‘Who are you talking about, Tom? Paul?’ Tom’s mum walks up to him and puts both hands on his cheeks, she pulls his face down to level him straight in the eye. She is a ferocious little thing—I wouldn’t want to cross her. ‘He’s every right to be here now. We spoke about this.’
Tom’s eyes flick toward Paul. ‘I know. Sorry Paul. I just wasn’t expecting … Just a minute Mum.’ He walks over to Tamara. ‘Can I see your phone?’
She hands it to him. ‘Should we go to your room?’
‘No,’ he says, scanning the text conversation with a frown. After a minute he looks over at me furiously, then turns back to Tamara. ‘I’m sorry Tam, I didn’t write this. See, it doesn’t even say it’s from me.’
Tamara’s bottom lip has turned out. ‘I just assumed it was you. Who else could it be?’
‘Mason?’
Tamara looks horrified. ‘He’s testing me!’
‘Don’t worry. Just pretend you were having him on for testing you like that. He’ll probably deny it, anyway. Give him one of your special smoochi-poos. He’ll forget soon enough.’ He gives her a wink and I want to vomit on the spot. He pushes the phone back into her hands.
She stows it in her purse. ‘Do you want to do something, babe? May as well, since we’re both here.’
‘Sorry, Tam. I’ve got plans.’ He looks at me firmly, directing me with his eyes to the corridor. ‘You’re welcome to stay and finish your tea but I need a shower.’
‘It’s that girl again,’ Paul mutters with disapproval as I slink past with Tom.
‘No, no,’ Janelle replies, ‘I think that’s over. He told me they had issues. He wasn’t sure they could work it out.’
‘She sounds awful,’ Tamara agrees.
I turn around. I want to scratch out her eyes but Tom grabs my wrist and turns me back around, jabbing me down the hall in front of him with his index finger.
He’s furious but I’m upset too. He’s told Tamara about me and he’s told his mum we have problems! It’s worse than terrible. I knew he couldn’t handle me! I’m too difficult for his prom-queen constitution. Well I’m not going down without a fight. This boy is mine.
Tom slams his bedroom door, almost catching my heel. He turns on me. ‘What the hell, Olive?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. It’s easy to apologise. I feel genuinely bad for what I’ve done.
‘You’re snooping around my house? Lying to Tamara? Like she hasn’t got enough problems!’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘Felix said I should get to know your family.’
‘And you thought this was the best way of doing it?’ He is looking at me like I’m the stupidest creature on the planet.
I push down my pride. ‘Well I wasn’t getting any invitations. You haven’t called me in days!’
‘Days!’
‘Tom, I know this looks really, really bad, but please—try to see my good intentions.’
‘Ha.’ He snorts.
‘Seriously. Why would I waste my time stalking your ex and your family? I’ve been learning about you. What you said the other night, it was true. I have been terrible at getting to know you. I was trying to make up for that.’
His eyes search mine, trying to gauge my sincerity.
‘I’m trying to change,’ I plead softly. ‘Honestly. I know you like cheese toasties now …’
He sighs and sits at the edge of his bed, starts pulling off his filthy work boots and socks. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
I glance about his room. It was obviously not decorated by his mother. Grey walls, big double bed with a black cover, surfboard against the wall, three enlarged black-and-white framed photos of a surfer. I step forward to study them. It’s him in every frame. There is an inscription from Tamara. She does know him. I feel that pang of jealousy again.
‘Your room is huge.’
‘Sarah and Jacqueline used to share it. I took it after they left home.’ He leans back on his elbows and watches me.
I try Felix’s line. ‘Your mum’s really nice.’ He smiles at that. Mmm, maybe Felix is onto something. ‘And your sister—she’s pregnant and not married—tad scandalous!’ He frowns. Oops. Must be a touchy subject. ‘Don’t worry, even Anne Hathaway was pregnant before she and Shakespeare got married.’
‘That actress?’
