The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away

by Tonya Alexandra

  ‘She knows about me, though?’ I ask softly.

  Tom grabs my hands so our fingers are laced. They slide together, slippery little eels. ‘I’m sorry, I had to tell her. There was no other way it could work between us.’

  I can’t believe he’s done this. He’s told his mother I’m invisible. He’s removed the barrier holding us back. I feel breathless with the realisation. ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘We worked through it.’ Tom is obviously playing down the drama that was sure to have occurred. ‘The main thing is, she accepts it. She’s happy for us if …’

  ‘We decide to run off and join a terrorist group?’

  ‘Maybe not that.’

  We smile at each other and I feel the truth of what it is between us. We might fight all the time but beyond that is indisputable devotion. Tom and I—we could do this for life.

  ‘I got you something too,’ he says. ‘Today in town.’

  ‘You don’t want to wait for Christmas?’

  ‘Thought you might need it sooner.’ He pulls out a green T-shirt with Kiss Me I’m Irish written on it.

  ‘I just wanted to say sorry about this morning and make sure you know I’m cool with the Irish thing. I know you’re trying to understand your heritage and everything.’

  My heritage? Yeah. As if that was the problem …

  ‘Anyway, I thought you’d like it, the cliché and everything …’

  I hold the shirt up against me, looking down at it with amusement. I do love it. He knows me so well. ‘Thank you.’ When I look up, Tom is so close my heart pounds. I’m blind drunk on his scent.

  ‘Looks good,’ he says. ‘Might have to obey.’

  I smile. This is why he bought it. ‘Not always the good guy are you?’

  ‘You got me,’ he mutters and his lips find mine.

  We fall back against the pillows and I’m happy to be eaten alive by this foolish couch as long as Tom goes with me. This is the meaning of us: all our loose threads knitted together.

  But then I hear an unmistakable voice in the hallway. ‘Lolly? Love? You in there—’ I jerk away from Tom to see Dillon by the door—he looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. ‘Sorry. I, uh.’

  I glance at Tom, his hair askew, eyes still groggy from the kiss. We are so busted.

  ‘Dill …’ I say desperately.

  But he’s gone.

  CHAPTER

  31

  I hang my head in my hands, feeling broken. ‘God. What am I doing?’ I sob. ‘I’m being the worst person in the world to both of you.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Tom says, trying to pull me closer, but I pull away.

  ‘I don’t know, Tom. He’s not as strong as you, you know.’

  Tom releases me. ‘Then go.’

  I look up at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m not going to make you stay.’

  There is an awkward pause where I’m probably supposed to say I want to stay. And I do. But I can’t. It’s true what I said about Tom being stronger. Dillon presents a confident face, but it’s just that, a face. I don’t know how he’ll really handle seeing Tom and me kissing. If I can stop him from hurting I want to try.

  ‘Thank you.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘You’re so wonderful.’

  I leap to my feet while he’s rolling his eyes. ‘Not wonderful enough, apparently.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, tousling his hair. ‘I’ll be back.’

  Dillon is at the end of the hall about to bound up the staircase. ‘Dill,’ I call out. ‘Dillon!’

  He waits for me to catch up. His expression is the one from the photos; the smile is missing from his eyes. ‘Nice holiday yer having here.’ He’s trying to be glib but he’s obviously shaken.

  ‘You left! I thought I scared you away.’

  Dillon checks his watch. ‘I was gone less than six hours, Olive.’

  ‘But you took the panniers.’

  ‘Aye. So what?’

  ‘Simon said you do that when you’re leaving for weeks.’

  ‘Also when I’m going out to buy something. Christmas gifts maybe.’

  Oh cac.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Leave a note or something.’

  ‘I did leave a note. On the mirror in yer dressing room.’

  ‘Invisible girls don’t look at mirrors!’

  Dillon cracks up laughing. He actually throws back his head and cackles, which makes me laugh too and the tension between us dissolves. Dillon drapes his arm around my shoulder and we walk up the stairs. I can’t grasp how easily we’re unwinding this.

  ‘They don’t dress either, I suppose?’ Dillon says.

  ‘Not when their clothes haven’t arrived.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘See? There was no reason for me to go into the dressing room.’

