Dessi's Romance (27 page)

Emma will be there. What
will I say?

Jodie lives with her family
in a Victorian double-storey-terrace. The party is in a tent in the back
garden. All our old crowd is here, plus Jodie’s relatives and her father’s
business buddies. My hands won’t stop shaking as I make my way into the tent. When
Kaz bounces over, I ask, ‘Where’s Emma?’

Kaz looks embarrassed.
‘Look, ah... she’s not coming.’

‘Why not?’

‘You know Emma. She says if
you’re here, she’s best off staying away. ’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ I
wail. ‘Jodie’s her friend, too.’

Kaz shrugs. The gesture
says it’s not her fault that we’ve had a falling out. For the rest of that
evening, though there’s awesome music, heaps to drink and great food, though
everyone goes out their way to make me comfortable, nothing helps. Not even
Sacha casually dropping that he’s not gay, that he’s boarding with Emma and
Julie, and even hinting that he had a brief fling with Emma in Surfers.

Julie has already filled us
in on what a wonderful boarder he is, how tidy, how helpful, how polite.
However I find this last piece of information
very
interesting. ‘So now you and Emma,
you’re together?’

Sacha looks sad. ‘No, wish
we were. I’m really keen but Emma keeps saying it only happened because she was
confused about her dad and that Lebanese guy she was keen on was unfriendly.’
He sighs and adds, ‘Guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it, only you’re such close
friends. Please don’t tell her I told you.’

‘Can’t even if I want to,’
tears starting up. ‘She still won’t talk to me.’

‘She’ll get over it,’ he
says wisely. ‘Give her time. I’m sure she’s missing you as much as you miss
her. But what happened in Surfers, you won’t tell anyone else will you?’

‘Course not,’ I quickly
assure him taking in his perfect features, blonde hair and firm body. He’s
handsome enough to be a movie star. And he’s so... the only word I can come up
with is… so
sweet
…
no wonder Emma succumbed. Trying to keep the blatant curiosity out of my voice,
being forced to see him as a totally different guy from the one I’ve known so
many years, I say, ‘So you’re really not gay?’

He gives me an appraising
look, the kind men give women they find attractive. It sends my heart into a
flutter. Not that I’m interested in Sacha except as a close friend. But he
really
is
gorgeous
and I bet I’m not the only woman who thinks this. ‘I’m definitely not gay,’ he
assures me. I have no trouble believing him.

But even after this, the
party isn’t a success. Not even Jon finding enough guts to come over to talk to
me makes me any happier. At first I don’t know what to say. We haven’t seen
each other or spoken since the accident. Not so long ago, I would have refused
to communicate. When he came to the hospital, I told the nurses to tell him I
was asleep. I remember Emma pleading with me to change my mind. She said,
‘Jon’s truly sorry. Won’t you let him tell you how he feels?’

I remember saying, ‘I never
want to see that arse-hole again.’

But now, after all that’s
happened, who am I to hold a grudge against anyone? Even an airhead like Jon?

‘Oh... ah...’ At first he’s
speechless. It strikes me as ironic, even appeals to my dark sense of humour
that we share similar feelings about love and betrayal. ‘Dessi,’ he finally
manages. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, I’m fine. Much
better.’ Looking at his lanky frame, that yellow hair, those baby-blue eyes and
sullen expression, I find that most of my wrath, as if anger was merely an
irritating wasp, has flown away.

‘Oh… ah,’ he persists. ‘I
just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for what happened.’

I sigh and glance away.
‘It’s fine, Jon. It really is. I’m not mad with you. At least… not anymore.’

‘Then... then... it’s okay
between us? We still mates?’

‘Mates forever,’ I assure
him, and he goes off looking much, much happier.

But as I’m still furious
with Emma, I get stuck into every vodka and OJ I’m handed. How dare Emma treat
me like this? We both know what a louse Abdul is, how he played us both for
idiots. We should be consoling each other. Instead, Emma is placing all the
blame on me. It’s all too unfair. I want to shake her until her teeth rattle.

