Inbetween Days

by Vikki Wakefield

  Roly belched and turned around. His eyebrows pulled up and his mouth turned down. He was deeply unhappy about our entanglement. ‘Cosy,’ he said and snatched another beer from the ice.

  Jeremiah took his arm away. My skin went cold. We peeled away from each other.

  ‘I’m going to find the toilets,’ I said and stood up. ‘There’s probably a huge line. I might be a while.’

  I stumbled through the crowd and joined a swarm of people. Hundreds of cans clattered under my feet and I couldn’t see where I was headed. The band had started their second set by the time I reached the front of the queue at the portaloos, so I took my time, washing my hands and splashing my face to cool off. I caught my reflection in the mirror and took the party hat off, stuffing it into my handbag. Outside, I stood on the back of a trailer to get my bearings. Where were they? How could I push my way back through the crowd? What was this thing with Jeremiah? Somebody pulled me down from the trailer. Warm hands clapped over my eyes.

  ‘Guess who?’

  My heart beat with panicky wings and I spun around, unable to wipe the stupid look off my face.

  Luke. Smiling, wearing a ridiculous green feather boa, jeans and no shirt. Like no time had passed, like things hadn’t changed. How could he do that?

  ‘It’s me.’

  I reacted the only way I knew how. My body knew exactly what to do when Luke touched me—it was only my heart that remained clueless. I kissed him, hard. It was that or cry. People moved around us like we were in a bubble.

  I pulled away. ‘It’s so good to see you!’ I yelled in his ear.

  ‘I know! I was just thinking about you and now you’re here. I’ve missed you. I’ve been wanting to get up to the dam but…you know. Busy, busy. But hey, here you are, right?’ He ran his hands down my shoulders and settled them on my waist.

  ‘Here I am.’

  I smelled bourbon on his breath and his eyes were fever-bright. Maybe he was on something; I couldn’t tell for sure.

  ‘Come on!’ He grabbed my hand. ‘Come meet the guys. Hey, so how have you been?’ He pulled me after him, parting the crowd. He headed for a spot almost parallel to where Roly and Jeremiah were sitting, but on the other side of the oval. ‘Has your sister lightened up yet?’

  ‘Good,’ I yelled. ‘I’ve been good.’ This was the kind of normal I’d craved all those times we met. I tried to peer over the crowd for a glimpse of Jeremiah and Roly, but it was too packed. They wouldn’t miss me for half an hour.

  ‘Here. Hey, guys, look who I found. This is Cheever. Rob. Mossy and Jodes.’ He pointed to the other occupants of the rug, one by one. ‘This is Jack, my mate from Mobius. Remember? I told you about her.’ Jodes, the only other girl, checked me over, waved, and went back to measuring her pour.

  Rob said, ‘Hey, Jack.’

  Cheever kissed my hand.

  Mossy stared at my boobs.

  His mate?

  ‘Have you been up to the dam at all?’ I had to know.

  He pretended to think, but I knew the answer already. He caught my expression. ‘Why? Have you? Oh shit, you haven’t been waiting up there for me, have you? I’ve been stuck without a car for a few weeks.’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I snorted. ‘What, you don’t think I have a life?’ I took a brave slug from the can and choked down a mouthful of bourbon.

  ‘Phew,’ he breathed. ‘Talk about scaring a guy. You’re the only one I can count on not to give me a hard time. Don’t go breaking my heart.’

  Trudy was right. I could never tell him how I felt.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he said, and kissed my nose.

  He seemed so genuine. He was genuine. He was a nice guy, just not a guy who was ready for flowers and matching plates. He twisted a piece of my hair around his finger and tickled my cheek with the end of it. ‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Liar,’ I said.

  He chuckled. ‘You look like a hot groupie.’

  ‘Are you high?’

  ‘Isn’t she hot, Cheever?’

  Cheever gave him a dirty look and said, ‘Too good for you, Cavanaugh.’

  The music stopped and the crowd started chanting for more. I hated the bourbon and cola but I drank it because the acid-sweetness was all part of it. I was happy. I would forever associate the taste with the feeling of him, tight against me.

