Stan

by C. J. Duggan

My mum stood in the doorway with a basket of washing cocked on her hip, offering a weak smile.

  “You okay, hon?”

  I straightened, rubbing my hands on my jeans. “Yeah, sure.”

  Mum sat the basket of clean clothes on the bed, leaving a spot for herself next to me as she playfully sat on the bed, hip and shouldering me.

  “I restocked the marshmallow jar.”

  “Somehow I don’t think there will be any time for marshmallows,” I said nonchalantly as I studied the lines of my hands.

  “Stanley Remington. Are you sulking?”

  “Nope, it is what it is.”

  Mum scoffed. “You always say that.”

  I looked at my mum, half a shrug lifting my shoulder. “What choice do we have but to cope?”

  Mum rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me feel bad about this, Stan. It’s one weekend. It’s not the end of the world. Your dad and I have already said the shed and the lawns can wait. We don’t expect you to do them, just the main things.”

  Great, now two things had been wiped from my to-do list. How freeing.

  My mum’s eyes looked sad, and far be it from me to make her feel guilty. My parents didn’t get away much, and I know they didn’t know about my plans. It was just a natural assumption I had no life and that I would always be available to them. They asked, I did—simple.

  Mum kissed me on the head. “You are a saint.”

  “Yeah, I know. Saint Stanley.”

  And as my mum stood, making her way toward my bedroom door, I suddenly felt like anything but a saint as a devilish idea caused my heart to skip a beat. A crooked grin formed in the corner of my mouth as my far-away thoughts allowed me to daydream about the possibility.

  Mum paused in the doorway. “What’s so funny?” She laughed.

  I glanced up, almost forgetting I had company. I frowned in deep thought. “I will do the shed and the lawns,” I said, crossing my arms.

  Mum’s brow lifted. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I forgot that Bel had offered to help me during the day, so I’ll still be able to do it,” I lied.

  Mum stepped back into my room, a frown pinching her brow. “Belinda Evans said she would help?”

  “Yeah, I know, right?” I said as if I barely believed it myself.

  “Help, as in?” My mum’s words came out so uncertainly, as if the doctor’s insipid daughter, who spent most of her holidays reading Cleo magazines and sprawling in her deck chair, could possibly volunteer for hard labour.

  “Oh, you know, man the desk, clean the barbecues, the girls’ showers and toilets … stuff like that.”

  Mum seemed impressed. “Well, that would be lovely of her to help. I mean, we would pay her, of course.”

  “NO!” I said a bit too loudly. “Ah, I mean, no, she wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Oh, okay. So do you want me to make a list for her with those things?”

  I smiled broadly. “Yeah, definitely, and then I’ll just show her the ropes.”

  A sense of relief washed over Mum. “I have to say, it does make me feel more at ease knowing that Bel is here to lend a hand.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Me, too”

  Chapter Nine

  Bel

  I tried not to think about how much effort I put into getting ready.

  With every step that crunched underfoot along the dirt track leading me closer to the main house, I tried not to think about how I had tried on several kinds of ensembles, put on foundation, wiped it off. Skirt? Jeans? Hairdryer or oh natural? I had wasted an entire afternoon agonising on what I should take and what I was going to look like. Then, in a brief moment of coming to my senses and realising how ridiculously I was behaving, I decided to maybe just dry the hair—no foundation, just a slathering of mascara, lip balm, and casual, fitted jean shorts and tied plaid midriff. It was kind of a way to rock smoking tomboy look, if you could possibly make that sexy? It certainly wouldn’t be the next designer label, but it was me, and I was comfortable. Then I reminded myself again—why do I even care? And what would happen if I didn’t rock up? Would Stan come and drag me to his place, throw me in my room, and have me under house arrest? Would he unbolt the door and slide in a tray of food with a broomstick? I seriously doubted it. He would probably be relieved; I would probably be doing him a favour.

  It seemed like a pretty bloody good idea to not actually show up, of course, until I noticed the thought had only occurred to me the moment I stood right before Stan’s front door, illuminated only by the bug-infused front light that had been left on.

