by Sean Kennedy
I shook my head and laughed. “I’m not a girl.”
“Come on, let’s go and grab some lunch, and then I’ll watch the Richmond game with you.”
I wondered if it was such a good idea, as undoubtedly his injury would be brought up yet again to be dissected by the commentators during lulls in today’s game. “Wow, you must like me.”
He looked down at me seriously. “I do.”
I kissed him. “Just so you know, the feeling’s mutual.”
He moaned as I continued kissing him. “Don’t start again or else we’ll never leave.”
More kisses. “Would that be so bad?”
He pushed me against the pillow. “What would Richmond say?”
I pushed him back. “You’re right. Get off me.”
Declan now seemed to be practicing passive resistance as he sagged against me and became dead weight. “Nah, I’ve changed my mind now.”
“Bastard.” I struggled against him, but he was too heavy for me to budge him.
Which you know, it’s not that bad a thing to have Declan Tyler naked and on top of you, but it does start to make breathing slightly difficult after a while.
He took pity on me and rolled off. “Shower, then a late lunch and watch Richmond get slaughtered again.”
You never know, it could be Richmond’s day. After all, it seemed to be mine.
WE HAD just showered and were getting ready to go out when both of our mobiles rang within seconds of each other.
“Scott,” Declan said unhappily. He had been hoping to get through the day without a call from his coach.
“Roger,” I said, almost as unhappily. I was not ready for the talk that we needed to have. Especially now.
I left Declan in the bedroom to have privacy while I took mine into the study and closed the door so we wouldn’t be heard in the background of each other’s calls.
“You picked up,” Roger said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, I meant to call you before this.”
“Oh.”
Silence. Apparently now that we were talking, we had nothing to say.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Roger said, finally.
“It’s okay,” I mumbled.
“Not really, it’s not,” he replied. “Just, as your friend, I get to be concerned for you, okay?”
I made some kind of noise of agreement.
“How about if I come over, bring some beer, and watch the game with you?”
Oh fuck. There was no way this situation would end well.
He could sense the hesitation in me.
“What the fuck, Simon? Are you still really that mad at me?”
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s just… Declan’s here.”
“Oh.”
Funny how that one little word, one syllable, two letters, could mean a thousand different things.
“Look, he’s just really upset because of what went down yesterday, so today probably isn’t a good day to do the meet-the-friend thing.”
“Yep.”
Fuck, he was pissed now. The tables had turned. “I’m sure you saw what happened at the game last night, Rog. He’s… not in a great state.”
Maybe I was exaggerating a little. But with things still unsorted between me and Roger, and with him being free and easy about his opinion on my new relationship, I couldn’t guarantee a thermonuclear-free day if the three of us got together.
“Roger?”
“Yeah, fine. That’s cool, if that’s what you want.”
And just like that, my needle swung back into the red zone. “Hey, it’s not like when you and Fran first got together you didn’t disappear for the first month or so, and I never gave you any shit for it.”
I had him there, and he knew it. But he wasn’t going to let it go.
“Like I said, Simon, fine.”
“Fine. Speak to you soon.”
And I hung up on him.
It wasn’t a good thing to do, but with the way things were heading in our conversation one of us was going to do it in the end. Might as well be me. I childishly turned my mobile off so that if Roger tried calling back, which I doubted he would, he wouldn’t be able to get me. And if he rang the landline, there was always the answering machine.
I opened the door to the study and listened to ascertain whether Declan was still on his call. It was dead quiet in the house, so I walked back towards the bedroom.
Declan was sitting on the bed, all vestiges of the carefree aura he had had all morning wiped away. He was back in his defensive position, staring at the floor.
“Hey, what is it?” I asked, sitting beside him.
He sighed heavily. “You’re going to kill me.”
“I doubt that. Why, what have you done?”
“I have to leave for Hobart. This afternoon.”
Okay. Not a killable offence, but one which would make my day a whole lot less pleasant. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. I’d try to wrestle my way out of it, but they’ve hired a special private jet that flies at a low altitude so there won’t be any further pressure on my knee.”
That’s when it finally hit me that I was dealing with a totally different world. A world where no expense was spared to protect a million-dollar investment, which is what my boyfriend was. I had joked before with Declan, calling him the million dollar baby, but the truth was he was more. He earned about one and a half million annually just in salary from the club. I had no idea how much his endorsements and sponsorships would be worth, but they would be even more than that. He was important enough that special planes were now being hired to ferry him home with as little inconvenience as possible.
I tried not to hyperventilate audibly and to laugh it off. “You would think they would rather keep you safe in Melbourne, instead of shuffling you back and forth.”
“Believe me, I would prefer it.”
I kissed him, with a hint of desperation I really didn’t want to show.
He looked at me, and although I wanted to look away I couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Simon.”
“Dec, it’s not your fault.”
“But I promised you—”
“I think there are larger issues here than a thwarted dirty weekend.”
