Inbetween Days

by Vikki Wakefield

  I’d passed it before, assuming the space behind was too small for a grown person. Inside, it was the size of a large walk-in pantry.

  ‘Gotcha!’

  Mr Broadbent was sitting on the floor, a plucked and withered bird in a nest of black film tape. He met my eyes for a split second and went on with his ritual; his fingers found the end of a fresh spool and pulled, feeding the tape through his hands, adding another layer to his nest.

  ‘Stop,’ I said. I squatted down and held his hands until they were still. ‘Alby’s going to freak.’

  I let go of his hands. He immediately picked up another black case and struggled to open it. When I tried to take it away he flapped and bit my arm.

  ‘Shit.’

  I left him there, unravelling tape. In the hallway, I slid my back down the wall and sat with my arms around my knees. How many had he unwound? It would take me ages to clean up the mess. The tapes were probably ruined forever, but he was having such a fine time. I’d never seen his hands move so smoothly, so delicately and knowingly and lovingly—no, I had seen it before.

  I showed Alby the mess Mr Broadbent had made and he just shrugged—it happened all the time, he said. He usually rewound the same few ruined tapes. It kept his father busy and it spared the other tapes, the ones stacked along the top shelf, from destruction. The other tapes. When Alby ushered Mr Broadbent back into the lounge room, I climbed the shelves and grabbed the four nearest tapes. I wrapped them in my jacket, smuggled them out of the flat, and ran to Jeremiah’s house.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ he said, rubbing his eyes, as if he’d just woken up.

  I smiled and opened my jacket. He let me in and we sat at the breakfast bar in Meredith’s kitchen, examining the tapes.

  ‘What, you just took them?’ Jeremiah said.

  ‘There were hundreds. Four won’t be missed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask Alby about them?’ Worry lines creased his forehead.

  ‘You’re the one who said this was a covert operation.’

  ‘These are all Japanese monster movies,’ he said, turning the cases over in his hands. ‘They’re really old.’

  ‘Will they work?’

  He pinched the end of a tape and held it up to the light. ‘We won’t know until we try.’

  ‘We could steal Mr Broadbent,’ I said. ‘He knows how.’

  ‘Stealing tapes is one thing,’ Jeremiah said, frowning. ‘You’re nuts, but I admire your enthusiasm.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘He’s senile, isn’t he?’

  ‘His hands know what to do.’

  ‘I like your dress,’ he said, and glanced at my bare legs. ‘I think this is only the second time I’ve seen you wear one.’

  Caught off-guard, I smoothed the blue strappy dress to cover my knees. ‘I borrowed it from Trudy.’

  Jeremiah backed his chair away. ‘I called you,’ he said. ‘Your sister said she’d pass on the message. Did you get it?’

  ‘No,’ I answered instinctively. Then I confessed. ‘Yes. She told me.’ I grappled with several excuses and discarded all of them.

  Jeremiah monitored my expression. ‘You don’t have to lie,’ he said. ‘I called. You got the message. You didn’t call back. You’ve filled the gap in my logic.’ He got up and pushed his chair under the counter. ‘Look, I’m no good at trying to read body language and subtext or between lines—all that guff. Just tell me up front, okay? Now, do you want a drink? Would you like something to eat?’

  ‘I’m sorry…I would have…’

  ‘I changed the subject. It’s terribly rude to change it back.’ He flashed a smile that let me off the hook. ‘Shall I put the kettle on or do you want something else?’

  We sat in the lounge room and he turned on the television. He made us both coffee but we let the cups go cold on the table. It seemed as if we’d slipped down a gear and that was fine by me; we were back to easy silence and respectable space. We watched Dune followed by Alien and ate a packet of chips. I spouted animal trivia, none of which was news to him. Part of me wanted to kiss him again without thinking too hard about it but another part told me to hold back.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be anything,’ he said out of the blue. ‘We can just hang out.’

  ‘I didn’t…’

  ‘I wish I could take back what I said at the drive-in. I don’t want things to get weird.’

  ‘It’s not weird,’ I said. ‘I’m just not sure where we go from here.’

