Summer Skin

by Kirsty Eagar

  When Jess noticed Mitch she did a double-take.

  It was only after he’d gone that she realised he’d slipped up, too. When she’d seen him, his face had been impassive, his eyes as unreadable as reflective sunglasses—quite a feat, given he would have heard the whole of their exchange with the builders. But at the last moment, when his gaze had slid past her and was once again focused straight ahead, his mouth twitched.

  And he smiled.

  CHAPTER 18

  CATCH ME

  Wednesday night, Jess climbed the lecture theatre stairs to take her usual seat. Political economy and comparative systems—could life get any better? She had her ear buds in, listening to The Jezabels, and she needed the music, feeling tired and down and kicked around. Too many nights spent in a fever, sweating into her sheets, her eyes wide but unseeing, suffering a heat of her own making. Too many days spent waiting.

  She just had to hold out for term break. Then she’d be at her aunt’s, away from uni and the constant, exhausting possibility of seeing Mitch again. Five days had passed since the morning at the building site, and she could wonder why he’d even been there in the first place—how could it have been coincidence when knights never went that way and he knew her timetable?—but all it was doing was making her sick. No. She made herself sick.

  Jess sighed, pulling out her notepad and stowing her phone. Then she propped her chin on her hand, watching Professor Meakin get set up at the front of the room.

  ‘Earth to Jess.’ A hand waved in front of Jess’s face.

  She blinked, focusing on Roger. ‘Oh, hi. How are you?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, filling the seat beside her, and Jess grabbed her notepad so he didn’t knock it to the floor. Roger wasn’t fat, but he liked to make himself at home; one of those people who automatically claimed a shared armrest. His tie was loosened and skewed to the side and he had a receding hairline at twenty-five. He was also the only person Jess had ever met who treated a lecture as a networking opportunity, changing seats every week. Because it was a night lecture, most of the attendees were mature-aged students, who worked full time like him. The fact he hadn’t excluded Jess was oddly flattering, and meant she was more tolerant than she might otherwise have been. Roger had a few quirks.

  ‘Big weekend?’ he asked, opening his laptop, then answered his own question before Jess could: ‘We ended up at Friday’s. It was pretty messy. Cam got escorted outside by the bouncers …’

  Jess had no idea who Cam was, but Roger always talked as though she was intimately acquainted with his friends and world. And his weekends were always messy. She thought he was having some kind of reaction to having gone straight to work after high school. She tuned him out, watching her fellow attendees fill up the front half of the theatre. She was probably the youngest person in the room. Then she straightened in her seat.

  Mitch was standing in the entrance.

  He looked around the theatre, finally catching sight of her, and Jess almost laughed when he shook his head, because even though she couldn’t see his expression from that distance, she could read his mind: of all the seats, in all the rows, in all the lecture theatres in that town, she had to choose one of the highest. She held her breath, wondering if he’d leave, faced with that. But he crossed the floor, his gait unsteady. From that, and the way Professor Meakin glanced sharply at him as he passed, she realised he’d been drinking.

  Oh boy.

  He started up the stairs strongly enough, but by the time he’d reached the midway point, he’d slowed, and was grasping the back of each seat as he passed, as though needing to haul himself up, stopping every now and then to warily glance back over his shoulder. He was in jeans and, in a nice touch, an old Just Do It T-shirt.

  ‘What’s this joker want?’ Roger asked, breaking his monologue.

  ‘I was wondering the same thing,’ Jess replied, sounding distracted.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Kind of. Actually, Roger, you might want to move.’

  But Professor Meakin had pulled up the first of his PowerPoint slides, and Roger tapped Jess’s notepad with his finger. She started jotting down notes and Roger copied them, his fingers rattling the keys of his laptop. When Mitch finally drew level with them, he shot Jess a look that made her feel like she’d been hit by blue lightning.

