Tigerland (15 page)

She sighed heavily. “Is it, Simon? It doesn’t sound like it.”

“It’s super, Mrs. Gupti,” I said in a singsongy way. For some reason, whenever I was around Mrs. Gupti I started talking like a Hardy Boy.

She let me pass her, my papers crushed against my chest.

“Is everything okay with Declan?” she asked as she stepped into the lift and pushed the button for the door.

“Super!” I called inanely, giving her the thumbs up sign and dropping the papers yet again in the process.

As the doors slid shut, I saw her shaking her head at me.

She probably thought there was marital discord between Dec and me, and wanted to see if she could get any details out of me she could then sell to the media. Okay, so I didn’t really suspect her of having ulterior motives like that, but she ran a mixture of cold and sweet with me while maintaining a sickly faux-grandmotherish relationship with Dec.

Speaking of, he was standing in the kitchen scratching absent-mindedly at his chest while waiting for the kettle to boil. He looked at me with amusement as I walked in with the newspaper scrunched up in a huge, messy mash.

“You’re very impatient, you know that?”

I flung the papers on the couch and started pawing through them, discarding the ones I didn’t want in the air behind me.

“I’m the one who will have to clear that up!” Dec protested.

I pulled the magazine free and threw it across to him. “Look at that!”

A momentary discomfort passed over his face as he stared at Heyward on the cover, taking in the byline.

“He’s a hero!” I scoffed. “Apparently there’s Batman, Wonder Woman, and Greg Heyward. He’s replacing Superman in the Holy Trinity.”

“You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”

“Ulcers aren’t caused by stress,” I told him. “Scientists discovered years ago they’re actually caused by bacteria. Australian scientists, actually.”

“Of course you would know that.”

“But—”

“Fine, then you won’t get an ulcer. You’ll probably just shoot your blood pressure up until you have a heart attack.”

“You’re being really cheery this morning.”

“Excuse me for wanting you to stick around.”

I felt like picking up the couch, Hulk-style, and throwing it across the kitchen counter at him. If I tried, Dec would probably say I’d give myself a hernia. Even just thinking that made me want to throw the couch even more.

And then he came around and hugged me. His skin was warm and inviting, and the hair on his chest tickled my hand, which had somehow gotten crushed between us. “Calm down,” he murmured. “I mean it.”

“Stress is my natural state.”

“I know. And that’s what worries me.”

“You’re turning on the drama a little bit this morning, aren’t you?”

“Says the guy who came in here tearing the newspaper apart with his teeth,” he laughed.

“Every time I see his face, I want to punch it.”

He pushed me back so he could look at me. “This anger isn’t healthy.”

Ugh, save me from Dec’s own personal brand of Zen. “Everybody has anger. Repressing it is what’s unhealthy. But I do have an idea of what could make me get rid of some pent up aggression.” I pulled my trapped hand free by sliding it down his chest and letting it creep under the hem of his boxers.

Dec kissed just above the neckline of my T-shirt, pulling on the skin lightly with his teeth. “So do I.”

I
WONDERED
what would happen if I aimed for Declan’s face, and before I knew it my hand had slipped, and the boxing glove wrenched forward as if it was that possessed hand from that Michael Caine movie.

Declan anticipated it, however, and deftly leaned back so that I swung into empty air. “You meant that!” he accused me.

“What do you expect? I was initiating sexytimes, and you bring me to the gym!”

Declan coloured slightly at my loud tone, especially as it attracted the attention of a couple of girls nearby who were pretending they weren’t watching my partner in his gym shorts and tight old guernsey. “Best thing for it,” he grunted.

I aimed for him again, and his padded hand blocked me. I fell forward, and he caught me as I stumbled into him.

“Besides,” he whispered. “You never know what may happen later.”

As I pushed myself off him, I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Knowing you, you probably mean lat pull downs or something.”

“I like to surprise you occasionally.”

Flirting in a gym. How very
Playgirl
fantasy.

“But until then, time to do weights.”

