Elegy

by Jane Abbott

  Gabe didn’t reply, just steered Jenny through the crowd and out the front door. But the air wasn’t fresh. It was smoky and thick and sweet with pot, making her head spin, and she groaned, fighting the surge in her stomach. Gabe pushed her to the edge of the verandah and bent her over, grabbing her hair and holding her while she spewed. The few who were braving the weather laughed. Another cramp, another surge, and the foul liquid splashed her boots. Jenny groaned again, coughing up the dregs, blowing one nostril clear and then the other.

  ‘Nice,’ someone said.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Gabe snarled behind her, and the laughter was cut short. She heard the door open and close, then open again.

  ‘Is she okay?’ It was Sophie, but Jenny couldn’t turn because Gabe was still holding her down, and it was a good thing too. She felt for the post next to her, grabbed it tight and retched again.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sophie’s voice was thin and whiny. ‘I didn’t know what she was doing.’

  But Gabe wasn’t having it. ‘Do me a favour. Find some aspirin or something and bring me water, a black coffee – strong – and some tissues. Can you do that?’

  ‘Sure. I’m sorry. Here’s her coat.’

  Gabe let go of Jenny and draped the jacket around her shoulders. She was still clutching the post, staring at the ground, too embarrassed and still too sick to face him, gulping air and retching some more, dry this time. He waited for Sophie to return, muttering his thanks when she did, before telling her to leave them alone. The door closed again, muffling the noise, and the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof soothed.

  A bottle of water and a handful of tissues were waved in front of her. ‘Wash your face and rinse your mouth,’ he said. ‘But don’t swallow any.’

  She did as she was told, swilling and spitting and mopping her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. It hurt to speak; her throat was raw and she longed to take a sip of water. This time he forced her around.

  ‘I can’t work out if you’re just an idiot or the most naive person I’ve ever met,’ he said. ‘The rule is, if it’s already open, or you haven’t poured it yourself, you don’t bloody drink it. Okay?’

  She nodded, then winced, pressing her hand to her forehead. She felt the prick of tears and blinked them back. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted … I thought –’ How could she explain her pathetic need to feel included? Someone like Gabe could never understand. ‘I’m sorry about your … girlfriend. You can go back in if you want.’

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘Christ, will you stop saying sorry?’ He snatched the bottle of water and pulled another wad of tissues from the box before crouching to wipe off her boots. She watched, unbelieving but grateful. When he was done, he straightened and tossed the tissues into the garden. ‘How’s your stomach?’

  ‘Better,’ she lied, and he nodded.

  ‘Try a sip of water, then.’ The door opened again, spilling some bodies. They smirked and laughed before heading for the other end of the verandah and lighting up. Gabe frowned. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  Holding the mug of coffee, he led the way down the street and around the corner, Jenny following meekly, head bowed to the rain. All she could taste and smell was vomit. In the ute, she cranked open the window a fraction, sure he could smell it too. Gabe handed her the coffee, and she sniffed at it gratefully, breathing in the aroma. Her stomach churned a little. He leaned across and rummaged around in the glove box; she pressed back against the seat. There was only one box of condoms left, and she didn’t dare think what had happened to the other one. It’d been less than two days. Straightening again, he gave her a half-pack of chewing gum. Her humiliation was complete.

  ‘The mint helps,’ he said, but she wasn’t sure if he meant her stomach or the smell.

  Jenny chewed, and it did help, but it also reminded her of Sophie. Had she planned for this to happen when she’d invited Jenny to the party? Was she laughing with the rest of them? Then she remembered her apology and her help, not that it mattered now.

  Beside her, Gabe sighed and rested his head back against the seat. She took a sip of the coffee.

  ‘Drink it slow,’ he told her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jenny asked him. ‘You don’t look … I mean –’

  ‘Just tired,’ he said. ‘It’s turned into a shit fight at home and I needed to get away from it for a bit, but I shouldn’t have come out.’

