But Jordan’s face goes all glowing and you can see how just thinking about him makes her happy. Which makes me happy too. Huh. Who’d have thunk it.
‘Where is he anyway?’
‘With his guru.’
‘Urgh. So predictable.’ I plop down on the couch. ‘Anyway, enough about you and your despicable guy in your disgusting hostel. That’s not why I called.’
‘Why did you call?’
‘Because yesterday I was in the Met, and guess who I saw?’
‘Who?’
‘Dillon!’
‘He’s in New York?’
‘Better than that—he came here for me!’
Jordan is so excited she leaps up from her filthsome sheets and starts jumping about. I get up and start jumping too.
She’s yelling. ‘That’s so great!’
‘I know!’
‘That’s so, so great!’
We jump around a while longer, dancing jigs in two different countries at the same time.
How did anyone ever dance with another person on the other side of the world before the internet?
‘So have you figured out why he can see you?’ Jordan asks, when we settle down.
‘No but I don’t care. I just want to … enjoy him.’
Jordan gives me a knowing look. ‘Enjoy him?’
‘Okay, so I stayed over last night.’
Jordan collapses back onto the foul mattress. ‘Olive!’
I see her face, lying on the threadbare sheets. I’m feeling concerned for her hygiene. ‘Are you really sleeping on those sheets? Have you checked them for bugs?’
‘Olive!’
‘What?’
‘You stayed over and he doesn’t know you’re invisible?’
‘I’m being Olive, not invisible Olive.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Ani says I think of myself as “invisible”—and I don’t like “invisible”—so I don’t like myself,’ I explain, hoping she gets it. ‘Instead I need to focus on who I am—apart from being invisible.’
Jordan sits up, all interested. ‘That’s so true! Why didn’t you tell me this before? It makes so much sense.’
I take a breath. ‘Maybe I didn’t want to admit that I hate myself.’
The pain of divulging this feels acute. I wait for the world to implode around me. But nothing happens. In fact, Jordan seems completely blasé about what I said.
‘Everyone hates themselves sometimes.’ She looks at me sharply. ‘And I don’t believe you totally hate yourself.’
‘No, I mean, I know I’m brilliant and creative and beautiful,’ I say. ‘And sure, I’m better than most people at most things …’
Jordan laughs.
‘But it’s been great experimenting. Especially with Dillon.’ I’m grinning. ‘He is so hot.’ I consider it. ‘Or maybe he’s cool …’
‘Temperature aside,’ Jordan says, rolling her eyes, ‘are you going to see him again?’
‘Today after lunch.’
‘Wow. That soon?’
‘He leaves tomorrow.’ I try not to let regret seep into my voice but Jordan understands.
‘Bummer.’ She cocks her head. Then she smiles. ‘What are you going to wear?’
Jordan’s right. I need to buy the prettiest dress in the world. Okay, so I’m being a bit lax with the term ‘buy’. The dress could cost a million bucks, I don’t care. I want the best. I go out to the finest shops and flick through rack after rack, not caring how it looks to other shoppers. I’m being a girl today, not an invisible girl. I like it, this not caring. I like not worrying about price tags too.
It reminds me of this one time I went shopping with Tom. How I made him sit in this store while I paraded around in all kinds of funny outfits for him. He was such a good sport. When the saleswomen thought he was a deviant for hanging around in the ladies’ department and called security on him, he refused to leave until she let him purchase the cute skirt I was wearing. Tom loved me in that skirt. I couldn’t even wear it after we broke up it reminded me so much of him. It’s in some op shop now. Hopefully some other guy or girl will love it on some other guy or girl. That would make me happy.
I find the frock. It’s white with a long flowing skirt, and pale dusky orange colours are melted through it at the bottom, kind of like a sunset. I FaceTime Jordan from the change room, holding it up for her.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she says. ‘You look like you should be out picnicking somewhere with a prince.’
‘Or a criminal?’
‘That too.’
I put the phone on the floor as I slip it on, doing up the zipper. ‘Does it fit?’ she asks me.
