This Is Now

by Maggie Gilbert

  I checked my phone one final time, but it still showed nothing but the all-too-crushing time, so I slipped it into my bag. I was just shrugging into my jacket when Sebastien came in through the entrance to the cinema lobby.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Just in time, I thought for sure I was going to be horribly late, the traffic is hell, every man and their dog seemed to have picked tonight to go out. But it’s OK, there’s plenty of time.’

  I stood with only one arm in my jacket and stared at him.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘It’s eight o’clock,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I know. The movie starts at 8.30 so there’s heaps of time, but if we want a good seat we should be ready to go in as soon as they let us. Do you want some popcorn or something?’

  ‘No. The movie started half an hour ago.’

  ‘What?’ He looked horrified. ‘It can’t have, wait a minute.’ He reached into his back pocket — such a stupid place to carry your money but even guys like Jay or my brothers, who knew better, couldn’t seem to find a better spot — and pulled out his wallet. He took two tickets out and peered at him. ‘Yeah, 8.30. It’s an extra screening this weekend.’ He put his wallet back, but tucked the tickets into the top pocket of his shirt.

  ‘You already have tickets,’ I said stupidly.

  ‘Yeah. When I read there were going to be extra sessions I thought it was better to get them early. There’s absolutely no car parks left on this level, so I had to park miles away.’ He wiped at his forehead, and I noticed for the first time that he was flushed and damp around the edges.

  ‘I thought you said we were meeting at seven.’

  ‘Did I? I’m so sorry.’

  I was amazed that he didn’t argue, just immediately accepted he was in the wrong and apologised. He must surely be a serial killer.

  A serial killer who bought tickets in advance and then obviously ran all the way through the mall — and after the recent extensions it was one ginormous sprawling abomination of clashing design and awkward travelator placement — to make sure he wasn’t late.

  ‘No, it was probably me. I was in such a spin when you asked me out I probably just screwed up the time.’

  His face lit up like I’d just handed him a million dollars.

  ‘Were you really?’

  I mentally played back what I’d just said. Jeez, I only opened my mouth to put my other foot in it, lately.

  ‘Yeah,’ I admitted. What else could I say?

  ‘That is excellent news,’ he said, grinning. He came right up to me then, and slid his hand down my arm. I trembled.

  ‘Jess, you look amazing,’ he said. He lifted his hand and touched my hair, briefly, and I was almost knocked over by an intense desire to take a step to close the narrow space that separated us, grab his arms and kiss him. I squashed it savagely. I was starting to get the idea that he did like me. Yes, happy dancing time! But whether he was at the point where he would welcome a full frontal assault in public, well that I didn’t know.

  My brothers had cautioned me years ago not to throw myself at a guy, because guys were a lot less fussy about what they caught than what they like to hunt. By the time I understood what they’d meant, the arsehole not-boyfriend had already taught me the truth of it in the most painful and publicly humiliating way possible. So these days, I didn’t put myself out there. I didn’t call. I didn’t suggest dates. I most definitely didn’t make the first move. It continued to be a shock, just how close I kept coming to forgetting that rule and just flinging myself at him.

  ‘Thanks. You look awesome, as always.’ Gah! So much for being cool about it. Jeez.

  Sebastien smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  He reached for my hand, and again a shiver ran through me when his skin connected with mine. Instead of lacing his fingers with mine, though, he frowned, and reached around me, and took hold of my jacket. Yeah, the jacket dangling there, half on, and totally forgotten.

  ‘If you’re cold, why don’t you finish putting on your jacket?’

  I would welcome it if the ceiling fell on my head right then, or a comet crashed on the crappy ugly building. Although that seemed a bit harsh when all the other people innocently sitting in the cinemas were undoubtedly much smarter and more together individuals than I could ever hope to be.

  I stood there, practically frozen with embarrassment, as Sebastien reached behind me and pulled my forgotten jacket across my back, and up, holding it so I could lift my arm and slide it into my sleeve. I managed to move enough to do that, although I wasn’t game to look him in the eye.

