by Max Henry
“Sure thing, brother.”
He throws a hand up in the air as a kind of wave while he heads back to join the other guys on the shovel. I feel guilty, some days, that I get to sit up here in air-conditioned comfort while they slog it out in the sun, but there’s only three of us with our ticket to do the work in the digger, and two sites currently in operation. Today, I’m the only one on this site who can do the job.
I follow the guys along, moving bucketloads of grit until we reach the end of the channel. Thoughts of Sefina come and go, memories of better times. She’s never far from my mind, but her birthday is always the hardest. Even when she was under that arsehole’s influence, she always managed to get away long enough to share lunch or dinner with me on her birthday. Growing up, it was just two of us a lot of the time when Dad was either drunk or out with his friends and Mum was at one of her two jobs. We were close for siblings, and I can’t deny that she left a hell of a gap in my life the day she left.
I should have killed the fucker, but then I realise that doing so would have given the bastard the easy way out. At least now he has to live out his days knowing what he misses out on—freedom. He has to suffer longer, just not enough.
He could never suffer enough.
I shut off the digger’s engine and climb down from the cab as the guys file under the shade of the portable gazebo we carry from job to job. Some of the gang stretch out on the grass, while others relax in the camp chairs scattered in the small space. I accept a bottle of water from our youngest guy and give him a nod.
Seated on the grass, I pull my phone out and thumb through to the notifications in Facebook. My already melancholic mood sours further when I see no new friend requests. I unblocked Belle on Monday after one too many drinks before bed, figuring that it leaves the lines of communication open should she want to get in touch. I know it’s unrealistic to expect her to have seen what I’ve done. Fuck—I should man up and send her a damn request, but doing so would go against what John wants, and for some fucked up reason I still care what my friend of almost thirty years cares, even if we hardly talk anymore.
“What do you think, mate?”
I look up from my phone, narrowing my gaze on Ed. “Sorry?” He’s one of the newer guys, yet hardly a spring chicken. Weathered skin bunches around eyes that seem to permanently smile.
“I was telling the boys about that new outfit setting up on the other side of the highway. Shot over there yesterday to ask what they’re after, and they said they need operators.”
“The place with the blue logo?” I remember seeing the yard under construction, but didn’t think much of it.
“Yeah. Jackson and Connell.”
“Where are they from?” Mike asks from his spot reclined on his side. “They completely new, or what?”
“Nah.” Ed shakes his head. “Been around for twenty-something years up north, but it’s the first yard down here.”
“You ever held down a job for more than a month?” one of the older guys teases. “All you talk about is how many fucking places you been at.”
Ed scowls at the guy. “If you want to stay on, fine. But why when you can get another six dollars an hour for the same job?”
“Bullshit,” Mike says with a laugh. “You’ve got your figures arse about face, bro.”
“Nope. Go see them.” Ed swings his focus back to me. “I put in a good word about you, if you’re interested.” He turns back to the group. “The guy said they’re looking at sponsoring employees to upskill, too. Get you your tickets, or even help you out if you want to be an owner-driver in the rigs.”
“Sounds too good to be true if you ask me.”
“Amen to that.”
The guys crack up laughing at Ed as he shakes his head at them, yet I stay silent. Working on the diggers is great, you get paid well for the skill, but I’ve watched the tipper trucks come and go for years wondering what that would be like.
“Who did you talk to?”
Ed turns to face me at my question. “The manager. Name was Jerry. Go see him, mate. I reckon you’d be a shoo-in.”
Maybe today isn’t so shit after all?
SEVEN
Belle
Kate and I spend the rest of the afternoon trolling the shops, not in search of anything in particular, but making up for lost time all the same while we scour the racks for bargains and steals. I see her off at the entrance doors with a promise to make our catch-ups a regular thing, and hotfoot it back to Sharon’s car as the crowd thins prior to closing. Sharon managed to arrange a ride to work with one of her colleagues, adamant I needed the independence a car would give me.
I really don’t think Dad could have found somebody further on the opposite end of the spectrum from Cerise if he had tried.
I asked last night where my mother had gone after he asked her to leave. To my disappointment, he said Cerise had chosen to stay local. Why, I wouldn’t know. Then again, it’s not as if she’d have much to go to elsewhere either. That’s the problem with burning your bridges wherever you go, I suppose.
Takeaway coffee in hand, I wrestle the car door shut and set my bag down on the passenger seat. The dash lights up as I click the key to accessory, and then turn the radio down a little. My feet ache from a long afternoon walking the mall, but I’m glad for the distraction. I would have gone stir-crazy with the knowledge Zeus has removed the block from my profile and nobody at home to keep me from falling down that rabbit hole.
My heart is a wild thing, caged and demanding to be set free as I bring my phone to my lap and open the damn app. Two letters in the search bar, and his name comes up at the top of the suggestions. Benefits of not many people having a name that starts with a Z.
His profile picture is dark, taken in shadow, and portrays him looking off to the side as though the image is a candid one. I pull a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to let the jealousy ease. Who took the picture? Does he have a girlfriend? A wife?
