Laura and Dad are openly relieved to see us. ‘What have you two been up to eh?’ Dad asks jocularly, but I note the alarm in his voice, as if he’s suddenly realised I’m all grown up. Then he goes off to fire the engines that will take the boat back to its moorings.
29. DESSI, Melbourne
Back in Melbourne, I fire up the bathroom’s ancient hot water system. Jeremy bangs on the door and hands me the phone.
Abdul! He’s found time to see me after all. Heart racing, I wrap a towel around myself, and take the call.
‘Hi! It’s me. Where were you last night? Didn’t Hannah tell you I phoned?’
‘Emma!’ In a heart-dropping burst of disappointment, I try to calm my racing pulse. ‘Oh, they always forget.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Emma sounds exasperated. ‘How you are?’
‘Fine.’ I wrap my towel more firmly around myself and sink to the floor.
‘Doing your exercises?’
‘Course. Don’t nag.’
Emma gives her abrupt laugh. My pulse starts to slow down. I ask, ‘How come you’re not on your cell phone?’
‘It’s dead. Anyway, I’m sleeping over at Dad’s so I can use his landline.’
‘How is it up there?’ I ask cautiously.
‘Total luxury. Wait till you see it.’
‘Can hardly. What’s Surfers like?’
‘Hot. Lots of kids getting stoned and throwing up. Toolies everywhere. We mostly stay out of things.’
‘Sounds great!’ I can’t avoid an envious twinge. ‘How are the others?’
‘Fine. Well, except for Jodie. She got a navel ring and now it’s infected. She’s on antibiotics and can’t drink.’
I laugh. ‘What about Kaz?’
‘She drinking enough for everyone.’
‘Ouch! How’s Sash?’
‘Oh, he’s on a high. He’s discovered the casino.’
‘You kidding? Has he lost heaps?’
‘He’s winning. Shouted me dinner last night. And today Dad took all of us out on the boat to Tipplers. You should see the houses fronting the canal, total luxury.’
‘So you’re having a ball.’ I allow my envy to hang out. Anyway, won’t this stop Emma asking awkward questions? I can hardly believe my cunning…
‘Yeah... well, lots of partying for us. We’re planning a visit to Warner Studios. Two new clubs and an open-air concert. Shame you’re not here. I’m really missing you.’
I don’t bother commenting. ‘Tell me more about Kaz.’
‘Like I said, she’s drinking heaps and you know how aggro she can get. Sends her love. She’s keen on this dread-lock singer called Brodie, only I don’t think he’s actually planning on hanging around.’
I giggle. ‘Poor Kaz. Give her my sympathies.’
There’s a long pause. I know something will now come up I can’t respond to honestly.
‘Listen,’ says Emma. ‘I phoned Abdul’s landline, and he was distant, cold, like he couldn’t wait to hang up. I’m just wondering...’ Her voice trails away.
My mouth goes dry. ‘Maybe he was busy.’
‘Maybe. Could you ring him and see? He might be sick or something.’
‘Sure,’ I say a little too smoothly. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Just tell him Hi. Find out what’s up, will you?’
‘I’ll do it right off.’ I can’t wait to hang up. I feel so bad, in another minute I’ll blurt everything out. ‘Dad’s yelling for this phone,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll call later. Promise.’
‘You will phone Abdul?’
‘Said I would, didn’t I? Okay Dad,’ I call. Then back into the phone, ‘Tell the others I’m missing them. Love you heaps. If your cell phone’s out, email me.’
I drop the receiver as if it’s too hot to handle. Which in a way it is.
But isn’t this the result of Chaos Theory? If it hadn’t rained that heavily, Emma would never have bummed a lift from Jon, we would never have had that accident, I wouldn’t have a broken ankle, we’d both have worked in the same supermarket where I would’ve met Abdul before Emma. How unlucky can two best friends be?
Half an hour later I’m fixing my face when I hear footsteps.
Julie Simpson opens the door.
I drop my lip-gloss and scramble about on the floor to pick it up, no easy task with a leg in an awkward plastic boot.
