When I woke, the afternoon sun was spilling over my cracked windowsill and onto Ashleigh’s naked body. She was lying on her back, an arm slung over her forehead, her blonde hair mussed up from our recent lovemaking.
Lovemaking. That was what Ashleigh liked to call it. As if it were like baking a loaf of bread rather than two people getting their rocks off.
I propped myself up on my elbow, traced my finger around the tattoo on her right hipbone. Hers was a rose; mine, larger and on my lower back, was a snake. Ashleigh had wanted his and hers tattoos, a pair of puzzle pieces that slotted together. I’d managed to wriggle out of that one. ‘You need something pretty,’ I’d said. ‘A pretty tattoo for a beautiful body.’
Ashleigh’s eyelashes fluttered. ‘What time is it?’
‘I dunno. Two o’clock, maybe?’ I slipped my hand between her thighs. She was still wet.
‘You’re never happy with just once, are you?’
‘This will be to your advantage, I promise,’ I murmured, lowering my mouth onto hers.
‘Mmm.’ She pulled me on top of her. ‘I love you, Xan.’
‘I love you too.’
I did, I did.
By the time we arrived at Ashleigh’s new flat, it was after three. The three-storey building was on Great King Street, a convenient ten-minute stroll from the university, and much tidier than the draughty bungalow I’d been living in for the past year.
‘They gave it a paint job.’ Ashleigh used the rear-vision mirror to reapply her lipstick.
I squinted at the building. ‘What do you call that?’ I asked. ‘Puke green?’ I unfolded myself from the passenger seat of her Fiat Bambina. It was a recent twentieth-birthday present from her parents, complete with a personalised number plate that said ASH20.
‘Better than mango vomit. Can you grab my bag?’ As usual, Ashleigh made no move to get it herself. I’d spent enough time around her family to know that her mother and father had a similar relationship.
‘Coming right up,’ I muttered, flipping the boot and yanking her suitcase out. It still had yesterday’s luggage tags on, Auckland to Dunedin.
Ashleigh strode up to the front door, her expensive handbag under her arm, and tried the handle. ‘Unlocked.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Guess someone beat us to it.’
‘Guess they did.’ I dumped her suitcase in the entranceway-cum-laundry, noting that a bike had been propped against the washing machine, and followed her up the stairs. The three doors on that level were all open, the rooms vacant.
‘Hope they haven’t nabbed my room.’ Ashleigh jogged up to the next floor. I’d barely cleared the top step when I heard her say, ‘I hate to tell you this, but this room’s already taken.’ She moved through the doorway to the left and stuck out her hand. ‘You must be Veronica. I’m Ashleigh.’
I hovered behind her. A girl was sitting cross-legged on the double bed, a pen in her hand, a notebook in front of her. Judging from her expression, she wasn’t too happy with Ashleigh’s declaration. I didn’t blame her.
‘Everyone calls me Ronnie.’ The girl tucked a silver strand of hair behind her right ear, which was decorated with three tiny studs. Most of her hair was jet black, apart from that silver streak.
Ashleigh retracted her hand and folded her arms. ‘Cute. Yeah, so anyway, I already bagsed this room and Nisha has next door. You can have whichever room you like downstairs. If I were you, I’d take the one farthest away from the bathroom.’
Cringing inwardly — the girl looked as though she’d quite like to slap Ashleigh in the face — I mumbled, ‘Hey Ash, why don’t you give her a break?’
My girlfriend flicked me an irritated glance. ‘I told you I wanted this room when we looked through the first time, remember?’
I thrust my hands into my jeans pockets and turned away. I knew who’d win this battle, and it wouldn’t be Ronnie. I remember when I met Ashleigh’s mother, and she’d said indulgently, as if it were a virtue, ‘We always say, what Ashleigh wants, Ashleigh gets. There’s no point in battling with her. We learnt that when she was a toddler.’
‘It’s fine,’ Ronnie said. ‘I can move.’
Ashleigh smiled. ‘Sorry about the misunderstanding. Here, we’ll give you a hand. Xander?’
‘Oh.’ Ronnie’s laugh was unconvincing. ‘I thought that was Harrison, the token male flatmate.’
‘Are you kidding? Harrison’s a ginger, kind of weedy. Xander could arm-wrestle him with his little finger.’ Ashleigh took a bunch of clothes already on their hangers out of the wardrobe. ‘Xan, can you be a hon and get my phone out of the car? I think I left it under the handbrake.’
I stared at her for a moment, bit back ‘Get it yourself’, and went to do as I was told. Once I’d retrieved her phone, I took the chance to check my own messages.
Yoda: Up for a game of touch at 5? We’re having beers afterwards.
Sweet as, see you then. I jogged back into the flat and up the stairs, rounding the corner just in time to run straight into Ronnie. She flew backwards, went down with a yelp.
‘Shit, sorry.’ I crouched beside her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ She got up, wincing.
