Chapter 18
DECLAN sent me a text message later on that said
One more night here. I’ll see you tomorrow if that’s okay with you.
His choice of words troubled me. Since when did he feel he had to ask permission to see me? I had a feeling this fallout from Jasper Brunswick’s phone call would be with us for a while.
Roger didn’t call at all. I wasn’t expecting him to, really. I wondered if he would even tell Fran I had attempted contact again, but knew that with Roger being Roger he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. So I could at least give myself the satisfaction his time in the dog house would probably be lengthened.
Declan’s car was already in the driveway when I got home from work the next night. It was nice to see the lights on in my house as I trudged through the growing darkness, and even nicer to think that there was somebody in there waiting for me.
Especially when they’ve prepared food for you. I could smell the garlic before I even stepped in the door.
“Hey!” Declan greeted me as I entered and peered around the corner of the kitchen.
“Hey yourself.”
He jogged over to greet me, surprising me with a bear hug and a passionate kiss. “Hope you don’t mind that I cooked for you.”
“Are you kidding?” I asked, pleased that he seemed to be more like his old self. “I never turn down a free meal.”
“Don’t know how free it is, most of the stuff came from your cupboard.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
He looked at me earnestly. “It’s part of my apology for being a jerk the past few days.”
“That was you being a jerk? You need to step up your game, man,” I said with far more joviality than I had felt within that specified timeframe.
“I mean it.”
“I know.” I rested my chin on his shoulder. “You did make me worry.”
His hand rested upon my back as if he were trying to settle me after the fact. “We can take on Jasper Brunswick,” he laughed softly.
“Jesus, a four-year-old could take on Jasper Brunswick,” I said, rolling my eyes. I sniffed the air. “So what did you make me?”
He pulled back to look at my reaction. “Comfort food of the highest order. Macaroni cheese and mashed potato.”
“Hopefully neither of those come from a packet?” I asked, as they probably would have if I had been cooking home alone.
He looked offended. “The macaroni cheese is Fran’s recipe.” He pulled me towards the stove, and it took a couple of seconds for it to dawn on me.
“Hold on, Fran’s recipe?”
“Yeah, she gave it to me.”
“When were you speaking to Fran?”
Declan looked at me quizzically. “I’ve always been speaking to Fran.”
I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy about them getting along or suspicious about how that reflected upon me when my own dealings with my friends had been so fractious lately.
Distracted momentarily by checking the contents of the oven, Declan turned back to me, caught sight of the expression on my face, and sighed. “Okay, it’s time to come clean.”
Oh, here it comes. “What?” I asked warily.
“I’ve also spoken to Roger.”
I felt like I needed to sit down; instead I turned around and reached for a beer from the fridge. “Right. Why?”
“He wanted to apologise to me himself for what happened at dinner that night,” he replied. “Got one of those for me?”
I took a swig to calm my nerves and grabbed one for him. “When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“And you’re only telling me this now?”
“I figured it would piss you off.” He studied me carefully, while twisting his beer open. “And I guess I was right.”
“You should have told me,” I said.
“Yeah, obviously.”
“But I’m glad he had the balls to tell you that himself, at least.”
“Well, he’s had the balls to tell you too.”
“Don’t start on that again.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Tonight’s about us.”
“That sounds better.”
“But just let me say one thing,” he murmured quickly. “Keep trying with him. Even if he’s being the stubborn one now. Don’t you think, especially in light of this Jasper Brunswick crap, we need our friends? Especially those in the know?”
He was wearing me down. And holding the Jasper Brunswick card over me was low, but it worked.
“You could be right,” I conceded begrudgingly.
He tapped his bottle against mine. “I love it when you say that.”
“Don’t get used to it.” It was an empty threat, and we both knew it.
“You know, the phone’s just over there, while I finish up here—”
“Let a man eat first,” I protested.
“You always have an excuse.”
I snuck up on him and hugged him from behind. His back was warm and broad, and I snuggled into it unabashedly. “This is a pretty good one.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “It’s not bad.”
“I HAVE something else to tell you,” Declan declared while we were eating.
“Good something else, or bad something else?” I asked cautiously.
He scratched his chin mockingly, his eyes glinting. “You’ll probably think it’s both.”
I laid down my fork and put up my fists in a defensive stance. “Okay, tell me.”
