I felt like I should know if Laura was my girlfriend but I didn’t. At school she was just the same as before we’d kissed. She didn’t mention it.
Two more afternoons went by. On the first I sat in the booth at the back of the pizza shop and did my homework during her shift. Dave and his mates were in the front booth, but they ignored me. Or at least they didn’t say anything, and I kept my head down. On the second afternoon I watched her rehearsal again in the school hall. Laura was playing Coral in Away, the play we were studying in English. She’d never be a great actress – even I could see that – but she wasn’t bad, and I didn’t mind watching.
There wasn’t a minute alone with her. In her mother’s car, dropping me home after drama, she sat in the front seat, so there was no chance to hold hands, or even exchange a look.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ she said when her mother pulled up outside my place. ‘I’ve got rehearsal, if you wanna come?’
I got out, shut my door, leaned down to her window. ‘Yep.’
‘Bye, Jazz,’ she said.
‘Bye, Laura. Bye, Mrs Fieldman. Thanks for the lift.’
The car swooshed off in a way that didn’t answer any questions. It was still light, and the evenings were warm. In the old days I would have had a swim.
How would I even know if Laura was my girlfriend?
I pushed open the gate and headed in. The handyman guy, Tom, was crouching on the verandah, which was suddenly cream, and the place stank of paint.
I trudged up the steps. ‘Hi.’
He looked up from wiping the brushes and smiled. ‘Hi.’
‘Looks good,’ I lied.
He looked at me with an eyebrow raised and then back at the wall. ‘Yeah.’ He stood up and dried his hands on the legs of his shorts. ‘Hear you like running?’
I blinked. Back in Hobart I’d won a few athletics prizes. I’d thought being a fast runner would help. But you know what they say about vicious animals: running just makes them attack you. I hadn’t run since we moved north.
‘Uh, I guess. Used to.’
‘There’s a loop track that starts in the next street. Up to the big park and back. About six Ks. Wanna come?’
It was a weird offer. I took a step backwards. ‘Oh, no thanks. I’ve got homework, you know?’
‘Easy!’ Tom put his hands up. ‘No big deal. Your dad thought you might wanna.’
I was right to be suspicious. I wondered if it was part of Tom’s job for Dad. Paint the verandah, mow the lawn and cheer up my son.
‘What would Dad know?’ I moved past him and put my hand to the screen door.
‘Running stopped me going nuts when my father died.’
I stood still.
‘How old are you?’ Tom asked.
‘Nearly sixteen.’
‘I was nearly seventeen when Dad died.’
The house was empty. I didn’t have homework. I’d done so much homework to pass the time, I was reading chapters we hadn’t reached in class. There was nothing for me to do and no one to do it with. Since Laura and I had started catching the bus, I hadn’t even ridden my bike.
I pushed the door open. ‘I’ll get changed.’
*
I started out fast, but after two kilometres I had a stitch. My face burned and I was panting.
Next to me, Tom breathed easily. He wasn’t even sweating. The track had gone round the grassy streets of the neighbourhood, past the barking dogs, and come to the big park. We ran under a tall pine tree where the noise from the parrots in its branches was nearly deafening.
Tom slowed and glanced over at me. ‘Break?’
I was glad to stop, though I tried not to show it. Put my hands on my hips and bent over, breathing hard. It hurt, but physical pain was bearable. I just hoped Tom wouldn’t take this as a sign to ask how I was coping or whatever other dumb ideas Dad might have put in his head.
I snuck a look at him. He’d put his foot up against the tree and was stretching out his hamstring, looking up at the parrots. Not smiling, exactly, but happy. It was Wednesday afternoon, he’d finished work, he was fit. He’d probably be going to the pub with some mates later, or maybe he had a girlfriend he was taking out to dinner.
‘Let’s get going,’ I said, straightening up. ‘No pain no gain.’
He laughed. ‘You believe that bullshit?’
He swung around and took off and I had to sprint to catch up. He was faster than me and I couldn’t get into a rhythm going side by side. Kept falling behind and speeding to catch up. Six kilometres was going to wear me out.
It was better when the track wound down into the bush and I dropped back and ran behind him instead of trying to match his stride. I found a rhythm and my legs settled. The stitch disappeared. I panted and my muscles burned, but I remembered how you could get to that feeling like you were floating. It didn’t take long. A week or two of running and I could be back there.
We pounded through the little valley and up the other side. I couldn’t remember when I’d last sweated like that from exercise. It was dripping down my sides and my forehead and it felt good. Whatever Tom thought, the physical pain was good. I lifted my knees higher, forced my legs to work harder. We were back in the streets and I sped up. Tom heard me coming up behind and grinned as I caught up.
‘Bout time.’
I didn’t answer. Was going to pay for this tomorrow, I reckoned, but it didn’t matter. I remembered how I used to dig down for that last bit of strength, and it was still there, right where I remembered. My legs pumped. I drew ahead of Tom and rounded the corner of my street. A quick glance over my shoulder showed him twenty metres behind, red faced but not giving up. There wasn’t far to go and if I slowed down he could still catch me. I was looking at my feet, I realised, and remembered what I’d learned back in Hobart. Look at the finish line. Look at where you want to end up.
The light was fading as I raised my head. I saw the hedge that hid our house, the little wooden gate, the big gum tree with the white branches, the driveway.
Parked in it, a police car.