Something More (Girlfriend Fiction 11) (12 page)

I looked at it, my confusion growing. It was crap! How could someone so proficient last week take such a boring photograph today?

‘Well?' he demanded.

‘Yeah…good…yeah,' I murmured.

He seemed to take that as a given, because he frowned and said, ‘No, I mean about Steve Ferris? I sealed them in that envelope for you so Jack wouldn't know you had a crush on his dad.'

He was clearly expecting an explanation. I sighed. ‘Thanks for that. It would have been awkward if he'd seen them. I didn't take the shots, Sam, my dad did.'

I relayed the entire story to him.

He whistled, then hung a few more snaps up to dry. I snuck a peek and wished I hadn't. Ghastly!

‘Is-la McBay, it's your lucky day. Not only did I recognise Steve Ferris, I know what he does at the football ground.'

I did a double-take. ‘You're kidding.'

‘Nope,' he said, clearing up his mess. He was tidy. I'm not the mess police – I believe everyone's personal space is up to them – but it takes three of us to clean up the kitchen and the living room after Dad, so I have to say, I was impressed.

‘What does he do?' I demanded. ‘Tell me!'

He grabbed my hand and smiled. ‘I'll show you. We're going to the footy, Is-la! There's a game at Lion Park this afternoon.'

‘Okay.' I kind of wished he'd stop saying my name wrong. But I had to focus. I had to get back to the photos of me.

‘I love your photos of me,' I tried again.

‘You do?'

‘Yes. They're spectacular.'

He nodded in the direction of his drying snaps. ‘Yeah…I like them too. They'll be great when they're dry.'

I shook my head in exasperation, ‘No, not these, I'm talking about your black-and-whites. The photos that I got when you picked up my dad's?'

‘Ah!'

Finally, we were on the same page.

‘They weren't mine,' he said casually, closing the chemicals cupboard with his foot.

‘
What?
' My world came tumbling down.

‘I didn't take them.'

I held my breath. He was fluffing around the darkroom wiping surfaces, totally oblivious to my turmoil.

I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘Who took them?'

‘Jack.'

I gulped.

‘They were Jack Ferris's photos, Is-la. He asked me to pick them up that day, and they were the ones that got muddled with yours. I didn't get to see them. Were they any good?'

I couldn't speak.

‘Hey, wait a minute, were they all photos of you?' he asked, catching on.

‘Yes.'

‘No wonder he freaked out when I told him that you had them. Hey, did he tell you they were mine?'

I thought about that for a second. ‘No. He gave me the impression they were yours, but he didn't actually say it.'

‘So you thought I'd been sneaking around after you, taking photos?' He laughed. ‘Well, I'm not the weirdo; it's Jack.' He stopped abruptly. ‘He must like you.'

‘He likes me?'

‘I guess. Why else would he take photos?'

I shook my head. It couldn't be true. Ferris Face was fast becoming the most intriguing person I knew.

Sam leant against the bench. ‘Did he say anything last night when he walked you home?'

‘No way! We fought again…actually we're always arguing.'

‘So you're not into him, then?' he asked.

‘Are you kidding?' Of course I wasn't…was I?

No way – Jack was captivated by Molly. And that was panning out to be quite convenient after all…Jack could have Molly, and I could have Sam, and hey, we could even double-date. My forehead creased in protest as the idea flashed in my brain.

Sam was saying something, but I tuned him out. I was on the look out for the custard-pie thrower: the guy who waits until you're feeling invincible, then lobs a big mushy pie right at your face.

I was alone with Sam-Gorgeous-Doyle, in a darkroom, and all I could think about was Jack-Bloody-Ferris.

Custard pie!

‘A bird in the hand could crap
on your fingers, Isla. I'd always
choose two in the bush.'

(Gran McGonnigle)

I was suddenly desperate to get out of the darkroom. I felt like I couldn't breathe. All the ease between Sam and I had been blotted out by Jack's shadow, and Sam's chatter died as we hurriedly packed up.

I was furious with Ferris. He was such an intruder in my life, always turning up at the worst moment. And now he was here even when he wasn't!

