It’s just past midnight when we get back to our hotel room. All through the walk back, I periodically remember that Elliot had planned all that just to make me happy.
It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
Elliot falls asleep pretty quickly, but I have too much energy buzzing through my body. I get up for a glass of water at least five times and I just can’t calm down enough to sleep. I want to dance.
I dig my headphones out of my bag and plug them into my phone. Making sure the volume is low, I connect to the hotel wi-fi and load a few YouTube clips of people dancing, visualising myself doing the routines. I sit on the edge of the bed and practise some of the footwork. The dancers in these videos are so much better than I am, though. I wonder if I could ever be that good.
By the time three am rolls around, I figure I should probably try to get some sleep. As I put the headphones back in my bag, my hand brushes against the temporary tattoos I bought. I pull them out and look over at Elliot, who is still sleeping. I have an idea.
In the kitchen drawer is a pair of scissors, which I use to cut out each flag. I dampen a washcloth in the sink and head back over to the bed. I sit next to Elliot’s unconscious body and place an Australian flag on his left cheekbone. As firmly as I dare, I press the washcloth onto the back of it.
Elliot doesn’t even stir. I wait a couple of minutes, lift the cloth and peel off the backing, leaving a gorgeous flag marking his face.
Over the next fifteen minutes, I cover his body in five flags. Both cheeks, his forehead and his shoulders all bear our nation’s flag. I try to make sure they’re in places obvious to everybody except him.
Satisfied with my work, I clear up any evidence and crawl into bed.
I get a couple of hours of sleep and somehow still manage to wake before Elliot. He still looks pretty out of it, so I pull on a dress and go over the road to get some coffee – a latte for me and a white-chocolate mocha for Mr Pretentious.
Elliot stirs when I open the door.
‘Argh … Good morning,’ he mumbles.
‘Morning,’ I say brightly, offering him the cup. ‘Coffee?’
‘Oh you’re a superstar,’ he says, accepting it. ‘Why are you in such a good mood?’
‘No reason,’ I say, sitting at the foot of the bed. ‘Still on a high from last night, I guess.’ The flags wave around on his face as he readjusts his facial muscles.
‘Fair enough.’ He takes a sip from the takeaway cup. ‘This is possibly the best white-chocolate mocha I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.’
‘Glad you like it,’ I say, sipping my own drink, trying not to let my amusement show. Unsuccessfully, of course.
‘What are you smiling at?’
‘I’m not smiling,’ I say, hiding my smile behind my coffee cup.
He stares at me. I’m really not a good liar. ‘What did you do?’ he says. ‘Did you put something in this?’ He gestures his cup.
‘I swear there’s nothing wrong with your coffee.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’m just in a good mood.’ I take another sip.
‘You’re a weird kid, Janson.’
‘Did you sleep okay?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject.
‘Yeah, I slept really well, actually. I dreamt I was swimming, which was odd. But I feel really refreshed. Best sleep I’ve had since we started this trip.’
‘Maybe dancing tired you out,’ I suggest, still smiling into my cup.
Elliot drains his drink and throws the empty cup at my head. ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I’m going to shower, then we should explore the city.’
‘Sounds good,’ I say, rubbing my head where the cup hit it.
‘Don’t miss me too much.’ He disappears into the bathroom and I wait. Then I hear it. ‘Son of a –’ I guess he saw himself in the mirror.
‘Problem?’ I call innocently.
His tattooed face reappears in the doorway. ‘You’re an arsehole and I hate you.’
‘No,’ I say sweetly, ‘you don’t.’
‘I’m going to get you back for that,’ he warns.
‘Give it your best shot.’ I put down my empty coffee cup and open my arms, palms up, inviting him to bring it on.
His shower takes nearly twenty minutes, which I should probably accept some responsibility for. His face is red raw from where he’s scrubbed at the tattoos.
We don’t really have a plan for the day, so we just head out with the intention of wandering. It doesn’t matter where we’re going; all that matters is that we’re enjoying ourselves. Until last night, I’d forgotten how relaxing it is to do something just for fun.
For hours, the city runs wild around us. Boats sail through the harbour, cars weave through the streets, pedestrians manoeuvre past each other … Every single one of them has a backstory. They have a life, a family, personal problems. Where are they going? What kind of mood are they in? It’s easy to make snap judgements about all these people, many of which are likely to be wrong. The man in the business suit might be a renowned CEO or he might be on his way to a job interview. Maybe he just likes wearing suits. It makes me wonder what judgements people make when they see me. Who do they think I am? Do people even notice me?
Elliot grows tired of walking before I do. My legs ache but my enjoyment of wandering and talking about whatever inane topic comes to mind far outweighs that.
We find a cafe with a clear view of the harbour. We order iced coffees and find seats.
‘I’ve always wanted to climb that bridge,’ says Elliot, looking out over the iconic structure. ‘I imagined doing it with Nessie. I know it’s stupid but even though I never really thought we’d be together forever, I had this idea of proposing to her up the top or something.’
‘Really? You thought that far ahead?’
‘I know, it’s stupid. I just liked the idea of doing it.’
My heart aches for him and I reach for his hand.
‘I’ve spent so much time romanticising romance,’ he says. ‘I always did big Romantic Gestures – roses, love notes, that kind of thing. I never told Nessie how I felt because I thought all the things I did would be more powerful than words.’
He pauses but I don’t say anything.
‘I guess … I feel guilty for not caring anymore, you know? At first I tried not to enjoy myself on this trip because I felt like I should be cut-up over being dumped. I felt as though having fun would mean that I didn’t care about her or that our relationship didn’t matter.’
‘But it did matter,’ I say. ‘Even if it didn’t work out, it still mattered.’
‘I know it did. And objectively, I know there’s no reason for me to feel like that, which makes it even worse.’
‘That’s the inherent thing about feelings,’ I say. ‘They’re valid, simply by virtue of being felt.’
He shrugs. ‘I guess …’ he says. ‘And that’s probably for the better. It hurts right now, but that doesn’t mean the entire thing was a waste of time.’
I smile at him. Things don’t have to last forever to be important.
‘Why can’t relationships be this easy?’ Elliot says after a while. ‘This – us – it just feels so natural. I don’t feel like I have to try to impress you and I don’t think you want me to, either.’
He’s spot-on. I don’t want a fake friendship made out of mutual niceties. There are enough artificial relationships in my life, born only out of necessity. Elliot isn’t like that. He’s a safe place where I won’t get hurt. He isn’t my protector or my guardian: he’s my friend. And I’d be crazy to throw that away.