Chapter 14
“SATURDAY night?” Roger asked.
“That’s the plan, if it’s okay with you guys. He’s back in town this weekend for the game.”
“How did I get roped into cooking?” Fran demanded.
“Your husband,” I told her.
“Thanks, you dobber,” Roger groaned.
“Gee, she never would have guessed it,” I pointed out. I tried to make peace with Fran. “I’ll come over and help you, of course.”
“Thanks, Simon, that would be nice. But I’ll also make sure Roger does his fair share as well.”
I chuckled, and Roger threw a cushion at me. We had left the porch to come in and seek sanctuary at the fire. It was a typical winter Melbourne’s day; the Antarctic winds were in full force as they tore through your skin and bone to reside in your marrow.
“I wonder what I should make,” Fran mused.
“Whatever’s easy and good,” I told her.
“You do make the best pasta,” Roger agreed.
“Pasta?” Fran wrinkled her nose. “I can’t just make bog-ordinary pasta for Declan!”
“Sure you can.” I patted her hand gently. “He needs to be introduced to how good your pasta is.”
“But I should be cracking out the Jamie Oliver’s or Bill Grainger’s—”
“Who wants that, when they could have a Francesca Dayton original?”
She sighed. “Fine. But at some other time I have to try something new.”
“Okay.”
“Bloody pasta!” she muttered to herself. “…maybe lasagne.”
I grinned. It seemed this night was going to be okay after all.
THE rain never let up that weekend. Declan flew in on Friday morning for a game that night, and once again he was told he couldn’t play at the last minute. He spoke to me briefly on the phone, but was short and snappy and very un-Declan-like. He called me again two minutes later to apologise, but had to get off the phone straightaway to attend a press conference.
I hoped after the game he might turn up on my doorstep, but he texted me in the wake of the Devils losing another match to say that he was tired and was going to crash at his parents’ but he would see me at dinner the next night.
So I was starting to get some nerves about dinner, but when I went around to help Fran prepare the food she managed to put me at ease by just being herself. She had decided to go with lasagne and had even made her own sheets, cranking them out by hand.
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” I told her.
“It’s no trouble at all,” she smiled. “Make Roger go out and pick me some basil. I’d send you, but you’d come back with grass.”
“I’m not that bad,” I protested. “I know what basil smells like, so I’d be able to find it just through that.”
“After pulling up all my plants by the roots. On this one, I’m still going to trust Roger,” she laughed. “I’d go with you on anything else, hon.”
I shook my head, and when Roger next ambled through the kitchen he was quickly dispatched to cut basil. Fran and I worked industriously for the next couple of hours, making garlic loaves from scratch and struggling with the blender to create chilli, cashew, and parmesan dip for munchies before dinner. Roger managed to avoid most culinary activities, but was very good at getting us drinks. By the time we had everything prepared I was pleasantly sloshed and Fran acted as surly bartender with a heart of gold, suspending my drink privileges at least until Declan arrived.
“Drunk is not going to look good on you when he turns up,” she said wisely.
A quick shower and a change of clothes helped sober me up, and the elation of alcohol turned back into the frayed nerves I had been feeling beforehand. I hid in Fran and Roger’s spare bedroom for a while, until Fran knocked at the door.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine, yeah.”
She frowned. “You sure sound it. Are you that scared we’re going to fuck it up?”
I glared at her. “Please.”
“That sounds more like you.”
“It’s always nerve-wracking to introduce the friends, you know that.”
She sat next to me on the bed. “I hardly know, you always try to get out of it for as long as possible. Usually until they’re out of the picture, and there’s no point anymore.”
“It’s not because of you guys.”
“Is it because of them?”
I sighed. “Partly. But mostly because of me.”
“What about you?” Then it struck her. “Oh, that again.”
“What again?”
“Showing anyone your feelings about them. We’ve seen you cry at Disney films or RSPCA commercials, but if there’s an actual human involved you may as well be a robot.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Okay, slight exaggeration, but pretty damn close.”
