Max (9 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

Max

I didn’t linger after work.

Guilt is a funny thing. Coming into contact with Mel I swear
she could see straight through my
façade
, as if she was
onto me for listening in. I knew she wasn’t, of course, but like I said, guilt
is a funny thing.

Dead bolting the last of the doors, and switching off the
main lights, you could still hear the rumblings and drunken calls from those
that loitered on the other side of the locked door, no doubt wanting to
continue the party further into the night.

Usually I would welcome an after-hours staff lock-in—a few
beers with the boys, lowered tunes and some pool—but not tonight. After
bugger-all sleep on the couch, I had taken comfort that I would actually be in
a bed tonight, albeit not my bed, but still, a bed. Now all I had to do was
somehow slink into the night, not an easy thing to do with the likes of Sean
and Ringer playing pool.

I rolled up the last of the beer mats off the bar and worked
at simply disappearing—out of sight, out of mind—as I snuck through the
restaurant partition, leaving the cheers and laughter behind me in the
poolroom. I was almost home free at the base of the stairs.

“And where do you think you’re going, Maximillian?”

I paused mid-step, turning to see Amy and Melanie making
their way across a darkened restaurant.

Amy’s brow curved. “You’re not going to bed?”

“Yeah, thought I might get an early night, for once.”

Amy shook her head. “Wow, you are such a lightweight.”

“You are sounding more and more like Sean every day.”

Amy shrugged. “You are who you hang with.”

“Wow, you don’t seem in the least bit worried about that.”

Amy smiled brightly. “He’s the best man I know.”

I laughed, not particularly at Amy’s soppy declaration of
devotion for Sean, but I couldn’t help but laugh seeing Mel’s eye roll. It was
exactly how any of us felt around the two loved-up couples, and at a guess,
being stuck in the kitchen all night with Amy she had probably heard all the
Sean stories.

“What’s so funny?” snapped Amy.

I quickly moved my eyes from Mel so as not to incriminate
her. “Nothing, love is a many-splendoured thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should look into it,” said Amy. “It
might do you the world of good.”

Amy sidled off, making her way to the front bar. I took the
moment to roll my eyes at Mel, who broke into a knowing smile as she followed
Amy out. I stood on the bottom step, suddenly not feeling in the least bit
tired anymore. I knew if I went back now it would be an until-sun-up affair,
and if there was one thing I knew, it was that I had to have my wits about me,
for this week anyway.

***

I would never get used to the bass of the jukebox; it was
less prominent in my room, but here, sleeping in the apartment, which lay
directly above the poolroom, the beat pounded against my temples and made the
pictures on the wall vibrate.

So much for sleep.

By 2 a.m., I ripped the blankets off me, swinging around
into a seated position on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands along my face,
and groaning into the darkness. I got up, padding my way into the main room.
Having forgotten to draw the curtains, the neon sign from the Carlton Draft
overhang on the verandah outside shone into the lounge casting an eerie glow
over the room. Flicking the switch on in the kitchen, I made my way to the fridge,
opening the door and hoping for something for a light 2 a.m. snack; not
surprising, the only thing on offer was a carton of long-life milk and a box of
Weetbix. Sean didn’t stay at the Onslow often; he may have been part owner with
Chris but he had his coveted Lake House that he called home, so the apartment
would lay dormant until Chris would move in. Now if the apartment was brought
back into a modern century it would make for a pretty cool place to live—aside
from the late nights, the bass of the music, the flickering of the Carlton
Draft sign. Okay, he could have it, I thought, as I searched for a clean glass
before shrugging and deciding to just crack the carton and drink out of it.

Fucking rebel.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand; yeah, real rebel,
sneaking away and hiding out from staying up too late, not wanting to hang out
with the likes of Melanie Sheehan. It was then I heard something—not the bass
of the music, this was a different beat all together—the sound of footsteps
coming up the hall, someone finally making their way to bed. The sound of
muffled laughter echoing in the hall, the sound of singing, the sound of
falling and crashing.

What the fuck?

