The Near Miss

by Fran Cusworth

  So, Tom and Eddy played darts. The pizza boxes piled up in the corner. Tom never suggested removing the pizza boxes, or cleaning up the disgusting pit that was Eddy’s home these days. He never brought healthy food, or asked Eddy to talk about his feelings. Eddy liked that.

  Later, Eddy found a roll of red ribbon in one of Romy’s drawers, and he measured it to the length of the sides of the board, and cut it and pinned it on, making a border of red around the edges of the board. He also pinned up a colour photograph of Romy; his favourite. It was the day he had met her, at her parents’ funeral. It wasn’t a picture she liked — she looked pale and weepy, with swollen eyes — so it had never been up in the house before, but hey. He could like her in any way he wanted now.

  His father dropped by and frowned at the board.

  ‘What’s this?’ He stared at the pictures and then slid his eyes sideways to his son, his toothbrush eyebrows making waves, his expression one of alarm.

  ‘The article. I told you about it. That’s Romy, see . . .’ He moved to point Romy out to his father, but Ray brushed his son’s pointed finger away.

  ‘I know it’s bloody Romy. I mean, what’s it doing on your wall? The girl’s a lunatic, my boy. She’s a selfish . . . she’s everything that’s wrong with modern women. She’s like a — what do you call it? — a . . .’ Ted raised both hands before his face, as if they had been parted in prayer. ‘I feel sorry for men of your generation. Truly, I do. You’re lost.’

  Eddy gazed at the picture, not sure what to say. Well, I reckon I’ve had sex with more women than you? Sounded a bit nyah nyah nyah. And possibly not true; he had the sense his father might have been a bit of man-about-town in his youth. But then women those days, reputations and all. Probably true, but all the same. What about: I really do like a smart woman, not just a domestic servant? Could be construed as insulting his mother. Which would be awful. ‘We’re okay,’ he said feebly, on behalf of his generation.

  Ray lifted a corner of the board, discovered the point at which it was attached to the wall and began to prise it off. ‘Do yourself a favour, boy, and . . .’

  ‘No!’ Eddy gripped the board with both hands, his elbow almost hitting his father in the face as he did. He forced it back to the wall, turned and eyeballed his father. Ray’s arms resisted for a moment, but his face was already stunned; Eddy had never shown any physical resistance to him. Eddy’s arms across his father’s field of vision were muscly and strong. Ray let go, his hair whiter and his face more lined than it had been only the week before. His head shook, his mouth pursed with the bottled-up anger of an old man convinced of the next generation’s stupidity, but faced with its dominance.

  ‘Do what you like!’ he said, and left.

  Finally, one Saturday, Eddy woke with a rare ray of winter sun falling across his eyes. Outside, the world looked unusually good. He felt frail and cleansed, as if emerging from a long illness. He looked at the leftover pizza which he usually ate for breakfast, and shut the fridge door. He put on his coat and scarf and snow beanie, and walked to the nearest café, ignoring the happy couples, and the frazzled families, and he spread the business section right across his table, and ordered fried eggs and bacon and mushroom and baked beans and hash browns, orange juice and a coffee. He ate and read, glancing sometimes over the top of the paper at a couple nearby, slightly older than he and Romy. The man, greying at the temples, spoke gently, encouragingly to his partner. The woman, with black-framed glasses and pale skin, sulked. The man leaned over, touched the back of her hand. She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and staring, purse-mouthed, at a baby nearby in one of those spaceship strollers. Eddy couldn’t see the whole baby, just a leg clad in one of those onesie suits, as it occasionally kicked above the upholstered edges. After breakfast, Eddy left the couple to work it out, and walked home the longest way he could think of, because he needed some exercise, and because there was still a large piece of the day to fill in. And as soon as he let himself in the front door, he realised there was someone in the house.

  Tom?

  Romy. He smelled her before he saw her. It wouldn’t have taken a detective. Her bag sat in the hallway, the heater hummed and the back door was wide open. She stood in the kitchen before the pinboard, reading the newspaper articles. She turned to him.