We sat in silence for a moment, and Fran suddenly nudged me. “Is it Roger?”
I didn’t want to admit it. “He’s been acting a bit funny lately. Only a bit.”
“He’s jealous,” Fran admitted.
I turned to look at her properly, shock obviously evident on my face.
“Oh, come on,” Fran said, exasperated. “He’s never really had to put up with you going loopy over someone before. He’s always been the alpha male in your life, and all of a sudden Declan Tyler has made you change your mind about everything.”
“You make it sound like I’ve become a mindless drone.”
“No, just that you’ve become part of a couple. Although you probably still think that’s all about being a mindless drone, when all it means is that someone is now extremely important to you, someone equal to your friends, if not on a different level altogether.”
I’ve always hated that distinction being made between how much you care for people, but you do fall victim to that mentality. “I’ve always known you two are more important to each other than I am to you, so why can’t he accept that?”
She took my hand. “Not more important. Just different. It’s like there are two separate ranking systems. You’re number one on the other system. It’s not about Sophie’s bloody Choice.”
I leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I’d choose you.”
Fran laughed and pushed me away. “You are such a liar.”
I grabbed her hand back, and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Just go easy on Roger. You can both be stubborn shits, but this is just as new for him as it is for you.”
“Why isn’t it for you?”
Fran looked at me as if the answer wasn’t already obvious. “Because I’m a woman. We’re smarter about these things.”
Rather than try to defend my sex, I just accepted it as truth. She pulled me up, and we made our way back to the kitchen.
WHEN there was a knock at the door, Fran pushed me out of the kitchen. “You answer it. It’ll give you time to make out a little before you bring him in.”
I could hear Roger snort behind me as I made some sort of protestation. Finding myself now alone in the hallway, I covered the short distance to the front door and pulled it open.
Declan was dressed in black jeans and a dark purple shirt that managed to cling in exactly the right places. I wondered if my tongue was hanging out like a character in a Loony Tunes cartoon.
“Hey,” he said, moving in to kiss me. He tried to hug me at the same time, but it was awkward as his hands were full with beer and other things I couldn’t exactly make out in the dark. I tried to compensate with grabbing him by the hips and pressing him against me. The beer bottles clanged together with enough noise to alert the neighbourhood to our presence, but we ignored it.
“How were your folks?” I asked politely as I closed the door behind him.
He looked a bit surprised that I asked, but he nodded. “Good. They were glad I was staying with them, I usually tend to sleep around—”
I burst into laughter, and he looked mortified.
“Not in that way, doofus! I meant around other friends’ houses.”
I pushed him against the hallway wall and penned him in with my body. “I hope not other ‘friends’ like me.”
He went to kiss me, and I teasingly ducked my head so it blocked him. “Not like you. But I always like it when I stay at your house the best.”
I looked up. “Yeah, my sleepovers rock.” Before he could answer, I kissed him again. The beer bottles slipped out of his grip, and we fumbled between us so they wouldn’t fall.
“We better get these inside,” he murmured.
We composed ourselves, and entered the lion’s den.
Fran and Roger tried to look like they weren’t waiting for us to enter, but they didn’t pull it off in the slightest. As I entered the kitchen, they practically ran up to me to be the first in line to meet Declan Tyler™.
Declan seemed to be wearing his best face the scrum expression, not surprising seeing their first meeting had been less than auspicious.
“Fran, Roger, this is—”
“Declan, Declan Tyler,” Roger said, grabbing Declan’s hand and pumping it furiously.
“Hi, Roger,” Declan said, amused.
“Roger, Roger Dayton,” Roger replied, not hearing his name already being mentioned and feeling he had to introduce himself.
Fran pushed him aside and managed a handshake, although she found it difficult to pull her husband’s paw out of Declan’s. “Hi, Declan. I know we’ve already met, but it’s nice to see you again.”
