The Spite Game

by Anna Snoekstra

  “Honey, you bloody scared me! Thought there was some peeper out there for a sec.”

  She held the door open, and I passed her and went to sit down at the table.

  “Oh hey,” said Bea, “that’s good timing, I was just about to text you. Have you eaten?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Good.”

  I went to the cupboards and began setting the table. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat; my insides were churning and toxic. That taste was back in my mouth, the noxious taste I’d thought I’d left behind in high school.

  “How are you going?” my mother asked. “Made your mind up yet on what you are going to do with poor old Celia’s money?”

  “Still deciding.” I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. “Everything feels like a big commitment.”

  “Well, you have to do something. Buy some shares or put it in a long-term deposit. You’re losing money as it is, just with depreciation.”

  She’d told me this before. I knew I should care, but I didn’t. Once this was over, once all of this was in my past, then I’d figure it out. Until then, I just wished she’d stop asking. I heard the jingle of keys and the door opened to Aiden. For a horrible moment, I thought he might have talked to Evan, but he didn’t look at me any differently.

  “Hi.” He smiled vaguely at the two of us, then went over to Bea and put his arms around her, rubbed her belly. “How was your day?”

  “Okay. Didn’t get as much work done as I hoped—still jumping up every ten minutes to pee.”

  He laughed, his face in her hair. I looked at Mum, to see if she was also getting a little tired of all the constant displays of affection, but she was looking down into her tea. A small smile on her lips.

  “Smells great.” He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and flicked off the top.

  “I was just telling Ava she really should invest that money, don’t you think?”

  “I guess.” He took a chug and sat down at the table next to Mum. “You know what I’d do? I’d buy this place.”

  “What, your house?” I asked. “Don’t you already own it?”

  “No, I mean Lakeside. It’s been with the liquidators for, what, almost ten years now? I bet you’d get it for a steal.”

  “Shit.” Bea turned around to look at me.

  “What?” I stared down at her belly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah—” she waved a hand “—I just think that’s such a great idea. You should do it!”

  “Maybe.” I got up and nudged Bea out of the way so she would sit down.

  “Watch out,” she said. “There’s a rogue bay leaf in there somewhere.”

  I dished out the steaming food that was making my mouth fill with saliva and my stomach swirl in opposition.

  In my pocket, I felt my phone buzz. Putting the four bowls on the table, I let them start a conversation about something else, and pulled it out to have a look. There it was. The invitation to Cass’s wedding. I slid my phone back in, and forced myself to take a mouthful of my food.

  My phone felt hot against my thigh, like a weapon, like something dangerous, like something set to explode. Whether it would be me or Cass that would be destroyed I wasn’t sure, but at that moment, I didn’t even care.

  42

  Over the next two weeks, I watched Cass almost constantly. It was a lot harder now; there was no more sinking into the background. Even from a distance, she would probably notice me. Evan was calling again and again, and once, while Cass was making her peppermint tea early one morning, she looked up and out the window. I think she heard the sound of my phone vibrating against my thigh.

  The weather was changing, turning from warm to hot. Flowers were wilting under the sun’s fervor. The backs of my arms turned pink and tender from crouching in the full sun to watch her. Cass floated around in her floral dresses, almost flashing her underwear when she toppled over on the way out of the bar one evening. I didn’t go in anymore. Sweating in the grimy outdoor seating of the café across the road, I caught glimpses of her up at her usual stool when the door swung open for people coming and going. I didn’t need to be inside to know she was drinking more and staying longer. Anyone could see she was stressed, ready to snap, hitting the breaking point.

  I was starting to get worried. I’d bought a dress online, I’d gotten myself ready. There’d be lots people from school there, but my skin felt hard again, like armor. If I’d learned anything since school, it was that everyone does bad things when they think no one’s watching. You don’t need to set someone up, to plan and plot against them. You just need to be there to catch the moment when they reveal themselves. Still, time was running out. Cass’s life wasn’t perfect. I could clearly see that. But she hadn’t done anything bad yet; there was nothing I could use against her.

  It was a Friday, Cass’s last day of work. She was tying up loose ends, tidying her office between students. She was hungover that day, turning up ashen-faced and running to the bathroom twice to be sick. It was almost five o’clock when Oliver turned up.

  He sat down on the couch and started chatting about his band straightaway.

  “We’ve got a gig on Saturday—you should come!”

  “That’s great,” she said. “Are you excited?”

  “It’s just a support gig, a half an hour set, so it should be fine. Hopefully people don’t think we suck.”

  I’d tracked down his band on SoundCloud. They were actually pretty good, in a messy, clumsy sort of way.

  “As long as you like your music, that’s all that matters.”

  I’ll give Cass a bit of credit. She was hungover and stressed out and I bet that office was the last place she wanted to be, but still, she listened to every word the students said. Even that morning, when a guy spoke for a full hour about the video game he was obsessed with in minute detail, Cass was focused on every word.

  Now she carefully asked, “Have you been in touch with your mum?”

