The Crush

by Scott Monk

  ‘No. I only just arrived. Work kept me back.’

  ‘Pity. You should have seen him. He did a jig on top of the sails. The cops were yelling at him to get down while the crowd was cheering him on. He’ll probably have an agent by now.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she said, distant.

  That ended that conversation.

  Matt rocked back and forward on his heels. C’mon, man. This is the big chance. Make her laugh. Cheer her up. Get her mind off things. Gorgeous girls like that sort of talk.

  ‘Hey, what do you call an honest lawyer?’

  ‘I don’t know. What?’

  ‘A figment of your imagination.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kelly answered, unamused.

  Mayday! Mayday!

  Kelly realised he was only trying to help so she said, ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be bad company but it’s been a horrible day.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, I can handle it. Thanks.’

  Matt waited for a further explanation, scratched his ear then turned back to the concert. He might as well go. His mates would be looking for him.

  ‘You going back to the concert?’

  ‘That or a walk,’ he said.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Maybe over to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. I’ve never been there before.’

  ‘Do you mind if I tag along? I promise to laugh at your jokes.’

  ‘Yeah, sure, as long as you don’t laugh at my head instead.’ Finally Kelly smirked.

  Lights from a dozen high-rise apartments on the other side of the harbour reflected as scribbles of red, blue and white on the black water. A green and yellow ferry chugged a hundred metres away, passing stony Fort Denison on its trip to Manly. Dozens of cars raced a silver train across the famous steel bridge.

  ‘I saw you in the paper today,’ Kelly said, breaking the silence settling between them.

  Matt moaned. And not because of the story about the brawl between the Mongrels and the Lions on page five. ‘What a shocker of a photo, hey?’ he said, referring to the story on the back page.

  ‘What was wrong with it?’

  ‘The ugly guy in it.’

  Kelly smiled then said, ‘You’re not ugly.’

  ‘Tell that to the farmers out west. They’re thinking of hiring me to stand in their crops all day and scare away the crows.’

  She laughed quietly as a flush of excitement wheeled through Matt’s mind. Not ugly, hey?

  ‘I read the bit about you moving a lot. Is your dad a banker?’

  ‘No, it’s just me and mum. She keeps swapping jobs. She hasn’t got many skills and she takes what she’s offered.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  Matt looked at the ground, almost embarrassed. ‘She works at the council.’

  ‘What, as a secretary or receptionist?’

  ‘Nah, she’s part of the road gang. She drives steamrollers and fixes potholes.’

  He hoped that didn’t sound too bad. Kelly’s family were probably rich and were never short of money.

  ‘That sounds cool,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive one of those steamrollers. Except I wouldn’t be flattening roads. I’d be flattening men who are creeps.’

  She laughed suddenly before Matt could smile. She changed the subject just as quick too.

  ‘I also read that you’re a Bulldogs fan. Me too.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Of course. You can’t live in the Bankstown area without having one blue eye and the other white. Besides, dad would kill me if I supported any other team.’

  ‘Tell me about it. My grandpa was the same when he was alive. His three great lessons in life were to vote Labor, marry a Catholic and always follow the Doggies. And boy, did he love that football team. When I was little, we’d go to all the games together. He’d hoist me onto his shoulders so I could see over the big kids. He’d scream at the ref, sing the club song and wait outside in the rain to get me autographs of all the legends. He also bought me my first pair of playing boots when I was five. You should’ve seen my mum’s face. She went psycho. She was worried I’d get my face smashed up. Pop told her not to worry, it would make a man out of me. He used to watch all my games too until he died a couple of years back. I haven’t been to too many Doggies games since.’

  ‘Maybe we should catch a game together then.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’

  A tall ship full of revellers distracted them. They waved glasses and sang out the words to a new song, echoing from the concert.

  ‘Can I ask you something personal?’ Kelly said, as they walked further along the harbour.

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

  That shocked him. ‘No … no I don’t.’ Was she interested?

