Dessi's Romance (12 page)

When he
eventually moves away, I say as casually as I can manage, ‘Thanks. I had a great
time.’

‘See you
tomorrow at five.’          

I wait for
the van to disappear around the corner before crutching down the passage. Rap
thumps from Jeremy’s room. A buzz-saw whines out the back. Hannah is in the
kitchen working on her laptop. She looks around when I come in. ‘Have a nice
time?’

‘Yes,
thanks.’

‘Abdul
seems nice.’

Do I sense
some reserve?

‘Abdul
is
nice.’ I peer inside the fridge.

‘What
religion?’

‘Muslim.’

‘Oh!’
Hannah frowns, opens her mouth as if to say something. Then changes her mind. ‘Had
lunch?’

I shake my head and
reach for the chocolate cake.

‘Why not
make a cheese and salad sandwich? There’s a fresh loaf in the bread-tin.’ She
returns to her laptop.

I make myself
a sandwich. Then add a thick slice of cake. All this time Hannah doesn’t look
up, but I can feel her disapproval. As I crutch down the passage, I ponder how
easily she can make me feel no more than six.

In my
bedroom, the clutter has developed a life of its own, the way it pours out of
the hold-all and sprawls onto the floor. I imagine my belongings moving through
the door, twisting into the passage, wriggling into the kitchen, taking over
the house.

Shoving
clothes, books and other stuff on the floor, I sprawl on the bed to review my
morning to that final heart-stopping kiss. Even the replay makes me feel light
as air. I remind myself that if it hadn’t been for that accident, Emma and I
would have met Abdul together. He would have made it obvious that he really
likes me. I would never have felt torn in two. Never felt disloyal.

Emma
accuses me of being too careful. Of us being exact opposites. So could I really
have fallen in love in just two days? I’ve read this is something totally out
of one’s control. Like catching flu or hepatitis. Is this happening to me? All
I know is that my body is walking on air… my brain is obsessed… my head singing
his name…

Raised
voices from the kitchen butt in. I clench my jaw. Oh, no! Not another fight.
Until recently, I’ve always seen my parents as gentle folk prepared to put up
with difficult bureaucracies and demanding superiors. But these days their
fights are about money… or rather, how to spend what little money we have.

But none of
this mess is my fault. Before leaving his job, why didn’t Graham wait for
Hannah to establish herself? Why didn’t he wait for me to get better? But how
do you tell your parents what they ought to be doing when it’s perfectly
obvious to you if not to them. Not as if they’ll ever listen.

Starving, I
sit up and start eating.

After leaving the club so
quickly, I realise that I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving. But instead of
looking for an all night snack bar, I take a cab straight back to the unit. The
cabbie charges me more than he should. When I complain he points to his
dashboard and waits for me to pay up. If only Dessi was here, we’d know where
else to go. Kaz mentioned a party in Tweed Heads, but I don’t know where it is
and besides, Tweed Heads is a long way from Broadbeach.

What is Dessi
doing tonight? I’ll bet she’s wishing she wasn’t stuck at home with a broken
ankle. The only good thing is that I’m sure she’ll be writing more wonderful
poetry.

In the kitchen I find a
half empty jar of Vegemite and a few dry biscuits. I settle on the balcony
where a tiny breeze stirs the humid air. Lights twinkle from the surrounding
buildings. In the street below, kids tumble past shouting drunkenly into the
night. Farther out, an indigo ocean rolls onto the sand leaving foamy suds. The
night seems to go on forever. I’ve got too much time to think. Seeing my dad
again forces me to recall what things were like before he left. Though their
arguments had gone on for years, I still wasn’t ready for the split. I must
have given him that final push. I wish I knew why. I can still picture him
standing in the doorway saying, ‘Princess, even if I’m not living here, we’ll
still see each other.’ Maybe he even meant it. But two days later he phoned to
say he’d taken a job up north.

