The Harper Effect

by Taryn Bashford

  The porch window is still covered in ‘Darling Madeline’ letters, as is the one next to it now. And the next. I traipse around the house, inspecting each window and trying to understand Jagger’s state of mind. I can only decipher snippets, but it’s like he wanted Madeline to read the letters from heaven. Every glass pane is a mosaic of love notes to his dead wife – including one window that’s wide open.

  The roller blind swings in the breeze. I push it to the left and slip into the house then scrunch my nose against the reek of stale beer. I’m in Colt’s bedroom. And there’s a shape in Colt’s bed. I say his name louder than I intend. He doesn’t move.

  Fear splinters through me.

  I step closer. He’s on his side – and breathing. And he hasn’t shaved lately, given he practically has a beard.

  Blowing out air and pressing both palms to my forehead, I hunch on the bed next to him. He’s an orphan now. I wonder if he has any family, other than his relatives in Florida. My feet knock over two empty beer bottles abandoned on the floor by the bed. His eyes drift open, unseeing, then slip closed.

  He’s been drinking.

  I jog his shoulder. ‘Colt. Wake up.’

  This time he lifts his head and registers me. He flops flat, covering closed eyes with an arm. Without a shirt, it’s obvious he’s lost weight.

  I don’t know whether to shout at him or kiss him. ‘You okay, Colt?’

  ‘Get out of here, Harper,’ he mutters.

  My smile falls away and my heart shrinks. I blink back tears and go into the kitchen to fetch water.

  The lounge room is pretty tidy except for two empty takeaway pizza boxes, three drained red wine bottles, and a quarter bottle of vodka. His or his dad’s? A shape under a blanket moves on the sofa. I suppress a gasp.

  A woman calls, ‘Colt?’

  Natalie. Despite Colt’s assurances about her, jealousy smears itself through me. But the figure sits, hanging her red, spiky-haired head. I grip the sofa. ‘Kim?’

  Even though Jagger’s ‘Darling Madeline’ notes block most of the sunlight, she squints at me as though the glare is blinding, then gives a brief wave. ‘Harper.’

  ‘What are you doing? Why are you here?’ I round on her.

  ‘Holy shit, keep your voice down.’ She pushes long fingers through short hair, squeezes her skull. ‘Colt needed cheering up.’

  I hover over her, taking in her bare shoulders. ‘And how exactly did you intend to do that?’ When she droops further into the sofa, eyes blank, my skin crawls. ‘You brought pizza and alcohol and yourself on a plate – you reckoned that would help, did you? His dad was an alcoholic, for Christ’s sake. Colt’s never touched a drop before.’

  She giggles. ‘He needed a li’l love and attention. No harm in that.’

  The ground buckles.

  ‘Get out,’ I yell, pulling her up. ‘Get out right now.’ But she’s only wearing a boob tube and panties and I ditch her wrists as if they’ve scalded me.

  ‘Jesus, girls, keep it down, would you?’ Scratching at his new beard, Colt traipses in the direction of the bathroom. ‘This is a decent neighbourhood.’ The door slams. The shower cranks, making the pipes groan.

  Kim flops back onto the sofa, pulling the blanket over her. ‘Who made you the boss?’

  Everything speeds up and I’m choking on too much air. I swoop around the house in a rage, collecting empty bottles and rubbish into a bin liner and scrubbing dishes. When Colt emerges from the bathroom, a shaving cut on his chin and a towel wrapped around his waist, I dive at him, fists slapping at his chest. ‘Is this your answer? Getting boozed up and sleeping with girls? Throwing your life away like your dad did?’ I intend every word to hurt.

  He captures my wrists. His glare takes me apart, limb by limb, organ by organ. ‘I said you should go, Harper. I don’t need your help.’ He pushes past me.

  ‘Yeah, get going, Harper,’ pipes up Kim from the sofa, snorting.

  ‘You should get going too, Kim,’ Colt calls from the bedroom, his voice firm and cold. ‘Thanks for the company.’

  I lean against the hallway wall, repeatedly knocking the back of my head against it. I can’t just walk away – I have to stop him self-destructing.

