Head of the River (16 page)

‘You catching up with your older woman during the break, Sammy?' asks Nick.

Older woman?

‘Don't know what you're talking about, Josh,' Sam says. But he looks furious.

‘When you going to admit you have a woman? Mate, Bee Henry is gorgeous. How old is she anyway, nineteen? Does she buy beer for you?'

Who is Bee Henry? Does she have swirly handwriting and call him Sammy?

‘Shut up, Nick!' shouts Sam. He throws one of the burgers at Nick's chest. It splats down the front.

‘Food fight!' Charley shouts.

It's only because he's surrounded by people that I don't walk over to him and demand an explanation, push one of those burgers into his mysterious face.

‘Relax, Camero. We're all jealous, mate,' says Nick, taking off his T-shirt. ‘What's your secret?'

‘If you don't shut up right now, I will throw you in the Yarra,' says Sam.

It's the closest I've seen Sam come to losing his cool. Meanwhile I feel sick thinking of all the things we did on Sunday. How much I had trusted him. I swallow hard, saliva rushing into my mouth. How could Sam think it was okay to be with me, without telling me he had a girlfriend? I feel so stupid. So used. I look sideways at Sam, who hands me the burger with an oily squelch. ‘Sorry,' he says. We both know he doesn't mean spilling tomato sauce on my hands.

I blink back tears. ‘It's not okay,' I whisper. I'm sure it's not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

I walk with as much dignity as I can down the stairs and burst into tears. I chuck the burger violently into a bin, run a hose over my hands and wet my face. I try to collect myself. I don't want to be seen crying by anyone. Especially not my crew. I can't go back to the barbecue so I find a hiding spot down the back of the shed. Pulling myself into a small ball on the concrete floor behind the boats.

I stay there for a while, listening to the scuff of feet on the floor above. Hearing a song being turned up and then turned down by a teacher. Footsteps creak on the wood stairs and I cross my fingers.
Be Sam, be Sam, be Sam.
He can make it all better. Just by saying he chooses me.
Choose me, choose, me, choose me.

The instant I see the green thongs and thick calf muscle, I know it's not the guy I want. But it might be the right guy.

‘I'm down here, Cris,' I say.

My brother can read me. Read my moods. Be there, even when I don't know I need him.

‘Leni. Are you okay?' he asks.

‘No,' I say. Knowing he will listen, not judge. It's time I came clean to him about Sam.

Cristian coaxes me back upstairs. I'm wearing his sunglasses over my red eyes and he's making sure I'm laughing with really bad jokes. He offered to confront Sam and have it out with him, but I didn't want a scene. I choose to ignore Sam and focus on breathing in and out.

Mum arrives from the hospital and I hug her tightly. We sit on the balcony as a family.

‘Everything okay?' Cris says.

‘Yeah. Everything's fine.'

After Sam leaves I search for Bee Henry under Sam's friends on Facebook. There's nothing. She's obviously the last person on the planet without a profile. I shift through Sam's photos and find her there. She's wearing a fifties-style yellow sundress and a straw fedora hat. Underneath the brim, she's got a wide smile, freckles and brown curly hair. She looks like a girl version of Sam. Absolutely gorgeous.

Closing my eyes I imagine him beside me on the balcony, his hand closing over mine, resting my head into his shoulder. I think back to that afternoon in his apartment when we rolled sleepily into each other. The beautiful, raw newness of it has faded and gone. The aftertaste is bitter. Nobody has ever let me down the way Sam did today.

I stare out at the river, at a couple walking down the path, holding hands. Even though my family is around me, I feel a loneliness that seeps right through to my bones.

I'm unpacking my rowing bag at home when I find the receipt.

Leni Popescu. Captain of Boats. Blazer pocket.

Order: $95.00. PAID.

The signature and the credit card details are Sam's.

He's scribbled a note along the bottom.

I've got your back. Love, Sam.

Love?