He laughed, reached over, and pushed my hands down. “I made an offer on an apartment yesterday.”
I had just taken a sip of wine and had to swallow the mouthful with some difficulty. “Details?”
“It’s in the Docklands, great view of the water, security entrance—”
I didn’t want to do the vulgar thing, but I had to ask. “How much?”
He named a figure which would have taken me over ten years to earn. In fact, longer. I gulped more wine at just the thought of that. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Uh, wow.”
“I don’t think ‘wow’ is a proper reaction.”
“Well, I’m happy if you’re happy.”
“Also not a reaction,” he pointed out. I could tell he was starting to get a little pissed off.
“No, really. I mean, it’s your apartment, Dec. And if it means you have a place to anchor you in Melbourne a little more, then I’m over the fucking moon about it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Then you’d be happy to know they accepted the offer?”
Okay, there was no way I could finish this wine just yet without winding up with it spilled embarrassingly all over me or the table, so I put the glass down. “They did?”
“Yep.” He looked very pleased with himself.
I leaned across and kissed him. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“When do I get to see it?”
“Soon, hopefully. I can show you the pictures and everything after dinner.”
“You are such a real estate mogul,” I teased. “You’ll have the orange section of the board bought out in no time.”
“I hope you like it,” Dec said. “I mean, I hope you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“I guess my humble home on Old Kent Road fades in comparison, huh?”
He gave me a little wink. “Not at all.”
DECLAN jumped back into bed, brandishing a manila folder, and immediately spooned into me again. “I paid for the quickest settlement offer. I should be able to get the keys in forty days.”
“Wow, that’s fast.” Everything still seemed pretty surreal to me. I couldn’t believe in little over a month Dec would have a permanent space here, even though he would still be spending the majority of his time in Hobart. I also had to admit, despite what I said about it being an anchor to keep him in Melbourne, I was disappointed as it meant my house wouldn’t be the lure for him that it used to be.
He started laying photos out on my chest, proudly showing them off as if they were of his kids. “Look at that view.”
“Doesn’t have the mountains like your place in Hobart does, but it’s still pretty spectacular.”
“It looks even better in person.”
“Can’t wait to see it.”
“Plus there’s also three restaurants on the ground floor, a minisupermarket, and a residents-only gym.”
“There’s a gym?” I asked in awe, even though it would most likely be the last place I would frequent.
“Yeah, with a pool and a steam room.”
“A steam room, huh?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he chuckled.
Porny fantasies and the reluctance to show an interest in something so obscenely bourgeois aside, the concept of this apartment was beginning to grow on me.
Declan gathered up the photos, tossed the folder aside, and took up one of his favourite positions, which was using me as a pillow. My arm began falling asleep immediately, but I wouldn’t dream of moving it.
“I also bought an extra car space next to my own, for any, uh, visitors I might have,” he said.
“Your parents?” I asked, playing dumb.
He reached up and flicked me across the temple. “Yes. They’re coming for really long visits.”
I remember reading once in an online article about space-starved New York City that such an act like the one Dec had just made was tantamount to buying an engagement ring. And okay, so we were in Melbourne, but it still was a nice feeling.
“I even made sure there wasn’t a no-pet policy in case any visitor who wanted to stay awhile had to bring their feline companion along.”
Holy shit, this was like an engagement. I kissed the top of his head. “You thought of everything.”
“I’m going for another viewing on Saturday. Would you like to come?”
“Sure. But aren’t you going to the Grand Final?”
“I’m going to go to the apartment beforehand. Abe and Lisa are probably also going to come, and they want to see you.”
It burned slightly that they would all be going off to the final together, and I would have to trudge off home. Dec and I had avoided talking about it, a kind of unspoken agreement that we both knew it was impossible for me to go in any guise with him as he would be going with the rest of his team and their girlfriends.
But he knew I was thinking about it, because he murmured sleepily, “Call Roger.”
That oft-repeated mantra continued to echo in my head as I closed my eyes.
I CALLED Roger the next day and left a message. Would you be surprised he didn’t call back?
I drove by their house the next night. Their lights were on, and I could see shadows moving behind the curtains. He and Fran were unaware that there was a stalker in their midst. A stalker who was too shit-scared to leave his car and actually confront his demons by knocking on their front door and demanding his oldest and best friend speak to him; a stalker who rather feebly just put the car back into gear and drove away.
