Tigers on the Way

by Sean Kennedy

  “How about we sort out this ghost once and for all?” Fran suggested.

  We all stared at her.

  “How very Scooby-Doo of you, Fran,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, as long as you all know I’m Daphne.”

  “Which means she thinks Dec is Fred,” Roger muttered, who, we all knew without even having to think about it, was Shaggy.

  Which meant I was either Velma—which I more than approved of—or Scooby.

  “You’re Scooby,” Fran said without me having to ask.

  Feeling I was sold a little short, I shrugged.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” Fran said. “You get to hang out with your pal Shaggy and eat hamburger towers.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Roger said defensively.

  Fran dusted imaginary dirt from her legs. “Spoken like a true Shaggy.”

  Roger bristled. “Well, come on, let’s go look for it, then.”

  Fran grinned. “You’re on, beautiful man.”

  Roger smiled back.

  “I hate to interrupt this lovefest.” I actually didn’t care at all. “But I don’t know how we’re going to do this. We don’t have a net or a can of Acme ghost spray.”

  “You’re mixing up your cartoons,” Roger told me.

  “It’s called humour, Rog. So let’s let sleeping dogs do whatever it is they do?”

  “Sleep?” Dec asked with a smile that warmed me throughout.

  I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “And that’s why you’re a Fred.”

  “And I definitely think you’re more of a Velma than a Scooby.”

  I almost shed a tear. “That’s the most romantic thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

  “And I hate to interrupt this lovefest.” Fran obviously didn’t care at all either. “But we’ve a ghost to bust.”

  “They won’t just come if you call them,” I said. “They’re not dogs.”

  Fran waved her phone at me. “There’s an app for ghost hunting, I’m sure of it.”

  “An app?” Dec asked sceptically.

  “There’s an app for everything,” Roger volunteered.

  “How does an app help you find ghosts?” I asked.

  Fran shrugged, poring over her phone as she searched the App Store. “It reads the electromagnetic waves they give off, or something.”

  “Why doesn’t Apple have that in their ads?” Declan mused. “The iPhone 22 now lets you find your phone, level wonky shelves, and find out if your house is haunted.”

  “I highly doubt the scientific accuracy of a ghost app,” I scoffed.

  Fran waved her phone at me. “Found it! And you sound scared.”

  “There’s a difference between fear and scepticism.” I was speaking more out of sheer laziness. I was too tired to drag myself through Fran’s shenanigans. I’m sure it would have been highly entertaining for Fran and Roger—although judging by his face at the moment, maybe not—but not so much for Dec and me. Dec already looked over it.

  “Have you changed your Wi-Fi password?” Fran asked, her attention back on her phone.

  “Yes, it’s ThisIsn’tFunnyAnymoreFran.”

  “Yeah, right. If anything it’s DecIsABigSpunkRat.”

  “Why would I use that as my password?” I asked. “Everybody knows it’s true, so it would be too easy to guess.”

  Dec rolled his eyes, while Roger said, “That’s a fair point, actually.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m already in. You know they say using pet names is the most obvious.” Fran watched her phone, waiting for the download to finish. “Now Fred and Daphne will take the first floor, Shag and Scoob the second.”

  “Hey!” I protested. “I’m going with Fred.”

  “Hey!” Roger echoed. “Scooby never goes with Fred! He goes with me!” At everybody’s look, he quickly corrected himself. “I mean, he goes with Shaggy.”

  “Come on, Daphne,” Dec said with a resigned air. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Fran looked back at us. “Has one of you downloaded the app?”

  Roger and I looked at each other and reluctantly dug our phones out of our pockets.

  “As soon as she’s gone, we can just stay here and have another beer,” I whispered to Roger as they left us.

  “I heard that!” Fran was now in the kitchen. Dec turned back and gave me a smile while also rolling his eyes. I blew him a kiss.

  “Scooby-Doo does not crush on Fred,” Roger reminded me.

