The Trouble with Faking (7 page)

By the time I’ve finished my breakfast, Marie has definitely noticed us. She’s deep in discussion with her friend, but every minute or so, her eyes flick towards us. I’m not excited about leaving Damien here to have a cosy chat with her, but that’s the point of our plan, isn’t it? Well, the point of
his
plan.

I hug Damien, then rush out of the dining hall towards my urgent, fictional engagement. Once out in the corridor, I slow down.

“I guess the rumours were true.”

I look around and see Charlotte coming down the stairs from the upper common room. I start fidgeting with the belt looped through my denim shorts. The belt made from fabric on which tiny words are printed—an excerpt from
Pride and Prejudice
. “If you’re referring to the cheating rumours,” I say, “no, they were not true. But if you’d like to blame someone for the fact that Damien and I are now together, you can look in the mirror. The only reason we started thinking about taking our friendship to the next level is because you put the idea out there. So thank you.”

I spin around and walk away, shocked at how easily the lie came out of my mouth. I hurry up the stairs inside F flat, reaching my landing in time to see Kimmy and Georgia coming out of their rooms. With their slip-slops, hats, and bags bulging with towels, it’s clear they’re off to the beach.

“Oh, hey,” I say to them. “How was last night?”

They exchange an uncertain glance before Kimmy says, “It was fun.”

I nod slowly, wondering if they’re going to explain the odd looks they’re giving me. When they don’t, I turn and unlock my door.

“Hey, Andi,” Georgia says. I look back at her. “Are you sure … um, is it a good idea to be dating someone who cheated on his girlfriend in order to be with you? Doesn’t that mean that he might end up doing the same thing to you?”

“Georgia,” Kimmy hisses beneath her breath.

“What? I’m just worried about her—”

“Thanks, but you don’t need to be worried,” I tell them. “Damien did not cheat on Charlotte.”

They look at me, then at one another, then at the floor.

“What?” I demand, just as Carmen’s door opens and she comes out. “Carmen, can you please tell them that Damien and I weren’t involved in any secret relationship while he was with Charlotte?”

Instead of backing me up, Carmen looks away. She quickly pulls her door shut and heads down the stairs. Kimmy and Georgia follow close behind her. It’s only as their footsteps disappear outside that I realise Carmen had a beach towel wrapped around her neck.

I slump against my door frame, confusion and hurt stabbing at my insides. Seriously? Why won’t anyone believe me?

Someone jogs up the stairs. I look over the railing and see Damien. The tension inside me eases, and my frown melts into a smile. I didn’t realise I’d be seeing him again so soon. “Hey,” I say as he climbs the last few steps. “Did you have a good chat with Marie?”

“Yes. Her friend even left us alone for a minute or so. She asked me about cheating on Charlotte, so I told her that wasn’t true, of course, along with the rest of our story.”

“And she believed you? Because nobody seems to believe me.”

Damien steps closer. “What do you mean? What happened?”

I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Nothing, really. Just that anyone I talk to thinks the cheating story is true, and the people I don’t talk to give me weird looks from a distance.” I head into my room and make my bed, pulling the duvet straight and putting the many cushions back in place.

“I’m sorry, Andi,” Damien says from the doorway. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. Maybe … maybe we shouldn’t do this? I mean, if it’s going to alienate you from all your friends, then—”

“No, don’t worry about it. My friends will get over it. They’ll remember soon enough not to take rumours seriously. And until then—” I cast a glance over the craft supplies on my desk and the piles of lecture notes already building up “—I’ll keep myself distracted.”

“That’s actually what I came up here to talk to you about. My mom just sent a message to ask if I’m going home to visit them this weekend. I was wondering if … you might want to come with? Just for today and tomorrow? I know they’d love to see you.”

A weekend with Damien? Just the two of us, away from the rumours and the stares? YES PLEASE. “That sounds great!”
Jeepers, Andi. Wanna tone it down a bit?
“Uh, when do you want to leave?”

“Well, whenever you’re ready.”

“Cool.” I work hard to keep the rays of happiness from bursting through my smile and blinding him. “Just let me pack an overnight bag.”

Simon’s Town is a beautiful seaside town situated on the shores of False Bay. Houses are built against the side of the mountain rising steeply from the beach, which I imagine gives them a magnificent view of the ocean. Damien turns into the driveway of his parents’ house and parks in front of the garage. I climb out and look up. It’s a double-storey house with a wide balcony across the front of the upper level. Damien’s mom is standing on the balcony waving down to us.

“Do your parents know anything about our pretend relationship?” I ask Damien as I wave back to his mom.

“Hello!” she shouts, then disappears into the house.

“No,” Damien says. “To them we’re still just friends, so you can relax while you’re here.” He carries both our bags up the steps, opens the front door, and steps aside to let me in. I have about two seconds to look around—open-plan living and kitchen area with modern furniture, exotic ornaments from their overseas travels, and no clutter—before Damien’s mom rushes to throw her arms around me.

“Andi! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hi, Laura.” I squeeze her as tightly as she’s squeezing me, and it almost feels like I’m back at home, visiting Damien next door.

Next I get a hug from Damien’s dad, Ben.
Uncle
Ben, as I used to try and call him. He and Laura insisted on first names only, though, so I gave up on saying ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ soon after I met them. “Great to have you in Cape Town, Andi,” Ben says. “How are you finding it so far?”

“I love it. I’m really happy to be here.”

“Wonderful,” Laura says. “Well, you can go on upstairs and put your bag down. I’m afraid we only have two bedrooms, so Damien will have to sleep on the couch, and you can have the second bedroom upstairs.”

I give Damien an apologetic look, but he shrugs and says, “I think I can handle the couch.”

