That’s when I see her.
She’s standing on a chair in the back corner of the shop, straightening their specials board. Her curly hair is swept off her face with clips and she’s decked out in a Joe’s shirt. I smile as I recall her prancing around on the side of the highway in Veronica’s Little Bookshop T-shirt. She was hilarious, despite everything, and made the unbearable somehow perfect. She’s taken, the voice hisses again, and she just wants to be friends.
Suddenly I want to bolt before she spots me lurking outside, but my feet feel bonded to the ground. Not that it matters: Layla’s already seen me through the window. She looks happy about it too — all dancing eyebrows and a beam so brilliant it might just light up Durnan.
I can’t be here. I can’t talk to her like this.
Not when she looks and acts like that.
Not when I’m acting like this.
I don’t even know how to freakin’ text her any more.
I gesture to the car, pretending I’m in a rush.
Realising I’m not coming in, she cocks her head to the side, confused, her grin hardening into tight, pressed lips.
I hurry to the car and keep my head down until Dad’s back. I’m relieved he’s too busy waffling about Peter Newbins and life plans and home loans to remember anything about the mineral waters.
* * *
Layla: Hey!
Milo: Was with Dad, had to rush off
Milo: Sorry
Layla: That’s OK, when are you grounded til?
* * *
Layla: You there?
Milo: Yeah, what’s up?
Layla: Nothing really, you alright?
Milo: Yeah, just at work, bit busy
Milo: How are you?
Layla: I’m OK. Are you?
Layla
I push my scrambled eggs around my plate and watch Kurt gnawing at his bacon before gulping it down. I’ve been pep-talking myself for days, trying to find the right words to break up with him. I thought I had them too. I thought we’d be over by now and I’d be free from the guilt and sadness and frustration. And we probably would’ve been if Ryan hadn’t invited himself along this morning for brunch at Quiche. It’s not like I can say, ‘Er, Ryan, please pass the tomato sauce … oh, and by the way, Kurt, I don’t want to go out any more.’ The whole thing is postponed and I’m losing my nerve again.
Back at school, people’s friends assisted with break-ups. The unsuspecting boy or girl was pulled aside after class or bailed up in line for the bus home, then the news was dumped on them — usually with a crowd watching it all go down. The really chicken people sent a text message, sometimes short and to the point, sometimes long and waffly. Not kind but definitely effective. Over in the speed of pressing ‘send’. Not like me, days later, still wondering how to start this conversation.
But school’s over and I owe Kurt more than that.
Oblivious, he and Ryan talk loud and fast, making plans for tonight. Another weekend, another party. Kurt doesn’t bother to check whether I want to go. Not that I want to. He flashes me a wink: Thanks for understanding, babe.
Ryan slurps his juice and waves over a waitress for a water refill. She tops up our glasses with a yawn, unaffected by the swarm of customers winding out the door.
Milo going quiet on me isn’t helping any of this drama rattling around my head. I’m trying not to overthink his blunt texts, but it’s hard not to when life has been so full of him lately.
The night we spent talking on our road trip to nowhere.
Lips and hot breath and hands in the laundry.
All capped off with his panicked look when he spotted me at Joe’s. In one second, I felt like I’d lost my only friend. Maybe I need him more than he needs me.
I push away my plate and slump in my seat.
‘Done with that, babe?’ Kurt asks, his fingers already touching the rim.
‘Yeah. Go for it.’
He and Ryan return to planning their night. I’m back to people-watching and planning how to get Kurt alone.
I notice a group of girls huddled around a phone in the corner, laughing, giggling, elbowing each other. It’s been so long since I had that — a tribe. After a while, I guess the ache for it went away.
One of the girls tosses her hair, still cracking up as her friends jostle over the phone, and as she turns her head, her eyes lock with mine across the café.
I think I know her.
Oh my God.
Jill.
I can’t look away now. It’s Jill and my old group from Year 7 — I forget the other girls’ names. We came from different primary schools from surrounding towns so barely knew each other, but we clung together during first term thanks to a few shared classes.
My heart pounds.
