Sweet Damage

by Rebecca James

  Which is why I’m so surprised when she comes downstairs in a dress. A dress that’s the very opposite of shapeless.

  I hear her approach and look up. I must do a double take or make some other obvious gesture of surprise, because she hesitates.

  ‘Do I look okay?’ She pulls at her dress, smiles shyly.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You look . . . you look great.’ I lift another bag of ice, making it look like more effort than it is, hoping the heat I can feel in my face appears to be the result of the physical exertion, rather than the embarrassment I’m suddenly feeling.

  I don’t quite look at her again, but I can tell she’s pleased with my answer. She walks over to the ice and champagne, her shoes noisy on the floor, and pulls a bottle free.

  ‘Why don’t we open one of these?’ she says. ‘I think we deserve it.’

  ‘So do I.’ I straighten up, managing finally to look at her, to smile.

  ‘You look nice,’ she says.

  ‘Not as nice as you.’

  Nice is an enormous understatement but still, I think she understands exactly how impressive she is in that dress, especially with her hair all loose and sexy around her face. She grins, opens the bottle and pours champagne into two plastic glasses.

  ‘Cheers,’ she says. ‘And happy birthday.’

  With the lights on and the balloons up the ballroom looks spectacular, like something out of a magazine. Tables covered with white cloths are arranged around the edges of the room. Glasses are stacked in neat rows. Large white tubs containing ice and drinks sit at the end of each table. We’re ready.

  *

  People start arriving about twenty minutes later. The first to appear are a group of guys I used to play footy with. I haven’t seen them for at least a year, but we immediately slip back into our old, familiar ways, teasing and joking. As soon as I open the door they start bagging me about the house, asking me when I won lotto. I introduce them to Anna and notice the way they glance sideways at each other. I don’t know what they must think, but I enjoy their obvious bafflement, and avoid explaining anything properly, preferring to let them wonder.

  Marcus and Fiona are the next to arrive. Anna brings them to the ballroom, where they say hello and wish me a happy birthday in their weird, formal way.

  By eight, the house is full of people, and it’s crowded and noisy and alive in a way that it hasn’t been since I moved in. The ballroom echoes with the sounds of talk and laughter, and I’m high with the energy of it all, the thrill of having so many people I know together in the one place. I notice people’s faces, the way they look around the ballroom, eyes wide, and I enjoy their reactions to it all.

  Lilla arrives late with a scowling Patrick by her side. She strides into the ballroom in her long boots and tiny skirt as if she owns the place. She leaves Patrick leaning against the wall, arms folded aggressively across his puffed-up chest, goes straight to one of the tubs and helps herself to a beer. She smiles when she spots me, lifts her arm in a wave, then comes and stands beside me.

  ‘It’s looking pretty swish in here, Mr Ellison,’ she says.

  ‘Yep. But I can’t take any credit. Anna did it.’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘The mysterious Anna.’ She covers her mouth and leans close. ‘Are you sure we’re safe?’

  I wish I’d never told Lilla about Anna. Lilla’s too harsh, too scornful. And I don’t want to laugh about Anna. Now that I know her better and like her more, I feel a sense of loyalty and protectiveness. And considering all that she’s done for me, I feel like an arsehole for ever gossiping in the first place.

  ‘So you brought Patrick,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘I don’t remember inviting him.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she says. ‘So I did. He wouldn’t like it if I came here on my own. You know that. He doesn’t approve of you.’

  ‘But we’re just friends,’ I say, sounding more okay with that than I actually feel. ‘Sounds like Patrick’s being a bit unreasonable.’

  ‘Maybe he is,’ she smiles provocatively. ‘Maybe I like unreasonable men.’

  We both turn to look and find him glaring over at us. If looks could cause physical harm, I’d be a pulverised and bloody mess.

  ‘Better go,’ Lilla says. ‘Before the man gets too worked up.’

