All This Could End (8 page)

‘Ha,’ says Spencer. ‘So do you?’

Nina pauses. ‘I believe in everything.’

‘Really?’ asks Spencer. ‘But you can’t, can you? I mean, you can’t believe in religions that contradict each other. Or do you?’

‘The general consensus is that there’s something bigger out there that created everything, and watches and judges and occasionally unleashes its wrath.’

‘Be serious.’

‘Seriously,’ says Nina. ‘I think there’s so much space in the universe that anything is possible. I mean, humans can’t even see most of the colours that exist. Why does something have to exist only if we see it, or can prove it, or because it’s logical? Why can’t there be werewolves and gods and aliens? The world is not what-you-see-is-what-you-get. There’s got to be more out there. What do you believe in?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ says Spencer. ‘I wish I knew for sure what did exist, because I don’t want to get all excited about heaven or reincarnation or whatever and then have death just be one big sleep.’

‘You know there’s one movement, or belief system, I don’t know which,’ says Nina, ‘but the idea is that your thoughts create your reality. What you focus on comes true. Obviously you need to put a bit of effort into it—you’re not going to become famous sitting around at home—but positive thinking helps. Your perception of the world influences the person you become, so it might as well be good.’ She pauses. ‘I sound like a new-age weirdo. My mum just reads a lot of self-help books.’

‘To be honest I think I might actually enjoy a big sleep,’ says Spencer. ‘Life is exhausting.’

Nina smiles. ‘Tell me something about yourself no one knows,’ she says.

‘There isn’t anything,’ says Spencer. ‘I am an extremely boring person.’

‘There’s got to be something,’ says Nina. ‘Something from your childhood. Like, me, I got lost at a really daggy, hippy market as an eight-year-old and wound up being taught how to read palms by an old fortune-teller. If my parents hadn’t have found me I would have stayed there and learned about tea leaves and tarot cards and spent the rest of my life with a travelling circus.’

Spencer laughs. ‘You’re serious? Do you remember any of it?’

‘Sure,’ says Nina. ‘I remember everything. I’ll read your palm.’

Before Spencer can stop her,
Oh nah, I’m fine, I avoid human contact as much as possible
, Nina reaches across and holds his right hand in her left, palm up.

‘This is your head line,’ she says, pointing to a line running horizontally across the middle of Spencer’s palm. ‘It has clues about personality. You’re practical, you won’t let your heart rule your head. And this is your life line. You’re indecisive, but your health is good.’

Nina looks at his hand as she speaks. She’s shuffled closer, and peers at his palm in the fluorescent glow. He hopes she doesn’t notice his pulse. He gulps back some Coke.

‘Has it ever come in handy? This palm-reading? Do you believe in it?’

‘Palmistry,’ corrects Nina. ‘I like to believe it, because I believe in everything, but it doesn’t have much of a practical application, knowing your future, finding out about people’s personalities. Might as well just talk to them. Although it could be a hit at parties. Especially with drunk people.’

‘It’s fairly interesting sober, too,’ says Spencer. Every time he opens his mouth he dreads saying something idiotic—nothing new to him, but Nina is startlingly non-judgemental (the girls he knows just laugh in his face when he makes a fool of himself), so he’s extra nervous. If she thinks he’s insane, she probably won’t let on.

‘Ah, this is your luck line,’ says Nina. ‘It’s broken, so there’ll be a less fortunate period in your life.’

‘This is worse than a horoscope.’ Spencer laughs. ‘Has anyone ever, in the history of the universe, had an entirely positive life?’

‘Hey!’ says Nina. ‘I believe in astrology, too.’ But Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. ‘And here’s your heart line. You’re a romantic, but you’re not outgoing.’

Spencer laughs again. ‘You reckon? But the romantic stuff, that’s rubbish. That’s enough for me.’

Nina grins. ‘Okay, okay, but don’t you want to know that you’ll have a life of wealth and happiness? And that you’re destined to be famous?’

‘I don’t believe you!’ says Spencer.

Nina laughs, lets go of his hand, and has a sip of Coke. ‘When you’re rich and famous I’ll be able to say I told you so.’

He isn’t sure what to do with his hand now, so he rests it on the seat beside him, his entire body on fire. ‘And let me guess, I’ll have seven children.’