  ‘If you had one, would you get angry at her if she turned up to a party late?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you yell at her or embarrass her in front of complete strangers?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Would you call her a whore?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘What would you do then?’

  ‘Just ask her what happened. Or phone her. No big deal.’

  Kelly thought about this for a moment.

  ‘Why, who’s—’

  ‘Say you were invited over to your girlfriend’s place then. You asked her to cook your favourite meal but it wasn’t made right. Would you throw the food in her face?’

  ‘I wouldn’t even ask my girlfriend to cook for me. I’d probably make it myself.’

  ‘Is that what most guys would do?’

  ‘I guess. I don’t know anyone who’d chuck dinner at their girlfriend—except maybe in a food fight.’

  She returned to her thoughts as Matt screwed up his eyes. Wasn’t all this obvious?

  ‘How about friends? Would you stop her seeing her friends?’

  ‘What? That’s dumb. No one has the right to do that.’

  Kelly looked worried. It matched Matt’s concern.

  ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with you and Aaron, does it?’

  ‘No, not at all. We’re fine. It’s, um, a cousin of mine. She’s having a few problems, that’s all. She was interested in what you had to say about guys hitting girls. She wanted me to ask you a couple more questions.’

  She was lying.

  ‘Tell her it’s wrong,’ he said. ‘She should ditch him.’

  ‘But she loves him.’

  ‘But it sounds like he doesn’t love her. Why else would he be treating her that way?’

  Kelly didn’t answer. Instead, they followed the sea wall in silence, the answers heavy in their minds. Finally, she gave a shy smile and looked at him in a funny way.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re not like any of the footballers I know.’

  ‘My mates keep on saying I’m strange.’

  ‘No, you’re normal. I like it. You seem so …’

  ‘Ruggedly handsome,’ he joked.

  She laughed quietly. ‘I was going to say sincere.’

  ‘It’s better than what I normally get called,’ Matt said.

  ‘You know what I mean. I feel I can trust you. I barely know you and already I feel comfortable around you.’

  ‘I hope so. I don’t want you punching me every time we catch up.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that. I—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m over it. Just another bad joke, that’s all.’

  They laughed quietly as they stopped at Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. A sea breeze caught Kelly’s hair as they viewed the harbour. Matt loved the water. Some day he’d buy a boat and sail around the world. Riding the waves, there wouldn’t be another human for hundreds of kilometres except for his girlfriend. Except for Kelly. Dressed in her bikini and kissing his ears as he steered the wheel …

  Whoa, man. Settle down. You are both just friends, remember?

  ‘It’s nice here, isn’t it!’ Kelly said.r />
  ‘Yeah. It’s a great view.’

  ‘Can I ask you another question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Have you ever been in love with someone but they don’t even know you exist?’

  Boy, she was asking the right guy about that!

  But before he could answer, a chorus of drunk voices sang out from the darkness. ‘Matty? Matty? Where are you, Matteeee?’

  There was laughter then the appearance of three swaying figures and a fourth plodding behind them. It was the guys. They were searching for him. He turned back to Kelly to allay her fears about who was approaching, but she was gone. About twenty metres away, she’d run towards a taxi and hailed the driver.

  ‘Matty!’ Chris said, leading the charge when he saw their lost mate. Hazem and Grover followed, tripping over their feet, with Rhino in the rear. They smelt of bourbon and Coke. ‘Where have you been, Matteeeeeee?’

  Before Matt could answer, the Sundance Kid threw up.

  Red-faced, Matt feared his head was about to explode. The cords of his neck were ripping from their skin and his brain was about to burst from his nose. Overpowered by the pain, he dropped the heavy barbell back onto its cradle with a clang. Gym junkies glanced up, momentarily forgetting about adoring themselves in the walls of mirrors.

  Lying on the ground next to Matt, Chris moaned, ‘Can’t you do that quietly?’

  Matt rolled onto his shoulder and shouted, ‘Do what quietly?’

  The Sundance Kid yelped and bolted his hands over his ears. Matt grinned and reduced the weight of the barbell.

