Full. Full of that mouthful, and full of thoughts of Laura. Two nights it had been; the first night an Italian restaurant, the second night Mexican. They had not touched, just talked. They were meeting again that night — French. He grew dreamy in the sun. He sipped his lassie and felt more peaceful than he had for weeks, as if his whole body was relaxing for the first time, letting go of all its traumas. He was still so young. There was so much life ahead.
His phone rang and he reached for it, pressing the green handset button before checking who it was, hoping it was her.
‘It’s me.’ A woman’s voice. A sad, quiet, disappointed voice. Not Laura.
‘Romy?’ He held the phone back quickly and stared at the little screen in disbelief. Romymobile, it said. Oh God, he should have checked. The second call in two weeks. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m in trouble. Can I talk to you?’
In his newly relaxed state, she seemed like a stranger. Did he really have a diamond ring somewhere at home, with this woman’s name figuratively on it? He was getting over her, he realised. Over her enough to be kind.
‘Is this to tell me again how I did everything wrong, how it was my fault for being too caring?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No. Well.’
‘Things are shit, Eddy. Absolutely shit.’
‘Really?’
‘I miss you.’
The birds flew past again, their circling suddenly seeming frenzied and deranged. ‘How’s Van?’
She started to cry and Eddy silently consulted his watch. His leisurely lunch break was almost over, and he either had to wrap this up within three minutes or be late for a meeting with clients.
‘Please can I come over when you finish work? I need to talk.’
‘Really? You’re not out robbing a 7/11, or trafficking drugs, or zooming off into the sunset on your motorbike?’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not.’
‘I have a date tonight. I’m going out for dinner.’
‘Oh. With a . . . woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘No one you know. So, you said you needed to talk? Because I have to get back to work now.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Could I meet you straight after work, just for a drink? Before you go out for dinner. We could meet at four-thirty, at that little bar with the weird lights?’
Eddy slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the counter of the restaurant and nodded to them as he left, the phone still held to his ear. She knew he didn’t finish at four-thirty, never before five-thirty.
‘Five,’ he said sullenly. ‘And I can’t stay long.’ He felt resentful.
‘Thanks so much, Eddy.’
He slapped the phone shut and walked off down the city streets. Above him now, the birds flew their mad laps, while around him people walked theirs, up and down, to work, from work. None of us ever really get off our merry-go-round, he reflected. We just have moments, glorious moments, where we think that we do.
Romy sidled into the bar wearing a sunhat and glasses, combined oddly with a woolen scarf and an overcoat. She walked too casually around the premises, staring at patches of nothing on the wall, and casting quick, fierce glances at other patrons. She finally wandered close to Eddy and then sat in his booth.
‘Are you in disguise?’ Eddy said.
‘Shh!’
‘No one’s listening.’
‘The cops are after me.’
‘Oh?’ said Eddy. Romy had always loved a bit of drama. However, he had to admit, she may have a point. Just yesterday she and Van had featured in a Crimestoppers item. Have you seen these people?
Romy slid off her glasses and impatiently unwound the scarf. She left the hat on and gazed at Eddy.
She appeared to have put back the weight she had lost earlier that year, during her incarnation as a criminal. Her face was thinner, her shoulders sharper, and yet the rest of her looked fatter, under a loose top. Large, even. Eddy’s mother was a big woman and, to Eddy, real women had curves and bulges. Bits moved when they walked, flesh yielded to touch. They took up space.
‘You look well.’
‘I’m not well,’ she hissed angrily. ‘I am permanently stressed. The police raided the squat where Van and I were staying. We only just got out the back door in the nick of time, and then we spent three hours hiding in bushes under a bridge while the police searched for us. Everywhere I go, I feel like people are watching me. There’s a reward out. Did you know that?’
‘No,’ he lied. He stroked one finger down the frosted beer glass before him.
‘Can you imagine how frightening it is to be pursued, all day, every day?’