I get so drunk I get to the
guest toilet just in time to throw up. Then I phone Hannah to drive me home.
But even in the middle of throwing up, an unbidden image of Emma doing the same
a few years earlier comes into my mind.

Sleeping with the wrong
man?

Drinking too much?

Throwing up in other
people’s homes?

How virtuous I felt when
Emma was going through
her
bad time. Not that I ever showed it. But now the irony strikes me. Aren’t I
doing much the same, only three years later? I’m both ashamed and embarrassed.
If only I could talk things over with Emma.

But Emma isn’t talking.

Will she ever talk to me
again?

That night I dream that
Emma visits me and in a fit of total rage, I shove her towards a blazing
fireplace and push her in. I wake still angry, heart beating in double quick
time. It takes me ages to get back to sleep.

Of course it doesn’t help
that next morning I have a terrible hangover.

The worst ever.

A few days later it’s
Jeremy of all people who starts me on the slow road to recovery. Two days after
Jodie’s party, I don’t emerge from my room into the kitchen until midday.
Earlier on, I heard loud voices coming from Mum’s bedroom. Oh no, not another
fight!

Jeremy opens the fridge and
peers inside. ‘Heaps to eat. Not.’

I ignore him. He’s always
moaning about the lack of ‘decent food’, by which he means hamburgers, pizzas,
chips and chocolate.

But to my astonishment, he
mutters, ‘This place sucks! Can’t wait to get back to school.’

My chin drops. ‘Thought you
hated school.’

His feet shift uneasily.
‘Not if it gets me outta here.’

‘What’s wrong with here?’

‘They’re always fighting.
You’re always miserable. Can’t wait to get away.’

I eye him with new respect.
Sometimes I need reminding that he’s growing up fast. ‘We’re giving you a hard
time aren’t we, Turd. Sorry about that.’ I really mean it.

He’s too depressed to even
snarl at his nickname. ‘Can’t you snap out of it? I mean, stop feeling low?’

I shake my head.

‘You’ll have to sooner or
later,’ he persists. ‘Anyway, I never did trust that Abdul.’

‘Huh. Why not?’

‘Dunno,’ he admits. ‘He
kind of moved in Emma and you. Guess he was too good to be true. Too smooth by
half.’

Too smooth by half? I
consider this. Somehow Jeremy’s tag places a different perspective on things.
‘I’m much more upset about Emma,’ I confide.

‘Uh, don’t worry, sis.
She’ll come round. I mean, she’s still your best friend, isn’t she?’

I nod sadly. These days the
words ‘best friend’ have a hollow ring.

We three settle into our new living
arrangements without a hitch. It’s been a lot of hard work to get Sacha’s room
ready. First I make Mum pack away her crystals, pyramids and tarot cards. Then
I apply two coats of white paint to cover some of the worst ceiling and wall cracks.
Prowling through second-hand shops and eBay, I buy a decent bed and a sturdy
bedside-table, desk and office chair. When Sacha moves in he’s as grateful as
if shown into a five star hotel. He quickly finds work in a bar and to
everyone’s delight, only last week a woman from a prestigious modelling-agency
listed him as her latest discovery.

I suspect that his
bartending days will shortly be over. I just hope modelling won’t take over
from his artistic aspirations. Meanwhile I’m still working nights in the bistro
and, what with generous tips and saving heaps. I rarely see Sacha. When I do,
he keeps to his side of our bargain. If anything our friendship is more solid
than ever.

I now know that I’ve got
into RMIT. Sacha will go to Swinburne; I’m sure his excellent textile designs
got him in, even though his exam results were bad. Naturally, I know Dessi has
a place in Monash Arts. I’m sad that we aren’t sharing this terrific time
together, but my heart remains hard. Haven’t I promised myself that no one will
ever deal me any more treachery? I’m still so angry with Dessi who has
everything I’m missing out on – a loving father, brother and grandmother,
and then has to steal my boyfriend. I still view this as unforgivable. Anyway,
I no longer have to worry about Dessi’s health. Julie assures me that the
broken ankle is healing nicely and that Dessi no longer uses crutches.

