Run to Me (8 page)

Six

After school Matt and I walk back across the
deserted paddock to my place. As usual, we take the long way round to avoid the
skate park. No point seeking out McFadden. He’s given me a wide birth in the
month since school started back but I know it’s only a matter of time. He’ll
find me. He always does. As we trudge along I pull out my pack of smokes and attempt
to light one with the autumn wind whipping at my face. Finally, it catches.

‘How long before I have to deal with McFadden,
you reckon?’ I ask, taking a drag on my cig.

Matt shakes his head when I offer him the pack.
He’s never really gotten into smoking. Neither has Reggie. I had my first one a
couple years back; stole it out of Tara’s handbag. She’s my mum’s best friend
and she’s always round our place, sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and
smoking. She’s the only one allowed to smoke in the house, and definitely not
if The Chief’s around.

I remember I’d had a huge fight with The Chief
over some stupid failed maths exam or something. He’d done the usual; clenching
his fists and telling me just how useless I am. Like passing a maths test is
the frigging be all and end all. But I suppose to The Chief it was yet another
sign that his dopey son isn’t going to amount to anything.

I came home fuming. He’d cornered me after
school, driven past me on my way home and turned back to yell at me through the
window. He’d pulled over in front of me, blocking the road, so I had nowhere to
go. Then he was straight on to me about the stinking exam. Don’t even know how
he’d found out. Guess the school rang him or something. I let him scream at me
for a few minutes, then I bolted.

The first thing I saw when I came barrelling
through our front door was Tara’s open bag. She’d left it in the hallway, next
to her shoes. The smoke packet was jammed down one side, a little flattened by
the rest of her crap. Checking they were busy in the kitchen I bent down and,
lifting the packet’s lid, pulled a couple of cigs out.

I knew Bianca had a lighter; she was always
burning that incense stuff in her room. So I stole it off her dresser and
hooked it over to the paddock. I sat down in the long grass, lit up, took a
drag, almost lost my guts, then settled into it. Probably bum puffed most of
it, can’t remember. But it was a fucking load off I know that much.

‘I dunno. If we stay clear of the skate park
you’ll be right,’ says Matt. ‘He’s not allowed back near the school so...’  

‘Yeah. That’ll give me a few more weeks I suppose.’

We walk along in silence. I take drags on my cig
and blow a few smoke rings. The paddock is covered in long grass. It reaches
above our knees and its tough like straw. Our feet trample it, making a
scrunching noise, and some bits even snap clean in half under our weight. I
bend down and yank one long blade from the dirt. Holding my cig between my lips
I break the blade into little pieces as I walk, dropping them back onto the
ground.

‘So what’s the go with Mrs Fox?’ asks Matt.

I’ve only broken up half the blade but I dump
the rest and pull the cig from my mouth so I can chat.

‘I don’t know. You’ve seen her at running. She’s
got it in for me.’

‘You think so?’

‘Why else does she make me do all those laps on
my own? She doesn’t make you do that.’

‘It was pretty funny last week.’

‘Piss off.’

‘Caked mud dries hard huh?’

I take a lazy swing at him, but he steps out of
the way.

‘I told you to watch the puddles,’ he says,
laughing.

‘Yeah righto. I don’t know what her problem is
though.’

‘You love it.’

‘What?’

‘Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen.’

‘I’m not keen.’

‘Yeah right.’

I laugh. ‘OK. I lied. I can’t get her out of my
head. Think about her when I jerk off as well.’

‘Seriously? I’ve never thought about a teacher. Halle Berry maybe, but no teacher.’

I laugh. ‘Oh I’ve done Halle, and J.Lo, and
Angelina, and all of them. But sometimes you’ve got to spice it up.’ I take
another drag. ‘And anyway, it’s more fun to picture someone you might actually get
with.’

‘
What?
You reckon you’re actually going
to get her? Mrs Fox?’

Matt is gawking at me, wide eyed.