Julie has her usual untidy look: floaty clothes that look wrong on her plump body, her long curly hair flecked with grey. ‘Hi, darling. Where you off to?’
‘Hi Julie.’ Almost impossible not to look guilty. ‘Heard from Emma?’
‘No… nothing in the last few days.’ Her face falls into discontented lines. ‘You’d think she’d bother to phone. Oh well, daughters…’ A theatrical sigh, then she lightens up, ‘Where are you going?’
I swallow. ‘Out to dinner. Nowhere much.’
‘Nowhere much?’ She rocks back on downtrodden heels. ‘Can’t recall the last time someone took me out to dinner. Anyway, since my belly reducing diet, it’s probably for the best. I always go for the dessert.’
Relieved we’re on a safe topic, I cry, ‘Me too…mud-cake.’
‘Cheesecake.’
‘Tiramisu.’
We share a grin. Both Julie and Emma have violet eyes, pretty perky noses and generous wide mouths; there’s no mistaking the mother-daughter relationship. But while Emma is truly pretty and Julie would be too, she has unfortunately, to quote Nanna Pearl, ‘Let herself go’.
I wake up she’s saying in her little-girl voice, ‘Just came by to see how you are.’
‘I’m fine, Julie. I really am.’ We hug and I take in Julie’s familiar feel and smell. What if I was to lose the woman almost as close to me as my own mother? But what can you do if you fall in love with your best friend’s guy?
‘Look,’ Julie is saying. ‘I don’t want to ring Surfers, have Emma think I hate her living with her dad.’
‘Course not,’ I say though when Robert took off with Laura, Julie was so angry anyone would think him the husband from hell.
‘Emma’s got this new guy, Abdul. You know how over the top she can get. If you should happen to speak with her let me know.’
‘Course,’ I say scarcely believing how sincere I sound.
Julie kisses my cheek and leaves. The front door closes. A few minutes later, Hannah stalks into the bedroom. ‘Really Dessi, you’ve placed me in a very difficult situation.’
I scowl ferociously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This Abdul. Let’s get one thing straight. Whose boyfriend is he?’
‘It’s not like that…’
‘So what it’s like?’ A long silence. ‘Abdul’s nice, but is he really worth it?’
Hard meeting Hannah’s angry face. ‘Before you met Dad, didn’t you and Julie like the same guy?’
‘Course.’ Hannah holds my gaze in the mirror. ‘I never did anything about it.’
‘How did you stop yourself?’
‘I just did. Anyway,’ she turns to go, ‘You know how fragile Emma is. So be sure you know what you’re doing.’
I nod mutely. I understand all right. But no one, nothing, is going to stop me seeing Abdul.
In Abdul’s van some hours later I say, ‘It’s like I’m betraying the whole family. We’ve never had anything like this happen before.’
‘Not ever?’
‘Never. We always tell each other everything.’
‘You never lie to each other?’
‘What’s the point of having a best friend if you lie to her?’
He doesn’t answer.
‘Anyway, Emma asked me to phone you to see what’s up. What’ll I say?’
He frowns slightly. ‘You going to tell her I’m seeing you?’
‘Course not. She’ll never forgive me.’
‘Stop panicking. I’ll think of something.’ We head inside the restaurant. A waiter shows us to a table.
‘Want me to order?’
I nod
. He studies the menu and I study him. My heart feels like melting wax. He’s so gorgeous no wonder I’m prepared to risk everything for him.
‘What else is new?’
I hit my head. ‘I nearly forgot. Pearl’s invited me to go OS with her next summer.’
‘Lucky you. Who’s Pearl?’
‘Pearl’s my father’s mother.’
‘You mean she’s your grandmother. Like my grandfather.’
I recall the old gentleman with the infectious smile. ‘Mr Malouf is really nice.’
‘He is, he is. But when I was little I used to wish the others were around.’
‘Haven’t you got enough rellies? You really want more?’
‘Wouldn’t mind a younger brother,’ he drawls. ‘Might take some of the heat off me.’
‘Families!’ I shake my head. ‘They’re okay when you’re little, but when you’re older you pray for them to leave you alone.’
