A Straight Line to My Heart (13 page)

Reggie gets the results of his tests back in a couple of days but he's not a bit worried about that now. Tonight he's got a John Wayne movie; it can't get any better.

Zoe is in his good books for buying the movie and he's happy for her to watch it with us. I asked Kayla to come over, too, with her camera. Fine with Reggie. The more the merrier. But there is one condition.

‘No one talks durin'
McLintock!'
He gives us each a little piece of the evil eye. ‘You wouldn't do it at the Kalatta Regent, and you're not doin' it here – not in a John Wayne, yer not.'

Bull puts up his hand. ‘What about snoring? That allowed?'

‘Think yer funny, don't yer?'

Bull pleads ignorance. ‘Huh?'

Before the movie starts Kayla takes some photos of Reggie. He poses for three or four shots then asks for my opinion.

‘You reckon I should put me teeth in, luv?

‘Doesn't matter, Reggie. Either way, you're still one pretty cool dude.'

‘Righto then. It's settled. No teeth it is.'

Kayla gets every possible combination. Reggie sits and stands. He poses with each of us separately, then together. But he looks most relaxed of all when Wolfie pushes her nose up against him, wagging her tail at the camera.

‘All done,' Kayla says at last.

‘Thank gawd for that.' Reggie sighs with relief. ‘Now let's watch Big John.'

We're not long into the movie when the doorbell rings. Wolfie barks then burrows down in her bed, in case it's a burglar. We don't get visitors at night in the middle of the week. The cop car out the front seems to deter home invaders, so if the bell rings the caller is either broken down or they're lost. There's only one other alternative – John Wayne's ridden in to town.

‘I'll get it.' Bull goes out to the door. We pause the
dvd
and strain to listen as the conversation on the verandah floats back to us. The first words are lost when Wolfie responds to the stranger's voice with a rumbly growl. She tries so hard to be brave.

‘Quiet, girl.'

And then it all wafts through to us loud and clear.

‘Yeah, I remember you – you're the young smart-arse who tried to take my head off at the footy game.'

‘Only because you kicked me.'

‘Get real. That was an accident.'

‘In that case I punched you by accident. So now we're square.'

Kayla looks at me and mouths, ‘Davey.'

I bolt to the door, reverting to slow motion before I get there. Can't look too keen. In fact, must look surprised.

‘Oh. Hello.'

‘Hiya, Tiffany.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘There was nothing on
tv
.'

I'm not sure how to react. Has to be a joke, right?

He looks back at me perfectly straight and solemn.

It's really hard to force a smile. I don't think I make a very convincing job of it.

Bull opens the door wider. ‘You better come inside,' he tells Davey. ‘I'll try to explain things for you . . .' With an exaggerated sigh he turns back to me. ‘It's a good long drive from Tarwyn, Tiff. You think about it. No one comes all that way 'cause there's nothing on
tv
. Not even Bonehead, here.'

I can almost hear Davey's thoughts. They're saying:
Aw, no. Now I have to punch him again.

But before he can launch a blow, Bull redeems himself.

‘Term of affection, mate.' He says it with a big puppy dog grin that no one would want to punch.

‘What
did
you come here for?' he asks Davey.

‘To see Tiffany.'

‘Who?'

‘Tiffany.'

‘Awww, riiight.'

Bull ambles off – dirty big smirk on his face – trying out all the la-di-dah ways he can say ‘Tiffany'.

That leaves me alone with Davey. He starts talking first, which is great because I have no idea what to say.

‘Had no trouble tracking you down. Everyone knows each other in small towns. I just asked up at the shop.'

So much for the witness protection program.

‘Been thinkin' about you for a while now,' he says, ‘wonderin' if I should come over, say hello. Couldn't find an excuse till tonight.'

He hands over a package he's been trying to hide behind his back.

‘This is my excuse – it's a present for you.'

‘Really? How come?'

‘Open it. You'll see.'

It's wrapped up in red paper held together by a zillion pieces of sticky tape. I try to get them off without tearing the paper but quickly give up and rip it to shreds.

Breakfast At Tiffany's
.

‘Sorry it's a bit tatty. It's an old book but the words are still in good nick. I wanted you to have it.'