I shrug. ‘Don’t know. Could happen.’

Matt rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, right. Like she’d go
for you. Anyway, she’s married.’

‘So what?’

We continue on to my place in silence. I think
about what I’ve just said to Matt. I reckon I could give it to her. Corner her
in the gym after school, screw her up against the lockers. Shit, I’m turning
into Reggie more and more every day. I’m chuckling as we make it to my front
door.

‘What’s so funny?’ asks Matt, smirking. ‘You
were imagining it, right?’

‘Yep. But it’s not that. I’m Reggie. Aren’t I?’

‘I think you’ve crossed into Reggie territory,
yeah.’

We both laugh. Matt is slapping me on the back,
ala Reggie. We laugh even harder. I turn to unlock the front door and I can
hear Matt pulling himself together behind me. I’m about to step into the house
when he grabs my arm. I look back over my shoulder at him.

‘What?’

‘Mate. You’re not
actually
going to go
after her, are you?’ Matt asks. His whole face is frowning with concern. His
eyebrows are low over his eyes, creasing his forehead, and his lips are pursed.
At first I think he is joking and I wait for him to laugh again. But he holds
the frown and won’t let go of my arm.

‘Come on, Matt,’ I say, swiping his hand from my
arm. ‘Who are you? The Chief? I’m just having a bit of fun. Geez, lighten up,
would you?’

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, and I can
tell he’s trying to work out whether to believe me or not. I hold his gaze, and
shrug. There’s no point denying I want her, but there’s a hell of a lot of difference
joking about it then actually doing it. I’ve got to get my kicks somehow. And
day-dreaming is all I’ve got right now, especially with the dry spell I’m going
through.

Matt’s face softens. ‘OK, mate. Just don’t do
anything stupid, all right?’

***

I don’t bother going home after work. Kim has
asked us over for dinner, and she likes to eat at six. On the dot. It takes
over twenty minutes to get to their house anyhow. It’s right in the middle of
the suburbs now, out by the Lake Resort; a lot different from when we were
growing up there. Dad would be horrified if he could see what Jungilla Council
have done to the land he sold. At least the house is much the same; Kim and
Bill have seen to that. They did restore the old façade after Mum moved, and
extended a bit into the backyard, but the lay out hasn’t changed. It’s a great
old house; old being the operative word. Sure, it’s got the memories, but
seeing it makes me glad I talked Luke into our brand new place on the other
side of town. That’s the biggest drawcard of course; plenty of distance between
Kim and me.

As I park my car on the street outside the house,
I catch sight of James waving at me from the driveway. He is standing by the
boot of his beat-up Corolla, talking on his mobile. I notice he’s chopped his
hair again, leaving barely an inch on top, but it suits him. James is well over
six foot tall, which is weird considering Kim and Bill are nowhere near that.
It must be from Bill’s family somewhere, because no one on our side can beat
five six. 

He’s still deep in conversation as I stride
towards him. I give him a little wave, and go to walk past him to the house but
he clicks his fingers at me.

‘Hang on a sec,’ he says into the phone. Then he
steps over to give me a hug. He practically has to bend to meet me, and my face
comes only to his chest.

‘Aun-ty Ab-by,’ he says, drawing it out just to
tease me. I take a playful swipe at him but he moves out of the way.

He smirks. ‘I’ll be done in a minute,’ he says,
pointing to the phone. ‘Then I’ll come in and tell you about my trip.’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, giving him a thumbs up.

I’ve never let them call me Aunty. Coupled with
Abby, it just sounds so ridiculous. Besides, Aunties are old women who knit you
jumpers at Christmas. Kim hates it, and has always insisted that when I have
children they
must
call her Aunty Kim. Well we probably won’t have to
worry about that now.

