I Had Such Friends

by Meg Gatland-Veness

“Martin?” I said again, forcefully this time, while I yanked off his headphones.

  “Oi!” he yelled, slamming his textbook shut.

  “What’s up with you? Why are you ignoring me?”

  “Oh, you want to talk to me now do you? My mistake.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, already annoyed at the ridiculous situation.

  But I knew what he was talking about. He was upset that I had been spending all my time with my new friends. And he was right. I did spend more time with Annie and Peter than with him. In fact, I hadn’t played zombies in months. Yet, somehow, I wasn’t having any sort of withdrawals. And it wouldn’t have been as bad if Martin had someone else to hang out with. But I realise now that he must have been pretty lonely all those times I was at the beach with Peter or in Annie’s bedroom. Sitting alone. I bet he got bullied a lot more without me there. I hadn’t thought of that before. I was such a terrible person.

  “I never see you anymore,” he said, and he sounded serious, so I knew something must have been wrong. Martin was never serious.

  “I know, I’m sorry, it’s just that Peter and I—”

  “Peter? As in Peter Bridges? I thought you were hanging out with your girlfriend?”

  “Well yes, her too, but also, I’m kind of friends with Peter now.”

  I wondered why I had never mentioned Peter to Martin before. I wanted desperately for everyone in the school to know that Peter was my friend, yet I hadn’t told the only person who would have possibly cared. I guess I never wanted to impress Martin. Interesting, that. I spent most of my time trying to fit in at school and be cool and tough, but when I was with Martin, I didn’t mind being a loser. I bet you’re thinking that was kind of cute, but honestly, I could have worn my underpants on my head and I would still have been less of a loser than Martin. So I didn’t really have to try hard to be cool when he was around. I hoped that wasn’t why I hung around with him so much, just so he would make me look like less of a loser. Surely that couldn’t be it. I would have been better off to have no friends at all if I’d wanted to be cool, rather than sitting with Martin, the human equivalent of a dishcloth.

  “Yeah right,” he said, and I didn’t blame him at all for not believing me. I was still having trouble believing it and I was frickin’ sleeping with the guy by then.

  “No, I am, I promise. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  “So, here I was thinking you were spending all your time with that pretty girlfriend of yours when in fact you have been hanging around with a drug dealer.”

  “Peter is not a drug dealer.”

  “He might as well be. Jesus, Hamish, I can’t even believe it. Are you yanking my chain?”

  I loved it when strange bits of Australian vernacular snuck into Martin’s sentences. He had a dictionary of Australian slang that his sister bought him as a joke for his birthday. But he read it all the time and tried to casually slip them into conversations thinking it would sound natural when really it sounded like a kid who had studied a book of Australian slang.

  If I had been a different, less melancholy person, I probably would have laughed at him.

  “No, I am deadset serious, Martin. Peter Bridges and I are friends; we go to the beach all the time.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Look, you can believe what you want.”

  “But how did this happen? Why didn’t you ever invite me to come to the beach with you?”

  I guess I don’t need to tell you that Martin hated the beach. As you know, he couldn’t really swim, and he didn’t look too great with his shirt off. He also burnt really easily.

  “You hate the beach, Martin.”

  “You still could have invited me.”

  “Yeah right, you would have complained the whole time and sat in the shade while we played footy.”

  “You? Play football? Now you really have to be joking.” He started to laugh and I just wanted to hit him.

  “It’s true, fuckhead!”

  “I’m not a fuckhead, you’re a fuckhead. You’re the one who ditched your best friend to hang out with a tart and a druggo!”

  “You’re not my best friend, Martin! You can’t have a best friend when you only have one friend! And now that I have more than one I can safely say you are not even close to being the best!”

  I hated myself as soon as I saw the pain slicing through his face. I was such a terrible friend to Martin Archer. He deserved so much better than me. He gathered his things together and left. I was left sitting alone outside the Science staffroom wondering how Martin must have felt there by himself all the times I missed school to hang out with Peter at the beach. It was quite a depressing place to sit when you were alone.

  The bell rang. Classes passed by like they always did. At recess, I stayed in the darkroom with the chemicals. I felt less lonely in there, surrounded by photographs rather than real people. I was also putting off the inevitable and totally embarrassing task of breaking the news to Annie Bower.

  Eventually I had English. When I walked into class, Martin was already sitting in his regular seat and he had put his bag on mine. That was sad because he couldn’t get an actual, physical human being to sit there. There was an awkward minute when I stood staring at the bag before I pushed it onto the floor anyway. He ignored me for the whole lesson. Even when we had to discuss in pairs, he didn’t contribute anything to the conversation and I had some excellent ideas about the use of imagery that could have done with consolidating.

  “What do you think, Martin?”

  Silence.

  “Do you think it symbolises forgiveness, Martin? Because I think it symbolises forgiveness.”

  Silence. An eye roll suggested he definitely didn’t think it symbolised forgiveness.

  At lunchtime, I walked around the quad a couple of times before I built up the courage to approach her. It was one thing to walk up to her at the servo, but this was popular girl territory. It was a cloud of perfume that someone like me should never have had to breach.