I know a gulp isn't enough of a reply, but it's the best I can do. I open the book carefully, half expecting I'll be squirted by water or a spider will pop out. This has to be a joke. But all I find inside is a folded-up note.

Tiffany,

I like you but you mightn't feel the same about me, and I wouldn't blame you. To save us both from any awkward moments I've figured out an easy way to do this. Nod if you're even slightly interested in getting to know me. Write me a ten page explanation if you're not.

Davey.

‘I spent hours trying to get that right and it still sucks,' he says.

The note is brimming with confidence but I don't see that on his face or hear it in his voice.

‘It's hard telling a girl you like her, because you could be making a complete idiot of yourself, as well as embarrassing her. So . . . you don't owe me any explanations, Tiffany, just tell me “no” and I'm out of here. No questions, no hard feelings –
gone
.'

He goes to take the note back, but I pull it away from him.

‘Only ten pages?' I raise my eyebrows. ‘That's nowhere near enough. I couldn't cover it in just ten pages. I'd need a lot more space to express myself. I could probably fill up a book.'

‘You might as well nod then,' he says.

And that's what I do.

We walk inside and find Reggie and Zoe looking normal enough, but Kayla greets me with a wide and taunting smiley face. I shoot her a look that plainly says: Stop gawking. I know it's hard to believe – I'm having trouble with it myself – but it's true. A guy is here to see me. So get your eyes back in your head before you scare him away!

Bull does the intros.

‘This is Zoe, Reggie and–' Kayla gets in before he can introduce her.

‘We've met. Hey, Davey. I was hoping you might turn up one day. Tiff talks about you all the time. “Davey this, Davey that” – she just won't stop!'

I'm going to kill her!

‘I do not!'

He looks disappointed.

‘Well, I might have mentioned you once – by accident.'

Bull takes over again. ‘You remember him, Reggie? He's the one who took a poke at me at the last Gunners' game.'

‘You couldn't have hurt him,' Reggie tells Davey.

Bull takes it as a compliment; puffs out his chest and stands a little bit taller.

‘Got a head on him like a block of concrete – nothin' gets in or out.'

Zoe laughs first and loudest. ‘Good one, Reggie.'

I'm certain Bull thinks it's funny too, but he doesn't let it show.

‘Thanks for the support, old bloke,' he grunts.

‘No worries.'

I hold up my book like I'm showing off a gold medal I've just won.

‘
Breakfast At Tiffany's
– that's why Davey came over – he wanted to give me this.'

Zoe: ‘That's nice.'

Kayla: ‘Awwww.'

Bull: ‘Should have posted it, son. Would have been cheaper than the petrol.'

Reggie looks longingly at the frozen image of John Wayne on the
tv
screen, the movie still paused.

Davey bends down to pat Wolfie. ‘So is this your dog?'

Please Bull, no smart remarks.
But he just can't stop himself.

‘Was it the tail that tipped you off?'

Davey grins, gives Wolfie one last rub, and hops back to his feet.

‘Is there anything around here to do?' he says.

He must be kidding. It's eight-thirty. Nothing is open. Most people are asleep. Even the lobsters at Chans have been tucked in to bed by now. This is Gungee Creek – the land that time forgot.

‘Not really,' I say, apologetically.

‘But it's a good night for a walk,' pipes up Kayla.

‘Yeah,' says Zoe. ‘Top night. It's beautiful out.'

They both look at Davey, and I do too.

‘I just got an idea,' he says. ‘You want to go for a walk, Tiffany?'

I gaze back at the house expecting to see Bull setting up a spotlight on the verandah. No sign of him, or the others. That doesn't mean they're not peeking out from behind the curtains. And why not? If it was Kayla out here instead of me, I'd be peeking for sure. How can you tease someone later unless you've got all the grisly details? I bet the only one who isn't looking is Reggie. He'll be too busy pressing every button on the remote so he can get back to the movie. John Wayne will end up riding his horse backwards, and Reggie will still love it.

We head up the road side-by-side, but apart in every other way. It's so dark I can't even see Davey's face. Surreal, that's what this is. All we need is some fog swirling around our feet and this could be a scene from a creaky old horror movie.

