by Sean Kennedy
“Sure, thanks.”
We moved together throughout the kitchen, me making him a cup of coffee, him finding plates and utensils. It was all bizarrely domestic and easy going. In fact, Declan was acting right at home, as if he had been doing this with me for months instead of it being a new experience for him.
“I found this great little café just down the road,” he said, sounding a bit muffled as he was investigating the cupboards. “You probably already know it. The Tin Man.”
“Yeah, it’s a good place. Good muffins,” I nodded, realising I didn’t really know how he took his coffee.
He was on the ball. He swept past me on his way back to the table. “White with one, thanks.”
As I poured the milk and stirred the coffee, Declan pulled open the bags and started placing containers on the table.
“Wow, you went all out,” I said appreciatively, joining him at the table.
He had. Turkish bread, omelettes, muffins, hash browns, bacon, and mushrooms spread across the table. Being an athlete, he had the appetite to match, but he also had the table manners of a girl who had attended finishing school.
Declan grinned, noting I was watching him. “They make us attend etiquette classes, in case you were wondering.” He was starting to make me feel like trailer trash as he deftly smeared his Turkish bread with butter and nibbled at it daintily.
“Boy, they’re really taking it seriously.”
He shrugged. “There’s been too much trouble with other teams. They think if they enforce manners classes and public relations training that things will improve.”
“It can’t harm it, can it?” I began piling omelette onto the bread and sawing away at it. “But you’ve always stayed pretty much out of all that kind of crap. The partying and that, I mean.”
He shrugged. “It’s not my thing. Oh, it was as first and I got a bit carried away with it but it didn’t take me long to see we can act like fucking idiots when we get on the piss in a big group.”
“Anybody can.”
“Yeah, but they think they can get away with it, because most of the time they do. The clubs always manage to cover up about 90 percent of their indiscretions.”
I looked at him thoughtfully and swallowed before speaking. “So what made you so sensible?”
He grinned. “Because my mum would kill me if I acted like a fuckwit. She almost had to.”
“And all the other players don’t have mothers?”
Declan shrugged. “I guess some of them don’t listen to theirs.”
I couldn’t decide if that was cute or slightly Oedipal.
“Anyway, I’m not the only one. A lot of them are really good guys.”
“Like Abe Ford?”
Abe was the captain of the Devils, and from what the papers said he and Dec shared a fine bromance.
“Abe? Abe’s one of the best. The best, actually.”
I was already slightly jealous.
“What time do you have to leave for work?” Declan asked.
I looked at the clock above the fridge. “Shit, in about half an hour.”
“I have to go to Etihad for a team meeting. I can drop you in the city.”
“That buys me a little more time,” I said, reaching for a muffin.
“I’m going to grab a shower if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I stood up, still holding the muffin. “Come with me, I’ll grab you a towel.”
He followed me back to the hall, where I opened the linen cupboard and passed him what he needed.
“Don’t you need a shower?” he asked.
“Yeah, but you can go first.”
He reached out and stroked my arm. “Aren’t you a greenie? Shouldn’t we conserve water and share?”
That… was a pretty good idea actually. To save time, I stuffed the muffin in with the other towels and followed Declan to the bathroom.
“SO WHAT are your plans for the rest of the day?” I asked as we headed towards the city.
Declan glanced into the rear view mirror as he changed lanes. “Meeting, practise, press conference, dinner with my parents.”
“Wow, that’s pretty packed.”
“I’d like to see you tonight,” he said regretfully, “but I promised my folks I’d see them.”
“You could always come over after,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.
“I don’t think I could resist you if I came over tonight,” he replied in all seriousness.
That bloody superstition.
I tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, I’m pretty irresistible.”
His hand rested briefly on my knee between the changing of gears. “You are.”
I stared out the window, hiding my smile.
“And tomorrow I have the game,” he continued. “But remember how I told you I was trying to stay on another day or so? I managed to arrange it.”
I looked back at him. “Really?”
“Yep.”
We had now entered the city and were making our way down Flinders Street.
“That’s great,” I said, because I couldn’t really think of any other way to express how bloody fantastic I thought it was.
We crossed down to Elizabeth Street, and it was only a matter of moments before we were at my building.
“I’ll call you before then,” he said. “But I’ll be seeing you Saturday. If you’re free, of course.”
“I think I should be,” I said, my mind too muddled to remember if I had anything planned or not. Richmond was playing away this week, so there wasn’t a game to go to.
“Well, pencil me in,” he said with a smirk.
“I’ll ink you in,” I told him.
I almost had door-to-door service as he pulled quickly into an emergency bay just down from my building. As car horns started honking between us, I threw him a quick look.
“I had a great night,” he said.
“Me too. I can’t wait for Saturday.” I realised that might have sounded a little sleazy, so my mouth did its usual trick of letting my foot insert itself. “And not just for the sex part. Just because I like seeing you.”