I could see Declan falling prey to her charms immediately. “You too, Fran. Whatever you’re making, it smells delicious.”
Fran giggled. “Simon helped. A little bit.”
“Hey!” I protested.
She ignored me, of course. “Now, Simon mentioned something about you owing me a kiss—”
Declan laughed, Roger perked up, and I groaned inwardly.
My boyfriend scratched at the back of his head bemusedly. “I guess I did say that.” Fran was starting to look a little bit like Miss Piggy eyeing Kermit. Then she laughed and pulled back. “The sentiment’s enough. I see you brought beer. That’ll do.”
I swear for almost a second Dec looked disappointed. So much for trying to avoid the footballer slut image, but I was amused. He handed over the beer to Roger, who also looked relieved, although you could almost believe he was slightly disappointed that his wife hadn’t been kissed by Declan Tyler as well.
“I knew you’d have coffee,” Declan said, “but I also brought you a special Tasmanian blend to try,” and he fished out a large silver bag that I had seen him buy at Salamanca but had thought nothing of it at the time, especially seeing as Abe’s addiction for caffeine was almost as bad as mine.
“That’s really lovely of you,” Fran said, touched.
Roger was more pleased with the beer, of course. I could see him itching to ask Declan a million questions about the AFL, but he was really trying to be on his best behaviour and treat Dec as the normal human being he was meant to be.
Once the dip had been consumed, Roger became more like his usual self. He started to ask everything he wanted to know, and Declan humoured him.
Fran was up to her old tricks of making sure everything was running smoothly. She pulled me out into the hallway and asked how I thought it was all going.
“Fine, don’t you think so?”
She held up a finger as she cocked her head and then yelled into the kitchen, “Roger, don’t ask that!”
“You are such a multitasker,” I said admiringly.
“I know,” she grinned. “And for the record, yes, it’s going well. You two are disgustingly cute together.”
I gave her a quick kiss. “Gross. But thank you.”
No sooner had we stepped back in, Fran managed to get Roger away from the table by claiming they needed to grab more firewood, and Declan and I were left alone for the first time since he first walked in the door.
“Okay, is it unbearable?” I asked.
Declan took a swig of his beer. “Roger? Nah. I’ve met worse. I bet you once this night is over, he’ll get past the glamour of it all and see me as just another schmo.”
“Man, I hope so,” I said.
He gave my hand a brief squeeze. “You’ll see.”
“Fran’s probably reading him the riot act right now.”
“I like them both. They’re like a crazier Abe and Lisa.”
I laughed. “You got that right.” I thought of my friends with great affection and how easy it could be to get used to this. As Declan stood to clear some of the debris on the table, I came up behind him and hugged him close. His hands closed over mine and he leaned back to take my kiss. I cheekily arched a finger and teased his nipple through the fabric of his shirt, and he breathed heavily into my mouth.
“God, not here—”
I let him go, and he sat down quickly, his face red. “You are such a bastard,” he said shakily.
I bent down and kissed him again. “You are staying over tonight, yeah?”
“I think you’re definitely going to have to put out, yes.”
“Perfect night,” I sighed, and I fetched us fresh beers from the fridge. I had just sat back down opposite Declan when Fran and Roger reappeared. The lack of firewood in their hands proved that their excursion was the ruse I expected. Declan self-consciously adjusted the front of his shirt slightly, and I grinned to myself as I imagined him stripping out of it later.
“No firewood?” I asked innocently.
“We’ve run out,” Fran said smoothly. “I should have realised. But I think it’s time for lasagne!”
Roger took his seat at the foot of the table again while Fran busied herself with the oven.
“Fran does the best lasagne,” I told Declan.
“Not as good as my mum’s,” Fran said self-deprecatingly, placing the gourmet extravaganza in question on the table before us as artwork.
“I don’t know,” I said, “they’re pretty much on par.”
“Yeah,” Roger said, taking a swig of his beer. “Maybe you’ll try it one day, Declan.”
