CHAPTER

4

Back in the club, I watch his friends from a distance. Tom has taken off. I saw him leave them as I came down the stairs. He was pushing through the crowd, jacket slung over his hunched shoulders, his face dark with frustration.

It’s kind of startling to have that impact on someone. It doesn’t happen to me much—not face-to-face like that anyway.

I didn’t want Tom to go, but I forced it. It’s my A- typical behaviour. Dad’s said right from the beginning I have this silver streak of trouble running through me. I’m stubborn, pig-headed and I can’t back down. I guess it’s not surprising.

Me = damaged goods.

I wander close to Tom’s friends and listen in. A broad shouldered, bull of a bloke—Jason, I learn—is holding court at the end of the table. He’s twisting his long brown hair around one finger as he rabbits on. A ‘Dave’: shaved head, denim jacket, belches besides him and gazes over the crowd. Redhead ‘Hazza’ rubs his fingers up and down a girl’s arm. ‘Liz’ stirs her vodka cranberry into a little whirlpool with her straw. Her boredom is obvious. She’s not even pretending to listen. I like her immediately.

A girl pushes her way through the crowd toward them; she is pretty but the pinched way she holds her face tells me she’s uptight and sulky.

‘I thought it was you,’ she yells above the music.

‘Yeah? You must be some kind of genius,’ Jason answers.

She snarls at him. The two appear to despise each other in equal measure. I’d like to see them brawl, those electric-blue painted fingernails look vicious. I imagine them slitting through skin, as clinical as a surgeon’s scalpel.

‘How’s it going, Erica?’ Hazza says to her. He seems sincere and attentive so immediately I distrust him.

‘Not good. I’ve just spent, like, forever trying to get Tamara out of the house, and when finally she agrees—you guys turn up.’

‘Tom’s gone home,’ Dave says, shrugging his round shoulders.

‘So he should,’ she replies. Her expression is one of extreme judgement.

Jason leans toward her. ‘Are you serious?’

Erica moves into wounded deer stance. ‘Tom broke her heart!’

‘Yeah, right.’ Jason leans back and starts scanning the crowd like he’s got better things to do.

‘He was trying to do the right thing,’ Liz tells her. ‘He didn’t want to lead her on when she obviously wanted more …’

‘Sorry Liz. It’s just so ridonkulous,’ Erica replies. ‘These last few years were such a waste for her! What is she supposed to do now?’

Ridonkulous—what a word. I want to kill her on the spot.

Jason shakes his head slowly. ‘You sure are dumb for a clever chick.’

‘Oh shut up you!’ she snaps.

‘Why? Am I being ridonkulous?’ he mocks. Okay, I’m starting to like this Jason.

The group all laugh and I want to too, but I can’t draw attention to myself.

‘I don’t know what you see in these losers, Liz,’ Erica snaps, then storms off.

‘Wow,’ Dave mutters into his beer. ‘That’s one freaky chick.’

Hazza watches her go. ‘She’s okay.’

‘Oh shut up, Hazza.’

I trip through the crowd after Erica. Tom’s friends are interesting but if I can see his ex. Wow. That would be brilliant.

A small circle of girls widens to include Erica. They are all sucking on straws, half bouncing to the music, their heads bent together to hear Erica’s gossip. I curse the music, I can’t hear anything they’re saying, but it’s pretty obvious which one is the ex. She has her back to me but I see the hands of consolation move to her shoulders as Erica tells her tale.

It’s not looking good from here. She is tall and tanned, wearing this silver sequin skirt around her skinny ass. Her blond hair has seen six thousand gloss conditioning treatments. I move closer.

‘Tamara!’ I call out. I need to see her face.

Damn. She’s got a snub little nose but she’s gorgeous. She searches about, looking confused when she doesn’t recognise anyone. Eventually she turns back.

A black leather handbag is at her feet. A devilish thought slips into my head. I wonder if I can stop myself. I wonder if I want to. It’s too easy. I sidle up, hook the handle with my extended toes and pull it free. It’s like that old pick-up sticks game, you can’t snatch it up too quickly or the whole charade comes tumbling down around you.

Back on the roof I turn the bag upside down, emptying the contents onto the cement. A bottle of perfume smashes. Oops. Should be more careful. I take inventory. Wallet. Phone. Make-up bag. Brush. It’s surprisingly organised. No used tissues, old bus tickets, receipts, chewing gum wrappers. This is not an everyday bag, must have been packed just for tonight. But who needs that much make-up for one night?

I open her wallet. Again, too organised. Gym membership. Photo of her and three girls dressed up like they’re trying to be forty. Fifty cash, few coins. I leave it.

Phone has no code. Bingo. I scan her photos, no surprises they’re littered with selfies but just as common is shot after shot of Tom. Tom surfing, Tom eating, Tom with friends, Tom asleep, Tom playing with a dog, Tom far away, Tom up close, Tom half naked looking straight pissed off at having his photo taken. My heart pangs. I’m so stupid.

I flick to her text messages. It doesn’t take too much scrolling down to come across their conversation history. This is too easy. I shouldn’t do it. It is wrong, Rose would say criminal. Is it criminal? Maybe it is.

I take a breath, then read.

	Tamara:	Where ru?
	Tom:	Newwater
	Tamara:	Surf any good?
	Tom:	S’ok
	Tamara:	Want me to come down?
	Tom:	Nah
	Tamara:	Well I’m pretty busy with the girls anyway so I didn’t really have time I was just trying to be nice because we haven’t seen each other for ages. But if you don’t want to see me that’s just fine. I’ll just stop trying to be nice.
	Tamara:	You were the one who said you still wanted to be friends BTW
	Tom:	Have fun
	Tamara:	I hate you.
	Tamara:	Joking

You can discern a fair few facts from this conversation. One, Tamara is desperate. Two, Tom is quite possibly an ass. But what do I choose to take from the exchange? He surfs at Newwater Beach.

I don’t want to stay at the club, but I don’t want to go home either. I need company after Tom has so succinctly pointed out my loneliness.

I need Felix.

His window is ajar and I feel the familiar sense of comfort, knowing he’s left it that way just for me. He’s been asleep for a while, I can tell from the stale air around his bed. I kick off my shoes and slide under the covers, backing into him and warming my feet on his toasty legs. Felix grumbles and shifts.

‘You didn’t go out?’ I whisper.

‘Mhm.’ It’s a no.

‘Mind if I stay?’

‘Mhm.’ It’s a yes. He drapes an arm over me. ‘I’ll kick your ass in the morning,’ he mumbles.

I snuggle into him, thinking smugly, I’m not alone now, Tom.