by Duggan, C. J
“W-what time is it?” I asked, looking past him through the windscreen. It was completely dark.
“After eight.”
“EIGHT?”
“You were out cold.” Chris shrugged. “Must have needed it.”
Wow, eight. I was out cold, all right. The last thing I remembered was coming out of the toilet block, and then nothing. Nothing until I felt the coldness on my forehead. I spotted a face washer near Chris’s foot. I smiled. I thought I had been dreaming, but with that and the smooth, rhythmic feeling of fingers running soothingly through my hair, it seemed I definitely hadn’t been. And the warmth against my cheek was Chris’s thigh? I swallowed deeply. I could feel my face flame and was thankful for the dim lighting. My eyes slowly lifted to look at Chris.
“Thanks,” I said.
Chris’s brows lifted in surprise. “Wow. This is not the normal reaction when girls wake up in the back of a panel van.”
I cocked my brow. “Oh? Been many, have there?”
Chris stretched out his arms, folding them behind his head as a boyish grin lined his face. “Hundreds.”
“Lots of damsels in distress?”
“I’m actually thinking of painting a red cross on the side of the van.”
“Sounds lucrative; you should charge by the hour,” I said, throwing the wash cloth up at him. He caught it with impressive reflexes.
I took a moment to study this playful side of Chris, taking in the lines of his face, the jagged folds of his hair that were ruffled in a casual messy, cool way. He wasn’t beautiful like Toby, cute like Stan or oozing charisma and raw sex like Sean did. He was something else entirely. As much as I hated to admit it, he was the epitome of handsome – silver-screen good looks, smouldering, broody, he was an utter enigma.
But who was the real Chris?
I secretly wondered which other girls he may have had here in the back of his panel van in the past. I tried to pinpoint any of the girls that strutted around the Onslow like a conveyer belt of sex, ripe for the picking. I hadn’t really been into the pub scene until getting back in touch with Amy recently, but still, even I could recognise the whispers and doe-eyed looks girls gave him as they held out their hands to Chris at the bar for their change. It was somewhat amusing – Chris didn’t even give them the time of day, but that didn’t stop them from trying. Maybe that was a part of the attraction?
I couldn’t exactly guess who may have caught his attention, I couldn’t even imagine who he may have invited into the van, or up the stairs to his bedroom, or into the beer gar …
I stilled.
“You all right?” Chris shifted with unease.
My eyes snapped up to lock with his. I quickly looked away again, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. My cheeks burned as my memory flashed back to a time – the only time – I had seen Chris with a girl, something I had completely forgotten until now.
“Yeah. Nothing. I’m fine.”
***
It wasn’t an unusual state of affairs for Amy and me to sneak out. To us, our parents were utter killjoys when it came to anything beyond ten p.m., which basically left an entire social scene out of reach, locked beyond our front doors, unexplored. At fifteen, it was an injustice of gargantuan proportions. More so for Amy whose older cousins, Chris and Adam, taunted her nightly by coming and going as they pleased. They were a little older, sure, but the big difference was that they were boys. Such double standards.
On one warm summer night, Amy and I had planned to pull off the ultimate deception and sneak out for Todd Macki’s eighteenth. Word on the grapevine was that it was going to be epic. Pretty much every teen in town was going to gatecrash; we simply had to go. The plan was for me to sneak out and ride across town to the Onslow, hiding my bike behind a bush in the beer garden. Amy would ‘accidentally’ leave the fairy lights on in the beer garden and I would tiptoe through, having not broken a leg in the dark. The dim lights were a much-welcome sight as I fumbled my way up the back staircase to the top landing near the back door of the second storey. The plan was that I would wait there until precisely five past twelve at which time I would tap our secret knock on the back door panel to signal that I had arrived and the coast was clear.
I prided myself in being a masterful creature of the night that could slide along the edges of blackness with the elegance of a jungle cat. In reality, I was just smart enough to remove my jangly bracelets and wear my sensible (quiet) Converse sneakers to trek to our meeting point.