I regretted saying that, because he looked disappointed that I had reduced it to that when it meant so much more to me. Now it was my turn to apologise. “I’m sorry, that was stupid.”
“See, you are upset.”
“Of course I am!” I admitted, deciding that honesty was the best policy. After all, look at the problems caused by concealment last time we were together. “But not at you. Just upset because we see each other intermittently, when normally any other couple would be in each other’s pockets getting to know each other for the first month at least.”
My conversation with Roger couldn’t help rearing its ugly head. “But this is our situation, and we can’t feel shitty about it. We just have to enjoy when we see each other.”
“I’m enjoying seeing you,” Declan said. “If it wasn’t for this fucking jet, I would have told them to piss off.”
I nodded. “So, when do you have to go?”
He winced. “Now,” he said regretfully.
Fucking typical. I nodded.
To soothe the pain, he kissed me. And for a few seconds, it almost worked. But as he pulled away, the feeling of shittiness returned.
I watched him zip up his bag, and he flung it over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted a quick getaway, and in essence I agreed with him because there was no use in prolonging what we were both unhappy about.
At the front door, he reached for me. “I’ll call you when I get home.”
I nodded. “Fly safe.”
“You know what they say,” he said, opening the door, “you’re more likely to die in the car on the way to the airport.”
Wow. They say couples start to look like each other. At that moment, he sounded like me. That was the end of conversation between us for now. We kissed, an
d it felt like the last time for a long time. Then he was gone, obscured by the tinted windows of his hire car. He pulled out of the driveway, and I was left standing on the veranda.
The morning had started out so promising. Now I only had the inevitable defeat of Richmond to look forward to for the afternoon.
Chapter 11
THE unthinkable happened.
In the third quarter Richmond came from thirty-one points down to muster an unbelievable rally, and with the game in overtime they were only three points behind. New recruit Farid Al-Hanin managed to intercede the ball and drive it down toward the goals with the entire Richmond fan base on his side, trying to harness control over the ball with the power of thought and will it into a six-pointer, Al-Hanin gave a mighty kick, and it soared perfectly between the two centre posts.
I gave such a mighty scream, Maggie fled for the sanctuary of the bedroom. I believe I shrieked gratitude to every god and goddess I could think of. Al-Hanin’s name became instantly sacred to me, as it probably did to every other Richmond fan nationwide. Richmond had won their first game of the season.
I just wished Roger or Declan had been there. It felt a bit lonely not being able to share it with anyone.
On a rare but venerable high, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I jumped in my car and drove to Roger and Fran’s house, tooting my horn triumphantly whenever I saw somebody with a Richmond sticker on their bumper. They, of course, hooted in reply.
I wondered if this was an omen that things might be turning around—I could only hope. Declan would return to form, Roger and I would patch things up, Richmond would win the Grand Final (next season, I was no fool to believe it was possible this year), and I would win the lottery so there would be no embarrassment between Declan and I when it came to paying for dinner.
My dreams were quickly dashed when Roger opened the door and glared at me. “What do you want?”
Ouch. “I came to talk to you.”
He looked out beyond me, perhaps surprised I was alone. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
Huh. That was an entirely new side to him. I counted to three in my head before answering so this wouldn’t get any worse. “Probably somewhere over the Bass Strait by now.”
“What happened to your date?”
“Are you going to let me in?”
“We’re not your second best, you know,” he said childishly.
I decided to call his bluff. “Okay.” I turned my back and stomped back toward my car.
“Hold it!”
That certainly wasn’t Roger’s voice.
I turned to see Fran whacking Roger over the head, and he howled in righteous indignation. “Let him in!”
Roger rubbed the back of his head. “Get in here, you dickhead.”
“Ask him nicely!” Whack!
“Simon, would you like to come inside?” Roger asked, a forced tone to his voice.
“Why, thanks, Roger, that would be nice,” I replied as I climbed back up the porch steps.
As he moved away from the door to let me through, and I pushed between him and Fran in the narrow hallway, I was given an extra special greeting in the form of a slap upside my head from his lovely wife.
“Ow!” I cried, now reflecting Roger’s gesture from earlier as I rubbed the offended area.
Fran glared at me. “That’s for ignoring me the other day on Elizabeth Street.”
“I didn’t see you until the last minute!” I protested. “And then I was stuck there trying to decide what to do—”
Her unchanged expression told me I was digging my grave even deeper. “I gave you plenty of time to come after me.”
“It didn’t seem that long,” I said sheepishly, and I received another whack for it.
“You hurt my feelings,” Fran said, and her tone of voice made me feel what could have been the guiltiest I ever had felt in my life.
“I’m sorry,” I said in all honesty. I was now rewarded with a hug.
“Hey, my feelings were hurt too!” Roger said.
“Because you hurt mine in the first place,” I reminded him, pulling away from Fran.
“Well,” he replied defensively, “you hurt mine again after that.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Fran muttered. “Just hug and make up like normal people.”