Her breathing was ragged, her eyes looked bloodshot and scared. Faint sympathy washed over him, despite himself.
‘Probably pretty terrifying to be a kid working in a shop and have someone hold a gun at you.’ He tore open a foil packet of nuts.
‘I know.’ Romy wept silently for a couple of minutes. Eddy passed her a serviette. She wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve become this year. It was fun at first. It felt daring, adventurous. But I feel so sorry now for these frightened people. And Van . . . when he’s the one holding the gun, I’m scared he’s going to lose it and hurt someone.’
‘Well.’ He was hearing all this as if it were coming from far away. ‘You could stop. Turn yourself in.’
She stirred the peanuts with her fingertips and stared down at them for a moment. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Eddy was just lifting his beer to his mouth and her words forced his eyes back to her face. Was she joking? His beer was suddenly jolted back to the floor of the glass, from whence it returned like a small tidal wave and flooded his nostrils. He coughed, he spluttered, he put down the glass and wiped his face with a serviette.
‘What?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
He was stabbed with a ridiculous wild hope and terror, before he realised.
‘To who?’ Not to him. Not to him.
‘To Van.’ She let her coat fall open and he saw her belly; she was huge.
‘You’re having a child with Van?’ His stomach felt horribly empty, and yet he might need to throw up.
‘Well, I’m having a child. I don’t think Van’s that interested in it.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s got other things on his mind. Like staying out of jail.’ She started to cry. ‘Oh, Eddy, I don’t want to go to jail. I would . . . I can’t . . .’
Eddy looked around the bar. A group of women a few years younger than Romy had just floated in, slim and cool, casting their eyes over the various tables to find spare seats. One wall of the bar was filled with tiny canvases; some local artist’s exhibition. Tiny squares featuring simple moments. A quarter of a face, one smiling eye. The moon, through a window frame. A plate, with knife and fork neatly paired in the middle. A fat baby’s hand, reaching for an adult finger.
‘So how far pregnant are you?’
‘Maybe eight months. Maybe less. It’s a bit unclear. What with hiding out all the time, I sort of lost track of things.’
He stared for a full minute at a sign, which advertised the bar’s upcoming karaoke night.
‘Are you going to say anything?’ she whispered.
‘When’s it due?’ It was November, but he was too shocked for simple calculations. The incident with the truckie and Romy the bunny, three or four months ago — had she looked different then? Larger? Not that he had noticed.
‘December. Next month.’
Eddy tapped his fingers on the table and checked his watch. He felt like someone had told him about the death of a beloved friend, and yet he no longer had any right to grieve. Thirty minutes and he would leave to meet Laura. Could he still face her? He felt like crawling under a rock. ‘Well. Thanks for telling me.’
She reached out for his hand, her face suddenly tense. ‘I made a huge
mistake, Eddy.’
‘You did?’
‘I should have stayed with you. This should have been your baby.’ She was pale, her eyes abnormally large. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever made a mistake this big, Eddy, if you’ve ever felt regret so strong that it has you writhing in your bed at night, thinking about the way things could have been. But that’s how I feel.’
Something about the words focused Eddy. It was as if, for the first time since she had sat down before him, he could see Romy clearly. Thoughts of Laura fell away. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to come back.’
‘I don’t think I can forgive you.’
She sighed heavily and leaned back, her hand on her belly. ‘I want to come home.’
‘Home?’
‘We chose that house together, Eddy.’
It was in his name and all the loan repayments had come from his salary. But that was nitpicking, he knew. Both in his own moral world, and in a court of law. They had lived together for over two years, what was his was hers, too.
‘You were so insistent on a fireplace, do you remember?’
She smiled. ‘And we hardly had any fires after all, did we?’
‘We never had one.’ He had never trusted the chimney.
‘We could now.’
‘It’s nearly summer.’
‘I know.’
He glanced at his watch again. ‘Do you need somewhere to live? Is that it?’
‘I do. But I also want you. I want us to get back together.’