Running to the door, I whipped it open, stepping out in
nothing more than boxer shorts. As I walked onto the landing, I flicked on the
switch to witness Amy and Mel, withering on the floor in fits of laughter.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Amy saw me first, her laughter dying rather unsuccessfully
as she tried to sober up, pushing her finger to her lips. “Shhh, we’ve woken
the troll at the top of the stairs,” she whispered comically loud.

I sighed, folding my arms, taking in the pitiful sight of
the two drunks lying on the floor at the top of the stairs; how they had
actually made it up to the top was anyone’s guess.

Mel rolled over, hitching herself on one elbow, fixing her
gaze on me. “O-oh,” she said through laughter. “It’s the gatekeeper.”

Amy squinted. “Is he wearing a loin cloth?”

Laughter erupted as they continued to roll around like delinquent
teenagers at a slumber party.

I should have never left her out of my fucking sight, I
thought, looking before me and shaking my head.

“Don’t move,” I said. Thinking them probably incapable of
doing anything past their hysterical laughter, I walked into the apartment,
grabbing my jeans and peeling them on one leg at a time. I couldn’t bloody
believe this.

Buttoning them up, I made my way out to the landing. “All
right, party is over,” I said in my best no-nonsense, bar-is-closed voice.

“I’ll say,” pouted Mel. “No more loin cloth.”

Amy snickered, clawing her way up to stand using the aid of
the banister, standing straight, chin up in the air as if attempting to be
graceful and dignified.

Mercifully, more footsteps were making their way up the
stairs—the sound of unmistakable six-foot-three footsteps—and then Sean
appeared taking in the sight before him with an air of amusement, as he
eventually faced his girlfriend.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I-I am just helping Mel to be bed.”

“Riiiight, and who’s going to help you?”

“Pffft,” Amy scoffed, waving away his words as she swayed
next to the bannister.

Sean looked at me, shaking his head. “You deal with your
woman, and I’ll deal with mine.”

Mel, who for a moment appeared passed out on the carpet as
Sean stepped over her, suddenly sat up, craning her neck to stare daggers at
me. “I’m not your woman, I have a boyfriend! Eric Benson and I are totally
going to get engaged next year.”

Amy screwed up her face. “I thought his name was Ben
Ericson?”

“That’s what I said,” Mel snapped.

“No, you said—”

“All right, time for bed,” Sean announced, grabbing the hand
that Amy was pointing with. He began to frog march her down the hall, which was
no easy feat with her flailing arms and constant chatter about how much she loved
him. After little progress, he simply picked her up and threw her over his
shoulder, causing Amy to laugh and squeal.

“Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

Her laughter was cut off with the slamming of her door. I
looked down to the blonde mess that was lying back on the floor, her eyes
closed, her cheeks flushed.

I sighed. First night in and she was already proving to be a
handful, I thought, as I made my way to step over her body.

I crouched down beside her. “Melanie, come on, time for bed.”
I shook her shoulder, trying to bring her back into the here and now. If only
Bluey could see me now, great bloody job I was doing.

“Mel, come on, you can’t stay here.”

Her face twisted, turning away from me as if I was intruding
on her chance to pass out.

“Oh no you don’t, come on up on your feet.” I tried to pull
her to stand but working with dead weight was never an easy thing to do. I
should know, I had ushered enough drunks out of these doors. Admittedly their
skin never felt this soft, or their hair smelled this good.

I mentally slapped myself.

Just think about the task at hand.

Seeing as complying to move was not going to be her thing,
for the second time in as many nights, I scooped Melanie Sheehan into my arms,
and made my way toward my, well, her, bedroom. Snuggling into my chest, snaking
her arms around my neck, she mumbled incoherently.

Juggling the drunken girl in my arms and twisting the door
handle, I kicked it open, letting the light from the hallway guide my way into
the darkened room as I lowered her to the bed. Her arms around my neck
imprisoned me.

“Mel, let go,” I said, trying to unravel her surprisingly
firm hold.

“No, stay,” she croaked, her eyes still shut as if she was
sleep talking.