  Wonder if he had left it on for me?

  I stood there for a long moment, my thumbs hooked into my backpack straps, contemplating whether or not my running footsteps would be heard from inside if I chose to leg it now?

  Shit, did that curtain just move?

  Great, so running was not an option, he knew I was definitely here. I inhaled a deep, steadying breath before squaring my shoulders against the weight of the backpack; I really only needed an overnighter and yet I seemed to have an inability to manage anything less than packing for a week. I went for a loud, confident series of knocks on the door’s wooden panel. I resisted the urge to readjust my hair or clothing in case there was an eyeball peeking through somewhere.

  I waited. And waited.

  Pfft, smartarse.

  He was no doubt enjoying making me squirm. I was about to knock for a second and final time, my fist hovering in mid-air, as the door whipped open.

  “About ti…me.”

  Holy shit.

  My fist hovered before a set of boobs. Boobs attached to a blonde. A smiling, attractive blonde.

  Was this Stan’s girlfriend?

  “Hi, you must be Bel?” The blonde held out her hand. I adjusted my suspended in-air fist and awkwardly took her hand as she shook it with much enthusiasm. “I’m Ellie, come on in.”

  I cautiously followed her into the foyer, past the office that was empty, and into the living area, expecting to see Stan at any turn of the corner, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was Ellie my replacement babysitter?

  “Stan’s just in the shower, did you want to dump your gear in your room?”

  Shower, oh. This was awkward.

  I felt like I had stumbled into someone’s love nest, and that my punishment would be to be the third wheel for the weekend while Stan and Ellie made out on the couch.

  “Oh, um, yeah, I will, thanks.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Yeah. No. Thanks, I um, I know,” I stumbled. God I was a dork.

  I quickly made my way to the hall door, making sure to close it behind, leaving the beautiful, glowing Ellie in the lounge where she comfortably plonked herself on the couch with a sense of unmistakable familiarity, extending her long legs to rest onto the coffee table as she channel flicked.

  Ellie Parker. I had seen her around before. In the park and at school, she seemed to be rather popular with the opposite sex from memory, and then I remembered the last time we were here I saw her and Stan at the summer show, in a rather familiar way. I cringed as I thought back to it, and how incredibly uncomfortable I was about staying here now, and how incredibly frustrated I was now that I still couldn’t find the bloody light switch. Seriously, where the hell were they? I blindly skimmed my way along the wall with my hands thinking it was pretty foolproof considering it was a long narrow hall, with no obstacles from memory, until of course I banged into one.

  “Shit!”

  Hands flailing, dried flowers? On a hallstand? Right, best keep to the middle. With one hand out in front of me to avoid face planting, all I had to do was remember the last room on the …

  I stopped, my palm reaching the end of the hall.

  Okay, good. Now I just had to go to the last room on the …

  Crap! Was it the left or the right?

  For the life of me I couldn’t remember. All that was on my mind was the stinging sensation in my kneecap from the stupid hallstand, and the pretty blon
de who was waiting for her boyfriend in the lounge.

  I searched my memory; I think it was the left. I repeated it over in my head, imagining Paula Remington telling me, and yes, the left sounded right, it sounded familiar. I nodded to myself. Left it was.

  I felt my way to clasp the handle, managing to find it with much greater success than the light switch. I twisted the knob and pushed open the door, automatically searching again for the non-existent light switch.

  What the hell? Was their electrician an arsehole, or what? Seriously.

  I dumped my bag to the ground and groaned at the delight of ridding the weight from my back, and then rubbed my neck and stretched in the dark. Maybe this wasn’t so bad; I would just hang out here in the dark, like a cave or a hole. I could just hang out like a mushroom for the weekend. Sounded good to me. I slowly stepped forward, reaching out to what I suspected the silhouette near the window was; yep, a bed! A big, beautiful bed. I tested the firmness with my fingertips before throwing myself on top of it with a big bounce.

  Bed, glorious bed. I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes, and sighed.

  “I’ll just stay here for a million years.”

  “Really?”