  He took my hand and held it. Nothing else. No pressure, no slinky finger on my palm. I waited and waited and he seemed content to wait longer.

  I lasted twelve minutes.

  It was clear that he wanted me to make the first move. I knew that part by heart. Courtship was like combat—might as well go straight to the victory lap. It was only sex. If Luke could make that distinction, so could I.

  I straddled his legs and lowered myself onto his lap, facing him. His big warm hands slid up my back and settled on my shoulderblades. He wouldn’t touch anything out front without a clear invitation; I gripped both of his hands and made them move.

  ‘Jack?’

  I tugged at his T-shirt. ‘Take this off,’ I said.

  He gave me such a delighted smile there was nowhere to go but forward.

  He took the T-shirt off, but not in one clean move. It got stuck on his head and the whole thing became an awkward dance.

  I laughed then, worried that would make him feel self-conscious, but he laughed, too. No part of him was fine-tuned; he was big, rangy and clumsy. Unfamiliar. He wasn’t Luke. It wasn’t fair to Jeremiah, but I couldn’t switch it off. The ghost of one got caught up with the other until I couldn’t tell them apart.

  We kissed and this time it was better.

  When we came up for air, he said, ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Do you have sheets?’ I said, and picked up my bag. Inside it, I remembered, were two condoms, courtesy of Luke Cavanaugh. The thought of what I was about to do with them made me feel triumphant, and a tiny bit sad.

  His room was plain, just a double bed, white sheets and puffy curtains. A tallboy dresser stood in one corner. The top was bare. I looked for pictures but there were none anywhere. There was nothing of him in there apart from two pairs of shoes lined up neatly on the floor. Maybe Meredith had cleaned out his room when he left, too.

  I unzipped Trudy’s dress and stepped out of it. I dropped it next to my bag, and Jeremiah’s shoes.

  We fell together. It didn’t matter that everything was different; when you got down to body parts and sensation it felt the same. Finally, there was a switch and I could turn Luke off. Jeremiah held his breath until I chose to move and let him in. Girl on top. It didn’t happen for me but it was fine. The first time was always like being in a new place with the wrong map.

  I tried to gauge how he was feeling by his expression, but he turned his face away. I pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat. He flinched.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I said, and rolled off him. I was angry. And hurt. This awful disconnection again, as if there was nothing left. ‘What did I do?’

  Jeremiah stared up at the ceiling. ‘I’ve never done that before,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ I groaned. I felt the weight of it, like a secret I wished I’d never been told. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Why should you say anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. It feels like…a responsibility.’ I turned over to face the wall.

  ‘Everybody has to do it the first time, sometime,’ he said flatly. ‘Things just got weird, didn’t they?’

  ‘A bit,’ I agreed. I pulled the sheet up and crossed my arms over my chest. I felt like crying, but that would bruise him more. I coughed self-consciously.

  He leaned across to pass me a glass of water.

  ‘Thank you.’ I sat up and took a sip.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Do we really have to be so polite? After what we just did?’ I set t
he glass down and put my head back on the pillow, my hands pinned under my cheek.

  ‘You’re right. Sorry.’

  I watched the digital clock next to the bed. I would count thirty minutes—then it would be okay to leave.

  Jeremiah was quiet. His breaths were deep and even. After twenty-eight minutes, he turned over and rested his hand on my hip. Not asking for anything, just there.

  I gave into it and moved to fill the space. His breath on my neck, his hard stomach in the small of my back and his knees pressed in behind mine.

  Not Luke, but we were a fit.

  To fall asleep like that—it was everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I woke to the sound of a phone ringing. The other side of the bed was smooth and tucked. It took a few minutes to comprehend that the smell of coffee and toast meant Jeremiah hadn’t left in the night, and a good while longer to make sense of the facts: I was in his room, in his house. Somehow, I was far less curious about whether I wanted to wake up next to him than I was about whether he wanted to wake up next to me.

