by Lindy Dale
She’d sounded like she’d been watching Dr Phil again but I knew she was right. I couldn’t expect Sam to trust me if I kept things from him. But how could I hurt him by telling him I was leaving? I’d already annoyed the real estate agent by changing my plans for the third time and I didn’t think the airline would let me transfer my ticket again. I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and sing so I didn’t have to listen to the truth—it always seemed to work for the twins—but instead I cut her off, telling her more about the dinner I’d organised with the gang, for Sam’s special day.
“I’ve booked a table at Sam’s favourite Japanese restaurant,” I said. “We’re going to sit down and be civilised if it kills us.”
“‘Sam’ and ‘civilised’ in the same sentence? Don’t you think you’re asking a bit much?”
“But he was so good on Grand Final night, Alex.”
“He wrote a swear word on Chantelle’s head with permanent marker.”
“Well, yes. But he didn’t strip and run naked down Stirling Highway like Womble and Woody. He didn’t even get arrested.”
“That’s because he had stitches in his head and the doctor at Emergency told him not to exert himself.”
I guessed she had a point. Sam hadn’t really changed that much. But as least he was kind, he loved Adele’s kids and he treated me like a princess, which was more than Kirby and Sasha would say. “Well. Whatever. I’m going to dress to the nines and I’ve splurged on the best boy toy present ever. A Navman!”
“One of those GPS navigation thingies?”
“Yeah. This is a big night. Everything has to be perfect. I have to prove to Sam how much I love him so, when I break the news, he’ll understand.”
Alex was silent for a minute. “Let’s hope he does then, Chica.”
Because hope was my last resort. There was nothing more I could do. I’d done extra duties for Adele to pay for the present and squeezed in an extra shift at the hotel so I could buy a new outfit. It was queer that Adele didn’t fire me on the spot after discovering I’d taken the twins boutique shopping in Mount Lawley, in lieu of their usual Wednesday Playgroup but instead of freaking out, she’d pressed her lips together and muttered, “Let’s see it doesn’t happen again, shall we?”
Then I’d asked for the Saturday night off and I was positive she’d hit the roof, but she didn’t batt an eyelid, not even a lash. She only smiled a tight smile and replied a quiet night in would do her good. They could have some family bonding time. Frowning, I’d gone to help Paige with her Italian homework. I couldn’t figure out why Adele was behaving the way she was, but I knew it had something to do with Sam. Everything these days had something to do with him. It was just that nobody would tell me what it was.
*****
We arrived at the restaurant at 7.45pm, a fashionable fifteen minutes late. It was okay, I’d reasoned with myself, as Sam held the door open for me. For the surprise element to be a success we had to be late. Then everyone could stand up and holler a huge ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ and Sam would be bowled over by the love of his friends and the ingeniousness of his girlfriend.
The waitress guided us through the restaurant to the long tables out the back reserved for guests. I let Sam go first, waiting for the hoorah, yet it was ominously quiet. The only sound was the steely clink of cutlery against china. The large table I’d reserved was waiting for us, empty. Doing a quick mental flick through the text messages I’d sent during the week, I was positive I’d made it clear everyone had to be seated by 7.30pm.
So where the hell were they? Surely, they weren’t staying at home because of the Simmo thing? And Kirby and Rambo were able to be in a room together without committing murder, so why weren’t they here? Sam was their best buddy. I crept up beside him. My hand slid into his. There had to be some mistake. The waitress had taken us to the wrong room or something.
My eyes began to prickle at the injustice of it. I’d given up and reorganised so many things for this night to be as I planned. This was not how it was meant to go. And to make matters worse, Sam was under the impression that we were eating à deux. Brow drawn at my sudden silence, he appeared confused.
“You okay, babe?” he inquired softly, as his big strong arm crept around my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
I nodded feebly. If I said ‘fine,’ which was the best I could muster at that moment, he’d catch on that I wasn’t.
“This is going to be an awesome night, just us two,” he continued, as we were lead to the empty table for ten. I could tell he was putting on a front. A romantic dinner for two was not his idea of a fun way to spend your birthday.