  ‘Hi.’ A small smile, maybe resignation, maybe shame. A plea for forgiveness. Like she’d never left. He resisted the urge to cross the room and gather her up in his arms. My girl. He felt like he was exhaling properly for the first time in months.

  ‘Jesus, Romy. You scared me.’

  ‘Sorry about letting myself in.’

  ‘Well, it is your house.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’

  ‘So, here you are.’

  She shrugged helplessly, gave him an apologetic glance. ‘I just . . . I don’t know what came over me, Eddy.’

  He held out his hands, and let them fall. ‘I’ve been out of my mind. Why couldn’t you call me?’

  Romy stared at the floor, and folded her arms. She reminded him of a child; when in trouble, she would turn inwards and not speak. Like a spaceship closing all its panels and powering down, as if trying to become an inanimate object. He was familiar with the aim of the exercise; invisibility. Only a tear streaked down Romy’s cheek and she squeaked.

  ‘What?’ He stepped closer, smelt her spicy girl smell, resisted the urge to slip his hands under her arms, along the side of her generous olive-skinned breasts, the tops of which were hinted at through a black dress. God, had she even changed clothes since the night of the dinner party, five months ago?

  ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she said, in a high, near-tears voice. ‘I can’t believe I just got up and went off with him. That man. It was like I was bewitched.’ Eddy was reminded of the yoga teacher; another time Romy had been in the grip of something larger than herself, as if aliens had made a habit of holding and brainwashing her.

  ‘But what have you been doing all this time? I mean besides robbing shops.’

  She stared aghast into space. ‘It was the anniversary. The five-year anniversary of their deaths. It really got to me. Made me crazy.’ She gazed at him, waiting for him to understand.

  ‘Your parents’ death.’

  She nodded, unable to speak. Her eyes filled with tears. He opened his arms. In a moment they were back in their old, comforting roles: she the victim of tragedy, he the great comforter. She leaned against him and wept, a little wet patch seeping through to his chest.

  ‘Your agent’s been trying to get onto you.

  ‘I know!’ She pulled away, nodding emphatically. He recognised the spark of excitement in her eyes, and his heart died a little. That was why she was back. ‘And?’

  ‘I have to be out in Heidelberg by three this afternoon for the filming of an ad. I’ve got the address here.’ She grinned ecstatically through her tears and he stared at her. He was dazed, disbelieving. The touch of her, her smell, his injured pride, his pathetic need, his overwhelming relief, it was all too much. He could see the board of news cuttings over the top of her head. She was indeed a wanted criminal, but he pushed that aside for now. That brazen Catwoman of the press could not be this sparkly, soft kitten. It was all a bad dream that would melt away in the heat of long-awaited acting success. They had not caught her yet, they would surely just give up.

  Every part of his body felt bruised, but it would heal. His sullen, angry heart would pick itself up off the ground. Her parents’ death, the five-year anniversary. Well, that would knock anyone around.

  ‘The police are after you. What if you’re recognised?’

  She smiled cheekily. ‘Hard to recognise Catwoman without her mask, I think.’

  ‘Can I drive you there?’

  She smiled at him lovingly. ‘Sure,’ she whispered, and everything was alright. ‘I’ll just go and get dressed.’

  Hours later, Romy the Rabbit emerged surly and depressed from a retail outlet called Rabbit Photos. The promis
e of a TV ad had been a little exaggerated; in fact, she had spent two hours in front of the shop dressed in a rabbit suit and handing out brochures, a free glare with each one. A CCTV inside the shop had indeed broadcast her image to those within, browsing amongst the frames, but in the main the gift of her presence had been bestowed upon adolescent boys trying to touch up her fur.

  ‘Oh, sweetie.’ Eddy grimaced at her furious face and opened the car door for her.

  ‘I’m going to rip that bloody agent’s head off,’ snarled Romy, her inked-on whiskers twitching as she scowled.

  Driving home, Eddy could hardly concentrate for his fear. Would she leave him again? He didn’t think he could bear it. Distracted, he cut across the path of a semi-trailer, forcing it to brake sharply.

