All These Perfect Strangers (15 page)

I looked up to see Michael at the far side of the table, standing with, and yet still separate from, the group. Someone opened a door nearby, and the light from outside the room glinted off his glasses, making his eyes metallic, as though he was a computer, taking in data and not giving anything in return.

‘Toby, it's your turn,' Annabel yelled out from behind us. Someone started saying ‘One-Two, One-Two,' into a microphone.

‘Wait there until I finish hustling,' he said.

But I didn't, because I wasn't going to spend the night with people asking me where Rogan was or talking about Rachel, and I had caught sight of the man with the moustache whom Toby had described. It was Dale.

‘I'll be right back,' I called to Toby.

After winding my way through two more pool tables, Dale noticed me and smiled.

‘What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be reading your case-law, revising notes?' I joked. ‘Don't tell me you're slacking off.' Behind us, I could see Stoner, who had been openly plying his trade around the pool tables, was now staring at Dale in shock.

‘Guilty as charged. Thought I'd come and see the band. My cousin's the bass player. Wife's away with the kids. Don't like being home in an empty house.'

There was something in the way he spoke that made me wonder if everything was OK at home, but I felt too uncomfortable to ask.

We watched the empty stage. Rows of people stood in front of us, waiting in anticipation.

‘You know, people think you're undercover,' I said.

Dale laughed. ‘I thought I was being discreet, standing in the corner.' There was nothing discreet about him. People were giving him a wide berth because he looked exactly like a policeman, from his button-down shirt, neatly pressed trousers, to the way he stood alertly with his weight evenly distributed on both legs.

‘A young lady with a rat told me I should be off doing something useful. She suggested arresting the Screwdriver Man.'

‘Is that why there's extra security?'

Dale's face turned grim. ‘Death Riders are not my idea of security. Stay well away from them.'

I thought about telling him what had happened before, but then I saw Rachel cut through the crowd and push to the front of the queue at the bar. I couldn't see Rogan around. Now was a good time to confront her, so I said goodbye to Dale. She bought a beer and left it on a ledge before heading into the toilets. I stood outside for a few minutes. There was a loud roar as the drummer came out and sat behind his kit. People began to move towards the stage. Girls came flooding out of the toilets but no Rachel. I pushed open the door.

Black-penned graffiti covered the roughly painted walls: ‘Ally's a bitch', ‘Jo was 'ere', ‘Shazza 4 EVA'. New Uni-Safe posters warning women about the Screwdriver Man covered older Uni-Safe posters warning women about someone else. No one was at the sinks and only one cubicle door was closed. As I walked in, a toilet flushed, and Rachel came out of it, rubbing her nose. She went over to the sink and washed her hands before she caught sight of me in the mirror's reflection.

‘Hey,' she said. She threw her arms around me, but misjudged where I was and stumbled. ‘Isn't this the best night?' She tried hugging me again.

‘Where's Rogan?' I asked.

Rachel shot me a blurred version of her unrepentant look. ‘Who cares about Rogan? You shouldn't.' She turned back to the mirror, her make-up smudged across her face. She sniffed several times and ran her hand under her nose. ‘You know, after all that's happened, you shouldn't be messing around with Rogan.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Didn't you say you need to be of good character to be a lawyer? The way I look at it you're already pushing the boundary on that one. I mean, uni is a lot better than what happened to your friend. You know the one . . .' She cocked two fingers in a gun shape and shot me. ‘Assuming she was your friend, which could be wrong, because I'm guessing you weren't friends by the end of it.' Giggling, she turned her finger gun on herself.

A white hot heat began to throb behind my eyes.

She turned to look in the cracked mirror, playing with the strands of hair that hung down over her face. I wanted to walk over to her and grab a handful of them and pull hard.

‘What did you do with Rogan?' I asked. ‘What did you tell him?'

Her eyes were almost closed to slits. ‘You know, Rogan made me swear not to say anything.' Clumsily putting her hand up to her mouth, she mimicked zipping her lips shut. I watched her in the mirror and felt rage. I didn't have the words to express how much. I just knew I didn't want to talk to her and I didn't want Rachel to keep talking to me. I turned to leave.

