Holier Than Thou (8 page)

11

Daniel and I go way back. In second term of Grade Three, Miss Hoogwerf lost her temper one day and finally made good on her threat to sit us in boy-girl pairs. The two large horseshoe formations of desks were broken up into rows of two-to-a-desk singles, and I found myself sitting next to Daniel Pryde in the back row. I had been peeved when Daniel arrived at our school, transferred from a private school after a left-wing pang on the part of his parents. On day one of term two he promptly toppled me from my position as the class’s top speller. He had a well-maintained ‘back and sides’ haircut and wore his shirt always tucked in to his grey uniform stubbies.

I petulantly packed my books inside our new desk, then drew a line down the centre with my always freshly sharpened HB pencil and my wooden 30-centimetre ruler.

‘Don’t ever come over onto my side,’ I said, and stared straight ahead.

But that state of affairs didn’t last. We developed a companionable working relationship that spilled into friendship and somewhere along the line I erased the lead-pencil divide. Graphite, not lead, Daniel corrected me. He knew about such things.

We partnered-up for folk-dancing. I was better, but he did the best he could. He brought in a white plastic ruler with a clock and a calculator built into it. I examined it covetously. He said we could share it and placed it in the middle of our two pencil cases. Miss Hoogwerf noticed it during one of her regular patrols and said he wasn’t allowed to have a calculator on the desk – as if Daniel needed to cheat at maths – and confiscated it. Daniel cried. She laughed at him. I could have killed her. If I ever see her again, I may.

I remembered Daniel before he was cool, from before the endless parade of girls that he thought other people would think were hot. Maybe that’s why I loved him so much, and with a sexless tenderness I didn’t feel for any other friend. He’d gone in to bat for me so many times and was always calmly in my corner, and probably many more sporting metaphors of dependability. Usually calmly, that is. Not at the party Liam had in January after I finished my Year Twelve. I owed Dan a lot from that night.

In Year Seven, he and I were mostly in different classes and not directly friends with each other anymore. But we had a music period together on Thursday afternoons, in a demountable at the far end of the school. A group of Year Eleven boys took to lying in wait for Daniel and menacing him. He wore his pants so high and his shirt tucked into them, his nn bhair was still impeccably shaved at the back and sides – it was always going to be him they chose to pick on. The first few times I walked right past it, feeling sick for him but not sure what to do.Then one day I had the idea of walking next to him, and hoping that if we appeared to be intensely locked in conversation and not aware of them, they would just let us pass. I explained my plan to Daniel as we approached.

‘Whatever happens, just keep talking,’ I instructed him.

‘What about?’ he whispered doubtfully.

‘Um . . . Um . . . Maths!’ I should have rehearsed this more. Or at all.

We were upon them.

‘So,’ I said loudly, ‘I just don’t understand how it can be getting closer and closer to the X-axis, but never touching. I mean, if it keeps on going forever it will have to hit it eventually, right?’

‘No.’ He sounded strangled.

‘How? How is that possible?’ I chirped.

‘Hey, fuckface,’ one of the senior boys greeted him, ‘you’ve brought your wet spot along today, have you?’

Then the second-in-command asked me whether I did stuff to Daniel – words I didn’t even recognise but I could tell it was obscene.

‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ the first one continued sarcastically. ‘Look at that hair. What brand of shampoo do you use, cuntface?’ He yanked my ponytail.

My heart was beating fast and I had a strange feeling, like butterflies in my stomach but it was in all my limbs. I launched myself at the one who had called me cuntface, shoving him backwards and, to my surprise, throwing a punch to the side of his face. I shouted, too; can’t remember what.

The guy wore steel-rimmed glasses, which, after my punch, sat at a broken angle. When he removed them, I saw a small cut near one of his eyes. Blood and everything. I had never hit anyone before.

They left us alone after that. They must have decided that when all was said and done, they did not want to get done for punching-on with two prepubescent Year Sevens, one of whom was a girl.

I told Daniel to let me know if anyone else messed with him. He was so tiny.

I was relieved when he started to grow properly in Year Nine. High school can be a mean place, for small boys especially. When I think of those seventeen-year-old assholes towering over twelve-year-old Dan, it’s a good argument for middle school.

