Between Us

by Clare Atkins

  ‘Not this time,’ I say. ‘Stay here. I won’t be long.’ I escape out the door before he can ask again.

  KENNY

  Jonathan is in the shower when I arrive home from work. I hear him chanting scraps of song, as spray thrums against flesh and floor. I walk towards my bedroom, then stop at a familiar sound.

  Jonathan’s ringtone: the chirp of R2D2.

  I hesitate, then track the sound to his room. The phone is plugged into a charger by his desk. I pick it up and check the screen for a name. It reads: No Caller ID.

  I make a split-second decision and answer it. ‘Hello?’

  There’s a pause on the other end, then a female voice. ‘Jono?’

  ‘This is his dad. Who is this?’ My mouth is dry.

  ‘Anahita … from school … from Wickham Point …’

  JONO

  I stop short as I see Dad standing in my room. He has my phone in his hand, pressed to his ear.

  I panic. ‘What the fuck?’

  He doesn’t even tell me off for my language, just holds the mobile out, looking stunned. I know it’s probably Ana; she’s the main person who calls me.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins, as I say, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jono … is it alright? Your dad answer the phone.’

  I look up at Dad, but he doesn’t move; he just stands there, glaring. I glare back and try to wave him away, which is awkward given the fact I’m still only wearing a towel.

  ‘Sorry. I was in the shower,’ I say.

  ‘I … my maman … we had … I want to tell you …’ She breaks off, her voice trembling with tears.

  But Dad is scowling at me from the doorway, listening to every word.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but is there any way I can call you back? Can I get your number?’

  There’s a long pause. ‘I can’t.’ I feel terrible, as she hurries on, ‘But I will see you at school.’

  ‘Wait – Ana?’ But she’s already hung up.

  I hurl the full force of my fury and guilt and disappointment at Dad. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my room, answering my phone? Haven’t you heard of fucking privacy?’

  Dad is deadly calm, but there’s a quiet menace to his voice. ‘Why is she calling you?’

  ‘Why do you think? She’s a friend.’

  ‘You said you told her to get lost.’

  ‘That was ages ago.’

  ‘So – what now? Is she your girlfriend?’

  ‘That’s none of your business!’ I shake my head in disbelief. ‘You can’t just barge in here and hijack my phone then drill me with questions –’

  ‘I told you to stay away from those people. She’ll use you. She’ll use me.’

  He sounds so paranoid and ridiculous that I laugh. ‘Oh … oh, right. ’Cause we’re so useful. Ha! So high up and connected.’

  ‘You don’t know what desperation is. She could be dangerous. Her family could be –’

  ‘You sound crazy –’

  ‘What do you really know about her?’

  ‘What do you?’

  We stand there, glaring at each other across the room.

  Then I move forwards, herding him towards the door. ‘Don’t ever answer my phone again.’

  I shut him out. I don’t swear or slam the door. I just close it and brace myself, expecting him to start banging, demanding to come in.

  But there is only silence. Then the sound of retreating footsteps outside.

  ANA

  I walk slowly back to my room, with a tight feeling in my chest. I’d wanted to pour my heart out, and Jono just cut me off. Was it something to do with his dad? Kenny sounded distant and strange, but he’s always been friendly to me in person. Did he not like me calling Jono at home?

  I reach the door, push it open and go in.

  Maman is standing there, doubled over, as Arash watches wide-eyed from the mattress nearby.

  I hurry to her side. ‘Maman, are you alright?’

  She’s panting. ‘Too hot, Ana. Too hot.’ She stands upright, fanning her face with one hand, and I realise she’s standing in front of the air-conditioning unit stuck high up on the wall. She props her other hand behind her in a triangle to support her lower back. Her belly bulges forwards, so round it could almost drop off her body like ripe fruit.

  ‘Is it the baby?’ I ask.

  ‘Just get the temperature down!’ It comes out as an angry bark.

  ‘I’ll ask the officer for the remote,’ I say. I hurry out the door, to the officer’s station, and am relieved to see it’s Milly on duty. ‘My maman … she is hot … can you make the air-condition colder?’

