Daryl was sitting at the kitchen table when I returned. The clatter of my keys on the hallway table startled me of out my day dreaming. I’d have to go to Cassie’s little thing, but I didn’t have to like it at all. I’d not realised that Peter neglected to mention a date at all, let alone a time, and it sent my head to aching, a self conscious worry that pulsed at my temples.
He didn’t look up when I stopped and leant against the entrance to the kitchen. Neither of us spoke, and I looked around the room, waiting for him to speak first. It was one of my favourites in the house; the walls were a smooth, pale yellow and the tabletop matched. There was little space for the yellow paint, though, both side walls were cut a few lengths short, the house was open planned, and the back wall had a large window that let the sun stream in. As it was, Daryl didn’t put the light on, and the shadows in the room darkened the spots in my eyes. When I blinked a new blackness stole some sight from me.
I spent some time blinking and staring in alternate moments, watching the colours disappear, before he sat back on his chair.
“What have you been upto?” He didn’t turn around, and I didn’t move. It felt like neither of us had the upper hand, almost like old times on an even level.
“Went to Rojas to see Peter and Rob.” He shifted at the mention of Rob’s name.
“How is Bob? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He is as he is. Why don’t you go and visit him some time?” The conversation had already lost my interest. If he was going to act like everything was fine, I wouldn’t put him out, but I wasn’t going to play.
“Yeah. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.” An edge was in his voice now, guarded and careful.
“hrm?” Nonchalance, as always, he’d have said, if everything had been normal.
“The party for Cas.” The familiarity with which he said her name irked me, and I stood away from the wall, hands on my hips. My shadow bowed over Daryl, darkening the space between our stillness.
“Oh.” His shoulders hunched.
“You didn’t know?” I didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering what he expected to hear. “That I was invited, that is? Peter did tell you about it, didn’t he? He said he would.”
I think I must have made a noise of some kind, because he turned in his chair and looked at me. He seemed to look at me, at least, my shadow covered his face and all I could see were shades of black. When I blinked, the colour didn’t come back.
I turned around, ignoring him though I could hear his chair push back and feel the shift in air as he wavered. It took a second to decide what to do. I could have stayed and spoken with him, maybe it could have been fixed over a cuppa and an anzac or two. The idea of sitting with him at our table, talking about nothing, and everything, drew bile into my throat. So I stepped into the hallway, swaying with indecision.
Scooping my bag from the floor, I strode to my door.
“Mella-” I stopped with my hand on the knob, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t, I could feel him watching me and when his gaze dropped, the feeling fading, I opened my door and let it click closed behind me.
My room was spotless, everything organised with obsessive compulsive precision. Some days I wished I were something like that – obsessive compulsive. At least then I’d have a reason for the constant oddness that followed me. I logged into my laptop in seconds, opening the music player and leaving it on endless shuffle. I almost burst out laughing when Noah and the Whale started singing from the small speakers. Fiddling with the side options, I had them blaring around my room. I sank, slowly, into my bed, the lyrics and the noise of it all.
“Where ever you go.” I murmured, cupping my hands beneath my head and staring at my bed’s canopy. “There’ll be love, love, love.”
It was easy to drift and lose myself in the jumble of music, each song running over my blood and into my dreams. The nature of the songs wasn’t lost on me; I’d collected many more depressing songs than I’d expected, though they still interested me. Where my Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls had gone, I didn’t want to know. It was a revolution in understanding, I thought, where music lead a certain part in our lives. You never knew when you needed it, I certainly needed it more often than not.
The sleepy heat of my room sent me dozing. Ruth Etting woke me once again, crooning from the table, I was surprised I could even hear it over all the rest. Prepared for the sleepy-limbed cage of that morning, I sat up slowly, stretching and rolling my shoulders. Everything worked to perfection. My phone had stopped its frantic vibrations, so I reconsidered even getting up. Just as I’d decided not to, the phone started up again.
“You could just leave a message, okay? Just one!” My grumbles went unheard and I flipped my laptop closed to answer my phone.
Peter wanted me over for dinner, which I would never refuse, no matter how half-dead. The time surprised me, already half past five, the sun still warmed my room and I considered what I could wear. The weather was unpredictable, so it could be cold or hot. Picking my way through the closet, I decided on a cute but sensible babydoll dress in dark green. My flats were by the door, so I swept my bag off the table and slipped out my door.
It was possible that Daryl would be out there waiting to pounce. He wasn’t, and his car was gone. It didn’t matter, I argued to myself, because I was going to dinner and fun. With a small, victorious smile, I took off for Peters.