  He pulled the front of the jacket together, and then hooked his thumbs under the edges, and ran them upwards, brushing the skin over my collarbones. I caught my breath, tingling, and I think my heart almost stopped when he slid his hands under my hair and gently pushed it free of my collar. He smoothed it down, his fingers lingering on the strands, and when he drew back I saw his hand was shaking.

  ‘Ready? I think they’ll have the cinema ready for us by now.’

  ‘I’ve been ready since seven o’clock,’ I said, with exaggerated sarcasm so he knew it was a joke. I was so rattled at first I thought I’d misjudged it, but he laughed.

  ‘Thanks for waiting for me,’ he said.

  He was busy handing our tickets to the girl at the entrance, luckily, so he couldn’t see the blush rushing up my cheeks. I’d been about to give up on him and go, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. And I wasn’t going to be as ready to quit on him next time.

  Because I was fairly sure there was going to be a next time.

  Chapter 12

  Saturday morning, I had to go to the mall to get stuff, pens and deodorant and bobby pins (I swear they came to life in the middle of the night and ran away to some secret island where all the millions of vanished bobby pins lived) and tampons and some undies because most of mine were getting a bit past it. I was absolutely not influenced by any thoughts that there might be a new boyfriend on the scene to eventually see those undies. Nope.

  I should have thought to get all this stuff the night before, when I was at the mall anyway, but I just wasn’t that organised. And beforehand, I’d been too worried about trying to find one of the other girls to swap a shift with so I could go on the date in the first place to make logistical decisions.

  At least I’d been able to avoid the erratic Saturday morning buses; Troy needed some stuff from Super Cheap Auto, so he dropped me at the mall on his way. He must have got lucky, he was in such a good mood, singing along to The Violent Femmes on his car stereo. Troy had a fantastic voice, rich and husky, but he usually only sang after a couple of beers, at one of the barbies or beach bonfires we sometimes had. He wouldn’t believe how good his voice was, and I’d given up trying to tell him. Once, he’d wanted to be in a band, and had got a guitar and started bumbling around and we’d spent a few hilarious nights trying to think of good band names, but nothing ever came of it.

  I wondered why. Sitting on the bus on the way home, my lap full of shopping bags, it finally occurred to me to wonder why nothing had come of it. Troy had seemed so keen, and he had the voice, even if he did kind of suck at guitar. The Voice! He was totally good enough to go on that show, and although Keith Urban had left, there was still that dude from Good Charlotte Troy thought was pretty cool. Not to mention that Delta was like his dream girl. Maybe he wouldn’t think it was too pussy to go on that, like he had when I once (once and only once) suggested Australian Idol.

  I was so busy dreaming then of trying to talk him into going on The Voice and imagining that I could go with him and get to meet all the celebs, that I almost missed my stop. I pressed the button and leaped up, frantically checking I hadn’t left anything on or under my seat before charging up the aisle. My bags banged a few elbows along the way, and I was flushed and sweaty and still saying ‘sorry, sorry,’ when I clattered down the bus steps and onto the street.

  After the heated over-populated bus, the cold wind blowing up the street cut straight
through my cardigan and I shivered, goose bumps popping up all over. I almost wished I’d given in to temptation and bought that sweet little parka with the faux fur around the hood, but even on sale at fifty dollars that was too big a chunk of my cash.

  Just the stuff I’d planned to buy, that I had to have, had burned most of the way through a hundred bucks. I could not believe how much everything cost. I did some mental sums, calculating how many hours I had to work for that stuff, but came up with a number that was just too depressing. I’d have liked to blame it on my crappy maths skills, but it was only stuff like equations and algebra and trig that I had trouble with. Basic addition and that was pretty much an essential for a waitress.

  I started walking fast towards home, hoping the movement would warm me up a bit, but once I turned into the next street even that didn’t help. Anston Street always was a wind tunnel, but there was no other way to get from the bus stop to home.