Every muscle in my body screamed in agony, and I wanted to fight back, dig in my heels, and cry to be taken downstairs for a blue heaven thickshake in the cafe instead, but my mobile started going off in my pocket.

“Thought you were turning that off,” Dec said suspiciously.

“I thought I did,” I lied. I shook my gloved hand at him, and he helped me pull it off before the phone rang out. Checking the display, Roger’s face stared up at me, wincing in a moment of me sticking a camera phone in his face. “Hey, Rog, what’s up?”

He sounded subdued. “Hey. Just wondering if you guys want to meet for a beer.”

Beer. That sounded even better than a blue heaven thickshake. Especially if it came with beer battered fries and wholegrain mustard aioli. “Sure thing. See you at the Napier in an hour?”

“Yep. See you then.”

It wasn’t like Roger to be so short. He could gasbag on a phone like there was no tomorrow. And Dec could tell I was concerned, because he was starting to return the equipment to their rightful places.

I watched him for a moment, the ache of love stopping me in my tracks. We had long reached somewhat of a comfortable stage of our relationship. It wasn’t inertia; it was just we had settled in a good place. We weren’t just in love, we also happened to like each other as people. And that was why I resented Heyward and his disruptions so much. Dec and I had earned this peace, and no fucker should have been intruding on it.

“Are you ready?” Dec asked, dusting off his hands as he walked up to me.

“Always,” I said.

He gave me a puzzled look, but didn’t question it. “Let’s go.”

His fan club was disappointed to see him leave. I knew I would never have to experience that moment. Suck on
that
, Heyward.

R
OGER
was already in the corner with the tiled mosaic wall. He was staring glumly into his pot of beer.

“I’ll get a round,” Dec said. “You speak to him first.”

Roger brightened a little when I sat across from him.

“Did the ball and chain let you out for an afternoon?” I asked.

“You better hope she doesn’t hear you say that.”

“She’s not here, is she?” I said bravely, even though we both knew Fran’s sixth sense would catch me out somehow.

“Courageous man,” Roger mused. He downed the rest of his beer. “Do you want one?”

“Of course, but Dec’s getting the next round.”

“Ah,” Roger looked up to spot him in the crowd. He wasn’t the only one. A few footy fans were speaking to him as he was waiting to be served. He’d probably be a while.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

He shot me a look. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Give me that look.”

“I’m giving you a look?” It was news to me.

“Yeah. It’s the look Fran and I didn’t want to be getting when people found out.”

“People get concerned for you. They want you to be happy. And they share your disappointment when you’re not.”

“Thanks, Oprah.”

I sucked at pep talks. I looked around for Dec, who was always good and ready for a pep talk, but he was still bailed up by his adoring public.

“You know it has nothing to do with your dick, right?”

Oh, smooth, Simon. Smooth
.

Roger looked at me as if I had just slapped him.

“What I mean is, it’s no one’s
fault
. Not your dick, not your sperm, not Fran’s ovaries or her….” I trailed off, because Roger was now looking horrified. “Okay, I could have put it better than that.”

“You think? What if it was your
dick
, or your
sperm
—”

“I picked the right time to come into this conversation,” Dec said, setting our drinks on the table, a packet of cheese and onion chips wedged between them.

“Hey, Dec,” Roger said. “Simon was just discussing my dick. Does he do this often?”

Forced to play the straight man in this comedy of errors, Dec scratched at his eyebrow. “I can honestly say your dick doesn’t come up that much between us.”

“Is that meant to be funny?” Roger asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I try not to be funny,” Dec said.

“Rog,” I reached for my beer and took a long gulp. “I know nothing about what you’re going through, or how you feel, so I’m not going to pretend I do. But I know you can’t blame yourself, and Fran can’t blame herself for whatever is the cause. It’s just stuff that happens.”

“It’s not just stuff!” Roger hissed. “It’s our life!”

“He isn’t trying to downplay it,” Dec said. “What Simon means, in his own special way”—he shot me a look suggesting complicity in whatever he said, and I gave him a small nod—“is that it’s human for us to look for blame when something goes wrong, and that isn’t going to help you in this case. What’s going to help you is how you actually deal with it.”