Julie has never forgiven
him. But in my opinion what she really hates is being single. If only I had a
sister to share the heat maybe I wouldn’t be this angry. But how to explain to
even my closest friends what it’s like to come home to a house in perpetual
mourning? Though I love Dessi and Sacha, they can’t help.

A tiny bit of me suspects
that I went ‘over the top’ about Abdul to prove that this new relationship
could work. Still, brooding on the way the men in my life behave makes me
resolve to never let anyone, no, not anyone ever treat me this badly again.

As storm clouds gather, my
thoughts switch to Sacha. He owes it to me
that he finally
joined a gym to develop a ‘killer punch’. He only had to use this twice before
the message went out that he might be gay, but he was no walkover. ‘You’re my
closest friend,’ he often tells me. I never have the heart to tell him this
special place is reserved for Dessi. Curiously while Sash and I share lots,
like we’d never dream of visiting to a gallery without each other, I’ve only
been to his home twice. His mum is as round as a butterball and ever so sweet.
His dad only ever appears at parent/teacher nights where his bear-like stature
and booming voice are truly frightening. Sacha never mentions him. What does
this say about their relationship?

Relationships! So
complicated. Even with Dessi. I remember how, during swot vac, we decided to
veg out at the pool. Maybe I did come on a bit strong when it came to that
lifesaver. But there was no need for Dessi to go all prissy. I reckon that
soon as she really falls for someone, her attitudes will change. Agreed,
talking her into going out with Jon MacKenna was a mistake. It’s a shame she
isn’t here. Maybe she’d meet some decent guy who will help change her mind?

I check my watch. It’s
already three a.m. and still no one’s come home. No good trying to sleep.
Suddenly, I wish I was at Robert and Laura’s. There, I could be emailing, even
phoning Dessi on their landline. I just hope she isn’t getting too depressed. I
know she’s waiting on every message. I turn on the TV. There’s nothing
interesting to watch. It’s too humid to go to bed. No stars, only distant
flashes of lightning far out to sea and occasional rumbles of thunder. The air
is oppressive. Gradually the thunder grows louder and lightning flashes across
the sky in great arcs. The wind picks up and an eerie sound whistles around the
balcony. Watching, I feel myself open up to it like the fronds of a sea
anemone. As the palms on the foreshore whip about it’s like I’m part of that
storm until suddenly, without any warning, rain comes down in sheets. In seconds
I’m drenched and pushing hard to close the balcony door.

In the darkened lounge
room, I pull out my sketch book and water-pastels to try and capture what’s in
front of me. Colour is everything. Each object has an extra sheen – as if
this light, this atmosphere, contains some unknown element. The sky wears a
dull smouldering hue, and it takes me a long time to work out which colours to
blend to get that exact yellowish grey and then it’s still not right. The bliss
is that when I’m working, all those doubts that flood my mind disappear.

Half an hour later when
there’s no sign of the rain letting up, I go to bed. If only Dessi was here. I
often tell myself she’s the lucky one, what with having parents that really
like each other. But maybe my lack of a proper family will turn me into a
better artist. I never forget that I intend to make it in the world of art. I
know that I will have to sacrifice a lot to even exhibit in some minor gallery.
But many artists had unhappy childhoods. I can only hope that this will give me
an edge. I have to believe that if I keep on that I’ll succeed… or die in the
process trying.

Still no one comes home and
eventually I go to bed. I don’t know what time it is when I wake. Have I been
dreaming? Rain is still pelting against the windows. But there’s another sound.
Like someone crying. I turn on the bedside lamp. Sacha is in the other bed,
curled up under the sheet like a baby.

‘Hey, Sash?’ I
whisper. ‘You okay?’

All I get is a
whimper.

‘What’s wrong?’
I get out of bed and sit beside him. His face is stuffed into the pillow and he
won’t look at me.

‘Turn off the
light,’ he mumbles. ‘Please.’

I do as he asks
and go back to his side. Flashes of lightning cast weird patterns on the wall
and I glimpse a face drenched in tears.

‘What happened?’

