Summer Skin

by Kirsty Eagar

  ‘Oh, thanks, Heather,’ Jess said, touched. ‘That’s lovely.’

  ‘You’re a competitive little shit.’

  At that, Jess laughed. Which helped.

  •

  When the bus stopped near the Regatta Hotel on Coronation Drive and a large, rowdy group boarded, Jess took little notice. She was staring out at the Brisbane River, her forehead resting against the cool glass of the window, thinking she’d run past that spot that very same day on her way to meet Heather, but it seemed like a million years ago. She was listening to Lorde and she was aware of the new passengers in the same way that she was aware of the music, or the lights reflected on the water: they were just background to her mood. She was tired from work, and the better for it. Calm. Well spent. Plus she’d pulled the tongue T-shirt on over the top of her work blouse for the trip home, guaranteeing she wouldn’t have to share her seat.

  One of the new arrivals took the seat in front of Jess, though, and turned sideways to look at her. He mouthed something, seeming vaguely familiar.

  Jess removed an ear bud. ‘Sorry?’

  Curly brown hair, solid build—he might have been cute in an amiable boy-next-door kind of way, if not for his eyes, which were cold, reptilian. The eyes helped Jess place him, and when she did, her heart came loose in her chest. He was the one who’d stopped Mitch and her as they’d been leaving the toga party. She glanced up at the tail end of the group, the two guys shuffling past her, both of them wearing Knights jerseys, and she got a sick, falling away feeling. Lagging behind them, as though leaving room for an entrance, was Diamond Girl. She had two other girls in tow—literally, a chain linked by hands gripping shoulders—the three of them moving in a slow-motion way that suggested they’d been hitting it hard, mountaineers trudging their way through a blizzard. They lurched to one side as the bus pulled out, tottering on high heels.

  ‘Mr Bus Driver, if you could drive a little more chaotically, please?’ Diamond Girl called over her shoulder in a clear, ringing voice. ‘Hit the brakes or something? That would be super.’

  Her friends disintegrated into giggles. It was then she clocked Jess, and gave her an exaggerated wink, before continuing to lead her friends to safety, staring short-sightedly at the aisle stretching ahead of her, and Jess wasn’t sure if it was a case of not being recognised, or not being worthy of a reaction. She was acutely aware that her T-shirt smelled faintly of sweat, paranoid that the knight in front of her could smell it, too.

  He’d been temporarily distracted by Diamond Girl—probably everybody had, the girl had that quality. But now his attention was back to Jess. ‘Hey, Mitch! I told you it was her,’ he shouted, directing his words towards the back of the bus.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ Jess asked, trying to sound bored and instead sounding every bit as anxious as she felt.

  His gaze flicked to her without interest, as though further input from her was irrelevant, then he straightened in his seat, focusing on someone behind her, a sudden wariness in his demeanour. Jess glanced around, expecting to see Mitch. But the guy leaning across her seat was stocky and dark-skinned, a sleeve of Polynesian tattoos covering his left arm.

  He gave Jess a polite nod, then turned his attention to the knight in front of her. ‘Give it a rest, hey, Dud?’ he asked, his voice deep and relaxed. ‘No need for this.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Tipene,’ the other knight protested. ‘You know what she—’ he broke off as Tipene cuffed him across the head, hard enough to knock the smart-arse look off his face. Violently enough to make Jess jump.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Tipene apologised to her. To the guy he’d called Dud: ‘You’ve got ten seconds to pick another seat.’ With that, he was gone.

  Dud sat there looking sulky for maybe half of his allotted time—trying to save face, Jess thought—then joined his comrades down the back. Jess exhaled, replacing her ear bud, and leaned against the window again. But now she was only pretending to listen to the music. Their voices were loud and they carried.

  ‘What the fuck, Tipene?’ Dud’s voice, whiny and querulous.

  ‘It’s not right, man,’ Tipene answered him.

  ‘Is that the one from the toga party?’ someone else wanted to know. ‘The one who—’

  ‘You didn’t say she was hot, Mitch.’

  ‘Should’ve got her to shave your pubes, too.’

  Mitch’s voice, slow and insolent: ‘Why do you think I’m sitting funny?’

  There was a round of loud laughter.