  I put my dress on, found the bathroom, and brushed my teeth with my finger. My reflection was half-demented, far less flattering than in my mind’s eye. No wonder he didn’t hang around. I had my sandals in my hand and I was tiptoeing to the front door when the doorbell rang.

  I froze. For some reason, my first thought was: Ma. Ma had come to haul me home by the earlobe. She would give me hell with a side of shame and ground me.

  Jeremiah came through the kitchen door and spotted me. ‘I made breakfast,’ he said.

  ‘There’s someone at the door.’ I wished I hadn’t looked in the mirror. I’d worked up a guilty blush as well as my half-demented look.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I came to answer it.’

  I slunk back to the kitchen. He had set the table for two. I sat down and buttered a slice of toast that might as well have been cardboard and spooned a lump of brown sugar into my coffee.

  ‘Did you miss the last train, Jack?’ Roly asked.

  Oh, shit. ‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ I said, shrugging. ‘It’s almost afternoon.’

  ‘But you’re eating a breakfast-like meal. And your hair is sticking up all over the place.’ Roly sat across from me and helped himself to Jeremiah’s coffee. ‘Hey, did you guys have a sleepover?’ he said, as if it was a revelation.

  I took a bite so I wouldn’t have to answer.

  ‘Jack stayed over.’ Jeremiah yawned. ‘Do you want some toast?’

  ‘No, I don’t want toast. I came to tell you, I got free passes for a band tonight at the Crypt. Do you want to go?’ He flashed a couple of tickets.

  Jeremiah shook his head. ‘You know I can’t stand those crowds. It’s too loud. There’s a four in five probability I’ll run into someone I never wanted to see again. Why don’t you take Jack?’ He made himself a fresh coffee.

  I stuffed the food down as quickly as I could without gagging and left the coffee half-finished.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I said, my mouth still full. ‘You guys have a good night.’ I stood and pushed my chair in.

  ‘No, wait,’ Roly said. He pointed his finger at Jeremiah. ‘Democracy rules. Ip, dip, dog shit. You. Are. Not. It,’ he said, and landed on me.

  ‘You rigged that,’ I blurted.

  ‘What, you want eeny meeny?’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ I said, and felt my face go red again.

  ‘If she’s it then she gets the ticket,’ Jeremiah argued, chewing, completely missing the point.

  ‘No,’ Roly said with exaggerated patience. ‘She’s not it. You get the ticket.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. And she’s it.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! I don’t want to be it!’ I strode to Jeremiah’s room and grabbed my bag.

  Roly came after me and barred my exit.

  ‘What is your problem?’ I yelled.

  He smirked. ‘Gee, I wonder. I wonder what my problem could be?’ He stuck his index finger into the dimple of his chin.

  ‘I don’t know, Roland. Why don’t you tell me?’

  I would never find out: Roly was taken by the shoulders and steered down the hallway, to the entrance, and out the front door. I heard them arguing. The door slammed.

  After a minute, Jeremiah came back to the bedroom. He lounged in the doorway with his arms crossed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Great.’ I perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Now he’s going to think you picked me over him.’

  ‘I asked him to leave because he was rude,’ Jeremiah said. ‘Not because I picked anyone.’

  I put my face in my hands.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to do with crying people.’

  ‘I’m not.’ I showed him my eyes. ‘See? I just don’t understand why I piss so many people off these days.’

  ‘I’m not pissed off.’

  ‘Your judgment is probably skewed,’ I said. ‘On account of getting laid and all.’

  He was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, ‘Don’t do that,’ and walked away.

  I didn’t have to ask what he meant.

  Jeremiah dropped me home and I was happy to find I had the house to myself. Somebody had moved my bike out of the carport and it had fallen onto its side on the back lawn. Two-stroke fuel pooled in a dirty circle underneath.

  I let myself into the house. Gypsy stayed asleep until I got about three feet from her bed, when she jumped, gave me an ‘Oh, it’s only you’ look and tucked her nose between her paws. I opened the door to my room. A foul blast of trapped air escaped into the hallway. I pushed the window up and tied back the curtain. It was another hot, airless day. I sensed a presence behind me, but it was only

  Gypsy. She sniffed, looking disgusted.

