Sweet Damage (3 page)

‘I thought you went to Indonesia to get stuff sorted,' he says. ‘I thought you'd come back with some idea of what you wanted.'

I went to Indonesia to surf,
I think,
not to find myself.

‘But now you're back, you've been bumming around at Lilla's for weeks and now you're going to live in some cheap house and look after a mentally unwell girl . . . all so that you can stay working at the restaurant. So you don't have to go and get a proper job. It's like you're avoiding life. Real life.'

Now I can't hide my irritation. ‘She has panic attacks. It's not that big a deal. And I'm not avoiding life, I just don't know what I want to do yet. I'm just . . . bloody hell, Dad, I'm just—

' ‘Just what?' he interrupts. ‘You've got brains. Why don't you use them? Why don't you take advantage of all the good things you've been given? Make some kind of effort to get ahead?'

‘Get ahead?' I stare at him. ‘I don't even know what that means.'

‘Okay, mate.' Dad sighs, goes back to pushing beer bottles into the fridge. ‘Whatever you say.'

I like working at the restaurant. I like working nights and having my days free. I don't want a job that causes me stress, that follows me home like a needy dog and whines at me all night long. But not a day passes without Dad saying something about me making an effort to find a proper career, choosing some kind of definite direction in life.

We work in silence for a while. When I've emptied two cases of VB I stand up, head for the kitchen.

‘So when are you moving in?' Dad calls out behind me.

‘Tomorrow.'

*

The restaurant opens at five-thirty and by four I've done all the prep I can. I go out front, find Dad sitting at a table doing paperwork.

‘You forgot to have that beer,' he says. ‘Do you want to sit down, have one with me now?'

When I was a kid I considered myself guardian of my father's happiness. If he invited me to go fishing, I'd go with him, even though I hated the slimy worms, the stench of the fish, the torment of seeing them drown in air. If he was watching a movie, or a documentary on TV, or the news, I'd sit with him and pretend I was interested too. I thought he'd miss me if I wasn't close to him – at least that's what I told myself – but then I heard him talking to Mum one night, when he thought I was asleep.

Can't shake him off at the moment, poor little fella. Always stuck to me like a clam. He's a bit of a needy little thing, isn't he? Needs a lot of love. A lot of attention.

His words made me cringe with embarrassment and since then, I'd felt a lot freer to go my own way, do my own thing.

‘Nah,' I say. ‘I might just go for a quick surf before service.'

Dad lifts his hand in assent, doesn't even look up from his papers.

*

When I get home the flat is quiet, but Lilla has left a lamp on for me in the lounge. I go straight to the kitchen and open the fridge as quietly as I can, reaching into the back, where I keep my beer.

‘Can I have one of those?' Lilla appears in the kitchen. Her hair is messy from bed and she's wearing this black nightie thing, all lacy and revealing. When she stretches her arms up over her head, yawning, the bottom of the skirt lifts indecently high and I have to turn away.

‘Only if you get dressed,' I say.

She rolls her eyes, but when she joins me in the lounge room a few minutes later she's wearing an enormous old T-shirt that hangs to her knees. She still looks hot. It's still hard to keep my eyes off her. She sits on the couch, legs crossed, beer in hand.

‘So, did you get the room?' she asks. ‘What's it like? A total hole?'

‘I got it and it's not a hole,' I say. I consider telling her about the house, how impressive it is, but decide not to. It'll be much cooler to surprise her with the real thing. ‘Why? You didn't think I would?'

She shrugs. ‘I wasn't sure you'd even try.'

‘Well, you'll be happy to know I did try. And even happier to know that I got lucky.'

Lilla stares down at her beer bottle. ‘Patrick's not here,' she says after a moment.

‘He's not?'

‘We kind of had a bit of a fight when you left.'

‘You did?'

‘Patrick reckons I act different when you're around,' she says. ‘He reckons I've still got a thing for you.'

Against my better judgement, my resolve to accept that Lilla and I are a thing of the past, my heartbeat picks up and a little coil of hope expands in my chest. I try not to feel – let alone show – anything. I try very hard to keep my expression blank.

