Tigers & Devils (16 page)

I tried not to hyperventilate audibly and to laugh it off. “You would think they would rather keep you safe in Melbourne, instead of shuffling you back and forth.”

“Believe me,
I
would prefer that.”

I kissed him, a hint of desperation to it.

He looked at me, and although I wanted to look away I couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“Dec, it’s not your fault.”

“But I promised you—”

“I think there are larger issues here than a thwarted dirty weekend.”

I regretted saying that, because he looked disappointed that I had reduced it to that. Now it was my turn to apologise. “I’m sorry, that was stupid.”

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 107

“See, you
are
upset.”

“Of course I am!” I admitted, deciding that honesty was the best policy. After all, look at the problems caused by concealment last time we were together. “But not at you. Just upset because we see each other intermittently, when normally any other couple would be in each other’s pockets getting to know each other for the first month at least.”

My conversation with Roger couldn’t help rearing its ugly head. “But this is our situation, and we can’t feel shitty about it. We just have to enjoy
when
we see each other.”

“I’m enjoying seeing you,” Declan said. “If it wasn’t for this fucking jet, I would have told them to piss off.”

I nodded. “So, when do you have to go?”

He winced. “Now,” he said regretfully.

Fucking typical. I nodded.

To soothe the pain, he kissed me. And for a few seconds, it almost worked. But as he pulled away, the feeling of shittiness returned.

I watched him zip up his bag, and he flung it over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted a quick getaway, and in essence I agreed with him because there was no use in prolonging what we were both unhappy about.

At the front door, he reached for me. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

I nodded. “Fly safe.”

“You know what they say,” he said, opening the door, “you’re more likely to die in the car on the way to the airport.”

Wow. They say couples start to look like each other. At that moment, he
sounded
like me. That was the end of conversation between us for now. We kissed, and it felt like the last time for a long time. Then he was gone, obscured by the tinted windows of his car. He pulled out of the driveway, and I was left standing on the veranda. The morning had started out so promising. Now I only had the inevitable defeat of Richmond to look forward to for the afternoon.

THE unthinkable happened.

In the third quarter Richmond came from thirty-one points down to muster an unbelievable rally, and with the game in overtime they were only three points behind. New recruit Farid Al-Hanin managed to intercede the ball and drive it down toward the goals with the entire Richmond fan base on his side, trying to harness control over the ball with the power of thought and will it into a six-pointer, Al-Hanin gave a mighty kick, and it soared perfectly between the two centre posts. I gave such a mighty scream, Maggie fled for the sanctuary of the bedroom. I believe I shrieked gratitude to every god and goddess I could think of. Al-Hanin’s name became instantly sacred to me, as it probably did to every other Richmond fan nationwide. Richmond had won their first game of the season. I just wished Roger or Declan had been there. It felt a bit lonely not being able to share it with anyone.

On a rare but venerable high, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I jumped in my car and drove to Roger and Fran’s house, tooting my horn triumphantly whenever I saw somebody with a Richmond sticker on their bumper. They, of course, hooted in reply. I wondered if this was an omen that things might be turning around—I could only hope. Declan would return to form, Roger and I would patch things up, Richmond would win the Grand Final (next season, I was no fool to believe it was possible this year), and I would win the lottery so there would be no embarrassment between Declan and I when it came to paying for dinner.

My dreams were quickly dashed when Roger opened the door and glared at me.

“What do
you
want?”

Ouch. “I came to talk to you.”

He looked out beyond me, perhaps surprised I was alone. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Huh. That was an entirely new side to him. I counted to three in my head before answering so this wouldn’t get any worse. “Probably somewhere over the Tasman by now.”

“What happened to your date?”

“Are you going to let me in?”

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 109

“We’re not your second best, you know,” he said childishly. I decided to call his bluff. “Okay.” I turned my back and stomped back toward my car.

“HOLD IT!”

That certainly wasn’t Roger’s voice.

I turned to see Fran whacking Roger over the head, and he howled in righteous indignation. “Let him in!”

Roger rubbed the back of his head. “Get in here, you dickhead.”

“Ask him nicely!”
Whack!

“Simon, would you like to come inside?” Roger asked, a forced tone to his voice.

“Why, thanks, Roger, that would be nice,” I replied as I climbed back up the porch steps.