  Rather than attempt to push past Roger, he edged along the empty row behind them, his breathing laboured. Jess could smell the alcohol on his breath. Then, moving like he was in slow motion, he slid belly-down along the seat tops on the other side of her and tumbled into their row. Professor Meakin’s voice trailed off as he stared up at them, which made everybody else turn around, too—a sea of annoyed mature-aged faces all glaring at Jess, as though the interruption was her fault, and she needed a reminder that, unlike her, they didn’t get to delay the hearty HECS fees they’d paid to be there. Roger hissed ‘What is he doing?’, and Jess didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, one hand clamped over her mouth, her face burning.

  Mitch, oblivious to all this, manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, one white-knuckled hand locked onto the back of the seat in front of him, his face pale and clammy.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Professor Meakin said, looking up at the projector screen for a prompt, clearing his throat. ‘Ah, yes, Milton Friedman. One of the most notable proponents of monetarism …’

  Jess met Mitch’s glassy eyes, and whispered, ‘Great entrance.’

  That’s when she really knew he was drunk, because he had no comeback, just looked sheepish, nudging her clumsily in a way that made her smile. He was moving like an astronaut, either afraid he was about to be sucked into space, or having some kind of weird reaction to being under the influence. Then the tap-tap-tap of Roger’s finger got Jess’s attention, and she returned to her note taking, Roger studiously copying her.

  Mitch leaned closer and Jess tried to ignore the thrill that passed along the length of her body. ‘I need paper and a pen,’ he murmured, and while his words weren’t slurred they were definitely smudged. ‘Please.’

  As Jess handed him these things, Roger tapped her folder again, and she thought about jabbing him in the eye with her pen, but desisted. Instead, she frantically scribbled down the rest of the slide before Professor Meakin changed to the next one, aware that Mitch was observing all of this.

  The lecture could have been in Latin for all Jess knew. She was writing on autopilot, unable to think past the fact that Mitch was beside her, his shoulder pressed hard against hers. Beneath the booze, she could smell his aftershave, and every cell in her body was lit up and pulsing like the lights of Las Vegas.

  Mitch wrote something, then pointedly tapped his pen to get Jess’s attention, mimicking Roger. Her smile faded as she read his words. She returned to her note taking with a vengeance. Mitch tapped his pen again. When she didn’t respond, he did it more insistently: TAP-TAP-TAP! And he drew a circle around what he’d written: Have you been thinking about me?

  Jess shifted uneasily in her seat. She did not want to lie, and maybe that was because the term had been a sleepless hell, but there was so much risk.

  So she wrote: Why?

  And by the way Mitch’s face changed, Jess knew there was risk for him, too. She returned her attention to the front of the room, feeling lightheaded. Nothing passed between them for the next forty minutes, until Professor Meakin announced that they’d take their usual ten-minute break. At that, Roger groaned, snapping his laptop shut and making a big show of stretching. He glanced from Jess to Mitch questioningly, as though waiting to be introduced. But Jess didn’t respond, her rapidly beating heart sounding out: Please go, please go, please go.

  Roger said, ‘Might head out for a coffee. Coming, Jess?’

  ‘She doesn’t want one,’ Mitch answered.

  Roger bristled, but had nowhere to run with it, because Jess gave him a quick smile and said, ‘I’m okay, thanks.’

  When he’d gone, Mitch asked, ‘Who’s the—’ tap,
tap, tap, ‘—dude?’

  And Jess spurted some of the nervous laughter that had been collecting ever since his arrival. ‘His name’s Roger. He’s shortsighted; can’t read the screen from up here. So he copies my notes instead.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he get glasses?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t really know him. He doesn’t normally sit with me.’

  ‘Yeah? He really is blind then.’

  There was a funny beat between them. Mitch pulled his drink-sticky gaze away from her face, facing the front.

  ‘When I saw you on Friday … What were you doing there?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Checking out the builders,’ Mitch said. Jess made an exasperated noise, and he gave her a sidelong look. ‘Obviously, I was trying to run into you.’

  ‘Why?’

  When Mitch finally spoke, he sounded belligerent. ‘Because I can’t stop thinking about you, all right? You are in my head, all the fucking time. Everywhere I go, it’s like you’re there with me, making your little smart-arse remarks—and don’t say anything because I know it sounds crazy.’

