Those Pleasant Girls

by Lia Weston

  The steps leading up to the wooden platform were uneven, with one missing near the top. Mary caught her knee on the edge, hopping inside and swearing.

  Zach popped the top on a beer from his six-pack, and handed it to her. She tried not to make a face as she swigged it. It tasted like burnt grass. By the third bottle, though, the flavour wasn’t so bad. It translated into sweetness on Zach’s breath.

  She flipped her head over and rested her cheek on his torso to look at him better. His hair had fallen right back, revealing a small patch of acne on his forehead. It was the first thing about him that she had seen that wasn’t perfect.

  ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Zach cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

  She rolled to the side and dove a hand into her bag.

  ‘Here.’

  Zach took the black-wrapped square, still lying on his back. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, actually it’s for Therese.’

  He looked at her in some confusion.

  ‘Kidding, sorry. Open it.’

  Zach tore the front of the paper off. ‘Lord of the Flies?’

  ‘It’s really good,’ said Mary, trying not to sound evangelical. ‘It’s about savagery and power. Lots of people think it’s like an allegorical . . .’ She trailed off. Zach was staring at her. Her heart dropped through the treehouse floorboards to land on the petal blossom carpet. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d like it.’ What a stupid mistake. Only an idiot would give Zach a book.

  ‘I’ve never been given a book before,’ said Zach, seemingly baffled.

  Mary buried her face in his armpit. ‘I’ll take it back. You don’t have to read it.’

  Zach put Lord of the Flies down and then pulled Mary up on top of him, her hair curtaining their faces. ‘No one’s ever thought I’d want to read, you know, like, a book . . .’

  ‘You’re good with words,’ said Mary. ‘You write lyrics.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Zach. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Plus it’s really violent,’ said Mary. ‘Sorry. It was a dumb idea.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’ Zach’s teeth appeared in the dark like the Cheshire cat. ‘Come here.’

  His mouth sought hers. His hands slid across her back, down her sides, up her ribs, down her body again until she felt as if she were spinning, caught in a vortex of warmth and movement, her nerves shimmering, her skin buzzing. Zach’s movements became more urgent. She felt as if he was turning into something else, being overtaken by some animal thing, and for a moment she was frightened. But then he rolled over and reared up, his eyes drowsy, a half-formed smile, and she felt beautiful and desirable, so unlike her normal self.

  When he kissed her again, Mary opened herself up to his tongue, barely registering the hard boards underneath her, hearing him undo the zipper on his jeans. His knee pushed hers up and sideways, his hand roaming under her skirt. She was drugged with love, knew what was going to happen, too mesmerised by the fact that he needed her so badly to think about anything else.

  There were six plates on the table, each with a slice of cake.

  Travis looked at the plates, and then at Evie. ‘Are you sure you want me to pick the filling?’

  ‘You have excellent taste,’ said Evie. ‘I’d value a second opinion.’ She handed him a silver fork.

  He took a small sample of each piece, as seriously as if he were performing surgery. Evie watched and waited.

  ‘That one.’ He pointed the tines at the third plate.

  ‘Really? Oh.’

  ‘Is that wrong?’

  ‘Well, no . . .’ Evie crossed her arms and frowned at the table. ‘But when the cake is cut, vanilla isn’t going to show up as well as something darker might.’

  ‘That chocolate one was great, too,’ said Travis, hoping the next piece he was pointing to was actually chocolate and not some obscure flavour like Madagascan carob. His mother had never even made a packet cake, let alone a real one. Birthday cakes in the Tueller family were always ice-cream cakes, regardless of the weather. The woman who used to make them was also a smoker, so the ice-cream always tasted faintly of ash. For the past few years, Travis had requested no cake. His parents, happy to have one less thing to do, had obliged without asking why.

  To his relief, Evie’s face lit up. ‘Yes! I was hoping you’d pick that one. The raspberry coulis will cut the sweetness.’

  ‘Yes, definitely.’ He had no idea what a coulis was.

  ‘You’re brilliant,’ sighed Evie, looking at the plates. ‘Will you stay for a coffee?’