The waitress ushered us to sit and I tried but somehow my feet were rooted on the spot. A bulb flashed in the corner and suddenly Sam was staring at the massive bunch of helium balloons saying ‘Happy 60th birthday!’ that I’d used for a joke centrepiece. Slowly, his eyes cast up and down the length of the empty table, then over to me.
“Surprise—” I muttered and burst into tears. My night was ruined. I was a hopeless girlfriend.
*****
Two hours later and everyone had finally arrived. It transpired that while I’d been trying to not let Sam see what I was up to I’d inadvertently typed the wrong time into text message. The reason they were late was my own fault. Par for the course, but not something I was happy about. After the false start, everything settled down and I was feeling a little cheerier. It was the sort of night I had envisaged—Sam in his element as centre of attention, everyone laughing, having fun. Well, except Sasha. She was crapping on about there being no vegetarian options on the menu.
“If you bastards didn’t have the decency to arrive at the designated time you don’t deserve bloody vegetarian,” Sam chuckled as he forked another garlic prawn. “Besides, who ever heard of a Japanese vego?”
“At least I’m here. I didn’t have to come you know,” Sasha retorted, putting three dumplings on her plate. She wasn’t having a good time, I could tell. Simmo had invited Womble who’d invited That-Slut-Courtney and we’d had to scrunch ourselves together so they could fit.
Feeling guilty about the fact my surprise had been ruined and yet utterly chuffed because I’d given him the present of the century—the Navman, portable GPS system—Sam was being extra nice and very attentive. He was even ignoring Courtney, who had wormed her way in between him and Simmo and was pressing her expansive breasts into his arms and tittering lewdly. She didn’t care everyone hated her. And she clearly had no qualms about stealing Sasha’s husband and now trying her luck with my boyfriend.
“Sasha’s never bought me a present like that,” Simmo grumbled, in awe of the gift I’d picked. “Last year, she gave me socks.”
“That’s because I was sick of you wanking into tissues and leaving them on the bathroom floor,” she snapped back from across the table. “Otherwise you would’ve got nothing.”
Courtney smirked and covered her mouth with her hand. “Well, you’ll probably get a really good pressie for Christmas this year, Alan. I know exactly what I’d give you.” She purred, forgetting that only seconds before she’d been ignoring him in favour of Sam.
Snatching her handbag from under the table, Sasha climbed out of her bench seat and stormed to the door, flinging abuse as she went. “And if you think you’re getting the home theatre system and recliners in the settlement, Alan, you can think again. I sold them on eBay last week.”
So much for our grown-up civilised evening.
Sam swallowed and gave me a funny look.
Mel glared at Simmo. “Aren’t you going to go after her, you knob? This could be your last chance.”
Simmo gave an awkward shrug and sank further into his drink. His face was an indelicate shade of green. “She’ll come ‘round. She always does. It’s the hormones.”
“It’s not hormones, you fuckwit. It’s you and that fucking slut Courtney. Sasha’s going to divorce you if you don’t pull your head in.”
“She’s right, mate,” Johnny sa
id. “I’ve started drawing up the papers already. This is not hormones or some whim of your wife. She’s upset and hurt. And deservedly so.”
“But it’s a misunderstanding.”
Melanie swept her eyes disbelievingly to the heavens. “I find that about as plausible as Womble being called up for the fucking Wallabies. God. Somebody get me another fucking drink. I’m going to have to get pissed if you expect me to believe you.”
Looks of venom flew up and down the table between the friends. Entrees were delivered and eaten, interspersed by stilted conversation that couldn’t set anyone else off. A dinner with Freddy Kruger would have been more fun.
“So, how about we charge up Navman and take it for a test drive tomorrow?” Sam suggested, determined to get the evening back on track.
“Oh Goody! Can I come too?” Courtney simply loved the Hills, or some such. Hadn’t been on a jaunt in the longest time.
“Well, I s’pose so. We could make a day of it. Yeah. Why not?”
I was floored. Now was not the time for Sam to learn diplomacy. Was he that stupid that he would believe Courtney was our friend or that I would entertain the thought of her being on the same road as us, let alone in the same car? She’d already made most of our lives a misery.
Oblivious to the fact that I was in shock, he stood, raising his glass to the assembly. A wide smile spread over his face as he looked around the table and then to me. “A toast to Millie. Thanks for trying to make this my best birthday ever, even if you did fuck up the invitations and ordered me a cake that gives me migraines.”
I looked at him. I’d explained about the mix up with the cake. Sometimes he was a real arsehole.
*****
“For fuck’s sake, Millie, will you please forgive me?”
For two days after the event Sam grovelled, as well he should. The birthday party speech had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. If he wanted to make jokes he could pick on someone else. This time he’d learn his lesson. And dammit, he’d say he was sorry.
“Mill’?” he repeated.
“No. You made me cry. Again. Now it’s your turn to suffer.” I looked over at him, perched on the couch, feet propped up on the ottoman in readiness. All I had to do was hold out. Another few minutes and he’d be on his knees, apologising.
“What if I give you a one hour foot massage?”
The begging had started. I looked at the TV and ignored him. Two more minutes. “Not even if.”
“Please. Come on, the game’s about to start,” he whined.
I shook my head in mock disbelief, trying not to smirk at his antics. I’d sworn I wouldn’t give in until he said it and ‘for fuck’s sake’ didn’t count as an apology in my books. Neither did licking my face like a puppy or tickling the underside of my forearms and wrists. That was plain aggravating. I knew all he wanted was to watch the Wallabies play England. That was what I was counting on. A sincere apology was all I needed.
With growing anxiety, Sam looked at his watch. He looked at me. He looked at the TV, which was currently on the Lifestyle Channel showing re-runs of River Cottage Forever.
“Please Mill’? The kick-off’s in less than a minute.”
I think he underestimated how take-it-or-leave-it my attitude to sport really was and how stubborn I could be if I wanted. All he had to do was say sorry.
Shuffling across the sofa, Sam laid his head in my lap. He looked up into my face, his big eyes pleading. It was pathetic and I wished I had my phone on me so I could take a picture for future reference. I felt his shoulders heave a sigh against my leg. “Okay. I didn’t mean to say you fucked up my birthday, it was a joke. I didn’t mean to make fun of the cake or to invite Court on a day trip. I didn’t mean to laugh when you slipped in the beer that Womble spilt. Okay?” The woeful look had turned to hopeful anticipation or was that a smirk? The bastard. He wasn’t sorry; he was only desperate to get his hands on the remote control so he could see bloody David Pocock run onto the field.
“And?” I said, shifting in my seat.
“Fuck…. I’M SORRY I made you cry. Okay? I’ll never do it again. Now can I please have the remote?”
I put a hand to my ear. Had the ‘s’ word truly passed between his lips?
“I said I’m sorry! Alright? S-O-R-R-Y, sorry.”
“Thank you.” I handed over the remote and my wineglass for a refill, which he ignored. Instead, he sat up. He wrapped his long limbs, legs and all, around me and kissed me full on the lips. His green eyes shone.
“I am sorry,” he said, tenderly. “Now let’s watch David smack those Poms into oblivion. By the way, there’s a packet of Pringles in the pantry if you want to open them while you’re up getting another wine. And can you unsnip the front door on your way back? The boys’ll be here any minute.”
A sensible apology was more than I could expect, I suppose.
*****
Later that night, we were sitting on the balcony of Sam’s flat, overlooking the reflection of the lights on the river. The breeze was warm and the stars were bright in the inky night sky. It was the end of another day of drama and everyone had gone home. The Wallabies had lost, Womble had cried on Sam’s shoulder. Sasha and Simmo seemed destined for divorce, Kirby had announced she was okay about Rambo dumping her for a game of golf and Johnny had been the quietest I’d ever seen him. Sitting next to him, as we’d shuffled around later in the game, I’d tried to find out why. He’d fobbed me off, saying he was tired. Work had been busy. I knew he was lying. His eyes weren’t tired. Something wistful and sad lurked behind them.
Sam’s head leant back against the headrest of the chair and his arm was slung lazily around me. His hand played along the curve of my breast. A warm feeling spread through me. I wanted him. I wanted him so much. And I loved him. I didn’t know if I could leave.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” His lids were closed. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. “Think Sasha and Simmo will go ahead with the divorce?”
“Doesn’t look good.”
“Would you be sad if we broke up?”
Sam’s eyes shot open. His body went stiff. He regarded me suspiciously. “I love you, Mill’, you know I never want to lose you. Why?”
“There’s something I have to tell you.” I bit my lip. I sucked in a breath. I had to tell him. It was now or never. There was an intake of breath on his part, too, and his chest froze as if he was holding it, but he said nothing. Beneath his shoulder I could feel his body getting tenser. I suppose it wasn’t the best way to broach the subject. It sounded like I was going to dump him or tell him I was pregnant or something.
I swallowed. “I love you, more than the whole world, and I never wanted it to be this way, but I’m leaving. Soon. I’m going to open a B&B business in Indonesia. I’ve been saving for years and now I have enough money to buy something cool—it’s my dream.” The words flooded out and I looked at him through the darkness, my eyes pleading with his, hoping he’d understand I wanted him to come with me, at least for a while. But I couldn’t ask him outright. What if he rejected me? what if he thought it was the dumbest idea he’d ever heard, there was no way he’d want to share that with me.
Sam moved towards me, squinting confusedly in the dark, suddenly alert. Then he lowered his head, looking to where his finger traced the lines of my palm. His body went still. His voice was so quiet. “I don’t understand. Is this for good?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been planning it for such a long time.” I gulped in air again. “I thought maybe you’d like to come too. At least for a while.”
“I have a life, Millie. I can’t just walk away because you want to live on a beach.” The words were clipped, like he’d blurted them into the air and it was final. He was angry. Angry I hadn’t told him sooner. Angry I was putting him in a situation where he had to choose. Just angry.
I frowned. What life did he have? He had no commitments. Before me, he’d travelled aimlessly around the countryside shagging
anything that moved. Was that his life? He didn’t even have a credit card. All he had was the rugby club and if he was choosing that, over me, then I wanted no part of him. I was incensed he’d consider throwing our love away for the sake of fun. Furious he hadn’t even deliberated what I’d proposed for a minute, I stood up and stomped into the apartment, tripping on the new rug and banging my shin on the coffee table as I went. “Ouch, shit!”
It was then that I froze. As if a wallop on the leg had cleared my fuddled head, I saw things as I never had before. Where had all these new objects come from? Every time I was here there were new rugs and cushions. Cushions. What man bought cushions in his spare time? Colour-coordinated cushions and throws. And accessories for console tables that had been non-existent a week ago?
And why was he so secretive about everything? He never shared a thing about his life before me, his family. Every time I asked, he fobbed me off or changed the subject as if he was ashamed. His family were probably axe murderers or drug runners or something. He was better at hiding things than I was. Rubbing my aching shin, I struggled to my knees, fighting back the tears. He was supposed to say he loved me. He was supposed to say we could give it a go, not dismiss my dreams like they didn’t matter. But instead he was behind me, trying to help. And trying to be all loving, bugger him.
“Millie? You alright, babe? I heard you fall.”
I looked at him and I realised I didn’t know anything about him. I was in love with an illusion. I rubbed my aching shin. God, it hurt so much. “Of course I’m all-fucking-right. I was fine before I met you and I’ll be just fine without you. Just fuck off.” And that was what he did.
22
Clearly, Sam did not handle my rejection well. When I’d told him to fuck off, he’d taken me at my word. I don’t think he understood the intricacies of the phrase or what I’d actually meant. It was like saying you were ‘fine.’ Everyone knew it didn’t mean you were. Fuck off didn’t literally mean ‘fuck off.’ Either way, by the next morning, he’d disappeared into thin air. Hours dragged into a day and there was still no sign. After texting him incessantly without reply, I rebooked my flights and my hotel; I had a list of prospective properties to view. I should have been over the moon. But I wasn’t happy. The hole in my heart was gaping. It was a hole that only Sam could fill and he was nowhere to be found. Even The Lederhosen seemed dead without his bright white smile and sexy laugh. Her red checked skirts and flouncy curtains appeared drab and out of date. Her menu went from kitsch to ‘70’s horror’ in the space of a day. It was like a mirror of my life without him. I didn’t know what had happened or why. All I knew was that, somehow, I was to blame.