Inbetween Days (28 page)

Cruelty, kindness, truth, lies—they all hurt in the end. It was better to say nothing at all. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished there was an easier way. When I opened them again he'd moved closer. As hard as I tried to look at him, my eyes kept sliding away.

Love is a pie.
Of all the things my sister could be right about, it was that.

I shrugged.

Jeremiah drew himself up to his full height, stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped back. ‘I'll go. I'm leaving tomorrow night. I'll wait at the house until five. If you want to come with me for a couple of days, meet me there. If you don't, well…I'll see you when I see you, Jack.'

When I heard tyres crunch on gravel, I went inside. He'd given me the easy way out, and he was gone. The wrong wishes always came true.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tick-tock
. Never had a minute hand moved more slowly than this. I watched five o'clock come and go, curled on my side, spooning Gypsy, feeling her uneven heartbeat beneath my palm. How long would Jeremiah wait—at which point would he decide I wasn't coming? Was he already making excuses for me? Would his waiting be measured by his perfect logic, or blind faith? Would he just wait—endlessly, hopefully, irrationally—like I had, so many times?

Gypsy stirred and lifted her head. She stared at me as if I'd made a sound. Her breath gargled in her throat. I wiped her drool and rubbed her ears but she sighed and moved away—she knew what kind of person I was and she didn't approve.

My bedroom door opened.

‘I didn't hear you knock.'

‘I didn't,' Trudy said. ‘What's wrong with you?' she asked, like an accusation. ‘You can't stay in here all day.' She sat on the end of my bed. ‘Thom and I nearly broke up last night. You don't see me wallowing in it.'

‘That's because you have no heart.'

Trudy's bottom lip quavered. Her eyes filled.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I don't mean it.' I started crying, too. ‘And what do you mean “nearly”? You know when it's over.'

‘It feels like it is.'

‘If you don't want it to be over you should fix it.'

Trudy spread out beside me on the bed. Though it was still an island, we could both touch the walls on either side with outstretched fingers. ‘You can't swing a cat in here.'

‘Tell me about it.'

Trudy grabbed my hand. She laced our fingers together. She gripped so tightly I got the start of pins and needles. For once, we were in balance—as if we'd both jumped off the seesaw at exactly the same time—just the right amount of wasted love and useless pain, a dash of good but mostly bad, and nobody to blame but ourselves.

‘This falling in love malarkey,' she said, sniffling. ‘It won't work. I'll be doing him a favour. At least the damage is contained. I've never told him how I feel.'

‘Congratulations,' I said. ‘Crisis averted.'

‘Hey, at least we have each other.' She squeezed my hand. We both stared up at the stained ceiling.

‘There's that,' I said dully.

‘You and me. Hearts in tatters, dignity intact. '

‘Amen.' I crossed my heart.

‘It could be much worse.'

‘Yeah. Close call,' I said.

‘We should have kept it simple. I wish he could have left it at sex and the occasional movie.'

‘God, stop!' I exploded. I swung off the bed. ‘Who are you trying to convince?'

‘What do you mean?' she said, blinking.

‘I don't see the problem! He cares about you. You seem to care about him. Do you know what the chances are of that happening to two people, at the same time?'

‘It's not that simple.' She jerked away. ‘It's bound to end—I might as well end it now. You'll understand one day.' She got up to leave.

I picked up a pillow and hugged it. ‘See, I don't want to be brittle like you. I don't want to hold everything inside so I never get hurt. The falling is the best part, isn't it, in love? But how would you know—you never let go.'

‘You're just a kid,' she said.

‘I'll be eighteen in nine months. I expect I'll know it all then.' I sat down heavily. ‘I think you're kidding yourself. You're upset anyway. Tell him how you feel. What's the worst that could happen?'

She balled her fists and pressed them into her eye sockets. ‘I can't. It's too hard.'

‘No. It's not.'

Trudy had such a long way to fall from the pedestal I'd built. I liked this new Trudy: messy, vulnerable and scared, like me. For the first time ever, I could see right through her.

‘You liked him,' Trudy said. ‘Jeremiah.'

