Stan (6 page)

Chapter Ten

Stan

Christ, it was
hard not to laugh.

Something I had
failed rather miserably at, but the look of alarm on her face when I turned on
the light was priceless. As was the way those wide eyes slowly roamed over my
body. I’m not going to lie; there is an immense male satisfaction in
that
.
I had to instantly think ugly thoughts so it didn’t affect me in the worst
possible way, then my short-lived satisfaction would not be mine.

I knew it would
the perfect opportunity to make her squirm or make an innuendo of some kind; it
was the stuff that seemed to work whenever my mates would pay out on girls, but
I wasn’t them. I wasn’t quick-witted or comfortable with treating people like
toys; instead, I opted to end Bel’s mortification swiftly, and silently, by
helping her unhook herself with her twisted strap. I had to stop her from
committing an injury or she’d take my eye out with a flailing arm.

“Just. Wait,” I
said. That seemed to get her attention. The only thing that didn’t still was
the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. That I
could clearly see as I stood behind her shoulder. I made work to untwist the
strap and lift it off her pinned arm. Without thought, I pulled down the
bunched-up fabric of her top and gently pulled it over her ribcage. The back of
my fingers accidentally brushed against her skin. That felt terribly intimate
even though it was the briefest of touches. I was less aware now of Bel’s
breathing and more aware of my own, and I was glad Bel was facing away from me.
I cleared my throat and stepped back a little to make some space in the small
room.

“There,” I said,
trying to sound casual and cool about it, not sure if I was succeeding. God she
smelt good.

Think ugly
thoughts. Think ugly thoughts
.

Bel turned around,
lifted her chin to me, and brushed her inky black fringe from her brow. “Thanks,”
she said, her face flushed, maybe from overexertion, but my guess was she was
embarrassed, as her eyes remained turned down.

Now the bag was in
its rightful position, the top of the strap still sat skew-whiff. Without
thinking, I moved forward, grabbing it to right the wrong. Bel’s eyes flicked
up, wide and surprised by my sudden close proximity. I unfolded the material
and stilled, looking down into her questioning eyes. Now it was my chest that
was rising and falling in a way I couldn’t control. Those damn eyes, big and
ever-changing colour depending on the light. Standing in my room before her,
closer than I had ever been before, they looked green, the vivid rich colour
framed by thick inky black lashes. Beautiful. I got my fill of looking into
them because she didn’t blink, not once. I wasn’t sure if it was because of
that, that time stood still; the space between us seemed so small and the
moment seemed to extend forever. But I didn’t want her to blink, to break the
trance, to shutter off that beautiful green from me, not for a split second.
But, of course, the moment came as I knew it would, but it wasn’t in the way I
had thought.

The distant sound
of the hall door being violently whipped open, followed by a loud crash as the
door handle hit the wall, caused us to both jump back.

“Oh shit … pizza’s
here!” Ringer’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Coming,” I yelled
out, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck as I watched Bel brush past me,
pausing in my doorway until she heard the hall door shut. She glanced toward
me, a small, coy smile lifting the corner of her mouth as if to say “Phew, that
was close.” She quickly stepped across the hall into the room opposite and shut
the door behind her. What was that? What was that moment between Bel and me?
Looking into her eyes, I hadn’t wanted the moment to end. I’d wanted to close
the distance between us, just to be closer to her. Trouble: deep, deep trouble.

***

The wild party
turned out to be Ellie watching the Lifestyle channel with her feet on the
coffee table, and Ringer peeling off the plastic wrapping from the paper plates
in the kitchen. I couldn’t help but do a double take as I entered the room; it
was almost like being home with my parents. I padded toward the kitchen bench,
flipping open the pizza box as I slid onto the stool, inspecting the contents
inside. Ringer flipped out three plates with a typical violence he couldn’t
seem to control in his eagerness to eat.

“Better make that
four,” I said, running my hand through my wet hair that I forgot to towel dry
properly in my sense of urgency to get dressed and out here before Bel. Ringer
stilled his eyes, narrowing them. “Expecting someone?” he asked.

“You mean you
haven’t invited half of Onslow?” I asked, in authentic surprise.

“I thought you
wanted low key?” he said, as if actually annoyed.

“I do! I am just
surprised, is all.”

“So why the extra
plate?”

“Stan’s
babysitting.” Ellie appeared next to Ringer, leaning across from him to grab
the garlic bread. Ringer was still none the wiser as his scowl deepened.

