by Davina Stone
Masturbate before a date. Not bloody likely. He got so nervous before seeing Judith his libido sank to below zero and he was worried nothing at all would happen, and then—whoosh, it was heading for the line like the favourite on Melbourne Cup Day. He groaned. Besides, if he did manage to masturbate you could guarantee with his luck, it would end up like that scene out of There’s Something About Mary and he’d smear gism in Judith’s beautiful hair.
Totally distracted by thoughts of his weekend misery, Carts found he’d arrived at work without remembering a single traffic light or stop sign. He reached for his entry card and swiped it and a minute later swerved into Ron’s parking spot, relishing the squeal of his tyres on the concrete. Hopefully he’d left rubber marks. Still, it was good not to have to take the train in to work this week. He had to be grateful for the small things right now, because the big ones were at risk of submerging him.
As he gathered up his briefcase and KeepCup, his phone rang.
Aaron. At last. He grabbed it and almost shouted a relieved, “Mate!”
“Maaate. How are you?”
“All the better for hearing from you. Hey, isn’t it late over there?”
“Yeah, nearly midnight. But I saw you called yesterday,” Aaron hesitated, “and I’ve been meaning to phone you anyway.”
“How’s things going in the green and pleasant land?”
“Good. Alice has been trying to educate me about culture and not doing a bad job, to be honest. We spent yesterday on the museum strip in London. Like seriously, the English love preserving old shit, but I have to say, I’m almost getting the appeal.”
Carts laughed. “So you’ll be sending home a container of eighteenth-century chamber pots.”
“Not quite. Though Alice has found a few antiques. And of course, Rowena’s bought up big on leather-bound first editions for the Book Genie. Anyway, how are you, mate?”
“Much the same as when you left.” Aaron and Alice had gone to visit her father in Cambridge, closely followed by Rowena, Alice’s mum. They’d only been gone three months, but at times like this, when he really needed his best mate, it felt more like three years.
Carts changed ears as he opened the car door. “I’ve been hanging out with Dan a bit. Work’s been bloody awful, but I’m in charge this week, because the old bastard’s gone on leave.”
“That must be a relief.” Aaron knew his long-term problem with Ron, they’d stuck pins in him, metaphorically speaking, enough times over a few pints.
“Still doing yoga?”
“You bet.”
“Got up to a thousand sun salutes yet?”
“Two thousand, mate. Every morning without fail. I’m a demi-god.”
“Always knew it.” Aaron laughed. A pause. “Seeing anyone?”
Carts kicked the car door wide with his foot. “Kind of. I guess. There’s this girl… a friend of Polly’s actually. We’ll see where it goes.”
“Awesome. Polly does have great taste in friends.”
Carts grinned despite himself. “Sure does.” He muffled a sigh. “We’re taking it slowly, both of us have been a bit burnt. How are you and Alice?”
Another pause. “Now you’ve asked… Has Polly said something, by any chance?”
“Nope. Barely seen Polly lately. She’s gone a bit weird.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Aaron and Polly had always clashed. Something to do with them both being big personalities.
“Anyway,” Aaron took a deep breath on the end of the line, “I do have some news. I’ve been kind of putting off telling you because… well, you know…”
“Jeesh man, get to the point.”
“Alice and I have got engaged.”
Carts’ throat constricted. “Wow! Happy for you both, mate,” he gulped out. “Been expecting it, to be honest.” He had. And yeah, bloody oath he was happy for them, absolutely over the moon, but the truth was, the timing was bad. If his Friday evening had gone better, he’d be boogying in the parking lot. He hated the stab of envy that got in the way of feeling fantastic at his best mate’s happiness. This was the guy who’d stood by him through thick and thin, who’d always been there to pat him on the back and buy him a beer after his latest romance went down the gurgler. He swallowed the bitter taste. “Hope I’m still the best man?”
“You bet.”
“Forgot to ask, did she say yes?”
Aaron laughed. “Yeah, well I probably don’t deserve it, but she did, and I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world right now.”
“Best news, mate. Congratulations to you both. When’s the wedding?”
“No plans yet. Oliver’s is next spring, so we’ll get through that first. With Naomi being a wedding planner you can bet that’s going to be the Aussie equivalent of the Hollywood wedding of the year.”
“That fits.” Carts was in awe of Aaron’s older brother Oliver, a finance guru to the young and hip, super good-looking, but also a bloody nice guy. His popular books on managing your finances took pride of place on Carts’ bookshelf. He’d not met Naomi, but there was a picture of the two of them together on the back cover of Oliver’s latest book. All smiles, perfect teeth, perfect hair, her hand on Oliver’s knee with a sparkling diamond on her finger.
There was no way the Blake brothers would ever need advice on managing premature ejaculation.
After a few more words about weddings, Aaron yawned on the end of the line. “Think I’ll call it a night. I’ll sleep easy now I know you’re okay with it.”
“Christ almighty, how could I not be?”
“Knowing you’d had a bit of a thing for Alice a while back, I guess I was worried. Didn’t want to upset you.”
