No Worries (4 page)

9

Emma saved me by doing the talking. It was as if she'd looked into my heart and, on seeing how madly it was beating, had decided to help me out. And I was more than willing to take all the help she could spare.

‘Let's go over to the stable,' she said, pointing across the road. ‘I've had Zeb out for a pick — he likes new grass. I didn't feel like riding today, so he took me for a walk.' She rested her head against the horse's massive side. ‘Didn't you, Zebbie?'

Zeb was a grey — a humungous thing with a hulking belly that felt hard like a wall. I was worried he might step on me — I'd never been around horses before. He laid his ears back as I touched him; not a good sign.

‘He can sense if you're scared,' said Emma.

I slapped him across the backside. Dust rose from his coat.

‘I'm not scared,' I mumbled, hoping I hadn't slapped him too hard and made him angry.

We walked on in silence. I wasn't about to say anything. If I opened my mouth it might break the spell. Apart from a thousand very real fantasies, this was the closest I'd been to a girl. For Emma it was probably nothing. Just taking the horse to the stable with some dopey boy tagging along. But for me it was huge. Emma was with
me
. Where were the paparazzi when you wanted them? Take my photo! Take
our
photo! … I was walking on air.

The stable was nothing much, just green-painted strips of corrugated-iron roofing held up by four posts. Wooden palings that only went halfway to the dirt floor made up the walls. And there was lots and lots of manure everywhere.

Eventually I felt that I had to say something. Anything.

‘Great stable,' I told her. ‘You build it yourself?'

‘Me and Dad.'

‘Right.'

Dead end. That was all the conversation I could manage, and it was over. It was Dad's fault. If I'd known beforehand I was seeing her I could have memorised some jokes or read up on the Net about horses, or manure even. But now, unprepared, I was wallowing in the deep end and about to drown.

She took a couple of steps back so she could see on top of the roof. ‘Oh good, it's there.'

Emma stood on the tips of her toes and reached up to the roof, groping around. ‘I can't quite get to the rake — do you think you could, Bri?'

‘Sure.'

Yes! I could do that! That was my one great skill. Hopeless at conversation but perfect for getting rakes. I almost leapt on to the roof in my enthusiasm.

‘Thanks. Dad puts it too far back sometimes and I can't quite reach it.'

‘If you ever want help with something like that' — I could hear myself rambling but I couldn't stop — ‘just let me know. Mum says that's all I'm good for, reaching things, ‘cause I'm tall. So any time I can help, I don't care what it is —'

‘Okay,' she said. ‘I'll keep that in mind.'

As she raked up manure, Zeb cantered over and nudged her back with his head.

‘Hello, Zebbie, you want some attention, do you?'

Resting the rake against a wall, Emma picked up one of his hoofs to examine it. She leant forward right in front of me. The manure smell had bothered me at first but now I didn't notice it. I didn't notice anything except that she wasn't wearing a bra.

‘You want some manure for your garden?' she asked. ‘We can bag it up.'

‘Um … no thanks.'

I knew I should look away but a chance like that might never come again. I'd only ever seen boobs in books and magazines. Now they were in front of me, on the loose. It was like watching my own personal wildlife documentary.

‘One thing about old Zeb — he's got good feet. Haven't you, boy?'

Emma's boobs seemed on the small side, but the size didn't matter.

They could have been Amazonian Giant Boobs and I wouldn't have been any more impressed. I felt like some primitive tribesman who'd seen a plane for the first time. Who cared if it was a helicopter or a jumbo jet? It was still a miracle. I edged a bit closer in case I was missing something.

‘Bri!' She straightened up in a hurry. ‘You're perving!'

My mind screamed,
Deny it! Deny it! Plead insanity! Run!

‘No, I wasn't. Honest.'

‘Oh, come on, your eyes were almost popping out of your head.'

If I lived to be a thousand I wasn't going to own up.

‘No, I promise. I was looking at — at Zeb's hoof.'

‘I should walk around without a shirt on so you can have a real good look.'

