I took a deep breath. ‘Well we’re not, OK?’ I jabbed at the boil button on the kettle. ‘I . . .’
Then I stopped. Things were muddled enough in my own mind, without having to explain them to my nosy parents.
‘Look,’ I said finally, ‘can we not talk about it, please? It’s–’
Another pause. I could hardly go on and say it was none of their business, after all my carry-on. ‘Anyway,’ I cried finally, ‘what on earth were you doing standing at the window at that hour of the morning, spying like that?’
Their bedroom window faces the street.
Mum arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
‘Darling, you could hardly call it spying when we were woken up by the racket.’ She gave another tight smile. ‘Duncan seemed . . . a bit under the weather.’
I snorted. Remembering Dunc with his arms around me, trying to kiss me; me half-turning away, wanting to and yet not wanting to. It would’ve been all too easy – even the smell of him was seductive. So comforting and familiar, like your favourite blanket when you’re little. And Baddo peering out from the shadowy interior of the car, silently cheering on his mate . . .
Then I thought of Andy, standing at his door, smiling that funny smile of his.
And Lily.
The boil button clicked off; I picked up the jug and started pouring.
‘Hey.’ Dad’s voice was barging cheerfully into my reverie. When I looked up he was pointing at my newly filled mug.
‘If you put a teabag in there it’d taste a whole lot better.’
So, Alice, I told myself, welcome to the new and exciting world of singledom.
Except it wasn’t particularly exciting; certainly not the couple of weeks that followed, anyway. I went to lectures and tutorials and came home again. Plodded on with assignments, on and off. Thought about doing some work for the upcoming mid-year exams. Lay on my bed, or sat and stared out my window, listening to music. Went for walks with Dad – he wasn’t jogging for the time being. Ate dinner, watched television some nights, went to bed.
Also took myself to a friend’s birthday drinks, a movie with Milly, worked for Bunters several times, et cetera, et cetera. Life as usual; nothing you’d remember in a few months’ time. Except that a lot of the time, if I’m honest, it felt weird without Dunc.
Though I was still getting the odd phone call from him, and message. For Dunky Boy had decided that ‘ we’ had made a mistake. Whatever had happened – whether he’d gone out with Miss Commerce (or anyone else for that matter) and the sparks just didn’t fly, or things didn’t go to plan, he wasn’t letting on. All he knew was that he wanted us back together again.
And, I’ve got to admit, it was tempting. A bit like snuggling back down under the doona and snoring off again after the alarm has gone off. Comforting, and easy.
After all, I missed him too. How can you not miss someone who’s been a central part of your life for more than three years? Apart from the security of his arms around me and the physical closeness, I missed just hanging out with him, or being able to ring him and tell him about something, even if he wasn’t always that interested. (Or interesting, for that matter.) Just being able to chat about nothing in particular. And I really missed him when I went to things like that birthday drinks on my own – when I was used to having someone with me.
But was it his presence, or Dunc himself that I missed?
Was I completely nuts? After all, I wasn’t the only one who found him attractive; it would be only a matter of time until he gave up on me and took up with someone else. He was a creature of ordinariness and habit, not drama and excitement. And it wasn’t as though there was anyone else in my life. Or anything new and exciting happening . . . was there?
It felt a bit like pushing off for a long-distance swim and not having a clue where you were headed for.
And yet . . . The thought of going back with him, to how things were, was even more depressing than the kind of . . . limbo I was in now.
As I’ve said, I was tempted. Particularly the day I came out of a Philosophy lecture, rounded a corner and spied him further on down the path, having what looked like a deep and meaningful with a hot-looking girl I hadn’t seen before.
It had been a long and fairly dismal rant from the lecturer, during which I’d carried out my usual surreptitious glance around for Andy. I’d been keeping a casual eye out for him all over uni, to no avail. I’d even taken to sitting up the back in Philosophy, to get a better view in case he did decide to show up. And also to be able to make a rapid escape if I suddenly got panicky.