  Luke flopped onto his side and pulled me down. ‘Let’s fall asleep here. Let’s spend the night together.’

  ‘You are high.’ I remembered Jeremiah and Roly. The cartoonish clock above the stage ticked. It was only half an hour until midnight. ‘I have to go. I’m here with some other people.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Stay.’

  One of the usual New Year’s tracks started booming from the speakers. Luke slid his hand down the front of my jeans.

  I slapped it away. ‘Not here.’ I checked, but nobody was looking.

  ‘Car?’ he asked lazily.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I have an idea.’ The moment I said it I felt like I should take it back, but I couldn’t.

  ‘Do you want to wait for the fireworks?’ he said.

  He kissed my neck and pressed closer from behind. All the time his hand was still on pause at my bellybutton and all I could think was that I wanted it lower, but not here in plain sight, even though there were plenty of other couples getting it on nearby.

  ‘I don’t want to wait.’

  My conscience deserted. I forgot about Jeremiah and Roly and led Luke to the two-person tent under the row of pine trees outside the perimeter fence. Inside the tent, we took off our clothes and wrapped ourselves in my quilt. Luke pulled a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and two more fell out. I was just grateful he had one and I was too far gone to wonder.

  Luke fell asleep next to me. I stayed awake, listening to the fireworks fizzle, trying to figure out which, of all my emotions, was strongest. Even when I heard Roly and Jeremiah later outside the tent, whispering, arguing about whether to check that I was in there, I still didn’t wake Luke because I didn’t want him to leave.

  ‘I’m here,’ I called out softly. ‘Bad hotdog. I wasn’t feeling well.’

  Luke sighed in his sleep and rolled over. I felt his breath on the back of my neck; his stomach flattened into the small of my back and his knees pressed into the back of mine. He threw a heavy arm across my chest and pulled me in.

  I wondered how we could fit in so many ways, but not the one that counted.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  By morning, there was no evidence that anybody could see. Luke had left sometime in the night—I didn’t know exactly when. The two unused condoms were still lying on the floor. I slipped them into my bag. I noticed a love-bite on my collarbone, or its less romantic version, the hickey, since there was no love. I buttoned my shirt up to my neck. I ached in places, and the ache was usually something real I could take home, but that morning I wished I could unzip my skin and leave it behind in a puddle on the ground.

  I folded and refolded my tent three times before I could fit it back into its sleeve. Jeremiah had gone for coffee and Roly was struggling with their tent, too. The oval was trashed: cans, paper, bottles, charred firework canisters and sleeping bodies everywhere.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ Roly observed. ‘You missed the fireworks.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I replied vaguely. ‘I heard them.’

  ‘You did the right thing.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘What did I do?’

  He looked sheepish. ‘You know—not letting things go any further with J.’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ I said. ‘You saw. You were there.’

  ‘He won’t think it was nothing,’ he said. ‘I assumed you were playing sick on purpose.’

  ‘I wasn’t playing,’ I lied. ‘The hot…’

  ‘The hotdogs were fine,’ he butted in. His glance flicked over my left shoulder. ‘Coffee has arrived.’

  We drove
home in silence. Wind whistled a tune through a stone chip in the windscreen as we passed silos of wheat and acres of flat, dry paddocks; it wasn’t until we began the steady climb through the hills and turned onto Mercy Loop that there was a hint of green. At the far end of town, Pryor Ridge loomed like a hideous, craggy face above the tree line.

  Pope had now spent Christmas and New Year alone.

  ‘Looks like we missed the real party,’ Roly said.

  Somebody had gone to town on Main Street with a can of spray paint. The jacarandahs outside Bent Bowl Spoon were strung with toilet paper and party popper string. Roly snaked the car deliberately through the still-wet paint. I stared out the rear window to see white tyre tracks following behind us.

  ‘I’ll drop J first,’ Roly said. ‘If that’s okay with you?’

  Jeremiah turned his head sharply at Roly’s tone. ‘I can wait. Take Jack.’