  Jess’s jaw was clamped so tightly it hurt her teeth. What an arsehole. He hadn’t done anything to call his dog off, and now he was acting like she didn’t matter at all. She’d mythologised him in the four weeks since she’d seen him last, forgotten who he really was: one of the boys; a knight. She was such a fool—the way she’d gushed to Heather! She’d been yearning for someone who didn’t exist.

  Diamond Girl’s bell-like voice cut through the laughter: ‘You’re so honourable, Tipene!’

  ‘Aw, nah, Sylvie,’ Tipene replied, sounding embarrassed. ‘Just, you know, not right to treat a girl like that.’

  Sylvie. So that was Diamond Girl’s name. Unexpectedly soft and old-fashioned, but silky, too. A name for something precious.

  ‘I think it’s honourable,’ Sylvie told him. ‘You rugby boys are like that, aren’t you, Tipene? You do the right thing. It’s like a code, isn’t it? Hang on,’ she added, as though something had just occurred to her. ‘Why didn’t you defend her then, Killer? You’re a rugby boy.’

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off, Sylvie?’

  ‘Oh, look at Tipene,’ Sylvie exclaimed. ‘He’s just dying to tell you not to talk to me like that. But he can’t, can he, Killer? Because you’re not just rugby boys, you’re knights. It’s all right, Tipene. I’m not scared of the big bad Killer.’

  ‘Sylvie, hon,’ another girl’s voice said uncertainly. ‘Maybe you—’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t drink.’ Mitch’s voice could have cut flesh from bone. ‘Your impulses are no good when you’re drunk, Sylvie. You get shrill. Lose your class.’

  There was a dry coughing sound. ‘Class? You want to lecture me about class? Oh, this should be good. Let’s talk about class, Killer. And while we’re going, why don’t you tell these guys about loyalty—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘—and respect for your mates. Why don’t we talk about—’

  ‘Guys!’ The voice was Tipene’s, and it cut through the argument like a hand clap. ‘You gotta stop this, all right?’ he begged, his voice impassioned. ‘What would Julian think if he could hear you two going on like this? It would kill him.’ There was a pause. ‘Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m—’

  ‘It’s okay, Tipene,’ Sylvie said, her voice subdued.

  There was silence from the back until the bus stopped to let some passengers off, then a couple of the knights started a discussion about whether Betfair or Sportsbet paid the best odds, but they were using the hushed, careful voices kids use when Mum and Dad have been fighting. When the bus finally reached the uni and turned into Chancellors Place the tension broke, and the knights started filing down the aisle, their conversation loud and raucous again, obviously happy to be making an escape. Jess kept her head down, wrapping her ear buds around her phone and tucking it into her bag, but when she heard the click of heels stop beside her seat, she glanced up, curious.

  ‘You!’ Sylvie exclaimed, pointing at Jess. ‘My hero.’ She held up her hand for a high-five, looking unsteady on her feet as the bus jerked to a stop. After a moment’s hesitation, Jess clapped palms with her. She watched Sylvie totter off, trailed by her attendants, until she was blocked from view by the knights who followed. She thought Mitch was the last of them, and, when Jess saw his retreating back, she was hit by a confusing mix of hurt and relief. His hair was back to blond again. She caught the faintest whiff of a warm, spicy smell: his aftershave. And she realised that none of the knights had seemed to know anything about their time-out.
But maybe he just hadn’t told them because to him it wasn’t significant. He hadn’t scored.

  Then she gasped, ‘Ow!’, clamping a hand to her head. Mitch turned around.

  ‘You going to invite me back sometime, too?’ Dud asked, his jovial voice a complete mismatch for the vicious way he’d pulled her plait. ‘I’ve never been to Unity.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ Jess said, rubbing her head. She looked up at him, pushing her backpack into the aisle with a foot as she did so. ‘Come and visit. I’m on F-floor.’

  ‘F-floor, hey?’ Dud said, and she knew everything she needed to know from the look on his face right then. Girls didn’t usually play along with him, and he had no idea what to do when they did. ‘F for fuck?’

  ‘F for fun,’ Jess cooed, giving him a sweet smile.

  Confused, he looked away, blindly starting to walk off. And as he did so, he tripped over her bag, falling with a loud smack.

  ‘Nemo me impune lacessit,’ Jess told him.

  It went unheard because the driver bellowed at them to get off his bus, and Dud pulled himself to his feet, scrambling past Mitch, red-faced and eager to escape. Jess picked up her backpack and started down the aisle, stopping when she reached Mitch, who hadn’t moved.