  Jenny dreaded to think what might’ve happened if he hadn’t. ‘You mean Michael and Caitlin?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Gabe looked at her, his eyes dark with worry. ‘And Michael’s having nightmares again. Worse than before. I haven’t slept the last couple of nights.’

  Realising her stupidity, she held out the coffee. ‘Then this was for you. God, I’m sorry.’

  He smiled, finally. ‘Have as much as you want. I’ll finish what’s left.’

  ‘No, really, the water’s fine.’

  He didn’t argue but took the mug and settled back, closing his eyes and drinking slowly. She turned sideways and watched him swallow the aspirin. The windows had fogged and the cabin was warm. Jenny’s head was spinning less but aching more and she longed for some aspirin of her own. Her tongue had furred and her teeth felt a little slimy.

  ‘Gabe?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ A short silence, and he turned his head again, holding her gaze. ‘But just … I don’t know, Jen. Just take things easy, okay? This isn’t the city. People are different here. You need to feel your way. Work out who you can trust and who you can’t.’

  ‘I trust you.’

  He smiled again. ‘Told you – whatever, whenever. I meant it.’ The smile widened. ‘Though, maybe next time you could stick to beer?’

  She nodded, her eyes stinging. ‘Why would she do that?’ She kept seeing Kylie’s smile, hearing her words: a tiny splash of voddie. Maybe. In that first cup, anyway. Except Jenny knew she was to blame too. No one had forced her to drink. She waited for Gabe to point this out, but he didn’t.

  ‘Because she’s a bitch. Steer clear of her. There are plenty of others who aren’t.’

  ‘Where were you? Before, I mean.’ Jenny told herself she wasn’t prying. Just wondering.

  Gabe drained the last of the coffee. ‘Around. Didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘Someone said you were in one of the bedrooms,’ she blurted.

  He stared at her, then laughed. ‘Not me, but I wish I had been. Could have done with the sleep.’ When she didn’t reply, he asked, ‘How are you feeling? You ready to go home?’

  She wasn’t, but she could see he was. ‘I’m okay, I think. I don’t know. How bad do I smell?’ Her mother had the nose of a bloodhound as well as the ears of a bat.

  He leaned over and sniffed. ‘You’re fine. Minty.’ But he wound down his window too.

  Outside her house, she thanked him again. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, opening the door to the rain. ‘And drive carefully.’

  ‘Always,’ he replied, with a weary smile.

  Monday morning was faced with the same dread as the first day of school: dread of having to face everyone after her humiliating performance at the party, dread of running into Casey, dread of Kylie and her gang. Jenny might’ve escaped a backlash at home – thanks to Gabe – but there’d be no escaping it at school. Plus she still felt sick, her head pounding. Breakfast was juice and coffee and two Panadol. She pocketed two more for later. The only bright spot on an otherwise gloomy horizon would be seeing Gabe. She’d texted him another thankyou the night before, but he hadn’t replied.

  She was soaked through long before she got to school, and windows misted while everyone steamed dry in class. The fans no longer turned overhead; outside, the oval was a muddy lake and trees rattled in the wind. Thankfully, Casey was nowhere to
be seen, but she couldn’t avoid Kylie or the snickers when she passed people in the corridors. She wasn’t able to catch up with Gabe until the end of the day; he’d spent all his time between exams in the Year 12 common room, off limits to lower grades. He looked worse than the day before and was still unshaven. His greeting was distracted, and when she mentioned the party, he waved it off, as though he wanted to forget about it, maybe even forget about her. She felt bad – for herself mostly – but when she saw Michael approaching she felt even worse. Dark rings hollowed out his eyes and he walked slowly, much like he had at the beginning of term, and there was a familiar ache in her heart.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Gabe sighed.

  ‘Any chance of catching up in the holidays?’ she asked, because the idea of not seeing him for two weeks was suddenly unbearable.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said, and her heart ached again. For different reasons.

  She watched them leave, Gabe slowing his pace to match Michael’s, neither of them seeming to mind the rain as they made their way across the yard and through the gate to the ute. And she thought, not for the first time, how lucky Michael and Caitlin were to have Gabe on their side.