Ellie unfolded the
foil. “Belinda Evans,” she said, without looking up from her task.

“Belinda Evans?”
Ringer repeated.

“Yeah, the doctor’s
daughter. You know? Jet-black hair, inky eyelashes, petite,” Ellie said, her
mischievous smirk lining her face as she looked up at me with a knowing gaze.

Ringer followed
her eye line. “Reeeally?” he asked with amused interest.

“Don’t even think
about it,” I deadpanned.

Ringer scoffed.
Holding up his hands, he said, “Hey, I just want a piece of Caprocossa.”

Ellie shook her
head. “No surprise you’re choosing your stomach over romance, Ringo.”

“Ehvry Thirme,”
Ringo managed through a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed it down with a large
gulp. “Don’t worry, mate, she’s all yours,” he said with a wink as he cradled
his pizza over his paper plate and headed for the lounge. Ellie was still
smirking at me as if she had this inner knowledge and I hated that. It always
caused this air of unease as if she was somehow reading my mind. I shovelled a
couple of pieces onto a plate, planning for a quick exit.

“What? No garlic
bread?” Ellie mused.

“No, thanks,” I
managed between spinning away from her view only to be stilled by the hall door
opening, and a small figure sliding into the room with uncertainty.

Bel’s eyes darted
from me to Ellie, and she gave a small and uncomfortable smile. “Hey,” she
managed.

Ringer’s head
popped over the back of the couch, a grin half-smudged with tomato sauce,
before he licked it away. “Hey, Bel Evans.” He lifted his brows.

Bel paused
midstep, looking at Ringer with uncertain unease, not an unusual reaction to
Ringer who tended to treat everyone like old mates.

“Pizza?” he asked,
holding up his plate in question.

“Oh, um, no, I’m
good, thanks.”

Ringer frowned. “It
wasn’t a question. Do you think you could bring me a piece?”

“RINGER!” Ellie
yelled out in dismay, casting him a filthy look as she brought a paper plate
over to Bel.

“What?” Ringer
shrugged in true wonderment. “What did I say?”

“Don’t be such a
pig. Here you go, Bel, it’s a bit cold but that kind of adds to the flavour, I
reckon.” Ellie smiled brightly at Bel, who just looked back at her, all
wide-eyed and uncertain. The poor girl was probably still shell-shocked from
before. I wasn’t managing to do much more than just stare silently at her
myself. I cleared my throat. “Um, you can zap it in the microwave if you want.”
I pointed to the kitchen.

Smooth, Stan. That
was sure to break the ice.

Break the ice?
What the hell did I need to break the ice for?

Bel followed my
direction, then looked back to her slice. Her mind was ticking as if English
wasn’t her first language. After a moment’s pause, she took the pizza she said
she didn’t even want and carried it over to the bench. “Thanks, it will be
fine,” she said, pulling out a seat at the island bench and facing away from
us.

I spun around to
Ringer, managing a heavy ‘you’re a dead man’ scowl.

Ringer held up his
hands, mouthing ‘What?” in innocence, his demeanour unflappable until Ellie
walked past him and sucker punched him in the ribs.

“You know what.”
She gritted. “Shut up, Ringer.”

I, for one, wasn’t
a fan of cold pizza and opted for the zap, casually making my way into the kitchen,
walking in front of Bel’s eye line as I popped in the plate, cool and calm,
even if I could feel Bel’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. I spun
around, leaning casually against the bench, and folded my arms. Bel’s eyes
flicked down to her plate, studying the half-eaten pizza with interest. It was
then my eyes caught my other captured audience, Ringer and Ellie, who quickly
spun back around on the couch.

I shook my head,
my attention settling back on Bel who was now fixed on me, her mouth gaping,
her eyes alight. I straightened with interest; was she about to say something,
finally going to move beyond the awkwardness of the moments before?

“You’re smoking,”
she said.

Chapter Eleven

Bel

Stan paused for
a mere moment as he slowly registered my words.

A cocky grin
curved the corner of his mouth and he straightened, almost puffing out his
chest like a peacock. I am sure he was about to say, “Why, thank you.” Until I
watched in horror.

“No, Stan,
seriously, your pizza is on FIRE!” I pointed over his shoulder.