  *

  People keep arriving and there are friends to greet, beers to drink, conversations to have. I enjoy myself for a while, passing from person to person and group to group, catching up, talking about old times. I don’t notice Rich and Bee arrive but I hear Richard’s loud, distinctive laugh and I find them in the kitchen, hands tightly linked, already surrounded by old schoolfriends.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ Rich shouts when he sees me. He lets go of Bee and wraps his arms around me, pulls me close, squeezes too tight. He pulls away and hands me a plastic shopping bag.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A present. What do you think?’

  I laugh. ‘Nicely wrapped, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Wrapping’s not exactly my forte.’

  Inside the bag is a cake of soap. One side of the soap is pink, the other side brown. The pink side has the word ‘face’ carved into it. The brown side says ‘arse’.

  ‘Good one.’ I put the soap back in the bag, punch his arm.

  ‘Just make sure you don’t mix the sides up,’ he says. ‘Or I’ll have to call you shitface.’

  *

  It isn’t until I go back to the ballroom to get myself a beer that I notice Anna standing to one side of the room, still talking to Marcus and Fiona. I go straight over, determined to get her mingling, meeting some new people, having fun.

  ‘Hey.’ I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Come and meet some of my friends?’

  I’ve drunk enough to put my arm around her back without even thinking about it. She laughs – a little bit nervously – and doesn’t pull away. I can smell her clean, soapy smell, feel the warmth of her against my side.

  I introduce her to some of my mates. I can see the surprise, and what I imagine is envy, in their eyes. Anna looks hot, and the house is more than impressive. I’m filled with a sense of pride, as if the house is mine, as if Anna is mine, too. And I strut around like a fool, showing off, imagining that everything is right in my world.

  *

  ‘So,’ Lilla says, and she glances between us, eyes sharp, taking everything in. She looks at Anna, eyebrows raised. ‘What an amazing house. You must be the youngest homeowner I’ve ever met. And with the biggest, poshest house I’ve ever set foot in.’

  Anna mutters something incomprehensible.

  ‘But maybe that just says something about the people I know.’ Lilla smiles. ‘You probably know a lot of rich people.’

  I flash Lilla a warning look, but she takes no notice.

  ‘I mean, you know, it’s probably not that unusual for you,’ she says. ‘You grew up with it. It’s like . . . I don’t know . . . similar types of people tend to hang together.’ She looks from me to Anna, smirks. ‘Usually, anyway.’

  I can feel the sudden tension in Anna’s back. I should have known to avoid Lilla. I feel like kicking her. Why can’t she ever be straightforward and friendly? Why does she have to be so confrontational?

  Lilla looks around the ballroom, turning her head in an exaggerated way, as if the room is too big to take in.

  ‘You know, I can’t imagine what it must be like with just the two of you living here,’ she continues. ‘All those empty rooms. Such a waste, really. And then Tim is out at work, so you must be alone most of the time. One person taking up all this space. It must be quite weird, especially at night. Don’t you get scared?’

  ‘No.’ Anna shakes her head. ‘Not really. I’m used to it. I’ve lived here all my life.’

  ‘How nice,’ Lilla says. ‘To be born into such privilege.’

  ‘Oh,’ Anna says. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Lilla repeats, as if testing the words, as if Anna’s speaking a language she doesn�
��t understand. Then she smiles, a cold smile that goes nowhere near her eyes, and abruptly turns her back on us, starting up a conversation with someone else. It’s an obvious and incredibly rude dismissal, and I feel like forcing her to turn around and try again, politely this time, just as a parent would with a bratty little kid. But Anna squeezes my side and smiles up at me, letting me know she’s okay, so I decide to let it be.

  34

  WHEN LILLA LOOKS AT HER, ANNA FEELS AS IF SHE’S BEING APPRAISED, challenged and dismissed, all at once. She knows that Lilla would probably respect her if only she stopped acting like a mouse, showed a bit of guts. She’d only have to do it once – show a flash of anger or scorn, snap back at Lilla with a nasty line of her own – and Lilla would leave her be. They’d probably even become friends. But she hasn’t got it in her. She can’t think of the right words, can’t muster enough self-preserving outrage.