‘Yeah, I did. I do.'

‘He seems like a nice guy. He was good to you.'

‘He was.'

‘Tell me the best thing and the worst thing,' she said.

I ground the heel of my palm against the ache in my chest. ‘The best thing…' I stopped. There was no way to separate a whole tangle of emotions into best and worst. I let my body go loose and fell back onto the bed. ‘I liked him. I loved the way he made me feel.' I tried to make sense of my thoughts before I let them out. ‘But…I think the problem was…I loved the way
I
made
him
feel more than anything else.' I glanced at Trudy. ‘I suck.'

She nodded. ‘Yeah, sometimes you do. Sometimes we all do.' She lingered in the doorway. ‘Maybe you just weren't ready. It's too soon after Luke. Dust yourself off and move on.'

‘Jeremiah
was
my version of moving on. How do you
steer
this thing?' I yelled and thumped my heart.

Trudy gave me a peace sign and closed my door.

Something screamed outside.

‘Fuck off!' I screamed back.

I leaned through the open window and caught a glimpse of Ringworm skulking underneath the bushes. He shot out and glared at me from a safe distance with his yellow eyes, tail swishing. I looked down. The smell was stronger here. I parted the leaves and beneath the bush there were at least thirty empty cans of tuna, crawling with ants, fermenting in the heat.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I should have known that my sister would always say one thing and do another.

Trudy had been feeding the damned cat, too.

Two days after Pope disappeared, the morning after Jeremiah had left, Gypsy wandered into my room. She stood at the foot of my bed with her front legs splayed and lowered her head between them, blowing so hard that her jowls ballooned on each side.

I sat up groggily and rubbed my eyes. I'd left the window open all night and the rotten smell had almost gone. A cool breeze lifted the curtains and swayed the bare light bulb on its cord. Ringworm yowled nearby, but Gypsy didn't react.

‘What's wrong? Are you hungry? Do you want to go outside?'

Gypsy turned around, went back into the hallway and came into my room again. It was as if she'd forgotten what she wanted, and the act of passing through the doorway would remind her.

I snapped my fingers and stretched out my hand; she found it, snuffling.

‘Do you want to come up?'

I got out of bed and put my arm around her middle. Her hind legs slid out from under her and she fell heavily onto her side, pinning my arm underneath her rump. The floor was wet. I lifted her onto her feet but her back legs wouldn't hold her; she turned her head and glared at them. I yanked my arm away and took her whole weight, heaving her onto the mattress. Her pee ran along my forearms and I ignored it, but with her one remaining sense she sniffed and knew it was hers. She looked away.

I settled her on the bed and made a nest with the quilt.

Trudy swore at the other end of the house. Instantly, I knew what it was for. I headed to the laundry and filled a bucket with scalding water and lemon disinfectant. Trudy stood over the stain on the lounge-room rug, still half-asleep. I plunged my hands into the water and brought the cloth out, dripping. My skin turned red. I started scrubbing without a word.

‘Jack…' Trudy said.

I put up one of my stinging hands. ‘Don't.' She walked away.

I heard the shower running.

When the rug was clean, I went to the fridge and took whatever looked good, ignoring the Post-it notes: a whole rump steak, cheese cubes, bacon rashers and leftover meat pie from Ma. I diced it and scraped the lot into one of Trudy's blue and white china bowls, which probably wasn't from Holland, and even if it was, I didn't care. In the bottom of the pantry, the box of tuna was empty. It was clear to me now: the box had been a ticking clock all along. A stray cat had grown fat as my best friend faded, like they'd exchanged souls.

I hated that cat. I wanted Gypsy's soul back.

Trudy came out of the bathroom with her hair in a turban. Mads went in. I squeezed past them in the hallway, holding the sacrificial bowl. Neither of them said a word.

I hand-fed Gypsy, who reclined like Cleopatra and found every dropped morsel in the folds of the quilt, while I made deals with gods I didn't believe in. I listened to the radio, knowing I'd never be able to hear those songs again without being reminded that I was selfish and cruel, and about as useless as a hung jury. But every minute I didn't act was another minute I could feel my dog's warmth and her heartbeat, though every moment was an ending of some kind.