  “This Scooby does,” I shrugged.

  “That’s kind of weird.”

  “Why?”

  “Y’know… bestiality?

  “Roger,” I said, calmly. “You know we’re talking about a cartoon, right? And a hypothetical situation that never happened in the cartoon?”

  “Yeah, but it’s, like, it never says in the cartoon that Shaggy and Scooby are into the ganja, but everybody knows it, right?”

  “Into the ganja?” I sighed. “Ret’s ro find a rhost, Rhaggy.”

  Roger made a face. “That sounds kinda racist.”

  It seemed I was doing a lot of sighing today.

  AS WE headed towards the second floor, I spotted the intercom system. Dec and I had often joked about using it, but we were like most lazy couples when we wanted to find each other in different parts of the house and used our phones.

  “Tyler” I whispered hoarsely, trying to disguise my voice as much as I could. I knew it was a hopeless task straight away, but who was I to pass up a prank on my poor long-suffering partner? “I’ve beeeeeen waiting for you, Tyylerrrr.”

  I could see Roger about to speak, so I quickly released the button. The game couldn’t end this quickly.

  “You really think they’re going to fall for that?” Roger asked.

  “Scooby and Shaggy are always up for pranks,” I reminded him.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And dressing up.” I ran my eyes up and down his body and affected a French-accented sleazy laugh. “You’ve got the pins to pull off Carmen Miranda.”

  Roger actually blushed.

  The intercom squawked into life with a response. A malevolent voice, full of dread, spoke from beyond the grave. Or, from the other intercom on the ground floor.

  “Toniiiight… you diiiiie.”

  Roger let out an involuntary yelp, and I rolled my eyes at him. “Steady, Teddy. It’s Dec.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Dec,” Roger said.

  For once, he was right. “That’s because it’s your wife. Watch this.”

  I pressed the speaker button. “That’s hilarious, given the fact I had a tumour cut out of me recently.”

  When I turned to show off to Roger, he had his hand over his mouth. “That’s mean!”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a stricken and breathless Fran appeared before us. “Simon, I’m so, so, so sorry!”

  I crossed my arms and glared at her. “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  “I didn’t even think about—” She didn’t even finish her sentence but hugged me with such force, I had to grab on to Roger’s arm for support, fearing she would bring us both crashing to the ground.

  “It’s okay,” I said, marvelling at how quickly my prank had turned into regret. Plus, if I’d known I was this convincing an actor, maybe I could have ended up on Neighbours after all. “I forgive you.”

  Roger glared at me over Fran’s head.

  “Why don’t you go and make me a cup of coffee, and all is forgiven?” I suggested.

  Fran nodded and grabbed Roger’s hand so he would follow her. He turned back, pointed two fingers at his eyes, and then swivelled them in my direction.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mouthed back, and leaned against what would have been a cleaner’s cupboard but now stored most of Dec’s sport equipment.

  The door opened, and a hand grabbed me, pulling me within.

  I didn’t have time to be scared, for Dec’s lips were on mine, and he kicked the door s
hut and plunged us into darkness.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he murmured, his hands firmly on my hips and rocking them against his. “Poor Fran. That was mean.”

  “Come on, it was kind of funny.” I slipped my hands up his shirt and circled around the warm skin of his back, bringing him in closer.

  “It got us out of the stupid ghost hunt, at least.”

  My right hand was now travelling to the small of his back and the beginning of the curve of his arse. Dec groaned a breath of hot air into my mouth, pulling my shorts down.

  Having been denied sex out of fear for my recovery, we were like randy teenagers again, copping off in any dark space we could find. And stupidly doing it while our friends were downstairs making us coffee and could reappear at any moment to find us in flagrante delicto.

  But it felt too good to stop. I pushed Declan back against the other wall and pinned him against it. I also crushed my hand, still in his pants, and trapped it, but I didn’t care. I had missed him for so long, ached for his touch, that I didn’t care that we had had each other only hours ago, still in the early morning when Roger and Fran were dead to the world. I just loved that there was this extra intimacy between us again.

