The Impossible Story of Olive In Love

by Tonya Alexandra

  But he doesn’t have to know that. Right?

  CHAPTER

  7

  Tom’s knock is cautious like the first snowflakes in winter. I brace myself.

  ‘Don’t embarrass me,’ I tell Rose as I run out of the room.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ she yells after me.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I need to make an entrance.’

  I run to the bathroom and peek through the gap where the hinges are. It’s strange to be hiding. I never need to hide. Rose is at the front door, barefoot, her nails painted purple, in her old blue jeans and a faded shirt, her pale red hair hanging to her shoulders. She opens the door to Tom.

  He stands there like some magnificent warlord, taking up the full dimensions of the door. How could he possibly look more handsome than yesterday? He is so beautiful I could sing. Poppies in one hand, he gives her his Class A, knock-you-on-your-back grin. ‘You must be Rose.’

  Rose ducks her head, it’s almost a curtsey. Embarrassing! ‘Yes, and you must be Tom.’ She tries to take the flowers. ‘Please, allow me.’

  She sounds like a butler in one of those period dramas. I want to run out there and shake her. He’s not royalty! Calm down!

  ‘That’s all right, I got it,’ Tom replies.

  ‘Of course. Well, please come in,’ Rose says, flourishing her hand to indicate the room. Oh. My. God. Could she act any weirder?

  ‘Thanks.’ Tom perches at our yellow kitchen counter, which Rose has ducked around to stand on the other side. He has his back to me and his shirt is wrinkled like it’s been ironed too hastily. The fact he’s wearing something that needs ironing is enough. He’s trying to impress me!

  The two of them are being so stiff, but then Rose says, ‘Can I offer you a coffee?’

  And Tom replies, ‘You’ve got coffee? Real coffee?’

  ‘Oh, I have coffee,’ Rose says, like she’s more certain about this than any other fact in the world. And the two of them grin like soulmates.

  It’s time I made my entrance.

  I waltz into the room, careful to flounce my hair so it falls over my shoulders. It took me hours to decide how to style it. Tom doesn’t even notice, he’s too busy smelling the dumb coffee beans Rose has thrust toward him.

  ‘She did a barista course,’ I say when I figure nothing else is going to pull his attention from the caffeine.

  Tom turns, smiles. What an angel. This boy is biblical. And God said, let there be light …

  Okay, even I know that might be a bit much.

  ‘Olive.’ He hands the flowers to me.

  ‘You brought me poppies!’

  ‘They’re your favourite.’

  ‘I know, I know!’ I jump up and down on the spot clapping my hands. I’ve never been given flowers before. Of course I was expecting it after he very unsubtly texted me this morning asking what my favourite flowers were, but still, it’s kind of thrilling.

  ‘Do you want me to put them in water?’ Rose starts fishing around under the sink for a vase.

  ‘Water? No! These are going on my ceiling!’ I snatch them to my chest and skip out of the room.

  ‘Coffee then?’ Rose asks Tom, behind me, and to my frustration he accepts rather than follow me out. I guess he is here to meet her but still …

  I pop the flowers in my room and go back to spying. Tom is watching Rose as she busies herself with the important business of coffee: pouring, measuring, then the loud cracking of the beans in the grinder.

  ‘Smells great.’

  ‘Just you wait.’ Her face is determined as she wrangles the machine.

  ‘Hey Rose, sorry about not coming in yesterday.’

  ‘Olive told me you were late for work, that’s fine.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Of course!’ She looks back at Tom. ‘I take it my sister wasn’t so understanding?’

  He laughs.

  ‘She was just disappointed you didn’t come up.’ I smile. Good old Rose, making me look as nice as possible.

  ‘I would have, it’s just a long way. I didn’t realise you lived on this side of the bridge.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Olive can be rather demanding, selfish, incredibly childish actually.’ She is bashing at the machine, trying to get it to cooperate. What the hell, Rose???

  ‘Wow. Quite a rap, I can see why she wanted me to meet you!’

  Rose giggles. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I do love her, she’s just kind of high maintenance.’

  I swear I can see the muscles on Tom’s back stiffen. High Maintenance—she may as well have called me an axe murderer. I rush into the kitchen but Rose has become aware she has stuffed up and shoves a small white espresso mug into his hands. ‘Here—drink.’

