed past my makeshift fangs; it was so good to see a friendly face.
She stopped short of me, her mouth pouting with sympathy as she plucked the straws from my mouth and shoved them back into my now-empty glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
I squinted my eyes for two reasons: one it helped me think and secondly it stopped my triple vision of Tammy’s silhouette. Failing to accurately calculate what was a rather disastrous sum of booze, I squeezed my half lids and pressed my forehead to the bar with a groan.
“Too many.”
“Chris?”
“What?”
“Why did you let her drink so much?”
“Don’t blame me; she wanted to get loaded, I got her loaded.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” Tammy scoffed. “Look at her, she’s a hot mess.”
“Ha! She was a hot mess sober too.”
I lifted my head. “Hey, I’m still here, you know.”
“Oh, of course you are, honey,” Tammy soothed, rubbing my shoulder.
Chris shook his head. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“Shut up!” Tammy and I spoke in unison.
“Seriously, if you’re going to throw a pity party, make it over someone who deserves your tears, not Rory fucking Franklin.”
I frowned, confused; how had Chris known about him? Oh, that’s right, I told him. I had told him as if he had been a girlfriend at a slumber party. I divulged my disastrous date, caring little if he wanted to know or not; just like with Adam, it had felt good to let it out. And besides, the last thing I had wanted them to guess as the real reason I was drowning my sorrows—as each tick of the clock clicked past—was Adam being out there with Megsy, in the dark, alone. Megsy, the girl Adam first loved. Megsy, the girl he’s with rather than being here with me.
“Stop talking.” I massaged my temples.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. We can’t say that name anymore.”
I glared through my dishevelled hair. “Don’t ever say that name.”
“I guess checking the footy score is definitely out of the question then?”
“It’s cricket season,” I scowled, sweeping a blonde tendril from my eyeline and straightening on my stool. I swung around toward Tammy, using her for leverage as I stood, swaying with the room.
“Well, you’re not as drunk as I thought then.”
“Whatever; I’m going to bed,” I said, p
ushing myself up to stand.
“Whoa, hang on, I’ll help you up the stairs.” Tammy came rushing to my side.
I waved her words away. “I’m fiiiine, I have done it a trillion times before.” I moved to make a step, hooking my arm through my handbag and dragging the stool over with an almighty bang against the floorboards. “Oopsie.” I giggled. “Chris, you have to get better stools.” I pointed an accusing finger toward the bar, toward where I thought Chris was. “Hey, where did he go?” I closed an eye, desperately trying to focus.
Before I could get my bearings I felt a vice-like grip around my upper arm swing me around and frogmarch me in the opposite direction as if I weighed nothing. “Come on, Cinderella, before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”
“Pfft, and who are you? My wicked fairy godmother?”
Chris shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”
My instinct was to move away from him, but that was soon stopped when Tammy grabbed my other arm and moved me along through the bar. I threw Tammy a ‘how could you?’ glare, but when she smiled, small and sad, my glower dimmed.
“I am a hot mess, huh?”
Tammy’s smile broadened. “No, you’re not,” she lied.
“Yep, you can take the Onslow out of the girl but you can’t take the Onslow out of the girl.” I frowned, trying to recall the saying.
“You’ll feel better in the morning.” Tammy rubbed my arm.
Chris laughed. “Don’t tell her that.”
“Why?”
“Because given the alcohol ratio she is going to be hung like a wet towel tomorrow.”
“Oh, well … we’ll be there with coffee,” Tammy added quickly, helping Chris turn the corner toward the stairs with my limp body wedged between them.
“Aww, breakfast in bed.” I pouted. “You guys are the best.”
Chris kicked the door open to Adam’s room. The light from the hall illuminating the bed inside the darkened space was all I could manage from my sleepy state before face-planting the mattress, clasping the sheets, and smiling.
Adam.
I rolled slowly onto my back, sighing as my weary bones melted into the cushioned underlining. Both my legs lifted at the same time; I peeked through my lids and grinned broader as I watched Tammy and Chris unlace my boots, yanking me free from them. I rolled over, grabbing a pillow and snuggling against it.
