‘Fox, look, that was then and this is now. I don’t like to focus on stuff that happened back then. It never helps.’
He eyes me through the smoke. ‘Does anyone ever look after you, Gem?’
I roll my eyes.
‘Are you happy? You’re not, are you?’
And then his arms are around me and his mouth is on mine—smoke and spice and weed—and my head scrapes roughly against the jagged brick wall and I’m in high school again.
‘Fox, stop!’ I push him away gently and then more firmly.
‘C’mon, Gem. It’s okay.’
‘No, stop it.’
We stand there locked in a direct stare for a few moments and my head whirls with black nothingness.
‘Um, hi.’ Scott steps into the light at the end of the dark passage.
I step sideways away from Fox.
‘Hey, man. You good? Gem’s just a bit upset. Stressful week. We’re reminiscing, you know?’ Fox seems unflustered by Scott’s arrival. ‘Right, Gem?’
I nod, smiling at Scott. His face is pale but it might just be the outside light shining on it like a spotlight.
‘Yeah. Thanks, Fox. And now I need another drink. Whoa. God, it’s still so hot.’
I slip past them both and return to the backyard. ‘Hey, hi, hi,’ I say, as I make my way to the drinks table. The music throbs through my body. I can’t find any wine so I slosh gin into a cup and cover it with dregs of lemonade.
A bunch of people are dancing near the kiddie pool, their hands raised high. Scott grabs my elbow.
‘I want to dance,’ I tell him and pull away, not looking at his eyes. I gulp down my drink and join the dancers. I don’t recognise most of them but Doug offers me a high five and my hand stings as we slap.
‘Go, Gem!’ he says and I smile back. Everyone is smiling at me. It feels good to dance. I wonder whether Scott is watching me, if Fox is, but I don’t stop to look for either of them. I shake out my arms as a new song comes on. All the women squeal and start jumping with renewed energy. I move to the beat. I need to get my shoes off; my feet are on fire. I hop on the spot and yank off my boots. I stretch out my toes and spring back into the dancing thrum, whirling wildly. Jacob, Scott, Felix, Fox. I’m so sick of thinking about them. New songs come on and I keep moving. It’s so hot. All the other women love that I’m dancing with them. They grab at my waist and spin me around and I’m like a gymnast, or a ballerina turning in perfect circles.
I’m too hot. I need to sit down. I peer at my watch. Is that 1 am or 2 am? Fuck, I have to work in the morning. Keep trying to figure out who killed perfect, precious Rose Ryan. The perfect girl who ruined everything. My hair is sticking to the back of my neck. Maybe I’ll stand in the kiddie pool, stop for a minute. I step over the plastic rim. There’s no ice left but the water is cold. Just like the water in the lake. Rosalind is dead, Jacob is dead. Dead, dead, dead, but not me, I’m still here all alone. I almost laugh because it is so insane. My chest is heaving and I can’t catch my breath from the dancing. I have to sit down. I take a few steps backwards and squat on the edge of the kiddie pool, which immediately gives way, and I sink back into the icy water, laughter and screams washing over me as I fall.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Sunday, 20 December, 7.57 am
I open my eyes and the first thing I see is a bucket on the floor next to the bed. From this angle I can’t tell if it’s empty but either way I definitely recall heaving into it after Scott brought me home. I hear his breathing behind me, ruffled by a slight snore. My head throbs, forcing my eyes shut again. I need to get up and get ready to go to work. I had planned to pick up Ben from Dad’s so Scott doesn’t have to do it later, but I won’t have time now. I slowly shift my body over and watch Scott sleeping. His face is relaxed and he looks peaceful, his eyelids as smooth as a child’s. His lips are parted slightly and turn up at the edges. He has become a stranger.
I get up. I wash out the already rinsed bucket and quietly place it back in the laundry. Without Ben the house seems like an empty shell: like my ears are underwater. The silence roars around me. I flick on the radio but the voices and the laughter echo through the kitchen maniacally and I am hit by a wave of sickness. I run to the toilet and vomit repeatedly, my face exploding with sweat, the stale smell of wine making me retch even more. When I think it’s over, I flush the toilet and drop into a sitting position on the bathroom floor. I rest my head on the cool bowl and cry, tears running down my face. After the tears stop I wash my face and my neck, brush my teeth and twist my hair into a low messy bun. Grabbing my mobile, I step out onto the deck to call Dad. I talk in a low voice to Ben, who chatters excitedly about the cereal Dad has just given him for breakfast, then ask him to give the phone back to Granddad.
‘I need to get into work, Dad. Scott will come and get Ben a little later. Is that okay?’
‘Of course, of course. I love having him, you know that.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘How was last night? Did you guys have fun?’
‘Yep, yep—it was great.’
‘That’s good, darling. You work so hard, it’s good for you two to have some fun. You’re still so young.’
I nod, dangerously close to crying again. ‘I gotta go, Dad. Tell Ben I’ll see him later.’
I end the call and grab my things. I write a note for Scott saying that I spoke to Dad, that he can pick up Ben later, that I’ll be home around 7 pm. I’m glad he’s not awake yet. I can’t bear the thought of him looking at me. Felix keeps springing into my head. All I want is to tumble into bed with him and stay there for hours, his hands all over my body. As my frustration bubbles over I slam both hands hard onto the steering wheel. I start to cry again, a messy red-eyed affair, as I think about Fox, my dancing and all the moments from last night that I can’t remember. Felix, Scott, Ben, Jacob, Rose. My mouth clenches and I try to take calming breaths. I feel weightless but it’s not freeing or empowering, it’s as if I have no anchor: the chain has snapped and I have drifted too far away. My reality feels like a permanent state of surreal.