Tigerland (13 page)

I paused, wondering if I should leave my revelation for another time. The problem was, there would probably never be a good time to tell him.

“Darren Fiord rang today, wanting to book Heyward onto next week’s show.”

Dec stared past me, seeming to focus on the spotlights now being tested. “And you did it?”

“No—”

“Good, at least that’s one bit of publicity he won’t be getting.”

“—Coby did,” I finished.

Dec stared at me. “What?”

“Coby took the call. He spoke to management to confirm it, and they wanted him.”

“Aren’t you the producer? Isn’t that your decision?”

Ugh, the “talent”. They never know what goes on behind the scenes, and Dec was no different.

“I’m a producer, sure. But there are people above me I have to answer to. And they can go over my head. Which they did.” I felt like I was defending myself needlessly, and truth be told I was feeling a little raw because Gigi Jones and I had an argument over the whole thing. I had always considered her a friend, but like Coby had discovered earlier that day, sometimes your boss can’t be your friend. And they have to be a bit of a prick. I didn’t like seeing Gigi as a prick. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not one of the big mainstream TV studios. It’s harder for us to gain publicity. At the moment, Heyward is a hero.”

That word was like bile to me, and Dec didn’t seem to like it either.

“But that means you’ll be meeting him soon.”

“Sometime next week. Probably just in rehearsal.”

“Is that normal?”

“For me? Yeah. It will be the one chosen to interview him who’ll probably have the most to do with him beforehand. They’ll either meet in person or talk over the phone about questions and the way the interview will go.”

Dec looked concerned. “Wait, he’ll have the opportunity to vet questions?”

“Not really. That’s not the way I like to play it. It’s more to just get a gist of what will be discussed, and what kind of footage we can use in the package so it’s more than just talking heads.”

“You’re hot when you’re professional.”

“Really?” I was grateful for a chance to lighten the mood somewhat. “You should see me when I’m on the floor, then.”

“With your headset?”

“Uh huh.” We used Bluetooth more often than the headsets now, but it all depended on whether another show was filming at the same time. Our resources were limited, and stretched between many.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you doing
Vogue
in your headset, Simon. The fantasy’s ruined.”

“Bastard.” But I kissed him. It may not have been very professional to pash your partner in the workplace, but hey, it was in my office and I was the boss. You’ve got to have some perks.

T
HE
next day it seemed like the media attention lulled a little. Both Dec and I knew it was only a lull, because Heyward’s PR would be playing strategically and milking the whole situation through an ebb and flow effect so he wasn’t too overexposed and would avoid the possibility of a backlash starting against him. The appearance on
QueerSports
and the more mainstream footy shows would be a second wave in the blitz, which made me suspicious that he was gearing up for something more substantive.

When you’re wrapped up in your own problems, it helps to get a little perspective. This usually happens when you find out other people close to you are having problems of their own, and they need you to help get them through it as much as you’ve relied upon them at other times.

It started with a phone call from Tim, asking Dec and I over to Mum and Dad’s for dinner on Friday night. This was always one of Tim’s favourite ploys. He loved playing upon Mum’s need for family get-togethers in order to get a meal that Gabby or himself couldn’t cook “like good old Mum does”. To tell you the truth, this was the wrong week to ask for my presence at the family dinner table, as the traditional passive-aggressive snark would probably have me leaping over the table and plunging a fork into Tim’s eyeball. I reluctantly agreed, and was surprised when Tim said to invite Fran and Roger as well. It wasn’t really a surprise that Fran and Roger would come. They were considered by the Murrays to be family as well—after all, Roger had been a regular part of our household for over twenty years now. It was just surprising that Tim made it a point to have me call them.

“Do you think he’s up to something?” I asked Dec.

“You’re being paranoid because of everything else,” Dec said. “You and Tim are very similar, you know.”

“What?” I started to protest, but Dec wearily refused to fall into the trap of my forthcoming rant. He had heard it all before.

“Yes, you and Tim. You both try and act like tough little shits, but you’re Mummy’s boys. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m a Mummy’s boy too.”

