All These Perfect Strangers

by Aoife Clifford

  ‘And how do you kill people?’ Rogan asked.

  ‘That Screwdriver Man has the right idea,’ Joad replied. ‘My next victim will have body parts sliced off with a sharp implement while she’s still alive and then bleed slowly to death in agonising pain. Here’s hoping it’s the Not-so-Quiet American.’

  Joad spoke with such relish that all conversation at the table disappeared, which was why when I eventually said, ‘Maybe Leiza has a point,’ quietly to Kesh, it seemed much louder.

  ‘Who asked you, Holly Hobbie?’ Joad said. ‘Not wearing your pretty dress today, I see.’

  It was easy to hate Joad. Not even sitting across from Rogan was worth putting up with him. I got up from the table, my breakfast uneaten.

  ‘You finished?’ Toby asked in surprise, as I walked past where he was charcoalling some bread.

  ‘Stuff to do,’ I said. Putting my plate in the washing area, I heard, ‘Goodbye, Sister Wife,’ a parting remark from Joad. As I left the dining room, I thought of all the ways I could kill him.

  I was still running through my options when I reached the phones. There was a phone on each floor at college for incoming calls. Two pay phones outside the dining hall were for calling out. Rachel said she never bothered calling her mother in the United States because the queues were a nightmare. But I had to brave them today because it was my mother’s birthday.

  One of the cubicles had a sticky-taped sign on the door, with ‘out of order’ scrawled across it. The other phone was being monopolised by a plump second-year girl. I stood in her line of sight, jangling my coins, trying to get her attention, but she ignored me as her conversation became fraught. Remembering Toby’s advice, I had brought The Big Sleep to reread and settled down on a low-backed vinyl couch that had been placed opposite. I could hear boys playing the pinball machine in the Rec Room further along the corridor, the sounds from the dining hall and the general noise of conversation around college. Far off, someone was practising a violin in one of the music rooms and I began thumbing through the book to find my place.

  ‘Aah, Ms Sheppard.’

  I looked up to see Marcus. He stood out amongst the scruffy students, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit with a subtle pinstripe running through it. It wasn’t so much a uniform as armour. No one in my town had ever dressed with such authority.

  ‘How has your first month been? A whirlwind of activities, I expect, as you haven’t paid me a visit.’

  It had never occurred to me that Marcus would want regular updates on my progress and I gave some stumbled response about assuming he would be too busy.

  ‘I take a keen interest in those I see potential in. Student well-being and all that. How are you coping financially? University can be such a money pit.’

  The truth was, my savings were disappearing rapidly but I didn’t want to complain to the one person who had already been so generous. I told him that it was all fine.

  ‘Good, good. I live by the credo that one should take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves. No doubt, you are more sensible. And here’s another of Scullin’s rising stars. Good morning, Mr Cohen.’

  Coming around the corner from the dining hall was Rogan. He had caught sight of us and was about to turn the opposite way.

  ‘Oh . . . hi,’ he said.

  ‘Pen and I were just discussing that necessary evil, money. I understand it can be hard to find part-time work that doesn’t interfere with your studies. Perhaps, Joshua, as a later-year student, you could give Pen the benefit of your experience.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rogan, coming closer, though his voice sounded uncertain.

  ‘Delightful. We must all catch up soon . . . perhaps afternoon tea? But I must go. Appointment with the Vice-Chancellor and he does hate waiting.’

  He walked away, happily nodding to passing students and replying with a ringing ‘Good Morning,’ to those who greeted him.

  Rogan sat down next to me.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘I’m not really sure what Marcus was going on about.’ Rachel had told me Rogan had lots of money. He didn’t need to get a job.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Rogan.

  ‘What do you mean it’s not working?’ snuffled the cubicle, loudly, interrupting our conversation. ‘Do you want to see other people?’

  ‘You left breakfast quite abruptly,’ Rogan said. ‘I’m hoping it was Joad and not me.’

  ‘Definitely Joad. He’s a complete pig,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps Rachel should roast him.’

  I laughed. The girl in the cubicle started to cry.