‘I don’t know about children, but I saw about three marriages,’ says Nina. She pushes her hair back from her face and Spencer doesn’t know whether to look at her or away from her or what. Ordinarily he’s awkward in the extreme, but he is not feeling ordinary or awkward right now, just extreme.

‘So what’s that thing no one knows about you?’ asks Nina. ‘If it’s something that’s sensitive, I swear to the gods, I will take it to the grave.’

‘Okay, um…I love Mah-Jong,’ says Spencer.

Nina laughs loudly, startling the smokers. ‘That was shocking,’ she says.

Spencer’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It could only be Bridie. He slides it out:
Going to band’s place, you’ll be fine, right?
He shows Nina.

‘Does this happen often?’ asks Nina, her brow wrinkled.

Spencer shrugs, smiles. ‘I’m a glutton for punishment. Do you want to go, then? My parents will be worried, knowing them.’ Of course this is a lie—his father barely registers his existence, and his mother isn’t even around. If not for Bridie, the staff at the vet’s, and a couple of teachers, Spencer would feel like he didn’t even exist.

‘I’m not that big a fan of Vampires on Bikes,’ says Nina. ‘It’s their name I like more than anything.’

The street is quiet, the night cool and bright with moonlight and stars, as they walk to the bus stop.

‘Did you know,’ says Nina, ‘that if the human eye were less limited, we’d see the night sky as pure starlight. The eye can’t discern the light emitted by trillions of stars. Proof that what you see isn’t always what you get.’

‘I feel strangely reassured by that,’ says Spencer. ‘The idea of light all around us makes me feel safer.’

‘Me too,’ agrees Nina.

‘The idea of things out there that I can’t see doesn’t make me feel as good,’ says Spencer.

‘Why do you think they’re bad things?’ asks Nina. ‘It’s just as likely that they’re good. The unknown shouldn’t be something you’re afraid of, you should embrace it.’

Spencer laughs. ‘You sound like Bridie. And that’s a lot easier said than done.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. She’s a hard act to follow.’

‘How do your parents feel about you going out with people you don’t know?’

Nina shrugs. ‘They trust me. I think they sometimes wish I went out more. It’s difficult, because we move around a bit. Making new friends every few months.’

‘Where did you live before here?’ Spencer asks.

Nina is quiet for a while and he worries that he’s asked the wrong thing. What if the last place she lived was really embarrassing, like a secret cult in the middle of the desert that you’re never supposed to leave?

‘The city,’ she says finally. ‘I prefer it here. I like going swimming every day. What about you? Have you always lived here?’

Spencer nods. ‘I’ve lived in the same house my whole life. Everyone else wants to get away and never look back. I’m a bit boring, I guess. I just want everything to stay the same. Not because it’s perfect or anything, but leaving everything I know sounds scary, not exciting.’

‘Why are you friends with Bridie?’ asks Nina. ‘I don’t mean to be offensive—I probably shouldn’t say things that require that disclaimer—but you just seem so different.’

‘It’s easy.’ Spencer shrugs. ‘She lives near me, we’re the same age, she needs a wingman. And she’s good to be around, before she bails. She’s loud and obnoxious, obviously, but she’s also fearless and good fun. I know it looked terrible tonight, her running off like that, but that’s how our friendship works. She’ll call me tomorrow and apologise and tell me how awful that bassist turned out to be.’

‘Are the bassists always awful?’

‘Always.’

‘Are you cold at all?’ Nina asks. She still has her jacket slung over her arm.

‘I’m fine,’ says Spencer. Actually, he’s boiling on the spot, but he’s not going to say that, because he doesn’t have a logical reason
why
he feels so scorching hot.

‘You didn’t end up telling me your thing that no one knows about you,’ says Nina, just as they reach the bus stop. She sits down after scrutinising the timetable. Spencer knows the next bus will come in fifteen minutes, and he’s sad that the evening will end so soon. Of course he was the one who said he had to go home, so he’s aware that he’s sabotaging his own chances of ever making a friend other than Bridie. It’s also not a good feeling to be lower in Bridie’s priorities than every bassist on the face of the planet.

‘Mah-Jong doesn’t count?’ He leans against the side of the bus stop.

‘You probably have that on your Facebook profile,’ says Nina. ‘You must have something a little more obscure.’

‘I wouldn’t admit to liking Mah-Jong on Facebook. I’m trying to maintain the illusion that I’m not the most boring person ever. The random song lyrics I post probably don’t make me seem mysterious or exciting, though.’

