Precise (14 page)

M
y phone reads quarter past two. There’s plenty of time to drop by the shops. No, it’s not to pick up more Johnny, although my fingers may begin to tremble if I get anxious and he can’t calm me. Thanks to Tim, I know too much information, though I’m yet to process it.

Ella fills my thoughts. Have I done enough? Have I lost her? The new version of her Elly doll was released two days ago. I called a few shops on day one but it’d sold out immediately. On a whim, I tried a remote town and they were able to transfer it nearby today and have it put aside for a couple of hours.

The new Elly is the perfect distraction, because I’m stressing about getting there on time. This leaves little room for other things. My new obsession has sent my foot twitching, racing to the store as fast as legally possible. This issue is something I can solve. The thought makes me sit straight, tall, proud.

When I pick up the box I wrap it to my chest and whisper thank you to no one in particular. The teenager behind the register raises her eyebrows. She’s nice enough to hold back her thoughts.

As I walk to my car a familiar voice calls, “Kates.”

Shit
. There are memories in that voice, the good and lately, the bad. Poker face on. A nice smile will do just fine. Try not to show my gritted teeth.

I turn. “Liam.”

He fixes his gaze on me as he closes the space, his steps seeming to bound across the parking lot.

“Hi.”

“Um, hi,” I say, one arm clutching the doll, the other scratching a non-existent itch on my forehead.

I hate the way my body betrays me. My head is calm, my nerves like I’ve been afire and now doused with water. All that pent up frustration evaporated with the steam that escapes. There’s something about Liam standing in front of me, a silent conversation where we tiptoe around each other to sense the mood without moving at all, that makes me relieved yet anxious.

“What are you doing down this end of town?” I’m stalling, I know, but he’s the last person I expected to run into so early in the working day.

“Finished coffee with a client early and I’ve lost interest in doing any more paperwork today—one of the positives of working from home. I’m just picking up a few things on my way.”

“Oh.”

My one-word answer causes Liam to dig his hands in his pockets and rock on the spot.

Finally, my lips part to speak but he beats me to it, saying, “We need to talk.”

He steps forward so if I were to reach, I might be able to touch his chest.

“You don’t mean ‘fight’, do you?”

Rightfully so, Liam rolls his eyes at my childish reply. “It shouldn’t have to be like that. You wouldn’t go chopping off your toes just because they caused you to trip over. You’d rub and rest them to make them feel better.”

I scoff and don’t try to suppress it. “We aren’t toes.”

“No, you’re right. We’re best friends.”

I find myself biting my lip and about to flick my hair before I stop my fidgeting in time. Best not look like a nervous schoolgirl. It’s bad enough I’m clutching the Elly doll to my chest. But that’s what he does to me. I feel everything with him. I’m just waiting to feel the sinking, heavy feeling in my eyes—the need to cry. Then I’ll know he’s inhuman. He’ll be my miracle if he can make me get back to that sort of state, pre-death.

“Look, hear me out,” he says. “I know I’ve been wrong. I’m seeing how ignorant I can be. I need to understand how you feel, not how I think you should. All these jokes and minding my own business—you aren’t worth losing because of my stubbornness.” Liam steps in again and my mind replays his perfume, his scent, rushing into the air I breathe, and settling inside me.

When I take a slow, deep breath, it sounds like I’m drawing air through a cloth. “Okay.”

He dips his head, searching my eyes. God, they’re so blue. Sky blue, and full of all the same feelings as when you dip your head back and take in the big, endless sky above.

I draw in another breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

• • •

“I
won’t ask how you’ve been feeling. I’ll let you begin on the proviso I don’t hear ‘nothing’ mentioned,” Liam says. I don’t know why he says this. There are no giveaways around his living room as to his thoughts or mood. He leaves his drapes down and has flicked on any artificial source of light. We sit with distance between each other.

Before, on the way here, he drove us in his Volkswagen with the air conditioner on so high I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering, though he didn’t seem to notice. His face was stiff. I didn’t dare ask him to turn it off. I just shivered as quietly as I could manage.