  The morning-after grunge had well and truly set in. I could still taste bourbon on the back of my tongue.

  ‘Take Jeremiah,’ I said, my eyes squeezed shut to dull the glare.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Roly turned at the last minute and snickered when I was flung sideways. He pulled up out the front of Meredith Jolley’s house.

  Jeremiah got out and slammed the door.

  I got out, too. ‘I’ll just walk from here. Thanks.’

  ‘It’s too far,’ Jeremiah said. ‘Roly will take you.’ He leaned into the car and said something under his breath. They argued.

  Roly drove forward several feet with Jeremiah still hanging on to the window. He had to let go, or lose the upper half of his body. Roly tooted the horn, a cheerful sound, at odds with his sour expression.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jeremiah said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him. Just let me get my keys. I’ll drive you.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Whatever was going on between them, I didn’t want a part of it. I started walking towards Ma’s house. ‘Happy new year.’

  Ma opened the door wearing her town clothes, a set of keys in her hand. ‘Jack?’ She looked at me, at my quilt and pillow, blinked a few times and hid the keys behind her back. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Are you on your way out?’ I said. ‘I can come back another time.’ I was the evil nobody wanted to invite inside.

  ‘I was heading out.’ She sighed and slapped the keys down on the hall table. ‘But it can wait.’

  ‘I just…’

  ‘Come on. Out with it.’

  ‘I’m really tired.’ My stomach growled loud enough for us both to hear. ‘And I’m really hungry.’

  I craved a big plate of everything I’d ever complained about, or scraped into the bin when she wasn’t looking, or secretly fed to the dog.

  ‘This isn’t a soup kitchen,’ she said, but her hard expression was slipping. She stood aside to let me in.

  If there was one place that never changed it was here, in Ma’s kitchen, where everything was chipped and faded but so clean the bacteria didn’t stand a chance. There were spots under the kitchen table where Trudy and I had stuck enough chewing gum to hold the thing together for another century; Ma’s bad knees meant it had gone undiscovered. Whenever she knelt down, you could hear the cartilage squelch.

  ‘Sit.’

  I sat down at the table. Out of habit, I tucked in my elbows and folded my hands in my lap.

  ‘Tea?’

  Ma made us both a cup of tea and set one plain digestive biscuit on the side of my saucer. I didn’t tell her that I preferred coffee now—I just sipped at the cup and dunked the biscuit and pretended to swallow. The biscuit broke away and sank to the bottom of the cup.

  Ma stayed standing on the other side of the breakfast bar. ‘So…’

  ‘I just wanted to see you.’ I put my elbows on the table, deliberately, to see if she’d react.

  ‘Do you need money? Is that it? Trudy says you’re not handling this business of losing your job very well.’ She picked up a tea towel and wiped over the spotless counter.

  ‘I don’t want money.’

  I wanted to grab the tea towel, give it the old twist and whip, and knock down the useless knick-knacks she had lined up on the shelf. They were all store-bought. Not a single piece of the ugly pottery I’d made had ever been put on that shelf; not one drawing had ever been stuck on the fridge. Ma loved me. I never doubted it. But why act like my stuff wasn’t precious enough to display? Why wrap it in tissue paper and keep it in the shed? What kind of love was that?

  ‘How’s Dad?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Is he home?’

  ‘Out the back,’ she said and jerked her head.

  ‘How do you stand it?’

  ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’ She gave the tea towel one last bored wipe, then folded it into a tight, precise rectangle.

  I ground my eye teeth. My head was beginning to ache. ‘Do you and Dad even talk anymore?’

  Two hot spots flared on her cheeks. ‘Your father is a good man. Find a nice boy, Jack,’ Ma said. ‘I know what you’ve been up to. People talk. I hope you’re using protection.’

  Protection. The kind I needed didn’t come in a little foil packet.

  ‘So, if your behaviour at Christmas is anything to go by…’

  ‘I had a two-inch splinter stuck in my fucking leg!’ I erupted.

  ‘Jacklin!’

  ‘What? It’s not like I haven’t heard you use that word. Monkey see, monkey do.’