  ‘I do see. But,’ he pokes me in the ribs, ‘do ya really think I’d scamper off on ya like that? And after last night …’ Dillon continues, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in me.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. It was a good night. I think we progressed a lot.’

  ‘Looks like you’re progressing with the other lad too.’

  My stomach twists. This is so hard.

  ‘Not willing to give him up just yet, are ya?’

  There’s no point lying to him. He knows the truth. He’s a goddamn soothsayer.

  ‘No,’ I say begrudgingly, realising with dread Dillon’s not the only one who has to always tell the truth now. If I lie, he’ll see straight through it.

  ‘I suppose I can’t blame ya. True love and all that. Complicates things.’

  ‘It does.’ I don’t want to talk about it with him anymore so I change the subject. ‘Hey, while I’ve got you here, what’s your honest opinion of Prue?’

  Dillon raises his eyebrows. ‘Direct question. Really?’

  ‘I only have two friends and I would murder anyone for hurting either of them without a moment’s hesitation.’

  ‘Jaysus. Remind me to lock my door at night.’ Dillon pulls my ear as we walk down the long corridor past my room.

  ‘Are you avoiding the question?’

  ‘No need. Prue’s sound. She’s dead clever and she’s kind, but she won’t take no shite either.’

  ‘I want the dirt.’

  ‘The dirt. Okay. She can be bossy I suppose, and she’s more genteel than she’d admit, likes her comforts. I don’t see her backpacking in India.’

  I hate to think of Felix missing out. I wonder if he would like to backpack in India?

  ‘She’s a bit of a cold fish at times, not the sort to hug a chap when he’s in need of a weep—but she seems more chilled with Felix. He’s good for her. He looks pretty happy with her too.’

  ‘Would she dump him if she got frustrated by the blind thing?’

  Dillon takes his time to consider it. ‘I doubt it. No. Once she’s decided on someone or something, that’s it.’

  It’s a relief. ‘So I should let her marry him?’

  ‘Blimey, like to wield yer power much?’ Dillon laughs and stops at a door I assume is his bedroom. He doesn’t open the door, doesn’t invite me in. It’s not a great sign.

  ‘Were you buying Christmas gifts?’ I have to ask.

  ‘Aye, and mistletoe.’

  ‘Mistletoe!’ I laugh. I’m beginning to see how women inspire men to start wars, create art, invent things. These guys are finding ingenious ways just to get a snog.

  ‘Kissing’s not its only use,’ Dillon tells me. ‘An unmarried girl such as yerself can tie a sprig to yer bed to guard against ghosts and devils.’

  I snort. ‘Bit late now, I needed it last night.’

  ‘It won’t work on me, love, I’m an angel.’ Dillon grins. ‘Thought I’d tie some to the Christmas tree too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ya can’t fight under a tree with mistletoe. Might be a good idea if yer lad decides to puck me one.’

  ‘A few twigs aren’t going to scare Tom if you piss him off.’

>   ‘Ya got to respect the magic, love. Even he’d know that.’ He opens the door. ‘All right then. I’m off to drop the kids at the pool.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The brown lad is winking at me.’ When it’s clear I still have no idea what he’s talking about he rolls his eyes. ‘I’m badly in need of a shite, girl.’ He goes inside and starts shutting the door on me. ‘And you call yerself Irish.’

  This is new. Who’d have thought I’m not disgusting enough for a guy?

  Back downstairs, Simon and Jordan have joined Tom in the drawing room.

  ‘Do you want to come choose a Christmas tree?’ Tom asks me. He’s all excited like a little boy allowed to open his presents early. It’s pretty cute. ‘Simon says we can take the tractor and chop it down ourselves.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘There’s a grove of Douglas firs over in the east field,’ says Simon. He glances out the window. ‘We’ll need to rug up though. It looks like snow.’

  ‘Oh no.’ I groan.

  Tom looks amazed. ‘You don’t want it to snow?’

  ‘I was trying to prove a point.’

  ‘Well get over your point and meet us in the barn,’ Jordan says. ‘I’ll get the others.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to wear?’ Tom asks me, nodding at my jeans and jacket.

  ‘It’s Amelia Earhart. I’ll be fine.’

