Unrequited

by Emma Grey

  Unsettled, basically! ‘I’m oka-ay,’ she stammers. ‘But you’re not. What’s wrong?’

  He stares at her in a way he’s never done before. He’s seething. ‘I found her,’ he says, at last. ‘She was practising her song at the Seymour Centre. You know the one? Inspired by the guy on the train. Sarah, whatever you do, please don’t try to deny this. Don’t lie to me. I’m feeling cut up enough as it is. How could you know and not tell me?’

  Sarah’s heart would sink if it could, but it’s actually stopped beating. It’s frozen solid in fear. Not fear of Joel himself, but of losing him.

  ‘Joel,’ she says, peeling herself off the couch and almost crawling across the floor. She kneels in front of him, grabs his hands and implores him to understand. She doesn’t care how pathetic she looks. ‘I tried to tell you. I kept saying there was something I had to . . .’

  ‘Why not just spit it out, Sarah? I know you’re sick, but I thought you had something terrible going on!’

  I do, she thinks. ‘I was just trying to find the right way to say it, and the right time . . .’

  ‘It’s good news! You don’t have to manage good news. You just blurt it out!’

  Yeah. Except when one person’s good news is another person’s heartbreak. ‘Sometimes things are more complicated than they seem,’ she says, flatly.

  ‘I don’t see how. Unless you know something about Kat that I don’t.’

  ‘It’s not about her,’ Sarah starts to explain.

  ‘Well, it’s not about me!’ Joel argues. ‘So who is it about?’

  She stares at him, waiting for the penny to drop, and he stares back at her. His chest is rising and falling, brown eyes bright with anger. He’s everything she wants and she left it too late to work that out and, now — great, she’s going to cry again!

  Joel sighs in exasperation and puts his hand on her shoulder. ‘What is it, Sarah? No more mucking around. Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad . . .’

  She takes a deep gulp between sobs and slumps to the floor, stripped of everything. ‘It is that bad. It’s worse! I feel so stupid about this.’

  He takes this in. Then he gets off the chair and sits on the floor beside her, leaning up against the couch the way they used to sit when they were kids, watching TV together. ‘You can tell me anything. You know that.’

  She takes a slow, deep breath and looks directly at him. It’s now or never.

  ‘I love you, Joel.’

  He smiles. ‘And I love you. Even if you did keep a secret from me for whatever crazy reason I hope you’re about to reveal . . .’

  ‘I just revealed it, Joel! Stop making this so awkward!’

  He still looks confused. ‘Making what awkward? What did you reveal?’

  It doesn’t help that Sarah tells everyone she loves them, and Joel knows it.

  ‘For a med student, you are infuriatingly obtuse sometimes. The thing is, I can’t believe I’m even about to admit this. Trust me, I wish this wasn’t the case . . .’

  ‘Sarah. You’re making no sense. Just say it.’ ‘Okay, here’s the problem: Joel, I love you.’ He stares at her.

  ‘I’m in love with you,’ she adds, in case the bombshell needs further clarification.

  For the longest time, he says nothing.

  ‘So, you see, I didn’t realise it until you started talking about Kat the way you were. And then it just hit me. Now I can’t let it go. When I met her and realised — I knew I had to tell you, but that meant, well . . . losing you. And —’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ he says, firmly.

  He has his arm around her now. They sit there in silence like they’re giving the new faultlines in their relationship a chance to settle before working out what on earth they’re going to do next.

  Chapter 25

  It’s ten on Sunday night and Unrequited has completely shut down the Sydney Harbour Bridge. All traffic is diverted at both ends. There are police road-blocks, camera crews, extra floodlighting and pyrotechnics set. The band is shooting a night-time music video for their new single, ‘Burning’, with an estimated budget of over five million dollars. It’s being filmed all around Circular Quay, and they only have access to the landmarks for a few hours. The producers have been in intense discussion with the Sydney City Council and the Sydney Harbour Foreshore Authority, both of which wrapped them in red tape for months. With timing this tight, the schedule is punishing.