  ‘It is a little weird,’ Jess said, with a funny look on her face.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve tried to stay away, believe me. But here I am, telling you all this shit, so …’ Mitch exhaled, long and slow. ‘So now I just want to know. Have you been thinking about me, too?’

  ‘I’ve heard about you,’ Jess sidestepped. ‘Do you know I’ve actually had girls from other colleges coming up to congratulate me on your makeover? Seems you’re well known. An absolute slut, apparently.’

  ‘I thought we didn’t use that word.’

  ‘We do when it’s non-stereotypical. But you’re also very cold. That adjective came up a lot. Not big on cuddling afterwards, or even acknowledging the girl’s existence. Is that why you’re not online? Worried they’ll try and contact you? Friend you?’

  ‘I went offline because if I read one more inane message about Julian on my timeline I was going to punch somebody. Otherwise, for a guy like me, social media is a catalogue.’

  Jess looked away, feeling winded. ‘Wow. You’re a whole other level.’

  ‘You think it’s just me? Everyone at Knights wants to bag that Ellie chick—’

  ‘Her name is Allie.’

  ‘But she’s playing the game, too. That’s why she’s got all those photos up. It’s advertising—’

  ‘Too passive. She calls it power.’

  ‘—but you’re not like that.’ Jess blinked at him. ‘Yeah, I’ve looked,’ he told her. ‘I saw the roasting the boys gave you after the toga party, by the way. You’ll be glad to know that Jarrod Keith’s tried to call them off, asked them to be bigger than the situation. I’m sorry you had to wear that. Some of it went too far.’

  ‘Really? You don’t seem to mind when it happens in person.’

  Mitch rubbed his face. Then he focused on her, suddenly looking tired. ‘Okay, Jess, I’m sorry. I should have said something that night on the bus. But if I had it would have made it obvious that there’s a bit more to us than people think, and—I don’t even want to go there, all right? It’s complicated and it’s ugly, and it’s nothing I’m proud of, okay?’

  Not ugly at all, and not that complicated, Jess thought. Only two words: Sylvie Wawn. She now knew Sylvie’s surname because she’d found her Facebook profile. Actually, first she’d found Tipene Taiapa’s profile, via Jarrod Keith’s profile, then searched through Tipene’s 1012 friends until she’d found Sylvie—not obsessed at all. But apart from a stunning profile pic and a header showing Sylvie and some girlfriends dressed as if for a ball, Jess learned nothing more. Sylvie kept her information locked down.

  She’d also found Dud. His real name was Owen McCaffrey.

  ‘Why do they call him Dud?’ she asked abruptly.

  Mitch blinked, thrown for a second. ‘Because he’s a dud.’

  ‘Why do they call you Killer?’

  A shadow passed over his face. ‘It started with rugby. Sometimes it means lady killer.’

  ‘God, that’s so naff.’

  Mitch leaned forwards. ‘Jess, everything you’ve heard—it’s all true, okay? I’m not pretending otherwise.’

  ‘Have you ever done something somebody didn’t want?’

  He frowned. ‘I’m not a rapist.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, you’re from Knights, you mightn’t know the difference.’ Mitch met Jess’s gaze steadily, looking angry now. ‘Sorry,’ she said eventually. She swallowed, her voice dropping: ‘Who’s Sylvie? To you, I mean.’

  ‘No one,’ he said. Without hesitation. Stony-faced.

  Liar, Jess thought. ‘I thought you didn’t drink.’

  He leaned back in his seat, suddenly lifeless. ‘Special occasion.’

  ‘You had to be drunk to see me?’

  ‘Birthday.’

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  Mitch shook his head. ‘Not mine.’

  Jess stared at him. ‘It’s his birthday?’

  ‘His twenty-first.’

  Mitch’s eyes met hers, his face leached of colour, his expression so bleak that she had to look away, but as she did she reached across and squeezed his hand. And he clamped his other hand down on hers, gripping it like a drowning man who’d been thrown a rope.

