‘Leon wants a meeting?’ Snowie repeats my words as a question.
‘That’s what he said.’ I tip my stubby up to drain the dregs of my beer. ‘And considering he’s the boss, I’m assuming he knows what he’s on about.’
I’m honestly trying to keep my mind on this conversation, on Snowie’s presence here in the kitchen this morning. But I swear it’s like my brain’s got hives. It itches around, scratching for more distracting lines of thought.
All the things Amie said to me last night. The things I said back. How she let me hold her. All the feelings of it –
I can’t think about feelings right now.
‘Where’s this meeting gonna be again?’
‘Huh?’ I look at Snowie properly. ‘Um, just the club, hey. Dunno, it’s like Leon lives there or something. Does he ever leave?’
Snowie shrugs, makes a face.
Reggie’s head and shoulders appear around the corner of the kitchen doorway. He still looks washed out, with big circles around his eyes, but there’s more colour in his face. Steph’s crocheted blanket is draped around his shoulders like a cape. ‘Hey, Harris, you up for another game of cards?’
‘For sure. Just gimme a sec. Y’okay?’
‘I’m bored shitless,’ he confesses.
‘Well, you shouldna knocked the telly over then, should ya?’ I roll my eyes towards Snowie. ‘That’s what happens when you kick the footy on the couch.’
‘He all good, then, is he?’ Snowie says, as Reggie’s back retreats.
‘Yeah, he’s fine.’ I try to sound blasé about it. ‘Checked himself out this morning, little bugger, when he got wind they were trying to sic Social Services onto him. By the time I went to pick him up he was already halfway down the street.’
Snowie snorts. ‘Gutsy kid.’
It was Snowie’s gear ripping through Reggie’s system yesterday when he keeled over sideways. It’s Snowie and Leon and the rest of the crew running this whole palaver. I have to focus on something else, on picking the label off my stubby, until the desire to plug Snowie in the chops dulls to a more manageable level.
‘Okay, then.’ Snowie stands up. ‘Meeting about three this arvo. Guess I can work that in. Got any idea what’s gonna come up?’
I shrug. ‘Delivery dates, I s’pose.’ I can’t reveal how much that excites me. ‘And the business outta Tulane Road. Word is, Leon’s looking for whoever did the house and took his package.’
Snowie shudders. ‘Tulane Road – that was some shameful shit. That’s gotta be Mazerati’s crew.’
I shake my head. ‘Who knows, mate. No one’s putting their hand in the air for it, that’s for sure. But the jacks are out in force, so make your way in careful this arvo. Staggered arrival. Ando’s gonna text the times.’
Snowie nods and sucks his lips, disguises his trembling hands by shoving them in his pockets.
When he’s gone I text Amie to say I want to see her at noon so I can tell her about the meeting Leon’s sprung on us. Actually, it doesn’t matter I have a reason, I would still want to see her. It’s dangerous, meeting each other again so soon like this, so often. But these sensations inside me are demanding. Seeing Amie, being around her, is essential now, like breathing.
I go play cards with Reggie, try to keep myself distracted.
*
‘You’re early,’ Amie says, climbing out of her car. She’s wearing cut-offs and a white buttoned shirt. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it at noon, I had to –’
‘Don’t worry about it, it’s cool. I’ve only got an hour, though. Leon’s arranged a meeting of all the players at three.’
‘You’re cutting it fine.’
‘I’m waiting on a text from Ando, so I’ve got an hour to kill.’
I grin at her as she slides into the passenger seat of the Pitbull. Some sort of barrier between us got broken down last night. Now, the day is hot, and nothing matters except I’m getting to spend some time with her before I go and face the shit.
I drive in to our usual spot, park for a quick getaway if necessary. The car is over-warm and I’m sweating: the last few days, it’s like spring and summer have been fighting a turf war over who gets to blast Mildura first. We get out and plonk on the grass, close to the water.
‘So what’s the meeting?’ Amie waves her hand like a fan, encouraging the cooler breeze off the river.