  Suddenly, the semi was bearing down on them, blasting with its horn. The driver wore a look of fury in the vast windscreen of his vehicle; his mouth an open snarl of rage. Eddy’s mirror was full of truck, his ears were full of the high-pitched yet resigned whine of a truck gearing down.

  ‘Aargh!’ Beside him, Romy sat still dressed as a rabbit, in a grey and white onesie with high heels. She clutched a set of bunny ears and bent them in fear as she stared behind. They were going to die.

  Eddy controlled his breathing and glanced back at the truck driver in the mirror again. The truck driver waved a fist at him, as if wanting to punch this piece-of-shit small vehicle that was blocking his ability to drive at two hundred kilometres an hour down a suburban street.

  ‘Shit!’ He muttered. ‘Lean over! Get in the brace position!’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Brace yourself!’

  The driver sped up behind him, and Eddy couldn’t change lanes at this speed, so he was forced to accelerate further.

  ‘Slow down!’

  ‘I can’t!’ But finally he dared to brake, praying the mad truckie might glimpse his brake lights, although he was so close to their car he would probably miss them. Eddy braked slowly, terrified with each moment that the truck would run right over them, but there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t maintain this speed on these streets; he had to pull off the road. He got the car down to about ninety kilometres, then indicated left and pulled off the road. There was a clip as the truck grazed the back of his car, and then it was over.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Did he hit the car?’

  ‘It’s minor, I think. Insurance will cover it. Are you okay?’

  ‘What a maniac. Did he stop?’

  ‘No.’ Eddy looked up to verify this fact, and was faced with the truck, reversing up to them. ‘Shit. He did.’ This guy was obviously off his face on whatever uppers truckies took to survive their long-haul lives. ‘Oh, shit. He’s getting out. Lock your door.’ He hastily pressed down his own lock.

  ‘Lock your door?’ Romy sat up and gave him a look of such withering scorn he was momentarily diverted from the threat approaching down the road’s verge, wearing King Gees and a high-vis vest. ‘Lock your door?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you hear yourself? What sort of a man are you?’

  ‘Quick, Romy, he’s coming.’

  ‘Fuck you, and fuck locking my door. Fuck everything.’

  ‘Jesus, Romy, what the hell are you doing—’ But she was climbing out of the car. Even as the meathead driver was leaning over and pounding on Eddy’s window, looking like he might be preparing to eat man flesh for dinner, Romy had swung out and slammed her own door with a force that made the driver look up, his expression momentarily wary as he reassessed the situation. Which was that a voluptuous woman dressed as a rabbit, in a furry onesie with high heels, was striding around the car towards him, her pom-pom jiggling with every furious step. Eddy’s jaw fell open as the two met in front of his car, framed by his windscreen. Romy jabbed her forefinger into the man’s chest. He had gone from deranged fury to being bewildered and defensive, inching backwards even as he gestured towards his truck.

  ‘. . . taken out my front sidelight . . .’

  ‘. . . driving like a GODFORSAKEN maniac!’ screamed Romy the Rabbit. The driver’s glance slid down the length of her and back towards Eddy.

  ‘. . . didn’t realise I was tailgating . . .’

  ‘. . . like HELL you didn’t . . .’ Romy actually slapped him around his left shoulder and then again around his right. He backed off like a whipped dog. Eddy was part frozen, part reasoning that Romy had the moral supremacy of a woman, as well as the ambush advantage of a giant rabbit. If he stepped out to defend her, which there seemed no apparent need to do at this point, he would only upset the march on power she had taken, and it would become a thing between men, which he would inevitably lose. As it was, there were pens out, and notepads, and pieces of paper being exchanged, and apologetic retreating by the driver, before the truck moved off, and then the return of glowering Romy the Rabbit. Who seemed to have absorbed all the threat previously manifested by the truckie.

  Eddy watched her do up her seatbelt, and he started the car. It was a full five minutes before he dared speak to her. He began to ask ‘Are you alright?’, but it seemed a little obsolete. The truck driver was more likely at this moment to be patting at tears and touching up his makeup on the side of the road somewhere behind them.