A young girl wanders down a lonely country road with a vampire – a fairly cute one. We see the fear in her eyes, not because she's with an undead dead guy, but because she's terrified she'll trip over her clunky feet and headbutt him as she's falling. If there's a way to screw up a promising scene, this girl will find it.

The movie in my head stops, when Davey speaks.

‘I've been thinking about you, Tiffany.' His words are soft, but more certain than before. ‘That time you came and talked to me on the bus, you didn't know what kind of trouble you might be walking into. I was in a bad way that day, but it didn't stop you. I don't know anyone who would have done what you did.'

‘Nahhh,' I drawl. ‘It was no big deal. Besides, I couldn't help myself. I'm always doing wildlife rescues – it's kind of a hobby. When I saw you run off the field, all stressed out like you were, I just clicked into injured wombat mode. Reflex action.'

My words are met by a silence. Somehow I've managed to plant both feet in my mouth, again. Now what? Do I try to explain that he doesn't really remind me of a wombat? Or do I say nothing and just hope a semi comes along and squashes me?

Before I can decide, he takes hold of my hand.

‘You don't mind, do you, Tiffany?'

A shock runs through me, being so close to him, so suddenly, but it only lasts a second. It's been a while since a boy held my hand. The previous one would have been Jeremy Thomas in Year Four. I'd just bought him a muffin at the tuckshop, so I was his best friend, for all of ten minutes.

‘No,' I murmur. ‘It's okay.'

As we walk on he asks me about my life, because, ‘I really want to get to know you.'

I break off bits and pieces for him: about Reggie being sick, and Kayla moving to Perth, and books, and poetry . . . 

‘You've really never heard of Sylvia Plath?'

‘Sorry.'

‘Don't worry. I'll tell you all about her.'

And working at the paper – loving it and hating it – and Bull being really nice when you get to know him, and Zoe, who's going to make him even nicer.

He listens intently, asks questions.

We keep on going, way past Kayla's house, up to the highway. That semi I'd hoped for a few minutes ago roars out of the night. It shudders by and the wind drags at me. At the same instant Davey curls an arm around my waist, anchoring me to him. I'm no delicate flower; I'm strong and capable and I don't need his help, but I like being so close to him.

He tells me about his three older brothers – two lawyers and a teacher – and how he tried to be like them.

‘More to please my mum than anything else, but I couldn't do it. I messed up bad before I moved to Tarwyn. Couldn't handle uni, so I quit. Had a fight with my dad and got kicked out of home. I was drinking back then. My girlfriend came to her senses and dumped me. She said I was immature. Can you believe that?'

I'm not sure how to answer, but his grin tips me off.

‘Oh yeah,' I say. ‘I can believe it. It sounds like you were hopeless!'

‘I was,' he says, shaking his head, and smiling. ‘I was a pain in the butt – to everyone. But all that bad stuff was a year ago. I'm better now – promise. I left Adelaide and went feral for a while; lived rough and wandered; took any job I could get, stayed in lots of country towns before I finally ended up in Tarwyn. I'm a Stop-and-Go guy for the council these days.'

‘What? You mean you hold up those traffic signs?'

‘Yeah. It's a no-stress job, gives me time to think. Might do something else one day but right now I'm happy with it. But you mightn't be . . .'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘It's not real classy.'

‘So? What makes you think I care about classy?' I turn and look at him even though I can't make out his features. ‘I'm not into class, I'm into people.'

He doesn't say a word.

‘I've always wondered about Stop-and-Go guys. Do you like it if drivers wave and say thanks as they go past? Or is it better if they ignore you? Most times when I'm out in the car with Bull, I give a wave and a “thanks”. Usually the guy with the sign stares at me as if I've just escaped from an asylum. So what's the right thing to do?'

‘I've never met anyone like you before, Tiffany.'

‘Really?'

‘No – never.'

‘Then you just haven't been to enough asylums.'

Now even in the darkness I see his face, because it's so very near to mine.

I fit neatly up against him.

Our arms hold us together.

He has the softest lips.

Later, when he drives off, he honks the horn all the way till he gets to the corner. Even after he turns onto the highway, I stand in the middle of the road waving, knowing he can't see me, but just wanting to be close to him for a few seconds more.