  Emelia and her posse came by on their way to a breakfast of coffee and bitching. She did a showy double take at Rogan talking to me, and they all chorused, ‘Hi Rogan’ as they cantered past. Emelia turned round and gave him a smile that showed off all her expensive orthodontic work. It looked like she wanted to eat him.

  ‘Want to have breakfast with us, Rogan?’ asked Emelia.

  ‘Just finished, actually.’ Turning back to me he said, ‘So, what are you reading?’

  Emelia’s face glazed over and the group of them muttered their way up the corridor.

  I showed him the book.

  ‘Raymond Chandler?’ he said, surprised. ‘I was expecting something a little more genteel.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Perhaps something with bonnets.’

  ‘Is that because of Joad?’ It came out annoyed even though I didn’t mean it to.

  He smiled a beautiful smile and stretched out his legs in front of him. I was distracted by how close his limbs were to mine and how easy it would be to put my hand down and brush his jean-covered thigh, so instead I concentrated on his t-shirt, not brave enough to look at him directly in the face.

  ‘Clearly, I got it wrong. More likely to have a pearl-handled pistol than a bonnet.’

  ‘That’s right, I’m a femme fatale.’

  ‘Consider me warned. Anyway, what are you doing here?’

  I pointed to the phone cubicle where the crying had changed to a kind of choked pleading. He listened.

  ‘That’ll be Tess,’ he said. ‘She was like this all of last year.’ He got up and banged his palm firmly on the frame of the wooden door.

  ‘People waiting,’ he called out.

  There was a sharp intake of breath, then some fierce whispering and then a louder ‘Look, I’ve got to go . . . I love you . . . ring you tomorrow.’ Tess came out, blinking, eyes red. She shot a furious look at me before noticing Rogan standing there.

  ‘Tell me it’s not the same guy as last year,’ he said.

  She gasped slightly, ‘Actually, no,’ and tears began to leak down her face.

  ‘Oh, right. Long-distance relationships.’ He turned and made a comical grimace at me. She gave a watery smile and then left.

  ‘Phone’s all yours,’ he said, while holding open the door to the cubicle. ‘Not a long-distance relationship, I hope.’

  ‘Only if you count mothers,’ I said.

  ‘That I can allow.’

  We both paused as if neither one quite knew how to finish our conversation.

  ‘Rachel said I should ask you out.’

  ‘Really?’ I didn’t know if I should feel gratitude or anger towards her. ‘Do you always do what Rachel says?’ I asked, desperately hoping he did.

  ‘She threatened to garrote me if I didn’t. For real this time.’

  I smiled. Perhaps I did owe her one. ‘Well, we couldn’t have that.’

  ‘Glad you agree,’ and he grinned back. ‘And I think a Raymond Chandler movie is playing at Film Group on Friday night. Double Indemnity.’

  ‘Really?’ I pretended that Kesh hadn’t already asked me to go with her.

  A shout came up the corridor. ‘Rogan!’ It was Stoner. He ambled towards us at faster than his usual pace.

  ‘They phoned,’ he said. ‘You need to call back.’ He handed Rogan a piece of paper.

  ‘You use the ph
one,’ I said. ‘I’m not in a rush.’

  ‘No, it’s OK. You were the one waiting. Maybe I’ll see you at the movie.’

  ‘Maybe you will,’ I said with my best wise-cracking dame nonchalance.

  I watched him walk the whole way down the corridor, with Stoner talking to him. Then I sashayed into the cubicle and gleefully punched in my home number.

  · · ·

  I spent Friday afternoon trying not to fall asleep on the shoulder of a big burly uniformed policeman. Our Contracts lecturer had been sick and the lecture had been rescheduled for the last session of the week in an airless room that had been warmed by an army of bodies throughout the day. I tried to concentrate on what was being said but there was something slippery about the subject matter and I was almost hypnotised by the droning voice. Toby had told me that no one really worried about lectures or tutorials until second semester. Dale, the policeman, didn’t seem to know this and sat next to me writing everything down at a furious pace.

  ‘This friend of yours, he’s got a law degree?’ asked Dale, when I tried explaining Toby’s theory of first year to him after the lecture had finished.