  ‘Milk?’

  ‘You won’t need it,’ she says firmly.

  He inhales the aroma, takes a sip, and smiles. ‘Are you trying to corrupt me with your coffee?’

  ‘Give her a chance,’ she whispers.

  ‘Ahem,’ I cough.

  ‘Oh, Olive. You’re back.’ Rose walks around into the living area cradling her coffee cup in her hands, pretending she wasn’t just caught saying the most horrifying things about me. She’ll pay for it later! She plonks on the purple couch, curling her legs to one side and I can’t help noticing her toenails match the upholstery. Surely she didn’t do that on purpose?

  Tom follows her with his coffee, taking the fat brown armchair opposite.

  ‘Oh!’ Rose looks flustered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tom asks.

  ‘It’s just—that’s Olive’s chair.’

  You need a few ground rules in a house if one of you is invisible. One of our rules is that Rose never sits in the armchair. That way I can doze there without having to worry about her plonking herself down on top of me. But we can hardly explain this to Tom.

  ‘You really are obstinate,’ he says to me with a laugh.

  I stick my nose in the air. ‘I’m surprised you even know the word.’

  ‘Olive!’ Rose shushes me.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sit here.’ I flop next to Rose on the couch, pulling a cushion onto my lap so she knows where I am.

  ‘So Rose, what do you do?’ Tom asks.

  ‘She’s our own modern-day Florence Nightingale,’ I say.

  Rose blushes.

  ‘You’re a nurse?’

  ‘Training to be one. I’m studying midwifery actually.’

  ‘That’s terrific,’ he says, looking like he really means it. ‘I admire nurses, teachers too. I couldn’t handle looking after sick people all the time, or teaching bratty kids.’

  ‘You’re just thinking about the uniform,’ I snort.

  ‘What, the long slacks and practical shirt? Yeah, real sexy.’

  He’s got me there, the cretin. I snarl at him.

  Rose is smiling. She’s starting to like him, so I let him get away with it. ‘And you’re a landscaper, Tom?’

  ‘Gardener really. I don’t like to beat it up. There’s no point fancying up the shit-kicking work I get.’

  Huh. And I thought landscaper was bad. ‘Your business card says landscaper,’ I point out.

  He shrugs. ‘It’s Craig’s business, he’s qualified and all, I’m just helping him out.’

  ‘Do you like it?’ Rose asks.

  ‘It’s okay for now. I was studying geology before but it was …’ He struggles for the words. ‘I don’t know. Pointless?’ He shrugs and looks away. ‘But it could have just been bad timing with things at home or whatever. I might go back.’

  I probably should be worried about the ‘things at home’ comment, but the day is huge enough. Besides, I’m sure it’s not the sort of thing he’d want to get into with Rose, so I stick to the geology thing.

  ‘Geology is awesome! As long as you’re not planning on working for one of those evil mining companies.’

  Tom shrugs.

  ‘You’re still young,’ Rose says. ‘Plenty of time to figure it out.’ She taps her finger
nails against her coffee cup. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘At home with my mum.’

  I gape. ‘You still live at home?’ There goes my dreams of escaping to his luxurious penthouse apartment overlooking the beach.

  ‘I’m only twenty!’ Tom answers. ‘There isn’t much incentive to go out and pay rent in this town when your mum’s a mean cook …’

  ‘And does all your washing!’ Rose finishes for him and we both laugh together.

  He goes a little red.

  ‘Sorry, I told her about your problem finishing sentences,’ I admit.

  ‘Great.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I should warn you—I’ve got three sisters, you’ll have a hard time getting a rise out of me.’

  I wrinkle my nose. ‘Three sisters—yuk.’

  Rose finds my leg and pinches it. I’ve said the wrong thing again.

  Tom changes the subject. ‘So you two moved out of home together? What, when Olive turned eighteen?’

  Rose raises her eyebrows. ‘Eighteen, Olive?’

  Tom shuts his eyes for a few seconds, then opens them, his lips twisted with amusement. ‘Are you really nineteen? Sorcha?’

  ‘Sorcha?’ Rose asks.

  ‘Olive introduced herself to me as nineteen-year-old Sorcha. Scorpio.’

  ‘Olive, you didn’t.’

