by Dale, Lindy
“Time for a present each before bed,” said Mum, gaily. Since we’d been old enough to know Santa wasn’t real, it had been another family tradition to come home from Midnight Mass and open a present. Until that night, I had loved the tradition, the excitement of it all. Now, I couldn’t have cared less.
The champagne cork popped and Dad poured the bubbles.
“You go first, Bella,” he warbled along, handing me a glass and turning John Denver up a notch.
I didn’t feel like opening a present.
“No, you go. I’ll wait.” I sipped from my glass; even the thought of champagne was unappealing.
“Darling?” Mum’s face was worried. This was not like me; I reveled in Christmas Festivities, spurring the family to new heights of ridiculousness every year. The year before, I’d made everyone wear sleigh bells for the entire celebration – though Mum had begged off when it came to church. She said it was sacrilegious to enter God’s house impersonating a Christmas tree.
“I’m okay Mum, my head hurts, that’s all,” I answered. And my heart! My heart aches so I wish I could die. I handed her a present.
“Oh,” she squealed, “It’s just what I wanted.” She held up the floral neck-to-knee nightgown and book I had chosen for her. “Thank you, darling.” Amazing how such banal things could make a person happy. The only thing that would make me happy was the thing I couldn’t have.
I looked on miserably. Everyone was opening gifts; shiny paper lay over the lounge room floor. I was so sure he would have called. It was Christmas after all.
Putting my glass on the hearth, I sat down in front of the empty fireplace. Dean was talking to Dad about his choices for his last year of his degree. Mum had stopped flicking through her book to listen. They would be ecstatic if we got engaged. He was ‘such a nice boy’ but he was not the man I wanted. Then he smiled at me and I turned away unable to even look him in the eye. I felt like a fraud. If only I could love him that way he deserved be loved. He was everything a husband was meant to be. But he wasn’t Ben. My eyes filled with tears and I blinked them away.
Please Ben, please come back. I can’t live without you. I’ve tried but I can’t do it.
***
A dejected sigh escaped my lips as I opened the door to my flat. Everything was dark. What had I been expecting? Ben? Sitting on the lounge, wearing nothing but a Christmas bow? A brief smile crossed my lips, it would have been the sort of thing he would have done back then. But not now, now nobody was there of course, only the darkness.
“Do you want me to stay?” Dean questioned, rubbing my back.
“No. Go home. It’s been a long day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kissed him and stepped into the darkness.
Running my fingers up and down the door, I searched for the light, muttering at the familiar sound of the light globe blowing. Walking into the living area, I flopped down on the couch. The globe could wait till the morning. I couldn’t be bothered rattling around under the sink in the dark with my hands touching God knows what that was slimy and smelly. There were nasty scuttling sounds in that cupboard at night.
I sat on the sofa in the dark for a long time, saying a prayer of thanks that Christmas Eve was over. If I’d had to fake a smile for another moment my face would have been in serious danger of staying that way. I was tired of pretending to be happy and my head was pounding beyond belief. I wanted to die. I hated Christmas, especially with Dean fussing around me like an old woman. He was worse than Nanna and she nearly killed a girl with kindness.
‘Here, darling, have some more desert, eat some more potatoes, take these left-overs home – you’re too skinny. Give your old Nanna a kiss and a hug.’
Flipping off my shoes and padding to the kitchen, I searched the fridge and cupboard for something alcoholic to ease the sadness. It was my own fault. I had let Ben go and now he had Natasha, Greek goddess and supermodel. And I had Dean. Pompous arse and superbrain. No wonder I was sad.
Vodka bottle in my left hand, I wandered to the wardrobe, shifting the door with my foot. The urge to be near Ben was so strong, I wondered if he could feel me wanting him. Did he think of me? Or was he too busy devising ways to get naked with Natasha? I took a swig from the bottle and poured myself a glass as I began to rattle through the jumble of the closet. Ben’s box. Where was Ben’s box? It was hidden somewhere away at the back of the shelf, I was sure. I needed to find it, to see his face, even if it was only in a photo. He was the missing piece of my puzzle, the cream in my coffee that I wasn’t to have for fear of gaining weight.