  She hears the anxiety in my voice. ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Milly grabs the remote control for our room and quickly follows me back.

  Maman is leaning over a chair now, moaning in pain.

  Milly takes one look at her and says, ‘She’s in labour.’

  ‘What?’ I want to tell Milly that she can’t be, the baby isn’t due for weeks. But Milly’s already on her radio. ‘Code Blue. I need IHMS to room 17B in Surf. There’s a pregnant woman in labour.’

  Maman starts to wail in Farsi. ‘No … I can’t … I won’t go … I need Abdul …’

  I turn to Milly with pleading eyes. ‘The baby’s dad … Maman’s boyfriend … is on Nauru. They said … we made application many times …’

  ‘Sorry, but there’s not much we can do now. This baby’s on its way.’

  Maman lets out a blood-curdling scream. ‘No! I won’t! I won’t have the baby without him.’

  Arash starts to whimper, terrified by Maman’s desperate cries. I scoop him into my arms, as two nurses burst through the door.

  They quickly check Maman over, then turn to Milly. ‘Let’s get her to the clinic. And call an ambulance now.’

  I say, ‘Wait … let me come.’

  Arash starts thrashing and screaming. ‘Maman! Maman!’ I struggle to hold him back.

  Milly says, ‘You can’t bring him. Sorry, you’ll have to stay here. It’s really just supposed to be husbands anyway.’

  Maman lets out another wail. ‘Don’t take me … I want to wait for Abdul …’

  I watch helplessly, as they support her out the door.

  JONO

  I hide in my room, avoiding Dad. Anger is still coursing through my veins. I need to calm down, so I pull my pot stash from the shelf. I keep it in a carved wooden box Mum gave me when I was small, hidden under a pile of lucky Chinese New Year envelopes from Aunty Minh and relatives in Vietnam.

  I roll myself a joint and light up. Feel my body start to relax, my heartbeat begin to slow. I blow the smoke out the louvred window into the yard, hoping Dad doesn’t go outside and notice the waft of pot. When I’ve had enough I stub it out and hide the evidence back in the box, spraying Lynx deodorant around the room to disguise the smell.

  Lara calls and, for once, I pick up.

  ‘Dad reckons you have a girlfriend,’ she teases.

  ‘Dad’s an arsehole.’

  ‘Oh. Right. One of those days, is it?’ She laughs, then cautiously adds, ‘Mum’s here, by the way … if you want to say hello?’

  ‘I don’t.’ Irritation floods back into my body, despite the fact I’m stoned.

  ‘She’s not that bad, you know. It’s been good to be able to hang out. To … reconnect. I wasn’t sure about moving in here, but it’s actually really nice living with her again.’

  ‘Good for you,’ I snap, and hang up.

  Dad’s car finally wheezes out the driveway. He’s on night shift at the moment. All the easier to sneak out. I text Will, and we both skate to Ludmilla to meet up.

  He can tell straight away that I’m on edge. ‘Something happen?’

  ‘Just Dad again. And Lara was crapping on about Mum.’

  ‘Right.’ He knows not to push.

  ‘Where to?’ I ask.

  ‘I said we’d swing past Matty’s house and drop off some stuff. He li
ves in Nightcliff. Is that okay?’

  ‘I guess …’ I wish Ana would call me back, but I know she probably won’t.

  Will misinterprets my reluctance. ‘You said you wanted to help – before you got all obsessed with your new girlfriend …’

  ‘I’ve told you: I’m not obsessed.’

  ‘You can have the earnings, if you want.’

  ‘Whatever. Let’s just go.’

  We skate up Dick Ward Drive, cut through Nightcliff, then cruise along the foreshore. It is busy with joggers and cyclists making the most of the cool of evening. Families dot the grass, eating takeaway meals from the food carts nearby. A group of long-grassers hollers at us in some language I don’t understand. We ignore them and glide on.

  Will turns off into a backstreet somewhere near the back of the Beachfront Hotel.