The waiter brings us our food. Abdul selects a tasty piece of lamb and holds it up to my lips. ‘Try this.’ I close my eyes and open my mouth. Right now I’d swallow poison if Abdul offered it to me.
‘What happened to your other grandparents?’
‘Mum’s were killed when their village was bombed. Grandfather was lucky to survive.’
‘What about old Mr Malouf’s wife?’
‘She died when our village was shelled by the Israelis.’
I gulp. Most Israelis are Jewish. But with Jewish great-grandparents, aren’t I one eighth Jewish? Does that turn me into an enemy? I wake up to his saying, ‘ … parents were forced to take refuge in displaced persons’ camps and leave everything behind.’ He pauses before lightly adding, ‘Something like a fifth of Lebanon’s population fled from their homes.’
‘That’s terrible,’ I murmur. ‘How did your lot get here?’
He shrugs. ‘Oz has been taking Christian Lebanese since forever. Only it was lots harder for us Muslims. It was only after the 1975 civil war broke out, that some of us were allowed into Italy and then over here. My dad had worked with a Christian Lebanese, and he sponsored our family. Then it took ages before the Australian authorities allowed us to build mosques or Muslim schools.’
I frown. ‘How come we were so mean?’
He laughs. ‘You think we’ll have too many wives. Still, something like fourteen thousand Lebos did turn up.’
‘Guess your parents must feel you have to make it up to them.’
‘Yes. My dad says now it’s up to Ahmed and me to give their new lives meaning.’
‘Must be tough.’ I pause as the waiter brings our food.
‘What about your folks?’ he asks. ‘When did they get here?’
‘My great, great, greats came for the gold rush. Our family did very well, owned lots of houses, then lost everything apart from the house we’re now in.’
‘That’d be about right.’
We laugh. A couple at the next table argue loudly about the bill. Apart from a conspiratorial grin, we ignore them.
I ask, ‘What about school? Tell me what it was like for you?’
He tries to shrug this off. ‘Oh, that’s not very interesting.’
‘But I’m interested.’
‘When I got to Prep, turned out I spoke the wrong language.’
‘You mean you only learnt English at school?’
He smiles faintly. ‘Kids pick up pretty quickly.’
‘And later? After?’
‘Guess it didn’t make much difference. I was still a Lebo who lived above a shop. Kids used to call us ‘Kebab’ and ‘Mossies’. There was lots of aggro for us to deal with. It’s been the same story for every new group. Look at what’s happening to the Somalis.’
I shudder. ‘I’m starting to realise how lucky I am to be an old time Skip.’
‘Maybe you’re lucky,’ he says wryly. ‘But in a way it is character forming.’
Sensing a story, I ask, ‘How come?’
He sighs. ‘I don’t know what it’s like for a girl, but for boys it’s a matter of proving you’re tougher than other kids, particularly if you have one or two brains. Real life begins and ends in the playground.’
‘You mean you had to fight other kids all the time.’
He nods. ‘All the time.’
‘So how come you weren’t sent to a Muslim school?’
‘Oh, they’re too conservative, even for my lot. Your family sounds a bit like Antler’s. Real name,’ at my enquiring glance, ‘Warren Reginald Smith. We went through school together. You’ll meet him soon.’
‘Why’s he called Antler?’
Abdul’s teeth gleam when he smiles. I take careful notes of how his eyes crinkle, his nose narrows, his nostrils flare. But there is still so much I don’t know - hectares to be filled in about smell, feel, texture, mind…
‘...calls himself Antler, because he’s got antler tats all over him.’
‘Why antlers?’
‘Says they’re phallic, sexy. His lady’s name is Doe.’
I giggle. ‘What’s her real name?’
‘Guess.’
‘Chloe?’
‘Actually, it’s Mona, and they’ve got a baby girl called...’
‘…I know, Faun.’
We burst into laughter. People at a far table look around and stare. I note that his gaze stays on me, that he isn’t distracted, doesn’t swerve. Does this mean that he’s as equally hot for me as I am for him? I say, ‘I’d love to meet your friends.’