Do I want to know?
I can’t do this yet. I’m not ready. Not when my blood runs hot through my veins and my heart hammers in my chest. I need to open this can of worms when I’m in control, when I can look at his life as it is now objectively. Three years overseas, and the effect that man has on me didn’t lessen in the slightest. If anything, it’s grown worse.
I kill the app and then set my phone in the cradle, dialling Dad before I turn the car on. He answers as I pull out of the park.
“Hey, sweetheart. How was Kate?”
“Good. Are you busy?”
“No. Between jobs. You’ve got time to talk.”
“Awesome.” Dad climbed to a management role in the time I was overseas, which affords him a little more lenience with his day. “So, I talked to Kate about the fact I want to find my own place, and she had a suggestion.”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t I find shop space to lease that has accommodation attached?”
He hums disapprovingly. “I don’t think you’ll find that in the area you want to set up your studio.”
“I can’t afford rent and shop space, though. It’s one or the other.”
“So stay on at home longer.” I open my mouth to protest, but Dad carries on. “I know you want your own place, but it makes financial sense.”
It does. It just doesn’t make sense when it comes to Damien. “It wouldn’t be too crowded when there’s four of us?”
“There’s been four of us in that house in the past,” he points out. “There’s enough room… if Damien is happy with the idea.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll put it to him.” I pull up behind a motorcycle at the lights and admire its matte black paint job. “I just wanted to bounce the idea off you. Thanks, Dad.” The guy on it isn’t too hard on the eye, either: steel-toe boots tucked beneath heavy-duty work pants with the reflective tape around the calves, stripped back to a long-sleeved T-shirt on the top that showcases a hard-working body.
“I’ll see you at dinner, sweetheart.”
The line connects as the guy in front of me twists on his machine, his thick torso contorting so he can look over his shoulder. No way….
“Hey,” Damien greets flatly. “I was going to call you tomorrow.”
Silence fills the car as the traffic lights ahead turn green. I can’t…. It can’t be….
“Belle?” Damien asks over the line. “You there?”
The bike tears off with a roar, catching up to the traffic that’s pulled away ahead of us. “Yeah. I’m here.”
I should turn right, but instead I follow the bike through the intersection, disbelieving of what my eyes tell me.
“What date are you coming home?” I ask absently, tracking the bike as it sharply overtakes the car in front.
“I hadn’t booked tickets yet. Why?”
“How would you feel about staying at my dad’s for a while so I can raise enough to start the shop?”
“I thought we talked about this already.”
“We did.”
“And we decided that we need our own space if we want to make things work for us.”
I frown as the rider whips around another vehicle, placing two cars between us. He disappears from view as the road arcs around a bend. Shit.
“It’ll only be temporary,” I snap, my frustration at losing the bike mingled with my annoyance at Damien for whining like a damn child about minor details. “I can’t afford to pay the bond on a place and save to start up a studio, Damien.”
“So wait a while to start the business.”
Is he for real? My foot eases off the gas. The road ahead of me is empty save for one car; the biker’s gone. “If I wait, then you know what’ll happen. The goal will keep getting pushed out further and further. I came back with the intention to start the business and make my life what I’ve always wanted it to be.”
“And where do I fit in with those plans?”
A flash of black catches my eye as the roar of the bike’s engine cuts in behind me. What the fuck? The bike merges from a side street and tails me as I take the next right to head back to Dad’s. I spend more time watching the rear-view than the road ahead as the rider lifts his hand and pushes the visor on his helmet up. Fucking knew it. I wouldn’t forget those eyes, ever.
“Belle?” Damien snaps. “I asked you where I fit in with your plans. What about what I want?”
“What do you want?” I bite back as I indicate and ease the car to the side of the road.
“I’m not sure yet, but what if I don’t want to live in Longdale?”
“Then I guess we’re at an impasse.” I smack my finger down on the phone, frustrated that every conversation with Damien turns into an argument lately, and end the call as Zeus pulls over in front of me.
He doesn’t dismount, sitting instead with his engine idling and head down. His T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, the text printed on the back warped into an arc as the fabric is forced to accommodate him. He’s lost size since I saw him last, but put Zeus next to most other men and he’s still a big guy. I stare out the windshield as I drink him in, unable to move. What do I say? Why am I even doing this?
His head twists as he checks his mirror. I lock on to those beautiful blue eyes and sink a little lower in the seat. I have nothing. Nothing I can say that would make sense after three years of no communication, not even a fucking postcard to say thanks for the tickets.
How full of myself would I be if I waltzed back into his life and expected him to just kneel at my feet and worship me like nothing went wrong? Like no time has passed at all? I don’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve that.
Especially when I still have a boyfriend… who I hung up on. Get your priorities in order, Belle.
Zeus lifts his boot to the foot lever and stomps the bike into gear. I scoot higher in the seat and reach for the door, yet pause. He watches me in the mirror, giving me time to make the decision, and then shakes his head when I fail to get out.