  ‘Okay, so I’m eighteen,’ I say, feeling miffed. Rose elbows me. ‘Okay, seventeen,’ I correct myself.

  Tom rubs the back of his neck. ‘Seventeen? Christ.’

  ‘Get over it. I’m not some Lolita.’

  ‘No, but you’re at school, right?’

  I don’t want to answer that. ‘I knew you were into uniforms,’ I taunt, standing up. ‘Come on, you’ve met her now. Come and see my room.’

  Tom stands. ‘Probably a good idea, before I find out anything else shocking, like you’re really a man or something.’

  ‘Ha. Ha.’ I say, ignoring the obvious. I flounce down the hall. ‘The Scorpio thing was a fib too by the way.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ he says, following me. ‘I would guess Gemini but you’ve got way more than two faces.’

  ‘And I would guess that you’re a girl for knowing about horoscopes,’ I taunt back.

  ‘You cheeky …’ Tom lurches forward and grabs me. We’re close. My heart pounds wildly. If I just tipped my chin up …

  ‘Olive. Can I see you for a minute?’ Rose calls.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply, looking at Tom. He moves to touch my cheek but I step away. ‘My room’s the one with the black door,’ I tell him.

  He gives me a look that says I’ll have something for you when you get back, which gives me jelly legs.

  I’m so excited, I skip down the hall to Rose. ‘He’s hot right?’

  Rose smiles. ‘He’s really nice …’

  I wait for her ‘but’. Sure enough: ‘Are you going to tell him?’ she whispers.

  ‘About me? I guess. But later.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell him the other thing too.’

  My jaw clenches. She sounds just like Dad. ‘Do we have to do this now? I’ve just met him. Can’t I be happy this one time?’

  ‘He needs to know, Olive.’

  ‘I know, all right,’ I snap. ‘There’s nothing I’m more aware of.’ I turn on my heel and plod back down the hall.

  The electricity between us has dissolved when I walk in. Rose has killed it for me and Tom lets me see his concern at my wallpapering efforts.

  My room is plastered with National Geographic images. Beautiful shots of tribal people, animals, majestic landscapes, oceans, river systems, photographs of Earth from above. Over my bedhead is an enlargement of Heart Island, the Great Barrier Reef. I’ve always wanted to fly over it. But Tom is disturbed by the juxtaposition of tragic shots next to the beauty; tsunami wreckage, blackened seabirds dying from oil spills, malnourished infants, the polar bear with nowhere to swim. It’s grim—but it’s life. It’s an illusion to think otherwise.

  ‘I appreciate beauty as much as the next person but I refuse to be ignorant,’ I argue. ‘This,’ I point to a portrait of a small African boy holding a weapon almost the size of himself, ‘reminds me there is so much work to be done on this dilapidated planet.’ I suddenly feel incredibly weary. ‘It also reminds me how lucky I am.’

  ‘I’ve nabbed myself a regular Angelina Jolie,’ Tom jokes but the concern hasn’t faded from his face. ‘You sure seem older than seventeen.’

  I shrug. Of course I seem older. I’ve been living without parents for years. I have a job, responsibilities. Nobody looks after me. Nobody sees me. Sometimes I wonder if there has ever been anyone as lonely as me. ‘See—nineteen wasn’t such a lie,’ I reply.

  Tom looks about for somewhere to sit, but the bed, desk and my big red reading chair are littered with books, papers, all kinds of junk. My chest of drawers spills over like a waterfall of clothing, each drawer regurgitating sweaters, leggings and underwear. I start pushing bits back in, trying to make the drawers shut. Why did I bring him back here? Hoping to get a taste of those lips? As if I would build up the nerve for that!

  ‘Oh forget it,’ I say. ‘Let’s go out.’

  ‘Great.’ He sounds relieved. ‘How about lunch? I’m starving.’

  ‘Not lunch.’

  ‘You’re not hungry?’

  ‘No.’

  He doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he sighs and says, ‘So what would you like to do?’

  ‘What about a movie? I could make that work.’

  ‘You must be very clever,’ he says. My sarcasm must be catching.

  ‘You have no idea,’ I warn him.