Taking a huge gulp from my glass, I drained it and refilled again. The numbing effect was gradual dulling the heaviness in my brain. John Denver had a lot more than White Christmas to answer for. I took another drink and grabbing a chair, dragged it to the open wardrobe. My body swayed slightly as I stood, tiptoed, on the wobbly cushion, pushing clothes and books aside. My head was beginning to fuzz, that drunken feeling was returning, topping up the champagne of the night by the vodka in my hand.
Where was that box? I took another swig. Ahh, there it was, pushed to the back, smothered by the fluoro of my Wham t-shirt. Balancing precariously on the edge of the chair, I reached into the shelf. I could feel it with the tip of my finger but I couldn’t quite get it.
Instinctively, one leg rose in the air and I balanced on one tiptoe, trying desperately to reach my treasure. The chair wobbled and the tears clouded my eyes.
I didn’t feel my head, as it hit the shelf when I fell. I didn’t see the glass shatter and cut me. I didn’t smell the blood, as I lay semiconscious on the floor and it drained from my arm. All I knew was the pain inside my broken heart as I clutched at the heart of glass that had fallen from the box.
***
“Happy New Year!”
Someone kissed my cheek in the dark and I laughed. It felt good to laugh again. After my fall, everyone had come around, knowing something was wrong but not knowing how to help. Like an idiot, I had waited and waited but the phone remained silent. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come when I needed him most and the ache inside me grew like an inflatable ball with pressure that increased but never burst.
Dean had found me, when he let himself in on Christmas morning. Assuming I had gone out for a run, and hoping to give me a Christmas surprise, he’d been devastated to find me lying on the bedroom floor in a pool of blood and glass. The rest was a blur of flapping and fussing. How he would ever make a doctor if he couldn’t even call an ambulance without having a nervous breakdown was a mystery to me.
“You didn’t do anything silly, did you?” he’d asked, as he held my hand in the emergency room.
What like trying to knock myself off? Was that meant to be some sort of joke? I’d always considered his humour, to be left of centre but that was plain sick.
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” I’d replied.
A fit of depression and too much vodka was one thing, but suicide was a different story. So, back to New Year’s.
Coops and Phil had gone out earlier in the night to see Lush.
“Come with us…” Coops had begged. “New Year won’t be the same without your dancing.”
I’d shaken my head, saying I looked too much like a human pizza to be seen in public. My forehead had a large yellowing lump on it and the bridge of my nose was purple and swollen. My arm was bandaged but the doctor said there would be little if any scarring. The only scars were those on my heart. Besides, it was fun just hanging out at home for a change.
Then the clock struck midnight. The remainder of the party were all madly kissing and hugging when Coops rang to wish us a Happy New Year and let us know they were on their way home with reinforcements.
“How much have you had to drink?” I laughed, as he slobbered into the phone telling me how much he loved me.
“Not much, the usual,” he replied. A slurred schoolgirl titter followed and I figured reinforcements could mean anything from more alcohol to the entire Salvation Army Marching Band playing fest
ive tunes. Best to batten down the hatches and prepare for hilarity, Coops was a funny drunk.
Not long after, I was in the kitchen talking to Prue, and nibbling on a slice of cold pizza when the door opened and a crowd of noisy boys swarmed in. Spotting me, they converged like the forward pack of a rugby team, handing me cartons of beer and hugs of love.
Swooping from the back, Coops rushed at me, and whisking me into his arms, lifted me high off the ground.
“Happy New Year,” he smiled and kissed me with a tenderness that was bordering on improper. Then, straightening and attempting to look sober, he added, “Bella, Prue, this is Damien, John and Mark. They’re from ‘Lush’. Remember?”