‘Jeez, Xander, take her out, why don’t you?’
I straightened up, giving Nisha the evils. ‘It was an accident.’ I turned to Ronnie. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
She was gripping the rail with one hand, an armful of clothes with the other. Her eyes were shiny, as though she were about to cry.
Nisha, who’d had her hair wound into a series of braids since I’d last seen her — a sure sign of a tropical holiday — scooped up two bras and a pair of undies and passed them to Ronnie. ‘Are you Veronica? I’m Nisha. What happened, did your suitcase break or something?’
‘Something like that.’ Ronnie started hobbling down the stairs.
‘Whoops,’ said Nisha. ‘How was your holiday, Xander?’
‘It was good.’ I retrieved Ashleigh’s phone from where it had fallen on the landing below. Ronnie had disappeared inside the bedroom near the bathroom, either as a screw-you gesture to Ashleigh or because it wasn’t as far to limp.
‘Aren’t you going to give me a hug?’ Nisha tackled me as soon as I reached the third floor.
I returned the embrace, tugging one of her braids. ‘What were you doing over the summer, sunning yourself by a pool in Hawaii?’
‘Raro, actually. What did you do?’ She punched my arm. ‘Got yourself a nice tan.’
I curled my upper lip at her. ‘I was living the dream in South Auckland. Spent most of it working at Mum’s shop.’
Ashleigh strolled out of the bedroom, her feet bare. ‘What are you two doing out here?’
Nisha rolled her eyes. ‘Having sex, what else?’
‘Well, keep it down, will you?’ Ashleigh threw her arms around Nisha, who’d been her best friend at the hostel, while I hauled her suitcase into her room and onto her bed. Ashleigh had dumped the duvet — obviously Ronnie’s — on the floor, along with a pile of books, a pillow and a pair of white trainers. I leant on the windowsill, inhaling the scents of hot bitumen and animal piss. The road below was the one-way system heading north, which meant lots of sheep trucks.
Ashleigh hugged me from behind. ‘Hey babe, can you help me take the rest of Ronnie’s stuff downstairs?’
‘Sure.’ I took the books, waiting until Ashleigh had left before taking a quick look at the titles. They were well loved, judging from the yellowing pages and wrinkled spines. The two that caught my eye were ones I’d read as well — Anthony Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. Interesting. I went back down to Ronnie’s new room, pausing in the hallway when I heard a low, vehement ‘Fuck you’.
Jesus. I took a few steps forward, relaxing when I saw that Ronnie was sitting on her bed, alone. Her left leg was stuck out in front of her, the ankle swollen to at least twice its normal size.
My gut twinged with guilt. ‘Uh, where do you want these?’ Was that ‘Fuck you’ directed at me or Ashleigh? Both, probably.
‘Just wherever,’ she said, her head bowed.
‘You might want to put something on that.’ I set the books on the shelf above the built-in desk. ‘You know, RICE.’ I set the pillow I’d brought from upstairs on the bed and gestured for Ronnie to put her leg up on it.
‘RICE? Oh.’ Her cheeks were flushed. ‘What’s C?’
‘Compression.’ Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. It was one of the first things I’d learnt in the first-aid course we did in second-year med school last year, along with how much messier car accidents were when people didn’t wear seatbelts. I scratched a mosquito bite on my neck. ‘I’ll see what’s in the freezer, back soon.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. After finding a bag of frozen peas, obviously abandoned by the last tenants, I wrapped it in a threadbare tea towel, returned to Ronnie’s room and propped it against her ankle. ‘I’ll go look in my car, see if I’ve got a bandage.’
‘OK.’ She pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Thanks.’
I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered we’d come in Ashleigh’s car rather than mine, but surely her doting father had equipped it with a first-aid kit. My suspicions were confirmed when I found one in the glovebox, along with something I wasn’t expecting. What the hell? Perhaps I shouldn’t have slid the box out of the brown paper bag, but the part that was sticking out had already made it obvious. ‘Results as fast as one minute,’ it declared, alongside an image of a plastic stick with two pink lines. My mouth dry, I stuck the box back where it belonged and grabbed a rolled-up bandage out of the kit.
She can’t be pregnant. She would have told me by now … wouldn’t she?
What if she hasn’t done the test yet?
Fuckety-fuck.
I took the stairs two at a time to Ronnie’s room. They were really narrow, almost as if they were intent on tripping me; I had to grab the handrail to stop my fall. Ronnie had shuffled back on her bed so she was propped against a pillow, and was bent over her phone.
‘Man, that’s going to come out in one mother of a bruise.’ As I sat next to her, I tried to block the panicked thoughts swirling through my brain; no, Ash can’t be pregnant, but Jesus, what if she is? ‘You mind if I bandage this up?’
Ronnie put down her phone. ‘Sure, you’re the doctor.’
‘Not even halfway. I’ve only just started third year.’ I lifted her foot into my lap and began wrapping the bandage around her ankle in the figure of eight configuration we always used with judo injuries. Her feet were tiny, a silver ring on her second toe. ‘Where are you from, Ronnie?’