Gypsy fell in and out of sleep. I stayed awake, watching her whine and twitch in her dreams.

After lunch Trudy poked her head around the door. ‘Jack…'

‘I know.'

‘Do you want me to call Ma?'

Ma would take over. She would still be my shield, if I let her. Ma could make the decision and then it wouldn't be up to me; she wouldn't hesitate to approach the fishbowl. She'd handle it the way she handled everything: straight-backed and steely-eyed, saying all the wrong things at the very same time as she did what was exactly right. But, in the time it took for Ma to get there, I knew I would change my mind a thousand more times, and I would hate her after. It was my decision.

Gypsy sighed. She looked so helpless, yet peaceful, and I knew then that she was ready even if I wasn't. I could leave her now or I could take her as far as I could.

‘No. Don't call her.'

‘Do you want me to stay home?'

‘Yes.'

‘Okay. Do you need anything?'

How could doing the right thing feel so wrong? I took a deep breath and started counting down. ‘I need you to call the vet. Ask him to come here. We're ready.'

I ran Gypsy's velvet ears through my fingertips. I strummed her ribs. I picked one song to match my grief and played it over and over in my head until the vet came an hour later. Gypsy didn't stir. I didn't let go.

‘Trent is here to pick up the bike,' Mads said. ‘He's had a look and dropped his offer to three-fifty.'

‘I'll take it,' I said. I didn't bother getting up.

Mads stood in the doorway. ‘Don't you need to…?'

‘It's unregistered. Tell him it has no fuel and it starts without a key. There's a red helmet hanging under the carport—he can have that, too.'

‘Okay.' She disappeared outside.

I flicked between channels without paying any attention to the screen. When Mads came back, she threw a wad of fifties onto the blanket draped over my legs. She and Trudy had been tiptoeing around me for three days while I slept on the couch and watched television. Thom was back in Trudy's life and she was happy again. There was no good reason for me to leave the house: Jeremiah had left and Pope was gone, too. Gypsy was buried under two feet of mud near the back fence. As Thom had dug, I'd been at the window in my old room, my elbows in the groove, watching the dirt fly.

Trudy came home a few hours later, carrying groceries. She bustled in, smiling. Her face fell when she saw me still on the couch and she remembered we were supposed to be in mourning.

‘Why don't you take us up to your drive-in tonight?' she said. ‘We could pack dinner and watch something.'

‘It's not mine. And it's raining.'

‘It won't rain forever.'

I shrugged and changed to a local channel: it was a live news broadcast of a crew filming the attempted rescue of a stranded humpback whale. Juvenile, they said. Washed up overnight. It was in good health and there was no apparent reason for it to beach itself. They were trying to keep it alive until the next high tide. In the bottom right-hand corner there was a timer, ticking away: five hours and fourteen minutes.

Trudy sighed, went into the kitchen and started putting the groceries away.

‘What on earth are you watching?' Mads asked. ‘God, you'll make yourself feel worse. The poor thing. It's so depressing.'

I changed channels again, but when Mads went away I flicked back. I was fascinated by the depth of nothingness I felt—usually this kind of thing would have had me sobbing into my pillow. Was there a place beyond feeling? Was I there?

‘WhaleWatch' became my obsession. The whale became my whale. The seaside town, Fowler's Bay, was only about three hours from Mobius. Occasionally, the broadcast would be interrupted by other news, and I waited impatiently for it to come back on. As the timer ticked over into the eighth hour, Trudy grabbed my ankles and swung my legs onto the floor. She confiscated the remote.

‘I'm going to work in an hour. You're not having this back until you've been out of the house for at least that long. Get some fresh air.'

I gathered up the fifty-dollar notes from the floor and went to my bedroom. I hadn't been back in there since Gypsy went to sleep forever on my quilt. It still held her shape, but not her warmth. I touched the fabric; it was then that the nothingness burst open.

I ran out, down the hallway, into the lounge. Trudy and Mads were sitting there. I kept running outside, slamming the sliding door behind me.

‘Where is she going?' I heard Mads ask.