“I see you’ve been working on your compliments.” He chuckled.
I wanted to kiss him good-bye, and I got the feeling that he wanted to as well. But there was no way we could. I grabbed his hand quickly and squeezed it gently. He smiled and stroked his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Bye, Simon. I’ll call you.”
“Bye, Dec.”
I got out of the car, and he sped off in an effort to stop the honking of the impatient drivers behind him. I watched his SUV slow down at the traffic lights and then execute a hook turn as he turned past Flinders Street Station and continued in the direction of Etihad Stadium and out of my sight.
I COULD almost have believed that the previous night had been a dream. The work day continued on as normal, except for Roger and Fran being ushered into my office by Nyssa. Roger didn’t even work in the city, so I knew that a special trip had been made on his behalf.
“What are you doing here?” I asked bluntly.
“Boss needed someone to deliver stuff to Bourke Street, and I volunteered,” he said without an ounce of shame. “So I thought I would take up lunch with my wife and best friend.”
“You hate delivering stuff,” I replied. It was true; he always tried to get out of it because he couldn’t be bothered signing out the work car and dealing with the paperwork that followed.
He shrugged. “I also wanted the goss.”
Fran, his partner in crime, giggled.
“There is no goss,” I said, slamming the manila folder I was holding shut and chucking it on my desk.
“Liar,” they accused in unison.
“That’s cute,” I snarled.
“Come on, your fake bad mood is showing,” Roger said good naturedly. “Come to lunch. My shout.”
His shout? Man, he really wanted to know.
“Never turn down a free meal,” I said reluctantly.
; “That’s my boy,” Roger grinned.
He didn’t really get his money’s worth; I skimped on a few of the details. But that was the Roger Reader’s Digest version I was giving, pretty light on the graphic smut. I was sure that Fran would try to get those gaps filled in for her own Special Extended Mix later on.
“So,” Roger said, mouth slightly agape. “It could be getting serious, then?”
Fran slapped him gently. “The man went out especially and bought him breakfast the morning after. It’s the sensitive guy way of getting flowers for another guy.”
I liked her spin on things. Roger huffed to himself. “I would have thought that would have been beer.”
“I said sensitive guys, Roger.”
“Sensitive is such a dirty word,” I said. “It makes him sound… wrong.”
“Well, you can be a sensitive guy sometimes,” Fran said casually.
Roger burst out laughing. “Simon?”
“Who came home with a second Hawthorn scarf because of him?” Fran pointed out, and Roger fell silent. Her “hah!” sounded like one of true vindication.
I shifted food around on my plate with the fork and pretended that I wasn’t there.
“So, what’s next?” Fran asked, undoubtedly happy for me.
“He’s arranged a couple of extra days off this week in Melbourne, so I’ll see him this weekend again.”
“Cool,” Fran said, and she did look very pleased for me.
Roger, however, scowled. “And after that?”
I pointed my fork at him. “We had a deal.”
“A deal for that day,” he pushed.
“No, I believe the words I used were for now.”
“And how long does that specify? A day? A week? A month? Forever?”
“It means for now,” I said stubbornly. “Until I decide.”
“You can’t have it that way!”
“Says who?”
“Me!”
Fran’s eyes were darting between the two of us like she was at the Australian Open. “So, is this what you guys were fighting about?”
“No,” we answered at the same time.
“Wow, you aren’t at all transparent.”
Roger and I glared at each other. I had a bad feeling this issue wasn’t going to die between us. And quite frankly, I was pissed off that he was taking up arms for me over the matter. I was an adult; I had made the decision to take this relationship as it came. It wasn’t up to Roger to start making judgements on what was right or wrong for me.
I threw my fork down upon my plate and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Simon—” Fran said, but I shook my head and laid some money next to my plate to cover my part of the bill.
“See ya,” I said brightly, too brightly, and left the restaurant without looking at either of them. I heard Fran call my name once more, but I continued on back out into the street and made my way back to the office.
I hadn’t even been able to look Roger in the face. I was so angry that I was scared about what might have happened if I did.
EVERYONE always says they want you to be happy. Then when you become happy, they resent it in some form or another. They nitpick to make you feel uncomfortable and question everything.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I could be committing myself to by continuing to see Declan. But the guy was really growing on me, and that was an understatement. Roger’s constant needling of me made me feel like hating him, but I could never hate Roger. I could be as mad as hell, and hold a mean grudge, though.
The truth was he only questioned things I didn’t really want to think about at this point of time. I wanted to revel in this newfound happiness before reality managed to crush the spark and grind it into the ground with its usual steamroller antics.
Nyssa was out to lunch when I made it back; the sign on the door said somebody would be back in an hour. I still had twenty minutes of relative peace if nobody called me. I left the sign on the door, grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and turned on the television in my office. I managed to find a news update, and as always in our fair country, it was centred on sport.
