Chasing Chris Campbell

by Genevieve Gannon

The walls were vibrating. Downstairs a band was wailing. Our childhood neighbour Miles Tanner had thrown a house party to celebrate his parents going on a six week cruise. I’d come to dull my thoughts and distract myself from the constant fights with Michael. What had started as a spat had metastasised and left our relationship sickly and weak. Now my attempts at numbing myself had left my brain was swollen and tender. Every noise bashed against my eardrums like a battering ram.

  ‘Better?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You know if you had married Michael and you’d gotten pregnant you’d feel like this every day. Morning sickness. Can you imagine? You’re better off.’

  ‘That’s very comforting, thank you.’ I filled the glass with more water from the basin.

  ‘Now this,’ Cass squeezed a worm of toothpaste onto my finger. ‘Gargle and spit.’

  ‘This place is filthy,’ I said, pumping liquid soap into my hands and scrubbing them furiously. I wiped them on my jeans; I didn’t want to risk touching the damp, crumpled handtowel. Who knew what was germinating on that? ‘Hopefully some of the alcohol in my system will act as a disinfectant.’

  The bathroom vanity was crowded with bottles of beer and champagne glasses.

  ‘I didn’t think you had that much to drink,’ said Cass.

  ‘I haven’t. Only three beers. That’s what I’m telling you, I’ve been poisoned.’

  ‘It must have been some strong beer. I mean I know you can’t hold your alcohol, but this is ridiculous.’ Cass reapplied her lipstick. She offered it to me but I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair.

  ‘Oh yuk. I hope it wasn’t this that you were drinking.’ Cass picked up a bottle of beer with an amateurish label. The handwriting was familiar. The logo was unforgettable.

  ‘Disgusting,’ she said. ‘Home-brew.’

  I snatched the bottle.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ I turned it over in my hands. In tiny print on the back of the label were the words: Chris Campbell Brewing Company.

  Cass’s face broke into a grin. ‘Interesting timing.’

  ‘He must be here,’ I said. ‘Give me that.’ I snatched the lipstick from Cass’s hand.

  The Tanner’s lounge room was crammed with people.

  ‘He could be anywhere,’ I said. The woozy sickness had passed and my mind was sharp. I searched the forest of faces for that gorgeous grin and spiky hair. After The Deadbeats party Chris had disappeared again. Last I’d heard he was living in London.

  I spotted a drum kit in the corner of the deck. ‘Cass,’ I pointed. The Deadbeats’ drummer was carrying a microphone stand through the side gate.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I said.

  My gizzards were spinning like wet washing in a tumble dryer. Chris Campbell was here. My relationship was in tatters and Chris Campbell was here.

  I pushed through the throngs of people with Cass on my heels. ‘What are you going to say to him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I stopped.

  In my mind, the lights were dimming for a battle royal. In the red corner was Michael, the defending champion. That relationship was battered and bleeding. It was on the ropes. But it wasn’t down for the count yet. Michael had pluck and you couldn’t ask for anyone more loyal. He’d just been off his game lately. The blue corner held a new contender: Chris Campbell looked fit with fresh gloves and a champion’s confidence. And he had one hell of a right hook.

  Cass could read my face. ‘You look more conflicted than that time I made you candied bacon cupcakes for your PETA meeting.’

  I swallowed. ‘I don’t know if I want to find Chris.’

  ‘It might not have been his beer. He could have left a batch with some friends.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I nodded.

  ‘He can’t still be playing in that band,’ said Cass.

  ‘True. Can you imagine? Twenty-seven years old and still making home brew and playing in a garage band.’ I laughed. The relief was cut short.

  ‘It’s a one-night only reunion.’

  The sound of that voice made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. I spun around.

  ‘Violet Mason, how are you?’

  ‘Chris.’

  If it was possible he had grown even better-looking. His hair was blonder – though shorter than last time I’d seen him – his shoulders broader, his eyes far bluer than I remembered. They were vivid, like a colour that shouldn’t exist in nature. He looked like an air-brushed advertisement. Like Chris Campbell concentrate.