Nyssa was busy on Friday afternoon. She was never too busy on Bog-off-to-the-Pub Fridays, and I knew she was still meeting Fran and Roger at the Napier, but had to fob me off so I wouldn’t try to come. I thought about firing her for not showing loyalty to her superior, but decided I would need evidence first. And I really couldn’t be bothered stopping off at the pub on my way home and peering pathetically through the coloured windows to try to make out the vaguely discernible shadow puppets of my friends.
Dec didn’t stay over Friday as he was drinking with the boys, and the Grand Final traditional breakfast was held the next morning. But on Saturday I caught the tram into the city and then hopped off at Southern Cross Station to walk across the bridge into the Docklands.
It seemed like the last time I was here, the Docklands was still a black hole, devoid of life. Now it was a bustling minimetropolis, and I couldn’t help but wonder about Declan’s privacy issues. It seemed there were far more people about here than there were on my quiet street. Maybe it was because there was a sense of anonymity in crowds, and that’s where he felt safest. But I could only imagine that it would get worse here at night when the restaurants and bars started getting more business, although he would have the benefit of undercover private parking in his building and a discreet entrance.
He was waiting for me where he said he would be, just down from the lobby doors, sitting on a sandstone wall and lazily swinging his legs. He was wearing a closefitting cap and sunglasses that managed to obscure most of his facial features, along with the casual disguise of cargo pants and a plain long-sleeved top. He jumped off the wall when he saw me, and we exchanged greetings with a carefully maintained distance between us.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied. I resisted adding bro to maintain the façade of our rampant heterosexuality.
“You ready to see it?”
“Sure.”
Crap, it was killing me. Let me have some whine with my cheese, but a so-called normal couple would have been able to kiss and hug each other instead of this coded bullshit we had to adopt. As he swiped us through the lobby with a security card, I wondered whether even without the secrecy built around our relationship, if we would feel comfortable with such a public display of affection. When it came down to it, I honestly didn’t think I would be. And I wasn’t sure if it was fear or just the fact that I was reserved to begin with.
Okay, fear. I knew a lot of it was fear. But I hated admitting it, even to myself.
Could someone who was gay suffer from their own form of homophobia? Or was it merely common sense and practicality combined with a desire for self-defence and protection?
All I knew was that whenever I met up with Dec my natural response was to want him in my arms, and it was too early in the morning for me to be having a philosophical debate with myself.
“You’re being very quiet,” Declan observed as we waited for the elevator.
Obviously he couldn’t hear the voices in my head, which was a relief. “Enjoy it while you can,” I said wryly.
“I like your babbling. I’m used to it. It scares me when I’m with you, and I suddenly realise I can hear something else in the silence.”
I smiled at him. “Arsehole.”
The elevator sounded its arrival. The doors slid open, and we stepped within. Back within our own personal bubble, Declan gently took my face in his hands and kissed me.
Sense and practicality quickly left me, and I responded quite happily in return, but I didn’t get so lost that when the elevator began slowing down, I forgot to pull away.
“You better hope there are no cameras in here.”
“Only in the lobby,” he responded.
“You do think of everything,” I said in awe.
“Believe me, the money I’m forking out to live here, you get to ask these questions.”
“I wonder if you have any famous neighbours.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Like, imagine if there’s a knock at your door one day, and it’s Cate Blanchett asking for a cup of sugar.”
The elevator doors opened, and he led me down the hall. “Doesn’t she live in Sydney?”
“You own property in two states, why wouldn’t she?”
“I promise, if Cate wants a cup of sugar I’ll get her autograph for you.”
“Bugger that, I want her reenacting scenes from Elizabeth in your loungeroom.”
Dec laughed, and we came to an abrupt stop at the end of the hall. A large window looked out onto the water. This place was so swanky, even the halls had views.
Unlocking the door, Declan posed like a model on some game show. “Ta da!”
I walked through, and it was like I was hanging over the ocean. As his apartment was on the corner of the building, his windows took up half the walls of his lounge and kitchen area. “Holy shit,” I breathed.
“No view of Mount Wellington, but it’s pretty fucking good,” Dec said.
“You’re not kidding,” I murmured. “Wow.”
“So you approve?”
Suddenly I was ready to forget my ingrained sense of loyalty to the proletariat and sign my soul away. “Fuck yes.”
