Tigerland (22 page)

I quelled the urge to push the issue, seeing as Dec had basically just admitted his press release in no way guaranteed the end of our forced involvement in Heyward’s Magical Outing Tour. The last thing we needed was us fighting, when both of us actually wanted to fight Heyward.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Dec said.

“Sure thing,” I replied.

It’s not like we had to say
I love you
at the end of every phone call to prove that we did so, but that just kind of felt like the situation where it should have been said. Regretful, pissed off and a little hurt, and knowing that this was all due to someone outside our relationship who shouldn’t have the right to affect it so badly, I clicked over onto some of the news sites to see Dec’s press release starting to hit the webosphere.

My eyes wandering, I saw an advert for the Great Ocean Road. The flash animation took us on a curvy path that then flew out over the Three Sisters, and I wished I could reach into the screen and be sucked in, to replace the surroundings of my office with the wild beauty of the Victorian coast.

Better to be anywhere but here.

I
STILL
had Dec’s car. He had said he’d walk home, as he really only had to cross the Webb Bridge and thought by the end of the day his path would pretty much be free of journalists.

He was wrong, of course. Journalists work 24/7 and although Dec refused to comment any further, only saying that his press release gave them all the information he was willing to impart, he was still hounded both at work and on his walk home. I knew the footage of us leaving our apartment would be on the morning news, but I hoped that now they had him on camera and he was uncommunicative, it would pretty much be the end of their contact with us. At least until Heyward said something else, which I knew he would but Dec hoped against.

He told me all this on the phone while I was still at work. He sounded a little shook up, which was rare.

“I’m coming home now,” I told him.

When people said good-bye as I passed their desks, I noticed not one of them could look me in the eye, as if I was blaming them for their involvement in what had happened on
QueerSports
the night before. I tried saying my good-byes as warmly as I could to show them I didn’t think that. At least Coby could look at me as he met me at the lift to grab any last-minute tasks that needed doing.

“Look, Coby, when I’m gone try and tell them all that I in no way blame any of this on our show. Suki fell flat on her face trying to get away from me this afternoon. This was all Heyward’s problem.”

Coby nodded. “They feel bad, that’s all.”

“Good night, Coby. See you tomorrow.”

The wet weather made driving home take far longer than it should. But finally I was getting out of the lift and unlocking our door.

Dec jumped up from the couch, and when I saw him I dropped my laptop bag.

“What the hell have you done?”

“You don’t like it?”

In the short time between our conversation on the phone and my arriving home he had shaved his head into a number two buzz cut. He looked pretty much like Sigourney Weaver in
Alien
3
.
“Why did you do that?”

“I felt like a change.”

A psychologist would have a field day with this. “Okay.”

“So, do you like it?”

I unzipped my laptop bag to make sure the notebook within wasn’t smashed. “Honestly? You look like someone on a news bulletin who’s wanted for mugging little old ladies.”

“So that’s a no, then.” He actually looked a little bit hurt.

The laptop was fine, so I grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the couch with me. He waited for some further reaction. I tentatively reached out my hand and rubbed it over the shorn scalp. It was softer than I imagined, more fuzzy like a soft toy. It kind of felt nice, but it was weird the way it affected his facial features. He looked a little more hardened, even a little bit older. I didn’t like it. “It’s… different.”

I was trying to be diplomatic, but Dec could see through it.

“Say it, Simon.”

“What?” I asked, still patting him on the head.

Exasperated, he ducked out from under my hand. “Whatever it is you’re thinking!”

I put my wandering hands in my lap where they could no longer assault his dignity. “I was just thinking that Lee Harvey Oswald couldn’t have acted alone. There had to be a second shooter on the grassy knoll.”

Dec sighed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if that actually
was
what you were thinking. What’s your theory, then?”

I decided to be most un-Simon like and give in. Even though my theory on who killed JFK was rather a brilliant one and nobody ever let me go into enough detail. “Okay, I think this is some really clichéd reaction to Heyward stressing you out.”

“And you still can’t say his first name.”

“Yeah, well he seems to have no problem saying yours at any opportunity.”

Dec winced at that. “Well, it just ends up sounding like he’s your partner in the FBI. You’re distancing yourself from it all.”

As tempting as it was to imagine me in the FBI—although my partner would have to be Dana Scully, the most kickarse FBI agent ever portrayed on screen—I stayed on track. “I
like
keeping him distanced. I’m not going to be arranging for a play date with him any time soon.”

“He would probably like to. Especially if it will get aired on
Today Tonight
exclusively.”

Excited, I leaned in. “Wow, that’s a very bitter comment coming from you.” It was fun when Dec got in a rare bitchy mood, as it meant that we could be allied on a whole new level.

“I
am
feeling bitter.”

I nestled back into him and gently rubbed his fuzzy scalp again. “Is that why you did this?”

“I just wanted to change
something
. This was the one thing I could think of.”

“You couldn’t go and buy those bookcases we need instead?” I asked, looking at our overburdened shelves, the legacy of a task that kept getting referred to but never achieved.

“No.”

So I told him what he needed to hear. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

I kissed the relatively bare scalp, and hoped it would grow back quickly.

I
SQUINTED
against the piercing morning sunlight, and cursed Dec for having opened the blinds instead of letting me lie in peace for a little while longer. Maggie lay at my side, unperturbed by the fact I wasn’t immediately getting up to feed her, so Declan must have already taken care of that. Sometimes she liked to pretend one of us hadn’t already fed her to see if the other dopey human could be tricked into giving her a second feed, but as she got older she seemed to be more content with the extra sleep rather than the extra Whiskas.