  My mind turned back to my shopping, going over every item in the bags, considering whether I should have bought it. I always did this. I made lists, and crossed things off and put things off and waited until I was completely out of something before I bought a replacement. I got things on special when I could and bought the cheaper versions of stuff unless they were totally crap, and still I was constantly fighting guilt and regret when I went shopping. It was exhausting.

  I’d just decided that no, I couldn’t have managed another week at school without more pens, and that choosing that seven-pack of boring but long-lasting cotton undies over the lacy bra and panties set was definitely the better choice, when a car pulled alongside me, and someone called my name. I turned and looked, hoping it was someone I knew, someone with a nice heated car so I could avoid the ten minute walk I had left in the freezing cold, but what’s that saying? If it wasn’t for bad luck I’d have none at all. Yeah, that was me. I stopped and turned to face him.

  ‘Hello Detective,’ I said, warily. It was the young hot one, or at least he would have been hot if he wasn’t 1) a cop, and 2) totally determined to put my brothers in jail.

  ‘How goes it, Jess? Want a lift?’

  I paused, considering my reply.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said politely. This guy reminded me of a dog, all panting and tongue hanging out and wagging tail. The kind of dog that was just waiting for the rabbit to lose its nerve and run out from behind the bush. But I tried not to smart-mouth him. He had some clout, and I didn’t want to give him any excuse. Or any leverage.

  ‘It’s pretty cold for a walk.’

  ‘Don’t you know there’s an obesity epidemic?’ Yeah, so much for not being a smartarse, I know. I hadn’t thought that one through before I came out with it.

  Detective Simmons pushed his sunglasses up and looked me up and down. ‘You look in pretty good shape to me,’ he said.

  And see? That was what happened if you forgot the golden rule when dealing with cops. I felt the blush start up my neck and run up into my face and cursed my stupid traitor body. My brain knew better, but I flushed anyway.

  Cheeky bastard. He must think I was stupid. Yeah, I had a reasonable figure if you didn’t mind the small boobs that went with skinny legs, and I didn’t have a face that would scare dogs or kids but I was hardly model material. Since I turned thirteen and the small boobs sprouted and I started having some interest in my appearance, combing my hair, wearing makeup, that kind of thing, I think there had been a total of about five guys that showed interest in me. That included Sebastien, whose interest level was yet to be determined, and Benny, back when I’d still been in school. Benny, who was a little bit special and thought girls were lovely in general, and the girls who didn’t laugh at him or run away were totally awesome.

  There was no way in hell this guy was interested in me for anything other than getting the dirt on my brothers.

  The weight of the shopping bags dragged on my arms, and small shivers were starting in my arms and legs now I’d stopped moving. I tried not to let him see how cold and uncomfortable I was, and I tried to make my face look patient and polite, two things I’m not good at. I wasn’t even good at faking it, although I kept trying to learn. Waitressing had taught me to be better at both those things, too. Really, it was a job with a lot to give.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to hop in? I’ve got the heater on.’

  I made myself wait this time before I answered, examining what he’d said and how I might answer for any hidden traps.

  ‘I’m sure. Thanks.’ The mention of the heater, that was just cruel. And clever. I think my skin was turning blue, and if it was like this now I hated to think what the winter was going to bring. Maybe I was going to have to find a better coat, but not that fur lined parka, much as I’d liked it. A coat that didn’t cover your bum wasn’t much good when it got really cold. I had to keep my lip zipped. If thoughts were this much of a nervous prattle, it was just as well I wasn’t trying to have a conversation with the cop.

  ‘I hear there was a stolen Prado spotted in the neighbourhood.’