Our mothers join forces to
try and talk to me about the split. But my anger stops them halfway. Now
whenever Hannah turns up to see Julie, she never mentions Dessi except in
passing. I think both mothers have accepted the status quo. There’s not much
else they can do. I just hope that it won’t interfere with their close
friendship, but if it does, then the fault can be laid right at Dessi’s door.

Dessi keeps on emailing but
I immediately delete them. If I recognise that familiar handwriting on an
envelope, I write RETURN TO SENDER and throw the letter into a post-box. It
gives me a certain sick satisfaction knowing how unhappy this will make Dessi.
Serves her right. Part of me, the part that’s to do with her, has become the
sort of person who could watch a child remove a fly’s wings and do nothing
about it. There’s the secret pleasure I gain in dismissing her overtures. I
know how miserable this will make her and this makes me feel powerful. Only at
night does some kind of dream reconciliation take place. But my mindset is so
strong, I quickly ignore it. If ever a tiny voice at the back of my mind hints
that I’ve set up a double standard, one for her, one for me, I shrug it away.
Wasn’t sleeping with Sacha just helping him determine his sexual preferences?
Isn’t that totally different from stealing your best friend’s boyfriend when
she isn’t around? Any time I feel my resolution weaken, I harden my heart by
remembering the number of times
others
have treated me badly and how this must never happen
again. I’m determined that no one else will ever try to run my life... that
whatever happens to me in the future will stay in my own hands.

This being my one night off from the
bistro, I’m preparing for a long soak in the bath. Just as I’m about to step
into the tub, the front door bell chimes.

I’m home alone. ‘Hang on,’
I yell wrapping a towel around my body. ‘Coming.’

On the other side of the
door Kaz and Jodie beam at me.

‘Hi Emma.’ Kaz steps into
the narrow hall. She’s brimming over with excitement. ‘We haven’t seen you in
weeks...’ and before I can apologise for neglecting my friends, ‘isn’t it
awesome? We all got our first preferences, except for poor old Jodes here.’

‘I did get a place,’ Jodie
chimes in. ‘Only it’s in Bendigo,’ she defiantly adds.

I settle them in the living
room and dart off to pull on some clothes. I feel sad for Jodie who will find
it hard to survive without Kaz looking after her. When I get back I reassure
Jodie by saying, ‘You’ll love it. Country people are so friendly.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Kaz butts in.
‘We’re not here to talk about that, are we?’ She pins her eagle gaze on me. ‘We
know you and Dessi haven’t talked in ages. But Em, why aren’t you trying to
work things out?’

‘And anyway, since we’re on
about things, why didn’t you come to my party?’ Jodie puts in. ‘That was so
mean.’

I flush slightly. ‘Sorry
about that, Jode. Truly. I had to work that night. I did get you a present
though.’

Jodie brightens
immediately. ‘Yeah? Where is it?’

Kaz flops on to the couch.
‘C’mon kitty.’ She wiggles her fingers and Chagall responds by rolling onto his
back. ‘Hey, Emma? Is this one taken? Can I have him?

Wasn’t Chagall promised to
Dessi? I hesitate only a second. ‘Sure. He’s yours.’

I go to my room to find
Jodie’s present. When I return, both girls are playing with the kittens. ‘Can I
have this one, Emma?’ Jodie is entranced with Raphael.

‘If you want.’ This leaves
only Picasso. I decide to keep him as company for Myrtle. ‘Here’s your present.
Happy birthday, Jodes.’

Jodie tears at the wrapping
paper to find a box of nail polish. ‘Hey, this is awesome! Look Kaz.’

‘Okay!’ Kaz butts in. ‘Now
what’s up with you and Dessi? I’m here to tell you she got absolutely
shit-faced at Jode’s. Pathetic! You should have seen her.’

Jodie nods solemnly. ‘It’s
sad, you know. You two have been friends forever. Like me and Kaz. What
happened, Emma?’

‘She stole my guy, she
stole Abdul!’ The words seem to explode out of me. ‘That’s what happened.’

‘Yeah, well he must have
been willing, eh?’ Kaz says shrewdly. ‘Anyway,’ she persists, ‘It sure looked
to me like you and Sacha were getting it on. He’s
not
gay, is he?’