Thankfully things began to improve in the daylight. We relaxed back into easy conversation en route to the footy; it was as if Sam had made a decision to forget about Jack, and I resolved to do the same. Neither of us mentioned his photos again, though Steve Ferris's name kept cropping up, considering where we were going.

‘Come on,' I said to Sam as we took a shortcut through the mall. ‘Just tell me what Jack's dad does.'

He shook his head stubbornly. ‘Nope, I want to show you. The stadium isn't far. This will spin you out.'

I was already spun out. Sam was my dream guy. He was my type. He was an Aussie Brian, and he seemed to like me – but he hadn't taken those brilliant photos.

Stop thinking about them.

‘How come Jack's dad isn't in Queensland, too?'

‘Steve doesn't live with his family. Sally Ferris is with some other bloke; Jack lives with her. They've been separated for years, but the divorce is only just happening now. That's why they're going to Queensland. Jack said his mum wants to be out of his dad's way when he signs the papers.'

‘Does Jack get on with his dad?' I was grappling with my curiosity.

‘Yeah…I suppose. He still sees him, which is more than his brother, Danny, does.'

‘What's his brother's problem?'

‘Steve Ferris gambles. Mum says if you don't stand still, he'll be down the TAB putting a fiver on you. He gambles on everything: horses, dogs, pokies…That's one of the reasons they split. Danny's older; I guess he remembers more.'

‘Funny they didn't get divorced until now.'

Sam shrugged. ‘Jack's mum is getting serious with Tom Granger; he's the other bloke. Maybe that's the reason.'

‘You and Jack must be pretty tight for you to have all this information.'

As he considered this, I realised it couldn't be true: Molly had divided and conquered them.

‘Not as much as we used to be. My mum went to school with Sally, so that's how we all met in the first place.'

‘Does Jack ever talk to you about how he feels about his dad?'

‘A bit, but only basic stuff, and I never ask.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Maybe I should. I just figure if he wants to talk about it, he will.'

There it was:
A Guy's Guide to Empathy
, coming soon to the back of a postage stamp near you. But I wasn't going to criticise him at this delicate point in our relationship, so I paused before finding my words.

‘Maybe he wants to be asked.'

‘You reckon?'

‘Could be he keeps things to himself because he thinks you're not interested,' I suggested.

Sam frowned. ‘Is it really bad to admit that I'm not?' He rushed to explain: ‘I mean, he's my mate, but do you ever feel sometimes that you're on a big enough downer yourself and you just don't want to hear about anyone else's worries?'

I have to admit, I got him immediately. I'd felt the same way about Terry all week: I wasn't strong enough to carry her problems, and I didn't even want to. Why should I feel bad about that? His honesty was kind of liberating.

I laughed, but even as I did I heard Gran's voice: ‘Duty makes arses of us all, but at least we've got clean arses.'

We'd reached the football stadium. My fingers ran over the mobile in my pocket, and I wondered if I should try Terry again.

‘Hang on, I've just got to make a quick call.' I moved away from him. She answered on the first ring.

‘Where have you been?' I asked.

‘Walking.' She sounded a long way off.

‘How far did you walk?' I asked, alarmed.

‘To the end of the beach and back. Why?'

‘Never mind. Did you do it?'

There was a long silence before she spoke in a small voice. ‘No.'

‘Okay, don't. Just wait till I get home.'

‘Are you sure?' The relief in her voice made me want to cry. I'd never been more certain about anything.

‘Leave it and we'll do it together tomorrow. It will be much easier if I'm with you.'

‘Thanks.' It was barely a whisper, and she cut the line before I could reply.

Was that enough? Perhaps I should call her back and offer to come home? But Sam was beside me again. ‘Ready?'

I was…but…

He took his sunnies off and tilted his chin.

Okay, I was so ready.

I got my Minolta out as we paid. The crowd was going nuts, cheering and whistling.

‘Why are you helping me?' I had to shout to be heard.

‘What?'

‘Why are you going to show me what Steve Ferris does here?'