  ‘Not exactly.’ I stretched out my arms and yawned.

  ‘Any degree?’ And in that weird way that yawns are contagious, Dale tried to stifle one. He had an excuse, though. He was on early shift that week and so had already done a full day’s work.

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But he is doing first-year Accounting for the third time.’

  Dale laughed and began to pack up his books. ‘You can borrow my notes when you decide to start working.’

  I followed him out of the room into the corridor. Walking behind Dale, I could see the other students’ reaction to him. They ranged from pretending not to stare, to openly gawping, to deliberately avoiding or alternatively, walking past having loud conversations about ‘fascism’ and ‘agents of the state’. It never failed to surprise me that I had swapped from a world where police ran the show to one where they were almost reviled. Perhaps even stranger was that I felt a weird sympathy towards Dale, and I went out of my way to chat or take the always empty chair next to him. After all, I knew what it felt like to be excluded and besides, I figured I would really need his notes come exam time.

  In a sense, we were both outsiders from the usual privileged kids who made up most of Law School and that gave us enough in common to become friends. Also, he was different from the police from home. Country coppers. They had barely finished secondary school, let alone had law degrees. Arriving at our door, they refused to give Mum any information about why I was being taken down to the police station. I could guess but Mum had no idea and practically got arrested herself for obstructing the police. They shoved us into an interview room and left us there. But that all changed when my lawyer Bob turned up. He began to order them around, demanding answers, asserting my rights, starting the horse trading. He had power. That night I decided I wanted it too.

  ‘Why are you studying law anyway?’ I asked Dale, as we sat down outside in the sunshine. ‘You’ve already got a job.’

  ‘It’s because of my job that I’m doing it. Better chance of promotion if you’ve got a law degree. Do prosecution work. Join the Feds. Get off shift. See my kids more.’

  I had noticed the wedding ring on his finger but I hadn’t really thought about the possibilities of a Mrs Dale and lots of little Dales.

  ‘You’re thinking I’m ancient,’ he laughed.

  I was but I lied. ‘No, I’m thinking how do you fit in study with all that other stuff?’

  ‘You make the most of the time you’ve got. Take tonight, for example. My wife’s taking the kids to her cousin’s house so I’ve got a date with the library. I’ll stay there until closing. What are you up to?’

  ‘Going to a movie with friends and then out after that, probably.’ Hopefully. My mind was already racing with possibilities of Rogan and me heading out to a nightclub together.

  There was a loud throb of an engine and an enormous motorbike drove up the street towards us. It slowed down as it went past, the leather-clad rider, black, squat and square like the bike. Dale’s uniform was a magnet and the biker turned his head in our direction, a blank stare from behind a visor as he raised his finger and gave us the bird, before revving his engine until the noise danced off every surface. Certain of our attention, he suddenly accelerated and took off down the street, leaving tyre marks on the road.

  Dale watched him go, then turned to me. ‘I reckon you borrowed the book he wanted out of short loan.’

  I gave a relieved laugh. ‘Yeah, he looks just like your average law student.’

  ‘A Death Rider will have had more experience of the law than you’ve had hot dinners,’ said Dale.

  · · ·

  In the end, both Kesh and Rachel insisted on coming to Film Group as well, despite my best efforts to put them off, even though Kesh had seen the movie before and Rachel claimed that only misfits gave up their Friday nights to sit in the Physics lecture hall. I decided against telling Rachel that I was meeting Rogan there because I didn’t want any more ‘help’ from her.

  It was already dark as we crossed the campus to the Science faculty.

  ‘If this is the same as Star Wars last year when the morons behind me quoted every single line of dialogue out loud, even R2D2’s, I will punch someone and walk home,’ Rachel said, as we pushed our way in the door. The place was about half full, with a steady thrumming of talk and noise, and I started scanning for Rogan. There was no cinematic sexy ambience at Film Group, which took place in a large lecture room with deeply tiered timber seats in front of a roll-down screen. Any hopes of groping in the dark could only have been in the imagination of the desperate, because it would take the dexterity of a squid to get past the wooden edges and metal clamping each seat firmly into place. But it didn’t stop me imagining.

