Clancy of the Undertow (20 page)

Then my natural panic descends on me, like a lifted sheet settling back to a bed. ‘It doesn't matter though. I don't even know why I said anything.'

Nancy lies back so we're side by side on the bed, like we were on her bed, in the motel room. She takes my hand. ‘I think this is what friends do, though,' she says. ‘I think they listen to each other's problems.'

A problem shared is a problem halved
. The unfamiliar sensation of one of Mum's sayings finally making sense. ‘I thought you said you hadn't read the manual.'

‘Maybe we should write it.'

Nancy's here, and listening. Just that is the best thing ever in the world. And not even Titch bursting in, without knocking, to say lunch is ready can ruin it.

36

The table is fuller than I've ever seen it. The napkins and placemats from this morning were, of course, set out for lunch. Carla's lasagne and ravioli look amazing. Mum's made a pile of sandwiches, and there's cheese and crackers, even Cheezels for Titch, whose strict personal diet precludes all foods that can't stain your skin.

Reeve is deep in conversation with Angus. They're huddled over Reeve's phone sniggering at something. I always forget they were in the same grade. They've always been so separate in my mind, but here they are, laughing and joking around like pals. This is the male version of friendship, maybe. One boy shows the other a video of a motorbike ramming someone's testicles and thus a lifelong bond is formed.

Mum comes from the kitchen with potato salad, Carla close behind. ‘Everybody here?' she says.

‘Think so,' says Dad.

We all take our seats around the table, and it's surreal to be so surrounded by people in my house.

‘This is lovely.' Mum's inevitable line. ‘Eat,' she says. ‘Eat!'

And it's all going well until—mid mouthful—I hear the crunch of gravel in our driveway. Dad's sitting opposite me and he looks up, a strange shocked look in his eyes. A ripple of panic shudders through me at Dad's expression.

Titch runs to the window. ‘It's an orange car,' he says. He whistles like Angus does and goes, ‘Sweet ride.'

There's the sound of a car horn, and suddenly it all clicks. Shitting hell. Please, no.

‘Whose car's that?' says Dad, but I'm already up from the table, paper napkin hanging from my pants. I rush to the window and of course it's the Monaro. I see Sasha's hand waving from the drivers side window. She was supposed to
call
. Our date was supposed to be
next
week. She beeps the horn again, holding it down way too long.

Mum goes, ‘Who is it?'

‘No one,' I say. ‘Just a friend.'

‘Oh,' she says. ‘Someone else? You should have told me.'

‘No, they're not coming in.' Oh God. The lunch. Sasha. Why the hell does this stuff always happen? ‘I think I might have to go,' I say.

‘You've hardly started your lunch.'

‘I'll just, um….' Bloody shitting hell. There is no way anyone can know who it is.

Mum goes, ‘We've got guests.'

‘This is a
family
meal, Clancy,' I hear Dad say. ‘I'll come out with you.'

‘No! No, it's fine.' I don't want to turn around. I can't. I squish my feet into my boots that I've left by the door, steal Angus's aviators from the pocket of his jacket. ‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘This is important.'

The Monaro's horn goes again. For crapping crap's sake. I peer through the flyscreen to make sure Sasha isn't reversing away.

Mum unleashes her most serious teacher voice. ‘Clancy, that's enough. Your friend will have to wait.'

Now or never. I open the flyscreen and run out, tripping down the stairs in my half-on shoes.

‘Clancy!' Dad's voice roars behind me.

I trot up the driveway to the Monaro, acting as casual as I can and open the passenger door, as if this is what we've planned all along, as if I haven't just broken my parents' hearts and stood up my only two friends. I'll tell her we can't meet today. I'll explain that she should have called, that she shouldn't just turn up unannounced and expect me to drop everything.

She smiles at me with her tiny, pretty teeth. ‘Hey,' she says. ‘You gotta tell me where you got those boots. They're totally sick.'

And so I giggle like a weirdo. And so I get into the car. And so I fall immediately and hopelessly in love.

Sasha reverses back up the driveway, and I see Dad's stooping frame in the doorway and he's shielding his eyes, trying to recognise the car. I slink back in the seat and close my eyes.