Wrapping my arms around my legs, I settled in to wait on the landing and glanced at my watch: eleven forty-five, early as usual.
I sighed. Always better to be early, I thought, as my gaze traced the star-lined sky, my lips tilting into a devilish grin. My parents would be livid if they knew my whereabouts right now.
Impatient and bored, I had felt bold, brimming with confidence and self-assurance.
Maybe Amy was (by some miracle) running early. There was no point in us both waiting around, twiddling our thumbs for the next twenty minutes when we could be at the party of the decade. I sat up and my fist hovered over the back door, ready to make contact when laughter floated up from below.
My eyes had widened, heart had pounded and I’d dived onto the platform. My palms connected with the wooden landing and I’d squeezed my eyes shut, praying no one could see me. The laughter dipped into conspiratorial whispers as footsteps continued down below. I opened my eyes, listening intently to the movements. A gap in the decked landing let in a faint slither of a subtle glow from the fairy lights beneath. I squinted, fixing my eye slowly to the gap, searching out the people whose voices lingered in the shadows under the stairs.
Even through the tiny crack it didn’t take me long to find them. Broad, square shoulders were bathed in the subtle glow of the lights in the small space under the stairs. I had gasped and pressed my face into the slatted wood as the shadows moved beneath. A small hand slid along his shoulder, gripping the fabric with such force I thought it might tear. He pressed her back against the post, her fair skin illuminated white in the light as she gasped at the unexpectedness of it. She affixed her hungry stare on him as he lowered his mouth to hers. My eyes widened as the heated scene played out before me. I couldn’t turn away. I had never felt more scandalous than at that moment in my life. At fifteen I had never seen or experienced anything like it. Excitement twisted in my stomach seeing her gasp as he trailed his mouth down her neck. I bit my lip as I watched his fingers slide slowly, wickedly against the girl’s collarbone, only to hook the strap of her top and peel it slowly downward, revealing a small, milky white breast. An unexpected feeling shot through me at the sight of his thumb teasing the pebble-like bud as he kissed her once more, and my, how he kissed her. I felt the pang of jealousy – never had I ever been so wanted, so desired. I imagined for a moment that I was that girl in the dark, that I was the one who was pressed up against the beam, as he slowly lowered his head to trail kisses along my exposed skin. The girl arched her back, her neck twisted in exquisite madness, her fingers folded through the dark tendrils of his hair. Her breath had hitched as his tongue slid teasingly along her nipple.
“Chris!” she gasped, the word carrying its way up the stairs.
I flinched backward and kicked a pot plant off the landing. I covered my face to stop from screaming as I heard the plant shatter below. Before I could worry that it might have landed on anyone, the back light to the beer garden flooded the space. I scrambled backward, out of sight. It seemed I wasn’t the only one concerned with being discovered – hearing the muffled giggles beneath me as they scurried out of the space. I leaned forward and peeked over the ledge just enough to see Chris running out of the side exit of the beer garden, leading the girl by the hand as they fought to catch their breath from laughing. He looked back at her with a boyish grin, as if he would follow her to the ends of the Earth, as he pulled her through the gate and into the darkness beyond.
I sat back, plastered against the bricks of the h
otel, my breath laboured, my cheeks aflame from all I had seen.
I could only hope that I would remain undiscovered. The back light switched off again and I had shaken my head, trying to clear the fog. I eyed my watch in the gloom: one minute past twelve. I had exactly four minutes to gather myself and try to forget what I had just witnessed.
Chapter Nineteen
I had never told a soul about that night.
In fact, I had forgotten all about it. How was that possible? I must have felt so intensely wicked and mortified about my secret spying that I had blocked it out of my mind altogether, until now, as I thought back to Chris’s fingers stroking my hair, entirely innocent, simply to comfort a sleeping girl.
Heat still flooded my cheeks at all the confused emotions fifteen-year-old Tammy had felt on that night. It also cemented the knowledge that Chris may have been distant, moody and mysterious, but he sure knew how to treat a girl.