  ‘What did I tell you? A whole bunch of freaks. Look, Pen, there’s Michael. Kissy, kissy.’ Rachel enjoyed pretending there hadn’t been any dare and that we harboured a secret passion for each other.

  Michael was sitting all by himself in the third row. He looked our way and nodded his head. I stopped to say hello.

  ‘These seats are free,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ My skin prickled with embarrassment. ‘But I said to . . . um . . . Rogan that I’d watch it with him.’

  A girl said, ‘Excuse me,’ and moved along the row to take a seat, a couple down from Michael. She had long blonde hair and a white top and I recognised her as the Marchmain girl I had seen at the bar crawl the month before.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Michael.

  ‘Another time, maybe.’ I took a few steps away.

  ‘Hurry up,’ said Rachel, ‘or else we will get stuck with Michael.’

  ‘He’ll hear you,’ Kesh said. But that only made her talk more loudly.

  ‘There are too many boring people that go to Film Group. It’s like boring is contagious. You might catch boring just sitting next to Michael.’

  We began to climb the stairs to find a seat.

  ‘Maybe all his boringness is a front, a cunning disguise. One of these days I’m going to get into his room for a snoop. Probably find pictures of Pen all over his walls,’ Rachel said laughing, but she quickly stopped. ‘Half of college is here.’

  A few rows up, there was a large group of people making a party of it. Joad and Stoner were passing plastic cups along the row and there was the clinking of glass and metal coming from backpacks. Rogan was at the far edge of the group, drinking a beer, and hadn’t noticed me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Rachel.

  Annabel, who lived on the floor above us, straightened up from hunting through the bag in front of her. ‘It’s the inaugural meeting of the Smoking Aficionados Drinking Group. Didn’t you get the notice? Joad leafleted your floor.’

  On hearing his name, Joad looked up. Seeing it was us, he sneered and went back to talking to Stoner.

  ‘We didn’t get it
,’ said Rachel.

  ‘It’s a Forde Tower bonding exercise. Every time someone lights a cigarette in the movie, you have to drink beer.’

  ‘There’s a lot of smoking in this movie,’ said Kesh anxiously.

  ‘That’s why we chose it.’

  ‘Sounds fun,’ said Rachel. ‘Where’s my beer?’

  Annabel shrugged. ‘Everyone had to pool their money to buy the beer. Maybe next time?’

  Rachel’s face hardened. ‘But we didn’t know about it because the Toad didn’t tell us.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Annabel. ‘But it wouldn’t be fair . . . we needed exact numbers.’

  ‘And Rogan’s here,’ said Rachel, even louder. ‘He’s not even in Forde Tower.’

  That got Rogan’s attention and he gave us a curt nod of his head, as Annabel went back to pulling out bottles and passing them along. Joad made a shoo-shoo gesture of dismissal, smiling evilly. Rachel flounced off and Kesh and I followed her a couple of rows higher, and began clambering over people towards the middle of the room.

  ‘This is all Toby’s fault. He’s supposed to know about these things,’ said Rachel.

  ‘But he’s away,’ I said, trying to be reasonable.

  ‘Just because he’s having a dirty weekend with camp David, doesn’t mean he can forget his responsibilities.’

  We ended up sitting north of the Smoking Aficionados, and Rogan, who had watched our progress, climbed over the seats to where we were.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, yourself,’ said Rachel, and pointedly turned away from him and began talking loudly to Kesh about double standards. Rogan sat next to me, the smell of beer and him all mixed up.

  ‘I didn’t know about all this until I ran into them on the way over.’ He made a gesture back towards the group.

  ‘Oh right,’ I said. ‘We didn’t know about it either.’

  Awkward silence. All the conversation topics I had come up with for precisely this situation bubbled up and then slipped out of my head, like small fish jumping out of the fish bowl only to die gasping on the floor.

  ‘So you didn’t put money in then,’ Rachel said, dropping the pretence that she had been ignoring him.

  Rogan looked at her and then, as if deciding it was too much effort, turned back to me. ‘I don’t know if I’m in the mood for watching movies.’