  ‘Let me guess,’ he said, taking in the details of her T-shirt. ‘There is no F-floor.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you,’ Jess told him with a tight smile. ‘You keep up.’

  ‘Hey, listen, I’m sorry I didn’t—’

  ‘It’s the only thing I like about you,’ Jess said. ‘Can you move, please?’

  CHAPTER 17

  HEY LADIES

  Econometrics was a hard thing to face first thing on a Friday. It was the second last Friday of the term, and Jess was struggling to find the motivation or the momentum. When Farren arrived, Jess had showered, dried her hair, and pulled on a skirt, but that was the extent of her preparations.

  ‘Yo, ’tis I,’ Farren announced, leaving the door open and doing the running man in the middle of the floor. Jess was playing hip hop, but you couldn’t assume the two things were related; Farren’s version of the running man always seemed to be to music only she could hear. She was working her arts/law-is-an-oxymoron look: white men’s business shirt, paisley tie, red velvet shorts, fishnet leggings and Converse sneakers. Jess admired that, then ignored her, selecting a polka-dotted bra and a tight white T-shirt from her fridge. Her room copped full morning sun, and it was already a hot one. ‘Right to go?’ Farren asked. ‘Leanne’s waiting.’

  ‘Sure.’ Jess slammed the fridge shut and walked out of the door bare-chested. Luckily, there wasn’t anybody around at that moment. Farren’s laugh rolled out into the hallway after her. Jess returned to the room, giving her a huffy look. ‘Well, obviously, I’m not right to go. You’re early and my boobs are out. Why even ask? You know it annoys me, but you do it every time.’

  ‘Because you react every time,’ Farren told her with a big cheesy grin. ‘Nice tits, by the way.’

  ‘They’re small—’

  ‘Why can’t small be nice?’

  ‘If it wasn’t for the pill, I wouldn’t have anything at all, thanks to running. I’m still on it, even though I’m not getting any. It plumps them up.’

  ‘Vanity,’ Farren scolded. ‘You should totally get off it. I have. There’s nothing sexier than how your body feels when you’re cycling naturally. I love it.’

  Jess glanced at her. ‘What about Davey?’

  ‘Condoms. I prefer them. Less mess.’

  ‘Huh.’ Jess pulled on the bra and T-shirt, sucking air through her teeth, because before the cold was good it was painful. ‘God, I hate mornings. That’s why I like sleeping through them. I don’t like being this cranky.’

  ‘It’s not just mornings,’ Farren observed helpfully. ‘You’ve been cranky for days. Weeks!’

  Jess buttered her toothbrush and started brushing more vigorously than necessary, suddenly paranoid Farren might do the sums and solve for causation. She’d been briefed on what had happened with Mitch at the RE, but Jess had ended the report with Mitch handing her the letter and walking off. Farren knew nothing of trolley rides and night swims and the strange and wild aching that haunted her still—even, maddeningly, despite that bus trip. Between those lapses of judgement and the messy aftermath of Brendan, it had been a grim term. Jess was just focused on making it to the Easter break, so she could wipe the slate clean and start again.

  ‘Well, while we’re not on the subject,’ Farren said, and dropped a significant pause. Jess stopped brushing, mouth full of foam, heart full of guilt, not sure how Farren knew everything, just sure she did. ‘Byron rang me last night.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. I thought he’d given up,’ Jess said, the words gargled. ‘Anyway, what happened to not getting involved?’

  ‘Trust me, you’re going to want to hear what he had to say.’

  Jess spat her mouthful of toothpaste out the window.

  ‘Or maybe not,’ Farren said. There was a dim shout, presumably from someone walking along the concrete path three storeys below.

  ‘Sorry!’ Jess shouted out the window, keeping out of sight. To Farren: ‘Okay, what?’

  ‘Our Brendan has met someone else,’ Farren said grandly, her eyes shining. ‘I regret to inform you the ship has sailed! He wanted you to hear it from him first, and he knows you ignore his messages, so … I think it was one last flare of ego. I told him you’d only be happy for him.’

  Jess whooped, sending flecks of foam flying. Suddenly, inexplicably, she was sure things were about to turn around, and she realised how desperately she’d been waiting for it. ‘Back in the game, baby!’ she shouted, bouncing on the bed. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that.’