January

Three months to Head of the River

Leni

It seems like a blink and summer holidays are over. I'm on the bus, on our way to rowing camp in Sale. I look around at the squad. We've only been apart for six weeks, but everyone looks different. The boys have the beginnings of beards, longer hair and beach tans. The biggest transformation is Adam and Cristian. They are both 100 per cent ripped. Cris has dropped all his puppy fat and Adam's body has gone from sinewy to brawny.

Sam isn't here. No one has seen or heard from him since our final row. And he missed the bus and boat loading. Maybe he's decided to drop out in Byron with Bee. Have a bunch of kids on a farm, form some springy dreadlocks, smoke too much dope and turn his back on his private school past.

Part of me is relieved not to see him today. The other part put on foundation and waterproof mascara. That part is disappointed and pathetic.

The fifth crew are singing about falling in love, screeching the chorus at the top of their lungs and pretending they have microphones.

‘When will it end?' Penny says, putting her hands over her ears. She's wearing an exotic silk sari, her fingers decorated in yellow-brown henna. Her time overseas is written all over her body. She seems older, more worldly. What has she done that I'm too scared to?

‘How were your holidays?' asks Penny.

‘Boring. I worked,' I say, looking out the window at the passing paddocks.

What did I achieve with my months of freedom? Just 3784 Target dollars in my bank account. Every dollar soaked in boredom, aching feet, pants that didn't fit and dug in around my waist and a borrowed name tag that didn't even say my name. All summer I was, ‘Hello, my name is Sandiya'. The nice customers would say, ‘Sandiya, that's a lovely name, unusual.' I'd nod and say thanks. It was a spare that I found in the break room. It used to belong to a silent Indian girl who lasted two weeks on the register before moving to Gloria Jeans on the second floor to sling coffees.

I should have more to show for my last summer holiday before Year Twelve. Penny's seen the Taj Mahal. What have I seen? The 86 tram and a fluorescent department store. The inside of a gym, the river, the Tan. I feel boring and quiet. To feel bigger I put on my rowing captain rugby top that says:
Leni Popesu – Captain of Boats
on the back in white lettering.

Funny thing is, wearing it makes me feel smaller.

‘Are you nervous about camp?' Penny asks. ‘I'm so scared. It was hard to do my training while I was travelling. Not too many ergos in India.'

‘It'll be fine,' I say.

Truth is, I'm scared to death too. I can't eat properly. Even my morning bowl of cereal was a struggle. Soon there will be ergo trials. And there's no hiding from those. The rest of the camp will be hard yakka. The principal aim of taking us away from the city seems to be to flog us until we can barely stand.

Cristian

So here we are – rowing camp.

The place is bleak. We're staying at a Catholic college in Sale, on an isolated river in the middle of pretty much nowhere. There's nothing around. No shops. No trains. No buses. Nothing much else to do but row, row, row and row some more.

This year I'm not as nervous and unsure as past camps. Adam and I have our secret weapon and if everything goes to plan, it's unlikely anyone will beat us on erg scores. It's a matter of time before we're back in the firsts. Once I get back in I have to put my head down and row like hell until March. That's my ticket to freedom.

‘Bloody hell, Poppa, you've dropped some weight,' says Charley as we get on the bus.

I'm swimming in my old clothes and had to spend some of my Bunnings money on getting new training gear.
It's hard not to notice I've become the incredible shrinking man. Mum keeps frowning at me and asking me if I've eaten a good breakfast.

I don't even recognise my body anymore and I don't know how to be in it. Sometimes at night, I run my hands down my front, feel the hip bones poking out and count the ribs appearing on my chest. Funny, I thought getting skinny would make me happy, but I've never been this unhappy.

‘Laid off the pies,' I say, playing it down. ‘Did some running.'

The last thing I need is too much attention.

On the bus I sit a few seats back from Penny and wish I was Leni so I could sit next to her. She looks different. Older. Her hair is longer and lighter from the sun, pulled up in a messy ponytail. She's carrying a sling bag on her shoulder embroidered with small green elephants. It's a long bus ride up, but I think about kissing the back of her neck for about 97.5 per cent of it.

Nick, Damo and Julian work on rigging up the boats in pastel boardshorts and no tops. Showing off the kind of tan you don't get working ten-hour shifts at Bunnings. I feel a pang of jealousy at their freedom. It's my first day off work since Christmas. At least, for once, I have money in my pocket.