I walked over to the window and leaned against it. I could almost believe I was suspended in air. The wind carried the salt off the waves, and I could smell it even through the glass. Declan came up behind me; I could see his reflection. I turned, and he waved the keys at me.
“Come out onto the balcony.”
I followed him. We leaned against the railing, the water far below us. The wind was fresh and strong. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.
“I’ll miss you while I’m gone,” Declan said suddenly.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I’ll miss you too.”
“I feel pretty shitty, running off to the Grand Final today, and then leaving tomorrow. This is the last time I’ll see you for a couple of weeks.”
“Hey,” I said reassuringly, “it’s the way it is. It’s cool.” I was just glad he was saying it, because I knew I never could have brought it up out of fear I would sound whingey and clingy.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“It’ll be better when I get back. Off season, and I’ll have more time here.”
“Plus, you’ll be incapacitated, and you won’t be able to run,” I said, in reference to his operation. “That helps.”
He laughed. “Bastard.”
“I look forward to making you chicken noodle soup and mopping your fevered brow.”
“You would make me soup?”
I winced. “From a packet, probably.”
“Hey, if I’m getting operated on, I want the real thing.”
“What about if I get Fran to make it and then pretend it was me?”
“The way you’re going, I seriously doubt you’ll be speaking to Roger by then.”
“Hey!” I protested. “I’m talking to Fran!”
“Yeah? Well, I want soup made from scratch. By you.”
Time to change the subject while I still was able. “I could just imagine lying out here all day and reading. Why would you ever want to go inside?”
Declan shook his head, knowing what I was transparently up to, but letting me get away with it for the moment. “Because there isn’t enough room for a bed?”
“There is for a banana lounge.”
“I’ll have to invest in one then.”
“Make sure it’s big enough for two,” I said with a glint in my eye.
He looked at me, and the air between us was growing serious again. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he was holding it back. I wasn’t sure if it was the moment, but I wanted to say it, what I had wanted to tell him ever since the moment I had procrastinated over a couple of weeks ago.
“Dec—”
We were saved—or cruelly interrupted—by the security buzzer as it sounded within the apartment. “That must be Abe and Lisa,” he said, giving my arm a quick squeeze before going to let them in.
For fuck’s sake. Would I ever be able to get it together?
I wasn’t left pondering this rhetorical question very long as Abe and Lisa made it up in record time. We exchanged greetings; Abe shook my hand and gave a manly hug and back slap to Declan, while Lisa kissed us both.
“This place is amazing,” Abe said. “Two waterfront apartments, Dec. Good to know where your salary is going.”
“This puts my little place in St Kilda to shame,” Lisa agreed.
“I like your place in St Kilda,” Declan told her. “It’s close to the beach and the Espy, and that’s all you want.”
She shrugged affably. “Not if you like your view to be of the next complex’s wall.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Abe said. “When I get traded, we’ll buy a place like this.”
“You want to get traded as well?” I asked.
Abe nodded. “Melbourne’s home.”
“I bet you the Devils will hate to lose both of you.”
“They won’t have any choice when contracts are up,” Lisa said, sounding less than sympathetic towards the club.
“Maybe we should buy in here so Dec can never escape us,” Abe said, with a devilish glint in his eye.
“Fuck no, I’m meant to have classy neighbours,” Dec laughed. “I’ve heard Cate Blanchett is buying in.”
Abe feigned a punch to him, and Dec sidestepped it gracefully.
“I only meant Abe, of course,” Dec told Lisa. “I know you’re classy.”
“Too bloody right,” Lisa replied. “And just to show how classy I am….” She began burrowing into the large tote bag she was carrying and produced a Frij bag. Abe rolled his eyes at Declan, and they both laughed with the easy camaraderie of friendship that gave me a pang for Roger again. Lisa produced four plastic cups and a cheap bottle of champagne that was still chilled. “Let’s drink to your new abode!”
Declan did the honours; the pop of the cork sounded like a gunshot in the empty apartment and reverberated around the stark walls. The contents of the bottle were shared amongst the four large cups, and we toasted the apartment and drank, all making faces at the cheap taste.
Abe looked at his watch and said regretfully, “We better get going.”
He and Lisa began talking amongst themselves, pointedly looking in the other direction to give Declan and I some privacy. Dec pulled me aside into the hall.
“I hate rushed good-byes,” he said. “And I hate having to say it here like this, instead of when we actually should.”
I nodded. There was nothing more I could add to that. I recalled what I had been about to say on the balcony and wished I could say it now, but the presence of Abe and Lisa stopped me. It shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t an ideal moment.
“I really like the apartment,” I said lamely.
He leaned in and kissed me. I hugged him close and whispered, “Hurry back.”
Dec smiled at me. “I will.”
He pulled away, and all I wanted to do was pull him back.
Declan clapped his hands together. “Let’s go and see how real footballers make it to a grand final.”
Abe laughed, and Lisa shook her head, rolling her eyes at me for my benefit.
We locked the apartment behind us and walked through the Docklands precinct.
Declan was starting to get really excited over the thought of living here, although I think it was the thrill of having a home in Melbourne again that was more appealing to him.
We parted ways at the junction of the station and Collins Street. Abe and Declan thought they would be better off walking down to the MCG and remaining barely unrecognisable rather than risk jumping on a tram and being hemmed in by other AFL supporters and detractors. Lisa baulked at the idea and insisted that they would have to piggyback her most of the way.
“Don’t let the hobbits kidnap him in New Zealand,” I told Abe.
“I won’t.” He grinned, bumping fists with me by way of farewell.
Lisa grabbed me and hugged me. I held onto her for a little longer than I would have normally, pretending it was Declan’s hug by proxy. “We’ll catch up soon, okay?”
“Sure.”
Declan and I awkwardly bumped fists, in the same fashion I had with Abe.
“Take care,” I said.
“Call—”
“Roger. Yes, I know, Oprah.”
He winced. “You could at least call me Dr. Phil so I feel secure about my masculinity.”
Abe guffawed, and Lisa punched him on the shoulder lightly.
“If you’re going by Dr. Phil to prove your masculinity, I would still stick with Oprah if I were you,” I scoffed.
“Bye, Simon.”
I waved them off and watched them turn and leave, disappearing down Collins on their way to cut across to the G at Elizabeth. My tram came quickly, and as it rattled down the middle of the street I craned my neck to catch sight of them once more. The three of them waved at me through the window, looking comfortable together, like Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. I waved back and remembered in the story that there were eventually four musketeers.
I hoped that would be the same with us one day.
WHEN I got home, I checked my answering machine immediately in the hope that Roger had left a message.
He hadn’t.
Before I could lose my nerve, I picked up the phone and called his number.
The answering machine swung into action. Again. “You’ve reached Roger and Fran. We can’t take your call, so let us know who you are.”
He had to be home. It was half an hour to the Grand Final, for Christ’s sake!
Unless… he had gone out for the final. It was inconceivable, but it could be possible. Or maybe he and Fran were holding a huge barbecue with all of their new friends…
“Uh, hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me. Again. Look, I know when I was pissed with you, you knew that it wouldn’t be forever. Just as I know now, when you’re pissed with me, that it’s not going to be forever. So I hope it’s sooner rather than later that we do the inevitable and talk. See ya.”
I think that is what’s called laying it all out on the line.
This would be the first time since I was twelve years old that I would be watching the final without Roger. I was pretty sure the fact wouldn’t be lost on him either, and I guess I was hoping for a last-minute miracle, like one from a really bad Christmas telemovie where everything comes all right in the end.
I was still thinking that during the pregame entertainment, and into the first quarter.
At halftime I was losing hope. The beers were going down smoothly though, and my lunch of a large packet of cheese and onion chips was more than satisfying. I caught one brief glimpse of Declan on the telly, sitting in one of the VIP boxes with the rest of his team as they watched the game unfold below.
I fell asleep before the end of the game and was awakened by the phone ringing.
Hoping it was either Dec or Roger, I stumbled over and answered it, trying to sound like I wasn’t recently brought back from the dead.
“’ello?”
“Hey, mate! How are you? Did you watch the game?”
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “’o’s this?”
“Very funny. Are you drunk?”
It clicked into place. “Tim?”
You have to understand my surprise here. Tim hardly ever called me of his own volition. The only way I could have been more surprised was if it had been my father.
“Of course it’s bloody Tim!”
“Uh, how are you?” I asked politely.
“Good, good. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”
“Oh?” Because he was good?
“Yeah. Guess what?”
This was Tim, my guess could be anything. “You need bail?”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. No, I was ringing up to tell you that Gabby and I just got engaged.”