I had no doubt that he had had his fair share, under the beer garden steps, in his room, in this van. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, suddenly annoyed at the feelings that twisted in my stomach, at the thought of him having girls in there, anywhere. It was the same feeling I’d got that night, a sharp unexpected jolt of jealousy. It was pathetic. Stupid.
Jealous over Chris Henderson? I don’t think so.
“Are you okay? You look kind of flushed.” Chris’s voice snapped me from my lurid thoughts.
“I’m fine!” I said too quickly. “Migraine’s gone, I’m good to go.” I crawled toward the front seat.
“Where are you going?” Chris asked.
I paused mid-climb, looking back at him expectantly. “Oh, um, I’m okay to keep going.”
Chris twirled the face washer casually around his finger. “I thought we might set up camp here for the night; we’re nowhere near any fine eatery or civilisation, but the toilet block is here, which is something I guess.”
My heart pounded as I lowered my leg and slid down to sit on the mattress beside him. “But the itinerary said we would stop in Calhoon first night; isn’t that where the others would be expecting us?”
Chris shrugged. “We’ve lost too much time with the late start and the unplanned stopover.” He eyed me expectantly. “Besides, we’re in pretty thick roo country and I don’t fancy busting up my windscreen by ploughing into one.”
No. I didn’t want that either.
“Best make camp here.”
My heart sank; I had grand visions of catching up with the others, setting up tents and swags together, even perhaps us girls persuading the boys to stay in a hotel, although I didn’t much like our chances. At best it would be an established camping ground with hot showers – the height of luxury. Instead, no thanks to me, we were hours and hours behind the others, stuck in the middle of nowhere in the back of a panel van.
“You hungry?” Chris grabbed a shopping bag and rustled around inside it. “It’s not exactly Michelin Star cooking, but Melba rustled me up a batch of salad rolls and a pack of Anzac biscuits. Aw sa-weet!” he cried. “The old girl has chucked in some frozen Primas, God love her.” Chris pulled out the drinks, beaming like he was a kid at Christmas. He chucked one over to me that I juggled into catching.
I eyed the juice box sceptically, a grin pinching at the corner of my mouth. Amy had often complained that Chris was Melba’s favourite. This might just work out in my favour. I couldn’t help but speculate that Melba hadn’t packed lunch for Adam or Amy. Interesting, I thought.
Amy being the only girl and Adam being the charismatic charmer, it surprised me that Chris was the favourite.
“Thanks,” I said, watching Chris set aside his precious goods. He lined them up straight like soldiers and set the bag aside.
“It probably wouldn’t hurt for you to take it easy, anyway,” he said. “We can get your medication when we hit Calhoon tomorrow.” He passed me a salad roll.
“It’s a nice idea,” I said, “but there is one small problem.”
“What’s that?” Chris asked through a mouthful of roll.
“They’re prescription meds.” I sighed.
He swallowed. “Bugger.”
“Yep.” I picked at my soggy bread roll.
“Drink!” Chris’s voice sounded firm. “You need to keep your fluids up,” he insisted.
“Forever the barman,” I mused.
“Keeping people hydrated is my profession,” he said, breaking the plastic straw of his Prima and shoving it into the fruit box. I couldn’t help but smile at him; Chris, the serious, no-nonsense publican, sipping from a Prima like a boy in a schoolyard. He looked so unguarded, so innocent, and then my mind flashed back to his taunting mouth in the beer garden that night. Looks were deceiving. He wasn’t as much of a puzzle as people believed. He was just understated – unlike the other Onslow Boys he was private and didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. No; instead, he lurked in shadows and drove black panel vans with the windows blacked out. What was that saying? It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about? Great! And I was stuck with him tonight.
Not feeling hungry, I wrapped the remainder of my roll back up and placed it aside. “I might freshen up a bit before I call it a night,” I said. “Do you need help to set anything up?”
The gurgling sounds of the straw sucking up the last remnants of juice answered me, before Chris crushed the packet with satisfaction. “Nope! It’s okay, I’ll set up camp.”
Relieved, I grabbed my toiletries before he changed his mind and roped me into setting up some complicated camping apparatus.