  There are scenes shot from the rooftop of the Four Seasons Hotel. Scenes with the band on top of the bridge. Scenes of them walking along the deserted road underneath it. They’ve paid thousands to light up the Opera House just like the Vivid festival but with their own pre-recorded video images of flames. There’s a film crew in a helicopter. A Water Police escort for the extra film crews in boats. Over a hundred people are involved in coordinating the shoot from the ground, the water and the air. Everything is precision-timed to the last second. Secrecy contracts have been signed all round. The video couldn’t be more ambitious. Or expensive. Even the insurance has run into hundreds of thousands of dollars for one night.

  The five band members have climbed to the top of the bridge and are tied to it. They’ve stripped the top halves of their regulation grey jumpsuits down to their waists, revealing singlets. And a few tatts. The floodlights are on. Music is blaring from speakers bolted to the bridge. The helicopter and film crew are approaching from the west. The mega bucks invested in even these few critical moments is mind-blowing. They’ve got to get it right. So, Angus ignores his phone the first time it vibrates in his back pocket.

  A few seconds later, it rings a second time. What if it’s the songwriter? Please call back, he thinks, then quickly refocuses. He can’t mess this up. Here comes the helicopter. There’s a choreographer blaring music and yelling instructions into his earpiece.

  They film the chorus nine times all up, and the phone is silent throughout. He’s getting more concerned as time wears on. Then the director says it’s a wrap, and instructs them to descend carefully for the road scenes on the bridge.

  The helicopter is still hovering. Loudly. And of course that’s when the phone rings for a third time. Angus breaks Bridge Security regulations, digs into the pocket of his jeans, under his jumpsuit, and answers it.

  There’s a momentary pause on the other end, then a tentative, ‘Hello? It’s Kat.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Zach yells, and Angus waves his hand at him to shut him up.

  ‘Um, I’m not sure if I have the right number,’ the girl says.

  ‘You do. I’m glad you called.’

  With impeccable timing, the helicopter flies in low overhead, beaming a spotlight at him. In his other ear he hears the director telling him to get off the bloody phone and get to the ground in one piece. He waves the helicopter away, like he’s swatting a fly. It doesn’t work.

  ‘Is that a helicopter?’ Kat asks. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in the city!’ he shouts. ‘There’s a bit going on!’

  ‘Okay, well, I’m phoning about the song,’ she yells. ‘I think we should meet and discuss what we’re going to do about it. I’ve never done anything like this before. Have you?’

  He takes in the chopper overhead. The boats in the water below. The police lights flashing at the site of several road-blocks dotted throughout the city. There are film cameras trained at him from above and below, and, like clockwork, the Opera House lights up brilliantly with the Unrequited logo.

  ‘I’ve dabbled . . .’ he says.

  He’s dabbled? Of all the half-baked comments . . .

  ‘Are you from the UK?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m just visiting, yes. In fact, Kat, why don’t we meet tomorrow afternoon? It’s hard to talk right now with all of this, er, stuff going on here. I’m staying at the Four Seasons. Bring someone with you if you like? I know we haven’t met.’

  ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  In his other ear he hears the director telling him to g
et off the bloody phone before they’re all sued and to get to the ground in one piece.

  He has to think fast. ‘Tell the concierge you’re there to see Bryce Donovan. They’ll show you upstairs, okay? Six o’clock? Have you got that?’

  ‘Got it.’

  Their manager resorts to flashing the spotlight at him and it’s blinding. ‘Got to go!’ He ends the call abruptly, relieved to have spoken to her. And nervous.

  Recording a video like this is easy. Meeting the musician he’s already so strangely connected to is way more daunting. Yes, even for him.

  Chapter 26

  Joel has to admit, he never saw this coming. Sarah is in love with him? After all this time? All these years? It’s unfathomable.

  ‘Well,’ he says eventually, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Now you know how I felt that summer when we were twelve. At the dodgem cars.’

  The mood is not lightened by this comment. ‘Yeah, except we’re grown-ups, Joel. It’s hardly a fair comparison. That was nothing!’