“That’s all water under the bridge. Don’t get me wrong, Alice is wonderful, gorgeous… way too good for you, it’s just…”
“You’re taken with this girl, aren’t you?”
He tried to sound airy. “Yeah, I am, sort of… It’s just—”
“Sounds like there’s a qualifier in there?”
Carts hesitated. Maybe if they were at the pub, after a couple of Guinnesses he’d have the courage to blurt out about his dick dysfunction. But it wasn’t something you told your mate who was 20,000 kilometres away and inhabiting a different universe. One where love came easy.
“Nah, nothing. It’s going fine. You know me, not high on the confidence stakes.”
“Just relax mate. If she’s the one, it will work out, like me and Alice. But hey, if you want to talk it through, give me a call sometime this week.”
“I don’t need to talk about it.” Yes, yes, I fucking do. “It’s going great, early days and all.”
“Cool. What’s her name?”
“Judith.”
“Keep me posted on developments with Judith.”
“Sure will. Catch you later.”
“Call me, okay? Don’t be a fucking stranger, mate.”
“Will do.”
Pressing the red icon, Carts grabbed his briefcase before exiting the car.
He had a day of back-to-back clients, most probably sorting out the things his boss should have done regarding their tax offsets and work entitlements.
He didn’t have any qualms about that.
He was good at putting numbers into neat little boxes on spreadsheets and making sure they all added up.
If only relationships were that easy.
Chapter 8
Judith parked her car outside Mark’s apartment and peered up at the third-floor windows. He must be home, because Mark never went out after work. Somewhere in there he’d be gaming, his desk all set up with his space age-looking computer fit-out. The equipment she’d helped him pay for.
Resentment rose up her throat.
All weekend she’d kept trying to contact him. No return calls, not even a text message. So, this morning she’d gathered up a bag of his leftover bits and pieces and resolved that after work she’d front up and have it out with him.
She was anxious and
jittery as she went up the steps and pressed the bell for apartment four.
No reply. She pressed again, longer this time.
She’d sent a text message just before leaving work. Mark, I’m worried about you. I’m coming over NOW.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mark’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Mark, it’s me, Smidge.”
She winced. Without thinking, she’d used his old pet name for her. Maybe it was just relief that he wasn’t dead.
“Oh, hi.”
“Can I come up?”
“Er—okay. Give me a minute.”
It crossed her mind that he might have a woman up there, which she immediately dismissed. Mark had let himself go these past couple of years as his gaming obsession increased. If she hadn’t been such a loyal soul, she wondered, would she have stuck around?
She stood hugging her elbows, looking out across the expanse of rooftops to the ocean visible on the horizon. At least he had nice views, not that he’d even bother to raise his head and look out the window.
The door buzzed and she pushed it open and entered the foyer, then made her way swiftly up the three flights of stairs. The door to number four was slightly ajar.
The apartment smelt of takeaway fast food. She flicked a look in the bedroom, which was a seething mass of discarded clothing. She resisted clucking her tongue. The open-plan living area with its tiny kitchenette was at the end of the passage, she remembered, because she’d helped him bring some furniture and boxes in. Another door to the left was closed. She knew what was in there. Mark’s huge black desk and leather chair surrounded by a cockpit of screens. Curtains closed to shut out anything but his gaming universe. It was the only thing he seemed to care about these days, because he’d long ago stopped caring about her.
A pang of sadness constricted her ribs. What a wasteland their relationship had ended up. Two young people who should still be enjoying life and each other, locked together in a habit that had made them both miserable.
And now it seemed she was clueless about how to get out there and date again. She pushed all thoughts of a certain brown-eyed guy out of her head; she had a job to do.
Mark was slouched on the sofa.
She took in the pallor of his skin, the dark shadows under his eyes and the fact his belly had got slacker even since they’d split up.
“Well at least you’re alive,” she said. He lifted a surprised eyebrow. “I was worried, Mark. You haven’t responded to any of my messages.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call me back?”
“Sorry about that,” he muttered.
She dumped the plastic bag on the coffee table. “I’ve brought some stuff you left behind.”
“Right.” He didn’t look at her, just pointed the remote at the TV. A popular reality show appeared on the screen; women with big lips and boofy hair screeching at each other.
She went and perched on the easy chair next to the sofa. It was the one that used to be in her craft room. She’d had plans to re-cover it in a nice bright print, ready for when they finally bought a house together. But in the end, they’d had to split their furniture and she knew she wouldn’t get around to doing anything with this one.
“There’s your Grateful Dead T-shirt and a pair of your work overalls in there. I’ve bagged up your toiletries. Shampoo, and your shaving cream.” She’d be glad to be rid of his anti-dandruff treatment. “Your exercise ball is in the boot of my car.” She’d been trying to get him to do stretches, even practise some yoga with her. No luck.
“I don’t need the ball.”
“You should use it, Mark. All that sitting at the computer, it’s not good for you. You know sitting’s the new smoking, don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes and flicked channels. David Attenborough, she thought abstractly, as a school of iridescent fish shimmied through a coral reef.
He sifted a hand through his sandy hair. “Will you stop banging on about my health? I’m fine.”