  The church walls were rendered and painted cream, and the building glowed in the autumn sun, a stark contrast to the Presbyterian brick across the street and the Anglican bluestone around the corner. A few people mingled outside, but the wind drove Jenny and her family indoors, and they found a pew towards the front.

  They weren’t regulars – Jenny had only been once since moving to Short Town, and that had been under duress – but her mother was a stickler for tradition. Easter mass was never missed unless, as had happened for Jenny’s father, God Himself answered a prayer and intervened.

  ‘Sorry,’ he’d said to her mother, ending the call as they were readying to leave. ‘Mrs Bennet’s having one of her turns. I’ll be back in time for lunch.’

  The relief in his voice had been unmistakeable, and Jenny wondered how thrilled Mrs Bennet would be to hear her doctor sound so happy about her illness. Her mother had stared at the phone for a minute, and Jenny had felt a wave of pity for her. Was this what it was like every time he took a call? Would she always question who was on the other end? Was this what it meant to lose trust? Then her mother had taken a deep breath and nodded, because what else could she do?

  It wasn’t that Jenny hated going to church; in a strange way she found the ritual kind of comforting. But on such a cold morning she’d have preferred to be in bed, buried under her quilt. The smell of incense filled the air, made heady by electric heaters hanging between the large windows, but it was impossible to warm that cavernous space, and Jenny kept her coat on. Her mother knelt, crossing herself and no doubt praying for her husband’s cheating soul as well as her daughter’s errant ways, while Jenny and Chris fidgeted, impatient for the service to begin. And end. Amen.

  ‘Room for one more?’ someone murmured, and Jenny slid along the polished pew before glancing sideways at the new arrival.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Seeking enlightenment,’ Gabe whispered and, to her astonishment, knelt as her mother had done and bent his head, but he didn’t cross himself. As his eyes closed, she saw one corner of his mouth lift and she knew he was laughing. He sat back again, nodded a greeting to her mother – who frowned – and nudged against Jenny to find space. But the pew was now full and his big body pressing hers made the heaters and her coat suddenly redundant.

  They didn’t speak again, and he followed the mass with apparent interest, listening to everything that was said but not bothering to mouth through all the prayers. Occasionally, he glanced at one of the statues that gazed down on the congregation with eternal serenity – or was it severity? Jenny could never quite make up her mind. He didn’t take communion, and she felt a little foolish lining up in front of the altar with everyone else while he sat and watched.

  As they filed out, he shook Father Cafferty’s hand, holding up the queue as he thanked him for the service and asked about some minor detail. The priest, who’d no doubt listened to many a girl confess her trespasses with Gabe, could only smile and wonder at the resourceful ness of a God who’d shepherded such a sinner back into the flock.

  ‘Well, that was fun,’ Gabe remarked, as he waited with Jenny while her mother did the social rounds and Chris played with a couple of friends on the lawn. ‘But I reckon once is enough.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Jenny asked him, her earlier fears of not seeing him over the holidays forgotten. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad he’d showed up, but she was annoyed that he seemed to be poking fun at everything. At her.

  ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said, surprised by her question. ‘Make sure everything’s okay.’

  He was wearing jeans and boots again and an old leather bike jacket, which added bulk to already wide shoulders. He’d retrieved his helmet from the church vestibule and held it in one hand, and the image he presented, with his long hair and unshaven face, was that of every mother’s worst nightmare. Except, of course, he was Gabe.

  ‘You look good,’ she told him. And he did, as though he’d finally found some peace from the agonies at home. ‘I mean, well. You look well.’

  He laughed at her feeble attempt and eyed her up and down. ‘Ditto.’

  She gestured to the helmet. ‘Where’s the ute?’ Even the old truck might’ve been a better option, and she was glad of Mrs Bennet’s ill health.

  ‘Michael needed it. Jim’s got him working all day.’

  ‘So things are better?’

  He shrugged. ‘A bit. The nightmares have stopped at least, and we’re all getting some sleep.’