  I faked a surprised face, and kept my mouth shut so hard my jaw was starting to ache. That was a pretty good try at catching me out. My brothers didn’t deal in luxury car or 4WD parts, but that would have been a really stupid thing to blurt out to a detective, wouldn’t it? I’d been taught not to comment, not to make jokes, not to say something that was sarcastic but that a cop could write down and pretend you’d said totally seriously. To follow one simple rule: you had to seem to be both cooperative and either innocent or ignorant, whichever seemed safest, and most importantly, to count backwards from ten to one before you answered any question. Even one like asking your name or your age or your address.

  ‘You haven’t seen it?’

  Ten, nine, eight… ‘I don’t notice cars.’

  ‘But your brothers do.’

  I didn’t need to count on that one. That was the kind of comment that there was no safe response to. It wasn’t actually a question, so it didn’t require an answer. A year ago, I would have blundered into that one, but I hadn’t forgotten how it felt to be called into the cop station last time they thought they had evidence on my brother, Troy that time. They’d alternately tried threatening me to get him to admit to stealing and torching a car, and grilling me, hoping I’d say something to incriminate my brother. By mistake I’d said something that got the cops excited and Troy extremely pissed at me, but to this day I had no idea what that was. Troy wouldn’t tell me and I’d never bothered to ask the cops. But luckily they couldn’t use anything I’d said to hold him, and Troy had eventually forgiven me. It had helped that Troy hadn’t done it and he’d actually been on one of the rare working stints, labouring for a brickie on a building site in the city with about twenty workmen who could give him an alibi.

  As far as I knew, neither Troy or Brian had ever stolen a pack of cigarettes, let alone a car. I don’t know if that was because where they drew some kind of moral line, or whether they just thought it was too risky. They worked further down the line than the actual theft. Another thing I shouldn’t even be thinking with a cop eyeing me.

  ‘It’s just a matter of time, Jess. I’m going to get them, one of these days.’

  Screw counting. I was crap at following rules.

  ‘Is that a threat?’ I asked him, and he grinned, and put his sunnies back on.

  ‘Of course not. I’ll see you around.’ He glanced over his shoulder, and started to pull back into the street. ‘Enjoy your walk.’

  I waited where I was, shivering, until I saw the car turn at the end of the street and I was sure he hadn’t just stopped further up the road, ready to hassle me again.

  Then I shifted my grip on my shopping bags, wriggling my fingers to get some blood flowing into them again, and started towards home. I knew he was too smart to get caught out making a threat, but it had been worth a try. And it was a threat, damn it.

  My stomach churned, and my legs didn’t really want to work properly and it wasn’t because of the cold. I hated
confrontation, I hated the cops, I hated this neighbourhood and a lot of the time, I hated my brothers. I didn’t understand why they couldn’t just have jobs like normal people. But then, the not-understanding seemed to be mutual; my family didn’t get why I’d gone back to school after the end of year 10, let alone was taking a second bite at getting my HSC at TAFE.

  They thought I should take the hairdressing apprenticeship on permanent offer from Michelle, and they couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t jump at the chance. But much as I loved Michelle, what I didn’t understand was why she kept offering me a job. She knew I wasn’t interested in being a hairdresser, so why would she be willing to go through all that hassle instead of finding someone better to invest in? It had to have something to do with Jay, and that just made it too complicated.

  As I finally made the turn onto my street, my arms were about to drop off and my teeth were chattering, I was so cold, and why had I thought it was a smart idea to buy so much stuff when I was catching the bus? It hadn’t seemed anywhere near this heavy at the mall.

  I looked at the street, at the too-long grass in the yards, the cars chocked up on blocks or tyres. Peeling paint, barking dogs, screaming kids, broken toys. And here and there, a place with careful gardens and fresh paint and a shiny Mazda 3 in the driveway, some young working couple proud of the starter house they worked two or three or even four jobs for.

  I could no more imagine being the wife in that happy couple than I could imagine staying in one of the shabby houses with car parts spread out on the driveway.

  There had to be somewhere better than this, I thought, as I climbed up the front steps to my house. It was a thought I’d had a gazillion times, and as usual it was like one of those questions on my maths test. A problem I had no idea how to solve.