Thank god he rejected me. He knew I was freaking out after breaking up with Tom. But those words Felix whispered in my ear as I was saying goodbye to him at the airport do still haunt me. ‘Sometimes I wonder if …’
But that’s crazy talk. The fact is, this is Felix and me at our finest, as friends—best friends.
Olive: Well Gromit sucked and you’re sapiosexual. It was never going to work.
Felix: Being sexually attracted to intelligence is pretty normal when you’re blind.
Olive: So go find yourself a date at a MENSA convention.
Felix: This is why I miss you
Olive: #<*&>X)(!(%$#&^*)
Olive: I wish I heard your phone read that out.
Felix: Go give someone else hell.
Olive: Roger that.
I feel worse after speaking to Felix. It’s hard being so far from home sometimes. It’s lonely. I do the unthinkable and open up my photos on my phone. Namely, my photos of Tom. I scroll through them, a soft ache constricting my chest. There are way too many—Tom and his dog Bluto; Tom eating cereal at my house with Rose photobombing behind him; Tom surfing, just a dot on a wave; Tom taking a selfie of us, his lips pursed, kissing my invisible head; Tom giving me a V for victory when he found the coffee place down from mine was decent; Tom’s bare back when we paddled out into the harbour on a surf ski and almost got swamped by a ferry; Tom’s middle finger when he was pissed at me for calling him a baby.
I pause at the photo of Tom standing at a lookout in the mountains, his hands jammed in his pockets. We drove up there one Sunday as a special outing. I remember feeling like a real grown-up that morning. I look at him in the picture. Even though it’s freezing cold and he’s shivering, he’s grinning. He’s not aware how we’d start to fall apart later that day.
It wrecks me how I ruined us. Tom wanted a real future for us but I was pathetic and scared. I threw it all away by not communicating with him. I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to cry. He still owns my heart but I have to let him go.
I shut my phone and lace my fingers behind my head, lying back on my pillow, contemplating the ways of this inexplicable world. Here I am in Vietnam and both Tom and Felix go on living and breathing without me. It seems wrong. They shouldn’t be able to go on leading normal lives as if I’d never been there.
Then I remember Diebs. Dieber’s wink—if that’s what it was—has been haunting me. The curse says only my true love is supposed to see me.
If Dieber sees me, it changes everything.
Everything.
Maybe he’s my true love. Maybe there’s no such thing as true love. Maybe people have more than one true love. Or maybe, as Felix likes to say, I should forget the curse because ‘seeing’ doesn’t matter at all.
I get out my phone again, looking for the last few emails I got from Rose and Dad. Rose wrote something about the gypsy curse a few months back. I’d ignored it at the time because it seemed unhelpful when I was trying to leave all that stuff behind. Yes. Here it is:
Hi Olive,
I’m glad you made it through Africa. Singapore sounds like a nice safe place to spend a few days. Sorry to tell you this, but I ran into Felix a few days ago and he says he saw Tom with a girl. It might not be anything but he said they were definitely ‘into each other.’
I’m sorry. I know Tom broke your heart. I wish he wasn’t the only person in the world who could see you. I wish you could be roaming the world meeting hundreds of people.
But I’m probably worrying about nothing as usual… I know you’re having a wonderful time with Jordan. I did wonder whether to tell you this and I decided knowing might help you move on from him.
I also wondered whether you’d thought about visiting Nan in New York at all??? Maybe she knows more about the curse than Dad lets on??? It all started with her, after all, back in Ireland.
It’s something to think about anyway.
Love Rose XXX
PS. Some of your stories sound a bit risky. Please be careful. I know it’s different because you’re invisible but Jordan’s not and other people must think she’s crazy! (Sorry to be a bossy sister but with Mum gone it’s my responsibility.)
Dad’s email was a tad more hostile but it’s normal for him to get feisty on occasion.
Olive. Rose thinks I’m stopping you from seeing your grandmother. Well—I’m not. If you want to see her that’s your prerogative, just don’t ask me to have anything to do with the old witch.
She encouraged your Ma to leave me—did you know that? Then when your Ma died, she vowed never to speak to me if I took you girls back to Sydney.