  Harsh! Maybe if she knew about the Valentine’s debacle in Year Nine, she’d realise it hadn’t been just one isolated event for him. But she’s right. They’re adults now. This is different. It’s hard to know what to say now. Or do. So, he’s stumbling around the wreckage of their friendship, trying not to be insensitive, and failing dismally.

  ‘Anyway, I’m glad you found her,’ Sarah says quietly, wrapping her light blue cardigan across her chest. ‘Was she happy to see you?’

  ‘Do you really want to talk about this?’

  ‘I’d rather know than wonder.’

  He doesn’t quite know how to discuss the afternoon. Ordinarily, he’d just open right up and tell her everything, but how can he do that now? It’s going to be very uncomfortable from now on.

  ‘She was pretty nervous. We had a coffee. She talked about the song. I walked her to the station. She texted to let me know she got home. I texted her back that that was good. She has my jacket.’

  ‘Joel — this is not a police interview. What else happened?’

  ‘Nothing! I swear it.’

  ‘Now you’re acting like I’m your wife! Stop it! What nearly happened, then?’

  He looks at her cagily. Does she really want to know how close he came to kissing Kat? Probably not.

  ‘You nearly kissed her, didn’t you?’

  Damn, she’s good. ‘I don’t think it’s sensible,’ he explains. ‘She’s still in high school! I’ve got this scholarship . . .’

  Sarah looks at him like he’s talking in riddles. ‘Four-ish years isn’t too big a gap. I mean, yes, she’s still in high school, but only for a few more weeks. She fits right in here at uni. What’s the scholarship got to do with it?’

  He has to be careful how he says this. ‘I just think a new relationship could get very distracting . . .’

  Sarah looks dejected. Does she think she never distracted him in the same way? She can be clueless at times. ‘You can’t think you can just forget about her?’ she replies.

  Even as she suggests it, he knows it’s ludicrous. Of course he can’t just forget Kat. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sarah just hit him with the I-love-you sledgehammer, Kat would be the only thing on his mind. He’s been thinking about her almost every single moment since her train disappeared from sight. And when her text arrived, it was all he could do not to phone her right back. Then it had taken a full ten minutes of writing and re-writing an answer before eventually sending a one-word reply because that’s marginally better than an awkward silence.

  This is outrageous! It’s like he’s fifteen again and bumbling around with his first girlfriend — the one he tried to move on with when it didn’t work out with Sarah. It’s evidence that Kat could really mess with his studies. Big time.

  ‘And what about the song? Did she tell you about that?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘That’s the other thing. She’s writing it with some guy she’s never actually met. A guy who thinks she’s incredible. A guy she thinks is brilliant.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Crazy jealous?’

  She nods, crestfallen. She gets it.

  ‘Then we have the not insignificant obstacle of Angus Marsden. Not that Kat seems to know anything about that yet. She will soon. I feel like I should tell her . . .’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I know! If I asked her out, and that’s a big if, I could hardly pretend I didn’t know that the world’s biggest pop star appears to be infatuated with her too. I wouldn’t lie to her. But if I told her, then what?’

  ‘You said she hated Unrequited.’

  ‘You said he’s irresistible!’

  ‘He’s not irresistible,’ Sarah clarifies. ‘He’s just successful and rich and impossibly good-looking and charming and . . . those eyes!’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ Joel waves his hands in the air like he’s stopping traffic.

  ‘Put it this way,’ Sarah explains. ‘If I had to pick between you and Angus Marsden. Actually, no. It’s probably not an impartial example . . .’

  Joel isn’t quite sure he follows, but he thinks she’s suggesting she’d choose him. Really?

  ‘Don’t let it go to your head, Joel!’

  ‘Right,’ he forces a smile.

  ‘This has to be the strangest conversation you and I have ever had, don’t you think?’

  ‘By a mile.’ His iPhone vibrates in his jeans pocket and he pulls it out and finds another text from Kat. At nearly midnight. Shouldn’t she be asleep? She’s got school tomorrow. Gawd! He can’t believe he just thought that . . .