  ‘I can never refuse you,’ said Travis.

  Mary didn’t know what to do. Zach had rolled off her and now lay with his eyes closed. In every movie she’d seen, girls were seductively sheet-wrapped, or fixing their makeup in blue-lit bathrooms, but here she was in a treehouse, still with most of her clothes on, not quite sure what to do or feel or think. She didn’t feel any different. Not more womanly or sexy or complete, just . . . a bit sticky, really.

  Zach finally exhaled and opened his eyes. He stretched an arm out; she immediately nestled into his side. There was an obscure feeling that she had passed some sort of test, or at least not failed it.

  They lay without speaking at first. Mary drew circles on his chest and listened to the rumbles outside growing closer.

  ‘I . . . Was I–it okay?’

  He quirked his chin to look down at her. ‘Huh?’

  Mary’s finger slowed in its lazy arc. ‘I haven’t . . . you know.’

  She felt him shift. ‘Serious?’ His voice echoed through his rib cage. ‘I’m the first?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She kept her face averted. She shouldn’t have said anything. But it was supposed to be special, wasn’t it? Oh God, he was going to laugh at her.

  ‘Not with that dude, the short one?’

  ‘D? No. Nor Travis.’

  ‘As if,’ said Zach, dismissively.

  Mary couldn’t help but be offended on Travis’s behalf. He was good-looking in his own way. Not like Zach, but no one was good-looking like Zach.

  How would the three boys get along, though? What would they say? She tried to envision them hanging out, but couldn’t.

  There was a tinny snatch of song. Zach retrieved his phone and thumbed it while she waited in the crook of his arm.

  ‘Shit. Stupid nativity thing.’

  ‘Why are you doing it?’

  ‘My dad will cut off my pocket money if I don’t.’

  ‘That sucks.’

  ‘Yeah. Gotta go.’

  Mary ducked her head and breathed into his side through his T-shirt. ‘Okay.’

  Zach rolled towards her and kissed her again, sending her brain into the same spinning vortex as before. Every cell in her body surged towards him. He reluctantly disentangled himself and reached for his T-shirt. As he finger-combed his hair back into place, Mary watched him and her stomach hollowed out. He had been hers, but only for a moment. It wasn’t fair.

  At the gate, she refused a lift back because she didn’t want to look clingy.

  ‘Sure?’ said Zach.

  Mary gave him a cheery thumbs-up and immediately wanted to kick herself.

  Zach grinned. ‘See ya.’ He stuck a farewelling hand out of the window at the end of the road.

  The sweeping grey of the sky had finally caught up with her. The day’s residual heat rose up from the ground, squashing the air, sucking the oxygen away. There was blood running down her leg, but it was only the cut on her knee from climbing into the treehouse, re-opened by the descent.

  The atmosphere was compressed and heavy. The sky groaned. She considered ringing Phil, but decided against it; he wasn’t a taxi.

  Mary started walking home, head full of Zach, the world feeling unreal somehow. She was only one hundred metres from the treehouse when the black film of the sky finally split open and the water hit her with force.

  Finishing the fourth slice of cake while Evie counted boxes of cocoa powder in the pantry, Travis saw that his fork
was vibrating. It was probably the sugar. He took a mouthful of coffee, hot and sweet.

  ‘Your hem’s ripped.’ Evie stopped behind his chair. ‘I’ll fix it for you. Take it off.’

  He rose, turning away to pull the jumper over his head. His T-shirt rode up; he grabbed it back down.

  She went upstairs and returned with a black jumper. ‘You can wear this.’

  Travis looked askance at the jumper’s glittery purple heart.

  ‘It’s Mary’s. I’m sure she won’t mind.’

  He was served a bowl of something spicy that had chickpeas in it and smelled how he imagined a bazaar would smell.

  The refrigerator hummed, an electric pulse. Outside, the garden was in shadow under a growling sky, the wind tearing at the bushes. He watched Evie chew her lip as she pushed the needle through the jumper’s fabric, the kitchen light illuminating the silkscreen of her skin. The ache for her spread through Travis’s limbs. His leg wouldn’t stop jiggling, a steel core of energy running through him like nuclear power.

