Dessi's Romance (14 page)

Hannah cast around for
consolation. ‘Heaps of decent guys out there,’ she said stoutly though no one
so far has convinced her of this. ‘And I guess if you hadn’t been this upset,
we wouldn’t be here right now…’

Back to the Present

‘...so how come Julie was taking
accountancy?’ I butt in. ‘That’d be the last thing she’d be any good at.’

‘Oh, she’d
only enrolled in that to please her father and she had no intention of
continuing. She really wanted to do drama. She’s so artistic.’

‘Like
Emma.’

‘Yes. Maybe
that was her attraction for me.’

‘And you
were the one who ended up majoring in law and economics.’

‘Right. Anyway,
because your grandfather had been so strict with me, I loved Julie’s
feistiness. I was so shy and she was so outgoing.’

‘And then
you stayed friends,’ I murmur.

‘We
certainly did…’

‘How about
guys? Was there ever a time you fancied the same guy?’

Hannah
reddens slightly. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘But I always left them to her. Anyway,
Julie was so gorgeous most guys didn’t give me a second glance.’

‘What about
dad?’

‘I didn’t
meet Graham until well after we’d both left uni. By that time Julie was married
to Robert, so there was no problem.’

‘But what
if you had fancied the same guy?’

‘Then I
would have always found our friendship more important,’ she says firmly. ‘Now,
how about some fruit-salad for lunch?’ She reaches into a basket and takes out
a plum.

Plums! What Jodie’s navel
mostly reminds me of is a shiny, purple blood-plum.

‘I promised her
dad I’d look after her,’ Jaz cries. ‘We’re going to have to take her to the
hospital. Should I phone her folks?’

‘No, not yet!
They’ll force her to come home.’

But what to do?
If only Dessi was here! I have a sudden thought. ‘How about I phone Laura?’

Kaz stares at me
blankly.

Flustered, I
admit, ‘Laura, she’s… she’s my dad’s new wife.’

Laura answers on
the second ring. She listens and says, ‘I’ll leave right away.’

‘Where’s Sacha?’
asks Kaz.

With all this, I
haven’t given him a thought. ‘Still in bed, I guess. I’ll go see.’

In our bedroom I
find him slowly packing.

‘What are you
doing?’

He ducks his
head. ‘After last night…’ he clears his throat. ‘I thought maybe you wouldn’t
want me here. You know…after what…’

‘Don’t be so
stupid,’ I burst out. ‘Nothing’s changed. We’re still mates.’

He looks so
shamefaced I step over his backpack to give him a hug.

‘You sure, Em?’

‘Sure I’m sure.
Now, listen. Jodie’s sick. Laura…’ at his questioning glance, ‘Dad’s wife,
anyway she’s coming over. We have to find a doctor. Jodie might have blood
poisoning, the silly bitch.’

‘What’s she
done?’

Just then the
intercom sounds. ‘That’ll be her,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Catch you later, okay?’

As I turn to
leave, he catches my hand. ‘Thanks, Emma. You’re a real pal.’

Because he looks
ready to burst into tears, all I do is squeeze his hand and rush away. Back in
the living room Kaz is supporting Jodie whose face is ghostly grey. ‘Let’s go,’
I say to Kaz.

Laura is waiting
in the foyer. I introduce the girls. Laura doesn’t waste any time after taking
a look at Jodie’s midriff. We’re all piled into the Jeep. Thankfully, Laura’s
face doesn’t show disapproval. In the front, I ask, ‘Where are we going?’

Laura glances at
her watch. ‘I’ll take her to our doctor.’

‘Do you think
she has to go to hospital?’ Kaz puts in nervously.

Laura hesitates.
‘We’ll just have to wait and see. Has she got her Medicare card?’

‘It’s in my
purse,’ Jodie says in a small voice. ‘Back at the unit.’

‘Oh shit!’ says
Kaz.

‘We’ll worry
about that later,’ says Laura and pulls into a trendy shopping centre a couple
of blocks from Dad’s house which Laura assures me is ‘…safely
middle–class, no ethnics or abos here…’

I’m so grateful
for her help, I manage to ignore this.

We troop into
the waiting room and she speaks to the receptionist. ‘Won’t be long.’ She sits
down. ‘Only two patients before us.’

‘Gonna be sick,’
Jodie groans.

Laura grabs her
by the arm and steers her past the reception desk out of sight. The
receptionist leaves her desk and follows.

‘This is so
embarrassing,’ Kaz whispers.

Laura reappears
without Jodie, and beckons us outside. ‘Has she taken anything we should know
about?’

‘I wasn’t with
her last night,’ I say. ‘Kaz, do you know if she did?’

‘How would I
know?’ Kaz says too loudly. ‘Why do I always have to look after her? She’s old
enough to look after herself.’

‘No one’s laying
blame,’ Laura says quietly. ‘But the doctor will have to be told if she’s
swallowed anything silly.’

‘That’s the
trouble,’ Kaz sighs. ‘She drank a lot, we all did, but she did have something,
there was stuff being offered around but I don’t know
what. Maybe a tab.’

‘I’m sure it’ll
be sorted out,’ Laura says quickly to sooth Kaz’s distress. ‘Jodie is with the
doctor now.’

I study some
water-colours of Surfers hung around the waiting room and decide they’re Brett
Whitely derivatives. Laura and Kaz browse through magazines. Twenty minutes
later Jodie emerges with a tall suntanned man at her side. ‘Uh, Mrs Simpson?’
Laura stands up and they huddle together. He hands Laura a slip of paper, gives
Jodie an appraising look and then calls for the next patient. I watch Laura
hand a bankcard to the receptionist.

Then we all
troop outside. ‘I’ll just go and get this prescription filled,’ Laura says.
‘Won’t be a tick.’

‘Well, what did
the quack say?’ Kaz snarls. ‘Are you going to live?’

‘It’s infected,’
Jodie mumbles.

‘We could see
that for ourselves,’ Kaz snaps. ‘Are you finished throwing up for today?’

Jodie begins to
cry.

‘Hey, Kaz, leave
it, eh?’ I can’t help feeling sorry for Jodie.

No one says
anything while we wait in the Jeep. Shortly, Laura comes out of the chemist
shop with a package containing pills and antiseptic.

‘Like to come
back to our place?’ she says. ‘All of you, I mean.’

I have this
desire to let my friends see the luxury I’m invited to share. ‘Thanks. That’d
be great,’ I say without consulting the others.

Within minutes,
we pull into the driveway. When Laura takes them inside and out to the patio, I
watch Kaz and Jodie’s eyes widen. It makes me feel good.

We settle at a
table by the pool and Laura asks ‘Coffee? Juice? I’d offer you a proper drink,
but your friend isn’t allowed any alcohol while she’s on antibiotics. Right,
Jodie?’

‘Hmmm,’ Jodie
murmurs.

‘That’s a
relief,’ Kaz drawls. ‘Maybe I can stop playing nursemaid for a while. How long
can’t she drink?’

‘Not until the
course is finished,’ Laura replies.

‘Is he going to
take out the ring?’ Kaz’s tone is malicious.

‘Already has,’
closing the subject. ‘Now, what are you going to have to eat? A nice sandwich?
Some fruit?’

‘Whatever you
think, Laura,’ I murmur. Laura smiles, nods and goes into the house.

‘Hey, Em,’ Kaz
says in a loud whisper, ‘she’s …awesome.’

‘Yeah. She is.’
I ignore a certain reticence on how ‘awesome’ Laura actually is. ‘For a
stepmother she’s not too bad.’

‘Not bad, but good’ is how I’m planning
on being introduced to Abdul’s family. Aware that any Muslim parent wouldn’t
appreciate a show of bare flesh, I fling clothes around until I’m sure a long
sleeved top and ankle length gypsy skirt are both modest and flattering. I
spend hours on make-up and hair. When I find myself wishing for Emma’s thick
gorgeous locks, I quickly put her out of my mind.

Opening the door to Abdul,
my hands won’t stop trembling. I’m both excited and proud. Abdul is taking me
home. I know he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t take me seriously. While he
helps me into his van, he talks about his ‘…Man Friday job because I never know
what’ll happen next.’

We’re careful not to
mention Emma. Twenty-four hours and I still haven’t phoned her back. How long
will it take her to smell a rat? Though I’m aware that cheating on a best
friend is truly low life, I can’t help a thrill of pleasure. Hasn’t Emma always
boasted about her successes? Isn’t it time I had one of my own?

A hot northerly blowing through
the van’s open windows swishes our hair and does its best to toss dust into our
eyes. Abdul heads east, crosses the river and drives into the suburbs. In my
eyes, he holds the key to something I have yet to experience. Even in the
mundane act of driving, he’s instinctively graceful. He’s so different from
anyone else I know, so much more sophisticated, every part of him alive and
intelligent. To add to my excitement, there’s breaking the taboo about
hijacking a best friend’s guy.

Abdul stops in front of a
vanilla brick bungalow. As he opens the car door he says uncertainly, ‘My
folks… you’re the first Anglo woman I’ve ever brought home.’

I know a slight shock. ‘You
mean… they won’t approve of me?’

‘It’s more that they don’t
socialise with Anglos…’ he breaks off.

Recalling Hannah’s reserve
about
him
, I hide a
wry smile. But if I’m the very first Anglo woman he’s ever brought home, surely
this must means
something
.

He leads me around the side
to the back of the house. Here every bit of ground has been cultivated with
fruit trees. The rear consists of a large vegetable patch. It’s all so lush I
figure the Maloufs never have to buy fruit or vegetables. Abdul murmurs, ‘All
Jiddo’s, that’s my grandfather, all his hard work.’ The back door opens and an
old man hobbles out. ‘Watch it. He’s coming to check you over.’

Old Mr Malouf’s skin is
like a weather-beaten suitcase. He darts little glances my way but waits for
Abdul to introduce me. His smile reveals brownish broken teeth. Then he turns
to Abdul and mumbles something in Lebanese.

‘Food’s on,’ Abdul
translates. He leads me into the kitchen where Abdul’s mother is preparing a
meal. My first impression is how pretty she is: lovely pale olive skin, full
red lips, hair covered by a hijab the same colour as her blue long-sleeved
shirt.

‘Mum, meet Dessi Cowan.’

Mrs Malouf’s smile is
polite rather than warm. ‘Please, sit down.’ She gestures towards a table set
out with bowls of delicious looking salads.

‘Where’s Dad?’ Abdul asks.
‘I’m starved.’

Mr Malouf enters, mutters
something to his son and ignores me. No eye contact. No welcome. I feel my
cheeks flame. I tell myself that this is happening because he doesn’t speak
much English. Anyway, isn’t his culture different? Perhaps Lebanese men always
ignore females if they’re young and Anglo. No sign of any brother. But what
leaps out at me a little later when I go into the living room is a photo of
someone who resembles Abdul, beside him a pretty young woman wearing a hijab.

Mrs Malouf offers me a
slice of flat bread and we eat this with various salads. Abdul carefully
describes each dish: ‘That’s baba ghanoush and this is fattoush.’ He offers me
minced meat and spice patties, and a bean and tomato salad. Then his mother
brings out a ceramic pot containing a lamb stew she serves with rice. It’s all
very tasty. But while we eat the older Maloufs only speak Lebanese and Abdul’s
father pointedly ignores me.

What have I done to deserve
this? After a long time, I decide to tackle them head on. ‘This is delicious,’
I tell Mrs Malouf. ‘How do you make it?’

I’m given a grudging smile.
‘Chop up lamb, onions, garlic, cook long time with parsley, mint.’ She quickly
turns back to offering the men more rice. But Mr Malouf keeps acting as if I’m
invisible. Though I tell myself this because he doesn’t speak much English,
deep down I know he hates me being here.

Abdul joins into some of
the conversation, but makes a point of speaking only English. That’s how I know
they’re discussing their day. Abdul’s dad continues to ignore me. Though the
meal is delicious everything sticks in my throat. I can hardly swallow.

Didn’t Abdul know how
they’d react? So why bring me here?

Soon he’s scowling so hard,
he forces his mother to give in. She gestures at my broken ankle. I open my
mouth to reply. At first nothing comes out. ‘Car… Accident…’ I finally mutter.