  The text says: ‘I know it’s late, but can I call you?’

  What, now?

  ‘Er . . . Sarah. Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I, ah — it’s Kat. I’ll be very quick.’ He feels awful, but wants to be honest with Sarah. He owes it to her.

  He hits ‘call’ on Kat’s number and she answers in a flash.

  ‘Joel, sorry to bother you. Thanks for calling. I didn’t know who else to tell.’

  Now he’s worried. ‘What is it? Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, but I just spoke to the guy who wrote the other half of my song!’

  He can hear the excitement in her voice. ‘Wow, okay. I didn’t know you’d given him your number.’

  ‘I didn’t. He phoned the Seymour Centre earlier and gave them his number to pass on to me.’

  Right. ‘So, you just called it?’

  ‘Yes! It was hard to hear him. There was all this kerfuffle . . .’

  ‘Kerfuffle? Cute word.’

  ‘Oh, you know. Helicopters and things?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Anyway, he’s from the UK. He’s just visiting. His name is Bryce Donovan and he wants me to meet him at the Four Seasons Hotel tomorrow to talk about the song.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘He said to bring someone.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Are you free?’

  Chapter 27

  As ‘first dates’ go, driving to one of the city’s top hotels with Kat is a little more over-stated than Joel is used to. Not that this is a first date, or strictly any kind of date, although, he’s so uneasy it really feels like one.

  Kat, sitting in the passenger seat, doesn’t look like she’s feeling much better. She’s white with apprehension, wearing his jacket over a dress that’s nothing like what other girls wear. He notices her hands shaking, reaches across and takes one of them in his, squeezing it for reassurance. Then he lets go. Or tries to. She clings on. It’s going to make it hard to change gears. First World Problem.

  He sweeps his black Mazda 3 into the hotel’s covered driveway, as instructed by Bryce Donovan in a text to Kat this afternoon. A valet opens each of the front doors and Joel hands over his car keys. Kat stands in the driveway, looking lost. She’s smoothing her dress down nervously, and her hair, and Joel just wants to do something to put her at ease, but can’t think of anything.

  This
is a Big Deal. This Bryce guy’s clearly got money. Enough to back the recording of a single? Depending how that goes, if it goes, this could be the meeting that changes her life. The next few minutes could be the turning point she’ll talk about in magazine interviews in years to come. This could catapult her into the spotlight, if she wants it . . .

  He can’t say any of that, though. She’s twitchy enough as it is.

  ‘How do I look, Joel? Honestly.’

  She’s genuinely insecure. Realistically asking him.

  All he can think about is how much he wants to sweep that long hair back over her shoulder, touch her neck, pull her close to him and kiss her, right now, in the driveway of the Four Seasons Hotel, and show her how she looks.

  ‘You look fine,’ he says, instead. ‘Not sure the jacket really fits . . .’

  He’s teasing, but she takes his suggestion literally, strips it off and hands it to him. ‘You wear it. I’ll go like this, okay?’

  It’s more than okay by Joel. This Bryce guy couldn’t fail to be impressed. What if he likes her? What if he’s forty? Worse, what if he’s young and hot and she likes him . . .

  There’s no time to ponder it. She’s clearly psyched herself up at last and is marching through the marble foyer towards the concierge desk. She stands under a row of elaborate rectangular chandeliers and says, ‘I’m Kat Hartland,’ with a level of confidence Joel knows is an act.

  It’s the first time he’s heard her surname.

  ‘I’m here with Joel Isaacson. We have a meeting with Bryce Donovan.’

  The concierge appears to know exactly who she is, and ushers them both towards the elevator foyer, where he hands them over to someone whose job it appears to be to operate the lifts — and who is taking his position and running with it. He’s wearing a security earpiece!

  He escorts them to the Presidential Suite on the thirty-fourth floor, saying nothing. Kat fidgets the whole time in the lift. When the doors open, they’re presented to another guy just like the first. He’s stationed on a chair opposite the lifts. This guy also has an earpiece. Whoever this Donovan character is, he’s clearly paranoid!