Hmm. Doors music, tight leather pants…. As if I’d forget that. Especially when Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding was standing right in front of me.
“Hi, you must be Bella. Beautiful. Just like the name.”
I liked that he’d ignored the fact that I looked like a train wreck.
“Um, thanks. Can you excuse us for just a minute?”
Turning to Coops, I pushed him to the other end of the kitchen. “What are they doing here? You know what Justin said. He didn’t want anything to do with them. He’ll murder you.”
“It’s New Year’s, live a little.”
“It’s not my life I’m concerned with.”
“Justin won’t mind. Chill.”
“Won’t mind what?” Mark had crept up beside me and was devouring me with his wolfish gaze.
“S’nothing.” Coops laughed.
“Good. For a minute, there, I thought something was wrong.” His dark eyes pierced my heart. God, the thought of those leather pants had been too much to bear. How would I ever resist his eyes?
***
Hours later, everyone had finally gone and the house was in darkness. Phil had passed out on top of his doona and Coops and Dean had been put into a taxi – Dean with another migraine and Coops with strict instructions to drink at least three glasses of water before going to bed.
“I’ll crash in the spare room,” I said, when they asked if I was going with them. “Somebody has to help Jus’ clean up this bombsite.”
Satisfied that they were all settled, I opened the screen door and stepped into the night. It was almost five in the morning. The temperature had reached its lowest and the hairs on my arms jumped to attention. I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the frosty air, and leant out over the balcony, drinking in the stars. It was so clear and still. The whole town was sleeping. Nights like those, I could feel Ben with me; feel his love surrounding me as I watched the heavens, like we had on the night of the Christmas Ball. The sky had been the same and Ben had put his coat over my shoulders. He’d shown me the star, the one that would guide him back, if ever I needed him. Somewhere out there, he was looking too, thinking of me. I knew he was. Why didn’t he come?
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it, Blondie?”
Startled, I turned to see Mark, sitting on a wicker seat in the shadows. His ankle was crossed over his knee and his arm rested upon it. Those leather pants were glued to his body and, somewhat guiltily, I imagined him without them.
“Hope I didn’t frighten you. I came out for a smoke. Didn’t wanna light up in the house.” He exhaled slowly, his eyes closed and a pungent odour wafted into the air around us. I could see the long dark lashes against his cheek and felt an overwhelming urge to kiss the soft skin of his lids.
Don’t look, Bella, the little voice said. Don’t do it.
“You wanna sit down?” he asked. “There’s plenty of room.”
“Thanks.” I hopped onto the seat next to him, pulling my legs up under my body and circling them with my arms to keep warm. A shiver crept over me and I squeezed tighter. “Why did you call me Blondie before?”
“It suits you. I won’t do it again if you don’t like it, I won’t do anything you don’t like.” He grinned a lazy grin. Justin was right. This man was dangerous territory. His leather pants and black eyes had probably seduced thousands of girls.
“I don’t dislike it; it reminds me of someone, that’s all. It makes me sad.”
“Nobody should make you sad, Blondie; you’re too beautiful to be sad.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was gentle. “That’s a huge bruise.”
“Mmm….I had a fight with a wardrobe.”
“That’s a new one, most people say it was a door.” He looked like the type of person who’d probably had a few bouts with a door in his time and lived to tell the tale.
“Oh no. It was nothing like that. I was looking for something and I fell off a chair and hit my head on the shelf.”
“That’s how you hurt your arm too?” He took my forearm, examining it.
“The glass I was holding smashed and I fell on it.”
“Glasses can be dangerous things.”
“So I found out.”
“Seems like you went to a lot of trouble. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. I lost it a long time ago. I don’t think I’ll ever find it again.”
Mark stared. It was as if his black eyes could see right into my soul. Whatever it was that I’d lost couldn’t be found in my wardrobe.
“Sometimes, when you can’t find things, you need to look in a different place or forget about them and move on,” he said quietly.