  The intercom screamed, reverberating in the wall against Dec’s back. He jumped and hit his head on the shelving above him. “Fuck!” To add insult to injury, a football rolled off and hit him on the back of his neck before bouncing off in my direction and hitting my shoulder.

  “Have you guys been sucked into another dimension or something?” Fran’s tinny voice sounded. When we didn’t respond, she sighed with exasperation. “Ten minutes or we come looking for you.”

  “Come on,” I panted, finally releasing my hand from its prison and wrapping it around Dec’s waist to bring him in, chest to chest, with no space between us. “We’ll have to be quick.”

  We lasted about as long as teenagers too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ROGER AND Fran stayed for lunch but left soon after to collect their kids and go back home. No sooner had their car left our lock-up carport when Dec and I ran up to our bedroom to take longer than we had in the closet, every pun intended. A lazy afternoon followed, and we finally took a shower so we could go out and replenish our house with food.

  Dec was pulling on a clean T-shirt when I said, “I hate watching you get dressed.”

  He groaned. “Don’t start. I don’t want you rupturing something again.”

  “Oh, but what a way to go,” I said, dreamily.

  “I’d rather you stick around.” He shuffled his feet into his comfiest sneakers, where the laces were loose enough for him to do so without having to untie them.

  “Spoilsport. Anyway, do you think we’ll be safe going to Piedimonte’s, where my stalker could currently be waiting for me?”

  He played along with me. “That’s why I’m coming. The big strong ex-footballer to protect you.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes. “And Iiiiiiiiiiii—”

  He cut me off. “Don’t make me carry you.”

  “I swear, between your knee and my balls—” I broke off. “Wow, that’s a really bad combo.”

  “I swear I’ll never knee you to the balls.”

  “Even if I like it?”

  “You’re grossing me out. Come on.”

  The short walk to Piedimonte’s took longer than expected, as it was raining, and sheltering under a shared umbrella while also dragging along a cumbersome personal shopping trolley slowed us down. Dec shook the umbrella dry and folded it up, then took my hand with his cold one as we stepped within Piedimonte’s sliding doors. I looked at our hands, glad at the ease with which he took it, while also realising that a supermarket in North Fitzroy was probably one of the safer places you could do it in. But that didn’t matter to me; I let that stray thought roll off me like the few stubborn raindrops adhering to the hood of my jacket.

  “What do you want for dinner?” Dec asked.

  I made a face. “Don’t know. I’m not really that hungry, are you?”

  “I am, kind of.”

  “Kind of hungry? You don’t know if you’re hungry or not?”

  “Okay, I’m hungry!” He banged the trolley against my legs, trying to navigate the aisle.

  “Look, I’m happy with whatever you want. I’m just going to go and get some cat food. We’re almost out.”

  “You might regret letting me choose,” he threatened.

  “If you get quinoa, I’m divorcing you.”

  “Lucky we’re not married, then.” He seemed very pleased with himself.

  I reluctantly let go of his hand to go and get the cat food. I stood perusing the specials for a little longer than I really should have, and when I went to find Dec, he was in another aisle, talking to an old woman.

  The Piedimonte’s Psychic.

  Sensing blood in the water, I drew up alongside Dec.

  “Simon,” he said, making a slight gesture with his fingers, while his arms remained firmly crossed, “this is Margaret.”

  “Oh, that’s your name? Hi, Margaret.” I nudged Dec. “Um, how did you two meet?”

  After all, he had no idea what she looked like.

  “She came up to me,” he said.

  Sometimes I forget how famous he is. There were already many pairs of eyes trying to check us out while passing us by in the aisle and find out what we were up to.

  “I had something to tell your partner,” Margaret said to me with an incline of her head. It almost seemed deferent.