  He tilted his head back and smiled at me. ‘And the home brew is my brother’s. He used some of my old labels.’ He nodded. ‘Come here, let’s have a look at you.’

  I wanted a hug, but he was carrying a boxy, black amplifier. I moved to kiss his cheek. The amp corner jabbed me in the chest. An inelegant puff of breath escaped my mouth. I could smell expensive cologne. A new addition.

  ‘Careful,’ he grinned.

  ‘How are you?’ I yelped, my voice high. I cleared my throat.

  He shrugged happily. ‘Glad to see you. It’s been good to be home.’

  Home. The word hung meaningfully between us.

  ‘Are you back to stay?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah. I’m heading off later tonight.’

  I nodded, taking him in. I felt if I reached out and touched him he’d vanish.

  ‘I’m having dinner with the family,’ he continued to fill the silence, ‘then getting on a plane around midnight.’

  ‘London?’ I said, then cursed myself for revealing I’d been keeping tabs on him.

  ‘Hong Kong.’

  ‘Wow … that’s so … that’s amazing.’

  He was looking at me thoughtfully. ‘Let me put this down. Then we can chat properly.’

  As I watched him take the amplifier to the corner of the deck and connect his guitar I thought of our last weeks together. Our last real weeks together. We’d been sitting in that hockey goal cage when he invited me to his school formal.

  ‘As your date?’ I’d asked, unable to believe he had picked me.

  ‘No, as my porter.’ He jabbed me playfully with his finger. Then he grinned. ‘Yes, as my date.’

  I’d squirmed with pleasure. At the formal he’d bought us each a copy of the souvenir photo and offered me his dessert.

  ‘Let’s show them how it’s done,’ he’d said, taking my hand and pulling me onto the dance floor after I finished off his banana split.

  I moved awkwardly but Chris danced with confidence. He mimicked moves from music videos and invented his own. Kids around us started to copy him.

  ‘C’mon, Vy,’ he said, taking my arm and lowering me into a dip. He was everything I wasn’t. He was creative and impulsive and cool. He reminded me of Cass in that way.

  ‘I can’t wait for uni next year,’ he said, his arm slung around my shoulder. ‘There’ll be parties like this every weekend.’

  ‘Will there?’ I hadn’t thought of that. I’d been too busy scouring second-hand book stores for the additional reading.

  ‘’Course,’ Chris took my hand in his. ‘’Specially at college.’

  ‘College?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But aren’t the boarding colleges for kids from out of town? You could just get a share house. Or stay with your parents.’

  ‘Oh.’ He stopped dancing for a minute. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I applied to the University of Sydney. UNSW too. For my first two preferences anyway. I want to go interstate.’

  I stopped dancing. ‘But why?’

  Chris shrugged. ‘Adventure.’

  ‘But …’ I was stunned. ‘You could get into any university you wanted.’

  ‘I know,’ he grinned. ‘That’s why I’m going to Sydney.’

  The music seemed to grow louder and the other dancers crowded in on us. I felt my cheeks grow hot. Chris’s face become blurry as a mist of tears filled my eyes.

  ‘Hey, -hey, Vy.�
� He touched my chin. ‘I’ll be back. I didn’t think you’d get so upset.’

  I turned away, embarrassed. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘C’m’ere.’ He led me towards the door. ‘I’ll be back every couple of months. All summer and the semester breaks too,’ he told me in the dark carpark behind the school hall.

  ‘I just – I thought we’d be going to Melbourne Uni together.’ I looked at the oil-stained asphalt, ashamed of the tears in my eyes. We could still hear the music. Chris put a hand on my waist and started to lead me in a slow dance. He touched his forehead to mine.

  ‘We’re too young to get serious, Vy,’ he said. ‘We’ve got so much to see and do and try before we settle down. I wish I’d met you later in life. When I was, you know, ready.’

  He drew me close and kissed me.

  That February he moved. We emailed, of course. But the lags between his responses grew longer while the length of his emails grew shorter. Feeling crushed and stupid, I stopped writing. Then he did too.