So Dan and I were the kernel of the group. Abigail and Lara joined us in Year Eight. After
Kiss Me Kate
, Liam ‘part-timed’ with us, and one-on-oned with me, but his main game was with Ffion and that crowd. During my Year Twelve, when they had gone off to uni, Liam kept in touch with me through email, coffee dates and the odd reunion of
Kiss Me Kate
peopl sate when e. Ffion became more and more immersed in the university dramatic society. No cause for outright alarm for Liam, though he did seem to turn up on my doorstep more often, and joined me and the gang for a movie on Saturday night while Ffion was at rehearsal.

Then, just before my first week of lectures, she dumped him proper, and he finally became a full-timer. Me, him, Dan, Larz, and Abs. What I had always wanted. I had Liam all to myself. We got the train to and from uni together, sharing an iPod. We went to and from trivia nights at the uni bar together. We went to and from the union-sponsored band on Thursday nights, played pool and drank too much on Saturday nights. I knew where and when he was likely to be holed up in the library, when he was likely to be in which café. Ffion dumping him was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

In the summer between my second and third year of uni we all stayed at Lara’s place while her family were overseas. A share house, just like on TV! We were all single. I don’t think any of us would have dared to partner-up with someone outside the group during that epoch, for fear of upsetting the delicate balance of one-ness. There were forays that were brought back to the group for endless dissection, but nothing serious. Liam had remained single after he and Ffion broke up.

We sat around the coffee table on Lara’s parents’ generous leather couches, often in swimming costumes from our regular traipses down to Bondi Beach or hosings down in the back yard. Me, Lara, Abigail, Dan and Liam. There was no sex between any of us, but a strong physical component to the closeness. We would lie with head or feet on each other’s laps, sometimes with head on someone’s lap and feet on someone else’s. There was hair stroking and foot massaging, toenail painting and a multitude of in-jokes. We developed the summer holiday body clock: awake until the early hours of the morning and asleep until after midday.

One afternoon Lara and I arrived home from our summer jobs within minutes of each other. The others were all out. I lay with my head on her lap and she stroked my hair, while we listened to an Elliot Smith song. We giggled over the previous night. We had gone to hear a band at the Beach Road Hotel and had run into Lara’s ex, Richard, with the girl he had cheated on Lara with. In Lara’s
own bed
mind, while she was away with her family the summer before. Infuriatingly, they were still together.

I had ordered a glass of red wine at the bar then pushed my way through the crowd until I was close to Richard and Slutface, but outside their field of vision. I looked over at Lara, Abs, Liam and Dan and made the military ‘advance’ sign with one hand.

What are you doing?
Lara mouthed.

I stumbled forward and emptied the glass of red wine all over Slutface’s indecently short cream-coloured dress.

‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry . . . ’ I began.

Richard worked himself up to yell at me, but then saw who I was.

‘Well, would you look at that! How
are
you Rich? Keeping well? All your needs met?’

He scowled. Slutface was still staring in disbelief sin

‘See ya,’ I said. I slapped the empty wine glass into his chest. ‘Take care of that for me, won’t you?’

I fought my way back over to the gang.

‘You truly are a woman of steel,’ said Liam. ‘You walk the walk.’

‘I love you,’ said Lara, holding me tight. ‘I fucking love you Holly Yarkov.’

‘Sweetie, I would kill them both for you, but I’d get thrown out and not be able to buy you another margarita. Or see the band.’

‘Let me pay you back for the wine.’

‘No way! That was my gift to you. Leigh-mond, can you help me carry my round?’ It was so packed on our way to the bar that Liam put his hand out to take hold of mine. So we didn’t get separated. In the crowd.

‘Oh, Hols,’ said Lara, after we had finished dissecting the movements of Richard and Slutface. ‘I should hate him. I do hate him. But you would be so disgusted to hear about the fantasies I have of him arriving on my doorstep, all wet from the rain and out of breath from running, and saying he loves me and he’s sorry and he will spend the rest of his life making it up to me and please please can I forgive him.’

‘Sweetie pie.’

‘I broke all my rules for him.’