  A tall skinny guy from the year above us appears on the steps of an apartment block, spots us and crosses the road. He scans the street, then buys a sandwich bag of pot from Will and tips us with a carton of iced coffee. ‘Thanks, guys. Appreciate the delivery. Hey, what are you doing tonight? You should swing past the Ludshed. It’s a new crash we found in Ludmilla. Awesome parties. There’d be heaps of customers too.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Will looks from Matty to me, but I shake my head. I can tell he’s disappointed, but he waves goodbye, saying, ‘Another night for sure.’

  We skate back to the foreshore and smoke a doobie as we skull the iced coffee. Will chucks me the hundred dollars he got from Matty.

  I throw it back at him. ‘You don’t have to do that. It’s not like I did anything.’

  ‘Thought it might cheer you up. We could go to Cas Mall. Buy you a phone from this century.’

  ‘With a hundred bucks?’ I manage a small smile.

  ‘I’ll put it on a card. You can pay me back later. Bet you could earn the rest with one trip to the Ludshed.’ He preempts my objection. ‘Not now. Another time. Let’s swing past KFC. Hit Mel up for a free meal, then go and check out phones.’

  I know Dad will ask questions if he sees me with a new phone. But right now I don’t give a damn what he says or thinks or does.

  I say, ‘Fuck it. Why not?’

  We scoff down greasy chicken, then stroll leisurely around the cool air-conditioned mall. It’s strangely soothing; the shops are light and bright with the promise of shiny, new things. We pass a shoe store with the latest Nikes on display and stop to look.

  Will nods down at my flapping Dunlops. ‘Shoes would definitely be a good investment. Buy what you want – doesn’t have to be a phone.’

  I check the price tag and say, ‘Let’s keep walking.’

  We pass a jewellery shop having a sale. A woman in a suit beckons us in, saying everything is thirty per cent off. Will tries on a chunky black sports watch that costs six hundred bucks, as I meander around. In a glass corner cabinet, something makes me stop. It is a woman’s watch with a thin silver band, almost like a bracelet. The face is black, but instead of numbers there are stars. The sticker beside it says one hundred and eighty bucks.

  Will appears behind me and nods at the watch. ‘For your girlfriend?’

  I shrug, making out as if I’m not sure even though I know it’d be the perfect gift.

  He shakes his head. ‘Man, you’ve got it bad. I mean, seriously, what’s the point of buying her expensive stuff? It’s not like you’re going to get any while she’s locked up in there.’

  Will always talks about sex like that. Casual. Crude. He and Mel have done it; they’ve been together a year. Priya and I went out for six months, but didn’t make it past third base.

  ‘It’s not about that,’ I say.

  But he just laughs. ‘Your balls must be as blue as the fucking ocean.’

  He’s not completely wrong.

  I think about it. Of course I do. I imagine how soft her skin would be under her uniform, on her stomach, her thighs, her breasts. And sometimes, lying in bed, I imagine Ana there, doing the things I used to do with Priya. The memory, the fantasy, is so rich and so real that every part of my body throbs.

  But I’m not about to admit that to Will.

  I borrow his credit card and buy the watch.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ says Will. ‘What about the shoes? And the phone?’

  I imagine Ana’s smile when I give her the watch. ‘They can wait.’

  ANA

  The hands move slowly around the face of the clock above our door. Every minute is like an hour. The room feels sad and quiet. I lie beside Arash on my bed on the floor. Maman’s mattress is empty beside mine; there is a dip in the centre of it where she usually lies.

  Arash’s little body squirms against my belly.

  I say, ‘Arash. Try to relax.’

  His voice is small in the dark. ‘I want Maman.’

  ‘I know. I do too.’

  I rub gentle circles on his bony back, and his breathing gradually evens out, his body softening into sleep.

  I loop my arms around him. Regret tugs at my heart. This is where I should be. Where I belong. With my family. Not rushing off to call a boy. A boy who must’ve heard the tears in my voice, but didn’t wait to hear what I had to say.

  I feel like an idiot. And I blame myself. If I’d stayed with Maman after the meeting, and tried to calm her down, would she have gone into labour at all?

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I whisper it aloud, into the gloom.