Did she mean it? I would've gone home and got my camera.

‘Why don't you just admit it?'

‘There's nothing to admit. Of course I wasn't looking at you. Don't be paranoid. There's hardly anything to see.'

Oh no! Oh no!

The moment the words flew out I wanted to take them back and hide them. Smoke was just about coming out of her ears.

‘Thanks a lot!'

‘I didn't mean it like that.'

She whacked Zeb on the backside and he trotted into the paddock. Then she was raking again. Flat out and angry.

‘Emma … I really didn't mean —'

She hurled down the rake and spun around.

‘It's not good enough!' She gasped the words, breathless with rage. ‘You admit it right now, Brian Talbot!'

‘What do you want me to say?'

‘The truth!'

She had me dead to rights. Bite the bullet time.

‘All right … I saw something — a flash, a blur —'

‘Oh, come on!'

‘I'm telling the truth. I was looking at the hoof and it … they … those … er —'

‘Oh, for God's sake — you mean my tits!'

‘Yeah, sort of. They got in the way. I wasn't looking on purpose. It was an accident. But I'm sorry. Okay?'

‘You
were
perving? Is that what you're saying?'

‘Yes' had suddenly become the hardest word in the world.

I lowered my eyes and looked pathetic, which I had a natural talent for.

She folded her arms and peered at me like I was some repulsive insect.

‘And are you also saying sorry?'

I nodded emphatically.

‘You look like a toy Alsatian in the back window of a car.'

She mimicked my nodding style. ‘And the car's bouncing down a potholed road.'

I glanced up at her, smiling my way out of trouble.

‘All right,' she said. ‘Let's just forget it. This time.'

‘Good … thanks … but I really didn't see anything — only a glimpse and I wasn't trying to … um, ah …'

She put a finger over her lips. ‘Don't say any more, you're making it worse.'

‘Okay. Right. Sorry.'

‘I shouldn't have been so tough on you.' Her voice was softer. ‘But, you know, you get that sort of thing a lot. I get sick of it. It's hard being a girl.'

I wanted to tell her that she didn't know anything about being hard, but for once I kept my big mouth shut.

Emma sat on the grass. I plonked myself beside her, but not too close. The anger was still in the air, almost tangible enough to scoop up and use as ammunition. But as we sat there pulling up clumps of grass, I felt the friction easing, until, from out of nowhere, she said, ‘Smith putting you into his stupid play, trying to make fun of you — I thought that was a despicable thing to do.'

She looked at me for a long moment — a look you'd give to a lost puppy. Then she squeezed my arm.

I had to turn away. Just for a second. Emma had taken me by surprise. It's weird how you can be alive for seventeen years and not know what it's like to be touched by a girl. I'd started thinking it would never happen.

When I faced her again I shrugged. Mister Cool was back in control.

‘I was glad of it,' I said. ‘Gave me an excuse to leave. I'm doing okay, too. Got a job.'

I pretended not to notice when she moved her hand away.

‘Really? What are you doing?'

Her touch made me believe I was there not because of Dad setting it up, or because I was handy for reaching a rake, but because Emma wanted me there. It gave me confidence. After that the words poured freely.

I told her about my job and the mad blokes I'd met. She laughed along with me, hung on every word I said, like she was really interested, not just in the stories but in me.

‘What about you?' I asked. ‘You know what kind of job you're going to do?'

‘Not really. When I was a little girl I had it all worked out. I wanted to be a vet in the daytime and a model at night. And on weekends I was going to be a nurse — and have babies.' Emma stretched out on the grass, grinning up at me. ‘But now I'm not quite so ambitious.' She lifted herself back into a sitting position. ‘I'm thinking about doing Law.' Another grin. ‘Or becoming prime minister. That's a definite possibility.'

Right about then I started hoping she'd changed her mind about going to Canada as an exchange student, but when I mentioned it her eyes gleamed.

‘I'm counting the days. Only sixty-five to go. You know how many minutes that is?'

‘No.'

‘Neither do I, but it's got to be plenty!'