‘Don't do anything I wouldn't do,' she called out.

Walking out the door, I noticed Rachel's beer was still sitting on the ledge.

So I did it. There would be a full reckoning the next day, of course. I knew that but I just didn't care. I wouldn't find anyone to take her home. Let one of the bouncers look after her. As far as I was concerned this punishment didn't even seem like enough, but it was all I could think of. I pulled the tablets out of my bag, crumbled a couple into her drink and waited for Rachel to come out.

‘You still here?' she asked.

‘Joad's out the front. Thought you should know. Your beer?'

She nodded and I handed it to her. I smiled.

‘Down the hatch,' she said, and drained it in one. ‘And if the Toad's out there, I'll go the back way to have a ciggie. Need some fresh air.'

I watched her push the fire door near us that had been propped open with a paint tin full of sand and cigarette butts. She swaggered through.

There was still no sign of Rogan as I moved towards the music. I attempted to shove a path through, but the crowd was resistant to latecomers and I got shunted to the far edge of the speaker stack, with half the stage obscured. I couldn't see much through the people in front of me, other than the lead singer, a thin girl in the middle of the stage, wearing a black singlet, jeans and enormous hooped earrings.

The guitars and drums were dialled up to eleven and next to the speakers, the bass line became my heart beat. The girl was playing her guitar, dancing in a sideways shrug. As she came up to the microphone, her face hidden behind her fringe, her voice smacked into me.

She was strong and sexy and I doubted if any guy had ever abandoned her during a first date. I watched her as she whispered, screamed and scowled her way through the songs. Sometimes, when the crowd shouted out the chorus, her voice was swamped but she sang on and didn't care.

Still angry after my run-in with Rachel, I pushed forward again and made it to the moshpit by the time that emotion was jostled out of me. After several songs that I felt in my bones, my ears were ringing and slam-dancing giants seemed to be circling me, completely shutting out the world. I moved further back. That was when I caught sight of Rogan sitting at the bar. Stoner was perched alongside him, talking in his ear. It was hard to work out Rogan's expression, but it was clear he wasn't looking for me. I moved further into the crowd, but every few minutes I would catch myself looking in his direction and even though Stoner disappeared after the next song, he sat there not moving.

The encore finished, the lights turned on at full strength revealing a grimy floor, and I was standing like an idiot amongst blinking couples who had been making out in the anonymous darkness. I turned away from where Rogan was sitting, trying to see if there was anyone I knew, to look as if I had been having a great night with friends. Through the crowd, I saw Michael coming towards me. He waved an arm to catch my attention, but being with him would be even worse than being alone, so I pretended I didn't see him and began to move towards the pool tables in search of Toby.

A hand reached out and caught me around the waist. ‘There you are,' said Rogan. ‘I've been looking for you everywhere.' He pulled me close to him.

I was too conscious of the warmth of his arm, the length of his body against me, to convincingly play it cool. He leant forward and kissed me on the mouth. Any recriminations vanished.

‘Had a good night?' he asked.

‘Had its moments,' I answered, a little breathlessly. ‘You?'

‘To be truthful, I'd have to say right now is definitely the highlight.' He smiled. ‘Still, I thought the band sounded good.'

‘Yeah,' I said, my world suddenly exploding with possibilities. ‘Their singer is great.'

Rogan ordered beers and found us a couple of seats near the wall.

‘Sorry about before,' he said. ‘I just wanted this night to be easy. See the band, have some drinks. Fun, you know. But Rachel. Look, I know she's your friend . . .'

I thought back to her in the bathroom. ‘She's not my friend. Just has the room next to me.'

‘Oh, good,' said Rogan. He put his arm around my shoulders. ‘I don't like saying this about anyone but she is full of it. The stories she tells, I wouldn't believe a word of them.'

‘Toby warned me about that at the start of the year,' I said, relief washing over me.

‘Maybe we should head into town after this?'

I nodded enthusiastically. For Rogan I'd leave the confines of university.