Sydney may have been fast and angry, but it’s big enough that I rarely bumped into anyone from my life — past or present — in public. Mum always joked she’d see half of Durnan whenever she was at the supermarket, especially if she was in her trackies and hadn’t washed her hair. She’d tell me and Dad she was popping out for five minutes to pick up milk and toilet paper, and return an hour later full of stories about the neighbours’ anxious cat or her chiro’s stepson losing his first tooth. ‘It’s Durnan’s way of knitting us all together, whether we like it or not,’ she’d say. As a kid I thought she was annoyed by it, but now I think she might’ve liked how everyone was forced into each other’s lives on their best and worst days. She didn’t have a big family of her own, so maybe Durnan made up for it.
Can’t say I see the appeal. Especially on a day when my plans to break up with my boyfriend have already imploded.
My natural instinct is to look away from Jill, pretend we haven’t seen each other, like so many people do to escape excruciating situations, but my body isn’t cooperating. Her mouth crinkles into a smile, then before I have time to look for a hidden trapdoor in the café to throw myself through, she flounces over. I’m stuck — there’s no magic carpet or broomstick to fly away on — so I drag myself to my feet and edge towards her. The quicker this happens, the quicker it’s over.
My palms are already wet.
‘Layla!’ she squeals, wrapping me up and squeezing me in. ‘Wow, it is you! Are you back visiting your dad? How nice.’
‘Er, well, sorta …’ I stammer for the next words, but I needn’t have worried. Jill’s charging ahead without me.
‘Wow, you still look like you — well, sort of,’ she says with a laugh, sizing me up. ‘Wow, I guess I haven’t seen you since, well …’ Her voice trails off, but then she forces a big beaming smile. No grim looks here. Just fake smiling. I don’t know what’s more unsettling. ‘How have you been anyway?’ she asks, without leaving me time to reply. ‘You look so … so city. Very chic.’
I tug at my T-shirt, feeling the complete opposite. ‘Er, thanks. You too.’
‘Oh, no!’ She blushes. ‘Wow, you have been in the city, right?’ She’s operating on a superhuman level of happy — big toothy grin, squealing, wild hand gestures. I’m exhausted just being in her presence, especially as we’re basically two people who used to know each other pretending we still have something in common. ‘Or were you at the coast? I kind of lost track …’
‘Five years’ll do that. Bit of everything.’ I shrug. ‘Um, sorry, yeah, I’ve been sorta hopeless. After everything, I shut down my accounts and …’
‘It’s fine, I get it.’ Jill nods, biting her lip. ‘I’m just glad you’re doing so well now.’
I don’t correct her. I hate being fake, but not everyone in this town needs a behind-the-scenes pass to my life. Not if I can help it.
‘Thanks. You too. Um …’ I search for an appropriate question. I’m so out of practice at acting like a normal human. ‘How was the rest of school?’ A nervous grin is plastered on her face. ‘Sorry, that’s a weird thing to ask. Don’t answer that. Er, so you’re living here too, huh? In Durnan?’
Slightly better question, but not great.
&nbs
p; ‘Here?’ Jill waves the idea away. ‘Oh, no. Melbourne now, just visiting parents, you know how it is.’ She pauses, registering what she’s said. ‘Sorry … um … yeah, so I’m just here for the weekend, but, ah, let’s catch up next time I’m back, okay?’
‘Sure,’ I manage to say. ‘Sounds perfect.’
Surely dishonesty doesn’t matter when you’re both in on the lie?
‘So, ah … bye then.’
Jill lingers on the spot, before hurrying back to the girls. I don’t dare watch her go, but I bet they’re all taking me in with eyelash-batting interest. Layla, the human sob story.
It’s not until I’m seated again that I realise I didn’t give Jill my phone number. I can’t hear her and the girls laughing any more, so I steal a glance back at the corner. They’ve huddled in even tighter.
They’re not whispering about me. They’re not whispering about me.
Jill peeks over in my direction. Busted. Fake smiling again, she gives a small wave when she notices I’m looking, then returns to the huddle.
Yeah, they’re whispering about me.