  He purses his lips. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘You’d be an excellent disapproving mother,’ I tell him.

  ‘You’re an excellent spoiled kid.’

  I grunt. Damn, he has me down.

  Tom takes me to his room and starts unpacking things from his bag, loading them into my arms: long thermal undergarments, thick socks and a beanie. I wrangle myself into it all and can hardly bend my limbs.

  ‘I look like that big marshmallow guy from Ghostbusters,’ I say, as he puts his duffel coat over the top of it all.

  He laughs. ‘You do!’

  When Tom and I walk out to the barn, Simon is at the wheel of a giant John Deere tractor. Felix and Prue are sitting on one wheel fender, and Jordan is perched on the other. ‘Come up here, Ol,’ she calls.

  ‘Where will Tom fit?’

  ‘He can dinky with me,’ Dillon says, rolling a dirt bike out from the back of the shed. ‘Or I’ve got another one if you want your own?’ he says to Tom.

  ‘I don’t ride,’ Tom mutters.

  Dillon leans forward. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said I don’t ride,’ Tom says between gritted teeth.

  ‘Shame. You should remedy that. Nothing quite like it—wind in yer hair, girl wrapped around ya … or boy, in this case …’ Dillon gets on the bike and pats the seat behind him. ‘Jump on, lad.’

  Tom doesn’t look happy.

  ‘I was going to suggest Olive jump on,’ Dillon says, ‘but I didn’t want to upset anyone.’

  Tom doesn’t move. I touch him on the shoulder and whisper, ‘I’ll get Jordan to ride with him.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Tom says, tight-lipped. ‘You go. I’m not upset.’

  He is upset.

  ‘Jordan—’ I start to say.

  ‘I said I’m fine. Just go.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Just go.’ He pulls himself onto the tractor next to Jordan and looks away as I get on the bike behind Dillon.

  ‘We’ll see ya there!’ Dillon tells them, then we shoot out of the barn, leaving them all behind.

  CHAPTER

  32

  I huddle close to Dillon, pressing my face against his back to protect it from the icy wind.

  ‘It’s freezing!’ I call out.

  ‘Brilliant, isn’t it!’ Dillon calls back, but I notice he pulls his scarf higher over his nose and mouth so only his eyes are exposed.

  The track is rougher than the streets of Hanoi. We’re not dodging hawkers and traffic—we’re bumping over tufts of grass, skidding in patches of oozy marsh. It’s so much fun. Dillon calls something over his shoulder. His voice is muffled so I don’t make it out but the mischievous glint in his eye is unmistakable. Sure enough he revs the engine higher and we shoot up the side of a small bank, launching into the air.

  ‘Arghwhoo!’ he cries.

  We land with a thump and my ass hits the seat hard. I laugh and laugh.

  ‘Again!’ I call to him. ‘Again!’

  Dillon turns the bike in a big circle and we do the jump again, both laughing and screaming like banshees. It’s so much fun we do the jump six more times before we continue on to find the others.

  When we reach the grove it’s almost dark. The cloud is so low if I stood on the bike I could reach up and touch it. Dillon ducks in and out between the fir trees until we spot the tractor headlights. My friends are huddled in its golden light, examining a tree.

  ‘Is this the one?’ I say, jumping off the bike when Dillon pulls up. ‘It’s huge!’

  ‘We think so,’ Prue says. ‘But Tom wanted you to help pick.’

  I glance over at Tom who is looking in the opposite direction as if there is something really interesting going on, even though all you can see is black night.

  ‘That’s so nice,’ I say. ‘But if you guys like this one then of course, let’s take it.’

  Jordan knits her brows. ‘What happened to you on the way?’ she says. ‘The Olive I know is not that nice.’

  ‘Shook her up with a few jumps,’ Dillon says, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. ‘The sweetest is in there, ya just have to know how to jiggle it out.’

  It makes me embarrassed. All the more when Tom looks over and witnesses me blushing. Right now I’d do anything for him not to see me.

  ‘So are we going to cut this thing down or what?’ he says suddenly.

  Prue claims she’s freezing and she just wanted to help pick it anyway, so Simon offers to drive her back to the hall. Felix says he’ll go with her.