‘No Tom, fool, I’m talking 1500s. Shakespeare was like seventeen and he got this older woman, Anne Hathaway, pregnant. She was like twenty-five or twenty-six, totally old-maid candidate back in those days. Shakespeare had to marry her to keep her reputation intact but he was so young he had to get permission from his dad!’
‘That’s a comforting story,’ he says, obviously sarcastic.
I blow air through my lips with impatience. ‘I’m just saying … she’s in good company.’
‘If Alex hangs around.’
He’s all protective of his sister. It’s cute. I move over and play with his knee. ‘I like your bed.’
That earns me a little smile but he stands up and pushes me gently away. ‘I do actually need a shower.’
‘What’s with all the showers this afternoon?’ I mutter, slumping down on his desk chair.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Tom says, stripping off his shirt. ‘I don’t want to know.’
He walks to the door. ‘You’re leaving me?’ I say.
‘I’ll be back if you want to wait.’
I nod at his chest. ‘Oh, I’ll wait for that.’
Reluctantly, he smiles. ‘Just stay in here. No more trouble.’
‘No more trouble,’ I repeat.
I spin around on Tom’s chair, waiting. I can’t believe Tamara knows about me. Maybe it’s a good thing, even though I ‘sound awful’.
I don’t want to ‘sound awful’.
Tom has only been gone five minutes but it’s too long. I miss him like crazy. I don’t know if he has forgiven me and it kills me to wait. What is he thinking in there? Maybe he’s building up the courage to dump me.
But before I have the time to dream up a really impressive story to force him into staying with me, he ducks his head into the room, hair still slick from the shower, a blue towel wrapped around his waist and says, ‘I have to shave. Give me five more minutes.’ Then shuts the door again.
I kick off the ground so the chair spins furiously, my arms pump in the air. Sweet victory! Tom couldn’t play it cool for another five minutes. Doesn’t he know I would have waited five hours?
The power makes me cocky. I open the door and peek through. The bathroom is easy enough to spot. Steam is seeping out from under the door. I creep down the hallway, open it and sneak in.
He is standing in front of the fogged-up mirror. His smile is wide beneath the shaving foam. ‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’
I ignore him. ‘How can you see anything in that?’ I wipe the mirror with my sleeve, and his reflection smears. It’s gone all splodgy—if anything I’ve made it worse.
‘I don’t really need it,’ he says.
I stand behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and poke my head around to watch him in the mirror finishing the job.
‘You look tired,’ I observe.
He draws on the mirror with his finger, it’s the outline of a head and shoulders—exactly opposite me. It is me. I gape in wonder at my shape.
‘And you look beautiful,’ he says.
‘Do you always have to make me sound like the villain?’ I complain.
‘What? I am tired.’ He kisses my hair and gets shaving cream in it. ‘It’s nice that you noticed.’
I reach my finger to the mirror and add his outline. Then I put a heart between us. His eyes flick away. It’s too much, too soon. I add a funny moustache to his face on the mirror. He laughs. Phew.
Tom swivels in the circle of my arms and reaches for a fancy moisturiser on the shelf. A present. Nobody would buy that for everyday use.
‘Tamara?’ I ask, unimpressed. Where has this girl not touched his life?
‘Jacqueline.’ He slaps it around on his cheeks, his neck. Good, I think, because I wouldn’t want to hate that smell. I recognise it as part of his scent.
‘You smell like a rainforest,’ I say.
His reflection appraises me in that liquefying way that makes me weak. I’m sure I must be blushing. ‘But maybe it’s just the humidity in here,’ I say, ducking back behind him to hide my awkwardness.
He doesn’t say anything, just starts returning everything to its place. I wait with my ear pressed between his bare shoulder blades, my fingers intertwined over his warm belly.
I’m happy here. I’m not sure I ever want him to finish. I don’t know what he’ll say. He told his mother we had ‘issues’. I can’t deny that. And he doesn’t even know the worst of it.
Tom turns around so that we’re facing each other. ‘You know what?’
‘What?’ I say, looking at the floor. Dread is hammering my boots to the bathroom tiles.
He lifts my chin. ‘I’ve always wanted to kiss in a rainforest.’