‘We haven't broken up or anything. I still like him, Tim. God. Don't get any ridiculous ideas. I guess he's just picking up on some . . . I don't know . . . old residual feelings. Leftovers or something.'

‘Leftovers?'

‘Something like that.'

I stare at her. I drink half my beer in one quick gulp. I should drop it, change the subject, save myself from humiliation. But I don't. Can't. It's as if I've started running down a too-steep hill and just can't stop, no matter how much I want to, no matter how much it's going to hurt when I hit the bottom.

‘So?' I say, gripping my beer bottle tightly to hide the shake in my fingers. ‘The idea of us being together again is ridiculous, is it?'

She gives me a look. I can't tell if it's pity or reproach. ‘Don't, Tim. Don't even go there.'

I drain the rest of my beer.

‘Anyway,' Lilla says, her voice false and bright. ‘Getting back to safer topics of conversation, what's the girl like? Your new flatmate?'

‘Her name's Anna. And she'll be my landlady, not my flatmate,' I say shortly. I stand up. ‘And now, if it's okay with you, I need to take a shower.'

4

I
WAKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER A LOT OF TOSSING AND
turning and not much actual sleep. I get dressed and pack my stuff – which basically involves rolling up my sleeping bag and shoving my clothes into a backpack, finding my small collection of books and putting my laptop in its case. I leave a brief note for Lilla and walk down to the bus stop.

The day is still cool enough to make it pleasant sitting in the sun and despite the depressing conversation I had with Lilla the night before, I'm feeling purposeful and optimistic. At least now I know where I stand. I just have to remember that, and not get sucked into hoping for more.

When I arrive at Fairview and push the fancy gate open I feel like some kind of imposter. I get around in old shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of cheap rubber thongs. I'm pretty sure I don't look like the kind of person who'd live in a house like this.

Anna answers the doorbell almost immediately.

‘Man, that was fast,' I laugh. ‘You must have been watching out the window.'

I'm joking but she blushes, looks down.

‘I was expecting you,' she says.

She's dressed in the same shapeless clothes she was wearing yesterday. Her hair is pulled back from her face. I notice again how young she looks, with her timid expression and her hands clasped together.

Getting inside is tricky. Anna stands there, blocking the door, until I have to say, ‘Excuse me.'

She steps aside and reaches out, as if to help me with my bags, but then puts her arm down without taking anything.

‘I'm right,' I say.

She follows silently as I walk through the dark hallway. I put my things down at the bottom of the staircase and turn to face her.

‘I might just go up and put my stuff away.'

‘You remember where to go?'

‘Yeah. Of course. Thanks.'

I leave her hesitating at the bottom of the stairs and head up to my room. It only takes a few minutes to unpack. I put my clothes in the wardrobe, place my books and my laptop on the desk and shove my empty backpack and sleeping bag under the bed. When I'm finished I look around the room in satisfaction. Mine. At least for now. I can hardly believe my luck.

On my way to check out the bathroom I notice Anna at the other end of the hall. When she reaches a small door at the far end she takes a key from her pocket and inserts it into the lock. She must hear me because she stops, pulls the key from the lock, and turns around.

‘Hey.' I lift my hand in a wave.

‘Are you okay?' She walks towards me. ‘Do you have everything you need?'

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I thought I might take a look through the house if that's okay? I haven't really—

' ‘Oh,' she interrupts, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I haven't even shown you through properly yet. I'm so sorry. How idiotic. I can't believe I forgot . . . You must think I'm—

' ‘It seriously doesn't matter. It's totally cool.'

I'd prefer to look around on my own. Anna's nervousness, the way she's always so stiff, is a strain. But I don't know how to say so without sounding rude and potentially making everything worse.

‘Let's start downstairs,' she says. ‘It's mainly just bedrooms up here.'

I follow her down the staircase. She takes each step precisely, carefully, as if she's afraid of falling.