‘Well.’ He rubbed his forehead and got wearily to his feet. ‘I’m seeing someone. A woman.’
She nodded. ‘For how long?’
He wasn’t going to say only two dates. It had been two of the most intense, intimate, revealing two nights of his life, and they hadn’t even touched. ‘For a while.’
‘How long is a while?’
He shook his head. ‘Romy,’ he said gently, ‘it’s no longer any of your business.’
She exhaled sharply, and her eyes filled with tears.
‘I don’t mean to hurt you,’ he said. ‘And I understand that you’re in trouble. Listen, if you want to come stay for a while, you can sleep in the spare room. Just until you work out something permanent. But one week, that’s all. I’ll help you look for a place.’
‘Oh.’ She dropped her gaze to the table top. ‘I see.’
‘Do you still have your key?’
‘I do.’
‘Is that okay?’
‘That’s great. Thank you so much. Just for a week, Ed. Until I find my feet. Find a place to stay, get some Centrelink payments happening.’
Of course. No money left, after her little stint holding up shops. Couldn’t she have saved a bit for a rainy day? He would not offer her money. He would not.
‘Do you need money?’
She shook her head bravely. ‘I’ve got a bit.’
‘When do you think you’ll move in?’
‘Is tonight okay?’
He blinked. He had had visions of bringing Laura back that night, but maybe they could go to her place instead. ‘Fine,’ he said, just as he remembered that Laura lived with her parents. Damn.
‘Thanks.’
He hesitated, but pulled a couple of fifties from his wallet, and laid them before her. ‘Don’t go hungry,’ he said. He knew he shouldn’t. But he had loved her, once.
Chapter 17
Melody stared for a long time at the laptop. Grace waited beside her, fingers poised, sitting with one knee drawn beneath her. She looked from Melody’s face to the computer screen, and back. The kitchen table was a mess. The laptop was a sleek, shiny island in an ocean of children’s drawings, Star Wars figurines, dry-crusted porridge bowls and piles of folded washing. The scent of rising bread mixed with the smell of rising mould. Glass panes rattled in rotting window panes; the light flickered every now and then, probably rats in the ceiling chewing happily away at the wires. Grace tapped her fingers on the tabletop. ‘Well?’
Melody nodded carefully, her eyes narrowed. She looked so serious, so focused, she could have been drafting the national budget. Finally, she exhaled. ‘Sagittarius seems to have a pretty good outlook at the moment. It’s moving into the seventh house. Which governs relationships.’
‘Excellent.’ Grace frowned for a while into the corners of the ceiling, tapping the pen end on her teeth. She wrote: Expect to meet new love, or shed an old one. Pay close attention to the people around you.
Melody read over her shoulder doubtfully. ‘Oh. That’s a bit . . . I don’t know.’
‘What? We all should pay close attention to the people around us. Anyway. All the time. It’s good general advice. And you know; either you meet a new love or you shed an old one. That’s sort of the story of relationships, isn’t it?’
‘What about all the relationships that stay together? Where nothing happens?’
Grace stared down at the page. Yes, what about them? Damn them. Maybe her view was a little jaundiced. ‘Okay, how’s this. You farewell an old one, instead of shed. That way you could be, you know, seeing them off at the station for work.’
‘Hmm . . .’
‘Anyway, moving on. What’s in store for Capricorn?’
‘Shouldn’t we do more on Sagittarius?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Relationships. Good outlook. Meet, farewell. I’ll flesh it out later. Think about Capricorn.’
Melody stared at the computer again, clicking through incomprehensible charts. Grace put aside the pen and checked emails on her phone; the kindergarten needed parents to make sets for the kindy Christmas concert. Volunteers could contact Tom Ellison! Her Tom! Well! Mr Bloody Wonderful Kindy Dad, was he now? Mr Fucking Community. Bet those divorced mothers were getting all gooey over the wonderfulness of Tom Ellison; she could just imagine the coy emails now. Hi Tom! Love to arrange some hay on set, let’s meet and discuss?