Stan spun around. “Oh,
shit!” He plunged his fist on the button, flinging the door open, and stopped
the sparking, fiery tray as he grabbed it out and chucked it into the sink, as
if playing a game of hot potato. He doused the flames with water from the tap,
an acrid stench of foul-smelling burnt offering filling the room.

“Mate, what the
hell?” Ringer appeared next to Stan, peering into the sink, swiping at the air.
Stan reached into the sink, lifting up the chargrilled remains of what once was
a piece of garlic bread, wrapped in foil. “Mate, you can’t nuke tin foil,”
Ringer said in all seriousness.

Stan slowly
turned, his gaze landing next to me, fixing on Ellie who stood next to me at
the island bench, biting her bottom lip.

“I didn’t,” he
said.

Ellie grimaced. “Oops.”

Stan chucked the
charred garlic-infused rock back into the sink. “Christ, Ellie, I said I didn’t
want any garlic bread.”

“I didn’t mean to,
I must have set it on your plate by accident.”

Ringer laughed,
slapping Stan on the shoulder. “Way to burn the house down while the parentals
are away. To think they actually put you in charge of this place.”

Stan’s knowing
gaze flicked to me. “Yeah, well, it’s not by choice.”

I wanted to shrink
away from those eyes, for the ground to open up and for me to disappear. What
had turned out as a split-second joke had ended up with me being forced to hang
with Stan and his weird friends. Stan and his girlfriend who he was now mad at.
I was alarmed how I took such pleasure in how mad he had been at Ellie, how
annoyed his glare was, especially since Stan never got mad, but my joy was
short-lived when his accusing dark stare fixed itself on me.

I pushed my
half-eaten pizza aside and slid off the stool. I wasn’t going to be in the
firing line just because he nearly set the kitchen on fire—best avoid the
drama. I made my way to the lounge room, taking the nearest singular recliner
and tucking my legs to my chest, avoiding the light murmurs from the kitchen
and focusing on a home reno show on Lifestyle.

Never before had I
so wanted to be held up in my caravan with my annoying, idiot little brother
and his myriad of questions. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late to head over to his
friend’s place tomorrow and steal him back, then I wouldn’t have to stay here.
Forced to endure Stan and his model-esque girlfriend, and her long legs, and
infuriatingly flyaway hair. Not to mention his obnoxious mate, Ringer. What
kind of a name was that? It was like I was on a double date from hell.

Speaking of the
devil, Ringer appeared. Jumping over the back of the couch and settling himself
in, he reached for the remote.

“You don’t want to
watch this, do you?” And without waiting for my reply he delved into channel
flicking.

I just looked at
him. It was like I was back home with one of my older brothers, minus the
farts, but, hey, the night was young. I eyed the clock on the wall; it was
painfully young.

“Sa-weeeet,
Mad
Max
is on,” Ringer called out to the others.

“Oooh, a young Mel
Gibson, don’t mind if I do,” said Ellie, whacking at Ringer’s legs for him to
move so she could sit on the couch next to him. I recoiled into my recliner
more, so missed seeing the approaching figure in the corner of my eye as Stan
made his way over from the kitchen. I obviously was the only one feeling out of
place as Ringer and Ellie debated about the hot ratio in Mel Gibson’s career
without a care in the world.

It was only when
Stan’s figure passed in front of me momentarily blocking out my view from the
TV that I realised something odd. He made himself comfortable in the leather
recliner opposite me. I glanced to the space next to Ellie, who was entranced
in Mel careening psychotically down a back road on the TV. If she wondered why
Stan hadn’t sat next to her, she didn’t let on.

Wow, was he that
pissed over the garlic bread he didn’t even want to sit next to her? Maybe he
just didn’t want to be near Ringer? Maybe he was just sitting in his chair? And
why the hell was I thinking so much about this? Even though there was a part of
me that was relieved—I didn’t have to submit myself to the awkwardness of a
loved-up couple pashing on the couch—I also didn’t want to be a witness to any
couple’s domestic, especially not theirs.

As Mel Gibson ran
down the highway on an intent line to his wife and child who had dramatically
been mowed down by a pack of post-apocalyptic motorbike maniacs, I was also in
no real mood to watch him seek his revenge.

I pushed the
cushion off my lap and forced my recliner back into place. “I’m gonna go to
bed.”

My attention snapped
by the same sound of Stan’s recliner locking into place as he stood.

“Bed? Already?”

Everyone’s gaze
turned to him.

“I mean, it’s
early. You don’t have to if you don’t want to watch this; we can watch
something else, right, Ringer?”

