The Long Distance Playlist

by Tara Eglington

  ‘It’s not a VW, you idiot, it’s a BARINA.’

  ‘Luurrve Barina, then.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Lessons started out pretty tense. Me gripping the wheel with a furious expression. Dad gritting his teeth when I hit the accelerator instead of the brake. Thankfully, there was no-one on the road in front of us at the time. Once I got a little better and could get off the back streets of our neighbourhood, we’d drive past Jack’s Point, down Kingston Road, the one that hugged The Remarkables all the way down to the Devil’s Staircase.

  ‘Not many kids get to learn to drive on such a scenic road, you know,’ Dad would say cheerily.

  ‘I hate this,’ I’d mutter, grimacing at the twists and turns of the winding road, the flimsy guardrails that dropped down into Lake Wakatipu on my left-hand side on the drive back. What freaked me out the most was the width of the massive campervans passing by little Bae and how often they’d drift over the yellow dividing line. I didn’t trust the other vehicles.

  As a year went by and I got less angry, I started to understand what driving meant.

  Independence.

  With a licence, I could go anywhere. If I wanted to go shoot the sunset up Remarkables Road, I could.

  I could take Issy out on a date when she got here.

  That last one had stopped being an option a couple of weeks back, but I’d booked the test anyway.

  The test takes an hour, and I’m a bit iffy about a few of the things I did during it, including my parallel parking. The driving assessor is poker-faced, so there’s no hint of how I’ve done.

  I’m shocked when they tell me I’ve passed. And then it sinks in, and I feel like kissing every staff member in the transport agency office. Dad’s smiling when we walk back to my car, but once we’re on our way home, he’s stern.

  ‘Don’t get cocky,’ he tells me as we head around Frankton. ‘Chris’s daughter had an accident in a parking lot two hours after she got her Ps. Now’s the time you need to be extra careful.’

  ‘Dad, I know how dangerous cars can be.’

  ‘I know you do,’ Dad says.

  When we pull into our driveway, Mum’s waiting there, her face anxious. Dad gives her a thumbs-up sign, and she lets out an actual, Whoop!

  ‘You have no chill,’ I say, but I’m smiling as I hug her.

  Mum makes me pose for a photo, standing at the front of Bae, pointing at the Ps. As we head into the house for coffee and cake, I pull out my phone to message Issy. In my excitement over the licence, I’ve forgotten that we’re not speaking. I’ve punched out ‘Uber Taylor’s up and running!’ into the ‘type a message’ field before I realise it.

  For a second, I think about sending it anyway. I miss her. Maybe she’s not angry any more? It’s been almost five weeks now since that fight.

  My fingers hover over the ‘send’ button.

  She flies in on Wednesday. Maybe it’s better to make up in person.

  I backspace on the letters and they disappear, one by one, until there’s nothing left.

  Isolde

  Saturday 1 June

  I almost called him today.

  I’m standing in front of the dresser, putting on lipstick, when Vi comes into my room.

  ‘Someone’s not a kid any more,’ Vi says, joining me at the mirror. She straightens the pink-and-white floral crown on her head. Mum surprised her with the crown an hour ago, spilling the beans about today’s bridal shower.

  Vi looks so pretty in her white broderie anglaise dress. It’s crazy to think that one week from now, she’s going to be wearing a wedding gown.

  ‘I am sixteen, you know,’ I say, making a face at her. ‘I started wearing lipstick years ago.’

  ‘I’m not talking about you, silly. I mean Taylor.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Tay’s got his Ps,’ she says, handing me her phone.

  I look at the photos Maia’s posted on Facebook. Taylor standing next to his little red car, grinning as he points to the ‘P’ sign stuck on the front.

  I look at his smile, and all the hurt and anger I’ve been feeling for the last month falls away.

  I think of that day, almost two years ago now, when Maia told us he was going to be okay. I remember how I felt in that exact moment: I want to be in his life, any way I can. I still feel the same. Even if he’ll never think of me as more than a friend, I want our friendship. I want what we have.