If you want to visit someone like that you must be mad, but as I say, it’s your prerogative. And no, I don’t know where she lives.
Peace out. Dad.
I snap my phone shut. Things between Nan and Dad have always been complicated but maybe Rose is right, maybe there is more to the curse. Either way I’ve got to know the truth about Dieber. I need to know if he sees me.
I find him on the beach with some girl. They’re sharing a towel, they’re that close. He’s a scoundrel obviously but that somehow makes me like him more. I didn’t notice his hair last night under his dumb Dieber cap. It’s dark, kind of dusty coal black, dull rather than shiny. His skin is so pale I wonder if he has sunscreen on before I realise how ridiculous it is for me to be worrying about a total stranger getting sunburn. His body is lean and cut; probably through malnutrition rather than exercise. But it’s lovely and difficult not to contemplate a little bit of this and that.
His hand is on her back, just below her bikini string. He’s making her laugh.
I walk past to see if he looks up. Praying he looks up. But he doesn’t. His eyes stay firmly on the girl. I move to a banana lounge close by and watch them. I’m sensible enough to sit under an umbrella, unlike some stupid people getting sunburn.
I watch them for too long; I watch him make her laugh, I watch her toss her hair, I watch him check out her ass as she reaches for something in her bag.
I dream up a million ways to get rid of the girl and plant myself on that towel in her place. His hand on my spine. His eyes on my ass.
After a while he goes to buy them Cokes. Walking back to her, his fingers wrapped around the sweating glass bottles, he glances my way. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t acknowledge me. But he looks at me. I swear it. My heart thuds, deep as sonic booms.
Did he see me? I need to know for sure.
He lies down so I walk past them, close. They could see my footprints an inch from their towel—if they were looking. But he doesn’t look up. Neither of them do. He’s wiping Coke from her chin, then he’s kissing her. A mouth-watering, tongue-wrestling face-grind.
What am I? A sadist? I go back to my room. And yeah, sure, I cry.
I’m invisible and stupid. Of course he can’t see me.
CHAPTER
4
I play Robin Hood for the rest of the day. I’ve been doing it all over Africa and South-East Asia. I wander around stealing goods and cash from rich tourists and distribute it among the locals. I’m discreet about it; a pack of crayons here, a new towel there. Nothing too odd.
Today I drop coins in the local village street for the kids to find. I even leave a wad of cash in an envelope at a one-room school with ‘for supplies’ written on it. I hope Rose would be pleased. I am trying to use my powers for good. Ha.
It’s late when I get back to the hostel. Jordan’s daypack is in our room but she’s nowhere in sight. I change out of my sweaty dress, spray myself with bug repellent and head outside to the office. Nobody is there so I write ‘Fix flyscreen room 6’ on a yellow post-it note and stick it to the computer monitor, hoping someone will assume it is from management, then I go to find Jordan.
She’s not at the bar so I target the row of single cabanas that line the beachfront. They are tiny wooden hunks of junk compared to the penthouse we stayed in last night but pure luxury compared to the room Jordan and I have now. Sure eno
ugh, Jordan and Simon are sitting on the balcony of one of them, feet up on the banister, sharing a packet of chips—crisps Simon would call them.
I’m about to go over and start throwing rocks at them when I notice Dieber making a beeline in their direction. I follow, intrigued.
‘Can I have a word?’ he asks Simon.
‘Now?’ Simon nods at Jordan. ‘I have company.’
Dieber jiggles in place. His back is to me but you can tell he wants to talk now. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’
‘It’s fine,’ Jordan says, rising to her feet. ‘I need to check on something anyway.’ She means me. ‘See you later?’
‘If you would do me the honour.’ Simon gets up, kisses her cheek. ‘Thank you for today.’
Is he for real?
‘It was fun,’ Jordan says. She nods to Dieber as she passes him. ‘Hi.’
‘Cheers,’ he replies. And she walks straight by me.
I wonder if that will ever stop hurting.
In any other circumstances I would follow Jordan. But not tonight. I want to hear this. I expect Simon and Dieber to sit on the balcony, but no, Simon puts his hand on the door.
‘Come inside,’ he says. And shuts the door behind them.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I pad up the three wooden steps and press my ear to the door.
‘But you agreed!’ Simon is saying.
‘Plans change.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s one thing, I suppose.’ I’m surprised Simon takes Dieber at his word without question. His demeanour definitely reads devilish over angelic. I wouldn’t trust him. ‘You’re putting me in a difficult spot,’ Simon continues.
‘Aye. Phil will be pissed.’
‘Phil will be more than pissed. You may as well say goodbye to Shewthrop.’
What the heck is Shewthrop?
‘That’s why I need ya to keep yer mouth shut. Can ya do that?’
‘What will I tell them?’
‘I don’t know. Tell them I’m volunteering at an orphanage in Cambodia or something.’
‘A likely story!’
‘Hey!’ Dieber is indignant. ‘I’m a nice person. I’d help kids.’
Simon sighs. ‘I wish you wouldn’t. He’s still travelling with Fuamnach—and you know what he’s really after …’ Simon drifts off as if he’s touched on something sensitive.
Dieber sounds pissed. ‘I know. The money.’
The money? Oh my god. Are these two bank robbers? They’re definitely in cahoots about something.
‘Ardan got his cut from Phil,’ Dieber continues.
Who is Phil? I’m imagining some dirty gangster with a big cigar and pork-pie hat. Who knew Simon was actually interesting?
‘You know about that?’
‘I’m not an eegit.’ Footsteps move to the door. ‘I like yer girl, by the way. Cracking eyes.’
The way Dieber has noticed Jordan’s eyes over any other part of her makes me like him just a little bit more. I step back as the door swings open.
‘Just be careful. I can’t keep bailing you out!’ Simon calls after him.
Bailing him out?
Dieber’s face darkens. He mutters something I can’t make out as he shuts the door. He glares at me. His eyes cut me like glass shards. ‘What are ya staring at?’
He can see me.
Involuntarily, my body spasms, my limbs jig about, my fists pump the air—my grin must be monumental.
‘What’s wrong with ya?’ he says, looking at me like I’m crazy.
‘You can see me!’ I cry.
‘Aye. Now, if ya don’t mind …’ He frowns deeply as he moves past me and jogs down the steps.
I follow him hastily, my mind churning. What does this mean? Is this guy my true love? Was everything false with Tom? Maybe the curse is bullcac? Maybe it’s lifting?
I’m so confused it feels like my brain is being infested by a swarm of bees.
Dieber glances behind him. ‘Are ya following me?’
‘Um. Sort of.’
He looks annoyed. ‘Would ya mind not?’
This is not the way I imagined my first encounter with another person who could see me playing out. Dieber can see me but he doesn’t want to see me! The injustice of it makes me suddenly furious.
‘I just thought you should know—you were cac last night,’ I spit out. ‘Everyone knows drag queens are the only ones who can lip-sync decently.’
Dieber stops and turns around. His eyes sparkle and he actually laughs. ‘Yer right.’ He looks at me closely, his eyes burning like sunshine on my skin. It’s so good to be seen I just want to stand there and bask in his gaze. His head cocks. ‘Yer Irish?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s just, ya said cac.’
‘My Nan is.’ Wow. Handing over personal information so quickly. This is new for me. ‘Are you Irish?’ It’s a stupid question, now that I’ve heard him speak. Of course he’s Irish.
‘Aye.’ He glances over his shoulder. ‘Look. I’m sorry but I got someone waiting.’
Again, not the direction I wanted our first conversation to take. But what can I say? Insist he stay here and talk to me until I get to the bottom of why he can see me?
‘And this,’ he waves at me as he continues, ‘this. I can’t do right now. As intriguing as ya obviously are.’
He thinks I’m intriguing!
‘I promise I’ll work on my routine for ya.’ He winks, then strides away, whistling as he leaps up the steps to another cabana. A girl’s swimsuit is drying on the banister.
Damn him.
There’s always tomorrow, I tell myself as I walk back to our room. Just like orphan Annie. My sun will come out.
Jordan freaks out when I tell her what happened. She’s bouncing up and down on our bed so the springs are squealing a chorus. ‘Oh my god! Another person sees you!’
‘I know!’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did anyone else see your mum apart from your dad?’
‘Not that I know of,’ I say, feeling so pumped with adrenaline I could pick up Jordan and fling her into outer space. ‘It changes everything, doesn’t it?’
‘Maybe the curse is weakening?’ Jordan says.
‘Or maybe my curse is different to my Ma’s.’
Maybe I can change this.
The thought gives me goosebumps. ‘You’ve got to go back to Simon,’ I say, throwing Jordan her flip-flops. ‘I’ve got to know what’s going on between him and Dieber.’
‘You still don’t know his name?’ Jordan says, slipping them on.
‘I forgot to ask.’
Jordan rolls her eyes. ‘Of course you did.’ We start off for Simon’s hut. ‘It’s got to start with D right? After the Dieber routine.’
I shrug. ‘Makes sense.’
‘Dave?’
I put on a low husky voice. ‘Hello my name is Dave—ladies’ man and libertine, playboy and philander.’ I screw up my nose. ‘Nup. Not a Dave.’
‘Dennis?’ Jordan suggests. ‘Devin? Dexter? Drake?’
We both laugh.
‘Don?’
‘Don Juan!’
‘It’s not out of the question.’
‘Darren? Dan? Dean? Dale—Darcy!’ Jordan almost chokes with laughter. ‘Imagine if it was Darcy.’
‘No way. Any love story with Dieber would have Jane Austen twerking in her grave.’ We arrive at Simon’s hut, my nerves still jingling. A single candle flickers inside, probably to save electricity or something else Simon can be sanctimonious about. ‘As for Simple Simon …’
Jordan’s brow furrows. ‘What about him?’
‘I mean, I knew he’d turn out to be something—a bounder, a cad, a lout, a heel, a gutter-blood maybe—but a criminal? Nup. I didn’t pick that.’
‘I really doubt he’s a criminal.’
I push Jordan towards the door. ‘Find out. He has to tell you somet
hing.’
My life is counting on it.
CHAPTER
5
When I wake up I’m alone. Jordan hasn’t come back from Simon’s.
I grab my phone to look for a message. Nothing.
Olive: Where are you?
No response.
I go to the toilet to pee and am struck by a thought: maybe Simon is a serial killer who specialises in picking up naïve girls from backpacker hostels. Maybe that’s his deal with Dillon.
The name Dillon was the only useful bit of information we got out of Simon last night. Jordan and I charged in there brimming with determination but all we got was: ‘That was Dillon. We were supposed to go to the Himalayas together but he’s doing something else now.’
It felt like a big lie to me and I wanted Jordan to push him about the money or the crime boss Phil, but she didn’t. I guess it’s pretty hard to slide into casual conversation.
Instead she opened the door ‘for fresh air’—i.e. wanting me to leave so they could make out.
I was happy to leave, let me tell you! Nobody wants to witness that. Instead I strode around the hostel for hours like a restless beast, hoping to run into Dillon, and when I didn’t I went to bed. I lay tossing and turning, tangled in the threadbare sheet for hours before finally getting to sleep. I still feel exhausted this morning and now this—Jordan missing!
But then my phone beeps.
Jordan: Soz I’m still with S
Urgh.
Olive: I thought you were dead.
Jordan: Not unless u kill me
I hesitate with my response. I don’t want to kill her. I want to kill him.
Olive: Breakfast?
Jordan: Lunch.
Fine. I’ll go and investigate on my own. I’ll go and find Dillon. I’ll bind him to a tree and torture him until I get my answers.
I stroll along past the cabanas, pretending to admire the sea view. I’ve never had to put on an act before, but now that Dillon might be watching me, I feel the need to throw back my shoulders and toss my hair so that it quivers in the breeze. The thought is so alien—someone might be watching me.
But when I reach the cabana where he stayed last night, the door and window are thrown open and all signs of habitation are gone. I leap up the steps. It’s just as I feared. Empty.
The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away Page 3