“I dislike my mother,” I say, sitting straight. I want to pat myself on the back. I’m sharing my feelings. Isn’t this a huge step? “She’s pushy and shallow.”

“Standard,” he says, dryly.

I pick up a nearby cushion and poke it so Liam doesn’t see the sunken look on my face. “So?”

“Go on. Something different.”

All right, how does this sound? “The most riveting news I found out was just how un-me I am when I’m drunk. I joke, laugh, and converse well. Basically, you’d be very impressed by my range of emotions.”

Liam doesn’t react as comically as I expect. Why am I failing so miserably? This is the best I can do. Grr, what’s his problem? I thought enough time had passed for our fights to subside into the we-can-make-fun-of-ourselves pile.

“Um . . . . ” He clears his throat. “What’s this business about your drunken escapades?”

Liam’s voice triggers my body to violate me. My heart stammers. His voice is an invitation, one I cannot decline. His voice is liquid gold, melting my steel organs. It’s smooth, rich, powerful.

“I realized I left Mom’s seventieth party because of an argument, then somehow ran into your brother,” I say. My mouth itches to open, talk, share something, and the part of me with restraint isn’t strong enough to stop it. Continuing, I say, “Ended up at a stranger’s party, a park, and then woke up in a random bed.”

“What?” he splutters. His knee jerks in response and knocks the coffee table, spilling the milk from our cappuccinos.

“There. Now you’re pretty much as up to date as I am.” I play up the “pretty much” almost beyond the truth, but at least I’m saying what I can.

He reaches his hand to mine. Before I can withdraw, there’s an immense pressure swallowing my hands. I’m cold. My next gulp of air feels like swallowing a rock.

Liam shudders. His blue eyes are as concerned as a parent nursing their sick child. He’s hardly a monster, but my body flushes instinctively nonetheless. He notices me stiffen and pulls back.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“I didn’t mean to. I won’t do it again,” he mumbles.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I pant, “I’m . . . ” I lower my voice, “fucking scared.” There I go: talking and talking. I’ll empty myself out if I’m not careful. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I feel stupid talking.

“I’m here to listen,” Liam says.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I
am
crazy.”

He lays out his hands on his thighs. His legs are tensed and look like I’d hurt my fist if I punched them, but I want to punch something, and touch him. His hands are laying face up. They are unmoving, visible. His eyes are dropped to his lap. Nothing to hide.

I haven’t seen him so edgy in longer than I can remember. I want to pull at his face and make him look at me. I’ll hold onto his shoulders and assess his face, the eyes specifically. Maybe he’s mad. His cheeks seem red, but perhaps that’s my imagination.

No. Bad idea. Lucky I didn’t do anything so brash. I’m not ready for him to read me back.

As much as I want to be comforting to Liam, I don’t know what to do. Is asking for a hug inappropriate? Will I look insensitive if I pat him on the back?

“I know of someone called Madison.”

“Excuse me?” I say, shifting here, there, on Liam’s couch.

“Madison. She’s a godsend . . . apparently.”

I nod for effect. He must be in his own world, because I haven’t heard of a “Madison” woman, nor can I guess what she does.

I force myself to say, “I have no idea what you are on about.”

“So the godsend part
may
have been something I quoted from someone else. Nonetheless, she is still meant to be great.”

I don’t bother acting like I catch onto any of his ramblings. Liam’s taunting abilities are acquired from years of school experience and I’m not about to challenge his skill now. My inkling, anyway, is he needs some time to explain this. He must sense my awkwardness. The hamster wheels in my mind are spinning, but this still isn’t making sense.

He’s stalling. Thinking about what needs this kind of lead-up sends a chill down my spine.

“She’s in that specialist stream,” he adds.

Rather than adding to his ramblings, I remain silent.