People were finishing their drinks, making plans for the rest of the night and beginning to leave. We sat and watched. Dale was waiting for those in front of him to move. He gave me a nod. As I went to wave goodbye, Rogan grabbed my arm.

‘Do you know him?'

‘Sure, I was talking to him earlier. He's a cop. Toby thinks he could be working undercover.' I said this as a joke but Rogan stood up quickly.

‘I've got to head back to college. You coming?'

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed my hand. And with none of the electricity from earlier, he pulled me through the crowd, towards the fire exit.

He kicked the paint tin propping the door open out of the way. It lurched sideways, cigarette butts and sand spilling on the ground. The door slammed behind us and the noise was instantly cut off, as if it had been strangled. Standing in a small courtyard surrounded by a timber fence and a gate, I could smell fermenting beer and rotting food. Two large industrial bins were next to us. Far away, I could hear sounds of people leaving, laughing, talking and singing, but out here there was no one.

‘You coming back to Scullin?' Rogan asked, dropping my hand.

‘How about town?' I asked. ‘Go to a club?'

He shook his head. ‘I've got to get back.'

Unsure what had gone wrong, I stood there confused. He opened the gate and began walking. The wind picked up and I could feel goose bumps forming. My clothes were still warm, damp with the sweat from the bar. I followed, pulling the gate shut behind me, giving it a shove to make sure the catch had clicked into place. Tracey always said you could tell a country kid by their compulsive need to close all gates.

‘Always finish what you have started,'
she'd say, imitating her dad's English accent.
‘Take responsibility. No excuses.'

He was quick with the clichés but even quicker with his belt.

The path we were walking along, more a worn dirt strip, was the quickest route between the bar and the sporting fields on the other side of the river, but only if you were prepared to get wet. A full moon, partially covered by clouds, gave the ground a faint glow. Trying to catch up to Rogan, I tripped on an uneven patch of ground, a tree root lying just under the earth. At my stumble, Rogan turned back. He stood there, tense, waiting for me.

‘C'mon, it's freezing,' was all he said. He started moving ahead in long strides.

This part of the river was wide. Clumps of ferns and sprawling bushes covered the banks. As the path ran parallel to the water, I looked across to the far side. Scrubby poplars stood to attention, guarding the playing fields behind. But as I watched, a smaller shadow moved amongst the trees. I stopped to look again but the wind pushed clouds across the moon, the light dimmed and I lost sight of it.

‘What are you doing?' Rogan asked, less impatient now. He looked back in the direction I had been staring.

‘Thought I saw something,' I said. He gazed out into the darkness. The clouds shifted and the river turned from black to scum-flecked grey in the moonlight.

‘In the river?'

‘No, over in the trees.' But the direction of his gaze didn't change.

‘What's that?' he asked, not pointing across the bank, but down into the water. It was a larger patch of darkness, rotating on the river's flow, stuck amongst the reeds on the far side.

‘Just some rubbish,' I said. But Rogan frowned, pushed past branches and slapping leaves, and clambered down the embankment.

‘It's definitely something large.' His voice moved from curious to anxious. ‘It kind of looks . . .' but without finishing, he pulled off his socks and shoes.

‘What are you doing?' I said, scrambling down the loosened dirt and pebbles to stand next to him. ‘It'll be junk.' But at the water's edge, it was more solid than that.

Rogan ignored me and put a foot in. Swearing under his breath at its coldness, he began to wade out.

‘How deep's the water?' I called. ‘You can swim, right?'

A sudden drop in depth took him from knees to waist. His arms windmilled and he almost overbalanced. The water got deeper still as Rogan neared the shape and he began to swim. The churn from his splashing freed whatever it was from its moorings and it began to float along the river, as though this was a game and it was trying to evade him. Rogan stretched out his hand and grabbed. It lifted before flopping backwards with a sucking slap, submerged, and then bobbed back up. Now it was longer, blossoming in the river.

‘Too deep to stand . . . can't get it out of the water on my own.' His teeth were chattering and I could hear his fear. I began to take off my shoes, slipping my heels out, peeling off my socks, hoping that someone else would turn up, take charge and we could leave. But there was no one.