  I hand Vi’s phone back to her and pick up mine instead.

  Call him, I tell myself. Make up. Before you get on the plane on Wednesday. That way the second you arrive in Queenstown, you have twelve whole days to spend together, and none are lost to a stupid fight.

  I’m about to ask Vi if I can have some privacy to make the call, when the doorbell rings.

  ‘That’ll be the lady with the cake!’ Mum shouts from her room.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ Vi says.

  ‘No, Isolde’s getting it!’ Mum says, appearing at my doorway. Half her hair is waved, and the other half is stick straight. ‘The cake doesn’t have its topper on yet, so you’re not allowed to see it till later.’

  The doorbell rings again.

  ‘Isolde!’ Mum motions frantically at the stairs.

  I toss my phone on my bed and head downstairs to open the door. This is Vi’s bridal shower. Today is all about her – not ballet, or Taylor, or anything else.

  I’ll call him soon.

  Isolde

  Tuesday 4 June

  It’s after 11pm when I realise I haven’t checked with Mum if she’s packing her hairdryer. I climb out of bed and head for Mum and Dad’s room. I’m about to knock when I hear Mum’s voice.

  ‘What about going back to see Michelle? The sessions were helping.’

  Michelle. The marriage counsellor. I’d known my parents were seeing one a few years back. I’d overheard a phone call of Mum’s to Tina.

  ‘I just . . . I can’t do this any more, Lou. I’m worn out. Aren’t you?’

  Dad’s voice is so quiet I wonder for a second if I’ve heard him right. Mum’s not saying anything. Everything’s sickeningly quiet now, except for my pulse, which is throbbing through my ears.

  ‘Why are we talking about this tonight?’ Mum says finally. ‘We said we wouldn’t. Not until after the wedding.’

  I can tell from her voice that she’s crying.

  ‘You’re right,’ Dad says softly. ‘We won’t talk about it now.’

  ‘Not until we get back to Sydney,’ Mum says. ‘Think about the girls.’

  ‘I promise,’ Dad says.

  Taylor

  Wednesday 5 June

  It’s just after 1am when my phone starts buzzing against the top of my bedside table. I’m wide awake, of course, because tomorrow is all I can think about. Thirteen hours and counting.

  Even before I look at the screen to see who’s calling, I know it’s Issy. No-one else calls this late. The phone is pulsing in my hand, impatient. I don’t know what to say. But I know I want to talk to her.

  I hit the little green button. ‘Hey.’

  There’s nothing on the other side of the line, just silence. Maybe she’s pocket-dialled me by accident? I’m trying not to feel horribly disappointed.

  And then I hear her breathing. I can instantly tell that something’s wrong. Really wrong.

  ‘Issy? Are you okay?’

  ‘You were right,’ she says. Those three words are the only ones she manages before she starts crying.

  Isolde’s Mobile

  Violetta

  Wednesday 5 June, 8:45am

  Is Mum okay? I spoke to her a few minutes ago, and she sounded off.

  She’s fine. Just stressed because everyone in the WORLD is at the airport this morning, and customs was backed up for ages.

  You’re through now, right?!

  Yup, we’re all good. About to board – I better get off the phone.

  See you soon! You’re going to LOVE the house we hired!! Xxxx

  Isolde


  Wednesday 5 June

  On the plane, I stare at the text messages I sent Vi earlier.

  We’re all good.

  I look over at Mum, who’s next to me, headphones in and eyes closed, and Dad, next to her, who’s staring at the Air New Zealand safety video playing on his TV screen like his life really does depend on it. They’ve barely said a word to each other since we left home this morning.

  My mind goes back to last night. Standing outside their room. Overhearing Dad’s promise not to talk about things until after Queenstown.

  I walked back to my room, numb from shock. It was only once I was lying in the darkness again that the shock started dissolving.

  When I started thinking about what might come next, the thing I’ve been terrified of for as long as I can remember: Mum and Dad breaking up. Our family, over.

  It was real now – it was a probability – not just a fear in the back of my mind.

  All I wanted was one more day. One more day where this hasn’t happened yet, where I get to hang out with Mum and Dad and Vi. The four of us together as a family. On that day, I know what’s coming, and I can’t stop it, but at least I get to live it like I would have if I knew it was the last one.

  Instead, everything’s already smashed to pieces.

  The pain inside my chest was so bad, I couldn’t breathe. Not until I dialled the number and I heard Taylor’s voice on the line – there for me, like it has been hundreds of times before – and then the breath came.

  It was too fast and shallow, and all I could get out was that he was right before I broke down.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  I could hear the shock in his voice. I knew then that even with what he’d said about Mum and Dad, weeks back, he hadn’t believed it might actually happen.

  We were on the phone until 3am. Even when numbness settled in and I didn’t have anything left to say, he stayed on the line.

  ‘I should let you go,’ I said finally.

  ‘I’m not hanging up when you need me, Is. What does it matter if I’m tired tomorrow?’

  He was quiet for a second, and so was I.

  ‘This is our last night apart,’ he said softly.

  ‘I know, right?’

  I feel like crying again and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m thinking of all the years that have gone by since I’ve last seen him, and how much has happened to both of us in that time. And now I’m on the plane, heading to him.

  I look over at Mum and Dad again. They both look like they’ve aged twenty years since yesterday. I can’t bear to look at them for long. As we roll down the runway and the plane takes off, I turn my head and gaze out the window.

  I watch as open ocean turns into mountains – craggy, snow-covered peaks that peep in and out of the mist.

  Aotearoa. The land of the long white cloud.

  I put my hand to the glass of the window, and I can feel the cold outside sinking into my fingertips. We fly onwards, over the Southern Alps and Glenorchy, and then the wide stretch of Lake Wakatipu appears and I see Queenstown finally in the distance, and I realise I’m crying, the way I always do when we’re this close to my favourite place in the world.

  I don’t let myself think about Mum or Dad any more. I think about Taylor’s voice on the line, the last thing he said to me before we hung up:

  I can’t wait to see you, Issy.

  Taylor’s Mobile

  Finn

  Wednesday 5 June, 2:12pm

  Holding it together, bro?

  Just. Her plane’s landed. I can SEE it. People are coming down the stairway and onto the tarmac. My heart’s like a dubstep track.

  CHILL OUT. You do realise you’ve built this whole thing up in your mind to CRITICAL LEVEL the last ten months? Fact is, she could step off that plane and be nothing like you remember.

  You might have ZERO chemistry IRL.

  I can see her. She’s walking across the tarmac.

  And?!!!!!!!!!!! Why am I AT SCHOOL, MISSING THIS??

  Why aren’t you texting me back?????!!!! She’d be through customs by now.

  Seriously, bro – FILL ME IN.

  I’m a freaking goner, man.

  She’s . . . breathtaking. Not just how she looks – it’s everything. It’s just her. NOT COPING.

  Isolde

  Wednesday 5 June

  ‘Kia ora, and welcome to Queenstown. The local time is 2:15pm, with a temperature of seven degrees.’

  We’re here.

  As we wait for the flight attendants to open the exit door, I’m struggling to breathe steadily. I feel like I do when I’ve danced off the stage at the end of a first act – like I can’t get my breath, and my cheeks are blooming from adrenaline and excitement.

  Finally, the cabin doors open and we file out. The second I step onto the cabin stairs, mountain air rushes into my lungs.

  I can breathe again.

  We walk across the tarmac. The Remarkables are on my left, towering over us. There’s snow a third of the way down the peaks, and the whiteness of it is startling against the crisp blue of the sky.

  A second set of mountains is reflected in the glass windows of the airport. I know Taylor’s on the other side, and if he’s looking out, he’ll be able to see me right now.

  It can’t be healthy for my heart to beat this hard, I think as we pick up our suitcases and head into the arrivals gate.

  ‘Louise!’

  I hear Maia before I see her. I turn my head to the right, and there they are. I see Tobi’s smile and the cherry-red flash of Maia’s scarf, but then there’s just him.

  Taylor.

  He reaches me before I can even take a step. His arms are around me so quickly that I don’t have time to figure out how to hug him – to do the odd little dance that two people always fall into when trying to choreograph a hello.

  Instead, my arms go around his neck, like they belong there. My chest is against his, and I wonder if he can feel my heart thudding through the blood, bone and muscle of two bodies.

  ‘Goldie,’ he says.

  I can’t say anything back. There are no words. I’m lost – in the warmth of his body against mine, the smell of his sweater, the way my chin tucks in against his shoulder. This is new – we used to be the same height, and now he’s a half-head taller than me. But mostly, I’m lost in how I feel.

  His arms feel like home.

  Finally, we pull apart.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, grinning.

  As he steps back from the hug, I take him in properly for the first time. His eyes – that warm golden-brown that always makes me think of a lion – and the hair – that’s always a little too long but suits him perfectly – they’re the same. Other things are different though.

  The height. The broader shoulders. That jawline.

  I’d seen him on Skype, of course – known he was cuter than he was two and a half years ago – but now he’s standing in front of me, I can feel my toes trembling inside my boots.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. I can’t smile any wider. My mouth is stretched as far as happiness can take it, and still, there’s more smile breaking through – it’s almost too much to handle.

  Take it down a notch, Isolde.

  ‘Let me take your suitcase,’ Tay says.

  As he reaches for it, I fumble handing it over, and Mum’s laptop, balanced between the handle and the top of the suitcase, gets knocked off. It crashes down on Taylor’s right sneaker.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I cry, grabbing the handle of the suitcase before it does the same thing. ‘Are you okay?’

  Taylor’s laughing as he picks up the laptop. ‘Props for aiming well.’ He nods his head at his right foot. ‘Luckily, this one can’t feel a thing.’

  My face is on fire.

  ‘Seriously, Is, it’s all good,’ Taylor’s face has gone a bit red now too – my embarrassment has embarrassed him.

  He was trying to laugh it off, idiot. And you haven’t let him.

  I want to say something funny t
o make up for my awkwardness, but Taylor’s busily packing up one of the baggage trollies with our stuff, and Tobi’s doing the same, and then we’re rolling out of the arrival hall to the car-hire desk.

  Mum and Dad are delivering their best performance to date as they cheerily chat with Tobi and Maia while we wait for the hire-car keys.

  ‘I’m through to the final stage for a national GM role with one of the big pharma companies,’ Dad says to Maia and Tobi. ‘Fingers crossed I get a call in the next few days.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll land this one,’ Mum adds faux-brightly. She holds up the keys in her hand. ‘Let’s head for the cars.’

  We follow her outside, back into the bracing air, and load up the Highlander.

  ‘Do you want to come in our car?’ Taylor says as Mum slams down the boot much harder than she normally would.

  I can tell that he can see the little giveaway signs too.

  ‘Sure.’

  I follow Taylor, Maia and Tobi to their Subaru. Taylor opens the back-seat door for me and I climb in. I don’t know how to sit right any more. My arms and legs – my entire body – all feel awkward, just like they did that year I was twelve. It takes me a good twenty seconds of fumbling to do up my seatbelt.

  We drive out of the airport and turn left towards Kelvin Heights. Tobi and Maia have invited us around for coffee before we head to our rented house on Queenstown Hill.

  ‘They’ve put in a new bridge,’ I say as we cross the Kawarau River. I hate making small talk, but I feel weird sitting in silence in the back seat with Taylor.

  I hadn’t expected this. Whenever we used to fly in, he’d be bursting with ‘Guess what, Goldie?’ the whole way to his house.

  ‘Queenstown’s a-changing,’ Tobi says, pulling a face in the rear-view mirror. ‘That traffic jam on the other side of the road – that’s just afternoon back-up from the tourists coming down from The Remarks. The old one-way bridge couldn’t cope with it.’