  My eyes snapped open just as the room was flooded with blinding light. The unexpectedness of the voice and the blinding strobes caused me to sit up so fast, I nearly gave myself whiplash. Gasping in fright and shock that extended to the fact Stan stood in front of me, in nothing more than a towel and mischievous smirk, his brow curved as he eyed me sitting on the bed.

  “It is a pretty good bed.” He smiled. His hair was all wet and in disarray, which I forced myself to look at. My eyes had already strayed of their own free will to the rest of his half-naked body, to the narrowness of his hips where his navy towel hung. His skin was still damp and the room smelt like the ocean—clean, crisp and fresh—but then I thought for a moment. It had smelt like that before Stan; my eyes trailed to where my bag sat, directly next to a duffle bag that had contents spilling out of it. My horror continued to the chair in the corner that had clothes strung over it—boy clothes. Stan clothes.

  I was in Stan’s room.

  I leapt to my feet as if the very mattress had electrocuted me, jumping into motion too quickly as I lost my footing and inelegantly stumbled as I grabbed for my backpack.

  “Shit, sorry. I, um, just thought it, um, the, oh God, I thought this was the room I was staying in.”

  Last room on the right, last room on the right, you idiot!

  I could sense Stan watching on with not-so-guarded amusement as I struggled to get my backpack straps over my shoulders, not entirely sure why I was putting it back on. Maybe it was in an effort to keep my eyes averted from the holy wet hotness that was Stan standing in front of me. An image that had been burned into my retinas. Under any other circumstance, and perhaps later when my humiliation was less pressing, I would enjoy the recalled feast. But not now. Now I needed out of there and fast. Shit.

  “Slow down, you’re going to dislocate a shoulder.” Stan laughed.

  As if things couldn’t get any worse my shirt button got hooked and stuck in the strap, making it impossible to hook or unhook the bag. It was permanently affixed to me, and my shirt was askew halfway up my ribcage as I flailed and struggled to set myself free. I felt like a shark flailing around at dinnertime. Not a good look.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait a second.” Stan’s hands grabbed my shoulders. “Just. Wait.” He breathed near my earlobe.

  Oh, God. I was in trouble, and I wasn’t talking about my backpack.

  Chapter Ten

  Stan

  Christ, it was hard not to laugh.

  Something I had failed rather miserably at, but the look of alarm on her face when I turned on the light was priceless. As was the way those wide eyes slowly roamed over my body. I’m not going to lie; there is an immense male satisfaction in that. I had to instantly think ugly thoughts so it didn’t affect me in the worst possible way, then my short-lived satisfaction would not be mine.

  I knew it would the perfect opportunity to make her squirm or make an innuendo of some kind; it was the stuff that seemed to work whenever my mates would pay out on girls, but I wasn’t them. I wasn’t quick-witted or comfortable with treating people like toys; instead, I opted to end Bel’s mortification swiftly, and silently, by helping her unhook herself with her twisted strap. I had to stop her from committing an injury or she’d take my eye out with a flailing arm.

  “Just. Wait,” I said. That seemed to get her attention. The only thing that didn’t still was the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. That I could clearly see as I stood behind her shoulder. I made work to untwist the strap and lift it off her pinned arm. Without thought, I pulled down the bunched-up fabric of her top and gently pulled it over her ribcage. The back of my fingers accidentally brushed against her skin. That felt terribly intimate even though it was the briefest of touches. I was less aware now of Bel’s breathing and more aware of my own, and I was glad Bel was facing away from me. I cleared my throat and stepped back a little to make some space in the small room.

  “There,” I said, trying to sound casual and cool about it, not sure if I was succeeding. God she smelt good.

  Think ugly thoughts. Think ugly thoughts.

  Bel turned around, lifted her chin to me, and brushed her inky black fringe from her brow. “Thanks,” she said, her face flushed, maybe from overexertion, but my guess was she was embarrassed, as her eyes remained turned down.