  Yet Lilla’s hostility doesn’t upset her much. The very fact that Anna is enjoying herself, and not hiding in her room in a blubbering mess, has filled her with an immense sense of satisfaction. She has met people and said hello and looked them in the eye and managed to smile naturally. Tim has his arm around her waist and she isn’t squirming away or collapsing to the floor in a heap. She is genuinely having a good time, and the surprise of that, combined with the collective joyful energy in the room, has bolstered her confidence, making her feel almost immune to Lilla’s scorn. How can she worry about what a virtual stranger thinks of her when, right now, for the first time in years, she feels like a normal twenty-year-old? A girl who can laugh and smile and have fun. A girl who might even have a future.

  35

  ANNA AND I ARE SEPARATED WHEN A BUNCH OF OLD SCHOOLMATES drag me into an argument about the best places to surf on the northern beaches. It’s a topic I’d normally find absorbing; instead, I catch myself looking out for Anna, wondering what she’s doing, who she’s talking to. I tell myself I’m just making sure she’s having fun, enjoying herself as much as I am, but when I see a drunk-looking bloke approach her – someone I don’t recognise, a friend of a friend, probably – and stand way too close, practically slobbering all over her, I feel strangely pissed off.

  Before I can decide whether I should go and rescue her, the doorbell rings. Anna leaves the drunk to his own devices and heads down the hall to answer the door. It turns out to be the caterers. I offer to come and help out, but Anna insists that there’s nothing for me to do, and disappears with them to the kitchen. It isn’t long before they’re bringing out tray after tray of delicious food – sushi, dumplings, gourmet sandwiches – and I’m surprised both at the quality of the food and the sheer amount of it. It must have cost a fortune. I get more than a few nudges from surprised friends, who no doubt expected something more along the lines of a party pie or a hot dog.

  As I’m on my way to thank Anna, Lilla approaches.

  ‘This food is spectacular,’ she says. A guy in black-and-whites offers us a tray of mini-dumplings, and we take one each, eat them immediately.

  ‘So good,’ Lilla says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And this champagne is good, too.’ She lifts her glass. ‘Not exactly your normal beer-and-chip kind of party, Tim.’

  ‘Nope.’ I feel suddenly embarrassed, even though I have no reason to. Lilla’s watching me keenly, and I feel a flash of irritation towards her.

  ‘Got yourself a sugar mummy, huh?’ She grins.

  ‘Piss off,’ I say, and go to walk away, but she puts a restraining hand on my arm.

  ‘Don’t be mad. I’m just teasing,’ she smiles. ‘Although I do have to admit to being very curious. The other day you told me Anna was weird, told me all that scary stuff, and now tonight you’ve got your arm around her, looking very cosy. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends should talk to each other about these things.’

  Friends. There’s that word again. My irritation only increases.

  ‘Actually, I didn’t say she was weird. That was your word. I said she’s had a lot to deal with.’

  ‘Yeah, but the way you saw her watching you? The mess in the kitchen? You can’t say that’s not a bit strange. A bit bloody freaky.’

  ‘Maybe I imagined the person watching me. It’s not impossible. It was late and I’d been working. I’d probably even had a few beers. And the kitchen thing? I suppose it is a bit strange. Freaky. Whatever. But we could also be a bit more compassionate and say that it’s all understandable. Considering.’

  ‘Considering what?’

  I shrug. ‘Life. Considering life. Sometimes it makes you crazy, eh? Anyway, you could try being nice to her. That shit about her money before was just out of order.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she says, smiling and looking anything but. ‘I couldn’t help having a little dig. God, Tim, just imagine owning this house at her age. It must be worth millions, and can you . . .’

  She doesn’t finish her sentence because at that moment Patrick appears. He puts his arm around her possessively.

  ‘Patrick,’ I say, grinning widely. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Having a great time,’ he says, flashing an equally insincere smile.