Everyone froze uncomfortably for a second or so.
Declan broke it by smiling and saying quietly, “I hope so. But for now, I can’t imagine anything tasting better than this.”
Fran rested her hand upon his arm briefly, and as she walked away she shot a glare at Roger only I noticed. Roger was too busy peeling the label off his beer bottle, a nervous habit that he had never seemed to grow out of. It also made me feel slightly wary something wasn’t quite right with him.
We started serving ourselves, and a huge bowl of garlic bread was passed around.
Fran and I had decided the no-garlic rule only existed for the first two weeks of a relationship, so now I was home free and I made sure I loaded up my plate with the offending foodstuff.
“Oh, this is good,” Declan said appreciatively after only the first bite.
“I told you,” I said while Fran looked pleased with herself.
“So, what are your intentions with Simon?” Roger asked out of the blue.
The question obviously took Declan by surprise, as he started coughing.
“Roger!” Fran exclaimed.
I stared my best friend down, trying to decipher his intentions. But his face might as well have been carved from stone, and as such, was unreadable.
“I assure you,” Declan said smoothly, or just as smoothly as he could when a mouthful of food has gone down the wrong way, “that my intentions with Simon are completely honourable.” He was trying to be casual and a little bit fun, but judging by Roger’s sudden change in body language it wasn’t going to go down well. Like that mouthful of food.
“Sure,” Roger said. “But you’re not out, right?”
Declan shook his head and laid down his fork, drawing his own battle line. “Only to a few people. But publicly out? You’d already know that if I was.”
Roger nodded. “Well, Simon is.”
“I know.”
“Roger,” I said calmly, although my voice scraped like unsheathed steel.
“No,” Declan said gently. “He wants to ask some questions. Let him get them out.”
Fran didn’t look as amiable. She looked as if she was going to slash her husband’s throat with the spatula. A dull one, crusted with melted cheese, to inflict as much pain as possible.
“So what does that mean?” Roger continued.
“What does what mean?” I asked dangerously.
“Well, it seems like Simon is sacrificing a hell of a lot,” Roger said, still speaking to Declan rather than to all of us. “What about you?”
“I know he is,” Declan agreed.
“Do you really?” Roger asked. He had now finished his beer and was pouring himself a glass of wine. Strangely enough, he started politely pouring everybody else a glass as well.
“I know it’s hard for him—” Declan began.
I interrupted him, mad as hell and upset that he was being made to justify himself. “It’s a decision I made. I’m not going into this blindly, Roger.”
“And it’s not something my own friends haven’t pointed out to me,” Declan said.
Now I turned on him. “What?”
“Abe and Lisa said—”
“I thought they liked me?”
“They do!”
“But they talked to you about this—”
“Of course they did! What, Roger and Fran have never said anything about this?”
I fell silent, as he was right, and felt the gentle pressure of Fran’s hand upon my shoulder. Strange that she should be the one trying to comfort me in this emotional shitstorm—shouldn’t it be Declan?
“See?” Declan asked.
“What you’re asking him to do is squeeze back into the closet with you,” Roger said. “And he shouldn’t have to, not when it took him so much to come out himself. He shouldn’t have to go back.”
“Rog, shut up,” I warned him.
“I’m your friend, so I get to say this!” he shot back. “We want to see you happy! And this situation is only going to get harder and harder! I mean, how long can you go on like this?”
“We’re taking it as it comes,” I said, sounding unconvincing to everyone in the room.
“Declan?” Roger asked, obviously trying to see if he could get more out of him. “How long can it go on like this? You going to give a big speech on your retirement day? Or just let it leak out gradually after that? You’re only twenty-seven. You could still play professionally for at least another six or seven years. Does Simon get to wait around for that long, hiding in the shadows, pretending he doesn’t exist to the outside world?”
This was all starting to sound a bit melodramatic for my taste, but Declan was staring down at his plate.
“No,” he said softly, “maybe not.”