If I didn’t have such a good grip on the phone I would have dropped it. “What?”
“Yeah, I proposed to her after the final.”
“Did she say yes?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Of course she did, arsewipe. Or else I wouldn’t be ringing you up to say we’re engaged, would I?”
“Oh, of course. Well… congratulations.”
“Thanks, bro. Who would have thought I would have gotten married before you?” He paused and chuckled. “Well, of course, you can’t.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said dryly.
“You would also have to be seeing someone first.”
All I could think was I hope I’m not best man.
He didn’t make the offer, and I was relieved. “How did Mum and Dad react?”
“Way more excited than you.”
I knew I better muster up some energy. “No, really, Tim, I’m very happy for you. Have you set a date yet?”
“We’re giving ourselves a year.”
“That’s probably sensible. You know, giving yourself enough time to plan and save, and all.”
“Yeah. I mean, I wanted January, but Gabby insisted on a year.”
“You were ready to get married that soon?” I wondered what it was about Gabby that she managed to become the Annette Bening to his Warren Beatty. But then, people might think that about Simon Murray when it came to trying to find a reason for Declan liking me.
Tim laughed good-naturedly. “When you know, you know.”
I think it was the only time I have ever heard my brother say something unrelated to football I could actually agree with, except I couldn’t tell him that. It was his moment, anyway; I was happy for him to have it.
I wanted to ring up Roger so I could share the news and the what the fuck? reaction. Declan wouldn’t be able to understand the bizarreness of this new development in my family history, as he wasn’t a part of it. But in the end I thought I had harassed the Daltons’ machine enough this weekend.
My mother called about ten minutes after Tim got off the phone, and she sounded drunk with happiness at the prospect one of her sons was getting hitched. Especially as this had the universal meaning to mothers everywhere of the promise of grandchildren to follow.
“There’s just one thing I’m not happy about,” she said.
That’s another thing about mothers. There’s always something they’re not happy about. “That your favourite son is being taken away from you?”
“No, not that,” she said haughtily. And then added as an afterthought, “and I don’t have a favourite.”
“What, then?”
“Well, he didn’t ask you to be his best man.”
“Why should he?”
“Because you’re his brother.”
“But we barely associate with each other. His best man should be one of his bogan best friends.”
Mum sighed. “It’s tradition, Simon.”
“Whose tradition?” I asked. “And it’s his wedding. He can do what he wants.”
“But—”
“Seriously, Mum. If he’s not fussed, and I’m not fussed, why are you?”
“Because people will think it’s odd you’re not—”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“I just also want my two sons to be brothers to each other occasionally.”
“That’s not going to happen if I’m forced to arrange his buck’s night.”
I could tell Mum was getting agitated. “Simon—”
“Let it go, Mum. Just be glad it’s happening for one of your sons. Don’t worry about the minor details.”
She wasn’t happy when she got off the phone, and I knew it probably wouldn’t be the last time I heard about this issue. The engagement ring hadn’t even been placed on Gabby’s finger yet, and somehow I was already being sucked into the drama.
THE sound of a message coming through on my mobile woke me the next morning.
I’ll call you when I get to the land of the long white cloud.
I smiled and stretched out with a mighty yawn. Rather Declan shooting the rapids and bungee jumping in New Zealand than me. Well, he probably wouldn’t be bungee jumping, the bosses wouldn’t want him doing anything that could jar his knee. Besides, they would probably be touring the pubs more than anything else.
My Sunday passed uneventfully, reading the papers and doing some planning for the festival, which involved a lot of talking on the phone with Nyssa. I kept listening out for the beeping of call waiting, expecting Declan and hoping for Roger, but we remained undisturbed.
While I was making cheese on toast for dinner, the phone finally rang. I picked up, nursing a finger I had burned on the grill. “Hello?”
There was the sound of an intake of breath, and then Declan said, “Simon?”
“Hey, you arrived safely then?”
He took a deep, shaky breath.
“Dec? What’s wrong?”
“I’m still in Melbourne.”
“Why?” Worry began to build in me. He didn’t sound like himself at all, like he was trying to hold it together but was teetering on the brink of total meltdown.
“I’m at St. Vincent’s.”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine….” He broke off, and sniffed.
“Dec—”
“Can you come here?” he asked, his voice shaky. “My dad’s had a heart attack.”