I laughed, unlinking her vice-like grip from around my neck
and pushing her arms to her sides. “Somehow I don’t think your boyfriend would
be too happy about that.”

It was then Mel opened her eyes, peering through the sleepy
eyelids, frowning. “What boyfriend?”

I stared down into her face, a face that seemed completely
stupefied by my statement.

“Ben Erickson,” I said, waiting for the light of recognition
to line her face, the very name she had gotten wrong just before. But there was
no moment of clarity, just a confused stare, an absolute certainty of not
knowing what the hell I was talking about.

How drunk was she? But when she scoffed, “Oh yeah, ‘that’
boyfriend,” she air quoted, rolling onto her side with a snort, and mumbling
into her pillow.

“You have to have a good memory to be a liar,” she sighed,
snuggling into her mattress.

“And you don’t have a good memory?” I asked.

“The worst,” she said, falling silent as her breaths turned
deeper.

What the hell?

Moving to pull the shoes from her feet, and peel the blanket
over the top of her, I stood there for the longest time staring at her. What
was the saying? ‘A drunk person spoke a sober person’s mind’?

She had made up this Eric Benson, Ben Ericson bloke?
Something unexpected twisted inside me, it was something I didn’t want to admit
to so I didn’t. Instead I turned around and walked out the door.

When really what I wanted to do was shake her awake and
demand the truth.

Why had she lied? And why did that make me breathe a
little easier? Fuck!

Chapter
Seventeen

Mel

Oh God, I felt ill.

So completely and utterly ill, and it was far too early to
see the light of day. I was in a world of pain, squinting against the sun that
streamed through the window of the main bar. Dust particles floating and
dancing on the sunrays. The ear-piercing sounds of the cleaning woman dragging
stools against the floorboards was like a form of torture.

“Good morning!” Amy’s voice filled the room like a
jackhammer to my senses; I failed to see what was so good about it. Unlike Amy
who always seemed to be dancing on a cloud.

“Did you sleep well?”

I massaged my temples, wishing that she would just. Stop.
Talking.

Chris watched on from behind the bar with guarded amusement;
he could just sod off too. I wanted everyone to leave me alone.

“How is it you’re so bubbly?” I asked Amy, who looked
radiant with not a hint of hangover about her.

When she merely shrugged as if she couldn’t possibly
understand why, I looked to Chris who shook his head.

“She is a tank, just like her old man.”

“I am pretty sure we were equal parts drunk last night,” I
said.

“Umm, I don’t know about that. I’m pretty sure I didn’t
forget my boyfriend’s name. Now that’s drunk.”

Dread washed over me; what the hell did I do last night? And
what had I said?

Oh God.

I remembered playing pool and arguing over the jukebox
selections with Chris; my eyes shifted to him as if doing so would jog any more
memories. I remember downing illusion shots by the shaker, many, many shots.
But as far as conversations or what trouble my runaway mouth got me into, now
that
I couldn’t remember. I knew I had a tendency to suffer from verbal diarrhea
when I drank, which wasn’t very often; well, not since my house arrest. So the
fact Max had gone to bed and I had been left to my own devices for the first
time in a really, really long time, I decided to let my hair down. And it had
felt oh so good … until now. I had forgotten how crap hangovers were.

I ignored Amy, choosing to face plant my forehead onto the
bar.

“So, you ready for the grand tour of Onslow?” Amy danced on
the balls of her feet with enthusiasm.

“Ugh, can’t we do this tomorrow?”

Or never. Suddenly freedom to explore seemed less important;
now all I was trying to do was focus on the room not spinning and the dry bit
of toast I had nibbled on this morning to stay down.

“Ah, I would probably go now if I were you, your minder was
storming around this morning none too happy about his lack of sleep.”

My minder?

My head snapped up in recognition: a hazy memory of Max,
standing above me with no shirt on. I thought I had dreamt it.

Oh God, what the hell had I done?

Now for more than one reason I wanted to slink back to my
room and sleep the day away. If he reported this back to Dad I would never be
trusted ever again.

“Not happy, huh?” I asked.

Chris smirked, shaking his head. “That’s an understatement.”