But once again, he’d been absent. As the lecturer yammered on, I wondered where he was and what he was doing. Sitting in the sun somewhere with Lily perhaps, or in rehearsals for his play . . .
And here I was, taking dutiful notes and doodling my life away.
By the time I came out I felt a bit as though I was about to fade away into nothing. Plus the day matched my mood – grey and overcast and threatening rain.
And then I spied Dunc, with that chick. It was the first time I’d actually clapped eyes on him – apart from a brief glimpse in the distance – since that night he came and picked me up.
I suppose my response could be described as biological, almost animal – it certainly wasn’t rational. ‘Visceral’, I think, is the word. One look at the two of them and my heart seemed to freeze and race, all at once. It was the glint in his eye, the way he was staring at her and leaning in towards her. And she was staring back, smiling back into his eyes . . .
Stop it, I told myself fiercely – you don’t want him any more! Turn around before he sees you and walk away, back the way you’ve come. Let him get on with it.
Falling for her.
The thought crashed through me like a stone.
Then he looked around and saw me. I don’t know what it was that passed between us at that moment – a charge of something almost physical. Pure hatred on his part, most probably.
I couldn’t change course. I had to keep walking towards them, trying to look normal, feeling sick to my stomach. Also, as though my face was about to crack.
She turned and looked at me too with her big eyes; her hair so glossy brown. Then back at him again, starting to register his distracted look.
And now I was there, alongside them. I tried for a breezy smile.
‘Hey-ey.’
It came out all strangled. I kept on walking, as stiff and jerky as a puppet, without looking back.
It must’ve been about ten seconds later that I heard the footsteps hurrying up behind me; felt the hand on my shoulder. I turned around.
‘Hey,’ he said, his hazel eyes staring into mine, ‘what is this? We don’t even talk any more?’
I made a sound which was meant to be a laugh, light and casual. ‘Of course we do . . .’ My gaze slipped sideways; the girl seemed to have gone. ‘It’s just that you seemed to be . . . tied up.’
He shrugged and looked at me strangely for a moment, almost as though he was making up his mind. I stared back, feeling a little jab of sadness.
And it was right in the middle of this poignant, eyeball-to-eyeball moment that Andy walked past. The blur of movement behind Dunc suddenly became defined, and there he was, a faint grin of apology on his face. Very definitely keeping going.
‘Oh,’ I almost yelled, ‘hey!’
He paused, half-turning back, and for a split second it crossed my mind that we were all taking part in some weird kind of dance. A modern-day minuet. All of us – Dunc, that girl, me and Andy – stopping and nodding and moving on . . .
All it needed now was for Lily to appear.
One thing for sure – I was so pleased to see Andy again I felt like hugging him.
Dunc had spun around and was looking at him too. Or rather, glaring – hostility radiating out of him like a blast furnace.
‘Oh . . .’ I swallowed, and then stupidly asked: ‘You two have met? Andy . . . Dunc . . .’
Of course they had, and didn
’t want to again. Dunc gave a small but savage grunt; Andy clearly just wanted to escape.
But for some crazy reason I blundered on. I suppose I was desperate for Andy not to vanish again.
‘Oh,’ I said again, the words tumbling out, ‘did you ever get round to mentioning to Spiro . . . about . . . what I said at the Cave that night?’
Another noise from Dunc – something between a hiss and a growl.
Andy shrugged apologetically, raising his hands in front of him.
‘I haven’t seen him lately. I’m always bumping into him usually, but . . .’
‘No,’ I cried, ‘doesn’t matter! It was only if–’
But he was tapping his watch, raising a farewell hand.
‘On a mission, guys, catch ya later.’
And then he was off, at about three times his previous speed.
I stared after him, my face throbbing. Never was that old cliché about wanting to melt into the pavement more apt.
I turned back to Dunc. His face had gone hard, closed shut.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m off. See ya.’ And he turned on his heel and walked away, raising his hand to wave to some people across the lawn.