He shifts his weight onto his other leg and sips his cappuccino out of a mug that jokes about comparisons between women and guns. He drops the weighty mug onto the wooden coffee table. It ends up slipping out of his grip. The froth bubbles at the top, spills over the sides.

Liam clears his throat, grunting deep, and swallowing excess phlegm, which makes me shift in my spot for the umpteenth time, along with twirling the end of my hair. If this is an intentional build up, I’m feeling it.

He lingers with his mug again, tracing his fingers up and down the froth that spilt over the sides.

“Liam, are you—”

“Fine. Sorry.”

I punch the cushion in my lap into a comfortable shape, waiting for when he’s ready. The couch is smooth and hugs my shape as I fall back.

Liam turns, abruptly, and looks me in the eye. “I know I said I wouldn’t, but this is different; I’ve got a question for you.”

“All right, ask.”

“What do you think of me?”

“Ha, Liam . . . ” I start, pausing to gather my sense again. “You go all right, I s’pose.”

“No, really. What do you think about me, of how I’ve coped after Paul?”

Ouch. A shiver stings my chest. I reach for the first thing I see in front of me, and realize when it’s too late that I’ve drunk from Liam’s mug.

“I think you’ve done great. I think I’m the meal served to seniors at a retirement village and you’re a fresh catch, right out of the ocean.”

Liam paces to one of the drapes and pulls the cord as far down as he can manage in one sweep. Light streams in when he speaks, making him glow. “My girlfriend at the time, Bindi, she saw me get worse. At first I’d have some beers after work. Then I’d add some Coke and scotch to that, because my head was still screwed on. Eventually I’d miss dinner out with our friends because I’d want to finish a whole bottle, or I’d keep the cans flowing until I couldn’t stand any longer.”

He does the same thing with the other window a few meters along and suddenly the whole room feels lighter.

“Ask me now and I still have no idea what my intentions were for doing that. I think I just wanted to get as annihilated as I could, all the time. It made me feel better for twenty percent of the time, if that. The other eighty I suffered in a boozy, blurry, lost world. I missed a lot because my head wasn’t actually there. Like Brent; I didn’t support his café when he needed me.”

“Liam, I . . . I don’t know what to say. How did this happen? Are you okay?”

He’s at my side now. The space between us lessens. “I tried forgetting. I thought I was better than everybody and it was them who had it wrong. One day when Bindi packed up and I woke up alone . . . well, I got the clue then.”

“Is that why the pair of you broke up?” I say, still half-dazed from what I hear. All these years of friendship . . . I feel cheated that I didn’t know the extent of this. I missed the whole damn boat, in fact. It boarded, shipped and sailed out before I had a clue.

I vaguely remember meeting his other half. She had a dark, bob-type hairdo. I try picturing her face and can’t recall anything else. Maybe I only met her once. It’s the first of his girlfriends I haven’t pushed to give a tick of approval to. What happened to me? When did a tradition that Liam and I lived by suddenly crumble into non-existence?

He continues. “She came back a week later and found me quite sick, not exactly as my boss had told her, but more of the self-inflicted, drink-myself-into-a-state-of-a-vegetable kind. That day she swore she wouldn’t leave until I talked to her about what was going on. Soon enough, I was having regular chats with Crowley.”

“Uh, right, Crowley. Is this ‘Crowley’ character the same sort of Madison thing you didn’t quite explain before?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Liam half-grins. He draws in a deep breath and sips at his mug.

“I’ll tell you this: it changed the way I thought. Crowley was
my
godsend, anyway. I deal with things differently now. I’ve realized I’m just human and that the essence of human existence is learning. I can’t learn if I don’t make mistakes, so it’s pointless regretting mistakes. I’ve learned how to stop blaming myself for things I can’t control. Now I see the positive out of what happens to me, how I can turn it around, learn why it happened rather than depressing over the worst. I talk when I need answers, no matter how difficult those answers may be. Otherwise, my thoughts simmer in my head and get fucked up. It’s only worse taking the easy way, for me at least.”