  ‘There’s nothing useful about a blind man with a saw,’ Felix jokes as I bundle him back onto the tractor. I wonder if he really wants to go or if this is just him bending to Prue’s comfort demands.

  ‘Out of interest, would you backpack through India?’ I ask as I guide his hands to the rail.

  ‘Backpack through a land of sacred cows, where you have to leap over their poop on the streets? No way.’

  Maybe they are well suited.

  Simon chugs off leaving Tom, Dillon, Jordan and I to tackle the tree.

  Dillon regards the fir tree uncertainly. ‘We could get the staff to bring it in. That’s what they’re here for.’

  We all snort at him in disgust and get to work. Tom is in his element after his days working as a landscaper and instructs us to clear the smaller branches to access the trunk. When we’re done Tom holds up the two-man crosscut saw. ‘Who wants to take the other end? Dillon?’

  Dillon picks it up reluctantly. ‘Isn’t this what chainsaws were invented for?’ he grumbles.

  ‘It’s all we have,’ Tom says. ‘Are we doing this or what?’

  Tom and Dillon position themselves either side of the tree, pulling the saw back and forth across the trunk. They’re trying to find a rhythm but it’s not happening. ‘Just pull it!’ Tom is hissing at Dillon. ‘You don’t need to push it back.’

  ‘We can’t all be Crocodile Dundee,’ Dillon mutters. He’s beginning to sweat.

  ‘You’re hardly wrangling a crocodile,’ I say.

  Jordan asks, ‘Do you want me to take over?’

  ‘No.’ Dillon lifts his hand to steady himself on the tree just as Tom pulls the saw back towards him. ‘Christ!’ Dillon yells. He drops the saw and grabs his hand. ‘Jaysus! Christ almighty!’ he keeps yelling, stamping his feet on the ground and clutching his hand.

  ‘Show us,’ Tom says, trying to grab his arm. But Dillon keeps leaping around, swearing.

  ‘Show me!’ I order him.

  ‘It feckin’ hurts!’ Dillon says, but he settles long enough for me to grab his arm and see the bloody path cut
through his leather glove up his thumb and over the top of his hand. It’s not too deep but it’s long and bleeding badly. I take off my scarf and wrap it around his hand to stem the blood.

  ‘Chainsaw would have taken your hand clear off,’ Tom says somewhat brightly.

  I frown at him. ‘Hold your arm up,’ I tell Dillon, searching around hoping to see tractor lights, but there is no sign of them in the black night. ‘Where’s the doctor when you need her? Do you think you can ride home?’

  ‘Are ya serious?’

  ‘Cac.’

  ‘I’ll take him,’ Jordan says.

  ‘You can ride?’ Dillon says, pain forgotten for an instant as he looks at her, impressed.

  ‘Of course,’ she says, shrugging. ‘Come on.’

  Tom and I watch the motorbike disappear into the dark.

  ‘You’re right about him,’ Tom says quietly. ‘He gets you better than I do. I don’t shake it out of you, I seem to shake it into you.’

  I laugh but Tom doesn’t.

  ‘Dillon and I are from the same place,’ I try to explain. ‘Both tinkers, both cursed.’

  ‘Dillon’s cursed?’

  ‘He sees the truth and he can’t lie. Like, literally cannot lie.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  I slap my forehead. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. Please don’t tell him I told you. Don’t tell anyone. Please?’

  ‘Sure. Of course.’ He gives me that face. I know I can trust him. Damn, he’s too good for me.

  ‘Should we get this tree?’ I say, pointing at our sad-looking tree, slanted at an angle, blade at its feet.

  Tom smacks his hands together. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it.’

  He rigs the torch up in a branch to light us and then grabs one end of the saw. ‘You ready?’

  I like the way he doesn’t ask if I can do this, he just assumes I’m capable. I take off my top coat so I’ve just got my jacket on. ‘Well, I’ve never actually done this before. You said I just pull?’

  ‘Yep. Then hold it straight while I pull it towards me.’

  We start off slowly and before long we’re in a steady back and forth rhythm. It’s hot work but Tom is grinning at me and I’m actually enjoying myself, especially with the air so crisp and still. It’s so silent you can’t hear a thing except our foggy breath and the consistent rake of the saw.