He shakes his
head and snuffles into the pillow.

‘Hey, you can
tell me, Sash.’ I reach out and stroke his head.

He grabs my
hand. ‘Promise you won’t tell the others?’

‘Course I
won’t.’

He heaves
himself up, wipes his soggy face on the sheet and looks at me with desperation
in his bloodshot eyes.

‘Did
something…happen?’ Though I’m curious, I don’t want to intrude.

‘Do you think
that someone could… could think they’re gay, and then find out that maybe
they’re not?’

‘Uh, I don’t really
know.’

‘Em…’ I can
hardly hear him. ‘If I tell you that I’ve never actually done it, would you
believe me?’

‘Sure.
Definitely,’ I lie.

‘I mean…’ still
not looking at me. ‘Never done it at all. With anyone.’

It takes a
moment for this to register. ‘You mean, you’ve been saying you’re gay…but you
haven’t actually had sex?’ I try to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

‘You know what
the wankers at our school are like. You know how they carried on, what a bad
time they gave me…’

I nod. ‘Those
guys, all that teasing, they really convinced me I must be gay. I wasn’t
attracted to any of them, and because I hated them I thought they were right,
that I’m gay for sure. I thought that once I left school and got out into the
real world, I’d find nicer guys, and that it would all happen somehow.’

‘How do you know
it won’t happen? What about that guy tonight at the club? Didn’t you like him?
He certainly seemed to be into you.’

He makes a face.
‘It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like me
.
Sort of like playing a part in a movie
or something. I…I can’t explain it.’

‘Maybe he wasn’t
the right one.’

‘No,’ he shakes
his head. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with him. It was to do with me. Don’t you
understand Emma? I didn’t want to do anything with him. I was… was disgusted.’

I smile wryly. I
know all about disgust, about being a dislocated cubist woman. But this isn’t
the time to go into it.  

‘Would you…I
mean, could you, er, can we sleep together, Emma? I really like you and then
I’d know if I…’

I’m totally
horrified. ‘No! No way! Sacha I like you and everything, but you can’t turn
these things on and off like a tap.’

I’m a little
insulted. A lot, actually. He must see me as easy. My fault. He knows too much
about me. If only I hadn’t confided in him. I go back to my own bed. What would
Dessi do? If only she was in that other bed, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
Shit! What do I do now? Best keep things calm, not show how I feel sorry for
him… not show any compassion…

‘Em?’

‘Go to sleep,’ I
say abruptly. ‘Just go to sleep, Sash.’

Next morning things all
round are strained. Especially after Jodie pale faced and sweaty, stumbles in
looking grey and sick.

‘She’s done it
again,’ Kaz says grimly, half dragging her into their bedroom. ‘I’ve a good
mind to post her back to Mummy and Daddy. Truly, I’ve had enough, Emma. Come
and help me undress the silly bitch and get her into bed.’

Between us, we
haul Jodie on to the bed and start undressing her. ‘Oooh! Look at this!’ Kaz is
openly revolted. There, stuck in Jodie’s navel, is a metal ring. A very large
metal ring and where it’s been inserted, the skin is shiny and red.

‘God!’ I gasp.
‘Do you think it’s infected? When did she get it done?’

Kaz is openly
stressed. ‘Must have been yesterday when she disappeared all afternoon,
remember? I can’t handle this. I’ve just about had it.’

Looking at
Jodie’s pallid complexion, I wonder if we should call an ambulance. A secret
part of me would love to get that exact shade of grey face and crimson stomach.
Francis Bacon paints people in this sickly state. I ask, ‘What did she take,
Kaz?’

‘How do I know?’

‘How did you get
back here?’

‘Cab. Cost a
fortune, but we had to get outta there fast. Hey, Jode?’ Kaz begins to slap
Jodie around the face, none too gently. ‘Wake up! Can you hear me?

‘Shit!’ Jodie’s
eyes swivel in her head and she makes a gasping noise. ‘Gunna be sick…’