  Farren was doing the running man again, joining in with the Beastie Boys. ‘Hey! Hey! Hey …’

  •

  ‘Hey, ladies!’ Leanne shouted as they neared the building site. Over the last few weeks their stoushes with the builders had become a regular thing, secretly relished. That day, aside from the usual nine guys, there was also a clean-shaven man in a short-sleeved business shirt and chinos, straddling a briefcase and consulting what looked like architectural drawings, his hard hat pushed back on his head. The site foreman, a barrel-chested guy with a beard, who reminded Jess of a leering pirate, looked strangely subdued, engaged in an earnest discussion with the visitor. The stranger’s presence might have also explained why the radio was off and the other guys were hard at work on the framing.

  ‘I think we’ve just been burned,’ Jess said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Farren said, her tone incredulous. ‘They’re completely ignoring us.’

  The guy with dreadlocks, crouched down using a circular saw, gave them a little wave, and a couple of the other builders glanced across, but that was it. They were the very picture of a team who could do it on time and on budget, with no place for distractions.

  ‘It’s like we meant nothing to them,’ Jess said, hooking her fingers through the wire mesh of the fence and sagging despondently. ‘Who’s going to ogle us now?’

  ‘I feel used,’ Farren agreed. ‘Cast aside for some honcho from head office. And now I’m not being objectified, my sense of self is suffering. I’ll have to get back on Facebook.’

  ‘God, you two go on with some shit,’ Leanne said. She brought her forefinger and thumb to her mouth and whistled.

  Dreadlocks responded like a meerkat, standing up with a start, his head swivelling their way and then to his coworkers, as though begging permission to react. The other builders grinned, but steadfastly refused to look at the girls. The foreman, though, moved like he’d received a rocket up the arse, clapping a hand on his visitor’s back and shepherding him briskly out of the site gate, heading towards the car park. He glanced back over his shoulder at the girls with wide eyes that were begging for a head start.

  The two sides regarded each other silently—that moment of tense contemplation you see in all good Westerns j
ust before the shooting starts. Then the foreman and visitor disappeared from view, and the builders downed tools, letting loose with a volley of wolf whistles.

  Dreadlocks planted his legs apart in a stripper’s pose and gave them a series of pelvic thrusts. His workmates started cheering.

  Leanne bawled, ‘Wait! Is that a peanut or a penis?’

  Dreadlocks yelled, ‘It’s a jackhammer, baby!’ And the builders roared their approval.

  ‘Yeah? ’Cause all I see is a tool!’ Jess shouted, earning a high-five from Farren.

  ‘Show us yer tits!’ This, from one of the other guys.

  ‘Show us yer bolt!’ This, from Farren.

  ‘Yeah, sure! If you’ll just hold these two nuts for me!’

  ‘Why? I’ll bet you don’t even know how to screw!’ Farren responded.

  ‘I’ve got a big hard thing!’ yelled a guy who’d been marking out a sizeable plank of wood.

  ‘See, from here,’ Jess shouted, ‘it just looks like you’re holding a stubby little pencil!’

  ‘He’s a carpenter! He’ll teach you how to hammer!’

  ‘But hammering’s no fun when the nail’s too small!’ Leanne boomed jovially.

  ‘I could drill you instead!’ offered another guy helpfully.

  Farren, starting to lose it, gasped out: ‘Yeah, they say that’s a two-second job!’

  At that, Jess howled, doubling over. When she straightened, still completely at the mercy of her special helicopter laugh, she caught sight of someone walking past. Someone with cropped blond hair and electric blue eyes, a pen tucked behind his ear in the way that she might sport a cigarette. Someone who wore his navy polo shirt well, stretched across the type of chest a girl could curl up on. Someone Farren and Leanne didn’t notice at all, because they were busy with the builders.

  The moment was so close to perfect. By chance, Jess had put a rinse through her hair the night before, so it looked glossy and rich, and as she’d spotted Mitch, she’d been drawing it back from her face like she was in a shampoo ad, but completely unselfconsciously—the only way to pull off that manoeuvre. And while he’d caught her unawares, there couldn’t have been a better time for him to do it, flanked by two friends, trading innuendo with a site full of builders, laughing her head off, seemingly unaffected by her four encounters with him. Things couldn’t have played out better … except for one small detail.