  I stole a peek inside in time to see Oliver crumple, like she knew he would. Cass had put her finger on something that I’d only half noticed. When things were bad with Oliver, he would come in smiling. He would be overly cheerful and focused on something good.

  “I know I wasn’t meant to talk to her anymore, but it’s hard. I know that makes me sound pathetic. I’m too old for this shit.”

  “No one is ever too old to care about their family.”

  He was leaning into the corner of the couch, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Like he was trying to disappear. I pulled away, relied again on just my ears.

  “She wants me to move back in.”

  “Do you want to do that?”

  “Fuck no,” he said, “but she needs me. Fuck! This is so ridiculous. I’m such an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot.”

  “I am. I’m a fuckup. You know, I’m so sure I’m going to mess up this gig on the weekend. That’s why I want you to be there. You always make me feel calmer.”

  “Why do you think you’re going to mess it up?”

  “You know why. I’m worried it’ll happen again, like at the end-of-year performance last year.”

  “You think you’ll have another panic attack?”

  “Yeah, something like that. It’s fucking stupid, I know. I just freak myself out and I get so worried what people are going to think. You’re probably going to say it’s all linked to my mum and my fear of disappointing people or something, right? I don’t want to be like this. It was meant to be fun. But now I’m kind of dreading it—isn’t that stupid?”

  There was only silence in response.

  “Okay,” Cass said finally. I heard the squeak of her chair. She must have been standing. “Let’s try something different.”

  I sneaked another look. She had crossed the room. Oliver straightened up and looked at he
r as she settled next to him on the couch. I saw it there, in his eyes, what I should have noticed weeks ago. The way he looked at the buttons of her cotton floral dress, like he was dying to rip them open.

  “Sit forward,” she said, “and push your feet onto the ground.”

  He did as she said, watching her movements carefully. He was at least a head taller than her, and his legs were far longer, but he tried to get to the same position as she was in: both feet firmly on the floor, back straight, hands in the lap.

  “Great, now close your eyes and listen to my voice.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. With their eyes closed, I could keep watching them and they would never know.

  “Okay.”

  “Take one long, deep breath in, then slowly let it go.”

  Their ribs lifted and fell in unison.

  “Now, feel your feet on the floor. Squeeze the muscles of them tight. Tight as you can, every muscle. Your toes, your arches, your ankles. Now release.”

  She went on like this, through their legs, their stomachs, their shoulders and their arms.

  Finally, she said, “Open your eyes.”

  He looked at her. “Wow.”

  I couldn’t look away. I knew how dangerous it was, how likely that one of them would turn, see me, but it didn’t matter. I was spellbound. Something was going to happen. Even from the window, I could feel the tension crackling in the air.

  “Did that help?” She smiled back at him, in an almost-embarrassed sort of way.

  “Yeah.” His eyes were fixed on hers.

  “You can do that on your own before your gig. It’ll be like I’m there.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “you’ve really helped me so much. Without you, I don’t know where I would be right now. Honestly, it’s like you’ve saved me.”

  He held her gaze, then smiled and looked down to his lap. “Sorry. Corny.”

  “It’s fine. I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and leaned back into the couch cushions. “You know I think that helped me too. I feel more chilled then I have in ages.”

  “Really?” He leaned back next to her, shifting slightly closer as he did.

  “Yeah, being old is crap. I never thought there would be so much to worry about all the time.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “You’re not that much older than me.”

  “I am.”

  “No way.” He was staring at her again, then said, “We’re basically the same age. We’re both millennials, right?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Plus—” he did it then, he actually did it, he leaned forward and touched her face “—you don’t look old. You’re beautiful.”

  “Oliver.” Her voice was low with warning, her eyes on his hand.

  “I know,” he said, but didn’t move it, “but you’re just so pretty. It’s hard. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  His thumb brushed her cheek softly. She closed her eyes.

  “Honestly, you make me feel amazing. It’s like you’re magic. Like you are this amazing, glowing person.”

  I was sure she’d jump up, pull away, something. But she didn’t. She kept completely still, eyes still closed, and he leaned in and kissed her softly.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

  Then she did move. Very slowly, her knees began to part. Oliver looked from her face down to her lap; even he was surprised, but he didn’t waste the moment. He took his hand from her cheek and reached beneath her skirt. She lifted her hips and his hand slid into her underwear. He stared at her face as he moved his fingers, but it remained passive. He kept going, and eventually she couldn’t keep her composure. Her face contorted, her mouth opened and a soft groan escaped her lips.

  43

  I wore black to the wedding. It felt appropriate.

  It was taking place at a small winery on the Mornington Peninsula. I made the long drive leisurely, my heeled shoe resting on the accelerator, sunglasses on, the sea stretching out next to the road. It was a great day—Cass would be happy about that. The sun was warm on the bare skin of my forearm as I rested it on the rim of the open window. The sky was clear and blue. It was perfect.

  It took a while to find a parking spot. There were cars everywhere on the estate, parked in clusters and zigzags on all available grass. Usually, this would have frustrated me, but not that day. I was too excited.

  I know what you’re going to be thinking, that I’d snapped a picture of Cass and Oliver. Oh no, it was so much better than that. On my phone I had an audio file; I just had to find the right time to play it. Would the sound of Cass’s moans be a good accompaniment to her walk down the aisle? Or maybe even better, the first dance. After it was done, nerves gone, champagne popped, and they could just hold each other as man and wife. Would that be a good time for the sound of Cass’s groan? Or for the Wait, Oliver, no. Stop. You’re my patient that followed almost immediately afterward? I could imagine it perfectly, the laughs at first, the smiling faces of people sure it was a joke. Would he still have his arms around her when they got to, I’m getting married this weekend! I’m so sorry, this is so wrong!? Probably not. Would someone have found it and shut it off before it got to the part where Oliver started to cry?

  I know what you’ll probably ask me now. You’ll want to know how I came to have that file on my phone. You’ll ask me if I waited for the moment Cass left. If I walked right into the building, no one even asking if I was a student, or what I was doing there. You’ll ask if my heart was beating when I went up to the receptionist as she was packing up her things and told her that there was a call waiting for her in the staff room. If I told her that it was her father, if I said that I didn’t know what it was about, but that it was urgent.

  You’ll want to know if Cass’s iPad was right there on the desk, whether it was easy to email myself the recording of her last session.

  You might ask me a lot of things. But I won’t answer those questions. I am here to confess, but not for that.

  * * *

  The venue was beautiful. A modern construction built entirely of large glass panels and honey-colored wood surrounded by acres of vineyards. They’d decorated everything in crisp white and glinting gold. There was a collection of round tables, all with starched tablecloths and centerpieces of red and pink flowers surrounding thick candles, set up on the grass under the branches of a huge old oak tree. Inside, were rows of chairs and, down the middle, an aisle.

  People milled around outside. Couples sipped champagne. A group of men in tuxes stood together with cans of beer, laughing at Cass’s fiancé, who was pricking himself as he tried to pin in his lapel flower.

  A woman in pink emerged with an air of self-importance. It took me a moment to realize it was Cass’s mother. Her hair was now snow-white.

  “If you’d like to take your seats,” she announced, “the service is about to begin.”

  The men downed their beers and clapped the groom on the back, and he made a pale-faced beeline to the front. I took a seat in the last row, and had a good look around. There was music playing from the built-in speakers in the walls, but I saw no DJ. This was good; it was exactly what I was hoping for. There must have been a stereo somewhere; I just had to find it. The room was large, but with so many people pushing in and bustling around, it was hard to see into every corner. My eyes glided across the long table against one wall, where platters of cheese and fruit and cold meats were being eyed by the guests close by. There was a long bar toward the back, where waiters in white bow ties were setting up lines of empty champagne glasses.

  A woman and her husband plonked down next to me and began talking loudly.

  “This is pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Glad it ain’t me. I remember standing up waiting for you at ours. I was shitting bricks.”

  “Why do you always have to do that?”

 
I almost didn’t notice Saanvi, but caught sight of her as she took her seat near the front with her date. I’d never seen her look so stunning. The dress she had on was made from a gray-blue silk; it looked almost like shimmering water. I couldn’t see the front, but the back draped low, exposing the flawless skin of her back. I wanted to keep watching, see who her date was, see if there was anything I could do. But no. Saanvi had her turn. We were even now. I was here for Cass.

  Then, the music changed. It turned to the low romantic tones of an acoustic guitar. I whipped my head around again, and saw it. There, behind the bar, was a man who I’d thought was one of the waiters. But on second glance his suit was slightly different, and he wasn’t wearing the requisite bow tie. He was looking down at something in his hand, something I would bet anything was an iPod. The music grew louder and he looked up and gave someone out the door a thumbs-up.

  For a moment I thought about trying to squeeze out, to push past the woman and her husband who were hemming me in, and trying to replace this song with my own soundtrack for the evening. But it was too late; everyone was already standing. It would have to wait until later. Until the first dance.

  The guitar tune changed, becoming familiar. I almost cracked, really, almost erupted with laughter when I realized what it was. Will you be able to guess? No, it was too ridiculous, too ill chosen for anyone to think of. It was the Jeff Buckley version of that Leonard Cohen song, Hallelujah. A song that is so sad, so bitter and sour and tragic, it could actually make you cry if it wasn’t so overused. But Cass was beaming, cheeks pink, a crown of flowers on her head, as she walked down toward the man she would very soon be getting an annulment from. I didn’t laugh though. No. Because as everyone turned to look, I saw who it was that was standing next to Saanvi. He wasn’t looking at Cass, but at me.

  Saanvi’s date, in a suit jacket but no tie, was Evan.

  44

  Yes, Evan. The Evan. My Evan. He and Saanvi were there together. As Cass walked, Saanvi leaned back and whispered something in his ear, her hand resting casually on his shoulder.