The sound of the shower informed me Dec was getting ready for another work day. I would have preferred he stay at home, but it was now Thursday, which meant a full day and a late night as he would be appearing on his own channel’s football panel show, which aired live from nine thirty and usually went over its allotted time, almost until midnight. I knew they would bring up Heyward. And it would be even worse than the journalists camping on our doorstep. This would be his colleagues hoping to get more detail out of him and possibly even resenting him for not giving them the scoop they thought they deserved—and more importantly, the scoop they thought he owed his employer.

I was still lying in bed, mulling this all over, when Dec came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. It was always a pleasant sight, but I lay stewing in my inertia.

Dec flicked his hands out towards me, hitting me in the face with a fine spray of droplets from his wet body. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“I’m awake,” I groaned.

“You don’t look it.”

“I’m wondering if I can just stay in bed for the rest of my life.”

“That does sound good,” Dec said, unwrapping the towel to dry himself. I must have been slightly depressed, because not even that could make me smile. “But you might start going mouldy.”

“Mouldy I can handle.”

“I don’t think I could. Plus, you’d stink after a couple of days.”

I grunted noncommittally.

“Plus, does staying in bed mean you
never
leave the bed? So will you just be going to the loo and lying in your own filth? Because I’ll move to the spare room.”

“You’re hilarious.” But I was just glad to see him being lighthearted.

It was all about to change again later that night.

I was home by myself, and although I was usually loathe to subject myself to the boorish antics of that particular football program, I did so because Dec was going to be on.

Like lions on a wounded gazelle, they attacked immediately.

“How have you been feeling about the developments in your life recently?”

Dec tried not to appear ruffled. “I believe my press statement gave that information.”

“But surely you must have more to say than that?”

“If I had more to say, then I would have said it.”

“You have to understand this is a huge story in the AFL, and people are going to want details.”

“Are they? Nobody seems to really care about the romantic lives of other AFL players.”

“Well, that’s usually because their relationships aren’t with other AFL players.”

It was carnage. The questions were being fired at him from all directions and from every panellist. I couldn’t believe how calm Dec was reacting. I would have been tempted to rip off my microphone and walk off set, probably flipping the bird to everyone on the way out.

“That doesn’t mean it should be open to scrutiny from the public,” Dec replied. “Two AFL players in a relationship with each other are just as entitled to privacy than any other couple.”

“But you have to admit this is the first time this has ever been revealed in the history of the AFL, so people are bound to be interested.”

“Yes, they’ll be interested. It doesn’t mean they should be privy to all the details. Also, I highly doubt this is the first ever relationship in the AFL.”

This caused some flurry on the panel, and the audience. Dear God, more than
two
homosexuals in the AFL? Declan was probably going to be subject to some new McCarthy-ite inquisition if he continued on in this way.

At this stage I was expecting them to bring Heyward out for some Springer-inspired showdown, but even they weren’t going to be that awful.

At least, I thought so, until the host said, “Well, you’re being pretty tight-lipped, Declan. Maybe our guest next week, Greg Heyward, will be a little more forthcoming.”

This brought some hoots from the audience, and I actually felt sick.

“Maybe you will be more successful with him,” Dec said. “That’s not up to me.”

I could tell that the temperature in the studio must have dropped a fair few degrees, and when they returned from break Declan was no longer on the panel. I called him on my mobile immediately, but it went straight to voice mail. I ran around the apartment, grabbing my keys, wallet, and jacket. I knew it was pretty useless heading to the studios, as all I would be able to do was grapple with security, but maybe Dec was on his way home and I could meet him halfway there.

As I was waiting for the lift, my mobile rang. It was Declan’s number.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Sorry, was being grilled a little when you called.”

“What did they say?”

“They weren’t happy when I said I wasn’t going to stay. My contract for that show is to discuss the football, not my personal life. And when they were going to continue with that, I said I wasn’t going back on.”

This was all going to hell. “Where are you now?”

“They wanted me in a meeting with the producers. I told them to fuck themselves.”

“You? You didn’t!” I couldn’t even imagine that. And I have a pretty active imagination.

“I’m afraid I did.”

“Fuck, I love you,” I gushed.

His laugh was the best sound in the world. “
That
makes you love me?”

“Among other things.”

“Good to know.”

“Anyway, I was just on my way to the studios.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m leaving now. I’ll be home in ten.”

“You’re not walking back?”

“I’ll be safe, I promise, Mum.”

Funny how you worry about another person’s safety when you were going to go and do the exact same thing yourself without even thinking about it.

True to his word, Dec was home in just under ten minutes. He had quickly changed from his appearance on the TV, now in trakkies and a jacket. He looked tired, however.

“That was a bit of a schmozzle, wasn’t it?” I asked.

He hugged me and headed straight for the couch. “In your words, I’d probably say it was royally fucked.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Stop it, you’re freaking me out.”

“Okay.” I sat next to him and laid my hand over the one he had resting on his knee. “So what do we do next?”

“What do you mean?”

“We need a plan of action.”

“We’re not in a war, Simon.”

“We’re going to have to act like we are. Heyward has just invaded Poland, and we have to strike back!” I knew I had just Godwin’ed myself, but I didn’t care.

“You want to know what my plan of action is?” Dec asked.

“Yes!”

“A good night’s sleep.” He stood up and looked down into my disappointed face. “Coming?”

I did so, begrudgingly. “You need a better Minister of Defence.”

L
IFE
greeted us way too early the next morning, and I resented its intrusion and all it brought with it into the peace this one room granted us. Declan, still feeling bitter about his treatment the night before, rang to say he wasn’t coming in to work that day. It didn’t take much to convince me after that to call Coby and tell him to cover for my absence as well.

The thought of a day playing hooky with Dec made me a lot happier than I felt in ages. Even the momentary guilt of switching on my mobile to see messages and missed calls from my family and friends couldn’t stop me singing to myself in the shower.