“That’s just it,” Roger said. “We don’t know what to do next. We’ve been doing all the things that we can afford, like diet, boxers instead of briefs, all of that crap. The doctors now say if we want to take it that step further we have to think about IVF.”

That was news Fran hadn’t shared with me the other night, although it was pretty obvious that IVF would be their next option. Maybe she had wanted to leave something for Roger to share with us.

“That’s, uh, pretty expensive, Rog,” I said finally.

“You think I don’t know that? For only two cycles we’ll need about ten thousand dollars, even with the Medicare rebate. And that doesn’t even count the money we’ll have to pay upfront before we can apply for the rebate.” He ran his fingers through his hair and downed the rest of his beer. I had barely touched mine, and pushed it over to him as I didn’t want to disrupt the conversation in order to get up and buy another round.

“Can you guys afford it?” Dec asked. It wasn’t like him to be so blunt, but he had his moments when he put everything on the line as well. He was a very logical thinker. The boy liked his lists, even when it came to things like buying a new laptop. He would research for months, consult Choice magazine, surf on geek forums, and consult with friends and family before finally drawing up a list of pros and cons and debating it with himself like Queen Elizabeth over her giant floor map, pushing tiny models of the Spanish armada around with a hockey stick, or whatever name that thing had. Me, I went into the first store I came across and picked something immediately because it looked good, or because the salesperson had told me it looked good. I couldn’t be bothered with decision making.

“We’re applying for an extension on our mortgage,” Roger said.

I could feel my stomach dropping. Rog and Fran struggled enough on their mortgage. Increasing their debt would only make things harder, especially if there was no guarantee that it would get them what they wanted. So I hated myself for asking it, but I did. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Roger stared me down. “What else would we do?”

“Rog—” Dec said, but got no further.

“No.”

“Seriously—”

“No, Dec!”

“Just hear me out.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Roger said, “and no.”

“You haven’t let me say anything,” Dec pointed out.

“That’s because I already know. You’re going to offer to lend us money. And no, we’re not going to do that. If we do this, we do it on our own terms. We can’t have a kid and be in debt to our friends.”

I knew Dec, and I knew that he would never let them pay it back. He would always make excuses for never taking payments off them. And that could backfire. Money was a poisonous seed that could take root between friends, and no matter how much I would love to hand over a cheque on Dec’s behalf if it helped Roger and Fran, I also knew how it would begin to gnaw at them in the end.

“So you would rather be in debt to a bank?” Dec asked.

Roger downed the rest of his beer. “I actually would.”

Dec stared at the packet of chips that still lay unopened between us all, as if it were to blame for the high emotion currently electrifying the air.

“I know you’re both trying to help,” Roger said. “But I just kind of wanted to meet up with you guys and forget about it for a just a little while, okay? Can we do that?”

Dec and I nodded.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll get the next round,” I said, and as I got up to leave Dec gave me a quick pat on the thigh. I knew exactly what that touch meant: to stay strong, and we’d all get through this somehow.

It made me think how useless it was to get so angry over Heyward. It was all relative, but there were many worse things to suffer through.

Roger seemed to be in a better mood when I returned with more beer. He was actually laughing with Dec, and he gave me a smile when I sat down again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said to me. “I just wanted to get away from all that for a while, and not think about it. We’ll tell you guys more soon.”

“You tell us what you want to tell us, and when you want to. We’ll be here.”

There was a long silence between us, and Roger reached for his beer. “Okay, now that that Kleenex moment is over….”

I chucked a coaster at him, and although he ducked it still winged off his ear.

“Anyway,” Roger said. “Let’s talk about something else. Like you guys and your problems.”

“We don’t have any,” I lied.

Dec snorted.

“Hey, you told
me
not to be a drama queen, remember?”

“Sure.”

Despite knowing that this was most likely a tender subject, Roger stumbled right through it. “I saw in the paper this morning that Greg Heyward is going to be the official representative for the Midsumma Festival this year.”