  I want to see a cult classic black-and-white horror flick. Tom seems reluctant but does the honourable thing. I tell him to only buy one ticket, I’ll look after myself, then I head off to the ladies room, saying I’ll meet him in the theatre. I can’t have Tom handing over a ticket for me to the usher, they’ll think he’s nuts.

  The previews are almost over when I slip into the seat next to him. He offers me popcorn but I shake my head. I can’t speak with people so close. It’s a risk being here, but I’m hoping it will be worth it. Movies seem to be a normal date thing, and I want him to think I’m normal.

  We slouch into our seats as the opening scene unfolds. I’m wondering if I could get away with some hand holding in the dark when a guy walks in and starts down our aisle. Cac. I pull my legs up onto my chair as he pushes past, and his elbow flails inches from my face.

  ‘Watch it buddy!’ Tom hisses at him, all caveman-protective like.

  The guy snarls at him. ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘You almost hit my girl.’

  He said his girl! My heart does little cartwheels but the guy is cracking up with laughter. ‘What are you, a lunatic?’

  Tom looks like he wants to punch him. He passes me his popcorn but I can’t take it. The guy will freak out if a box of popcorn is floating in mid-air. I let it land on my lap and it spills all over the floor. I don’t move to pick it up.

  ‘You’re not going to help me out here?’ Tom says to me, incredulous.

  I keep my mouth shut. I can’t say anything. The guy moves away and whispers something to his friends, and they all turn to look at Tom. ‘He’s talking to his “girlfriend”.’ They laugh.

  ‘Of course I’m talking to her!’ Tom calls over.

  Someone shushes him from in front. Tom is livid.

  ‘Did you hear that? It doesn’t bother you? You’re not going to say anything?’

  I put my finger to my lips and point to the screen, trying to feign interest in the opening credits. This isn’t good. He needs to drop it. I reach for his hand but he flicks it away.

  ‘What a psycho,’ I hear someone snigger.

  ‘You always get freaks at this place,’ says someone else.

  Tom is close to losing it. ‘Nothing? Not a word in my defence?’ he hisses at me.

  I shrug. What can I say? How did I think this could work? Tom sits there for
a minute breathing noisily through his nostrils, driving the popcorn into the carpet with his heel.

  ‘Bugger this.’ He stands up and walks out.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Felix isn’t wearing his glasses. It creeps me out when they’re not on, that vague staring out into the ether look, his eyes filmy grey. He lifts his head slightly. ‘You’re not twelve anymore—you can use the front door.’

  ‘Just shove over.’ I push him aside and scramble in his bedroom window. He is sweet enough to turn a lamp on for me.

  His room is as ordered as a library catalogue. It has to be, I suppose. He climbs onto his bed and pats the spot next to him. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’

  ‘Seen me? Ha.’ He gives me his usual you’re so not funny face. ‘Well, you’ve been so busy with Wally, you have no time for me.’

  ‘You mean Wallace.’

  ‘What a name!’

  ‘Shut up, she’s nice.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re all nice.’ I roll my eyes, but the truth is they all have been. Felix has a talent for attracting these real sweethearts. He’s studying psychology and all these lovely students think he’s brilliant. And sure. He is. But it nettles me. He’s blind for heaven’s sake. Cute too, I grudgingly admit. The years have cut contours into his boyish face, the guy has grown man muscles, and one day he cut off his geeky ponytail and pop—he was cute. But come on—he is blind. That’s got to put some girls off.

  Okay, I’m being mean, but I’ve known Felix forever and I was kind of hoping we’d be a loveless old bachelor and dame, together forever.

  I grab his sunglasses and push them on his face.

  He frowns at me. ‘Really?’

  ‘Come on, you look so cool.’

  ‘Put some music on,’ he orders.

  So I start sifting through his collection. ‘Ray Charles? Stevie Wonder?’

  He ignores the joke. ‘So why are you really here?’ he says, settling back into the pillows.

  I groan. ‘Argh, it’s awkward. Especially after you’ve had a hard-on for me for so long.’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  I’m feeling on edge so I choose a playlist of old-school Beastie Boys and jump onto the bed with him. He opens his arms and I lie against him. For the first time I wonder if this is okay. Would Tom consider this cheating? It’s not like that between Felix and me. He uses touch to know someone and touch is one thing I can do. It’s not like we’ve ever kissed or anything.