  ‘I haven’t been this sick since my parents told me I wasn’t adopted.’

  ‘Next time, don’t get smashed.’

  ‘There won’t be a next time.’

  ‘That’s what you said last time.’

  ‘And I’ll probably say it after I get smashed again.’

  Matt shook his head but let his mate suffer in peace. He grabbed a towel to wipe himself. A replay of the previous night’s game was showing on a small TV squirrelled away in the corner. The commentators babbled nonsense and Matt’s mind wandered from his own finals showdown to Blackwell’s threat and his talk with Kelly. Beautiful Kelly. Charming Kelly. Confused Kelly. He’d rung her that morning to find out if she was okay but he’d chickened out when her dad picked up the phone.

  ‘Hey, Chris?’

  ‘Chris isn’t here at the moment,’ his friend answered. ‘His brain’s closed for the day. Come back again tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you know about Kelly Sinclair?’

  ‘Smelly Eclair? What kind of name is that?’

  Matt sconed his mate on the head with the towel.

  ‘So that’s the brunette’s name.’

  ‘Which brunette?’

  ‘The one you’ve got a major crush on.’

  ‘Stop saying that.’

  ‘Then why are you asking me about her?’

  ‘I’m just interested, that’s all.’

  Chris snorted. ‘Interested in putting your tongue down her throat.’

  ‘Don’t muck around. Tell me what you know.’

  The Sundance Kid rubbed his temples. ‘Just the basics. She’s lived in the area all her life. Her father and Blackwell’s father are best mates. Naturally, she and Aaron grew up together. They started dating when they were twelve. First love and all that. He asked her out, she said yes and he’s been living as a jerk happily ever after.’

  ‘Are they, y’know, still going strong?’

  ‘You’re not falling for her, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Matty. I warned you.’

  Matt breathed in deep. ‘I can’t help it, Chris. I think about her every second. I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s in my dreams. My stomach gets all crazy when I talk to her. And I want to see her all the time. But worse, every time I hear a love song on the radio, I think it’s the best music I’ve ever heard—like it’s written about me and her.’

  ‘Now you’re starting to freak me out.’

  ‘Freak you out? How do you think I feel?’

  ‘But she’s already got a boyfriend.’

  ‘I know, and I wish she’d ditch him. He treats her something shocking. It’s wrong that she’s going out with a creep like him.’

  ‘And not a creep like you?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Matt sat forward and ran his hands down his face. The mere mention of Kelly sent his hormones crazy again. He could hardly breathe!

  ‘Do you think I’d have a chance with her?’

  ‘Matt, stop.’

  ‘You know, if she wasn’t dating Blackwell?’

  Chris sighed. ‘Mate, to be honest, you and I are scrubbers. That kind of girl is off limits to guys like us. Beautiful people go out with beautiful people. The rest of us fight for the scraps. Don’t go chasing after her, man. You’ll only get hurt.’

  That depressed Matt because it was the last thing he wanted to hear. But he kept it to himself as they finished up in the gym. The duo returned to his unit across the road. Just in time too. Chris hurled his guts into the toilet seconds after they got in the door. When he was finished, Matt attempted to take him home but Chris refused. Mr and Mrs Pearce would freak if they discovered he’d been drinking. He’d slipped in through his window the night before without them finding out. So the Sundance Kid crawled into Matt’s bed to die for the afternoon. Matt shut the door behind him and cleaned up the toilet. His mate would cop it later.

  Finished, he opened the windows and went to the fridge for a drink of water. Stuck to the door was a note: Buy milk. Money on table.

  The inside of the fish and chip shop was long, salty and hot. Smokers used two palm trees by the drinks fridge as ashtrays. Matt grabbed a one litre carton of milk, plopped it on the counter and put down gold and silver coins. Mr Nassaris waved away the money and winked at him. ‘Win your match next Tuesday and we’re square,’ he said. ‘Lose, and I’ll double your rent!’