The front door is unlocked so I let myself in
and dump my bag on the hall dresser. Bill’s slippers are waiting for him under
the coat rack, next to a pair of Kim’s white Mary Janes. The house smells of
roast chicken and carpet deodoriser. I can hear banging around in the kitchen,
a cupboard door being slammed, the tap running. I walk down the long hallway to
where the back of the house opens onto the blue and white kitchen. Everything
in Kim’s house is blue or white, or both. China, cushion covers, tablecloths,
curtains, tiles, wallpaper. She says she can’t help it, that these colours
simply gravitate towards her. I’ve got to admit it
is
a welcome change
from the 70s brown Mum had here before.

Kim is fussing round the sink, washing up a
large saucepan and reading aloud from a recipe book lying next to her on the
counter.

‘Hi,’ I say.

She glances over her shoulder at me. ‘Oh, Abby.
You’re here,’ she says, releasing the saucepan into the bubbles and turning
toward me. Her short hair is the same as it’s been for the last decade –
feathery at the back and taut with hairspray. She wipes her hands on her blue
and white checked apron and pulls me into a stiff hug.

Our hugs have always been awkward. It’s as
though our bodies weren’t meant to link together. Her collar bone always sticks
into the side of my neck and my hands can never find a comfortable groove in
her back.

‘How are you Kim?’

‘Run off my feet as usual,’ she says, returning
to the sink. ‘Bill called to say he’ll be late, and Oscar’s got a terrible
cold, and don’t even get me started on Isabelle.’

I know better than to ignore that piece of
bait. 

‘What do you mean?’ I ask. ‘What’s up with her?’

Kim lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. She
finishes with the saucepan and, placing it on the metal drainer, moves to wipe
down the counter top with her sponge. She is shaking her head and furiously
scrubbing one particular spot.

‘She’s got this boyfriend.
Samuel
. And,
of course, he’s the bees knees.’

I try not to laugh. Only my sister would say
bees knees.

‘Mmm.’

‘I don’t know what to do with her. She talks about
him constantly. They’re on the phone for hours at a time. And now she wants to
have dinner with his family over the weekend.’

‘How terrible for you, Kim.’

She turns to me with a look of exasperation. ‘I
don’t need your sarcasm right now Abby.’

‘OK. But what’s the big deal? It sounds like
she’s in love. It’s cute.’

‘Cute? It’s not cute! This boy, this
Samuel
,
is almost two years older. He drives. He probably smokes. And God knows what
else he gets up to.’

‘Come on, Kim. Don’t you trust Isabelle?’

‘Of course I trust her. But lately she’s
changed.’ Kim leaves the sponge and crosses her arms tightly. I can see she is
fighting back tears. ‘She snaps at us. She’s in her room all the time with that
dreadful music on, she’s always trying to sneak to school with make-up on and
now she wants to go to these
parties
on the weekends. And God knows
these aren’t slumber parties.’

If this was Nadine crying in her kitchen, I’d
give her a hug, but with Kim all I can do is nod my head and shrug.

‘
Well,
’ I say. ‘She’s fifteen. She’s
growing up. You can’t fight this forever, Kim.’

‘I know all that. But she doesn’t have to be so
disrespectful. James was never like this.’

I smile, remembering the few times I had to
cover for him when he turned up at our house at two AM, drunk. ‘He was probably
just better at hiding it.’

Kim tuts. Obviously dissatisfied with my
response, she turns back to her recipe. I hear the front door open and pray its
James coming to save me, but the footsteps run up the stairs and a door slams
above my head.

‘See? See what she does? Straight to her room.
No hello or anything.’

Kim is scrunching her apron between her fingers.
This has been her life since she was twenty; the doting mother. She won’t know
what to do with herself when they all leave home. I sigh.

‘I’ll go talk to her.’

‘Try not to encourage her, Abby. She needs
discipline, not friendship.’

When I reach the upstairs landing I can hear the
music pumping from behind Isabelle’s door. I knock loudly. The music dims.

‘What?’ she asks through the door.

‘Is? It’s me, Abby. Can I come in?’