  But there is nothing. No reply. Just the steady rhythm of Arash’s breath; it smells doggy and sweet.

  I say it again, louder this time. ‘I’m sorry.’

  A door bangs somewhere down the corridor.

  For the first time since we were on the Kingfisher, I turn to a higher power.

  ‘God … are you there? Please let Maman and the baby be alright. If you do, I’ll do anything … anything you want.’ I try to think of something to offer, and use the only bargaining chip I have. ‘I won’t spend time with Jono anymore. I’ll focus on my family. I swear.’ Tears stream down my face. ‘God … did you hear me? Please? Do we have a deal?’

  For a moment there is nothing.

  Then I hear footsteps in the walkway outside.

  KENNY

  I stop outside the door to room 17B. Milly waits beside me, as I check the list of boat numbers in the yellow fluorescent glow of the hallway light.

  It is the girl’s room. The girl and her mother and brother.

  I don’t want to see her. What if she smiles that too-familiar smile again? Or, worse, asks why I was awkward on the phone? Milly would want to know why she’s calling me at home, and how that came about. And there’s no way I want to explain.

  I hand the skeleton key and torch to Milly. ‘You do a few.’

  ‘Sure.’ She turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. ‘Head count.’

  I hang back but, to my relief, the lights are already off and the room is dark. Milly shines her flashlight around and locates two body-shaped lumps on the mattresses on the floor. One medium, one small.

  ‘Just two,’ she says. ‘The mum went into hospital today.’

  Is that why the girl phoned Jonathan? I make a note of the mother’s absence on the list.

  Then, as Milly’s closing the door, I can’t help myself: I sneak a glance inside.

  I could swear I see the gleam of black eyes, wide and scared like a possum’s, staring at me from the dark.

  JONO

  We’re late to school again, thanks to Will insisting on scoffing a second serve of eggs. The lady in the office doesn’t even have to ask our names. She just sighs and hands us late slips and tells us to hurry to class.

  I can feel the box containing the watch jiggling in my bag as we walk.

  I can’t wait to see Ana and give her the present and explain about last night, and find out what she wanted to tell me and why she sounded so upset.

  I push open the classroom door, expectation swelling in my chest. But her seat is empty.

  Turner gives us an irritated
glance and waves us towards our desk at the back of the room.

  As we slide in next to Mel, she says, ‘Where’s your girlfriend today?’

  I shrug, uneasy. ‘I don’t know.’

  ANA

  Arash is strangely still. He doesn’t run around the room in circles, or try to climb the frame of the bunk bed. He refuses to go to the Mess, doesn’t even want to go outside.

  I make two-minute noodles to eat in our room and read him stories to pass the time.

  ‘Can’t go over it … can’t go under it …’

  There’s a knock at the door. I open it to Turban, the Indian guard.

  He’s grinning so wide I can see he’s missing a few teeth. ‘Good news! Your mother had the baby this morning. It’s a girl.’

  I’m dizzy with joy and relief. ‘So … she’s alright? Maman? And the baby?’

  ‘Both fine.’

  I could swear I hear angels singing. I squeeze Arash. ‘A little sister!’ I turn back to Turban. ‘Can we see her? Can my brother come too?’

  He nods. ‘At two o’clock. Someone will come to take you to the hospital for an hour.’

  ‘Thank you … thank you very much.’

  He gives me a wink. ‘Thanks be to Allah, eh?’

  My insides freeze at the mention of God.

  I try to smile again, but my lips feel contorted and strange.

  JONO

  I peer nervously into the Intensive English Centre. I’ve never been up here before. It’s not how I imagined. I thought all the students would look different, that I’d be able to tell they weren’t from here. I thought the girls would all wear headscarves like Ana, but most of them don’t.

  An Asian woman in a business shirt looks up at me from a nearby desk. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I … I’m looking for someone,’ I say.

  ‘Sure. Who’s that?’

  ‘Anahita. Shirdel.’

  The woman nods and says, ‘She’s in my English class. But she’s not here today.’

  ‘What about Zahra? I don’t know her last name, but they’re friends.’