“But that’s my fucking decision,” I said. “And I think it’s worth it.”
Declan looked up at me and smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes.
“This was meant to be a nice dinner,” Fran murmured.
“Yeah, thanks, Roger,” I said bitterly. “You’ve really made a good impression.”
“Hey,” Declan said. “He’s trying to be a good friend.”
“Don’t defend him!”
“Someone has to. He’s going to be copping it from Fran when we leave.”
Fran said nothing, but her mutinous eyes declared Roger was living on borrowed time.
“What about the Brownlow?” Roger asked.
It seemed like the stupidest thing he could have brought up at this point of time, and Fran and I stared at each other in confusion. When I looked at Declan, however, I could see he knew what Roger was getting at.
“It’s coming up in a few weeks,” Roger prodded him.
Declan nodded.
“Do you have a date?”
Declan sighed and folded his arms defensively against his chest. “Yes. I do.”
I should have expected it. Because I knew I would never be going to it. Yet hearing that affirmation hurt, especially because we hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss it between ourselves. For him to explain it all and let me in on his plans.
“Who?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“My sister’s friend, Jess. The same girl I took the year I won.”
“Does she know you’re gay?” I asked.
Declan nodded. “We have an understanding. She’s a friend. She likes to help out every now and again when I need a date for a function.”
“Wow, that closet’s getting a little full,” Roger murmured.
“Shut the fuck up!” Fran hissed at him. “You’ve said enough!”
My chest felt tight from trying not to explode. I didn’t know whether I just wanted to yell at everyone or go off somewhere and either scream or cry until this tightness went away. I wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack; I was surprised I was still breathing normally. I managed to somehow get to my feet and stammer out, “Yeah, look, I think I’m going to go.”
“Simon,” Fran said desperately.
Roger stood up to follow me, and I glared at him. “Don’t.”
All it took was that one word to stop him in his tracks.
I gave Fran a quick kiss. “Thanks.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.
The last thing I wanted to do was speak to anybody, but I nodded. I didn’t want her to think I was going to ignore her again like last time.
Last time.
This was all becoming a bit too frequent and repetitive for my liking.
As I stumbled out into the hallway, I heard Declan make his apologies to Fran. He even said good-bye to Roger, although it was a terse one. I was fumbling with my car keys, trying to open the door when he came up behind me.
“Hey,” he said tenderly.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“What for?”
“Just, Abe and Lisa—”
“This has nothing to do with Abe and Lisa—”
“But they were so nice to me, and my friends attack you—”
“Fran was perfectly lovely. Roger… well… he was trying to defend you. I can’t be pissed with him for that, although I can be pissed off in a lot of other ways.”
“Stop sounding like you’re on his side—”
He took my keys off me and unlocked the door himself. “I’m on your side,” he said, passing the keys back.
“Well, I’m on yours, so I can be pissed off for you.”
“Good thing we’re on each other’s sides, then,” he mused. “Because it’ll be hell if we start in on each other too.”
Damn, he looked pretty in the moonlight. Okay, technically, it was the fluorescent glow from a streetlight. But he still looked pretty.
“We have to be,” I told him.
“Can I still come over?”
I wanted to kiss him, out on the street, under the light, but I knew I couldn’t. “Like you had to ask.”
“After that in there, I thought it was best.”
“See you back home.”
I felt his hand briefly on my hip, but it was gone just as quick. I got into my car and looked up to see Fran standing on the front porch. She gave a small wave, and I gave her one back. Then I savagely threw the car into reverse and got the hell out of Dodge.
Declan wasn’t far behind me; I was only getting out of my car when he pulled into my driveway.
“I’m calling for pizza,” I told him. “Strangely enough, I’m starving.”
He grinned. “Me too. It must be because of that huge lack of food we got to eat.”
Maggie was surly when I got in the door. I fed her, ordered pizza, and let Declan fetch me a beer. We didn’t speak much, it wasn’t until the pizza arrived and we were finally getting food into our bellies that we started to talk.