Pushed into it, we did so; although “normal people” was also pushing it.
“Just letting you know, I’m still upset,” Roger pointed out, his elbow digging into my ribs as we embraced awkwardly.
“Same here,” I replied, rubbing at my side unhappily and accidentally stepping on his foot.
We pulled apart, and the three of us now stood in the cramped hallway, all looking uneasily at one another.
“So, how about a beer?” Roger suggested, falling back on old faithful for backup.
I nodded gratefully.
Fran clapped her hands together. “Finally! Something we can all agree on!”
“HE LOOKED crushed on the news,” Fran said, reaching for another handful of chips.
We were on the back porch, despite the cold, staring out into the yard which was desperately in need of a mow. Fran and Roger usually liked to wait until one of their more industrious relatives decided to do it for them.
“The picture on the front page of the Sun was even worse,” Roger pointed out. “Extreme closeup, looking like he was about to cry, and that new name they’ve given him—”
“What new name?” I asked quickly, feeling dread gnawing at my guts in anticipation.
“You haven’t seen it?” Fran asked.
“I hid my newspapers,” I admitted.
Fran and Roger exchanged glances.
“He was miserable enough,” I said defensively.
“Well, he’s probably seen them now.” Fran grimaced.
“Show me.”
She sighed. It was clear she didn’t want to but knew she would be pressured into it eventually. She disappeared into the house and was back just as quickly, her arms full of the morning’s papers.
“The Age was kinder, as per usual, but the Herald Sun loved it.”
The Age was nicer, with just a picture of Declan looking devastated.
The Herald Sun had the more emotive picture. Roger was right. Declan looked like he was about to cry as he sat alone on the bench, away from his other team members.
The headline crowed HERE WE GO AGAIN! THE TEMPORARY DEVIL.
“Fuck.” It wasn’t the most coherent response I could have given, but it certainly summed up my feelings enough.
The Age’s account was straightforward, giving the facts with a few statements sprinkled in from the coach and doctor; the Herald Sun was given to hyperbole, lamenting about Declan’s performance in comparison to his salary, how the fans were disappointed in him and turning against him even more now that they had “received another slap in the face,” and how Declan might also quite possibly have contributed to the problems in East Timor through his downright suckiness.
I tossed the tabloid aside. “What can you expect from a paper that publishes Andrew Bolt’s columns?”
“Not much,” Roger said, and he clinked his bottle against mine.
Fran smiled at us proudly, as if this simple act had resolved all grievances between us. And she was probably right. It didn’t take much.
“When do you think you’ll see Declan again?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It’s all up in the air. Depends what they’re making him do in Tassie.”
“It sucks,” Fran said passionately.
“I know,” I said, my tone completely opposite to hers. It was too tiring to feel that much at the moment.
“No, it really sucks,” Fran repeated with emphasis. “If that was me, all I would want is Roger there to make me feel better. I bet you that’s what Declan wants.”
“Roger?” I asked, to deflect having to think about it.
Luckily I was out of reach from her slapping hand. “You, you idiot.”
“Oh.”
/>
“Don’t oh me.”
“You’re pushing her,” Roger mumbled, passing me another beer. “And you know what happens when you push her.”
I had never pushed Fran, although I had seen Roger do it plenty of times; the results weren’t pretty. I had to head her off at the pass. “Fran, we’ve only been seeing each other for about a month. And of that month, we’ve seen each other maybe four days. I don’t think I’m the beginning and end of his world just yet.”
“At the start of a relationship, where every emotion is turned up to eleven? I doubt that,” Fran countered. “And what, you’re trying to tell me you don’t speak practically every day? I know you’re long-distance, but I bet you’re finding ways to overcome it.”
“What are you saying, Fran?” I asked derisively. “That I should jump on the plane and go to Hobart?”
She folded her arms over her chest and looked considerably pleased with herself.
“Finally, he gets it.”
Roger snorted, and I turned to him. “Is she serious?”
“You know her.”
I did, and she was way past serious. I sputtered almost incoherently as I tried to make her see sense.
“Fran, that’s crazy.”
“Why?”
“There are lots of whys.”
“Name some.”
Oh great, a quiz. I looked at Roger again; he stared at the long grass at the bottom of the steps like it was growing before him. He wasn’t going to be any help.
“Fine. Work.”
“Make it a two-nighter. Fly out today, fly back Monday morning.”
“Maggie.”
“You know we’ll feed her, Simon.”
This was getting harder. “The cost of the ticket.”
“I know you always have money stashed away. You’re a good saver. It’s like your one responsible quality.”
This was true. Fuck it, she did know me too well. “That’s for emergencies.”
“This is one.”
“It fucking well isn’t!”
Fran glared at me. “It would prove to Declan that you really care about him. He probably needs that right now.”
“I could prove that with a phone call.”
“Guys are such arseholes,” she muttered.