  “Well, it can’t be about winning another Brownlow,” I said in an effort to keep everything light. “He’s retired.”

  Margaret’s gaze focused upon me. “It’s interesting you should say that.”

  Dec gave a small snort, which he tried to cover up. “I can tell you with all honesty, my footy days are behind me.”

  “No, they’re not,” Margaret said. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “Who are you?” Dec asked.

  She laid her hand upon his arm. “A friend.”

  “I’ve had my run-ins with ‘friends’ before.” Dec stood there, however, letting her touch him. Was she the cobra hypnotising him, or just a harmless old lady with delusions of grandeur? No matter what Dec’s suspicions currently were, I didn’t think she gave off the aura of a stalker—Greg Heyward did, yes. But not Margaret. A slight creepy vibe, sure. But not dangerous.

  Or maybe I was just telling myself that and hoping to convince Dec of the same. I mean, I was usually the more paranoid one, and here was this woman who seemed to know more about us than she should, and I was like meh.

  Margaret laughed. “You have nothing to fear from me. A lot of your dreams are coming true this year.”

  “Marriage equality is getting in?” I asked.

  She rested her other hand just above my elbow. Both Dec and I were in her grasp, and I could swear there was a peculiar frisson passing between the three of us. “He has many dreams.”

  “So did Freddy Krueger.”

  Dec laughed, but not unkindly. It seemed like Margaret had won him over. “So what dream of mine is coming true?”

  “I said there were many.”

  “You can’t be a little more specific?”

  “There’s three.”

  “Three of your dreams are coming true?” I asked him. I turned back to Margaret. “That sounds a little excessive, I Dream of Jeannie. I mean, not that I begrudge him getting it, or anything.”

  Margaret shrugged. “They’ll work in your favour too.”

  “Once again,” Dec said. “You can’t give me a little more information?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it. Have a good night, boys.”

  The final air to her voice commanded us we shouldn’t offer any resistance or pleas for her to stay.

  “Oh!” she turned on her heel and came right up to me again, her face in an uncomfortable proximity to mine. “Stop teasing the ghost. You want her to remain nice, yes?”

>   “I’m not teasing her!” My face felt hot as I attempted to defend myself.

  She humphed to herself. “Your friends are. You let them do it.”

  “It wasn’t just me!”

  “Still, stay on her good side.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was just pissing about, because she was trying to hide a smile. I mean, I’m sure if the ghost was evil, it would have already possessed one of us or something like they were always doing in the movies. Neither Dec nor I had vomited pea soup or found hag-women living on the top of our wardrobe, so I think we were pretty safe.

  She headed towards the checkout without farewell, sticking out like a surreal thumb against such a bland backdrop.

  “Still think she’s a stalker?” I asked Dec.

  He seemed dazed. “That was… weird.”

  “Told you so.”

  “It’s like I wanted to believe everything she said, but everything she said was so vague that if anything does happen, we’ll probably be able to mould it to her so-called predictions.”

  He was being rather clinical, but I was used to Dec being like that when he was in an uncomfortable situation.

  “Well, that’s kind of what charlatans do. They must have their own bible to work by.”

  “I don’t think she’s a charlatan,” Dec said, thoughtfully. “Actually, I don’t know what she is.”

  “Wow, she really did a number on you.”

  “To be fair, she originally did it on you.”

  “No way, the jury is still out for me.”

  He looked a little defensive. “The jury’s still out for me too.”

  “Oh, please. If she’d told you you were going to get back into footy this year and win the Brownlow again, you would have believed her.”

  “Yes, exactly, I’m that deluded.”

  I smiled at him. “I’d’ve believed it too.”

  “Shucks, you’re making me blush.”

  “C’mon, let’s get dinner.” This time I whacked him with the shopping trolley.

  We were about to move on when a thought occurred to me. “Margaret!”

  “What?” Dec asked.

  “Margaret! Don’t you get it?”

  “Use more words, please.”