  Now he was back. Now we were older. Cass would say it was pre-ordained by the stars. What I called coincidence she called kismet. I hated her astrology obsession. But I did have to admit it felt very convenient right now.

  Chris waved as he made his way back to me. I looked up at the white stars glinting in the night sky and sent them a silent thank you.

  ‘I hoped I’d run into you,’ he said, as he stopped in front of me.

  ‘Really?’ My heart swelled.

  ‘Of course. The one that got away.’

  If there had been an ECG machine attached to me it would have exploded.

  ‘Hardly,’ I laughed, breathless. ‘Anyway, you’re the one who went away.’

  Chris gazed at me through his sandy lashes. ‘You should have come. Sydney was amazing.’

  ‘Come? I …?’

  His tone changed. ‘I thought you’d be married by now.’

  The comment zapped me back to reality. Michael’s face appeared in my head. I looked away. I didn’t want Chris to know I’d thought I’d be married too. ‘Why did you think that?’

  Chris started to say something, but stopped. ‘I, ah, I have to play a set now. But I want to talk more. Will you wait here for me? Don’t go anywhere, okay, Vy?’

  ‘Sure.’ I watched him hop onto the deck and sling his guitar over his shoulder.

  I wrapped my arms around myself. A shiver of guilt passed through me. I still hadn’t resolved things with Michael. Despite everything, I’d been missing him desperately. My gripes about his budgeting and bad cooking felt trivial, at a distance. Childish even. I’d longed for his company and goofy sense of humour, and his full lips which felt wonderful to kiss.

  Then, like an aberration, he appeared across the Tanner’s lawn. I smiled nervously as he staggered towards me.

  ‘Having a nice time,’ he said a little-too-loudly in my ear. There was beer on his breath.

  ‘Michael, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Well, you didn’t waste any time,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Chris.

  Michael’s skin was slick with sweat and his hair was unruly. He looked wild and unfamiliar covered in two days’ growth.

  ‘He’s an old friend, you know that,’ I tried to steady my voice but anxiety was radiating from my cheeks. Michael folded his arms.

  My heart started to skip. He’d always been terribly jealous. He was mild-mannered to a fault, unless he thought I was flirting with someone. Then he would stamp his foot and snort like a bull. He’d become impervious to reason and shout and throw his arms around.

  ‘Sure.’ Michael took a swig from a bottle of Asahi beer. He held another open bottle in his other hand.

  I touched his arm. We’d said some cruel things to each other over the phone since I’d left. I wanted to calm him. I could see the irrational scowl settling over his features.

  ‘Michael –’

  He snatched his arm away as I reached for it again.

  ‘Michael, please – don’t be like this.’

  I reached for him again, anxious to calm him. At Melanie Bolinger’s 25th he’d ripped a totem tennis pole out of the ground and hurled it across the yard like a javelin because Billy Forsyth had shared his birthday cake with me.

  He looked away and took another hit from his bottle of beer.

  ‘I sold the bike,’ he said. ‘That’s what I came here to tell you.’ His voice was hard. ‘I got rid of it.’ He was glaring at me, daring me not to be satisfied. I stared at the ground, still bubbling with the guilt; feeling ashamed I’d been so excited to see Chris and given barely a thought for Michael. Earnest Michael, who would never intentionally hurt me.

  ‘Thank you for getting rid of the bike,’ I said softly.

  Relief washed over Michael’s face. He softened too. ‘Are you coming home soon?’

  My stomach dropped. I searched his eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ He folded his arms.

  ‘I just need more time to think,’ I said.

  Michael took a step back. ‘But –’ He frowned, concentrating.

  ‘Yes?’ I encouraged him. I stepped forward, slowly, like when you’re approaching a frightened animal. I took another step, wanting him to trust me, to say what he was thinking. Maybe now I’d get some sort of declaration. Some sort of promise to show me there was a life to go back to.

  ‘Well, our rent for January is due next week,’ he said finally.

  ‘Our rent?’ Something was crumbling inside of me. We were standing here, on the edge of our sixth year, our relationship in shreds, and his first thought was of the rent payment.

  ‘Michael,’ I breathed. ‘This shouldn’t be about money.’

