In the car on the way home, Tom hums to a song I hate on the radio. I’m pretty sure he hates it too. I’m picking up clear signs of avoidance.
‘Are you giving me the silent treatment?’
‘No.’ He stares straight ahead, eyes on the road.
Leave it be, I think, watching the rain trickle down the glass. Don’t cause any more drama.
We had to evacuate the beach when an afternoon storm rolled in. We shoved the gear into the ute, Tom wrapped me in his jacket for warmth and we drove Felix home. After Felix’s poor joke, the boys acted like everything was fine, chatting about Tom’s work and Felix’s study, but it felt strained. Neither of them was behaving normally. I can tell Tom’s not happy now. Did Felix say something to him?
I can’t get his words out of my head. You two are really buying into this gypsy true love thing.
But we’re not buying in—we’re in love—truly.
‘That went okay, today,’ I say, rubbing my cheek into the wool lining of the collar of Tom’s jacket.
Tom’s fingers tighten, then loosen, around the steering wheel. ‘Yep.’
‘Felix likes you. Says you’re decent. Too good for me.’
Tom snorts, his lips press together.
‘Thanks for teaching us, surfing was much more fun than I thought it would be,’ I say, trying to keep the ball rolling.
‘No problem.’ He keeps humming. Definitely avoiding.
‘Do you like Celine?’ I ask, flicking the stereo with my finger.
‘She’s all right.’
‘You do not like Celine!’ I say.
His eyes narrow. ‘Am I allowed to like Celine?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
His jaw clenches. ‘Nothing.’
I’ve had enough. ‘Pull over.’
‘What?’
‘I said pull over.’
‘We’re like five minutes away.’
‘Just …’
‘Fine!’ he snaps, pulling up so quickly I jolt forward in my seatbelt.
I spin toward him so I can look him straight in the face. ‘What is your problem?’
‘You’re the one telling me to pull over!’ he replies.
‘Is it Felix? The leg comment?’ I ask. ‘Because I told you there is nothing like that between us. He was just upset.’
‘Right.’ His lips are definitely curling now.
‘I’m serious! We’re just friends.’
Tom looks down his nose at me. He exhales as he speaks, long and deep and condescending. ‘Olive, you’re so naïve.’
Oh no. That fires me up. I was prepared to be understanding about a little jealousy, but this? No way.
‘What am I naïve about, genius?’
‘You don’t have to insult me because I don’t have the brains of darling Felix.’
‘I wasn’t comparing you to Felix, idiot, I was referring to you thinking that you know what’s going on between me and my best friend after meeting him one time,’ I say. ‘I know you’ve got regret you didn’t finish uni shoved so far up your ass you need an enema—but don’t take it out on me!’
‘I’m not taking it out on you. I’m just telling you how it is—you think I’m stupid.’
‘I do not think you’re stupid!’ This boy is driving me nuts! ‘You know all sorts of stuff I would never know, like about plants and building and cars and, and surfing … you know, outdoor stuff.’ How did this conversation end up here?
Tom scoffs.
‘What? It’s useful!’ I insist. ‘At least you could survive after an apocalypse or something.’
‘Yeah, great.’
I try to regain my composure. I don’t want to fight with Tom. Would you fight so much if he really was your true love? I hear Felix say. I push the thought away and focus on how Rose calms me by trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on.
‘So, you’re jealous of Felix being smart?’ I try.
He looks at me for a long moment. ‘Olive. He likes you.’
I groan. How are we back to this?
‘You might not like him, but I’m telling you, he likes you.’
‘He doesn’t! He has a girlfriend—Wallace. He wanted to invite her today only I wouldn’t let him.’ I’m so frustrated, I clutch the back of my neck and squeeze.
Tom turns away from me, looking out the front windscreen. It has gone all foggy. ‘Whatever. He still likes you.’
God I feel so disillusioned, so afraid. Tom isn’t listening to me at all. How in hell do we stand a chance when he won’t believe me? Why doesn’t he understand? I start to cry.
‘What now?’ He looks irritated by me.
‘It’s just, it’s just … Felix is all I have.’ I wipe the tears from my cheeks, mad at myself for crying. It makes me look so pathetic.
‘No. He’s not.’ Tom’s face is deathly hurt. ‘You have me.’
Not if this is a myth, I think. Not if we’re fooling ourselves and we’re not meant to be.
‘You think I shouldn’t care that there’s this other bloke in your life, who you love, who you trust way more than me?’ Tom says bitterly.
‘I don’t,’ I reply weakly.
He looks me in the eye. ‘I bet he knows about your mum.’
I can’t deny it, but Tom’s being unfair. I’ve known Felix for years, Tom and I have only known each other a few months.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just Felix, he’s always been there for me. And you, I don’t know …’
My head falls into my hands.
We sit there listening to the rain on the roof. The storm has eased, becoming a fine constant drizzle. Tom doesn’t say anything.
‘I don’t know what you want me to do,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m not giving Felix up. He’s my best friend. My only friend.’
‘I’m not asking you to give him up.’
‘Then what do you want?’ I look up into his eyes.
‘I don’t know.’ Tom slumps as he looks at me. I can see he pities me. I can’t stand it. ‘Nothing I suppose,’ he says, looking defeated. ‘I’ll learn to live with it …’
I know the words he’s leaving out: like I do everything else.
Tom starts up the car and we drive in silence the rest of the way. He pulls up next to my house and leaves the ignition running.
‘You’re not coming in?’
‘I think I better head home.’
‘You don’t want to talk to Rose about, you know?’
Tom looks drained, like it’s difficult to even hold up his head. ‘Another time,’ he says.
This is bad. He can’t even look at me.
‘Fine,’ I say. Although it’s really not fine at all. ‘I guess I’ll see you around.’
He doesn’t move to kiss me so I take the hint and get out of the car. Then I see it.
‘Oh my god!’ I leap back into the cab.
‘What?’ says Tom.
‘My dad’s car—it’s parked just there—the yellow convertible.’
Tom switches off the ignition. ‘Your dad’s here?’
I make an urgent flapping motion toward the keys. ‘Turn it back on, he must be inside. Let’s go.’ I cannot have the two of them meeting. Dad can only be here for one reason.
Tom looks at me. ‘You don’t want me to meet your father?’
He’s directed the question at me like it’s the most important question in the world. What am I supposed to say?
‘I do, just not now.’ I watch his jaw clench. ‘Soon,’ I reassure him. ‘I just can’t. Not tonight.’
Tom shakes his head with disbelief. ‘Fine. I’ll see you later.’
‘Can’t I come with you?’ I’m desperate to avoid Dad’s interrogation and I want to fix this between Tom and me.
‘No,’ Tom says, looking straight ahead.
‘But I don’t want to leave it this way. You’re upset,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you to be upset.’
He spits my own line back at me. ‘I just can’t. Not tonight.’
I can hardly protest.
‘Okay,’ I say, on the verge of tears again. ‘See you soon.’
I step out into the drizzle and stand on the sidewalk as he pulls away. I am Eliza Doolittle, My Fair Lady, scene one, a vagrant on a damp 1900s London street. The rain, in vain, falls gently on my pain.