‘Who was that princess?’ Ryan asks through a mouthful of egg. ‘Her friends are cute. Introduce me.’
I screw up my nose.
‘What? I’m a catch.’
He and Kurt swap laughter, then start trading stories about last weekend, seeing how much they can one-up each other.
Nibbling on my nails, I stare through the window. Between the boys and Jill, I’m running out of safe places to daydream in this café.
Then I see him through the glass. What? Milo’s here too? Here?
Well, it is Saturday morning and the options are limited in Durnan, I remind myself. Brunch, play sport, hit the shops, stay in bed.
I shouldn’t have come out from under the covers.
Milo doesn’t see me. He’s staring down, gaze slicing through the footpath with laser-like precision. His hands are pushed deep into his shorts and he walks like he’s dragging himself through mud, like someone with nowhere to go.
‘Y’alright, babe?’ Kurt asks, nicking some of Ryan’s food.
I glance at him. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says, stuffing his spoon into his mouth as he looks out the window, wondering out loud what’s caught my attention.
I follow his gaze, worried, but Milo is already gone from sight.
I last another minute while the boys order milkshakes with extra whipped cream, then excuse myself to pop outside to make a quick call to Joe’s.
My heart pounds as I jog to catch up with Milo. He walks on, kicking at the cement, unaware I’m coming for him, fuelled by a stressful morning. The full weight of every messy thought is crashing down on me. I should go back to the café, back to Kurt, end it right now.
Should.
Instead I hurry on, feet pounding the concrete, until I’m in front of him. I swivel around, hair whipping out around me. ‘You,’ I say, poking him in the chest.
He steps back, startled. ‘Jesus, Lay.’
‘You were supposed to be one of the good ones.’ I poke him again.
‘Ow,’ he says, rubbing his chest. He glances around to see if anyone can hear us. ‘Whaddya mean?’
I refuse to break eye contact.
He shakes his head. ‘What? What’s going on?’
My jaw juts out. ‘You tell me. What happened to you and me being friends above everything else? That was the deal.’
‘Nothing’s happened. We’re mates, like you said.’
I scoff. ‘You’ve been blowing me off.’
‘Jesus,’ he mutters, throwing his hands in the air, fed up. ‘Lay, are you still with Kurt?’
‘Yeah, but I’m —’
‘Then you’ve still got a boyfriend. I’m trying to do the right thing.’
‘I just want my friend back.’
‘I’m outta here before I screw this up even more.’ He strides off, but only makes it a few metres before he reels around and comes back. ‘Fine, yeah, we were meant to be okay, but I don’t how to pretend nothing happened when something happened.’
He’s close enough for me to see glints of gold in his hair that I’ve never noticed until now.
‘I came to your place when I shouldn’t have … and I could’ve stopped it and I didn’t … I didn’t want to stop it.’
‘Same,’ I admit, stepping in closer, crossing my arms. ‘Same.’ I pause, poised to tell him every crazy thought that’s been spinning through my head. But now’s not the time to say things that can’t be taken back. Not when everything is still so muddled with Kurt.
‘I …’ he starts, and it sounds like his voice is caught in his throat. ‘Look, between this and Sal and my parents … I just don’t want to ruin anything. The timing is —’
‘I know. It is.’
He sighs. ‘I want things to go back to the way they were. This used to be easy. But it’s not when you look at me like that.’
‘This is my face.’
He shrugs.
‘Milo.’
‘Stop looking at me like that.’
I force a weak smile. ‘Then you stop it too. We’re just two friends looking at each other in an ordinary, average way.’
‘Yeah …’ He pauses. ‘I need to shut up now, and I need you to let me shut up.’
I nibble my fingernail. ‘Okay. How about this: we both need to be careful about the looks we give each other — that’s rule one.’
Milo nods.
‘Rule two … no eye contact for longer than a second. And no skin contact. Too risky. Definite rule three.’
‘Definite.’
‘No lip contact for rule four.’
‘Lay.’
‘Just flagging it. You’re standing too close to me now. I wouldn’t want you to trip over and land on me mouth first.’