‘Ah. Goodness me,’ Melody said finally. Grace roused herself from silent fury and picked up the pen.
‘Jupiter is entering the house of Cancer,’ Melody said, swinging around from the computer to eye Grace meaningfully.
‘Gosh. And . . .’
‘That’s huge. That’s like, I don’t know, it’s like the biggest event for Capricorns in about ninety years.’
Grace raised her eyebrows politely. ‘Really? How super. So that means . . .’
‘Cancer is the house of honours, achievement, fame. Jupiter brings good fortune to all he touches.’
‘Jupiter is a he?’
‘It’s an amazingly lucky mixture of events. Historic.’
Grace nodded carefully, like someone humouring a child. So, what, one-twelfth of the population would have their biggest thingummy in ninety years? How did she write that?
Melody made a however sort of face. ‘However, before all this good fortune can come, we need the new moon to sort of prod it into action.’
Luckily there’s been one of those every month since creation, so they were in business. Grace bit her lip and wrote: Cancer, Jupiter, good fortune, need new moon.
‘And the new moon is when?’
Melody toggled screens. ‘On the eighth, when the moon moves house. Honestly, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Capricorns. Really. Do we know any Capricorns?’
‘Tom,’ said Grace tonelessly. She wrote 8th, new moon, cancer. ‘So what does it mean for Tom? He’ll find new love? Get a cheap divorce?’
Melody sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her fingers covered the top of her face for a few minutes, prodding and pushing her pale skin, until finally her eyes emerged again, open and deep blue, fringed with her long black lashes. Grace wondered what her hair would look like out of dreadlocks.
Melody murmured, ‘I’m so tired.’
Grace felt guilty. Reading horoscopes was probably a spiritually draining business, and here she was, sapping Melody with her cynicism. But she was Mel’s agent, her manager, and she needed to have a spine for them both. ‘Well, we need to
finish these horoscopes before lunch. Then we’ve got to take the kids to prep orientation. Then we’ll set you up with Twitter and Facebook accounts.’
‘No? Really?’
‘If you’re not interested, I’ll run them for you. And at 3pm, we’ve got the phone interview. With the newspaper.’
‘No, I did that already. Yesterday.’
‘This is another one.’
‘Oh, please. I can’t bear them. Can you do it?’
‘What? Pretend to be you?’
‘Why not? It’s over the phone, they’ll never know. It’s not like I’m really being me anyway.’
‘Okay. If you trust me. Also, Anthea’s asked for your bank details.’
Melody wriggled uncomfortably. ‘You’re my manager. Can she pay your account, and you pay me?’
Grace frowned at her. ‘Have you still not set up a bank account?’
‘I keep meaning to.’
She hesitated. ‘Are you sure you want to give me this much— I don’t know.’ Power seemed like the wrong word. Nobody could have power over Melody. She slipped away from such things like she was coated in teflon.
‘Please. I would love you to. And we’ll share the money. Fifty-fifty.’
Grace opened her mouth to argue, and then shut it. She had a lot to get done today. She simply did not have the time.
Grace was forced to go to her mother and ask for a loan.
‘Oh, Grace. Your life is terrible.’ Dawn took her daughter’s hand with her own bony one and stroked it. Grace in turn watched her mother, the way her hair had receded from her forehead in recent times, and how Dawn was still bothering to dye her frail wispy hair orange, as evidenced by the inch of white at the roots. Dawn was growing old, and one day she would die and leave Grace all alone. Grace pulled her hand out from under her mother’s, picked up Dawn’s hand instead and kissed the thin skin on the back, feeling the frail metacarpals beneath her lips. How shocking, that within everyone you loved, there were bones.
‘Thanks, Mum. I know.’ She took a deep breath and smiled bravely. This, this was the lowest point she could reach. She had hit rock bottom.
‘Well, I ran into Tom yesterday, in the IGA.’
The Near Miss Page 19