  A door to the left is ajar. Inside, the walls are lined to the ceiling with cardboard boxes that also block out the window. In the middle of the boxes is a single bed. It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Jamie Jagger, tennis superstar, reduced to living in that miserable room, imprisoned by his own love letters and never able to leave behind the ghosts of his past. Never able to move forward.

  I storm into Colt’s room. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees. He looks like a door that fell off its hinges.

  ‘I hate that you’re done with me, but I get it.’ I swallow the sob that’s swelling in my throat. ‘But you’re not done with tennis. I won’t let you throw away what you have. If you do, you’re no better than your father. I know you loved him and you miss him, but I also know you don’t want to be him.’

  ‘I killed him, Harper.’ He snatches a pillow and chucks it at the wall. I’m glad there’s nothing else in the room to throw. ‘I was playing tennis and he was dying. I should’ve been here.’ Colt punches the mattress.

  ‘You know that’s rubbish. No-one can protect someone 24/7. And Natalie was here – it’s not like you abandoned him.’

  ‘I don’t blame her.’

  ‘Then you can’t blame yourself.’

  He slams himself back onto the bed, his hands covering his face. ‘He died in bed. Alone.’ His shoulders judder.

  I lie down and gather his rigid body to me. It’s like hugging an armful of tennis racquets. His choppy breaths heave into my shoulder and my heart shatters for him.

  It takes a long time, but after he calms down, I murmur, ‘It’s horrible, I know. But he was fixed on doing it. Second time, Colt. Second time. He would’ve kept going till he succeeded. It’s not because you weren’t here.’

  Colt rolls away, shutting his eyes. ‘So everyone keeps telling me.’ He takes a deep breath, taking back control.

  ‘Maybe you should listen to them.’ I push myself up onto an elbow. ‘Maybe those people are right and they want to help you.’

  He exhales, eyes flicking open and toward me for a split second before he sits forward. ‘Why couldn’t he just be proud of me?’

  ‘He was a sick man.’ I sit up too, together but separate.

  ‘He saw my matches on TV. The Australian Open – the very place where his career ended. That’s what drove him to it. He asked me to stop the tennis. If I had listened –’

  ‘You’d have ended up bitter and angry like him. And he would still have done it.’ I pull at the frayed edges of my jean shorts.

  Colt watches my fingers fidget in my lap, a wry smile quivering. ‘Not sure I can take your brutal honesty right now.’ His eyes grip mine.

  ‘Don’t make the same choice your dad did. Don’t give up on yourself.’

  Silence holds the room.

  ‘It’s hard to admit he messed up big time. He was my hero –’ Colt’s voice splits. ‘And he’s all I had –’

  Colt fights to calm his shuddery breathing. When he succeeds, he remains dead still and I stay quiet to let him recover. Then he places his hand over my clasped hands in my lap. ‘It would’ve taken guts for you to come here.’ When I don’t respond he squeezes my fingers to make me look up. ‘Still not given up on me?’

  ‘Nothing will ever make me do that.’ I try a small laugh, then remember Kim out in the lounge room. ‘I just wish you hadn’t given up on me.’

  He sucks in a breath, exhales slowly, rubbing his face with flat palms.

  There’s a soft knock and Kim’s face appears around the door. ‘Colt. You okay?’ She steps into the room, now wearing black shiny leggings with her top. My fingers ball up
and Colt goes out of the room with her.

  ‘Thanks for the company,’ says Colt. ‘I gotta head out soon. Have you got everything?’

  ‘I had a great night. Thanks, handsome. Guess I’ll see you – soon.’ I don’t hear his reply above the clatter of the bolt on the front door and the squeak of hinges.

  My heart thuds as I think about them being together last night.

  I have to get out of here, but when I enter the lounge room my legs feel boneless. Colt has shut the door and indicates I should sit. I plunk into the sofa, completely sad-struck.

  ‘Everything’s messed up.’ My lips distort and hot tears prickle. ‘Did something happen with you and Kim? She implied –’

  ‘No, it didn’t.’ Colt’s voice is steady and firm. His words echo in my head.

  ‘What does it matter anyway?’ I lurch for the front door. Colt’s fingers wrap around my arm. I pull away, but he’s not letting go.