He smiles into my eyes. ‘Sure, only not for a while. Things got a bit heated for Antler. They’re in Perth for six weeks.’
While hearing about the most unusual and most tolerant – at least on Abdul’s side, friendship, I notice his two smiles: the polite one when his eyes remain serious, another less self-conscious one when the laugh comes from somewhere inside his belly.
I half expect him to drive into a parking lot so we can resume where we left off. This time I’m determined to go all the way. But he drives me home saying, ‘I wanted us to spend the evening together, but there’s this old guy who’s got stuff he wants to sell and he’ll only see me tonight.’ When I don’t bother hiding my disappointment, he adds, ‘You know what some wrinklies are like…’
‘That’s fine.’ I put on a brave face. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’
‘Busy tomorrow. Maybe later in the week,’ he says lightly as he helps me out of the van. ‘I’ll call.’ He kisses my cheek and takes off back down the path.
I wait for him to start the van and drive off. I’m confused. One moment he seems equally involved. Another he’s drawing back as if only mildly interested. These quick changes of mood should cool my passion. Interesting how they only serve to further entangle me. What can be so captivating? I wish I knew. Even in the midst of this drama, I recognise that what I’m feeling is such a rush others might label it as infatuation.
Inside Graham has left me a message saying, ‘Call Leila.’
If I’m hoping she has news about Abdul, I’m quickly put right. ‘Nothing so far.’
I shrug away my disappointment.
‘So what else is new?’
‘Not much,’ I confess.
‘Heard from anyone at Schoolies?’
I fill her in. Then somehow the conversation drifts to Leila’s new boyfriend and then her parents and how they won’t let her see Harry without her brother Naiz being there. ‘They’ve been here so long, but they’ll only mix with Lebos. You should hear Dad if he thinks I’m showing too much skin, or my hijab slips, or I’m not being respectful enough.’
With the Maloufs’ negative attitude in mind, I ask, ‘Don’t they like Anglos?’
She laughs. ‘They hardly know any. No, it’s more that staying with the familiar is best. If they trade with other Lebos or visit anyone they knew back home, they know what to expect. You Skips are too different.’
I ask in some surprise. ‘Don’t you see yourself as Aussie?’
‘Course I do. I’m half a Lebo and half an Aussie.
’ She sighs. ‘Sometimes that makes it hard.’
‘I’ll bet. What if you’d brought an Anglo home instead of your guy?’
‘Guess they’d do everything they can to force me to give him up.’
‘Even being outride rude?’
‘Absolutely. I hate to think how far they’ll go.’
I gulp and change the subject.
It’s after 3 a.m., and I’m in bed. Something wakes me. I lie there, staring into the dark, remembering the time two best friends played ‘chicken’.
Travelling into the city, we’d stop off in the department stores. There, while Emma dowsed herself with perfume, I’d wander through ‘cosmetics’ or ‘jewellery’. Booty in pocket, eyes straight ahead, trying not to giggle, we stepped outside. Not that we ever took anything expensive. What we stole didn’t matter. What counted was the thrill.
The fourth time we tried it, outside the main doors, a man in a beige raincoat accosted me. ‘I think you forgot to pay.’
‘What...?’
‘Those earrings.’ He pointed to my school parka. ‘I’ll have to ask you to come along with me.’
‘I don’t have to.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m afraid you do. You see, we have a video of you putting them in your pocket.’
Emma ran over. ‘What’s going on?’
He said, ‘Your friend’s taken something without paying for it, so she’s coming with me. I think you’d better come, too.’
He led us into a rear office where he asked us to empty our pockets. Then he told me to write down my name and address.
‘What about me?’ Emma fiercely asked.
‘You haven’t taken anything without paying for it.’
‘How do you know we weren’t in this together?’
‘Whatever you say.’ He pushed the pad in front of her.
Later, long after Hannah came to collect us, and we were in the car giggling with nerves, I whispered, ‘You didn’t have to say you’d done it.’
‘Course I did. Couldn’t let you get in trouble.’
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