  Annie smiled at me and I made it obvious that I wanted to talk to her privately. I had no illusions about breaking her heart. Not even the smallest part of my miniscule being believed that she loved me. I assumed she just hadn’t found the right time to break up with me yet. She may have found me tolerable, she may have even liked to have someone new to tell her problems to. I thought I would be giving her an easy out.

  We walked towards the Year Twelve courtyard. No one really went there at lunchtime. It was where we were meant to sit during free periods to study and do homework and stuff. Generally, people just went there to lie in the sun. Martin and I found that out the hard way.

  We passed by the canteen and I saw Martin waiting in line. I pretended not to notice the three boys approaching with a shaken can of creaming soda.

  We sat down side by side on a bench. I took Annie’s hand for the first, and what I guessed would be the last, time. I only felt her tense a little before our intertwined fingers sat together on the table. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I wished I’d planned a speech.

  “I have to tell you something,” I said, all serious.

  “Okay,” she said, looking a bit concerned. When I thought about it later, I guessed she probably thought I was going to tell her I was dying of cancer or something.

  “It’s about Peter.”

  She nodded and I saw relief sink into her beautiful face.

  “We’re kind of… Well, you see… on Friday night we got drunk and he sort of kissed me, and I was going to tell you but I had to look after the fucking cabbages all weekend and then on Sunday night I went to his house, and I promise I didn’t plan it but we ended up going to the beach and then we—”

  “I know,” she cut me off. Probably a good thing too because I didn’t know where I was going with that sentence.

  “What?” I said. “You mean Peter already told you?”

  It made me happy to think that he told her. That made it real, that made it special.
The fact that he wanted to tell someone meant he was happy about it.

  “No, I just know,” she said.

  Oh well, never mind.

  “But how can you know? I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Hamish, don’t you remember, I told you ages ago, every guy I’ve ever liked has turned out to be gay. I’ve had a suspicion for a little while now, since Peter picked me up that time. I think he knew too, he was just waiting for you to work it out.”

  “But… Why the hell are you dating me then?”

  “Gee, Hamish, you are so slow! That’s what I did for Charlie and that’s what I’m doing for you.”

  “But why would you do that for me?”

  “Because, stupid, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  The bell rang, and her words floated over my head. I was lucky to catch them at all. She kissed my cheek. She didn’t have to stand on tiptoes like she would have with Charlie or Peter.

  “Don’t worry about it, Hamish,” she said. “I’m used to it by now.”

  I hoped that I just imagined the catch in her voice when she said that. She may have been used to it, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t hope that maybe, even just a little bit, this time she was wrong. It would still be a let-down every time. Even when the guy was me.

  She was already halfway across the courtyard when I finally found the words. The words that I had never said to anyone except my family.

  “Annie,” I said. She didn’t turn around, but she stopped, again I hoped it wasn’t because she didn’t want me to see her cry. “I love you too.”

  Of course, it wasn’t the kind of love she wanted from me and it wasn’t a physical, lustful love, but I did love her. I loved her in an I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you way. I loved her so much that I would have married her that afternoon if she wanted me to. I didn’t even care that I was grounded again.

  But Annie Bower wasn’t Peter Bridges and it was Peter who occupied my thoughts as I fell asleep that night while Annie remained safely tucked away in my heart.

  21.

  Weeks passed and I eventually overcame my shyness. Peter cast aside his ability to take things slowly. We met a few evenings a week; he usually picked me up, and I usually pretended I was going out with Annie. And now that Annie was in on it, she could back up my case when they called to check.

  The sex was weird at first, I’m not going to lie to you. It wasn’t how I pictured losing my virginity. But, after a while, it got better. I stopped feeling so self-conscious and nervous. It was clear that Peter had a lot of experience; he definitely knew what he was doing. I, on the other hand, had no one to ask for advice. I certainly couldn’t ask my dad. Even if Peter were a girl, I didn’t think I could have had that conversation with him. Peter was a pretty good teacher though, and I managed to pick up a few tricks of the trade, if you know what I mean. And I had finally managed to explain converting fractions and decimals to him, so it was a fairly mutual relationship.

  It was a Friday when I bumped into Peter after Photography. He must have known I was in there because he was standing outside the classroom door. He also must have known that I would be one of the last ones to come out of the room. He was leaning against the wall trying to look casual. But he stood up properly when he saw me and we walked together for three whole steps.

  “Meet me tonight?” he said.

  I nodded, there was no time for words.

  “Be at the payphone at eight,” he said as he walked away. I looked around but no one had seen us. I was starting to get paranoid. I understood why Charlie had stayed in his pretend relationship with Annie. She was like the life raft I was clinging to. The safety net. I could never have done it without her.

  At home, I had to lie to my parents again, but lying to them didn’t even feel wrong anymore. I had done it so much that the truth would have felt wrong on my lips.

  “Going to see Annie, won’t be late, getting ice cream.” The usual bullshit. I didn’t even know if they believed me anymore, but I think they wanted to.