‘No flirty banter — that’s rule five.’ He points at me, shaking his head. ‘None.’ Then he raises his hands in the air and takes a step back. Then another. ‘This better?’
‘Much safer. Hey, maybe to suffocate all this weirdness we need to list the stuff about each other that’s really annoying? Like, to repel each other.’
‘You made me jump from that stupid tree into the river.’
‘Hey! You thought of that way too quickly. And you conquered a fear that day — you should be grateful. And how about you? You nearly napped in my neighbour’s pansies.’
He snorts with laughter.
‘You didn’t hire me for a job at the bookstore either.’
‘I knew you were cut about that.’
My mouth splits into a grin. ‘I think we’re gonna be alright.’ Already close to breaking rule three, I link my fingers together instead. ‘It’ll be weird, but we’ll have our rules and we’ll be alright.’
Something over my shoulder catches Milo’s attention. ‘Lay, I, um, there’s something I need to explain.’
Before I can ask what’s going on, a girl strides up next to me. She has a shock of long strawberry-blonde hair and a big toothy smile, although it seems plastered on her face, like it’s hiding something beneath.
‘Oh my God, Sal,’ I blurt out. ‘I mean, hi.’
‘Hi …?’ She’s still smiling but her tone has a shaky, unsure note to it. That’s when I realise: she has no idea who I am.
‘Sal, this is Lay … ah, Layla,’ Milo says, finding his voice. ‘She’s my, ah … well, she went to our school ages ago — I don’t think you had classes together. And she’s, um, a family friend.’
Sal clears her throat. ‘Oh? Like, the family friend?’
I wonder from her squeaky pitch if I’m a secret he wanted to keep, or at least a secret he didn’t know how to tell.
He nods. ‘Lay, Trent and I grew up together. She lived next door for a bit.’
A bit. Try thirteen years. He’s playing this down, and I have no idea why he didn’t tell me Sal was back in Durnan.
Sal releases a laugh. She sounds a little nervous or maybe I’m
projecting.
‘Cool, hi,’ she says for the second time. Not awkward. Not at all. ‘Well, I’m Sal, but I guess you know that. Um … I just got in from Canberra this morning, so thought I’d surprise Milo. But I guess you knew that too.’
‘Er, no, I didn’t.’ I really didn’t. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Yeah, I, ah, I had some things to pick up from my parents’. You should’ve seen the look on his face,’ she says. ‘Complete shock.’
‘I bet,’ I manage. I know the feeling. ‘Um, what’s on today then?’
‘Hanging out, maybe more shopping.’ She holds up a few bags. ‘We haven’t worked it out, but I was thinking a movie … or maybe a trip to the river.’
Milo’s eyes widen.
‘We’ve never gone there together,’ she says. ‘The pool was our year’s thing — but Milo told me how he went with a family friend. Which, now I’m connecting the dots … is probably you?’
I suck in a breath. ‘Yeah, that’s me. It’s awesome. Awesome. Very beautiful. The river, I mean. Very beautiful. I said that already, didn’t I?’
I grit my teeth, hoping the concrete cracks open and sucks me down into the abyss.
‘You know, it’s probably too cold for the river,’ Milo says.
‘A movie sounds nice too,’ Sal says. ‘Layla, do you want to come with us or …?’
‘Oh! No, I won’t,’ I say in a rush. ‘I’ll leave you to catch up. My boyfriend’s waiting for me back at the café so …’ I can’t read Sal’s expression after I’ve mentioned Kurt. Milo looks green. ‘Anyway, have fun at the river. I mean, at the movies. Bye.’
I turn on my heel and head for the café, waiting until I hit the car park before checking over my shoulder. Even from a distance, I can see Sal clutching Milo’s arm, dragging him towards the shopping centre across the street. I watch for a little longer, foot kicking at the kerb, waiting to see if he turns around to look at me like people do in the movies.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.
Because I have a boyfriend. Just.
And it looks like he has a girlfriend. Again.
No wonder he’s been acting so cagey about us.
Not that there is an us.
I look one final time. He’s already disappeared into the Saturday morning shopping crowd. So that’s that.
Remind Me How This Ends Page 14