  Now the bag was in its rightful position, the top of the strap still sat skew-whiff. Without thinking, I moved forward, grabbing it to right the wrong. Bel’s eyes flicked up, wide and surprised by my sudden close proximity. I unfolded the material and stilled, looking down into her questioning eyes. Now it was my chest that was rising and falling in a way I couldn’t control. Those damn eyes, big and ever-changing colour depending on the light. Standing in my room before her, closer than I had ever been before, they looked green, the vivid rich colour framed by thick inky black lashes. Beautiful. I got my fill of looking into them because she didn’t blink, not once. I wasn’t sure if it was because of that, that time stood still; the space between us seemed so small and the moment seemed to extend forever. But I didn’t want her to blink, to break the trance, to shutter off that beautiful green from me, not for a split second. But, of course, the moment came as I knew it would, but it wasn’t in the way I had thought.

  The distant sound of the hall door being violently whipped open, followed by a loud crash as the door handle hit the wall, caused us to both jump back.

  “Oh shit … pizza’s here!” Ringer’s voice echoed down the hall.

  “Coming,” I yelled out, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck as I watched Bel brush past me, pausing in my doorway until she heard the hall door shut. She glanced toward me, a small, coy smile lifting the corner of her mouth as if to say “Phew, that was close.” She quickly stepped across the hall into the room opposite and shut the door behind her. What was that? What was that moment between Bel and me? Looking into her eyes, I hadn’t wanted the moment to end. I’d wanted to close the distance between us, just to be closer to her. Trouble: deep, deep trouble.

  ***

  The wild party turned out to be Ellie watching the Lifestyle channel with her feet on the coffee table, and Ringer peeling off the plastic wrapping from the paper plates in the kitchen. I couldn’t help but do a double take as I entered the room; it was almost like being home with my parents. I padded toward the kitchen bench, flipping open the pizza box as I slid onto the stool, inspecting the contents inside. Ringer flipped out three plates with a typical violence he couldn’t seem to control in his eagerness to eat.

  “Better make that four,” I said, running my hand through my wet hair that I forgot to towel dry properly in my sense of urgency to get dressed and out here before Bel. Ringer stilled his eyes, narrowing them. “Expecting someone?” he asked.

  “You mean you
haven’t invited half of Onslow?” I asked, in authentic surprise.

  “I thought you wanted low key?” he said, as if actually annoyed.

  “I do! I am just surprised, is all.”

  “So why the extra plate?”

  “Stan’s babysitting.” Ellie appeared next to Ringer, leaning across from him to grab the garlic bread. Ringer was still none the wiser as his scowl deepened.

  Ellie unfolded the foil. “Belinda Evans,” she said, without looking up from her task.

  “Belinda Evans?” Ringer repeated.

  “Yeah, the doctor’s daughter. You know? Jet-black hair, inky eyelashes, petite,” Ellie said, her mischievous smirk lining her face as she looked up at me with a knowing gaze.

  Ringer followed her eye line. “Reeeally?” he asked with amused interest.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I deadpanned.

  Ringer scoffed. Holding up his hands, he said, “Hey, I just want a piece of Caprocossa.”

  Ellie shook her head. “No surprise you’re choosing your stomach over romance, Ringo.”

  “Ehvry Thirme,” Ringo managed through a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed it down with a large gulp. “Don’t worry, mate, she’s all yours,” he said with a wink as he cradled his pizza over his paper plate and headed for the lounge. Ellie was still smirking at me as if she had this inner knowledge and I hated that. It always caused this air of unease as if she was somehow reading my mind. I shovelled a couple of pieces onto a plate, planning for a quick exit.

  “What? No garlic bread?” Ellie mused.

  “No, thanks,” I managed between spinning away from her view only to be stilled by the hall door opening, and a small figure sliding into the room with uncertainty.

  Bel’s eyes darted from me to Ellie, and she gave a small and uncomfortable smile. “Hey,” she managed.

  Ringer’s head popped over the back of the couch, a grin half-smudged with tomato sauce, before he licked it away. “Hey, Bel Evans.” He lifted his brows.

  Bel paused midstep, looking at Ringer with uncertain unease, not an unusual reaction to Ringer who tended to treat everyone like old mates.