‘Christchurch. How about you?’
‘Auckland.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘Fuck, no,’ I said. ‘Do you miss Christchurch?’
‘Fuck no,’ she echoed, and I grinned.
‘Leaving something behind?’
She glanced away. ‘I hope so.’
I fastened the bandage with a clip and stood up. ‘That was a good book.’ I touched the spine of A Clockwork Orange. ‘Grim, though.’
Ashleigh’s voice came floating down the stairs. ‘Xan-der! Can I get a hand up here? I need to borrow your massive biceps.’
‘I like books that make you think,’ Ronnie said.
‘Yeah, me too.’ I blew out my breath. ‘Better go,’ I said, and went to see what Ash wanted this time.
Also, I had a question for her.
I didn’t get to ask it, though, because Nisha had taken up residence on Ashleigh’s bed to catch up on the summer gossip. She was still there when half past four came around, at which stage I realised I’d better get home and change for the touch game.
Ashleigh stuck out her lower lip. ‘I thought we were going to have drinks here tonight. Skye and Dom should be here by then.’
‘I’ll come back after touch.’ I kissed her. She didn’t look pregnant. It was a stupid thought, but surely she wouldn’t be suggesting drinks if she were. ‘All right if I take your car?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Ashleigh kissed me again. ‘Hey, Nish, I guess we’ll have to walk to the bottle store.’
‘Well, yeah, it’s only a hundred metres down the road,’ Nisha said, giving me a ‘what the?’ look.
By the time I arrived at the park, Yoda was already there, along with a group of our friends from med school and their flatmates.
‘Hey, man.’ Yoda bumped fists with me. ‘Manage to get a leave pass, did you?’ He seemed to have become even bulkier over the summer, a barrel-chested mixture of muscle and fat, and had grown a bushy beard.
‘No pass required, mate. I did have to swap the Bambina for a more manly vehicle, though.’ I gestured at my station wagon, which I’d driven down from Auckland the previous week. ‘What do you reckon?’
He stroked his beard. ‘Nice. All you need is a dog.’
‘I’m sure my landlord would love that. Shirts on versus shirts off?’
‘Sounds good.’ Yoda peeled off his T-shirt and I followed suit. The sun was still high in the sky, but the southerly breeze felt good on my sweaty skin. I fielded a pass from Nate, one of our med-school buddies, and started running, only to be touched by my flatmate Jack.
‘Screw you!’ After passing the ball between my legs, I went out left, trying to find a gap. For the next forty minutes we ducked and wove, touched and tumbled, yelling and hugging like jackasses whenever anyone scored a try. It felt good to expend some energy after a day of lounging around with Ashleigh, to get the adrenaline pumping. Not that she and I hadn’t achieved that in a different way, but still. We’d only spent a week apart over the holidays, but I’d already grown used to the sense of freedom that came with being pseudo-single.
‘Hey, Xan, wake up!’ Yoda yelled, and I started, realising too late that I’d missed a ball coming my way. I shook my head, sweat flying from my hair, which I’d let grow into a shaggy mop over the summer. Blond and Blonder, Ashleigh’s dad liked to call me and his daughter. I was never sure whether it was a compliment or an insult.
Jesus, I had to stop thinking about her. Somehow Ashleigh had managed to inveigle herself into my every waking thought, especially now I was worried that I could have knocked her up. I jogged after Harvey and tried, unsuccessfully, to touch him before giving up and throwing myself to the ground.
‘Is it time for a beer yet?’
Yoda flopped down beside me. ‘First one to cave in shouts the first round.’
I tensed. ‘I said “a beer”. I’m driving, remember?’ And if I didn’t get to Ashleigh’s in time for drinks and pizza, I’d never hear the end of it. Besides which, I could hardly afford beers for ten people.
‘Just kidding. Married life has really got to you, hasn’t it?’ Yoda punched me on the shoulder.
Growling, I rolled towards him and pinned him down with the strongest judo hold I knew. ‘Don’t marry me off yet, little Jedi.’
‘You always do that!’ Yoda yelled, making a brief, futile effort to get free.
‘You’re lucky I didn’t choke you,’ I said. A choke, Ashleigh’s dad had told me, compresses the carotid artery and blocks off the blood supply to the brain. It’s much quicker than a strangle, which puts pressure on the windpipe. He’d proceeded to demonstrate, with me tapping out as soon as my vision began to grey, which had been a matter of a few seconds.
‘Psycho killer,’ Yoda rasped.
‘Your life should be so exciting.’ I released him and stood up, brushing grass off my shorts.
‘Ah man.’ He jumped up and slung an arm around my neck. ‘You know I’m just jealous of your super-hot girlfriend.’
I didn’t argue with him, because he was right. Ashleigh was super-hot. We were the perfect couple — made for each other, apparently.
Apparently.