  They grinned at each other before Matt thanked him and started to leave. Mr Nassaris called him back, however. He had a letter for him. ‘It must have been mixed up with our mail by mistake.’

  Matt took the white envelope and immediately recognised the loopy handwriting. It was the same as that on his mysterious birthday card. But it was addressed to his mother. He flipped it over. Mort Street, Balmain. Finally, a clue.

  Grabbing the milk, he started walking up the steps to his unit. He stopped at the landing and glanced across the car park beneath him. Good. His mum wasn’t about. He’d prise open the envelope then glue it back down before she returned home.

  Inside was a letter written on a small piece of glossy white paper sporting gumnuts and eucalyptus leaves. It read: You’ve had your chance, Heather. You’ve left me no choice. I’m taking you to court. You and your son can’t avoid me there.

  What? What had his mum done?

  He wanted answers. He barged into her bedroom.

  There was nothing on her lampstand or under her bed. Maybe the drawers. He pulled open the top one and jiggled his mum’s massive bras to life. Boy, he hated them come washday. They’d embarrassed him so much. His mates would ask where were all the parachutists who had landed on their washing line.

  The bottom drawer held the treasure. He found them under a framed, ripped picture of him at three months old wearing Mickey Mouse ears and sitting in a bucket of water—the only baby photo his mum had. Bunched together by a red rubber band were about twenty envelopes scrawled with the same loopy handwriting. Some dated back eight years.

  He sat on the edge of her bed and started reading them.

  Nosing through the blue waters of Sydney Harbour, the mammoth orange container ship steered towards the White Bay docks. Behind it, ferries and yachts cut across its white wash. Crew members leaned over the starboard side, smoking rollies and peering down at the wharfies scooting about in forklifts. A new shipment of cars had arrived from South Korea.

  Large grain silo
s blocked the view as the bus exited the huge Glebe Island Bridge with its spindly metal cables that looked like bike spokes. Matt rechecked the small map on his lap. Balmain was just around the corner with its higgledy-piggledy roads, terrace houses, steep hills, cafes, pubs and harbour views. A long time ago the inner Sydney peninsula had been the home of boat builders, coalminers, labourers, unionists, sawmills, power stations and the odd candle factory. Now the trendies had moved in with their focaccias, lattes, black skivvies, silver sunglasses, art studios and designer-clothed babies. A blue collar was something attached to a blue shirt.

  In his hands, Matt squeezed the bundle of letters he’d found in his mum’s room. They’d created more riddles. From what he could understand, the anonymous writer had been mailing short, sharp messages to his mother every two months. They’d started friendly, but deteriorated into animosity.

  One message read: I’m warning you. Take me very, very seriously. I’m nearly fifty-five and I’ve been asking you the same thing every year but you still don’t have the guts to grant me this one wish. Go on. Keep playing your silly games. I’ll be talking to my lawyer. See if you can hide between your lies then.

  A second revealed: If this is some personal grudge against me, then tell me. I’ll walk away from it. You know I’m only acting as a go-between. Your stubbornness has almost destroyed my family.

  The third was more disturbing: When are you going to tell him, Heather? When he’s eighteen? Twenty-one? Or never? You promised me it was when he was fourteen last time!

  That one was definitely about him.

  The bus deposited Matt along busy Victoria Road, a couple of hundred metres from the heart of Balmain. He rechecked his map, folded it away then wound through a street plastered with tattered and ripped concert promo posters.

  The address in Mort Street was a double-storey late-Victorian terrace with a white cast-iron balcony, hanging pots instead of a garden, wind chimes and an old BMW parked out the front. Someone was at home, at least. He opened the gate and banged on the screen door.

  The third thump worked. The door opened. Matt breathed in and prepared to go to war.

  A woman in her fifties stood in the doorway. He breathed out. Strange. He’d expected a man. The lady was well presented in a black dress with gold trimmings and a pair of slip-on shoes. Her hair was dyed brown and her eyes were the same fudge colour as his. Most of her face was covered in make-up, her fingernails were a dull red and she was holding a diary with very few phone numbers written inside.