Tigers & Devils (31 page)

The gods were smiling upon me, at least in this instance. Their machine picked up.

“Hi, it’s Simon. Look, I have something to tell you guys. What you thought was a joke, the whole Declan Tyler thing? Well, it isn’t. And the press have found me out. So I just want to warn you guys in case they start calling or come to the house. Please don’t say anything to them. Thanks.”

I was amazed I managed to sound so calm.

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 217

I called Nyssa back into the office and basically told her the same thing. We were going from yellow to red alert.

The next morning dawned like any other. I peered out my window, but my lawn was free of any members of the media or other ferocious wildlife. I had done a large shopping expedition the night before so I could bunker down here if I had to without leaving for a few days. The street looked so peaceful it was surreal. And it all went to hell about half-past twelve.

I let the first call go through to my answering machine. It was that van Niuewen guy from the
Herald Sun
, requesting an interview. Then
Today Tonight
rang, followed by
A
Current Affair
and
Who Weekly
. At that stage, I couldn’t bear to hear their polite and measured voices offering their services in telling my story to the world at large, so I turned the answering machine off and unplugged my phone from the wall. Just after four, probably the amount of time they had taken to track down my home address, they began arriving on my doorstep.

I was lying on the couch reading a book when the sound of slamming doors made me jump up with a start. My house was as silent as the grave, as I didn’t want them to have any sign that I was home. I crept across the room to peer out from behind the curtain. I recognised the journo, one of those ultra-serious types who still worshipped at the shrine of Jana Wendt. She signalled for her cameraman to follow her and strode briskly and importantly to my front door. She was here to get the news, dammit!

Even her knock was officious.

My heart was pounding; I drew back as if she had X-ray vision or Terminator-style heat sensors that would pick up on my presence.

“Do you think he’s home?” I heard her ask the cameraman, who only shrugged in reply.

She knocked again and stood there, silently fuming.

“We’ll wait him out,” she said, finally. “Huh,
out
, that’s a good one.”

Classy. I’d surely want
her
telling my story with that kind of real empathy. They walked back towards their van, pulling out folding chairs to sit upon. Soon they were joined by other journalists from television, print and radio. Each time a new one turned up, they conferred with those already camping out on my lawn, all simultaneously relieved that nobody had spoken to me yet and all wondering where I was. They seemed practiced at arranging themselves in order of arrival. Their voices carried to me hiding within the house; they weren’t that bothered about keeping quiet.

“Do you think he’s home?”

“He’s probably either here or at the Tyler house.”

“You think Tyler’s family knows about him?”

“Well, they do now.”

Laughter.

“He’s not answering any of his phones.”

218 | SEAN KENNEDY

“You can’t even hear his phone ring.”

“Probably has the jack pulled out.”

At five o’clock I inserted my headphones into the telly and turned on the first news bulletin, shocked to see my house being reported from during a live cross. I realised I could see Maggie sitting in the window to the right of the journo’s shoulder, staring out at the spectacle before her. I turned my head and saw her butt and tail poking out from behind the curtain. They then did
another
live cross, this time to the Tyler’s household where they didn’t even have a cat on the windowsill to indicate that there was life within.

They couldn’t camp out here all night, could they? When the only thing they could be guaranteed getting was some attention-whoring from my cat?

I imagined the headline the next edition of the
Reach Out
would probably use:
TYLER’S LOVER LIKES PUSSY AFTER ALL
.

I turned the news off and drummed my fingers to try and catch Maggie’s attention. She was still too distracted by the circus outside, which by the sound of slamming doors, had just welcomed another arrival.

I squinted around Maggie and realised that it was worse than another pack of journalists turning up.

It was my parents.

“Are you friends of Simon Murray?” one journo asked.

“Are you his parents?” asked another.

My father remained silent, as usual, and pushed his way through them with a surly look on his face. My mother was gentler, and I could hear her singing out, “Excuse me!

Excuse
me!”

“Did you know your son was seeing Declan Tyler?”

“Did you know your son was gay?”

“Did you know Declan Tyler was gay?”

I rolled my eyes. Whoever asked that should have their degree stripped from them for not being able to follow a line of logical questioning. I ran to the front door as soon as I heard them walking up the steps. I yanked it open, but kept myself hidden behind it. “Get in here quick!” I hissed. I could hear the pack beginning to bray.

“He
is
home!”

“Bastard!”