The best way to approach this, I tell myself, is just to keep looking forward. I try to conjure up my own affirming slogan.
If You Look Back You'll Never Win the Steps You Never Take
. I tell myself there's nothing I can do about what's happened. I've done it. I've disappointed my parents, wrecked my friendships with Nancy and Reeve, all to spend an unspecified amount of time doing an unspecified thing with a girl whose boyfriend most likely sprayed
MURDRER
across our house. That old story. We'll all look back on this one day and laugh. Though whether with me or at me, I'm not entirely sure.

We're driving away, fast, from the scene of my betrayal, and I'm trying to stop my hands from shaking. My shoes are
totally sick
. Maybe I don't look as shit as I think I do. Maybe I've just spent my life perfecting the messy, just-woken-up look. Maybe I'm fashion-forward, maybe worn out work pants and a jumper that used to belong to your dad that says
Superstars of Sailing
is what everyone will be wearing next season. I pat down my pockets and find Reeve's business card and Mum's fifty-dollar note.

Sasha, for her part, doesn't seem to notice that I'm swirling in a moral typhoon. In fact, she starts talking as if we've been chatting for the past hour. ‘So I get home yesterday,' she says, ‘and there's this message from Buggs saying that he's going up the coast with his dad and that.'

There's a pause, where it's clear I'm supposed to say something to this. Maybe we
had
been talking longer. I've just been staring at her jawline, admiring how it sweeps up like a perfect wave. How do girls like this even
exist
? If I had Sasha's looks, I'd spend all day in front of a mirror.

‘No way,' I say.

‘Yeah, and he doesn't even ask if it's okay. His uncle's got this sort of shack up there, right on the water, bought it in the sixties, and now it's, like
prime
real estate. All these million-dollar mansions around it and it's just this shitty old beach house. It's so foul.'

I'm not sure whether Sasha is talking about the state of the house, or the unclaimed profits, but either way I murmur agreement.

‘He's such a dick sometimes.' Sasha strikes the butt of her wrist on the steering wheel. ‘Don't know why I put up with his shit. He's probably got some sandy-vag Gold Coast bitch on speed-dial anyway.'

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘That's not good.' Any guilt about running away from the lunch table is quickly vanishing.
Break up with him
, I think, with all my effort.
Breakupwithhimbreakupwithhim
.

‘Anyway,' she says. ‘Today is just about us, Clancy.' She reaches over and touches my arm with her cool, soft fingers. ‘Hey, check it out.'

She reaches over me and I actually jump with fright but she just opens the glovebox. A bottle of Jack Daniels. ‘It's some special edition shit. He thinks I don't know about it. He thinks if he puts it in a plastic bag at the back of his kitchen cupboard I won't find it. Fucken idiot. Probably saving it up for the day he works out how to suck his own cock.'

My mouth dries up. Whiskey with Sasha. This is
right
. This is the grown-up, black-and-white movie stuff our life should have. I'll take up smoking and sit on some high-up apartment window ledge, looking out over a real city. We'll drink liquor from the bottle and only ever wear oversized men's shirts.

We pull into Macca's and Sasha turns into the drive-thru. She orders three apple pies and a Diet Coke and I get a cheeseburger meal. At the drive-thru window, Sasha goes, ‘Hey, bitch,' and when I lean over to look up at the window I see it's the girl from the carpark. She has a hoodie draped over the top of her uniform, all white save the tiny blue Adidas logo. Her name-tag says
Courtney
.

‘What's up, Sash?' she says. ‘I knew it was you because of your order.'

Sash
. Could I call her
Sash
? It sounds kind of wrong.

‘Make sure the pies are extra hot,' Sasha says. ‘No ice in the Coke.' Then, ‘You know Clancy, right?' She leans back in her seat so Courtney can see me.

Courtney looks at me briefly, like I'm something she's found under her shoe. To Sasha she goes, ‘You going to Jase's party?'

Sasha's like, ‘Maybe. Depends what we're doing later. Clance is, like, super fun. We go on adventures.'
Clance
, I think.
Clance!
Take that, bitch.

Courtney makes a snorting noise. ‘Whatever. You wanna upsize?'

‘Yeah,' says Sasha. ‘That way we can share the chips.' She turns to me and sticks her tongue out.

I laugh stupidly and hand her Mum's fifty. Screw new shoes, this is worth it.

‘Got anything smaller?' says Courtney.

‘Your dad's dick?' says Sasha.