I struggled with the latch of the back door, jiggling and twisting, even going so far as to put my shoulder into it, which got me nowhere, either.
I struggled with the stupid thing until I felt the press of Chris lean against my shoulder and place his hand over mine.
“Not like that.” His words breathed out near my cheek. “Like this.” He twisted and lifted the handle with ease, freeing the lock and pushing it open, mercifully giving me room to move from the heat of his torso.
“Thanks,” I said too quickly, as I gathered my things and moved toward the toilet block. Fumbling my goods, flustered, I dropped bits and pieces along the way.
Please don’t be watching. Please don’t be watching …
I managed to steal a glance back toward the car before going into the Ladies’ toilets. My eyes briefly locked with his amused ones as Chris sat casually on the edge of the van, a crooked grin curving his lips.
Bugger.
Chapter Twenty
I took my time cleansing, scrubbing, toning and moisturising.
It was as close to a shower as I was going to get. I changed into my nightwear and pulled my hair up into a high ponytail and out of my face. Even though I had slept a good portion of the day away, I was bone tired, and suddenly grateful that Chris had made the call to stop for the evening even if we were a good six hours behind schedule. Driving on into the night and reaching Calhoon at four in the morning wouldn’t put us in good stead for the next day’s leg – driving tired was not only dangerous for Chris, but getting overtired was another migraine trigger for me. No, I needed a good night’s rest. So I took my time, allowing Chris to set up tent and get changed himself while I busied myself brushing my teeth.
I didn’t know exactly what warranted camping attire, but Tess’s list recommended flannelette PJs as the coastal roads can be chilly of a night, even in summer. I knew we weren’t that far into the journey, or maybe it was the fluoro lighting in the toilet block that flickered with a disco of bugs buzzing above my head, but the night was still stifling, the air thick and warm. As I stood in my white and navy striped PJs, the only nightwear I had packed, I stretched out the collar and fanned myself. I’d probably be grateful for it as the air cooled and I settled in the tent for the night, but not yet I wasn’t. I packed all my gear back into my toiletry bag. Chris had had enough time to set up. I zipped up my toiletry bag and made my way outside.
I paused. A frown etched
my brow as I neared the van, following the dull light and soft music that filtered out of the open back door. I spotted Chris perched on the end of the mattress, his foot hitched up on the tow bar. He was relaxed, whistling along to the tune.
He straightened and sat up when he saw me approaching.
“Feel better?” he asked.
I kept walking, peering around the other side of the van, bewildered. I did a full circle around it, checking in all directions.
“Where’s the tent?”
Chris pushed his hands in his pockets, a perplexed line creasing his brow. “What tent?”
My pulse spiked in anxiety. “The sleeping tent?” I envisioned a large, multi-winged tent that could house a family of five, with even a shady verandah part to sit in outside on deckchairs. Like the one on the front of camping shop catalogues, that kind of tent.
“Oh.” Chris cocked an amused brow and scratched the back of his neck. “Ya see, the thing is …” He tapped on the mattress beneath him. “I don’t do tents.”
I squared my shoulders, a grave look on my face. “That’s not camping,” I said coolly.
Chris smiled, reaching in to grab his bag. “You’ll thank me in the morning.” He winked, shouldered his backpack and headed for the toilet block.
***
Okay, no sweat. We would just sleep in the back of the van. The very confined, claustrophobic van.
It appeared that in my absence Chris had been busy – he had placed all the baggage aside (well, most of it was mine; he was a light traveller, so it would seem) and set the mattress up with fresh black sheets and a navy plaid doona. To top it off there were two lumpy pillows that looked like they had seen better days. The bed was made army-style immaculate, crisp and taut; you could really bounce a coin off it. I was impressed, but not surprised. If Chris did something it was always with military precision. I knew Chris’s goofball of a younger brother was in the army but maybe they had gotten it wrong? Maybe Adam and his lighthearted wit and people skills needed to be behind the bar and Chris needed to be shipped off to the South Pacific or wherever they go to these days?