I sleep on Will’s sofa, though it’s not really sleeping. It’s more of a waiting. Waiting for what? The hours grate against my skin. I’m not sad, though; at least, I don’t think I am. I haven’t cried.
Will told me I could. While we were brushing our teeth, he said, ‘You can cry, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said, toothpaste frothing at the corners of my mouth. But I didn’t.
All I feel is the density of my bones, the incredible weight of them.
Lying on the sofa, I watch the night turn into white. Annie gets up early for a swim. I close my eyes and listen to her sneak past me, treading lightly.
By the time she gets back, I’ve watched pink uncurl into blue.
‘How’d you sleep?’ she asks.
‘Okay,’ I lie.
‘Have you heard back from your parents?’
‘Got an email from my dad. They’ve booked flights. They’ll be here on Tuesday.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘No, next Tuesday.’
Annie stares at me blankly, uncomprehending.
‘My dad has a big conference this weekend,’ I explain.
‘I thought your mum would want to come sooner. He was her dad, wasn’t he?’
I shake my head. ‘No. Dad’s dad. Mum’s parents both died before I was born.’
‘I see … Still, I would have thought she’d want to come out sooner.’
‘Dad would want her to fly with him,’ I say.
‘Right,’ she says, but she looks troubled. Then she promises she’ll help me in any way she can, tells me I’m welcome to sleep on their sofa for as long as I want.
I walk into the apartment and find it’s not the sunken impression of Pa in his armchair that makes my skin crawl; it’s the silence, the awful green of it, all muddy and murky.
I turn the TV on, turn it up loud, and let the sound of a woman chatting about a vacuum cleaner colour the room apricot. Outside, the sky is stretching blue. I walk into my bedroom and gaze out the window, across the pines that line the beach, beyond them, to the sea. It’s spread like pleated fabric; swells lined one after another all the way to the horizon. That’s what I missed most about Australia: the way the sky rests so evenly on the sea. An endless expanse of sky brought to a close. No smog, no pink grey. Just a fine, perfect line.
Hearing a cough behind me, I jump.
‘Oh shit, sorry,’ Will says. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
He’s standing in the doorway in track pants and a t-shirt.
‘Aren’t you meant to be at school?’ I ask.
‘Mum said I could have the day off.’
‘What? Because you saw a dead person?’
Will looks away from me. He shrugs.
‘That’s nice of her.’
‘I thought we could hang out.’
‘Sure.’
‘Only if you want to. But if you want to be alone …’
‘No, no. It’s fine. It’d be nice to have company …’ I say. ‘Wanna look through some dead person stuff?’
Will’s eyes widen. ‘That’s messed up,’ he says. ‘But okay. Think I’ll fit his clothes?’
‘That’s even worse!’ I say.
We stare at each other a moment, then both burst into laughter. The hurt of it feels good; a cracking open of the chest that lets the heat out and the cold in. Like the bite of winter, the way it wakes you up.
Will comes into my room and flops down on my bed, watching me as I finally open the boxes under the desk and in the bottom of the cupboard. I’ve spent four years wondering what was inside them, but figured that while I lived in his house, I should respect Pa’s wishes. In a way, it was better not to know what was in them—it was more fun to guess. I’ve always found a thrill in the darkness of the unknown.
It turns out my fantasies of gemstones and black pearls are wide of the mark. The boxes under the desk contain cookbooks and tablecloths. I fare better with the box at the bottom of the cupboard; to my delight, it’s full of Nan’s make-up. There are tubes of lipstick in every shade, bottles of perfume with yellowed labels, powder compacts, and nail polish in varying shades of red. I rummage through the lipsticks, eventually settling on a deep cherry. I smooth it across my lips, blow Will a kiss.
He laughs. ‘What colour would suit me?’
‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘We need something to make your eyes pop.’ I find a hot pink. ‘Perfect.’
Will puckers his lips.
‘Hold still,’ I say, as I colour them in. ‘Aw, pretty!’
‘I look gorge,’ he says, pouting at his reflection in the mirror on my desk.
‘We need outfits,’ I say.
Pa’s room is smaller than I remember, barely wider than the bed. Stepping into the room, I realise I probably haven’t set foot in here since I was a kid climbing into bed between Nan and Pa on Christmas morning. How big the room had seemed then. How warm and wide the bed had felt. Pa might have died in his chair but, really, his life ended years ago. His life ended with hers.
I open the cupboard, and we’re engulfed by the scent of stale tobacco.
‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s just kind of weird, isn’t it? How these were clothes that belonged to someone, and now they’re just, I dunno …’
‘Clothes.’
‘Yeah.’
I shrug.
‘Ooh, I like this,’ Will says, picking out a tweed coat. He wriggles his lanky limbs into it.
‘Suits you,’ I say. I pull out a navy blazer. ‘How about this for me?’
He nods. ‘Strong vibes.’
I complete my outfit with suit pants, bright red socks and a pair of Nan’s boots, which are embroidered with gold blossoms. Will wears a pair of emerald green cords, striped socks and suave leather shoes. He finishes off his outfit with a necklace of rose-pink pearls.
‘We look expensive.’
Will laughs. ‘We are expensive.’
‘I should probably sort the rest out,’ I say, contemplating aloud.
‘Yeah, may as well. You’ll have to sooner or later.’
‘Can you please get me some garbage bags from the kitchen? They’re in the third drawer down.’
‘Sure,’ he says, disappearing for a moment, returning with a handful of bags. ‘Here.’ He passes me one.
‘Thanks,’ I say as I pull a jacket off its coathanger. ‘Keep anything you want … It’ll all be going to charity.’
Will offers me a quiet smile and begins to help.
Once all the clothes have been sorted—save a few pieces for our own closets—we move on to the drawers in the bedside table.
‘Oh my God!’ Will exclaims. ‘Look at these!’ He pulls from the drawer a pack of playing cards, each with a photo of a different naked woman printed on the back. The pictures are highly saturated, giving the women brightly coloured nipples and shocks of pubic hair.
‘Dirty dog,’ Will says, shuffling through them. He looks up at me. ‘Have you had sex?’
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That’s, like, completely inappropriate.’
‘Ha, sorry. Mum says I need a filter.’
‘I reckon.’
‘So have you?’
‘What?’
‘Had sex.’
‘What’s it to you?’ I say coldly, but I can feel heat blooming on my cheeks.
Will shrugs. ‘I have.’
‘Me too. Kind of.’
‘How do you kind of have sex?’
‘Well, I mean, I’ve done it, but I haven’t, you know, orgasmed. At least I don’t think I have.’
‘I think you’d know it if you did.’
‘Okay then. I guess I haven’t.’
‘I never imagined Adam as a generous lover.’
‘Hey,’ I say, ‘you’re walking a very fine line.’
‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t look it. ‘Where is Adam, anyway?’
‘I mean, why isn’t he here?’ Will persists.
‘I haven’t told him what happened yet.’
Will frowns. ‘Why not?’
‘We had a fight the other night.’
‘So? You should still tell him.’
‘I know. I’m going to.’
‘Now?’
The thought of speaking to Adam right now is making my pulse quicken, every beat painful, so I change the subject. ‘Right now I feel like getting out of here. How about we go drop these bags off?’
‘Sure,’ says Will. ‘But I still think you should call him.’
‘Later,’ I say. ‘Promise.’
We wear our outfits down the hill into Manly, where we leave the bags of clothes at an op shop. On the way home, we pass a gelato stand. I pull on Will’s arm to stop him in front of it.
‘I don’t have any money,’ he says.
‘I do,’ I tell him, eyeing off the flavours. Addressing the man tending the stand, I say, ‘Can I please have a scoop of cookies and cream and a scoop of caramel, in a double chocolate cone?’
‘I’ll have the same,’ Will says. He’s still wearing the lipstick and pearls. Everyone around us is looking at him. But neither of us cares. Death does that, I think. It makes small things fall away.
At the end of the Corso, I take off my boots and socks, and skip down the steps, sinking my feet into the sand, wiggling my toes. I walk closer to the water and sit down, feeling the sand shift beneath me. Will sits beside me, his long legs outstretched.
As the sun sets behind us, the entire ocean seems to turn to glass.
‘This has always been my favourite time of year to be in Sydney,’ I say.
‘Why? It’s cold.’
‘Because the water is still warm. Pa used to tell me it’s because the sun lives under the sea at night, so even though the days get shorter, the water stays warm until the winter solstice, when the sun climbs out and the days start getting longer again.’
I look up at Will. He has ice cream smeared around his mouth.
‘At least, I think that’s how the story went.’
‘It sounds like he was a great storyteller.’
Above, the first stars are appearing. They dot the sky like freckles on grey skin. ‘Yeah, I forget that sometimes. He stopped telling stories after my nan died.’
Will slings his arm around me. It hangs awkwardly sweet.