Was he ever! But that was one of Dec’s most maddening traits. He admitted those things, and you can’t use them against him, because where do you go from there?

No, you’re a Mummy’s boy!

Yeah, I know. I just said that.

Um… okay.

“The thing is though, you’re actually
family boys
. You both love your family. Tim wants you there, and he wants us all together like some
Brady Bunch
reunion.”

“It didn’t always used to be that way,” I grumbled.

“Maybe it didn’t. But it is now. Isn’t that the important thing?”

He was right. And deep down, if I admitted it to myself I had helped keep my family at a distance. I thought it was easier that way. And they didn’t fight it enough, due to their own issues or insecurities—I don’t know. You can never psychoanalyse your own family—it’s like staring into the abyss; it always stares back at you. And that’s just bloody uncomfortable and introspective.

Best to ride the wave while you can.

So Friday night found us all seated around the Murray kitchen table: four couples and a couple of kids. It was a tight fit, but not a discomforting one. Fran was uncharacteristically fussing over the baby, and Roger watched with an expression that I couldn’t really figure out if it was fear or longing.

I wasn’t immune to the charms of my niece and nephew, but it was interesting to see them through other people’s eyes, especially those who weren’t related.

My nephew, Jock, named after one of Collingwood’s most legendary players (to the horror of my parents) was kind of like a cat. Tim would have exploded if he knew that was my opinion, but I meant it in a good way. He was starting to get to the age where he was more aware of people in a less abstract fashion, and like a cat he tended to go after the person he sensed was the one most uneasy around him.

And that was me. I was only uneasy because kids tended to weird me out. They seemed so fragile, and I was scared I would accidentally drop one and it would smash like a watermelon. Much like the head of Roger and Fran’s fake baby in the Fitzroy Gardens. See? These thoughts are why kids should be smart enough to stay away from me. But not Jock at the moment. He held out his arms to be picked up, and I did so, although with a healthy amount of trepidation.

“I think he looks like you sometimes,” Dec whispered.

“I am his secret father. Don’t tell Tim. Gabby made me promise.”

I could see Tim’s ears prick up, but he hadn’t caught what I said. Dec looked like he would have whacked me for making such a joke, but I was safe with said kid in my arms.

I stared down at Jock, trying to find any resemblance. “You think so?”

“Yeah, usually when he gets his stubborn temper tantrum face.”

Roger heard that and snorted appreciatively.

“Oh, just high five each other and get it over with,” I said.

They did so under the table. Roger accidentally hit it on his upswing, and all the silverware shook.

A camera flash went off, and in being temporarily blinded I almost dropped the kid.

“So cosy!” my mum trilled, looking at the back of the camera to inspect the photo of Jock and me, all dewy-eyed. “That’s one for the wall, isn’t it, Pat?”

My dad had the camera shoved up under his nose, and he leaned back so he could see it properly. “That it is,” he said. “Jock will need evidence that his uncle once held him.”

Both he and Mum laughed like they had never seen me hold any of the brats before.

Dec stretched over to look. “Aww, that’s the best one you’ve got of them yet. Simon doesn’t look half as terrified as he normally does.”

“It’s normally the poor kid who looks terrified,” Tim said.

“It’s a keeper,” Mum said proudly, showing it to Gabby, who made sure she did the required amount of
oohing
and
aahing
at the historical documentation of her own child.

Fran looked at me with misty eyes, and I started to feel like I was being crushed under the clucky gazes of most of the people in the room, my partner included.

“I think he pooed,” I said, ignoring the look Jock was now giving me which screamed “You traitor! You know I didn’t!” Or at least would have, if he had reasoning enough to put together such sentences. “I’m not cleaning it. Go to Daddy.”

Tim shied away immediately. “That’s what grandparents are for. To give parents a break.”

Dad looked particularly stony-faced at this. “Funny how grandparents never get a break.”

“Oh, give him here,” Mum said, reaching out her arms. I handed Jock over, and Mum immediately stuck her nose up his clothed backside.

“Mum!” I yelled. “Boundaries!”