I look into the mirror and see nothing as always. But for some reason it doesn’t bother me. I slide my hands down my sides, feeling how the seams meld to my figure.
‘It’s perfect,’ I tell Jordan. And in that moment, everything is.
CHAPTER
19
I arrive at the carousel early but Dillon is already there, sitting on a low branch of a tree, swinging his legs. ‘Cor, what have ya done to yerself?’ He jumps down to meet me.
‘You’re here!’
‘Course I’m here. Got here ages ago. Couldn’t have ya wait,’ he says. ‘Didn’t want to miss watching ya walking along, coming here just for me, either.’
I’m so thrilled by this it makes me nervous. ‘Way to put pressure on an entrance, Nut.’
Dillon takes my hands and looks me up and down. ‘Ya don’t disappoint. Yer gorgeous.’
The effect of the dress is slightly undone by the fact I have to wear a cardigan to pocket my things. But Dillon obviously likes what he sees. He pulls me to him and kisses me. It has its usual effect—hauls the life out of me, leaving me faint.
‘I can’t believe ya made me wait all day for that. What was so important that you had to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, looking at his lips. ‘I was an idiot.’
‘No doubt.’ He grins at me. ‘Why did ya want to meet here? Ya want to ride the carousel?’
‘It’s three dollars.’
‘I think I can shout ya.’
I could just sneak on but it’s easier this way. ‘Such a gentleman.’
Dillon buys the tickets, then we wait in line behind three kids and their mother for the carousel to stop. Dillon’s arms are around me and I’ve never felt so normal. Usually I feel like a bubble, all in my head, as intangible as a daydream. But now I’m just a girl going on a ride with a boy, as common as the sun is warm. I try to soak it in, this moment of normalcy, knowing it’s a rare thing.
‘Which horse do you want?’ Dillon asks as we get on.
‘I’m getting on the back of yours.’
‘They’ll throw you off,’ Dillon replies, climbing onto a brown horse with a golden mane.
‘I’ll take that chance,’ I declare. ‘I ride with you, or not at all.’
Dillon chuckles. ‘You best get on then, crazy.’ He holds out his arm to help me on.
The carousel starts up, and we circle around, me snuggled against his back. ‘This music is creepy,’ Dillon says. ‘I’m glad you’ve got your arms around me.’
‘It would be a good place to murder someone.’
Dillon turns to look at me. ‘Maybe we should learn a bit more about each other.’
I laugh. ‘I already know about you.’
‘Really.’
‘Yes,’ I say, getting to my feet and standing on the horse’s rump. ‘Do you know why I brought you here?’
‘No. What are you doing? Sit down.’
I step around Dillon and straddle the horse so I’m sitting on his lap. We’re face to face, my arms hanging loosely over his shoulders.
He’s looking behind at the mother and children. ‘Jesus, Lolly, the kids.’
‘Should I move?’
He settles his hands on the curve of my waist. ‘No way.’ His long thumbs stroke up my ribcage.
I let my fingers tangle i
n the hair at the back of his head. It’s coarse, not silky. I’m not sure if it’s an actual style or he just hasn’t had a haircut in months. I love it, all black ash and soot.
‘This is the carousel Holden Caulfield came to.’
‘Who?’
Oh no he didn’t. I give him another chance.
‘Holden Caulfield. Catcher in the Rye?’
‘That’s a book, right?’
I smack his chest. ‘Yes, it’s a book! JD Salinger? Please don’t tell me you haven’t read it. You must have read it. I will die if you haven’t read it.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘Heard of it!’ I move to stand up.
Dillon catches me around the waist. ‘Settle down. Tell me. Why do I need to read it?’
‘Because it’s fundamental to everything!’ I say. ‘Everything literary. Everything young …’
‘Literary?’ He releases a breath. ‘Ah, my tattoo …’
Have I read him wrong? Maybe. If he doesn’t even know who Holden Caulfield is …
‘Will ya despise me if I’m not literary?’
I sigh. ‘Am I allowed to say yes?’