‘So there's no way that you won't go?'

‘Why would anyone give up a once in a lifetime opportunity like that?'

‘Because they fell madly in love with someone great like me?'

But there was no chance of me saying that out loud.

‘I can't think of a single reason,' I told her.

It was better to keep it light. I didn't want to scare her off. Anyway, I was simply enjoying being around her. She was bubbly and happy — she even brought out a few bubbles in me.

We raved on and on about movies and music and books — she was mad about books.

‘Me too,' I said.

‘Really? I had no idea. What are your favourites?'

I was thinking:
Playboy
.
Picture
.
Hustler
.

‘Aw, you know, bit of everything.'

She ‘just loved' about a zillion books and she gladly rattled off the plots and described the characters for me. I had book burn-out, but still I said, ‘I'll go to the library tonight and see if I can get a few of those. They sound real good.'

‘You do really like books, don't you? You're not just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear?'

‘Sure I like books.'

What's more, I was prepared to read every one that was in the library if it helped my chances. I wanted her to keep talking. I loved listening to her voice … maybe it was even better than the perve.

She glanced at her watch.

‘I have to be getting home,' she said.

Emma took long loping strides as we walked back towards the road, her arms folded. Suddenly it felt like all the words had dried up and we were fast becoming strangers again. I couldn't blame her. I didn't have a lot going for myself. My long hair was a feeble attempt to look sexy and interesting, but mostly I just looked like I'd lost my comb. I did twenty push-ups every morning — when I remembered — but that did nothing to give my arms any shape. My ears stuck out too much and my teeth were crooked, so I usually kept my mouth shut in photos. I wasn't bag-over-the-head ugly, just your usual run-of-the-mill bloke, plain and ordinary. Very ordinary.

When we got to the fence she'd go her way and I'd go mine and that'd be it … unless I let her know how I felt. But that would set me up for rejection and I couldn't handle it. With some dreams you never want to wake up.

We clambered through the fence. I raised my hand, wanting to touch her, but too scared to try.

‘I'll see you around,' I mumbled.

She didn't reply. The eyes said it all.
‘Is that it? Are you going to walk away without even making an attempt at getting to know me more? Are you really that gutless?'

Well, maybe that wasn't all in her eyes. Maybe a lot of it was how I felt. But there
was
enough in her eyes to give me some hope.

‘It'd be good if I could see you again,' I said, which for me was great bravery. ‘But if you don't want to, that's fine. I understand. It doesn't matter. That's cool. No hard feelings.'

We stood next to the road where I'd stopped the car. The driving lesson with Dad seemed a lifetime ago. Cars slowed down for the speed-hump, then clunked over it and picked up speed again. Back in the paddock I saw Zeb watching us, his ears pricked as if he'd been listening in to our conversation. Now, like me, he waited for Emma to answer. And she was taking so long. I was sure she had to be searching for a nice way to tell me to get lost.

At last …

‘There's something I should tell you, Bri.'

This was it. The end of my fantasy. I took a deep breath.

‘It's about the guys at school.'

Not about me? Not a goodbye? Fantastic! If I hadn't been so cool I would have jumped into the air and yelled yee-ha! Instead I restricted myself to a polite nod.

‘I know they're okay. Mostly they're nice. But I don't quite fit in there. Being the new kid at school is hard at first. It'll happen eventually, I suppose, but to be honest I don't really care about them after the way they treated you.'

I heard a loud clunk and for a second I wasn't sure if it came from the speed-hump or from my heart.

‘And you know,' she continued, ‘not one of them went to that anti-war march, even though they put their names on the list. I don't think they ever really cared about the war. I think they were only out to impress people.'

‘You think so?' I said, pretending to be amazed that anyone could be so low.

She nodded sadly.

‘But I saw
you
there. There was good old Bri in the background, looking a bit lost, as always. You didn't try to draw attention to yourself. I could see you weren't there to get your face on TV or to show off to anyone. You were there solely for something you believed in. I admired you that day.'