“Aw, mate, but
this is the best part.” Ringer pointed to the screen in despair. Ellie elbowed
him again, gritting her teeth and mumbling something about being nice.

“No-no, it’s okay,
watch it, I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Stan’s watchful
eyes burned into me as if he didn’t believe a single word I had said. Was he
worried I would tell on him for not being a gracious host? Not likely. The fact
he was even here from my doing was mega awkward, so I would just grin and bear
the next few days and report that all was well.

And all would be.
I was now saying my goodnights and excusing myself from forcing them to let me
be a part of their ‘gang’. The last place I wanted to be was potentially alone
with Stan and Ellie when Ringer decided to leave. And then a thought crossed my
mind: was Ellie staying the night? Oh, God, why did that notion make my stomach
twist? I found myself standing in the kitchen at a bit of a loss as I didn’t
know where anything was and I didn’t dare ask, but I didn’t need to as Stan
brushed past me and opened the cupboard above my head.

“Glass?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“There’s water in
the fridge.”

I smiled. “Mind
reader?”

“It’s a gift; I
also take a glass of water to bed. It’s how I roll.”

I grabbed the jug
from the recess and felt the coolness sweep over me as the door closed behind
me.

Stan took it from
me. The brief feel of his warm fingers brushing over my cold hands caused a
strange stirring in the pit of my stomach, a bizarre feeling that had no right
to belong there as my gaze flicked to the back of Ringer and Ellie’s heads on
the couch.

“You really don’t
have to go to bed, you know; the movie’s nearly finished. Ellie will probably
force us into watching
Pretty Woman
next if that’s more your thing.”

“Ah, not exactly,”
I said, taking the glass he had filled for me and sipping on it.

I felt Stan
watching me and as my eyes briefly flicked up mid-drink, I caught his light
brown eyes resting on me, but he didn’t look away. My gulp of water went down
the wrong way as my concentration wavered. I started coughing, placing down the
glass to gain some breath.

“Are you okay?” he
asked, half laughing as he moved beside me to whack me on the back as if to
dislodge something.

I nodded my head
because it was the only thing I could manage in that moment.

“Jesus, Stan, what
did you do to her?” Ringer called, he and Ellie looking back over the couch at
all the commotion.

Stan stepped away,
holding up his hands in protest, as if to say, “Nothing”.

I coughed,
clearing my throat. “Just went down the wrong way,” I said, waving away their
concern, if they had any as their frowns disappeared and their heads spun back
around to the TV.

My eyes were
watering a little as I tried to contain some dignity by simply swallowing down
my unease.

“I would say sip
some water but I’m afraid you can’t be trusted,” Stan mused.

“Don’t worry, I’m
not going to die on your watch,” I said, taking a small, slow drink to ease my
raspy throat.

“Better not. My
parents would never trust me again. But then again, that sounds like it has its
perks,” he said, mainly to himself, as he leant his elbows on the breakfast
bar. He didn’t say it in a snarky way or anything, it was just very
matter-of-fact.

“Aside from you
dying, of course,” he said in all seriousness.

“Of course, that
would just be awkward for everyone,” I joked.

“We would be
majorly put out. Ringer wouldn’t be able to watch the rest of his movie.”

“Oh no!” I feigned
horror.

Stan grimaced at
the thought before laughing.

Laughing.

Were we actually
kind of joking? Sure, it was at the expense of my own mythical demise, but it
did feel kind of good he wasn’t holding any kind of grudges.

Changing the
morbid subject and making sure Ringer and Ellie were solely focused on Mel
Gibson, I lowered my voice a little.

“Listen, Stan, I—”

“I know,” he said.

I frowned, looking
up at his good-humoured expression. “More mind reading?”

“I told you, it’s
a gift.”

“Well,” I said,
grabbing the water jug to put back into the fridge. “Believe me when I say I’m
really, really sor—”

I paused. My eyes
locked onto the fridge door, a fridge door aligned with magnets and invites to
birthdays, bills and photos, but from all of that my eyes focused onto
something so intently as if laser beams shot out of my eyes. There it was. My
name, big, bold and in red.

Bel’s duties:

Sweep verandah

Clean women’s’
shower and toilet blocks

Wipe benches in
games room

Spot clean laundry

Man office from
3-5

My mouth was
agape, I turned to Stan.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, yeah, about
that.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck.