‘I wish I could remember. God, I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry, Seb. If he asks me I’ll just pretend I know nothing. I’ll pretend I was just having a psychotic moment.’
‘Fine,’ he said. He was about to hang up when she spoke urgently.
‘Seb? Hold on. Don’t go. Are you still there?’
‘Yep.’
‘I really am sorry.’
‘Okay.’
‘You must be so sick of me.’
‘Just forget it.’
‘Seb?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hate to ask, but could you come over? Bring me a little something? I feel so bad. I have the worst headache ever.’
‘So take some Nurofen.’
‘I already did. Please, Seb. Please. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. I’m just feeling so fucked up and stressed. I just need a little pick-me-up. Something to get me through today.’
She went on telling him how bad she felt, how sorry she was. Sebastian only half-listened. He went to his walk-in robe and pulled out the yellow shoebox where he kept his stash. He lifted the lid and took out one of the pre-prepared bags.
‘Okay, Claire. Okay. You can stop now.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Seb. Thank you. You’re an absolute lifesaver.’
‘You need to do me a favour in return, though.’
‘Anything.’
‘From now on, just mind your own business, all right? About everything.’
‘Okay.’
‘And what we saw on the tape? Forget it. Permanently. I’m serious.’
‘I will. I promise.’
‘I don’t care what Leonard got up to twenty years ago, so why the hell should you?’
‘I don’t. I don’t care at all.’
‘And just so you know, I’ve destroyed the tape. If you ever mention it again I’ll just deny it. Say you’re crazy.’
‘Fair enough,’ she said agreeably.
As he drove down the hill towards town and Claire’s place, the images from the video flicked through his mind once more. They would be stuck there forever now. Tessa’s face. The way she’d flirted and smiled. The look of love in her eyes.
He’d never seen anything close to such warmth between his parents.
It was a horrible irony that Sebastian should end up lusting after Tessa’s son. He wondered if he and Leonard shared some kind of genetic dysfunction that compelled them to fall in love with the unattainable, to want what they could never have.
47
COOPER
When Seb didn’t respond to my text, I assumed he didn’t know anything or couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t hear anything else from Claire either, which suited me. I was more than happy to forget the whole thing. Just another case of Claire being Claire.
On Wednesday night I met Libby for dinner at Beppi’s, an Italian place in the centre of town. It was one of Walloma’s older restaurants, almost a town institution. It was decorated in a cheesy faux-Italian style. Red-and-white checked tablecloths, tall candles in old chianti bottles, fake grapevines hanging from the rafters. But it had its own charm. It was cosy and dim. Always smelt good. And the food was excellent and cheap.
We ordered a large pizza to share and drank beer while we waited. I held Libby’s hand over the table, played with her fingers. We talked about music. Our favourite bands, favourite songs. I told her how I’d listened to a lot of my father’s music when I was in high school, how it had made me feel connected to him.
The pizza was good, rich and spicy and hot, loaded up with salami and olives and basil. We tucked straight in, taking a large piece each, eating with our hands.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Libby asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
‘Of course.’
‘What happened between you and Claire?’
I told her the story as we ate. I left nothing out. The funny thing was that when I got to the shitty bit, the bit where I saw Claire laughing after kissing another guy, I felt nothing.
‘You must have been upset.’
‘I was pretty gutted at the time.’
‘You must have really liked her.’
‘I thought I did,’ I said. ‘I thought it was serious.’
She looked a bit unhappy at that, which wasn’t what I’d intended. I grabbed her hand across the table, rubbed her palm between my fingers and thumb. The beer had loosened me up, made it easier to say exactly what I was thinking, feeling.
‘But, Libby, since you . . . Since I’ve been seeing you . . . And, look, we haven’t even slept together yet . . .’ I glanced at her, hoping I wasn’t being too presumptous, but she only nodded. ‘So in that way I guess things could still go weird. In the compatibility sense, I mean. Not that I think they will. In fact, I know they won’t. But, shit, what I want to say, before I completely put my foot in it, is that I already feel more comfortable with you. More myself. I already know this is something better. More real. It’s on a completely different level.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said quietly.
‘Going out with Claire was like . . .’ I stopped to think. I wanted to get this right, explain how it really felt. No lies or bullshit. ‘It was like sitting in front of a bonfire. Dazzling at first. Exciting. And very hot. But after a while the heat gets too much. You can’t see anything else and the smoke gets everywhere. It starts to hurt and you have to close your eyes.’
‘Right,’ she said. She smiled shyly. ‘So what am I like?’
‘You’re like . . .’ I tilted my head to the side, examined her face. ‘Being with you is like sitting next to a calm river on a perfect day. The sun’s warm on your back but the breeze from the water is cool. There’s always something interesting to look at, and if you want to you can go for a swim, then dry off in the sun. On the soft grass. Under a perfect tree.’
She blinked. Bit her lip. ‘Wow. Sounds amazing.’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘It’s my new favourite place.’
We ordered dessert to share and two glasses of Frangelico to go with it. We ate and drank slowly. Our ankles and feet were tangled together beneath the table, our hands locked on top of it. We were reluctant to finish. Unwilling to leave. We ended up being the last people there. The waitress came over with the bottle of Frangelico and refilled our glasses.
‘On the house,’ she said. ‘But sorry, you’ll have to go after that. It’s past midnight.’
‘It’s frustrating,’ Libby said as the waitress went to get our bill. ‘Not having anywhere to go.’
‘Bloody frustrating. I wish I had my own place.’
‘I wish you did too.’
‘You could stay the night.’ I grinned, pulling her hand closer. ‘Every night.’
Libby shrugged. ‘You could come to my place. But Mum . . . I don’t know. I’d rather not. The thing is, I would have to talk to her about it. And I don’t want to. Not yet.’
‘Same,’ I said.
We stared at each other. We both wanted the same thing but we had nowhere private to go. We’d get the chance eventually, no doubt, and it would be worth the wait. It was a weirdly exquisite frustration.
I had a sudden idea, a way of getting around the fact that we both lived with our mothers.
‘Hey. Why don’t we go to Sydney for a weekend?’ I said. ‘We could stay in the city. At a hotel or something. On our own.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Can you get a Saturday off? We could go this weekend. Or next. We’ll catch the train up on Friday afternoon. Come back on Sunday.’
Libby nodded. ‘Kim at work always wants extra shifts. She’ll do my Saturday morning for sure.’
We left the money on the table with a generous tip. Leaving the restaurant felt so much better with a solid plan in place.
Two days alone. Two nights sleeping in the same bed. No friends. No mothers. Just us.
48
LiBBy
Cooper picked me up early Tuesday morning
for a surf. The nights were getting colder, the sun was rising later, and when the alarm went off at five-thirty it was a struggle to push my doona off and get out of my warm bed. It was only the thought of Cooper that made me do it.
I waited for him outside with two steaming mugs of tea. When he pulled into my driveway I hurried into the warmth of his car. We drank our tea before he reversed out, the only noise the two of us sipping and blowing on our drinks to cool them.
‘Hey.’ He leaned over the console and kissed me. ‘You ready?’
‘It’s freezing,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe we’re even doing this.’
‘Still nineteen in the water, though. Warm. You’ll see.’
We parked at the beach and sat in the car for a moment. Cooper reached over and took my hand. He rubbed my palm between his thumb and fingers. It was something he did so often it was starting to feel like a habit.
We both looked towards the north at the much bigger waves. There were a few random people out there. It looked wild.
‘You’ll be surfing Northend soon,’ he said. I imagined I heard a note of wistfulness in his voice and wondered if I was holding him back. Maybe he was secretly wishing he could be out there on the more serious waves?
‘Doubt it,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go out there if you want? I’m happy to watch.’
‘Why?’
I poked him. ‘So you can surf the big-boy waves. Be a star. Impress me.’
‘No way. I might fall off and embarrass myself. And I want to go out with you.’ He pulled my hand towards his face, kissed my palm and grinned. ‘Anyway. I surfed Northend yesterday.’
We stayed out for almost two hours. Cooper was right, the water felt warmer than the air. I caught some good waves, held my own. I was getting better, quickly. Back on the beach we peeled off our wetsuits and pulled on our dry clothes. I’d expected Cooper to be in a hurry to get to work, but he suggested we go and get a coffee, so we strolled across the road to the small cafe there. We bought two takeaway cappuccinos and a savoury muffin to share. We sat down on a patch of grass overlooking the beach and divided the muffin in half. The coffee was warm and strong. The sun shone gently on our backs. It was going to be my favourite kind of day, cool but sunny. I sighed, contented.
‘It’s almost eight,’ Cooper said lazily. ‘I’m about to be officially late.’
‘How do you even know the time?’
‘See the sun?’ He gestured towards the sky.
‘Yeah?’
He gave me a detailed explanation of the sun’s position in relation to the horizon, and shadow direction and length. It made no sense whatsoever.
‘Is that actually reliable?’
‘Completely.’ He grinned. Then he indicated behind us, where there was a large clock on the face of the art deco bank. ‘Though sometimes I do resort to more modern methods.’
We laughed. He grabbed my shoulders and pinned me to the ground. He kissed me. He tasted of coffee and salt.
‘Shit,’ he said, leaning up on his elbow, looking down at me. ‘I completely forgot to tell you. I told Mum how we were thinking of going to Sydney, and you know what? She said she’d shout us a room in some posh hotel. Right near Circular Quay. This weekend if you can.’
‘Of course I can. Of course.’ I couldn’t contain my smile. ‘That’s so nice of your mum. Why do you think she did that?’
‘I guess she likes you,’ he said. ‘And I guess she wants this to work out.’ Then he kissed me again, leaning right over me. He tucked his hand behind my neck, lifting my head off the ground, and ran his free hand down the side of my body. For a moment we couldn’t get close enough and there was nothing else, nothing but the two of us and our delicious heat, our dizzy breathlessness.
My mother wasn’t quite so enthusiastic. I told her about our trip to Sydney while we were washing the dishes that night. She stared down at the sink, scrubbing hard at the sides. She didn’t look at me.
‘Just the two of you?’ she asked.
‘Yep. Just us.’
‘Do you think . . .’
‘Do I think what?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Mum!’
‘Okay, then.’ She looked up. There was a deep crease between her brows. ‘Do you think you’re rushing things? You and this boy? I mean, do you really know him that well?’
‘Cooper. His name’s Cooper. You already know that,’ I said, making an effort not to sound defensive. ‘And no, we’re not rushing things. I think I know him pretty well, actually . . . and I’ll know him even better after the weekend. Obviously. He’s fantastic, Mum. He’s really smart. And he’s kind and lovely. He’s perfect. And he’s really passionate about stuff too. You should . . .’ I stopped, turned away, folded my tea towel over the rail. It was pointless talking about him like this, a list of adjectives wasn’t going to convince her. ‘You’ll just have to believe me.’
‘Oh, I do believe you, darling. I do. If you think he’s great, then I’m sure he must be. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Stop saying that,’ I said. ‘It’s annoying. I’m not going to get hurt. I mean, I’ll try not to get hurt, obviously. But what if I do? You can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. And what kind of life would I have if I ran around not taking any risks because I might get hurt? It’s dumb. It’s a dumb way to think.’
Mum was quiet for a minute, thoughtful. Eventually she nodded. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just being silly. Overprotective.’
‘Let me enjoy this,’ I said.
I felt a little strange when Tessa dropped us off at the train station that Friday afternoon. Cooper and I waited on the platform with our bags, dressed in our jeans and T-shirts and I felt like I should be going on some school camp, not heading off to a posh hotel for a weekend with a boy.
I was officially an adult. Allowed to drive, permitted to drink, expected to vote. I had no idea why, but I felt exactly like I did as a kid when I tried on my mother’s high heels and walked around the house all wobbly and off-balance. As though I was just pretending to be a grown-up, playing make-believe.
‘Thank you so much for this,’ I said to Tessa.
‘Pleasure. It’s nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Cooper laughed. ‘I looked up the hotel online, Mum. It’s a pretty outrageously priced nothing.’
‘I’m good at saving. That’s all,’ Tessa said shortly. ‘Anyone can save. And I got a good deal. A discount.’
‘Hey. I’m not complaining.’ Cooper wrapped an arm around his mother’s shoulders, looked at me. ‘She does things like this sometimes, my mum. Random surprises. For my twelfth birthday she booked us this crazy holiday at the snow. We stayed in this massive castle thing. Must have cost a mint.’ He turned to Tessa. ‘And then there was that Peak surf board you got me for my eighteenth. The laptop you bought me in Year 7. The expensive jacket. Sometimes I think you’re holding out. Got some secret stash of money.’
Tessa pulled away. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Off you go. Your train is about to leave.’
I had the same awkward feeling as we checked into the hotel. It was so grand, and everyone there seemed so businesslike and official. I almost expected the staff at the counter to refuse to give us a key or to ask where our parents were and what the hell we thought we were doing, but they checked us in and handed over the key card, barely giving us a second glance. Cooper was his usual self – confident, easy, warm.
Our room had a view over the harbour and the Opera House. We both headed straight to the window and stared out. It had been overcast all day. Clouds heavy and low in the sky, the air humid and close. The normally bright harbour was muted in shades of grey and black. It was still beautiful, just a more melancholy kind of beauty, different to the normal bright sparkle people expected from this part of Sydney.
‘Wow,’ I said.
‘Yep.’
As we stood there a flash of lightning forked dramatically in the sky. Thunder boomed. A moment
later it started pouring.
‘Looks like it’ll have to be a room-service kind of night,’ Cooper said.
‘Room service?’ I said. ‘So, Mr Fancy-pants Bartholomew, you do this all the time, do you?’
‘Not all the time. You’re only about the fifth or sixth.’ He counted off on his fingers. ‘No, actually, I think you’re the eighth girl I’ve brought to this room this month. That’s it. Eight.’
I nudged him. ‘Don’t even say that.’
He put his arm around my back. ‘I went away with Seb and his family a couple of times when we were younger. Got used to the whole hotel thing. We’re paying for this, Libby. Nobody actually cares who you are or what you’re doing here. You don’t have to be wearing a suit. You don’t even have to be rich. We can just be Libby and Cooper from Walloma.’
‘I know that.’
‘So relax,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s meant to be fun. Chill. Have a bath or something. Check out the mini-bar. Do handstands. Dance nude on the bed. Whatever you want.’
Cooper went to the bed and collapsed backwards onto the mattress. He crossed his feet at the ankles, tucked his hands behind his head. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Go and get me a drink, woman.’
‘Yessir.’
I opened the fridge and lifted out a mini bottle of bourbon. ‘How about one of these?’
‘Why not?’
I found ice and Coke, made us a drink each. I used wine glasses just because I could. I took our drinks to the bed. We plumped the pillows against the wall and leaned back against them, looking out over the view and watching the rain and lightning thrash outside. It was spectacular, better than any movie. I tasted my drink. It was sweet and dark and the bubbles melted softly against my lips.
‘Hey.’ I turned to look at him.
‘Hey what?’
‘Let’s just do it,’ I said, grabbing his hand.
‘Do what?’
‘We’re here, sitting on a bed, in a hotel room. Sex is like this big scary thing hanging over us. I mean, obviously that’s one of the reasons we’re here. And not that I think we need to get it over with or anything – it’s not like it’s a bad thing, I’m sure it’s going to be fantastic – but, well, I think we need to get it over with.’