  *

  When most of the food’s finished and the caterers have gone, we turn the music up. Lilla, naturally, is one of the first to charge into the middle of the room and start dancing. She grabs the nearest person and starts jumping about. Lilla dances the same way she does everything – energetically – and takes up more space than you’d imagine possible.

  Anna smiles at me from across the room. I down the last of my beer and grab another bottle, then go over and join her.

  ‘I think we can officially declare the party a success,’ I say.

  We stand there, side by side, in companionable silence, and watch. I’m feeling pretty good about everything, on a bit of a party-and alcohol-induced high, until I see Patrick barging his way into the middle of the dance floor. He lurches onto Lilla like a starved man onto a plate of food. He holds her tight, pressing his groin into hers, and starts his own ugly version of dirty dancing. But he still manages to search me out, meet my eye, give me one of his self-satisfied smirks. The idiot. He doesn’t even know how good he’s got it. If I had my arms around Lilla I wouldn’t bother sneering at him. If I had Lilla, Patrick would be irrelevant.

  I grab Anna’s hand and pull her out into the hot crush of bodies. I don’t ask. I don’t think. I’m proving something – whether to Lilla, Patrick or myself, I’m not sure – and it’s probably not entirely fair to use Anna for my own dubious purposes. But she doesn’t resist or complain, and it doesn’t end up mattering because as I dance with Anna, one of her hands held loosely in mine, I forget about Lilla and Patrick. I don’t even have to try.

  Anna dances with her eyes closed, a small smile on her face. She’s not a big, bold, show-offy dancer like Lilla, she doesn’t take up a lot of space or demand an audience, but she moves with a definite rhythm. It’s as if all the nerves that normally surround her like a dark cloud have been blown away by the music, by the act of dancing, and she’s been transformed into someone brighter, sunnier. There’s no sign of the twitchy, awkward girl I’ve become used to. Right now, she’s another girl altogether, and a pretty hot one at that.

  I watch her face, conscious of the fact that her fingers are linked in mine, that we’re dancing close. I can smell her hair, her perfume. The lights reflect off her cheeks in a way that makes her skin glow. She’s so pale and pure-looking. And when she opens her eyes and sees me watching her, she doesn’t look away shyly, or become awkward. She fixes her eyes on mine and takes my other hand, and then she smiles in a way that makes me think of the photo I saw in the junk room that day. Sexy and confident. Daring. Her smile briefly reminds me of Lilla – clearly my obsession isn’t letting up just yet – and I wonder why I haven’t really noticed Anna before. Not this way.

  We stay out there for song after song. Sometimes we’re pushed close by the others, so that I can feel the soft pre
ss of her against me, and it’s easy and natural to touch her, to put a hand on her hip, her shoulder, her arm, to hold her hand, and when she reaches her face up to say something to me I feel her breath warm against my ear. I don’t watch out for Lilla and Patrick. I don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. I couldn’t care less.

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ Anna says eventually, and we move to the side of the room, get a beer each.

  ‘Do you want to go outside?’ I ask. ‘It might be cooler out there.’

  I also think it might be quieter, and that we might get a chance to talk. There’s nothing in particular I want to say, but I’ve never seen Anna so open or relaxed, and it feels like some kind of an opportunity. For exactly what, I’m not sure. To get closer, maybe, to make friends.

  But people have already started spreading through the house, pairing off, getting away from the noise and heat of the ballroom.

  There’s a group of girls smoking in the hall, ashing carelessly on the floor, filling the whole area with the stink of cigarettes.

  I’m about to say something, tell them to go outside, but Anna tugs on my hand.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she whispers. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  The kitchen is crowded. A bunch of people are playing a drinking game that involves a bloke lying prone on the kitchen table while a girl stands above him and pours champagne into his open mouth. We stand there for a minute and watch until he chokes, sits up, spluttering champagne everywhere.

  I glance at Anna.

  ‘Stop worrying,’ she says. ‘It’s a party. We can clean it all up tomorrow.’