As he moved away from the door to let me through, and I pushed between him and Fran in the narrow hallway, I was given an extra special greeting in the form of a slap upside my head from his lovely wife.

“Ow!” I cried, now reflecting Roger’s gesture from earlier as I rubbed the offended area.

Fran glared at me. “
That’s
for ignoring me the other day on Elizabeth Street.”

“I didn’t see you until the last minute!” I protested. “And then I was stuck there trying to decide what to do—”

Her unchanged expression told me I was digging my grave even deeper. “I gave you
plenty
of time to come after me.”

“It didn’t seem that long,” I said sheepishly, and I received another whack for it.

“You hurt my feelings,” Fran said, and her tone of voice made me feel what could have been the guiltiest I ever had felt in my life.

“I’m sorry,” I said in all honesty. I was now rewarded with a hug.

“Hey, my feelings were hurt too!” Roger said.

“Because you hurt mine in the first place,” I reminded him, pulling away from Fran.

“Well,” he replied defensively, “you hurt mine
again
after that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Fran muttered. “Just hug and make up like normal people.”

Pushed into it, we did so; although “normal people” was also pushing it.

“Just letting you know, I’m still upset,” Roger pointed out, his elbow digging into my ribs as we embraced awkwardly.

“Same here,” I replied, rubbing at my side unhappily and
accidentally
stepping on his foot.

We pulled apart, and the three of us now stood in the cramped hallway, all looking uneasily at one another.

“So, how about a beer?” Roger suggested, falling back on old faithful for backup.

110 | SEAN KENNEDY

I nodded gratefully.

Fran clapped her hands together. “Finally! Something we can all agree on!”

“HE looked
crushed
on the news,” Fran said, reaching for another handful of chips. We were on the back porch, despite the cold, staring out into the yard that was desperately in need of a mow. Fran and Roger usually liked to wait until one of their more industrious relatives decided to do it for them.

“The picture on the front page of the
Sun
was even worse,” Roger pointed out.

“Extreme closeup, looking like he was about to cry, and that new name they’ve given him—”

“What new name?” I asked quickly, feeling dread gnawing at my guts in anticipation.

“You haven’t seen it?” Fran asked.

“I hid my newspapers,” I admitted.

Fran and Roger exchanged glances.

“He was miserable enough,” I said defensively.

“Well, he’s probably seen it now.” Fran grimaced.

“Show me,” I told her.

She sighed. It was clear she didn’t want to but knew she would be pressured into it eventually. She disappeared into the house and was back just as quickly, her arms full of the morning’s papers.

“
The Age
was kinder, as per usual, but the
Herald Sun
loved it.”

The Age
was nicer, with just a picture of Declan looking devastated. The
Herald Sun
had the more emotive picture. Roger was right. Declan looked like he was about to cry as he sat alone on the bench, away from his other team members. The headline crowed
HERE WE GO AGAIN! THE TEMPORARY DEVIL.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t the most coherent response I could have given, but it certainly summed up my feelings enough.

The Age
’s account was straightforward, giving the facts with a few statements sprinkled in from the coach and doctor; the
Herald Sun
was given to hyperbole, lamenting about Declan’s performance in comparison to his salary, how the fans were disappointed in him and turning against him even more now that they had “received another slap in the face”, and how Declan might also quite possibly have contributed to the problems in East Timor through his downright suckiness. I tossed the tabloid aside. “What can you expect from a paper that publishes Andrew Bolt’s columns?”

“Not much,” Roger said, and he clinked his bottle against mine.

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 111

Fran smiled at us proudly, as if this simple act had resolved all grievances between us. And she was probably right. It didn’t take much.

“When do you think you’ll see Declan again?” she asked. I shrugged. “It’s all up in the air. Depends what they’re making him do in Tassie.”

“It sucks,” Fran said passionately.

“I know,” I said, my tone completely opposite to hers. It was too tiring to feel that much at the moment.

“No, it
really
sucks,” Fran repeated with emphasis. “If that was me, all I would want is Roger there to make me feel better. I bet you that’s what Declan wants.”

“Roger?” I asked to deflect having to think about it.

Luckily I was out of reach from her slapping hand. “You, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t
oh
me.”