“He hasn’t pooed,” she sniffed, insulted on his behalf. “Really, Simon!”

“In that case, you can come to Daddy,” Tim said, reaching for his pride and joy.

Fran had to relinquish Nikki, who was demanding a feed. Gabby looked tired, but headed with her into one of the bedrooms. She was self-conscious about breast-feeding in front of us ever since Tim had pointed out how magnificently big her boobs had gotten.

“So, Declan,” my mother said, sitting back in her chair and wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Have you been following this Greg Heyward business?”

Tim spluttered over his beer, Fran and Roger looked down at the table, and I’m pretty sure I flushed.

“What?” Mum asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

Tim went to say something, and I kicked him under the table. I hadn’t confirmed or denied his suspicion about Dec sleeping with Heyward, and I sure as hell wasn’t having him bringing it up in front of my parents.

“No,” Dec said smoothly. “I’ve already given a statement about it.”

I couldn’t believe Mum didn’t already know that. It had been all over the news, and she went on the Essendon web page every day, so I’m sure that as it involved an ex-captain of the club there would have been something covered on it. I wondered if she was just trying to fish for more info.

“Did you know he was… you know, one of you?” Tim asked.

It seemed like Dec took a while to respond. “Yeah.”

“And you never told,” Mum said admiringly. She thought the sun shone out of her not-yet-son-in-law-due-to-the-law’s backside.

“What would be the point?” Dec asked.

Tim snorted. “Money.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not me,” Dec replied, and it seemed like the conversation was about to head into dangerous territory when Gabby reappeared with Nikki nestled against her, once again clothed, breast.

“Did you tell them, Tim?” she asked, unaware that she had walked into any developing brouhaha.

“No,” he replied, his attention diverted, for which I was relieved. “I wanted us to be together.”

“You’re getting divorced?” I was still smarting from what I perceived to be an attack on Dec.

Tim hooted. “Someone’s still bitter he can’t walk down the aisle.”

I was about to pick up my fork and go for his eyeball when Mum clapped her hands together.

“Stop it! Now, what’s going on?”

Tim and Gabby exchanged smiles with one another, and she rested her hands on her belly.

“We’re having another baby!” she announced.

Mum squealed and ran over to hug her, her chair tipping back and crashing to the ground.

“Again?” I asked. I leaned over to Fran and Roger. “Someone needs attention.”

Fran and Roger sat thin-lipped, and I was disappointed that they didn’t even crack a smile. Maybe I had crossed a line. It wasn’t like Tim did that all the time.

Fuck, maybe we were more alike than I wanted to believe.

Dec was shaking Tim’s hand and then moving on to kiss Gabby when Fran and Roger stiffly got up to do the same. I was starting to cotton on that something was wrong, but I knew it wasn’t the right time to say anything. I just moved behind them, as if I was in the procession line at a wedding, and offered my brother and my sister-in-law my congratulations.

“You better get him a vasectomy, the rate you’re going,” I told Gabby as I kissed her on the cheek.

She laughed. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

“Not my goolies!” Tim protested, cupping his most treasured area.

Mum and Gabby yelled about him being disgusting. Fran didn’t join in on the womanly camaraderie.

I hugged my brother, and was pleased by the genuinely affectionate embrace he returned. “At least learn to use a condom.”

“It’s all about the feel,” Tim said.

This time it was me yelling at him about being disgusting.

Roger stepped in to shake his hand. “No glove, no love, bro.”

“Bro?” I asked.

Roger at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

Stepping back, I noticed Fran was no longer with us. While everybody else was distracted with baby talk, I left the dining room in search of her.

I almost didn’t see her in the lounge room, as she was sitting in the dark. But I heard her sniffle.

This was reason enough to leave the lights off. I silently squeezed in beside her on the couch, and she immediately rested her head on my shoulder. I hugged her in closer.

“Hey,” I said. “Everything okay?”

Ugh, that was inane. Of course it wasn’t. But Fran nodded, a mere silhouette beside me with some faintly discernible facial features softened by the light coming in from the hallway.