“I know, but it’s hard.”
“Maybe you need some help.”
I looked into his eyes. I had no idea what he was offering.
“Do you smoke a lot?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. At first glance, he seemed like a nice enough guy, not the drug addicted arsehole that he’d been described as.
“A bit. S’pose they’ve told you about me. All bad?”
“No. Look, I apologise, I wasn’t purposely being nosy.”
“That’s okay. Everyone has their own theory; it gives them something to talk about.” He took a toke on the reefer. “Want some?”
“No thanks. But you go right ahead.”
His head turned and his eyes stabbed at me, mocking. They were the most unusual eyes I had ever seen, hypnotic. It was impossible not to stare into them. “You’ve never tried it, have you?”
“No.”
I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Mum’s sordid picture of wasted dirty girls begging for food and selling themselves for money on street corners had been the only deterrent I’d ever needed. In the war against drugs, scare tactics were her major resource. If she had to, I was positive she could convince Dunhill that smoking was bad.
“How old are you?” Mark asked.
“Nineteen.”
“And you’ve never had a toke? Shit.”
“Rolling a reefer wasn’t a priority subject at the school I went to.” How dare he. Looking good in leather didn’t give him license to ridicule.
“So, there’s more to you than a pretty face,” he laughed. “I like a girl who knows her mind. Here, try some. Take a couple of drags and keep the smoke in your lungs. It makes you feel chilled out, that’s all. It won’t hurt you.”
I took the reefer and did as I was bid, though why I don’t know. The smoke stung my throat and my eyes began to water, it took all my willpower not to cough or throw up all over his leathers.
Exhaling, I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, letting the silence grow around us. After a while my head began to feel dizzy. “It feels weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you tried lots of drugs?”
He pulled on the reefer and closed his eyes, ignoring me. Clearly, asking a total stranger about his drug habits wasn’t the thing to do.
“A few,” he said, at last, “but this isn’t the time for that conversation.”
“Why?”
“Because. One day I’ll tell you the whole story and you’ll understand.”
“Am I to assume there’s going to be more nights like this?”
Mark opened his eyes. His stare so in
tense I felt captured by it. He was frightening. “I think we’ll have many more nights, Blondie.”
After a bit, I began to shiver. It seemed a pity to break the silence, the sun was rising and golden glow was seeping through the sky like paint into water. “I think I’ll go inside, I’m cold,” I whispered.
“Don’t go. Stay till the sun comes up. Here, let me hold you.” His arms wound around me and his mouth curled into a smile, as I nestled into his body, resting my head upon his chest. His jumper had the same musty smell as the dope, like damp wool but sickly sweet. The sun poked its head through the clouds, bathing us with its rays. I couldn’t go inside now. It was much warmer there, safe in the Devil’s arms.
Chapter 18
SWEET DREAMS
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you.
Eurythmics
By mid 1983 I’d begun to hear Eurythmics songs in my head. I wasn’t mentally ill but my life was heading in that direction. It was like a sideshow ride where the bottom falls out from under you and you want to get off and spew but you can’t because the ride is so good. And while the ride is spinning, all you can hear is Annie Lennox singing over the crap speaker system.
Oh, I was having the time of my life. It was just that, at some point, the ride began to go so fast I lost control of my legs.
“I want to kiss you,” Mark whispered, as he strolled behind me, giving my bottom the slightest graze with his hand, “Please Blondie, one little kiss.”
“No. Go away. I’ve already told you. I have a boyfriend. And don’t call me Blondie.” Mark’s face was pitiful in its earnestness. “Alright, Blondie. I’ll go this time, but I’m not giving up until you kiss me.”
And that was what I was afraid of, that he wouldn’t give up. His continual sweet talk was wearing me down. No matter how resolute I sounded, he wouldn’t listen. I watched him walking away, oblivious to the girls falling in his wake as he crossed the floor. He was so sexy but infinitely dangerous too. I was right to stay away.