“You’re pushing her,” Roger mumbled, passing me another beer. “And you know what happens when you push her.”

I had never pushed Fran, although I had seen Roger do it plenty of times; the results weren’t pretty. I had to head her off at the pass. “Fran, we’ve only been seeing each other for about a month. And of that month, we’ve seen each other maybe four days. I don’t think I’m the beginning and end of his world just yet.”

“At the start of a relationship, where every emotion is turned up to eleven? I doubt that,” Fran countered. “And what, you’re trying to tell me you don’t speak practically every day? I know you’re long-distance, but I bet you’re finding ways to overcome it.”

“What are you saying, Fran?” I asked derisively. “That I should jump on the plane and go to Hobart?”

She folded her arms over her chest and looked considerably pleased with herself.

“Finally, he gets it.”

Roger snorted, and I turned to him. “Is she serious?”

“You know her.”

I did, and she was. I sputtered almost incoherently as I tried to make her see sense.

“Fran, that’s
crazy
.”

“Why?”

“There are lots of
why
s.”

“Name some.”

Oh great, a challenge quiz. I looked at Roger again; he stared at the long grass at the bottom of the steps like it was growing before him. He wasn’t going to be any help.

“Fine. Work.”

“Make it a two-nighter. Fly out today, fly back Monday morning.”

“Maggie.”

112 | SEAN KENNEDY

“You know we’ll feed her, Simon.”

This was getting harder. “The cost of the ticket.”

“I know you always have money stashed away. You’re a good saver.”

This was true. Fuck it, she did know me too well. “That’s for emergencies.”

“This
is
one.”

“It fucking well isn’t!”

Fran glared at me. “It would prove to Declan that you really care about him. He probably needs that right now.”

“I could prove that with a phone call.”

“Guys are such
arseholes
,” she muttered.

Roger and I were both stunned.

“Fran!” Roger protested.

She jumped to her feet and towered over me. It was pretty impressive and intimidating. “You know what, Simon? There are two reasons you don’t want to do it. You’re lazy, and you’re chickenshit!”

And with that, she thundered off into the house, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

In the eye of the storm, Roger and I compared wounds.

“Lazy and chickenshit?” I practically whimpered.

“Well, she had the lazy part right,” Roger said.

“And the chickenshit!” we heard Fran yell from inside.

“Does she have a bionic ear or something?” I asked.

“Shit, mate, you
know
she’s psychic.”

I put my beer down and headed in to the house. Fran was only just a couple of feet inside the door. She didn’t look at all apologetic for her behaviour.

“Why am I chickenshit?”

“So you’re accepting the lazy part?”

“Just answer me, Fran.”

“You know why you’re chickenshit. Because if you do this, you’ll be showing him a part of yourself you hate showing. That you care. You do it enough to us sometimes. That day when Roger came in with the Hawthorn scarf, I almost thought he was lying and that he’d bought it himself. We know you love us, but you like to pretend you’re all aloof and unreachable. That’s what makes you chickenshit. Getting on that plane will show Declan how you feel, and you’d hate to be that transparent.”

“I don’t know how I feel yet,” I said, still bleeding from the wound caused by the sword she had stabbed me through the stomach with.

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 113

“Don’t lie.” Her tone indicated it was a warning. “We can all see it. Even Nyssa knows you’re up to something, although she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. Why are you so scared of showing that you like someone?”

I didn’t know how to answer without sounding like I was throwing a pity party. But that’s the thing when you grow up feeling different to everyone else. And I know when you’re a teenager
everybody
feels different and alien to the other people around them, but there seems to be an added dimension when you’re queer. It’s because for that period of time, you’re more isolated than anybody else and you truly think you
are
the only one of your kind. So you create fantastic barriers and defence strategies for yourself to survive. And when you get older and realise that you can take them down, it’s an internal
and
eternal struggle to do so. Fear is the best anti-motivator in the world. So all I could do was stare at her. Fran returned my stare, her eyes showing a sadness that made me feel even worse.

“Jesus, Simon,” she said finally. “You can’t go on like this.”

There was still that part of me battling madly against everything she was saying, this logical Vulcan inside me that was coming up with a thousand reasons why this was impossible. But Fran’s sad face combined with knowing Declan was unhappy pushed me over the edge.

“Get me your phone,” I instructed her.