He chuckles. ‘Give us a chance. You might find a lot to like about us non-literary fellas.’ He pulls my hips towards him and it’s impossible to be anything but amenable until the carousel slows.
We get off and start walking through the park. ‘You surprise me, Nut,’ I say.
‘How so?’ He takes my hand.
‘I thought you’d be less chilled.’
‘Really. Why’s that?’
‘Come on. You remember that ride in Hanoi.’
‘Aye?’
‘You were pretty intense. I mean one joke and you were sulking like a toddler.’
‘I was intense? What about you—stalking me at the beach, calling me up pretending to be some Vietnamese woman to get my address …’
‘You knew that was me?’
‘I have yer number now, Ice, I figured it out.’
‘I guess it does come across as kind of creepy,’ I say. ‘But you still came to New York to see me. What does that make you?’
He smiles. ‘As nuts as yer mad.’
It makes me happy. ‘But you know I’m okay now? Right? That I’m not some stalker?’
‘No. I still don’t know about that,’ he replies totally seriously.
I almost choke on my breath. I was expecting him to say yes. ‘Jeez, Dillon! Learn some tact.’
‘Forgive me.’ He kisses my knuckles. ‘My candour is a curse.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I’ll say.’
Dillon stoops to pick up a red autumn leaf. He twists it between his fingers. ‘So, I’m thinking, since ya know me so well, ya want to take me to the literary walk next? To see Shakespeare and all?’ He taps me on the nose with the leaf and I snatch it off him.
‘I could always murder you instead, hide your body in the carousel?’
‘Come on. Ya can think of something better to do with my body.’
Cocky bastard.
‘True. I can mince you up and feed you to the alligators who live in the New York sewers.’
Dillon laughs as we make our way along Center Drive to the Mall and the beginning of the literary walk. A canopy of elm trees stretch above us, scattering gold, red and brown leaves across our path.
‘It’s hard to imagine we’re in the middle of a huge city,’ I say.
‘Aye, it’s grand. You and this city—I’m one lucky fella.’
‘You’re a big believer in luck, aren’t you?’
‘Ya say it like it’s a disability.’
I move to unbutton his shirt and he grabs my hands to stop me, like I knew he would. ‘The cheek of ya!’ he says. ‘Ya want to see something even more ridiculous?’
‘Absolutely.’
Dillon pulls his jeans down a fraction so I get a glimpse of the underwear at his hipbones.
‘They’re inside out?’
‘They are. Ya might not have shown up if I didn’t do that.’
I snap them with my index finger. ‘You are ridiculous.’
I turn back to the literary walk. I can see the statue of Shakespeare from here. The man was straight genius. The way his characters insult each other is the best part of his writing. ‘Fat-kidneyed rascal’, ‘Foul indigested lump’, ‘Most toad-spotted traitor’, ‘Mad mustachio purple-hued maltworm’, ‘Hag of all despite’.
I point him out to Dillon. ‘There he is.’
‘Let’s have a gander then.’ Dillon ambles towards him and studies the sculpture. ‘Shame about his hair.’
I smack him. ‘Dillon!’
‘What? He’d look bang on if he just used a bit of product.’
‘You’ve got the man’s words written on your body—permanently—show a little respect.’
‘Oh, he don’t mind, do you Billy?’ Dillon wanders further along to look at the other sculptures. He pulls up in front of Robert Burns. ‘Now this was a sound man.’
I point my finger at Dillon. ‘I knew you were literary!’
‘Everyone knows Robert Burns.’
‘No they don’t.’ I narrow my eyes at him, then test him. ‘O my love’s like …’
He leaves me hanging. ‘What? Potato mash?’
I reach out to push his shoulder. ‘You know!’
He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. ‘You’re mad, you know that, don’t ya?’
‘Might not be the first time I’ve heard it.’
He holds me to him, smooths my hair from my face and says:
‘Oh! My love is like potato mash
With salt and cheese and butter
It’s eaten best with lemon ice
Who, who … will pretty much eat anything potato based …’
‘Hey!’ I say, laughing. ‘That’s not fair. Everyone loves potatoes.’