As I had been expecting, Declan’s face flashed upon the screen. He was sitting beside his coach, Scott Frasier, with a bank of television and radio microphones before them. The backdrop to their table was the Devils logo. Declan’s face was set in stone as Frasier talked for him.
“…with the full go-ahead from the doctors, we are pleased to announce the return of Declan Tyler to the game this weekend.”
Even through the television screen, I was almost blinded as the reporters’ flashes went off in conjunction with the appearance of a smile on Declan’s face. I felt happy for him and wished I could have been there to tell him so. He was getting his dream back.
I got out my mobile to text him and offer congratulations, but it sprang to life in my hand as someone was calling me.
It was Roger.
I grimly pressed Reject and had no qualms doing so. For the moment. I navigated the menu to start writing my message, when the screen disappeared with Roger trying to call me again.
Reject. Once again.
This time he got the hint. I fired off a quick message to Declan and grinned to myself as I heard the unmistakable sound of a received message being picked up by the microphones at the press conference. Declan remained still. Maybe he was anticipating a slew of such messages. Of course he would be.
The office phone rang. I startled slightly and pondered who it could be. It obviously wasn’t Declan; he was still talking to the reporters. I couldn’t risk picking up in case it was Roger; we both might say things we would really regret later. Best to let it go to the messenger service.
But there was the sound of Nyssa’s keys in the door. “Can you get that, Nyss?” I yelled.
“Sure!” And I heard her picking up the phone with her usual cheery greeting.
Moments later she had stuck her head in the door. “Fran’s on line two.”
I tore my eyes away from the screen, where stock footage of Declan in his pre-injury days was running. I couldn’t help but notice the now-familiar roll of his hips was taking on a new significance to me. “Can you take a message?”
Luckily for me, rather than jumping to the conclusion that I was fighting with my friends, Nyssa noticed the television and rolled her eyes at my inability to stop watching football long enough to speak to Fran. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” I knew I wasn’t fighting with Fran, but she would be playing the dutiful wife and trying to sell Roger’s better points to me in an effort to make me forgive him. And I couldn’t really listen to that right now.
On the screen, Declan was running in slow motion, and then they faded back into the press conference. He and Frasier were now standing and making their way back to the change rooms while the cameras and their flashes ineffectually tried to capture their every move.
I switched off the television and suddenly felt very lonely.
HALF an hour later, a text arrived from Declan.
Still can’t believe it’s finally happening.
Funny, I thought the same thing, although for different reasons.
It was only a few seconds before another came through.
Wish I could see you tonight. But you know the rules. Looking forward
to Saturday. I might even watch the Richmond game with you.
Guiltily, I thought of Roger. But it wasn’t like they were playing Hawthorn this weekend anyway, so it wasn’t guaranteed that we’d be watching it together. Even though we almost always watched some football game on the telly with each other every weekend.
My mobile buzzed again, impatient with another message.
Speak of the devil, and by that I didn’t mean Declan. It was from Roger.
Are you avoiding me?
I thought about it a minute and then sent a terse reply in the affirmative.
He didn’t respond. I think he got the message.
It didn’t make me fe
el any better though. I chewed at my thumbnail, stared out the window, and waited for the work day to end.
Chapter 10
I TOSSED and turned most of Thursday night, thinking of Declan at his parents’ house and wondering what they really knew about their son and his private life. I couldn’t help but try to imagine what they might think of me if they ever met me, which if truth be told, seemed to be a moot point anyway. And I wasn’t sure if that was merely the moment or the whole of the unforeseeable future.
When I wasn’t thinking of Declan, I was thinking of Roger; how I felt justifiably pissed off and also slightly ashamed of how I had reacted to him.
Roger and I never fought for long periods of time, but I had never felt so resentful of him before. There are times when you have to suck it up and let your friends do what they have to do, even if you know it’s the wrong course of action to take. Fuck knows I had done it with Roger before. I had said my piece initially and then kept my trap shut until it was time to help him pick up the pieces.
That was what I needed for him to do for me right now, but he wouldn’t grant me the same favour in return.
As I got off my tram at the corner of Collins and Elizabeth streets, I saw Fran on the opposite side of the road heading up from Flinders. She must have caught the train rather than the tram, which she only ever did if she was running late. I wanted to run over and catch up with her, but my feet failed to move. I watched her disappear within her building and made my way to my own.
Nyssa was biting at her fingernail and studying an unruly file full of papers when I walked into the office. “Hey,” she said without looking up. “Alice Provotna called. She wants to film you today.”
I groaned. “It’s not on the schedule.”
“She won’t be able to make it Monday, so she’s coming today.”
“But there’s nothing for her to film today, really.”
Nyssa slapped the file shut. “Well, she’ll get a realistic depiction of the office, then.”
“Nice.”
“Oh, and Roger rang. He wants you to call him back. It sounded urgent.”