  He frowned again, then began to stroke his chin like he was trying to psychoanalyse me. He always adopted this pose when we were fighting. It drove me crazy.

  ‘We signed an agreement, Violet.’

  ‘Oh Michael! I don’t care about that, you can have your stupid rent. What I’m worried about is why the rent payment is the first thing you thought to talk to me about.’

  ‘One of us has to be responsible.’

  ‘I’m always responsible –’

  I could feel the surge of repressed anger and resentment rising up again. We’d worked so hard, saved so much. We’d shared sandwiches for dinner and driven each other to work. We’d huddled in front of my computer watching pirated movies in beanies and blankets to save on cinema tickets and heating. And now that we’d almost reached our goal it felt further away than ever.

  ‘You’re just going to walk out and leave me to deal with –’

  ‘Michael, that’s not what I said –’

  ‘You always do this. You know I’ll always be there to pick up the slack –’

  ‘When have I done this?’ My head felt hot, my chest tight. All I could hear was a voice telling me what I could and couldn’t do.

  ‘You can’t just walk away –’

  ‘I can’t do this anymore!’ I shouted.

  The voice went silent. Michael’s arms fell to his side. The conversations around us hushed.

  ‘I just … can’t do this,’ I said and ran to back gate.

  My eyes stung with tears. I blinked furiously, running down the street until I came to a large oak tree at the end of the cul-de-sac. I sank to the ground and leaned against the bark. Above me the stars, which only minutes earlier had seemed so friendly and helpful, were watching me uncaringly. In the distance I could hear The Deadbeats’ bass line. The air was still. I felt desolate. I don’t know how long I sat there, replaying our words over and over. I felt too empty for tears. I pictured myself fighting with Michael at thirty, and forty and fifty. When I snapped out of my daze, the night was silent.

  I eased myself up and headed back to the house to find Cass.

  She was out the front. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere.’ She ran towards me.

  ‘I had a big fight with Michael,’ I said numbly. ‘He’s gone.’ />
  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I guess. I think it’s over. For good.’

  Cass put her arm around me. ‘I’m really sorry Vy,’ she said. ‘I’ll help you get through this. Oh, and hey, Chris Campbell was looking for you.’

  ‘Is he still inside?’

  Cass’s eyes darted from side to side the way they did when she had bad news. ‘He had to leave.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘He wanted to talk to you but we didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘Oh.’ I felt like nothing was ever going to go right for me again.

  ‘Come on.’ Cass wound her arm around my shoulder. ‘Let’s go home.’

  When I first moved in after the motorcycle fiasco, I only planned to stay at Mum and Dad’s for a few nights to cool off. But after the big bust-up at the Tanner house party the weeks had passed in a blur of bars and hangovers. Soon I was several weeks into the new year with nowhere else to go.

  One Saturday night, when I couldn’t face going out again, my fourteen-year-old brother, Zach, came into the room and lay on the end of my bed.

  ‘Cass, why is Vy sad?’ he asked my sister who was watching me from my bedroom door.

  ‘It’s nothing Zachman,’ I said. ‘I’m just sleepy.’

  Cass joined Zach on the end of my bed.

  ‘Cass, what am I going to do? For the past few years my plan has been to start a life with him.’

  ‘Make new plans,’ she said gently.

  ‘My whole life I’ve been waiting get married. To have children. It’s all been a waste.’

  Cass didn’t say anything.

  The past weeks had been stereo chaos. In between late night parties, I’d somehow managed to unshackle my life from Michael’s. In a haze of hangovers and tears I’d divided our books, our CDs, our crockery and finally our finances. Now, all that was left of my white-picket future was my couch, half a cutlery set, and $22,000.

  ‘You should take a trip,’ said Cass. ‘You’ve never even left Australia. There’s plenty of time for buying a house and having children later. This is an opportunity to get out on your own. Figure out who you are.’ She opened her laptop. ‘What about a European adventure? Or Poland, Vy? You could visit Nan’s old town.’

  I took the computer from her. ‘Maybe. I’d want to go somewhere hot.’