“This is in no way as good as Fran’s lasagne,” I told him.
“I have to agree. But it’s warm, and I’m hungry, so pass me another slice.”
My phone rang, and I could tell from caller ID it was either Fran or Roger. I let the answering machine get it and turned it down so I wouldn’t have to listen.
“You’re going to have to talk to him sometime.”
“Not tonight. Probably not for a while.”
“Just don’t freeze Fran out. She doesn’t deserve to get caught in the middle.”
“I won’t,” I replied. “But she’ll be in the middle anyway.” I put my plate down, suddenly not hungry anymore.
“Hey,” Declan said simply, and he put his plate down as well. He pulled me over to him, and I sank against his warmth. His arms came around me, and as much as every inner demon within me screamed to resist, I let myself go limp and closed my eyes, taking comfort in him and feeling soothed. I felt my anger fade away in those moments I lay there, while the soft steady thump of his heart close to my ear calmed me out of my natural skittishness. Was this what love was like? The mere thought of the word made me want to yak like a cat with a hairball, but even though I could now put a word to it I still couldn’t say it. I didn’t know what I thought I would lose, but everything around us seemed (or felt) precarious, and I didn’t want to tip the balance any further when we seemed to have found a moment of calm in the eye of the storm.
THE real talk, of course, happened under the cover of darkness in the bedroom.
“She’s pretty,” I said.
I could sense Declan wanting to say “who?” and pretending he didn’t know straight away what I was referring to, but he just sighed and said, “Yes.”
“She looks good on you,” I pressed further.
He gave a short laugh. “Jess isn’t a suit.”
“I remember her vaguely from all the photos of you in the papers when you won the Brownlow.”
“I guess anyone couldn’t help but miss it.”
“Why does she do it?”
“Because she’s my friend.”
“There isn’t anything more than that?”
He hesitated before replying. “I wonder how Roger knew.”
I sat up, finally, sensing we wouldn’t be sleeping for a while. “Knew what?”
“He made that comment… about how crowded the closet was.”
It dawned on me. “She’s gay?”
He motioned for me to lie down again. “Yeah.”
I slid back down, and we recommenced cuddling. “So it’s a relationship of convenience?”
“It’s not a relationship. We just help each other out.”
“But doesn’t that make her family think that you’re a couple?”
“It’s amazing what people won’t ask when you act deliberately vague about it all.”
I just thought they hadn’t crossed the right people. I seemed surrounded by those who wanted to know everything about you in excruciating detail as soon as they were formally introduced.
“But it’s been two years since you won the Brownlow—”
“Jess gets the feeling we’re considered to be an on-again, off-again couple. It helps I live in another state.”
I dug my chin into his shoulder. “So you’re on again for the Brownlow?”
“You can’t go there alone. That would be a hell of a way to stand out.”
I thought of the blue carpet ceremony, which had been introduced in the past decade, a crass offshoot stolen from American award shows, where the footballers and their girlfriends had to parade like cattle. The girls would have to name-drop their designers, and the boys would be stumped when it came to remembering where they hired their suits. Turning up without a girl would be tantamount to career suicide and endless speculation. “Yeah, it sure would.”
“In a better world, I’d be taking you.”
I laughed. “And I’d be taking advantage of the free booze.”
Declan lifted my chin so I could see how his eyes were pleading his case for him. “You’re not pissed off?”
“At the world maybe,” I admitted. “But not you.”
He kissed me, and his hands began wandering south. I threw back my head and moaned softly as his mouth travelled down to the hollow of my neck.
“Dec….”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“These favours you and Jess have… how far do they go?”
“Huh?”
“Like in a few years, you’re not going to be harvesting your sperm for her children are you?”
“Simon,” he said tiredly, “you’re really going to have to learn to be quiet when someone is trying to seduce you.”
My body agreed, because in a few seconds Jess and her possible future spawn were the last thing on my mind.