‘I know.’

‘Romantic comedies have a lot to answer for.’

‘They sure do.’

We were silent for while.

‘This is not a happy song,’ I said of Elliot Smith.

‘Hols. Promise me I will never have to face life without you. I don’t think I could bear it.’

‘You will never have to face life without me.’ I grabbed her hand that was stroking my hair and kissed the back of it.

‘Are we still going to fry up those soy burgers for dinner?’

Later that week, the share-house gang caught the bus into town to see a band at the festival bar set up at Hyde Park Barracks. We walked all five of us abreast along College Street and expected people to get out of our way. Which they did. The red dirt of the barracks stained our feet and legs a rusty brown. Halfway through the set, Liam and I were not digging on the music as much as the others, who had fought their way down to the front. We wordlessly decided to escape outside, where we sat, drinking straight Stolichnaya vodka from martini glasses, on two plastic chairs at right angles to each other.

‘You know that scen snowairs e in
Seinfeld
,’ said Liam, ‘where George gives the speech about how he is probably never going to have sex again?’

‘I think so.’

‘You know, “
Seriously, how’s it going to happen
?”’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘Well . . . nothing. Just, I was thinking about it.’

‘About how it’s ever going to happen?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that Leigh-mond, you are
very attractive man.
Many women like to love you long time.’

‘Then how come I haven’t slept with anyone since Ffion?
Anyone
.’

Because you’re with me all the time
, I thought.

‘She . . . ’ He gulped some more vodka. ‘You know, every time I look around campus she’s with someone else. She’s rooting a swathe through the dramatic society . . . and come revue season, it’ll be a whole new crop.’

‘God bless her cotton socks.’

‘It’s humiliating.’

‘Sweetie pie, Ffion will do what she does. It’s one of the fundamental truths of existence. You just need to remove yourself from it, and have faith that something good will come your way. To be honest, I think the reason you haven’t been with anyone is because you’re not open to it.’

‘I am too.’

‘No you’re not.You’re sad.’

‘I am not.’

‘You’re not up for it, sport.’

‘I am. I am up for it.’

‘Are you?’

We looked straight into each other’s eyes.
I am so in love with him, I’ve loved him forever. Please, God, deliver him into my arms
.

‘But,’ I quavered, ‘you . . . you never go for anything . . . anyone. You give off this . . . ’

‘If someone were to
pin me down
. . . ’

‘Pin you down.’

‘Then I would be . . . ’

‘Someone.’

‘Definitely open t snit"0em".=""/>

Who someone? Someone in general, or someone in particular? I can’t handle this kind of stress. Am I supposed to make my move now? Am I? Is this some kind of coded .. .something . .. ? Is he giving me an in?

‘HEY, HEY!’

We both jumped at the sudden interruption of twin slaps on our backs. I spilled vodka onto my dust-encrusted legs and was surprised to find myself in the sweaty embrace of Frank Musset, one of our cast-mates from
Kiss Me Kate
and, of course, Liam’s friend from the wall-and-stairs group.

‘How the hell are you guys? It’s so good to see you!’

I’d never seen Frank quite so enthused to see me. Handsome, dastardly Frank. Actually he was more pretty than handsome. He had nicer lips and eyelashes than I did. I should have known better.

‘Hi. Hi, Frank . . . ’ I said dubiously.

‘Would you, er, like to sit with us?’ asked Liam, gesturing to an empty seat a few metres away.

‘Yeah!’ Frank grabbed the seat and sat down opposite. ‘My god how long has it been? How are you two? I always see you together, hey?’

I noticed how dilated his pupils were – the thinnest sliver of iris remained – and how flushed and sweaty he was. Liam noticed too and we exchanged a look. Liam knew that he needed to do the talking for both of us. The last thing I should be expected to do was converse with Frank Musset.

‘We’re good Frank. How about you?’

‘It is SO good to see you guys! Holly, you look
sexy,
girl, really sexy. Sorry Lee-man, don’t mean to piss on your territory.’

Liam glared at him. Frank Musset was as high as a kite. Ecstasy is amazing. His warmth, effusion and interest in others was one hundred per cent chemically fabricated.