  ‘It’s not me,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you for a walk when I’ve had a shower. I promise.’

  She sauntered back out. I noticed she was walking funny, swinging her rump sideways, feeling her way by dragging it along the wall. Sadness knocked me off-balance, like a wave I didn’t see coming. I sat down. I called her but she was done with me and I didn’t blame her. I would walk away from me, if I could.

  Trudy had left a piece of paper on my bed. It was a list of everything I owed: upcoming rent, bills, my share of communal food, plus a letter of demand from the video store for two movies I had forgotten to return. I was officially in the red. I would have to work full time in a job that actually paid to catch up, and by then I would have accrued more debt. I emptied my money box onto the floor and stacked the loose change into piles. These coins had once seemed like leftovers—now they were all I had.

  Thirty-nine dollars and sixty-five cents. I counted again to be sure and it came to a dollar less.

  I tried to get control of my breath. Faster, faster, I sucked in the rank air until I was dizzy with it. I stumbled into the lounge room and checked between the couch cushions for enough forgotten coins to make the number to a round forty. At that moment it was the most important thing in the world. Somebody, probably Trudy, had vacuumed under the cushions, leaving tracks on the surface of the fabric. Not a single coin, not even a stray chip.

  I found a dollar coin in the pen cup near the telephone. I searched my jean pockets and my jacket pockets and down the back of the hallway cabinet. I discovered twenty cents on the laundry windowsill and another five cents in the bottom of the washing machine. I only needed another ten cents to restore order. I remembered my Christmas present, but I couldn’t find where I’d put the purse. I tipped the couch over. When I found nothing underneath, I went into Trudy’s room.

  She’d left the bed unmade. Thom had slept over: his shoes were on the floor and one of his khaki shirts was hanging on the back of the door. There were two one-dollar coins in his top pocket. I took one and left ninety cents change.

  I scooped up my pile of coins and dumped them onto the kitchen table. I sorted and counted them again, but this time the missing dollar coin had re-materialised and now I was a dollar
over. I could have screamed at the injustice of it. I put Thom’s dollar back and left him the ninety cents to make up for stealing in the first place. In my mind the crime remained though the evidence was gone.

  Slowly, the universe levelled out from a full tilt.

  Gypsy came into the kitchen and snuffled at her empty bowl.

  ‘I think I had an episode,’ I told her. ‘But I’m okay now.’

  I opened the fridge. It was full of food, but Trudy and Mads had labelled everything, including the soy milk, with sticky-notes in escalating warnings—to me. ACHTUNG! said the block of cheese and the slab of bacon. IF YOU TOUCH THIS YOU’RE DEAD, said the chocolate. They hadn’t made a distinction between whose food was whose—so they were sharing now—and there was no sticky-note on the shrunken carrots in the crisper.

  There was half a bag of dog biscuits left in the bottom of the pantry, next to the almost empty box of tuna cans. I made a mental note to deduct at least fifty dollars from the rent I owed. Somebody was eating it and it was my tuna; I’d earned it. I wrote JACK’S TUNA on the box in thick black lettering and filled Gypsy’s bowl with biscuits until they overflowed and scattered across the linoleum. Gypsy followed the trail, butting into the chair legs and cupboards on her way, while I watched and cried.

  After a long shower I felt better, but when I reached for my brush I discovered that my hair products and make-up had been moved to the bottom drawer. I touched the ghost of the hickey on my neck; in daylight it was visible. Had Jeremiah seen it? I used some of Mads’s expensive concealer to cover it up and tried on some of her lipsticks.

  At two o’clock I took Gypsy for a walk. She baulked, like Mr Broadbent when we tried to take him home. I yanked the lead and dragged her, claws scrabbling, until we got past the letterbox. Once we reached the dirt road she gave in and followed reluctantly, swinging her head from side to side, breathing in short, panicked snorts.

  Nothing was certain in her world anymore. She was afraid of everything. So was I.

  It would be okay, I told myself. I knew what was good for her. I would be her guide-human and she would make up for my inability to sense anything coming. Together, we were whole.