  Evie looked up. ‘Something on your mind?’

  Rational and coherent thought, his closest friend, failed him completely.

  ‘Travis?’ The silver of the needle caught the light between her fingers.

  ‘Do you still love Mary’s dad?’

  Evie jumped. ‘Ow!’ She put her finger in her mouth and half-rolled her eyes at him. ‘Clumsy,’ she said around the digit.

  He waited.

  She finally withdrew the finger, checking it quickly. ‘No. Not any more.’

  ‘Because . . .’ said Travis.

  Those ice-blue eyes roaming over his in puzzlement.

  He felt his foot leave the ledge. ‘Because . . . I do. Love you, that is. Not Mary’s dad.’

  Evie’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

  ‘But before you say anything, I know you’re going to say something, but just wait, wait.’ He abandoned his chair and dropped to his knees next to her. ‘I’m not a kid. I understand you. We’re so similar. We’d fit together, I know it. I do.’

  Evie’s mouth stayed open, her eyes wide.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be everything, you know, just something, I mean, and it’s better than nothing, right? I can try, I can try to be . . .’

  They stared at each other. He could smell the sweetness of her shampoo.

  ‘. . . I can try to be what you want.’

  The fridge remained with its hum, the only noise to fill the gap between them. A pilot light of hope remained lit in Travis’s chest while Evie did not speak. Just for a moment, it was possible.

  ‘Travis, I . . .’ There was the tiniest side-to-side movement.

  The pilot light flickered and went out.

  Travis dropped his head. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why are you wearing my jumper?’ The voice came from the back door, and there was Mary, looking like a drowned rat.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Mary,’ said Evie, looking faint. ‘Don’t do that.’

  Mary’s striped T-shirt clung to her stomach. Her knee was bloody. She tilted her head at Travis. ‘It kinda suits you.’

  Travis scrambled to his feet, still trying to get his throat working.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m fixing his hem,’ said Evie, burying her hands in the fabric. The colour had been stripped from her face. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Cavorting.’ Mary gave a little dance, and then laughed when neither of them did. ‘What’s with you guys?’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Travis.

  ‘But I’ve only just got home,’ Mary protested.

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t have long and I was here earlier but you weren’t and now I have to go.’ He held his hand out to Evie for his jumper. Evie bit the cotton thread off and handed it over, only meeting his gaze for a brief moment, and again he saw the apology in her eyes.

  Travis let himself out the front door. The burst of rain had left the light a dirty yellow, the air smeary.

  He walked faster and faster, getting as far away from the Pleasants’ house as possible, until the walk became a run. He almost made it home before his legs stumbled and then folded. On his hands and knees, Travis said Evie’s name, and then threw up and up until there was nothing left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I couldn’t wait any longer.’

  Nathan looked slightly wild-eyed. Evie’s heart leapt. Had he dumped Cameron? Had Cameron dumped him? Had Cameron been tragically killed in a helicopter accident? Oh, how terrible, please let it be true.

  Evie ushered him into the hallway but no further. The kitchen looked like a war zone fought with marzipan and cake boards. Mini D kept making comments about disappearing underneath a fondant mountain. Her work, however, had rapidly improved, which wasn’t surprising when she was practising twelve hours a day. Her gum-paste roses were now so delicately lifelike that even Mary approved.

  ‘Here. Take it.’ Nathan handed her a small box and stepped back, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  Evie’s heart stopped. She recognised boxes like that. Gently she cracked the lid, aware of his eager anticipation, and there it was: a band of gold, a classic-cut diamond, simple and elegant.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Evie was not an idiot. This ring was not for her.

  ‘I’m going to propose to Cameron.’ Nathan wore the smile of a man who’d just found out he’d inherited a brewery. ‘I thought you could work it into the cake somehow, like a surprise.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can come up with something,’ Evie said, screaming internally. ‘Hopefully that something would involve Cameron choking on the ring. Then she could ask Nathan out properly and see if he was open to dating murderous door-jimmying parishioners. Because he’d be totally fine with that, surely. It wasn’t like her entire life had run off the rails and into a ravine or anything.

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that you’ve been working on something spectacular. May I take a peek?’

  ‘You can’t,’ said Evie. ‘It’s bad luck to see the cake before the, er, bride.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ He accepted it so readily, like a child almost. ‘Can’t wait, though.’

  ‘This may be none of my business,’ said Evie, ‘but wouldn’t Cameron prefer a private proposal rather than one in front of the whole town?’

  ‘It’s such a happy moment,’ said Nathan. ‘I want to share it with the community. After all, you only get married once.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Evie.

  The tubs of fondant seemed to glow, rainbow orbs trapped inside their plastic houses. Evie sat at the table, the ring box open in her hand, amid her tools and racks of drying roses. She tilted the box from side to side, watching the diamond twinkle against the black velvet.

  As soon as she had seen it, she couldn’t help but hold a miniscule, illogical hope that Nathan had realised that Evie was the one. It hadn’t lasted more than half a second, but it was enough to amplify the feeling of being robbed. It wasn’t fair. She and Nathan had known each other for years. She had raised the money and saved Saint Sebastian’s, and she was the one who needed saving now. Cameron had a noble and no-doubt well-paid job. Cameron had a spotless reputation in Sweet Meadow. And now Cameron had Nathan and Evie had nothing. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.

  Evie smacked the table hard without looking. The agony was instantaneous. She lifted her hand and saw the metal spike of a flower nail impaled straight through her palm.

  Cake stigmata. Perfect.

  The key to appreciating My Bitter Tears of Darkness was accepting that Zach had a particular cadence when he sang. Mary knew every lyric and every note now. He had even written a song for her, ‘Heart Burn’. She had never been a muse before, even if she had to explain to Zach what the word meant.

  She sat on his lap in their favourite chair in front of the stage. The textbooks she had lugged along, paying lip-service to the concept of studying, sat on the ground, untouch
ed. In between fevered making-out, Mary and Zach argued whether ‘Kill The Prom Queen (Hope Diminishes in the Final Stretch of Time)’ or ‘Dark Soul’s Ruin (My Heart Eternally Bleeds the Black of the Damned)’ would be the better song for the end credits of a superhero movie.

  ‘“Ruin” is deeper. People will leave, like, uh.’ She put her hand on her chest and hunched over.

  ‘That’s good?’ said Zach.

  ‘Definitely. ’Cause it stays with you, you know?’ Mary lay back against him. ‘Are you going to Bianca’s party on Saturday?’

  Bianca’s seventeenth was one of the few social events Mary knew about, and only because Bianca had been going on about it loudly and often. During Biology, Mary learned that Bianca’s parents were going away for the weekend so as not to ‘cramp her style’. Waiting in line for the drinks machine, it was revealed that Bianca’s mother was taking her to the city to go dress shopping, even though they were in the middle of exams. In the girls’ change rooms, half the class discovered that Bianca had dived into the world of Brazilian waxes. (‘Why didn’t you take a picture?’ lamented Mini D when she told him.)

  Naturally, Mary’s information had not actually extended to an invitation, even though her birthday was the day before. She tried to imagine them having a joint party, and couldn’t.

  ‘Yeah. We’re playing a set.’

  ‘Wish I could see you.’ She plucked at the edge of his T-shirt. ‘I never get to see you.’

  It wasn’t a complete exaggeration. Mary had learnt more subterfuge in the past four weeks than in her previous sixteen years. Avoiding parents, friends, band-mates, work shifts, rehearsal times and Therese meant that they usually had around forty-seven minutes of uninterrupted togetherness. Zach vetoed any clandestine school meetings; it was far too risky. So Mary stayed in the library with Mini D and Travis, acting as if nothing was happening, guarding her phone in case of an illicit text, and starving for Zach. She felt like a strange kind of spy, one who delivered messages with her body and then had to go and do her homework.

  ‘It’s just a party. It’s nothing special.’

  Spoken, Mary thought, like someone who had been invited to parties since he was a toddler. To Zach, parties were like going to the movies or brushing your teeth.