Oh God.

I swivelled around to Amy. “Let’s go!”

***

I thought fresh air would help. I thought the sun’s rays
would inflict me with a healthy dose of vitamin D. I thought that the bottle of
water I was hydrating myself with would do the trick. Instead what did I get?
Cold sweats and me vomiting into a bush.

Classy!

I am sure Onslow was beautiful, like stunning with its
quaint, heritage-style main street, the rolling ranges as a deep green backdrop
to the massive Lake Onslow that seemed to go on forever. It was all so overwhelming
and although completely and utterly different to Ballan, you still had that
sense of community. Walking down the main street, we were stopped every five
steps as Amy engaged in endless small talk about how her parents were going,
how were the renovations faring at the Onslow, if Sean could stop by and give a
quote for an extension. I thought Amy might sigh or eye roll on the side to me
but she took it all in her stride, an obvious daily occurrence to her, and one
she was used to. I would often suffer the same thing in Ballan except usually
it was, how’s your dad? What’s your dad up to? Has your dad been busy? First
and foremost I was Bluey Sheehan’s daughter, my existence ran a very
unimportant second, so the one thing that did pick me up a bit on our tour was
the realisation that here in Onslow, walking down the street—heck, anywhere—I
was a no one, and I really loved it. Max was the only person who knew my story
and even then not really, not entirely. I was a great unknown and it was so
freeing. With a few downed litres of water and some Panadol later, I was
feeling less like death and even braved a sandwich that we ate on the banks of
Lake Onslow, munching thoughtfully and glancing out over the twinkling,
rippling water.

“So, I’ve told you everything there is to know about me and
yet you have said very little about you. How’d you and Ben meet?” Amy asked,
tearing off a piece of bread and popping into her mouth.

I cringed at the very mention of Ben’s name. I had felt
foolish making up the fact I had a boyfriend, that I had been so desperate to
be something I wasn’t, and the fact it actually mattered to anyone other than
me. I took in a deep breath, resigning myself to the fact I was going on the
straight and narrow … from this moment on.

“About eighteen months ago I was in a car accident,” I
began, noticing that Amy had frozen, her eyes wide with intrigue, she had even
stopped chewing.

“I was with my best friend, Miranda, Max’s younger sister.
We snuck into town taking one of my dad’s cars, met up with some boys who we
conned into getting us some beers, and like you do we got drunk in the park,
had some fun. Thinking we were invincible, Miranda drove us back home, well,
partly home anyway.”

Amy looked entranced, as if she didn’t dare breathe.

“It’s okay, no one died or anything, we were just in a lot
of trouble. A lot of trouble.” I busied myself picking at the grass we sat on.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I hadn’t actually spoken to anyone about that
night, that it had been such a shameful aspect of my past I wished I could wipe
it out entirely.

“So, what kind of trouble?”

“Miranda was sent to boarding school and I have been
grounded ever since,” I said, dusting the dirt from my hands.

“Whoa!”

“Yeah, I haven’t been out of my dad’s sight, till now, and I
really don’t want to mess this up.”

“So you got wasted?”

“Well, I haven’t got the greatest impulse controls,” I
admitted.

“No kidding,” mused Amy.

“So, that aside, I am turning over a new leaf. I aim to win
my dad’s trust back and I think this little sign of him leaving me here is the
possible first step.”

“So how you going to do that?”

There it was, the first opening to the first step.

I grimaced. “To stop lying.”

“Riggght?”

“There is no Ben Ericson.”

“Is there an Eric Benson?”

I shook my head, hoping that Amy simply didn’t get up and
walk away, telling the whole of Onslow that I was some kind of sociopathic
compulsive liar. Instead, her reaction surprised me: she started to laugh.

“What?”

“Oh my God, why would you say you have a boyfriend? You have
the entire single populace of Onslow for your choosing, given not a great deal
to choose from, but if you want to lap up your freedom, then be single and
ready to mingle.”

Relief washed over me, she wasn’t mad from it. “Yeah, I
guess, never thought of it like that.”