His apartment was a spacious three bedroom, always allowing for guests sleeping over, and the residents knew me well. Lauren Bedding let me in, chattering away about how lovely I looked, and how sweet it was that Peter got all these lovely women visiting him. My eyebrow rose slightly, Peter had always been a ladies’ man, but nothing so noticeable.
Miss Bedding, however, had a habit of elaborating on little events. She had the whole building believing that I was Peter’s fiancé a few months ago, because he’d bought me flowers one night back from a play. She was an odd woman.
With a smile and a wave I took the elevator up to the top floor. The door opened onto Peter’s front room, and a smiling Peter. He took me into a hug.
“Mella! You’re gorgeous!” Kissing my cheek, he let me out of the hug and took my bag and jacket, placing them on the side table. “I’m glad you could come –“
“Who’s that, Peter?” Her voice stopped me from moving, and I stared at Peter in slight horror. He didn’t answer her, but shrugged at me apologetically.
“Well, you know... Oh Melly, don’t be angry with me, please?”
Cassie wandered out from the kitchen area, a drink in her hand. Seeing me she turned her head away and closed her eyes.
“Hello, Cassie. How’re you?” The polite greeting stunned her into speaking.
“Good.” She stopped, looking around in vague panic.
“Would you like to sit?” I motioned the couch, but she stepped backward.
“I... um. About today.” Her face was growing steadily redder, her teeth nipping her bottom lip.
“It’s fine, Cas. Forget it.” Peter patted her shoulder as he walked to sit next to me, handing me a clear glass of water.
“But – I mean. I should never have been so rude.” She refused to look in my direction, studying the blue walls with intensity.
“It doesn’t matter, Cassie. You don’t like me. I get it.” I did wink, but she didn’t see it. “Who would have known some shoeless hobo owned a business?” Peter laughed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
Cassie kind of shrank back, confusion and horror lining her face. "I never... I mean... you guys were familiar, but I didn't think you were... you said... but." I raised an eyebrow; she tripped over her words like the third stooge. I felt somewhat sorry for her; hands waving about vaguely only to be clasped to her stomach, and her stumbling words. She was so scared, I think, that she'd be fired for being bitchy to me, that she wasn't thinking straight. I could have told her she wouldn't be, but Peter had already started to fix it.
“Mella owns half of the cafe, Cas, but she stepped away from the running of it a while back.” Cassie still looked horrified. “You’re not in trouble.”
“But! I mean...” She looked like she was going to cry. I can’t have been that scary, but the girl was so worked up it looked like she was going to burst.
“Look, kid.” Red tinged her cheeks as she looked at me, under her lashes. “I don’t do anything to do with this place except pay for it. I’m the money. Get it?” She looked more confused than before, but at least she’d stopped sniffling.
“Not really. Why do you own half the cafe then? Why not let Peter just do everything?” She looked between us.
“Because that’s none of your business.” She stepped back in surprise, and the scowl set in. “Now, run along, I need to talk to Peter about something.” Cassie looked at Peter, who had risen and stood between us, perhaps pleading to stay. Either way, I was booting her from the conversation, I’d had enough angst for the hour.
“Did your sister find her way here okay?” Peter was all subtlety at these times, I didn't even know her sister was coming too. Cassie’s eyes flared slightly and she turned on her heel to go find Jane. She turned around again quickly, spinning so that Peter had to balance her. I watched her eyes as Peter’s arm slid around her waist, his had grasped hers. A knowing spark lit, and her mouth turned its ends upward in that secretive smile women get.
“Oh.” Peter glanced at me, his hands still wrapped around Cassie. Her hand had found its way to his forearm, and she clung there.
“What’s that, Mella?” Cassie glared at me, when she wasn’t keeping an eye on Peter’s hands; she wanted them to stay where they’d been put. Keen bitch.
“Nothing, nothing.” It was hard to smile, I was still trying to work out Cassie’s game and it distracted me. “Weren’t you going to find your sister, Cassie? It would be horrible if she’d gotten lost, no?” Her glare increased and I almost laughed. She had no idea. I might be the money, but I was no idiot investor. She’d underestimated me.
“Oh, yes! You must see if she’s okay.” As Peter released her, I could see the panic, and then the thinking, appear on her face. “Are you right to stand? You shouldn’t go shooting around like that.”
She pinked. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you, Peter.” She flicked her hair back from her neck with a smooth movement of her wrist. “I’ll go find her now. Talk to you later!” She twirled around now, slipping between the spaces in the room. She seemed to be caught, trapped in the interstices of space – not quite in one place and not quite in another. Instead she was the empty gaps that kept everything from melting together. She touched me, in that moment, with a negligence that stayed even as she left the room.