Courtney gives her this look, like
I can't even
.

I really hope Courtney is screwing Buggs, although if he does actually have two girls willing to voluntarily spend time with him then the universe really is a cruel and merciless void.

We get our food and Sasha rolls the car around to the carpark. ‘Want to go anywhere?' she says. She revs the engine and for the first time I can see the appeal of doing this. It's kind of thrilling. The afternoons I spent at the skate park were full of these sounds, the impossible animal volume of engines and car stereos, those mutant bumps and thrums.

‘I know a place,' I say. ‘It'll be perfect.'

‘Another adventure,' says Sasha. ‘I love it!' She guns the engine again and we squeal out of the carpark. It's terrifying and it's weird and it's fucking amazing.

37

Through the aviators‚ through the burny buzz of whiskey, the world is a nice greyish blue. We've got our feet up on the railing, baking in the weak sun. We're above the world and perfectly alone. We're adults. Long legs and warm backs and endless possibilities. Atop the observatory, the place we first met.

‘So what do you want to do with, like, your life?' I say, watching a patchy cloud slowly dissolve. I'm so full of fast food, and so mouth-fumblingly tipsy, but so very happy.

Sasha laughs. ‘That's a deep question.'

‘Do you think you'll stay here, though? Like, in Barwen, with your job, or Buggs, or…' A line of questioning I've been practising over and over in my head.

‘Probably not. The job's okay, but I can work in a travel agent anywhere. It'll probably be easier somewhere else, really. Won't have my mum as my boss.'

‘I guess everyone likes to travel.'

‘Exactly.'

‘What about your family, or whoever? Would you stick around for them?'

Sasha lifts one leg off the railing and rolls her foot around. ‘I've got Mum, but that's it. She's never going to leave.'

‘And Buggs?' I say, subtle as a hammer. ‘Does he want to travel?'

‘He wouldn't last a second outside Barwen. His family practically owns everything so why would he want to move? As long as I stay here, I'm stuck with him.' Sasha takes a swig of the Jack Daniels, slams it back down on the metal floor with a clang.

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘I guess.' I take a slug of whiskey as well, a big, match-strike mouthful that hurts all the way to my stomach.

She rolls onto her side, so she's facing me, so I can almost feel her. ‘Fuck it, though,' she says. ‘Fuck him and his family. I'm going to move to Brisbane or probably Sydney. I've got friends who are, like, full-on models. I'll probably stay with them. They're always asking me to come down. Saying
I
could be a model or whatever. What do you reckon?'

‘Definitely,' I say. Two breaths, and I roll over to face her. ‘You could definitely be a model.' There's a tiny clump of mascara on one eyelash.

‘Yeah. I'll probably stay for Christmas and then piss off. Can you imagine people's faces, like, if I just didn't tell anyone and then just left? It'd be classic.'

‘For sure.' I picture us flying down the highway in the Monaro, the road disappearing either side of us. Driving wherever we wanted to.

Sasha says, ‘I'd want to have New Year's in Sydney, though. My mate's got this apartment
right
near the bridge. It'll be amazing. The fireworks are so shit in Barwen.'

‘Yeah,' I say. Then, ‘My birthday's just before New Year's. The twenty-ninth.'

‘Really? You should
totally
come down. It's going to be
massive
.'

I sort of scrunch up my face. ‘Really? I could come?'

‘Yeah, totally. It's going to be amazing. You're cool. You can watch me take the world by storm.'

This is our new life, I think. This is my ticket out of here. Sasha, Sydney, models,
huge
. I've got money saved up, my car money, but I won't need a car now. Sasha and me. We can make it work. ‘Sounds great,' I say. ‘Sounds the best.'

Sasha sticks her tongue out at me like
Rock and Roll!
and her face is so close to mine that I notice again the tiny row of blonde hairs above the dark line of her eyebrow. She looks at me with her wide eyes and smiles, just slightly and my heart shoots fireworks because she's daring me to move closer and then my brain says
Happy Birthday, Clancy
and I lean in and close my eyes just before my lips brush hers and they're soft and her bottom lip is
so soft
and I push against it. She makes a quiet noise and I feel her mouth open against mine. My fingers move so close to her gorgeous hair but then I can't feel it. I open my eyes and Sasha's pulling her head back.