  Jess heard Mitch swallow, heard him take a jagged breath. With impeccable timing, Roger decided to return, looking comically wary as he approached, and Jess knew from the way he stared blatantly at Mitch that Mitch had turned his face away. Roger’s gaze flicked to their entwined fingers as he told Jess he’d give them some privacy, rapidly grabbing his things. She didn’t even care.

  When he’d gone, Mitch said, ‘Jess’, his voice low and scratchy. She looked at him, careful to show no reaction to his bloodshot eyes, his haggard face. ‘Aren’t you surprised that I’m here? Now. Like this. Falling to fucking bits.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I am.’

  She gave him a funny smile and squeezed his hand again. ‘I know.’

  Then Professor Meakin started the second half of the lecture, and Jess copied down the slides as diligently as ever, forced to turn pages one-handed, because Mitch showed no signs of wanting to let go, sniffing quietly in his seat. And somehow she knew, beyond any doubt, that while Mitch Crawford had slept with a lot of girls, and Mitch Crawford had probably done a lot of dirty things, Mitch Crawford had never held hands with anyone before—not until that night.

  CHAPTER 19

  LEFT HAND FREE

  By the time Professor Meakin ended the lecture, forty-five minutes later, Mitch had sobered up some, seemed more comfortable with heights, and was in a considerably different mood. He was using a fingertip to draw slow, suggestive circles on Jess’s palm, ignoring her when she tried to pull free of him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Everybody else was gathering their things, rushing out the door. Professor Meakin was talking to the small group of students who stayed behind to pick his brains every Wednesday night. The group left together, not seeming to notice that Jess and Mitch remained in the theatre.

  And then they were alone. The realisation prickled through Jess’s body.

  ‘Can I have my hand back now?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. What are you going to give me for it?’ After a moment’s undignified struggle, Jess managed to pull it free, mainly because Mitch let her. While she packed up her things, Mitch used the paper she’d given him to make a plane. ‘You know what? You didn’t answer my question,’ he said, throwing it. The plane swooped through the air in a graceful arc before crashing into the second row. ‘Have you been thinking about me?’

  ‘We’d better get you down these stairs.’

  ‘Why won’t you just admit it?’

  Jess licked her lips, which were incredibly dry for some reason. ‘Because it’s a dead-end street.’

  ‘Well then, it can’t hurt, can it?’

  ‘All right, yes. I’ve been thinking about you.’

  ‘A
lot?’

  ‘All day, all night.’

  ‘Good stuff?’

  ‘Filthy.’

  ‘Fantasies?’

  ‘Only the one.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, lifting his chin, and he was a long way from broken now.

  Jess looked away, wishing he’d stayed open a little longer. ‘It’s the shipwreck fantasy. You and I are shipwrecked on an island together, and I can do everything and anything I want with you, because nobody will ever know.’

  ‘Nobody has to know.’

  Jess made a noise like a laugh. ‘Oh, that is a fantasy. In real life, people always find out, even if I could trust you to keep quiet.’

  ‘Have I said one word about the night we went swimming?’ Mitch sounded offended. ‘No, I have not.’

  ‘Look, it’s more than that. I stood up in front of every girl in my college and told them that they could never get with a knight after what had happened to my best friend.’

  ‘Are you talking about the sweep?’

  Jess looked at him. ‘I thought you didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘I didn’t. I asked around because you kept bringing it up.’

  ‘Well, you can see why loyalty might be an issue for me.’ Jess hesitated, trying to hold back, but then the words gushed out: ‘And it’s not just that you’re a knight, it’s that sometimes you act like it, too. And I don’t like you when you’re like that. Brendan was a mistake, but if I follow him up by getting involved with you, I’m worried the problem might be systemic. Something wrong with me. No offence.’

  ‘Getting involved?’ Mitch laughed. ‘Geez, Jess, I’m not talking about anything serious. Even I know I’d be a bad deal.’

  Jess frowned at him, confused, and more than a little embarrassed. Her heart was racing, pushing blood through her body too fast, and she felt flushed, agitated. ‘So … What? An arrangement? Like your Depper Street girl?’