He thought about his answer for a moment, then he pulled me into a little alcove, where I could hear him. ‘Is-la, I guess Jack might be mad at me, but it's not that big a secret. Lots of people could tell you what Steve Ferris does here. I can see how it would be hard for your dad to work it out. But he could have found out easily if he'd known who to ask.'

He hesitated.

‘I want to help you…because…I like you…I like you a lot.'

A roar from the crowd signalled the start of the game – but the noise ringing in my ears was coming from my own brain.
Sam Doyle liked me…a lot!

Before I could respond he'd grabbed my hand and dragged me to my seat. Footy before romance. He was a real man.

The ground was packed. It dawned on me that I could get some great shots for my art project while I was here. Pulling myself together, I began to snap the crowd. A mishmash of faces; rainbows of colour; erratic movements. I love a big crowd. Then I turned my lens to the focus of their attention: the players on the field.

I'm not into Australian football. The idea of grown men tearing up and down the grass after a ball that isn't even round seems a bit ridiculous to me. Soccer's just as stupid, although I've never said that to Dad.

The ball rolled off to the side and I tracked it. Some cheerleaders who'd been waving pompoms had to scramble out of the way.
Ha! Not so graceful now
, I thought with satisfaction as they clambered to escape the 130 kilos of beef bearing down on them.

Unfortunately, the only casualty was a splattered pompom. Pity! I snapped it anyway.

No…wait a minute…the guy in the rubber lion suit was under there, too.

The crowd laughed. I turned to Sam. ‘Did you see that? The mascot got squashed.'

Sam was grinning.

‘I bet that hurt,' I said, taking shots as Lion Man struggled to his feet.

‘Yeah, it wouldn't do his back much good.' He was smiling furiously now.

His words took a second to sink in. ‘No!' I slapped his arm. ‘You're joking?' He looked pleased at my surprise. ‘He's the mascot guy?' I yelled.

‘Yep,' Sam yelled back, triumphant. ‘Leo the Lion is Steve Ferris.'

No wonder Dad could never find him.

‘Why does he come here during the week?'

‘Maybe he practises with the cheerleaders.'

‘I'll bet he does.'

Sam's spontaneous laugh made me feel interesting and funny. I pointed my camera at him and snapped. He was so photogenic.

Then I captured Steve Ferris in my sights again. He'd taken the rubber head off to rub blood from his nose, and I clicked the camera just before he whipped it back on and continued to boogie near the touchline. Seriously, there was no other word for his corny old dance moves. Steve Ferris was boogying.

This was excellent proof. He could never deny he was Leo – which is just what I'd be doing if I were him, even without the fraud thing and the bad dancing. A grown man jumping around in a lion suit? I'd kill my dad if he ever did that. Poor Jack.

I got lots more shots of him in various agile poses, until my camera ran out of film. Coincidentally, the game was nearing its end, and the home side was losing so people were beginning to leave early.

I wanted to join them. ‘Let's go, Sam,' I said, putting the Minolta away. He grabbed his backpack.

We escaped the ground, a part of the swirling snake of people heading for the street.

‘Good game.'

‘They got beat,' I pointed out.

‘Still,' he said brightly, ‘at least you can help your dad out now.'

I could, but it was going to be tricky. I wasn't sure how PI Jim would feel about his daughter solving his case for him.

Then I saw that I had an even bigger problem. How would Jack feel if he knew I'd dobbed on his dad?

Oops, Sam had been speaking again. He was obviously waiting for some comment from me – he had an expectant look on his face.

‘Sorry Sam, I was miles away.'

‘I was just saying…you know…about before? Us?'

Us?

Damn, he was so gorgeous, but a snail of doubt was inching its way inside my head, leaving a slow slime-trail of thoughts about Molly, Jack, and some really bad photography.

Sam glanced away, then back again. ‘I was just wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?'

Mr Snail waved his little feelers.

‘Sam, I like you…but you and Molly…'

‘Nah, I told you, me and Molls are just mates.'

‘Really?'

‘It's true.'

We both studied the traffic with interest.

‘Are you hesitating because of Jack?'

‘No.'

‘Because if you are, you should just say so.'