  ‘I did not sleep with Kim,’ he says, more definitely. ‘I may be mad at you, but you’re not leaving here believing some lie she sold you.’

  ‘You were probably too blitzed to remember.’

  ‘I remember everything. She made a drunken pass. I put her straight. I bored her with re-runs of Wimbledon. She fell asleep on the sofa. I went to bed, fried but not paralytic.’

  ‘She was half-naked when I got here.’ I pull at my arm.

  This time he lets it go, a rumble of laughter filling the room. ‘You’re actually jealous,’ he says. ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

  I blush to the tips of my ears, lift my gaze as far as his mouth. When I see he’s still smiling, I check his whole face and it blows wide open. The parts of me that have whirled in mid-air since he left me at the hospital snap back into place.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘For coming. And for what you said earlier. It might take me a while to believe it, but it helped. I need to keep hearing it.’

  ‘We should call Milo,’ I say. ‘He’s worried. You need to get training.’

  ‘I’m not going to Rio.’ Colt flops into an armchair, making the stuffing bubble through the holes in the fabric.

  I step in front of him. ‘But you can’t give up –’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.’ He picks at the stuffing. ‘There’s the funeral. My family in Florida want me to move back. Landlord’s turfing me out of this place. I need to get myself together and that’s not going to happen in two days.’

  I totter backwards into the sofa. ‘You won’t find the answer in a bottle of beer,’ I say, thinking of Jacob.

  Colt blows out a noisy breath. ‘Figured it’s okay to have a drink on my eighteenth birthday. Some might say it’s acceptable to have a drink in honour of a dead father, too.’

  ‘Your birthday? When?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘Yesterday. I think. Not sure what day it is.’

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Not so happy. But I did learn that alcohol is overrated,’ says Colt. ‘Tastes like crap and makes you feel like hell the next day. What’s the point?’ He doesn’t look like he’s expecting an answer. ‘Sorry I disappeared. I needed to be alone – you know? And the media invaded. I had to switch off my phone and lock myself in. I ate what was left in the cupboards, which wasn’t much, so the only reason I opened the door to Kim was because of the smell of pizza.’

  But as he speaks a swirl of grey invades my body. This is his crossroads. Where does that leave me? Every touch, kiss and smile, every word we exchanged, is fading – always there in the past but never able to lead to a future.

  Colt gets up to fetch tall glasses of water, passing me one.

  ‘You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?’ I smile, but it’s like my lips are made of wool and won’t stay in place. ‘I mean, you’re not going to follow in your dad’s footsteps.’

  ‘Nope.’ He guzzles the water. ‘I’ve got a lot to work out, but I won’t let alcohol make those decisions.’ He blows his cheeks out. ‘I’m guessing Jacob is okay? I called the hospital. They wouldn’t tell me anything. But you wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.’

  ‘He got lucky. And I’d be here no matter –’ I stare at him, trying to work out what’s going on between us. ‘I – we’re good – you and me, aren’t we? Friends again?’ It’s not the question I want to ask, but it’s a start.

  He flops into the armchair and considers the notes stuck to the window. ‘I quite liked being more than friends,’ he says, echoing my words in Melbourne. ‘But this Jacob thing –’

  The expression on his face scrapes at my heart.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Can I try to explain and you won’t take off?’

  ‘No point.’ He practically drops his empty glass on the table between us.

  ‘You made the wrong assumptions before. And I got the Kim thing wrong. Even Natalie, once.’ Something tweaks in his jaw. ‘I needed to clear it up in my own mind before I could explain it to you,’ I plead. ‘If I mean anything to you, just listen. It’s all I ask.’

  He taps his chin. Nods.

  I rub my upper arms, take a deep breath. ‘I do love Jacob. And no, probably not in a brotherly way.’ Colt shifts, pops his neck. ‘But I think I love him for the wrong reasons. Being together meant the future wouldn’t separate us – everything would stay the same. I needed that – to feel safe. Or is it I needed him therefore I loved him?’ I swallow hard. ‘But we’re not children anymore. I am changing and I’m making my own path. I love him – he meant so much for so long, how could I not? But I recognise now it’s not a strong, forever love. It’s not –’ How do I explain the difference between pink love and the blazing, dazzling, heart-bopping red love I feel for Colt?