‘I would have loved this house when I was a kid,' I say. ‘It would have been the coolest place to play games, especially games where you need a bit of space. Hide-and-seek and stuff like that. Did you grow up here?'

‘Yes,' she says. ‘I've lived here all my life.' She doesn't stop walking, or turn to look at me, but her voice is friendly enough, so I continue.

‘Did you ever get scared? Living in such a big place? When you were a kid?'

‘Scared?' She stops now, turns to look at me, her eyebrows raised. ‘What would I be scared of?'

‘The usual stuff. Shadows and monsters?' I shrug. ‘Ghosts?'

She doesn't reply.

‘So what's with the house now? Do you own it?' I ask when we've reached the bottom. As soon as the question is out of my mouth I regret it. I feel like I've just asked her how much money she's got.

But she doesn't seem to mind. She answers in the same neutral tone she's used to answer my other questions.

‘Yes. I inherited it from my parents. It's mine.'

She must see my curiosity because she tells me before I get a chance to ask. ‘My parents died in an accident. Three years ago.'

‘Oh shit,' I say. ‘That really sucks. Sorry. I didn't realise.'

Maybe that explains why she's so strange,
I think,
so afraid of the world.

*

She takes me through each of the ground-floor rooms. The first is a formal dining room. The walls are a deep burgundy and the room is filled with an enormous dining table, which must seat at least sixteen people. An ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling. The room has a definite gothic feel.

The next room is the library. Two of its walls are lined floor to ceiling with books. It's filled with reading lamps, coffee tables and old, uncomfortable-looking armchairs. It's a dim and dusty space and smells faintly of mould. It looks as if it hasn't been used for years.

The living room is far more inviting. Unlike the previous two rooms, the curtains are open and light streams in. Several large, soft sofas dominate the room, and from the look of the cushions, they get used regularly. There are rugs scattered on the floor, paintings on the walls. There's also a large, modern TV, and an old stereo in one corner. Other than its size it seems like a normal living room. Comfortable, warm, the kind of place you'd kick back in.

The final room on that side of the passage is filled to the brim with unused furniture. Anna calls it the junk room, and I can see why. Antique furniture, old bikes and haphazard piles of boxes take up every available bit of space.

We cross to the other side of the passage.

‘And this is the ballroom,' Anna says, opening the final door.

I laugh with surprise. ‘Jeez,' I say, stepping inside. ‘This is
unreal
.' My voice echoes off the walls. Anna flicks a switch and three large chandeliers send light dancing around the room. The walls are white, the high ceilings decorated with intricately patterned plasterwork. The floor is a faded, warm timber. There's an open fireplace at one end, framed by an ornate stone mantelpiece. At night, with the chandeliers on and a fire burning, it must be magic.

‘Incredible,' I say, turning slowly, taking it in. ‘Have you had a lot of parties in here?'

‘Parties? Of course. We used to have them all the time.' She barks out a strange, unhappy laugh.

We go upstairs and she shows me through the other bedrooms. They're all just as large as mine but the empty rooms have their curtains drawn, so they seem a lot gloomier. They're all pretty much identical with timber floors, brass beds, old rugs and long, thick curtains. They'd be nice if someone opened the curtains, if they were lived in, but everything is too still, too lifeless. Our footsteps echo. There's something ghostly and faintly depressing about all the emptiness, the unused space.

‘You should get more tenants,' I say. ‘You could run a boarding house.'

I'm joking, but Anna looks horrified, shakes her head violently.

‘So which is yours?' I ask.

‘This way,' she says, and walks to the end of the hallway.

There are three closed doors at this end of the hall. Two doors face each other across the passage, and a third, smaller door sits adjacent. Anna stops at one of the facing doors, but before she can open it, I point to the smaller door, the door she was unlocking when I interrupted her earlier.

‘What's in there?' I ask.

‘It leads up to the attic,' she says. She stares at me for a moment, before adding in an abrupt voice, ‘I keep it locked.'

For some reason I feel as if I've been told off, or warned.

‘This is mine,' she says, opening one of the other doors.