  I walked up to the payphone in board shorts and a T-shirt. Peter’s car was already there, I could see his arm hanging out the window and the smoke rising from his cigarette.

  I got in the car. He smiled at me as he started the engine and the music blared on. I didn’t know how he could drive with it that loud. But he turned it down that night. And I wondered if he actually wanted to speak for once.

  “I didn’t get offered a spot on any teams,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Fucking Anderson probably told them I never showed up for training.”

  “But, surely there’s something else…”

  “No, Hamish, there is nothing else. I’m not like you; I’m not smart and creative and organised. I’m only good at one thing. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m going fucking nowhere. I’ll be stuck in this stinking town for the rest of my life, lugging bags of fucking dirt and fucking spoonfeeding my mum.”

  “Couldn’t you just—”

  “Nope. Face it, Hamish, I am officially worthless. The only reason I stayed at that fucking place was to play footy and get onto a team. Fat waste of time that was.”

  I could have said something corny, but instead I chose to indulge his moody silence.

  We reached the beach and headed for a nice patch of grass. Interesting fact: I had never had sex indoors. I didn’t think many people had that claim to fame.

  This time was easy, it was comfortable. We knew each other so well by then. It wasn’t as exciting as it used to be, but it was good; it was safe.

  Afterwards we walked to the sand and lay side by side. I would have been glad to be on that patchwork quilt, but I knew that would never happen. Not with me. I could hear the waves crashing on the shore. I had always found it strange that waves kept going at night, when nobody was there to catch them. I felt like the sea should have gone to sleep at night too.

  I turned on my side and looked at Peter’s face. He had his eyes closed but he wasn’t asleep. So I asked him.

  “Why me?”

  “Why you what?” he said, his eyes still closed.

  “Why did you choose me, that day at the bus stop?”

  He paused for a while, and I thought maybe he wouldn’t tell me. But eventually he opened his eyes and spoke. He spoke with an honesty that I rarely saw from him.

  “I just didn’t want to be alone,” he said. “And, well, I saw you standing there and you looked so separate from everyone around you. You looked how I felt.”

  It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it was Peter and I liked it. I rested my head on his chest. I felt safe, I felt home. There on the beach that night, I didn’t want to be anywhere else ever again.

  “Besides, I always had my suspicions about you,” he said, ruffling my hair, which had hardly grown at all since my decision to make it look cool like Peter’s.

  I smiled. I loved that he could make me smile; not many people could do that.

  Then I heard the car pull up. And I felt the headlights shining on us. At first I thought it might be the police and I panicked. If my parents knew what I’d been doing… But it wasn’t the police. It was so much worse than the police. It was a car full of drunk teenagers. Drunk teenagers from our year at school. Drunk teenagers who were on the football team with Peter. And there we were, lying on the sand together.

  Maybe they hadn’t seen us, I thought, maybe we could pretend we were just hanging out. As they opened the car doors I heard glass bottles hit the asphalt. The music in the car was still playing. It was some stupid rap song. Nowhere near as cool as Peter’s cassette tape.

  But of course one of them spotted us.

  “Shit! Is that Pete?”

  They called him Pete. That was cute, why didn’t I ever call him Pete?

  “It is, look guys, it’s Pete!”

  Peter sat up so quickly that my head got pushed into the sand. Then I tried to put my shirt on casually but I accidentally put it
on inside out. And back to front. I couldn’t tell who was talking, the headlights were blinding me.

  “Wait a minute, who’s that with you?” one of them said. It took them a minute longer to see me because I was behind Peter and, as I’m sure you know, that made me basically invisible.

  Peter was panicking. I could tell he was trying to think of something to say, some reason why we would be lying together on the beach on a Friday night.

  “Holy shit, it’s that kid we push into the girls’ toilets all the time! The one who’s friends with that Martin kid who you dacked yesterday,” said one.

  “What the fuck is going on, Pete?” said another.

  “I… We were…” Peter was stuttering, my head was screaming at him to think of an excuse, any reason why we might be together. I would have forgiven him if he had’ve punched me in the face and pretended he was just there to beat me up.

  “What the actual fuck? Were you guys… Are you…?”

  They were working it out. Why did those drunken idiots have to be so clueless about everything else but this?

  “We’re just friends,” he said, and oh god, it sounded so weak, it didn’t even sound like Peter at all.

  And then they laughed, every single one of them laughed and they sounded like a bunch of braying donkeys.

  “Who would have thought it, Pete is a fucking fag.”

  “Holy shit, he’s watched us change!”

  “You fucking pervert! Is that why you’re on the football team, to watch us in the change rooms?”

  “I’m going to fucking kill that faggot!”

  Then Peter said two words to me: “Run Hamish.”

  “What?” I said, though I heard him perfectly.

  “I said get the fuck out of here.”

  The boys were coming towards us now, all five of them, and Peter was big but he wasn’t that big and they were all football players too. I was suddenly terrified. My heart was pounding like crazy. I could die, I thought. I could die right here tonight. Peter can’t protect me from all of them.

  “I can’t,” I said and I tried to take his hand. It was stupid really.

  But he pushed me aside and he ran towards those guys like a train.