  ‘Hello.’ Her mother’s tone was frosty, to match the weather. Jenny watched her lips purse as she took in the helmet and the jacket.

  Gabe smiled. ‘Hi, Mrs Lawson. Happy Easter. Good mass, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You’re Catholic?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ he said, but it wasn’t an apology.

  ‘I see.’ She looked around. ‘And where’s your family?’

  ‘At home. Cows don’t know it’s Sunday.’ He smiled again.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose they do,’ she agreed. She stared, assessing him, and he stood there, letting her, before she added, ‘Thank you for bringing Jenny home from the party last weekend. We weren’t expecting it.’ It was more a rebuke than a thankyou.

  ‘Well, it’s not like it was out of my way.’

  ‘No? Where is your farm, exactly?’

  ‘About a half-hour towards Wittledon,’ he told her. ‘That’s west-south-west. Exactly.’

  There was a ghost of a smile, the slightest nod of her head and the most uncomfortable pause before she said, ‘Well, then, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea before you drive back.’

  Jenny’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  ‘That’d be great. Thanks,’ replied Gabe. Unlike Jenny, he didn’t appear at all surprised by the invitation.

  ‘Come on then. It’s too cold to stand around here all morning.’ Her mother turned and called to Chris.

  Gabe winked at Jenny.

  ‘Don’t get too cocky,’ she warned him. ‘You still have to meet my father.’

  Gabe rode the bike to the house and met them there. It wasn’t one of the high dirt bikes Jenny was used to, but a low-slung road bike with plenty of grunt to impress Chris. He left his helmet in the hall by the door, and in the warmth of the kitchen he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, making himself at home. He was so at ease – retrieving the good china they hadn’t used in years from the top shelf of the cupboard, answering her mother’s probing questions with his deep voice – and as Jenny watched him, she felt not relief that he was there or that her mother appeared to be making an effort, but an increasing resentment.

  ‘How’s school going?’ her mother asked him. ‘You’re in your last year, aren’t you?’

  How did she know that? Jenny wondered. She’d said so l
ittle to her parents about Gabe.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be glad when it’s over.’

  ‘You must have plenty of study to do these holidays.’ Meaning: you won’t have time to be bothering my daughter.

  ‘Sure,’ Gabe said. ‘Plus the farm keeps us busy.’

  Her mother nodded, satisfied.

  ‘What kinds of animals have you got?’ Chris asked him.

  ‘Cows,’ Gabe replied. ‘Heaps of cows, and chickens and dogs. You can come and see for yourself, if you want.’

  ‘Can I?’ Chris demanded of his mother. ‘Please? Can I please, please, please?’

  ‘Now you’ve done it,’ Jenny muttered, but Gabe grinned.

  ‘We’ll see,’ her mother replied shortly.

  ‘Wanna see some photos?’ Gabe asked Chris. He pulled out his phone and sat down at the table. Chris leaned on him as Gabe flicked through the images. ‘That’s Nero the bull. Yeah, he’s huge. We’ve got another one too but younger. There’s the house.’ This time Jenny’s mother leaned over his shoulder for a look. ‘And that’s Barb, my stepmum. My sister, Cait –’

  ‘Wow,’ her mother murmured.

  Gabe smiled proudly. ‘Yeah, she’s gorgeous,’ he said, and Jenny’s irritation swelled.

  ‘Where are the animals?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Okay, so this is Bear. He’s the boss dog. And Freya, Cait’s favourite …’

  Jenny crept out, leaving them to it. She closed the living-room door and switched on the TV, turning up the volume to drown out their voices, utterly miserable and unsure why. She didn’t notice Gabe come in until he moved to stand in front of her.

  ‘Tea’s ready,’ he said.

  ‘You’re blocking the TV,’ Jenny replied. ‘And I don’t like tea.’

  ‘Or maybe you don’t like me being here.’ He pulled the remote out of her hand and switched off the television. The silence was sudden and loud. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. Go back and drink your tea. I’m fine.’

  ‘Jen, I didn’t come here for bloody tea.’