‘Delivery dates, I’m hoping. I’d say that’s one of the reasons. It’s gotta be tomorrow or a few days after, yeah? Leon’s got some of it ear-marked for Melbourne. But I think he’s hoping to flood the local market, drive competition down.’
‘What’s the other reason? Tulane Road?’
I nod. ‘Whoever did it’s got Leon’s money and his samples. He won’t let that go lightly.’
She scoops the thick fall of her hair over one shoulder to give the nape of her neck some relief. ‘He doesn’t care about the people in the house though. What happened to them.’
‘I don’t think Leon understands what the word “care” means. The only thing bugging him about the murders is that now the cops are scurrying around town, which makes distribution harder.’
‘Bastard,’ Amie says with low venom, and she shakes her head.
‘Hey, you don’t have your camera,’ I say, only just realising. She hasn’t had it on her the last few times we’ve met, either.
‘I forgot to bring it up,’ she admits. ‘It was all such a flurry when I rushed up here to help with Nani…’
‘What excuse are you using to get out of the house, then?’
‘I said I was going to the movies with my mate, Roberta.’ She grins. ‘Robbie’ll back me up. Nani’s gone to the shops with Beena. She said she was tired of lying in bed and she needed to move around. She should be all right if they stay someplace air-conditioned.’
‘Yeah, air-conditioning. I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.’
Amie laughs. I look at the river water. My shirt is sticking to me. The sun is burning. Everything about this place, this moment, is yelling at me to jump in with both feet. It’s like the decision was already made inside my head and it’s taken me until this second to catch up.
‘That’s it.’ I stand up, grab for the hem of my T-shirt, strip it over my head. ‘I’m going in.’
‘What?’
‘I’m going in.’ Boots are next.
Amie gives me the owl-eyes. ‘You’re going swimming in your jeans?’
‘Yep. In my jeans.’ I pull off one sock, then the other. The grass between my toes feels fucking fantastic. ‘You coming?’
‘All right for some,’ Amie says tartly.
‘You’ve got cut-offs on,’ I point out. ‘Jeez, go in in your undies if you like. No one’s around. Who’s gonna care?’
Amie looks scandalised. I laugh, then I take a few quick steps and dive.
The instant my body enters the water, I feel transformed. All the worries of the last week – the shit-storm about Reggie, Snowie’s anxiety, even my fear of Leon – they all sluice off me. I break the surface, grinning, flicking wet hair out of my face.
‘This!’ I shout to Amie. Water is running over my chest, sinking through the layer of denim over my legs. For the first time in days I don’t feel sticky and sweaty.
She frowns with her lips pressed together, stands up at the water’s edge.
I duck-dive again, emerge gasping. ‘You’re missing out!’
‘Oh shit…’ she says, then she shakes herself all over, blows out a big breath, toes off her Vans.
‘Yes!’ I crow.
She doesn’t mince in: she bombs it, shrieking. Bobs up sleek, dripping laughter. I can see her bra strap through her wet shirt. It takes her about two seconds to start splashing water at me, and then I retaliate, and then we’re whooping and I’ve got half the river on my face. Finally we stop horsing around, float in place.
‘You think this was a good idea?’ I say. ‘I think this was a good idea.’
‘I reckon you think all your ideas are good,’ she says, squirting me with water out of her hands.
‘This was an extra good one.’
She tilts her head back, dips her hair. ‘Which is better, you think? Rivers or oceans?’
‘Well, with rivers you don’t get this.’ I make little waves in her direction, so they break over her shoulders. ‘Dunno about oceans, though. Never been to one.’
Amie rights herself, gasping. ‘You’ve never been to the ocean?’
‘Nup.’
‘Not ever?’
I shrug.
‘Harris,’ she says, making a face, ‘you’ve got to do something about that.’
‘One day,’ I promise. ‘I like rivers pretty good, though.’
‘At least you don’t feel caked in salt afterwards,’ she agrees. She sinks back down, letting the water embrace her. ‘I think…I think I want to try all of them.’ There’s a new note of determination in her voice. ‘The Amazon, the Nile, the Mississippi, the Ganges…’
‘That’s a lot of rivers.’
‘I want to swim in them. Rivers from everywhere.’
‘All the rivers.’ I grin at her.
Her hands are moving back and forth in a spreading motion. I can’t see her legs scissoring under the water but I can imagine them: firm and brown, kicking her weightless.
She frowns, looks skyward. ‘When you see Leon today –’
‘No no no. We’re not gonna talk about that now.’ I throw my head back and float. ‘One hour of not talking about it, not thinking about it.’
She lifts her chin. ‘Okay. One hour.’
We swim a bit longer, then we get out, wring off. Amie uses both hands to skim the water out of her hair. I throw myself down on the grass, lying on my stomach. Leftover water dribbles off me and I feel my back drying. This day is hot and bright and perfect.
Amie flomps down beside me, her clothes clinging and her wet hair like black ropes. She’s still snorting off the giggles, lying back and basking in the rays. ‘Should’ve brought my sunnies.’
‘Put your arm over your face,’ I suggest.
‘Mm, that’s better.’
The grass is warm. Frogs are pobbling somewhere on the bank, and the sun is soothing on my neck. I’ve got one arm curled above my head and one arm tucked under my chest so I can get up on my elbow and look around if I need to. But I don’t need to. This place is quiet apart from us. The birds will let us know if anyone’s approaching.
‘My hair’s gonna smell like river,’ Amie says.
‘Wash it later.’ My voice has a lazy burr.
We lie so long, with the insects ticking in the grass and the sound of the air warming, that I almost forget where I am. I give in to this feeling, let myself doze. My jeans are softening as they dry. Maybe I could lie here forever.
It takes me a second to realise how close Amie is. My eyes are shut, so I sense it more than see it when she shifts. Then I feel a shadow fall on me as she reaches over. Her fingers touch my arm, the one nearest her.
‘What’s that from?’ she asks softly.
It’s the scar I got from the corrugated iron, the one I showed Rachel once, trying to impress.
‘Accident.’ My face is turned towards Amie but I’ve got it tucked into the crook of my elbow, so she can’t see me flush.
Another touch. ‘What about this?’ She traces the old scar on my right shoulder I got years ago, falling off a dirt bike on Furlough Creek Road.
I remind myself to breathe. ‘Accident.’
She touches another spot on my back carefully. ‘Here?’
A different scar – she must feel me stiffen.
I pause. ‘Dad.’
I don’t know what made me admit that.
My heart thuds at irregular intervals. I wait for her to say something sympathetic or brusque, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t seem to react at all. Maybe this quiet beat is her reaction. I’m grateful for it.
Then she clears her throat quietly. ‘A belt buckle, was it?’
‘Yeah.’
Each of our pauses and hesitant words feel weighted, thick. My brain is firing slowly. Other parts of me catch alight faster. She touches me again, traces lines on my shoulder blade. My blood turns to golden syrup.
‘Amie, what are you doing?’ I try to say it casually.
Her voice sounds quiet and close. ‘I’m looking at your tattoo.’
I don’t know what else to say, and when her fingers slide gently down, over my ribs, I don’t think I can say anything. All my skin feels stretched and sensitive, like the surface of a drum. My jeans are still damp. Grass tickles my face, my chest. The air around us seems to be heating up.
Her fingers reach the tender skin at my waist. Trickle, with infinite lightness, over the curves and whorls of the snake there. I can’t pretend anymore. I press my mouth into the grass to muffle my gasp.
We are in a hot golden bubble. Amie leans closer and I smell her: below the smell of sun-warmed river, the scent of jasmine. Her fingertips have reached the waistband of my jeans, the lowest visible point of my tattoo.
‘Show me where it goes,’ she whispers.
I open my eyes. Amie is leaning over me. Her lips are parted, and there’s a deep rosy flush on both her cheeks. She looks beautiful, with her serious heavy-lidded gaze, and glossy black hair falling forward. She’s staring at me like she’s hypnotised.
I am going to do this. Even before I move I feel it, like I felt before about swimming here. This sense of inevitability, of falling headlong into something already decided, already meant to be.
Amie watches as I move my hand from above my head, where I’ve been clutching at my hair, and drag it down to my stomach. Lower.