  ‘Not my circus, not my monkey.’ She slammed her empty cup into the sink. ‘You are supposedly an adult, Jack. Start behaving like one.’

  There we were again, saying words but talking about nothing, both in the same room but on a different planet.

  ‘Is that it? That’s all you’ve got?’ I stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  I strode down the hallway. ‘My room. I left some things behind.’ I reached the door and threw it open. The single bed was still in the same place, but there was nothing else that belonged to me.

  Ma was right behind. ‘I cleaned it out,’ she said.

  I noticed Dad’s jacket hanging from a knob on the wardrobe. ‘Dad’s sleeping in here now, isn’t he?’ I turned on her. ‘Are you taking it out on him because you’re angry I’m living with Trudy? God, you won’t be happy until you drive all of us out of this house!’

  She let out a slow hiss. ‘You dropped out of school. You chose to leave. I never tried to stop you, but it isn’t what I wanted for you.’

  ‘Where’s my stuff?’

  ‘In the shed. This isn’t a halfway house, Jack.’ She sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to smooth the tasselled fringe on the comforter. ‘You can’t just come and go until you find a better place.’

  ‘I did find a better place.’

  ‘You think I was always this old,’ she said. She stood, opened the wardrobe, and started refolding Dad’s shirts.

  On my way out, I drew a childish scribble on a Post-it and stuck it on Ma’s fridge. I screwed up the tea towel and took a china bird from her shelf. The empty space would drive her nuts.

  Mads picked me up halfway home. I’d wrapped my quilt around my shoulders like a cape and unwittingly dropped my pillow somewhere between Ma’s house and the phone box. I was too tired and pissed off to turn back and look for it.

  ‘Trudy’s half crazy with worry,’ she said when I got in. ‘We didn’t know where you’d gone last night.’ She turned the car around and headed back to Trudy’s.

  ‘I went to watch the New Year’s fireworks at Burt. Were you on your way to work now? Won’t you be late?’

  ‘I’m running early anyway. Who’d you go with?’

  ‘Jeremiah Jolley and Roland Bone.’

  Mads raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know you guys hung out.’

  ‘We don’t. Much.’ I wound my window down. ‘What did you do?’

  She shrugged. ‘Trudy and Thom went out somewhere. I pulled a late shift—I was home and in bed by two.
Not my idea of fun. My partner in crime has been kind of busy lately.’ She gave me a rueful smile. ‘She’s obsessed.’

  ‘She’s in love.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Mads said. ‘Nobody defends the heart quite so fiercely as your sister.’ She pulled into the driveway. ‘A word of warning: she’s been waiting up for you.’

  My stomach twisted. I might have missed the fireworks last night, but this would make up for it.

  Gypsy met me at the door for the first time in ages, trembling all over. She leaned against me and catalogued every scent. I rubbed her ears and mumbled words she couldn’t hear.

  ‘When you have a minute,’ Trudy said. I could only see her feet hanging over the end of the banana lounge.

  I went straight to my room and threw my stuff onto the bed. I put Ma’s china bird on the windowsill. My mood plummeted further. It was basically a coffin with greying paint and a stained ceiling. There was a foul smell in there, like something had died in the walls; it just needed shutters on the window and a plague of blowflies to make it the attic room from the The Amityville Horror. I opened the window. The smell followed me back into the hall.

  ‘I can’t live like this,’ I said. ‘My room is possessed.’

  ‘It’s quite possibly your own questionable hygiene,’ Trudy said and swung her legs off the couch.

  ‘Speaking of which, I need a shower. Like, yesterday.’

  ‘It can wait.’

  ‘It really can’t.’ I peeled off my shirt and dropped it. Trudy watched as I stepped out of my jeans right where I was standing. ‘What is it? You said a minute.’

  Trudy’s eyes bugged. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘What?’ I looked down. My legs were covered in pale, purplish bruises, but I always marked easily. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

  ‘That thing on your shoulder. That’s a last-night hickey.’ She got up and pressed her finger into my collarbone.