  ‘What’s on the piece of paper?’ He changed gear and coasted through traffic. His body was still flooded with adrenalin, he wanted only to get out of the car and stop driving.

  ‘His insurance details.’ She flung them at him.

  ‘You . . . He’s going to pay?’

  ‘Of course he will.’ Dripping with scorn.

  ‘You were amazing, Romy. I think you scared him to death.’

  ‘Well, someone had to face up to him.’

  ‘What are you saying? I didn’t . . .’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Eddy. You didn’t. You never do. You’re scared of living. Scared of everything.’ Romy hurled her rabbit ears at him. They bounced down to the floor at his feet, where they tangled hazardously with the pedals.

  ‘What the— Romy, I know you’re upset about the work today. It was disappointing, not what you expected, but it’s a start. Better work will come . . .’ He tried to lower himself down to disentangle the rabbit ears from his brake pedal, all while continuing to negotiate the car.

  ‘Oh shut up, will you! Stop being so bloody . . . caring! Stop being such a marshmallow, just reacting to life with the least possible intrusion on the world you can! Why don’t you own your life, why don’t you get out there and take a risk? Don’t you want to really live, instead of just cowering around the edges?’

  He stared at her, amazed, hurt. Too caring? But that was his role with Romy; that was what she had always wanted him to be. That was the contract they had signed at the start, in fact they had renewed it just that morning. She, the fragile tearaway made vulnerable by the loss of her parents; he, the patch on her wounds. They were a couple based on caring, and being cared for, and surely that was what love was all about.

  ‘Romy, don’t take your bad mood out on me. That’s really hurtful.’

  She looked at him, her eyes bare with something he flinched before. ‘When we got together, Eddy, I was hurt from the loss of my parents. I was broken.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘You were the right person for me, then, but I’m not broken anymore, Eddy. I’m strong. And I want to stay strong, I don’t want to always be your project, like some pampered baby. I want to live. I want adventure.’

  ‘With Van.’ Pampered baby! Project!

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re in a relationship with Van, now.’

  She smiled, not at him, but at some thought out beyond the neighbour’s Sulo bin. ‘Van doesn’t do relationships, Eddy. Van is his own man. But he’ll let me hang around him, and that’s what I want for a while, Eddy, that’s what I need. To not be . . . cosseted.’

  ‘And me? Us? After all these years, you’re just . . . ending it?’

>   Confusion crossed her face. ‘I don’t know. But I know I just need to follow my heart for a while. Who knows, my heart might lead back to you.’ She took his hand comfortingly between the bucket seats. He felt her touch, and his body went into meltdown at the sensation. He was one big ball of pain, and the person who would have once comforted him and made the pain a little better was the person causing it. His tears fell down on his arm.

  ‘I hope it does, Romy. I’ll be waiting here, just in case.’

  An expression crossed her face, something between revulsion and exasperation. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t wait for me, Eddy. Maybe you should go and find a nice girl, and have a real relationship.’

  ‘After all we’ve been through together, you want to end it?’

  She sighed wearily. ‘I told you, I’m not certain of anything.’

  ‘Then I’ll be here.’

  ‘Oh, God. Of course you will be. Well, then, that’s it. I’m ending it. It’s over. You’re dumped.’

  She shook her head, sighed and climbed out of the car. The pink pom-pom that had been her bunny’s tail was flattened now. Eddy fished the rabbit ears off the floor between his feet and watched Romy go inside their house. He stroked the ears and wiped his forearm across his eyes.

  Chapter 12

  Options

  Keep paying mortgage on house

  Rent out house, keep paying mortgage

  Sell house

  Grace pushed the list across to Tom. They were sitting in possibly Melbourne’s worst café, barely a step up from a truck stop. The front window shook with the force of six lanes of passing traffic outside. Dead flies trembled in the corners. The table was wobbly, and she suspected that a rip in the vinyl of her chair had already sunk its ragged teeth into the delicate knit of her sexiest skirt. Tom had been oblivious to the skirt, anyway. He drew two quick lines on the list and she leaned over to see, hastily withdrawing her hand from a sticky patch on the table. Her mouth fell open.