  Colt scrutinises me, treating every word as a clue to a puzzle.

  My toes curl up and I slump further into the sofa. ‘When I was with you, it felt –’

  My gaze plunges. His dad just died. This isn’t the right time to tell him that I love him.

  ‘All I know is when everything imploded at Christmas I missed Jacob and felt awful for him, but it’s you I couldn’t get out of my head.’ We watch each other with gazes that remember that awful day. ‘And I’ve thought about this a lot, but if Aria met someone in Europe and she was okay for me to be with Jacob, I wouldn’t go to him. Going back to Jacob is stopping myself from moving forwards, hiding in the past. I’d be staying with what’s familiar and holding myself back, or clinging to a crutch. Does that make sense? I’m ready to spread my wings – without him.’

  Colt’s fingers drum softly on the armrest. ‘My dad. He married his high school sweetheart and got stuck in the past when she died. He loved her so much he could never move forward.’ Colt shuts his eyes. ‘I never wanted to love someone like that.’

  His face empties.

  Silence you can hear slides like a barrier between us. I almost kick the table over and grab him in a hug, but I don’t dare breathe. Does he love me like that?

  ‘He hit you, Harper.’ Colt shakes his head, jaw grinding, his stare heavy on me.

  ‘He’s never done that before. It was the drinking – it turns him into someone else.’

  ‘Like my dad.’

  I consider reaching for his hand, but something’s off.

  He stands, cracks his knuckles. ‘I’ve got a lot of stuff to sort out. Thanks for coming over, though.’

  Tears prickle behind my eyelids and I rise. ‘Anytime,’ I say, my voice cracking.

  He heads for the door and holds it open, then follows me onto the deck and into the street. When he levels up with me we stroll in the kind of silence you hope will never end because when it does you won’t want what it brings.

  Colt stops next to the Jeep, hooks both thumbs through the belt loops on his shorts. ‘I don’t know what to say to you right now. I’m a wreck. It’s as if stuff is flying at my head and I have to du
ck all the time.’ He squeezes his eyes shut. ‘And I won’t take you down with me. You’ve got rankings to keep up.’

  My ribcage snaps in ten places and spears my heart.

  He opens his eyes, shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘I need to be with myself for a bit.’

  The pavement tilts.

  This is goodbye.

  I swallow the pebble in my throat, and because I can’t cope with seeing the truth in his eyes, I inspect my foot toeing the ground. ‘Is this your very indirect and subtle way of saying goodbye because you’re already halfway to Florida?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

  Every happy memory we made just got vacuumed out of my head and replaced by a grief so big it needs its own funeral.

  Milo and I leave for Rio two days later. It’s also the day Jacob is released from hospital and the day Colt buries his father.

  The atmosphere in the cab is thick with gloom. Despite the bruise-coloured clouds, Milo is lost in thought behind his aviators. In turn, I resemble the treehouse the Raggers once built in the Mother Tree, all pulled apart and broken, nothing left but a few bent nails as clues to the fact that life was once amazing.

  In the hotel in Rio I listen to the air conditioner, to the people in the hallway, to the muffled traffic twenty storeys below. There’s a sense that I’ve been climbing a mountain these last few months and I’ve finally reached the summit. I have nothing to think about but proving Kominsky wrong; Aria, Jacob, Colt – they’re offstage and I’m alone in the spotlight.

  Everything has led to this point.

  The morning of the first match I know there won’t be a bag of plums outside my door, but I look for it anyway. How can something that’s not there hurt so much?

  I’m fitter than ever and have upped my on-court experience. I win the first match. During the post-match interview they ask how Colt is. At the mention of his name my heart smashes through the windscreen as though it was in a car crash.

  ‘He’s a son who’s lost his dad,’ I say.

  The second-round match is tougher. After losing the first set the pulverising pressure closes in. If I don’t find a way to dig deep and stay strong and determined, I’ll get stuck in the first-round graveyard again. The concept garrottes me. I’ve had a taste of being a winner – I want more. I want a Grand Slam singles title. I want four Grand Slams. Ten! Maybe because I almost chose to throw tennis away after Christmas, only to win the Open mixed doubles, giving tennis up is no longer an option.