She bit her lip. He was right. His health wasn’t her responsibility; it never had been.
“Besides, I’m too busy to exercise right now.”
“What with?”
“A project.”
“Work?” she asked, incredulous. Mark worked in officially the most boring job in the world, as warehouse manager of a packaging company. She knew why he never went for a promotion. The job didn’t take energy away from his gaming.
“Christ no, wouldn’t waste my time on that shithole.”
Her stomach tightened. She had to say what she’d come here for. She drew in a breath.
“Mark, there’s another reason I’m here. I guess you know what it is.”
He flicked channels back to the boofy-haired brigade. “Yeah?”
“Could you turn that down while we’re talking, please?”
He flipped the TV to silent, but kept his eyes fixed on the screen.
Judith pinched her thigh, a habit she had when she went to the dentist and was waiting for them to put the needle in her gum. “When I went shopping on Friday, the sale wouldn’t go through because there weren’t enough funds in our—my—savings account.” She waited, but Mark said nothing. “So, when I got home, I checked the balance, and the account has no money in it.”
He cast her a sullen look and grunted.
“Deposits were withdrawn of nine hundred dollars on three consecutive days last week. They went into your new account.”
Mark rolled his neck with some loud clicks. “I borrowed it. I’ll pay it back in a couple of months. Three max.”
Her stomach bottomed out. Even when she heard him say it, she couldn’t quite believe that he’d taken her money so brazenly. “Why?”
“For a game me and the guys are developing.”
“A game?”
“Yes Smidge, a game. We’ve been designing it for months.”
“You’ve never mentioned it,” she said, pulling a strand of hair over her shoulder and smoothing it with shaky fingers.
He tapped the side of his nose. “Top secret,” he said, and gave her his cheesy, lazy-eyed look. The one she used to find kind of endearing, but which now made her stomach rise up her throat.
“Who are we?”
“VampEmperor and Trojanwarrior—oh yeah, and some input from Bashcityboy.”
“Can’t you use their real names?”
“We don’t bother with them anymore. Our gaming identities are more the real us.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
She shook her head. “I don’t get it—if you’re just coming up with an idea, why on earth did you need the money?”
“To hire a graphic artist to draw up characters, do the world building... It must look professional before we present it. It’s a competitive market out there, Smidge.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe you just took it without asking.”
“There wasn’t time. I needed it—” he snapped his fingers, “like yesterday. I meant to tell you but I—um—forgot.”
She heard herself laugh, almost hysterically. “Like you forgot to answer my calls this weekend.” The now-familiar chin-wobble threatened. If she cried, he’d get exasperated and she’d feel like a pathetic fool.
“Sorry Smidge. It’s just we’re so frigging busy nutting out the final prototype. When we hear back—”
“Hear back from whom?” Bewilderment made her shake her head.
“The company in Silicon Valley. We’re deep in discussions at the moment. C’mon, be nice, I just need a few more weeks.”
The truth dawned. “Is this why you didn’t want to come on holiday?”
“Kind of. But really, Smidge, the idea of hiking around Scotland wasn’t exactly tugging my chain.”
Looking at him, she had to agree. How blind had she been, thinking they could salvage their relationship with a walking holiday? But the fact he had been deceiving her, working on all of this behind her back, added an
extra sting.
“And what if this project doesn’t come off?” She schooled her voice not to shake. “What happens then?”
He stared at the TV screen absently. “I’ll pay you back. In instalments or something.”
She let out an exasperated huff. She knew all about Mark paying her back. The desk, the ridiculously expensive computer system. She needed to stop colluding with him.
Jumping up, she threw up her hands in a gesture she hoped showed how upset she was. He didn’t even look at her. “Not in two or three months, Mark. A month, maximum. Promise me.”
“Okay, promise.” He smiled, heaved himself off the sofa and yanked up his pants. “You off then?” She heard the relief in his voice. He looked like he was going to give her a kiss, but she pulled back. The idea of him touching her was abhorrent.
“Don’t be angry, Smidgy.” Mark’s lower lip jutted into a mock sulk. And she realised that’s what he’d always done. Made out she was being unreasonable when all she’d ever wanted was for him to act like an adult.
She stalked towards the door. She’d promised herself on the way here she’d stand her ground. She turned around and forced herself to look at him, sprawled on the couch, with his gaze glued back to the giant screen. “I want it back. Every single cent, and no excuses.”
As she took the stairs, she felt a flicker of something like pride in her belly.
She hadn’t caved in.
It was a step in the right direction.
Streams of kids in dark blue and grey uniforms flooded out the gates of St Catherine’s College. One bumped Carts with his backpack and didn’t even notice. Gangly arms hung at the boy’s sides, shoulder blades visible even through his school shirt. Carts couldn’t help a wry smile. It reminded him of how he used to be, bones sticking out every which way and not enough flesh to cover them. Surreptitiously he gave his stomach a pat and was reassured to hit a ridge of hard muscle. Yoga had been doing wonders for his abs, he realised. It had been gradual, but after a year he was building a not so bad bod.