‘Mah-Jong isn’t boring, it’s exotic. So, there’s no big secret?’

Spencer doesn’t think it through, and he usually thinks through everything until he’s paralysed with inaction. But he says it. Is it because he trusts Nina (a little irrationally, since he only met her a few days before, and he trusts nobody)? Or because someone spiked his Coke, or what? The secret he’s kept for the past seventeen years just slips out.

‘I was born without a pinkie toe on my left foot,’ says Spencer.

Nina doesn’t laugh; she just looks surprised, almost curious. ‘I didn’t expect that,’ she says.

Now, after he’s said it, after he can’t take it back, he worries. What if she tells someone? He barely knows her. She might be a massive gossip. But really, what damage could it do to his non-existent reputation?

‘That’s not really about you, is it?’ asks Nina. ‘It’s interesting, but it’s not like losing a toe in an accident. You need a story to go along with it.’

‘I don’t want people to see. It’s weird. It’s an abnormality. People don’t want to see that.’

‘In terms of things that people try and cover up, it’s awfully minor.’ Nina shrugs. ‘Everyone hates something about their own body. You’re not alone in that.’

‘I have never told anyone,’ he says.

‘You’re good at keeping secrets, are you?’

‘No one’s ever told me any. But I’m good at keeping my own.’

‘I’m not really much of a fan of secrets,’ says Nina, looking skywards. ‘They weigh you down.’

Spencer can relate to that. He feels different now he’s told her. He feels as if it’s suddenly normal, and everything he built up in his head about being deformed and a freak…it doesn’t seem half as big as before.

‘What’s your secret then?’ asks Spencer.

‘Didn’t I tell you about the palm-reading earlier?’

‘That’s just something nobody knew about, rather than something you kept to yourself on purpose. Not technically a secret.’

Nina smiles. ‘Some secrets aren’t yours to tell.’

The bus ride is quiet, a few sleepy people, a sad-looking driver. Nina sits next to Spencer. He tells her about the places they drive past—shops, parks, landmarks from his childhood, his entire life along a ten-minute bus route. It’s so quiet on the bus he almost whispers and Nina leans close to hear. Every now and then her hair brushes against his face and he can’t breathe right. He can barely look at her. The light in the bus is fluorescent blue and it makes everything feel otherworldly and unreal. Is it something to do with discouraging druggies? Or an energy-saving measure? A girl is sitting beside him—who isn’t Bridie, who isn’t about to fall over herself for a different bassist next week.

When the bus reaches her stop, Nina stands up, swings her bag over her shoulder, and smiles at him.

‘Thanks for inviting me out,’ says Nina. ‘It was good.’

He doesn’t say it was Bridie who invited her out. He would like to ask for her phone number, or say something like ‘See you at school on Monday!’ He wants to tell her that he likes her, but he still feels as if he knows nothing about her, even though they’ve spoken to each other all evening.

He wants to tell her that while he was with her he stopped feeling that his skin was too tight and that he was too awkward to function in normal society. But that would just be weird.

He imagines asking her out, for a movie or coffee or dinner or whatever it is you do on dates, but he can’t picture himself ever actually doing it—Nina is still just as foreign and untouchable as all the Jessicas at school.

Spencer

Nina grabs his hand and he doesn’t think, and then he’s off the bus and the night isn’t too cold for autumn. Just crisp. And he’s still with Nina.

She lets go of his hand and asks, ‘Where’s your house again?’

‘Two stops down on the same bus,’ he says. ‘They come every half hour till midnight. And it’s nine-thirty now.’ Now he’s thinking too much and saying too much and she’s probably getting bored with him.

Nina nods. ‘All right.’ She tips her head towards the apartment building on the other side of the road. ‘I live over there. It’s still early, so I was thinking we might walk up to the shopping centre.’

There’s hardly anyone out. They walk up along the river, under the streetlights, the sand soft beneath their shoes. Cars drive past every now and then. He doesn’t tell her that the shops close at nine on a Friday night.

It must be the night and the quiet, the knowledge that no one else can hear, and the fact that he doesn’t know Nina very well, but he feels he can confide in her. He suddenly begins to talk into the night, his voice unsure of itself.

‘I’ve got another thing no one knows about me,’ says Spencer. ‘It’s not even really about me. But no one except my mum and my dad and I know. And it weighs me down, you know, keeping it to myself.’