‘They do, don’t they.’ Dillon grins.
‘And you do know Robert Burns. I knew I knew you,’ I accuse him.
He pulls away from me. ‘If you knew me, woman, you’d have a pint here waiting for me.’
‘You want a pint?’
‘Right now I’d murder one.’
And right now I’d do anything to make him happy so I pull him off the path to a nice grassy patch in the sun and make him lie down. ‘Wait here,’ I say, putting my cardigan under his head like a pillow.
‘I could get used to this.’
‘Well don’t. This is a one time only special offer,’ I say, skipping away.
‘You’ll be making me pancakes in no time!’ he calls after me.
I laugh as I run, but I can’t help thinking about Muirgheal’s warning. Irish men and apron strings. Worse still—maybe I’d like it.
It’s not hard to find a bar but I’m not a big drinker so I don’t know what constitutes a good beer. So when the bar attendant isn’t looking, I do the safest thing and pull the best Guinness I can. It’s harder than I thought; there is way too much foam on top, but it’ll do. I curse that I took off my cardigan now. I actually have to hike up my skirt and carry it under the folds of fabric until I get back to Dillon.
Just before I reach him, I stop behind a tree to compose myself, cursing that my skirt smells of Guinness. As I’m doing this, I notice Dillon is on the phone. He sits up looking confused. I walk towards him. Wait a minute, that’s my phone!
‘Blind?’ Dillon is saying. ‘No. I see her.’ He looks up and grins at me. ‘Blue eyes, dark hair. Beautiful.’
He says the word ‘beautiful’ with such obvious pleasure, my heart butterflies.
‘Who is it?’ I hiss.
But Dillon is still talking. ‘I’m not having ya on, lad.’
‘Who is it?’ I hiss again. ‘Give it to me!’
‘She’s right here. Just brought me a pint.’ He winks at me. ‘Tomorrow morning it’ll be pancakes. She’ll tell ya herself.’ Dillon holds the phone towards me. ‘Here ya are, darlin’, Adonis is on the line.’
Holy shit.
I hand Dil
lon his beer and take the phone, walking far enough away that he can’t hear me. My heart is pounding as I put the phone to my ear.
‘Tom? Is that you?’
There is no chitchat on Tom’s behalf. ‘Who was that?’ he demands.
‘Just a guy. Dillon.’
‘He calls you darlin’?’
‘He probably calls everyone that.’
‘And tomorrow morning? Pancakes?’
‘He’s kidding. Having a go.’
‘But he can see you?’
‘Um. Yeah.’
The line is silent for a long time. I can’t stand it any longer. I venture, ‘Tom? Are you still there?’
‘Olive—he can see you!’
‘I know!’
‘How? Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I hardly know him!’
‘Okay. But do you like him? Are you attracted to him?’
I exhale loudly. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
I touch the tree in front of me where someone carved their initials into the bark. Ancient Romans used to carve MM into trees and statues as an abbreviation for memento mori, remember death. It was a way to remind the living to cherish every day, that death is inevitable. I like that idea. I wish I could express it to Tom now, that I’m just trying to live for today. That I owe it to myself to explore this.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Tom snaps.
His anger ignites my own. ‘I’m probably attracted to anyone who can see me, Tom. It’s a freaking miracle okay?’ I snap back. ‘And yes, Dillon is hot. Very hot. So I am attracted to him. And we’ve been together. I slept over at his last night.’
There is silence at the end of the line. I may have pushed it a tad too far.
‘Don’t pretend you haven’t been with anyone since me,’ I say.
‘It’s a bit different.’
That is kind of enraging. ‘How?’ I demand.
‘They obviously aren’t my “true love”!’
‘They?’ I spit. ‘They?’
Wait a minute—‘they’ could be singular. ‘Are we talking plural or singular “they”?’
I look over at Dillon. He’s holding his pint up at me in a cheersing motion. I roll my eyes at him and turn my back. Why the hell did he have to answer my phone?
The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away Page 13