“Yeah, duh, if you are going to be slaved around washing
dishes you might as well make the free time count,” she said with a wink. “Geez,
you have a lot to learn.” Amy moved to stand, brushing off the grass from her
shorts. “We better head back, Melba will be gunning for us to prep for dinner.”

The Onslow Hotel sat in the distance, nestled on the top of
a hill on the highest part of the town. Chucking our rubbish in the bin and
connecting with the path again, it wasn’t that far really, but as the ground started
to narrow and we started to climb, it suddenly felt like we would never reach
the top.

“So, now that you are miraculously single, is there anyone
that takes your fancy?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone.”

“Oh, for the love of God, who wants to know their life
stories? It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Well, who’s who in the zoo?”

“Let’s see, who’s single? My cousins, Adam and Chris,
because let’s face it, who in their right mind would put up with them? I’m not
sure about Stan; he’s a bit cagey about this girl he has been seeing, which is
a real shame because Stan is lovely. Toby is too, taken that is and lovely.”

“See, all the good ones are taken,” I said, my breaths
becoming more laboured as we made our way up the steep hill.

“There’s Ringer, of course. He will never not be single and
by all accounts if you want a sordid twenty-four hours, he’s your man.” Amy
shuddered.

“What? What was that about?”

“It’s like I’m talking about my brothers, not that I have
any; still, it just feels so wrong to be talking like this.”

I laughed. “Well, I appreciate the rundown.”

“Yeah, well that’s it! They’re the only ones worth knowing
anyway … Oh, and there’s Max, he’s definitely single.”

My head snapped around, my eyes locking with Amy in a
moment; although quick, my interest was a dead giveaway.

“Oh wow.”

I blinked—twice—looking into Amy’s face.

“What?” I croaked.

“You. Like. Max.”

“No!” I said with a snort, an actual fucking snort. Yeah,
that was a winning argument.

“You do!” Amy jumped before me, stopping me dead in my
tracks as she pointed an accusatory finger at me.

As much practice as I had had through my younger years of
hanging with Miranda, and the many juvenile shenanigans we would pull, there
was one thing that was always so abundantly clear. I was a pretty crap liar and
Amy knew it.

“Look, girly, if you’re going to play it that way then you’re
going to have to appear way more convincing than that.”

Oh my God, was I that bad?

I bit my lip.

“Ha! See, don’t ever do that. Don’t ever bite your lip—unless
of course you’re meaning it to be sexy for a boy—but right now you just look
guilty.”

“Guilty?”

Amy clasped her hand over her heart, battering her
eyelashes. “Of love in the first degree.”

“Shut up!” I scoffed, pushing past her. “Isn’t that a
Bananarama song?” I called over my shoulder as I stormed off.

“Don’t change the subject,” she said, chasing after me in
order to block my path again, grabbing my arms.

“Seriously, Mel. Do you want him?” she asked. Her eyes bore
into mine as if she was trying to hypnotise me. She asked the question as if I
wanted to purchase a puppy or something. “You know he’s single, right?”

Okay, so I didn’t know that, and I also didn’t know that
such information would be such a bloody relief. Oh God, I had it bad, nothing
had changed. I cursed Max Henry, cursed Amy and her nosey intuition, I cursed
Dad for leaving me here, but most of all I cursed myself.

Amy let go of my upper arms. “Tut-tut-tut, you have got it
bad,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew it the second you turned crimson last
night at the mere mention of his name. I’m afraid we are going to have to call
in reinforcements for this one.”

“What?”

Oh no-no-no-no … this was exactly what I didn’t want.

“You can’t tell anyone, promise me you won’t,” I said a bit
too quickly.

Amy grinned from ear to ear, as if she had me where she
wanted me. If it was a plan of entrapment, she never let on. Instead, she
snaked her arm through mine and we started to walk again.

“Relax, Mel, your secret is safe, trust me.”

“Ha! Trust you, I don’t even know you.”

“Well, after today we are going to be fast friends, and
after the week is out you are going to be eternally grateful for my help,” she
said, lifting her chin to the sky.

Somehow I wasn’t so sure.