CHAPTER

34

It’s dark by the time I make it to his god-awful suburban street, walking under the hissing street lamps, fruit bats squawking in the lilly pillys. Tom would have finished work by now but when I reach his house his ute is missing from the driveway. I collapse on the pavement and stare up at the stars. There is no moon, it is evading me like Tom.

Where is he? He can’t leave me like this: stranded, aching, hollow.

I lift my skirts and hoist myself over the wall. Bluto is missing too. Maybe Tom is taking him for a walk. I duck around and peer into Tom’s room. I can’t see much in the dark but the surfboard he keeps in the corner is missing. Surely he wouldn’t be surfing in the dark?

I wait by the letterbox for another hour. If he was walking Bluto, he’d be back by now, it’s dinner time inside—I can hear Janelle calling to Paul—Tom wouldn’t keep his mum waiting.

I walk listlessly toward Tamara’s house. I doubt he’s there but it’s close enough that I may as well check.

Tamara is leaving when I arrive, slamming the door and texting as she gets into a car. She looks dressed up to go out. Maybe he’s at the local pub where he goes with his school buddies sometimes. It would make sense.

Tom has pointed it out to me, so I know where it is. I sigh and get walking. I wish I could hail a cab. It’s going to take me a while, so I hope he hasn’t left by then.

Thirty minutes later I reach the pub. It’s a worn carpet kind of dive, but the lights are low and everyone seems to know each other, so I can see the appeal. I’m reminded of the night we met as I see Jason, Dave, Hazza and Liz sitting in a booth. Again, Jason is doing all of the talking. Liz is looking around the room, bored. No Tom. I slump against the door, hands covering my stomach.

I’m almost slammed into by Erica as she heads over to the bar where Tamara stands sipping a raspberry coloured cocktail next to Mason. Again, no Tom.

Trying to surprise him is just too hard. Completely defeated, I slip out my phone and punch in: Where are you?

I can’t ignore the irony of the text conversation I read between Tom and Tamara that first night. I was so smug then. Poor Tamara.

I perch beside the booth where Tom’s friends are sitting and wait for Tom to message back or for one of his friends to mention him. It’s not my finest hour.

Time passes. Jason goes on about some project he is working on. Dave leaves to buy them another round. I’m so tired I almost collapse against Liz’s elbow. We could be friends if things were different. I could sit on the bench beside her, taking turns at making snide remarks about the other punters. I think we’d get along, if I wasn’t, you know, appearance challenged.

It’s mildly interesting watching the comings and goings of Tom’s friends but I’ve had enough for tonight. It’s especially tedious when your neck tenses every time the door swings open and in plods another long-haired surfer or a girl with too much fake tan. It’s never him. It’s never him.

Tom’s friends don’t mention him either. Tom told me they were annoyed at him for spending so much time with me and for never introducing us, but I didn’t think they’d wipe him completely from their social circle. The boy warrants a mention! I wonder if they know about our break-up at all.

I think about walking to the beach. Maybe he’s there all alone, mourning our relationship. I imagine him sitting by a fire in the sand with Bluto, his face illuminated by the warm firelight, smiling as he sees me appear. ‘I was hoping you’d come,’ he’d say.

But I think I’ve done enough imagining for one night.

I try to think logically as I sit and wait; fettered to Tom’s friends by an invisible manacle. I’m embarrassed by myself, I’m worse than my worst nightmare, hanging around waiting for a boy. But I just can’t pull myself away.

Finally, my phone vibrates! I dash to an empty corner and pull it out.

Not Tom. Felix.

Rose must have told him what’s going on. I’m about to write a seething message about being someone else’s snooping rat, when I see what he’s sent me.

Olive light, Olive bright,

The only girl I miss tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Give the girl my wish tonight

Cac. It’s a little bit beautiful.

	Olive:	Thanks bub.
	Felix:	So what’s your wish?

As if he doesn’t know.

	Olive:	I can’t tell you. It won’t come true.
	Felix:	Ok. But don’t do anything stupid. No back-alley fights etc.
	Olive:	How did you know that’s exactly my next move?
	Felix:	Not without me it’s not. I’ve got your back.

That makes me smile.

	Olive:	A blind guy in a fight, hilarious.
	Felix:	My brain is more effective than a right hook. I can get a girl outta trouble.
	Olive:	I’ll count on it.
	Felix:	Just come home.

He’s right. This is mad. Tom is ignoring my message and he’s got every right to. I deserve this. I deserve worse.

Outside I see Mason sucking back on a cigarette with a mate. ‘So it’s going alright with Tamara then? Tom’s not giving you any trouble?’ the guy asks Mason.

It’s the first time I’ve heard Tom mentioned all night so I linger.

‘Nah,’ says Mason. ‘He called her tonight but she said it was nothing.’

‘And you believe her?’

‘She’s here with me isn’t she?’ He stomps on his cigarette butt and walks back inside.

Tom called Tamara. Why?

I should head home, but hearing them talk about Tom brings all the hurt and hope back to the surface. I want Tom so bad it’s like my stomach is full of vinegar.

There’s only one place to go.

I almost weep when Tom’s ute is still missing from the driveway. It’s after midnight and all the lights are off. I climb the fence—Bluto is still gone—and jimmy open Tom’s bedroom window. Once inside, I pull on one of his T-shirts and slip into his bed. Tom’s sheets smell deliciously like him and if I shut my eyes and try really hard to block the sick feeling in my stomach, I can almost imagine he’s in the room next door—going to the bathroom or something. He’ll walk in any minute and be so happy to find me. He’ll slide into bed and we’ll make up properly. We’ll talk about real plans. I’ll reassure him we can make it work between us, that I’ll never shut myself off from him again. I’ll trust him with everything. I’ll be the perfect girlfriend.

I roll over and bury my face in his pillow. It’ll all be okay. We’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.