After that I felt quite weak and wobbly. And desperate to sit down and have a hit of caffeine. Anyway, it was starting to rain; I started half-running for the café next to the gym.
But the moment I walked in the door, who should be pulling out chairs to sit down, but Andy and Lily.
What did I say about that strange dance? And of course they saw me, before I could duck out again. Lily’s face lit into a smile; my eyes slid away from Andy’s, but not before I’d glimpsed his strange look.
He probably thinks I followed him, I thought miserably.
Am stalking him, even.
I registered that Lily was looking flushed and quite beautiful, raindrops clinging to her dark hair like seed pearls.
‘Hey, Alice!’ she cried, slipping her bag off her shoulder and coming over to give me a hug. ‘Lovely to see you! Come and sit down!’
She really seemed to mean it. I felt a rush of shame at my treacherous feelings for her boyfriend.
‘Oh no,’ I mumbled, ‘I was just getting a takeaway . . .’
‘Oh, really? Why don’t you sit down, just for a second?’
My gaze went from her to Andy, who was pulling out another chair.
‘Anyway,’ said Lily excitedly, just remembering, ‘I must tell you!’
‘W-what?’
‘You’ll never guess who I saw – about fifteen minutes ago!’
I stared at her.
‘Your sister!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t she? I nearly bumped into her!’
‘What?’
Talk about the fear and flight response – I’d almost been lifted off my feet on pure adrenaline.
‘I thought it was you!’ Lily went on, laughing. ‘I felt like such an idiot – I cried out “Hey!” and nearly gave her a hug before I realised! And she gave me such a weird look and just said “hey” back and kept going–’
She stopped, registering the look on my face.
‘She is, isn’t she – your sister? She looks so much like you . . .’
But I was already swinging round towards the door again. It was now or never.
‘Where was she going?’ I asked. ‘Which direction was she headed?’
Lily shrugged; shook her head.
‘God knows! It was . . .’ She trailed off, waving a hand. ‘Going up the hill towards the medical school, I think.’
‘OK.’ I caught Andy’s eye. ‘You explain,’ I said, over my shoulder, ‘to Lily – about the whole stupid thing. Bye–’
‘But she could be anywhere!’ I heard Lily cry behind me. ‘And you haven’t had your coff–’
‘Anywhere’ was right. By the time I’d rushed up the road, getting wet, glancing wildly about, peering at girls who in any way resembled me, I knew that I probably didn’t have a hope. She could have gone into any of the buildings, with all their floors and hundreds of rooms.
I reached the top of the hill and stood there at the crossroads, puffing, looking around. Trying to think rationally.
Why would a UTS student come here? To meet a friend? Spiro, perhaps? I stared down the wide avenue leading in the direction of the Student Union, the trunks of the plane trees gleaming from the rain. Then back across the road at the library, a never-ending stream of people hurrying across the forecourt and entering and exiting its glass doors. Wondered if she was in there somewhere, behind those familiar walls.
I pictured the rows and rows of bookshelves, and all those people about to start stu-vac, wandering up and down between. And the banks of computers, and the lines of heads and shoulders hunched forward over the keyboards . . .
I marched across the road and headed for the entrance.
My search around the main sections of the first floor proved fruitless, and by the time I reached the second level, I was ready to give up. It was like trying to find someone in a crowded supermarket – if she did happen to be in there she’d be sure to be right down the other end and moving in the opposite direction.
And anyway, even if I did spy her, would I have the guts to march right up to her and introduce myself? The thought gave me a spike of fear, all over again.
By the time I came out again, even though it’d stopped raining, I’d just about given up. I couldn’t be bothered tramping all the way down to the union building, and a march around the cafés and bars would probably produce the same result.
I stood there, people ducking around me, wondering, with a couple of hours to kill, what to do next. With the exams only about ten days away, I knew what I should be doing, but by this stage my concentration levels were zero.
I must’ve looked ripe for the picking, because the next thing I knew a yellow sheet of paper was being shoved under my nose. Stand outside the library for any length of time and you’ll end up being offered a dozen different flyers, for everything from heavy-metal gigs to bible-study meetings.
I stared down at it, then looked up at its bearer. A girl with a wide freckled face framed by long honey-coloured hair, smiling at me, her head cocked to one side.
‘Students as Siblings,’ she said, ‘interested?’
I gazed at her blankly.
‘We’re starting a mentorship program – for underprivileged kids.’ She nudged the flyer closer. ‘Each participant is assigned a child to act as a kind of big sister or brother to. Sister, in your case.’
‘Oh,’ I said, smiling vaguely, taking it from her and starting to move on, ‘thanks . . .’
But she wasn’t being fobbed off, not that easily. She took a small step sideways, blocking my way.
‘We’re having a meeting in an hour – at one o’clock. In the social sciences building first-floor lecture theatre.’ Her greenish eyes sought mine. ‘It’s going to be a really, really rewarding program, for the kids and the mentors.’
My gaze slid to her cloth shoulder bag, still heavy with flyers.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘certainly sounds it . . .’
‘Great!’ Her face lit up. ‘So we’ll see you there?’
I glanced down at the paper in my hand – more to avoid her eyes than anything else – and gave an uneasy laugh.
‘Well, I’ll think about it.’
‘Please do!’ Her gaze, already straying over my shoulder for her next target, swung back to me.
‘Come and hear all about it. No obligation to sign up. But you won’t regret it!’
‘OK,’ I smiled politely, starting to move.
‘One o’clock,’ she cried, over her shoulder. ‘Social Sciences Building – don’t forget!’
I walked back across the road and headed towards an empty bench, swiping the raindrops off the seat with the bottom of the flyer and sitting down. I watched my would-be recruiter intercepting people, without a great deal of success. Some stopped and seemed to listen, some took a sheet and walked on, some simply waved her away. Most who
took one stuffed it away; only a couple of people actually looked at it afterwards. Just about all of the papers would, of course, go into the bin unread.
And still she kept on, weaving her way about the forecourt before finally pushing through the doors to try inside. So engrossed with her cause. I envied her passion – her ability to feel so strongly about something. My own life seemed so . . . wishy-washy by comparison: flat and bland and barely there.
I wondered if I would always feel as I did now – as though I was somehow waiting for my time to really begin. And all the people walking back and forth across the lawn and into the library, arms around their books and bags, chatting and laughing or flirting with one another, gesticulating and pushing straying strands of hair behind their ears – did they sometimes feel like this too? As though they were somehow watching life through a glass wall?
And my manic, hopeless search for Wilda hadn’t helped . . .
I dug my hand into my bag. Felt the crumpled, soggy flyer and pulled it out.
You don’t have to sign up, I reminded myself, as I reached the top of the stairs and saw the handwritten sign stuck on the opposite wall. Students as Siblings was written in texta above a big arrow pointing left. I looked at my watch – nearly ten past. But I wasn’t the last; there were still a couple of people wandering into the theatrette ahead of me and someone was coming up the stairs behind.
Thanks to the small print at the bottom of the sheet – the bit about the usual commitment being three or four hours once a week, possibly a fortnight – I nearly hadn’t come at all.
Once a week was quite major. To enable a real bond to be formed, it said.
That was when I’d stuffed it back in my bag and pulled out my phone to check my messages. After that I’d gone back into the library to look for a book I’d been meaning to get, then thought about lunch. But all the time I’d kept glancing at my watch, watching the minute hand move around the hour, towards one . . .
I knew that if I went to that meeting I’d be signed up. You know what it’s like to be surrounded by a crowd of mega-enthusiastic people – it’s practically impossible to say no. Week after week I’d be tied to meeting up with some disturbed kid with whom I’d have nothing in common, becoming involved with her life and problems, when it was all I could do to cope with my own. Listening to Milly’s woes was enough! And I knew that ‘three or four hours’ would be an understatement. There’d be whole day trips, and phone calls, plus Christmas and birthday presents–
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