My body is angled now, facing her side-on. When I undo the button on my jeans I see her stop breathing, just for a moment, and the pleasure of it is like a zap of electricity. I did that. I hook my thumb into the waistband of my jeans and jocks, and ease them down.
Now my entire left side is exposed, almost to the curls at my groin, and she can see where my tattoo ends: where the snake curls fluidly over my lower back before twisting around my waist, to flick into a sharp supple tail that arrows down and lies flat in the inner valley of my hip.
Amie is motionless. Then she reaches out, and her finger traces the path. Her hand is shaking. My skin is on fire. When she arrives at the tip of the snake’s tail, nestled in its soft private place, she turns her hand. Lays the back of it against me. I make a low noise, shuddering.
Her touch travels on from the hollow of my hip, up my stomach to my chest. She feathers the short soft hairs at my breastbone. Runs her whole palm further to my neck, curling around my nape.
I can’t hold still anymore: I chase the length of her arm with my hand, plunge my fingers into her hair. Draw her closer. Look right into her eyes.
‘Harris –’ she breathes.
‘Are you sure?’ My voice is so husky and deep it doesn’t sound like mine. ‘Because if I kiss you, that’s it. I don’t think I can –’
‘I’m sure,’ she gasps.
I surge up and pull her to me, lip to lip.
Once, in science class, I saw magnesium burn. It went up so fast and white it was like watching a solar flare at close range.
I feel like that now. I’ve dreamt of kissing this girl, I thought I was ready for this –
I had no idea.
We fuse together. Our mouths are pliant, soft and wet. The taste of her makes my eyes roll back behind my lids, and it’s like I know her taste, have known it forever. Something is happening inside me. Amie is keening into my mouth and I wanna tear my heart out of my chest and give it her.
Amie slides one leg over my hips and I clutch her tight. Everywhere we touch turns to flame, and suddenly we want to touch everywhere. Amie whispers my name, kisses my jaw, my eyelids. I smooth my hands down her back. She rocks against me, makes a noise so visceral I hear it echo in my own throat.
We kiss and kiss. I’ve pashed in car parks, smooched under covers, snogged in bars. This is nothing like that. Our lips move and meld – fast and frantic, then slow, slower. Languid. We’re eating each other up. What started as an explosion becomes liquid wanting. We reach this incredible stage where our kisses are long soft-lipped conversations, and things I’ve only ever fantasised about actually happen…then suddenly some fuckwit starts braying at us and I realise it’s my phone.
Amie breathes ‘Don’t’ into my mouth, and I breathe ‘Shit’ and she moans, and I nearly don’t stop, I come this fucking close, and then I do. I reach over for my shirt with one hand, flounder for it. Both me and Amie are shaking. I grab my phone, pull it over to see the screen, check the call I’ve missed.
‘Oh fuck, it’s Ando.’ I drop my phone, let myself sink back on the grass. Try to steady my breathing with long slow inhales and exhales. ‘I’m supposed to be at this meeting in twenty minutes.’
‘Goddamnit.’ Amie’s shoulders are still heaving. She leans over me, propped on her arms, her mass of hair swept down one side of her neck to make a black pool on my chest.
Just being this close is too tempting: we kiss again, and I’m not imagining it, something ignites inside us when we do this. Our instincts take over. My hands are full of her hair, her skin, her breasts, oh god –
‘Harris,’ Amie pants. She groans when I suck down her neck.
Ando could be standing here in person right now, shouting at me, and I’d still struggle to give him my attention.
‘Harris.’
‘I know. I know. Shit.’
We have to push away together, or we’d never do it.
Amie gulps air. ‘You’ve gotta go.’
‘Right. Fuck.’
‘Not yet,’ Amie says. ‘Later.’
She giggles, and I snort, and then we both laugh. Fall together. I run my fingertips across her cheek. We can’t seem to stop looking at each other, touching each other. We’ve both been waiting for this for too long.
Jesus.
I didn’t know it would be like this. I want to say I think I’ve fallen in love with you, but that would be crazy. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we’re both crazy. If this is crazy, I don’t ever want to be sane again.