I hurry upstairs, leave my bag in the bedroom that obviously serves as Damien’s when he’s here on weekends, and run back down for lunch.

“I should probably warn you,” Damien says, catching me at the bottom of the stairs, “that my parents are now vegan.”

“Oh. Okay. So no meat then.”

“Aaand no milk, no eggs, no butter, no cheese. Plus some other things you’d never think would be on the vegan blacklist.”

“Right.” I twist a strand of hair around my finger as we head for the open doorway leading out to the balcony. “That doesn’t leave much, does it?”

“Fruit and veg. That’s pretty much it.”

“Are you complaining about our food again?” Laura says. She and Ben are already sitting at the table on the balcony. “I thought you enjoyed that spicy red lentil soup I made last time you were home.”

“Well, you know, it wasn’t a
steak
,” Damien says, “but it wasn’t bad for a veggie soup.”

I sit down beside Damien and survey the platter of food in the middle of the table. Sliced carrot, tomato, spinach and avocado, roasted chickpeas and sweet potato, bread full of seeds, a bean salad, and little bowls of hummus.

“This looks amazing.” I nudge Damien’s arm. “Who needs steak when you’ve got a spread like this?”

***

Damien and I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering through Simon’s Town and along the boardwalk beside Boulders Beach. We make a competition out of who can spot the most penguins hiding amidst the beachside bushes—I win—while filling each other in on the details of our lives over the past two years. We’ve been in contact since he left for UCT, of course—texts, emails, Facebook, the occasional phone call—but many of the small details were left out. Like the fact that the new owners of the house next door painted the outside walls a hideous shade of purple-grey, and that Mrs Donelly, our school librarian, changed her perfume to something that made everyone want to cough.

If life could be like this all the time—just the two of us hanging out and enjoying each other’s company—perhaps I wouldn’t mind so much that he’s never been interested in anything more. Perhaps friendship could be enough for me.

After finding out what Laura’s planned for dinner—vegetable curry—Damien tells his mom we’ll pick up our own dinner and bring it home. We stop at The Salty Sea Dog, order fish and chips, and drive back to the house. We sit out on the balcony again, talking, laughing, eating, and watching the sky grow darker.

It’s late by the time we all go to bed, but I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. I curl up beneath the duvet that smells mostly of washing liquid but also faintly of Damien’s cologne and pray that my future holds many more of these weekends.

***

Pale morning light filtering through thin curtains wakes me early on Sunday morning. That’s another reason I hung shawls across the window in my Fuller bedroom—they help to keep the light out when I want to sleep in. The house is quiet, so I lie in bed listening to the seagulls, checking the Etsy orders I’ve received since Friday, and reading the comments on my latest YouTube video.

Emmy
Mills
(3 hours ago)

This on my TBR list so thanks gonna read it soons.

Apple Turtle
(11 hours ago)

OMG I’m reading this book RIGHT NOW! On page 87 and it rocks.

Athena O
(17 hours ago)

Thank you for the review and your are so PRETTY!!

One thing about YouTubers? Many of them have atrocious spelling and grammar skills. I often find myself laughing as I read their comments. And then I remind myself that the reason I post videos about books is to connect with people who love reading as much as I do—so who cares how bad their spelling is?

I reply to the comments—even the ‘your are so PRETTY’ one, which creeps me out a tiny bit—then put my phone down and climb out of bed. I heard someone go downstairs a few minutes ago, which means it’s safe for me to emerge. I pull a robe on over my pyjamas and open the door.

“Morning,” Damien says as I reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, having clearly just woken up. I’m not the swooning type, but seeing him half-asleep, shirtless, and with his normally neat hair all messed up, my insides start to feel a little jelly-like.

I croak out a “Good morning” as he reaches into his bag for a T-shirt and pulls it on.

“Andi, would you like some coffee?” Laura asks from the other side of the counter that separates the lounge from the kitchen. “I remember you being a big fan of our coffee machine.”

“That would be amazing, thank you,” I say, forcing myself to turn away from Damien. “But, um, I didn’t think you’d have milk.” I cross the room and lean on the counter.

“Oh, we drink almond milk.”

“Imagine my surprise,” Damien says, appearing beside me, “when I discovered you can milk an almond.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Don’t start that nonsense again.” Turning to me, she adds, “It’s delicious, Andi.”

“Cool, I’d love to try some.”

“Great. You two can go on outside, and I’ll bring you your coffees.”

“Oh, I’ll just have water,” Damien says. He grabs a bottle of still water from the fridge.

“Are you sure I can’t help you?” I say to Laura.

“Of course. Off you go.” She waves us away, and we walk out the sliding door and onto the balcony. I lean on the railing and look out at the rippling water. Damien stands next to me, and I’m acutely aware of his arm on the railing right beside mine.

“Did you sleep okay on the couch?” I ask, hoping to distract myself.

“Yes, it was fine. Did you sleep okay in my bed?”

Heat tingles in my cheeks, and I look away so he won’t see me blush. “Yes. It was also fine.”
Go for a
real
distraction this time, Andi.
I breathe in the salty air and watch several yachts bobbing in the bay. “It’s so beautiful here. Like another world. If I were you, I’d come here all the time.”

“I used to. I visited a lot last year. I’d bring friends—those who were keen to get away from res for a weekend—but I stuck to solo visits after Noah spent a weekend here.”

“Oh, why?”

“My parents had just started the vegan thing, and Noah made a number of comments. I know he was joking, but my parents don’t get his sense of humour. They found him really rude. Mom told me not to bring my lower class friends home anymore.”

I frown. “She called him lower class?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve met Noah. He and his family aren’t exactly—”

“Here you go, Andi, honey.” I turn around as Laura walks towards me with a mug of coffee.