‘Fark, how good does Rach look this year?' says Julian, giving Rachel a slow wolf-whistle as she walks past in a skintight zootie. ‘Wouldn't mind a piece of that.'

We've been assigned rooms. Boys in one wing and the girls in another. The coaches and their torches will patrol the perimeters. We might be horny now, but in a few hours we'll be too knackered to try any funny business. It's face plant after face plant into the musty single beds. All of us passed out like caterpillars in our sleeping bags.

‘How was your Chrissy?' Adam asks. He's only just come back from the States and looks even more cut. He's passing off his thickly muscled thighs as a by-product of back-country skiing.

‘Okay,' I say, remembering the way Mum insisted on hanging up stockings for Leni and I, even though we are far too old. The heaving table of Romanian food I had to bite my knuckles not to scoff down. The stray rowers and friends that came along afterwards for strong coffee and pastries. The few that stayed too long, laughing into the warm night. The traditional confusing call home to my grandparents Bunica and Bunela on a dodgy line.

‘The same as always. Yours?'

‘We had a sad lunch at a hotel in Aspen. Dad forgot to buy me presents, and then gave me his credit card as if that would make up for it. I missed my mum. Usually we spend Christmas with her.'

‘Yeah, but you got to go skiing, didn't you?'

Adam looks at me, like maybe I missed the point entirely.

I'm attaching my riggers to the second boat when Westie taps me on the shoulder.

‘Weigh in, Poppa.'

Adam shoots me a look and I nod at him. Sam Cam is late for camp. We are in prime position for a hostile takeover. Everything is going our way.

‘Sure, no problem,' I say, without a hint of fear. My diet is monastic. Protein shakes, egg whites, skinned chicken, rice. It's so boring and repetitive I can hardly stand to put it in my mouth. All I can think about is the day after the Head of the River. When I can put away my zoot suits, let my blisters heal and never ever get up before light. Eat all the food.

We walk silently to the weights room and he places a small digital scale between us.

‘Have a good break, sir?'

Mr West looks up from his clipboard, surprised. Informal chit-chat isn't his strong suit.

‘I did, thank you,' Westie says. ‘I became a granddad for the first time. Precious little baby boy. Can hardly believe I'm old enough. Seems like yesterday I was in the first boat myself.'

‘What's his name, sir?' I ask.

‘Arlo. Not crazy about the name, but I'm crazy about the kid.' He pulls his phone out of his pocket, shows me a picture of a squashed baby, its face wrinkled, eyes closed. I have no idea what to say.

‘Cute,' I mumble.

Westie shoves the phone back into his pocket.

‘On you get. By the look of you this is a formality. I've never seen such a dramatic transformation in such a short time. What have you been doing?'

‘Not eating. Obviously.'

Westie frowns. ‘You need to do this the right way, Cristian. One of my daughters faded away around your age. Had to be put in hospital. Drip fed. Took her ten years to recover. Tore our family to bits.' He pauses, then clears his throat. I'm stunned by the sudden revealing of Westie's family life and a shred of concern for my wellbeing. He pulls his feelings back in sharply. ‘Make sure you're doing it the right way is all I'm saying. Nothing too crazy.'

‘Sure,' I mutter.

I stand on the scale and don't even bother taking off my trainers. I know what I weigh. I'm obsessed with the numbers. I weigh myself every day, sometimes twice a day. I've been on a tasteless high-protein bodybuilding diet for months. I finally have the body I've always wanted. Narrow hips, a flat sixpack, wide shoulders, pecs, amazing biceps. On the outside at least, I'm perfect. Pity my head is such a mess.

‘Don't want to remove those first?' asks Westie.

I shrug and look down at the number between my feet.

‘Don't think I need to, do I?'

‘Cristian Popescu. Welcome back to the first boat.'

‘That's it, I'm back in?'

‘The five seat is rightfully yours, son. Fair play. You earned your way back to the top boat. You look fit.'