He slams his visor down, and the reverberation of the bike’s engine shakes the car as he roars into the street. His outline quickly shrinks into the distance while I sit frozen with my hand to the door, wondering if this is all some strange dream. Am I delirious? Did I imagine that it was him? Have I just weirded out some stranger in my obsessive need for the rider to have been Zeus?
Those eyes. It couldn’t be anybody but Zeus.
My body vibrates with pent-up energy, the frustration leaking out in hot tears as I slide down in the driver seat and give in. Three years I fooled myself into thinking I was over him. Three years I spent living the lie that he was only ever a passing phase for a foolish teenage girl.
But one glimpse, one look at the guy I gave my heart to before I knew what love is, and I’m ruined.
For the first time, I fully understand how it felt for him to have me so close and then be forced to watch me leave. I understand what it’s like to let what you love slip away out of fear of hurting others.
I understand what it’s like to lose the one thing you want most in the world.
And it sucks.
SIX
Zeus
The bike ticks as the engine cools, the garage thick with the smell of hot oil and burnt fuel. I pushed it hard to get home, frustrated that I couldn’t go against John, even after the suffering I’ve put myself through these past years.
I’ve longed for the day when Belle would be back on home turf, and then when she is, what do I do? Freeze. She had to initiate contact. I said to John that I’d stay away, but I never said I’d turn her away if she came to me first.
I leave my keys and phone on the bed and head across to the drawers to get myself a clean T-shirt. An afternoon on the bike with the sun beating on my back left me hot and sweaty. Although nowhere near as hot under the collar as I got seeing Belle behind me in the queue. What are the fucking chances? I didn’t recognise the car, but if she’s fresh in the country she won’t have her own ride yet.
What was she doing there? And why the hell didn’t she get out of the car after she pulled over? With a groan, I run my hand through my hair and then strip my shirt off. The fabric hits the wall with a dull thud before sliding to the floor. I step into the attached bathroom and run the tap, wondering if I scared her by coming up behind the car like that. I had to know if it really was her, and I had to know what she’d do when she could see without a doubt it was me. Cold water hits my face, but nothing wakes me from this funk. Fuck, I lost myself the day she left. Fucking slipped off the straight and narrow road John helped me get on and freefell into oblivion.
I dry my face off, scrubbing the fibres of the towel hard against my face out of sheer frustration. Maybe I did do the right thing buying that ticket? After all, if she’d stuck with me, then where would she be now? What would she have done when I went back inside? The thought that I might have given her no option but to crawl back to John with her tail between her legs sends shivers down my spine. Not to mention the fire it ignites when I think how smug Cerise would have been.
Fuck. The bitch is probably smug now. I wouldn’t know; I haven’t seen her since it all turned south at the barbecue.
My phone lights up from the bed, drawing my focus as I step back into the bedroom. A Facebook notification shows on the screen before it slides back into black. I track across the room, pulled to the goddamn devil in a hard case, and check to see if Belle has sent me a request now.
Nope. Nothing.
I flick through to the new message instead and relax a little at the news. I met with the Jerry guy Ed told me about; turned out his last name is Connell—his father started the business. Ed’s story about employee training was legit, and with the tickets I already hold, Jerry seemed keen to get me on board with the view to moving me through the company.
For once in my goddamn life, my criminal history didn’t seem to matter. The guy judged me purely on my performance at work, and now he’s messaged asking for references and contacts.
Now I have the awkward job of providing them and in turn alerting my current boss to the fact I’m looking to go elsewhere.
Fun times.
I opt to leave my shirt off and carry the phone through to the living room to get a brew from the fridge. With the top cracked, I settle in the armchair and open Facebook to navigate through to Belle’s profile. I used to do this daily at the start, scroll her feed looking for anything new, and then I became better at managing my obsession. I blocked her.
I resisted since then, never once stalking her profile to torture myself with images of what I could never have. Even convinced myself that I was doing great, beating those goddamn demons down and taking control of my life.
What a joke that was. I simply denied the truth and buried my head in the sand. My need to know, my desire to be a part of Belle’s life, is as strong as it’s ever been. I’d just tuned myself out to the noise of the regrets is all.
Her profile is locked down with only things mutual friends have tagged her in visible. I tap on the About section, and even that is blank thanks to her privacy settings. My shoulders lift with the deep breath I take as I set the phone down. Truth be told, I don’t know if I can wait for her to make the first move.
She sat there in that fucking car, wide-eyed as though she’d seen a ghost. I studied her in the bike’s mirror, every little thing about her that’s different. Her hair is darker, blacker than the dark brown I remember, and she seems to have leaned out judging by the visible collarbones. Belle also has ink—lots of it—but I guess that goes with the territory when you’re an artist.
Fuck—of course, you dumb shit.
If she’s worth her salt as an artist, she’ll have an Instagram page for her work. I furiously tap through on my phone and search her out, my heart resounding in my ears as I find her in the results. The excitement quickly fades, though, when I see that her entire page is just her work, nothing with her in it. In a lastditch effort, I tap the icon on the far right for posts she’s been tagged in.