I won't be satisfied until Adam is back in the first eight, too. He won't get his chance to show off his radical improvement until erg trials. I can't wait.

Leni

I'm sharing a room with Rachel and Penny. Rachel was disappointed not to be rooming with her besties, Millie and Aiko. I was happy we didn't have to choose sides.

‘What did you do this summer, captain?' Rachel asks as we ferry boats from the trailer, string them out on stretchers and re-rig.

‘Not much. Worked. You?'

‘Same. Maccas. I had New Year's off, but the rest of the time it was “Can I take your order? Want fries with that? Would you like to try our new McFlurry?” '

‘How are you today? Would you like a bag with that? Cash or card? Have a nice day,' I say.

We share a look of complete understanding of minimum wage existence.

‘And now we've gone from the frying pan to the fire, literally,' says Rachel. ‘Hot enough for ya?'

It's hot. Of course. The same cruel rowing camp joke. It rains when we're all at the beach. Then as soon as we arrive at Sale, the sun rises, high and unforgiving and the temperature becomes unbearable.

‘Weather report says rain later in the week. We should enjoy the sun while we can,' Penny says as she screws in a bolt.

‘You're a glass half full sort of gal, aren't you,' says Rachel, tweaking Penny's cheek.

Rachel and I work opposite each other on the eight. Slotting seats back onto slides and fitting riggers. We get it done quickly and without fuss. Usually Rachel would be trying to get someone else to boat rig for her. She's different this year. Less lazy. More present. Summer has changed her too.

‘Mr Poppa? Can you check our boat?' Rachel calls.

Dad arrives to look over our work, checking the heights and making sure every bolt is tight.

‘Lovely work girls, keep this up and I lose job.'

He's wearing a floppy cricket hat, zinc on his nose. He hasn't stopped all day. Dad's in hot demand on rowing camp. He can barely walk a few metres without getting stopped with a ‘Mr Poppa! Can you help me?'

In contrast, Westie peers into an iPad in the shade, scrutinising footage and data. Barely even laying a finger on the boats.

‘What did you do for New Year's?' Aiko asks across the boat. She seems put out that Rachel and I paired up for rigging.

‘Hung out at home,' I say.

‘You spent New Year's with your parents?' Aiko asks.

Everyone looks at me like I have two heads. Waiting for me to explain such a massive lapse in coolness.

‘I was with my parents, too,' says Penny, rescuing me. ‘We were in India. It was the best night of my life. Actually my parents went to bed later than I did.'

I smile at Penny and she winks at me. I can see why Cristian can't let it go with her.

‘Come on, let's go for a row.'

Two rows and a good sleep under our belt and it's time for the real testing to begin. Laura assembles us under a shady tree next to the river, a cooling breeze skimming off the water. We've only been here a day but I feel dirty already, dust has infiltrated my luggage and I'm damp with sweat.

Laura sits down, cross-legged. She's wearing a wet rag around her neck and has a bucket full of extra bandannas soaking in cold water. She hands them out.

‘Tie them around your necks. You won't win any fashion awards, but I won't have you falling out of the boat with heatstroke. Also sunscreen, hat, long-sleeve tops. No sunburn please. It will sap your energy and you know what always starts rowing camp.'

Everyone groans, except me.

‘That's right, chicks. Erg trials.'

‘A general piece of advice,' says Laura. ‘Don't smash out the first 500 metres. It's counterproductive in this heat. You'll lactate up and fall to bits. Stay within yourselves for the first half. Work into it. Settle early and keep a nice steady pace.'

I look around the group and clock the cold terror on every face. I'm terrified too. I've trained, but work knocked me around. My back is tight and sore from standing all day and the last training piece I did on the erg was slower than I expected.

‘Don't look so scared,' Laura says. ‘Let's get them out of the way and move onto the important stuff – getting on the water. One more thing. US scouts will be out here again this season, looking at rowers for their college program. I won't let you know when they're here or who they're interested in. Mr West and I agree you shouldn't have that added pressure. But for any of you in Year Twelve who might be looking to study in the States, it's a good opportunity. I have a few friends on scholarship over there and they have great sports facilities and coaching.'