As soon as my parents were in, I slammed the door shut. I expected to see the outlines of various journalists slammed into the wood like the hapless predators in the Loony Tunes, but they just milled about on my veranda.

“Well,” my mother said. “May I have a cup of tea?”

“Uh, sure. Dad?”

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 219

“Do you have any beer?”

I nodded, and he looked vaguely surprised. Even though I
always
had beer in my fridge on the rare occasion that he was over.

They followed me into the kitchen while I started preparing their drinks.

“You’re a dark horse,” Mum said, almost admiringly. “I thought you were joking about the whole Declan Tyler thing.”

“How come you didn’t call me yesterday, after I left the message?” I asked.

“Oh, you know us and that damn machine,” Mum said. “We never know how to use it.”

“So how did you know?” I asked.

“Well, darling, you
are
on the front pages of all the newspapers. And of course, they all started calling us.”

Dad spoke up for the first time since entering. “Is Declan Tyler really… you know?”

“Yes, Dad, he is
really, you know
.” I passed him his beer.

“He doesn’t look it.”

“We have a look?” I asked as I filled the kettle. “Do I have that look?”

“Don’t start,” Mum warned. “We came here to check up on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, we’re not,” Dad fumed. “The phone’s been ringing all bloody afternoon.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It will blow over soon.”

“Where is he?” Mum asked.

“Who?” I lifted the kettle off its base.

“Declan Tyler, of course!”

“Did you come here to see him or me?”

“You’re being shirty,” Mum warned.

“Can you blame me?”

“You should have known this would happen.” Dad huffed.

“You’re blaming me for this?” I passed Mum her tea.

“Of course he’s not,” Mum said apologetically on his behalf.

“Is it serious?” Dad asked.

“What?”

“Your…
relationship
.” He said it as if it was incomprehensible.

“Do you mean are we just fucking?” I said it to be cruel, to get the reaction I wanted. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Dad coloured visibly.

220 | SEAN KENNEDY

“Simon!” Mum cried.

“That’s what he wanted to hear.”

“It bloody well wasn’t,” Dad said.

“Well, you’re not comfortable with
relationship
, and you’re not comfortable with
fucking
, so how are you going to feel when I tell you we
love
each other?”

Apparently that didn’t go down to well either. Dad took a long gulp of his beer.

“If he’s in
love
with you, why isn’t he here?” he sneered.

“I’m expecting this shit from the general public,” I replied calmly. “I guess it was stupid of me to expect support from my family.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Mum said. “Your dad may say otherwise, Simon, but he
wanted
to come here and make sure you were okay. He worries about you.”

Dad stared down at his beer.

I had to admit, it was pretty impressive that he had come here. Before I could say anything though, we could hear a commotion happening on the veranda. I told my parents to stay in the kitchen, and crossed into the lounge room to peek out of the window again. Roger was surrounded by journalists, who were demanding to know who he was and how he knew me, even speculating over whether he was an ex-boyfriend. I saw him reach back into the small crowd and pull Fran up next to him. She was fumbling in her purse and brought out my spare key.

They let themselves in and slammed the door behind them. They stood there for a moment, shell-shocked and panting, before they spotted me in the lounge.

“We brought alcohol,” Fran said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of gin.

“And that is why you’re my best friends,” I said.

Fran ran across the room to hug me. “You okay?”

“Yep, fine.” Then I whispered, “My parents are here.”

She pulled back and laughed. “I thought I saw a blood-red sky with fishes raining out of it on the way over here.”

“Cute.”

“Who is it?” my mother called from the kitchen.

“George Negus. He wants to interview you.”

My mother came bustling into the lounge, patting her hair, and looked crestfallen.

“Oh, hello, Roger, Fran.”

“Mrs. Murray,” they mumbled politely.

“Simon!” Mum protested. “You got me all excited.”

Roger and Fran snickered amongst themselves.

“I don’t know what
you’re
laughing about,” Mum said sternly to the two of them.

“I’m sure you knew all about this while Simon kept his own family in the dark.”

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 221

“Sorry, Mrs. Murray,” they replied in unison.

Mum pursed her lips. “Cup of tea?”

I waved Fran’s bottle of gin at her. “I think we’re having something stronger.”

“Gin and tonic, Mrs. M?” Fran asked.

“No, I’m happy with my tea, thank you.”

“Roger,” Fran gestured at the booze. “Hurry.”

As Roger passed me, I handed him the bottle. I could hear him greeting my father, and they began talking about the Grand Final. Anything footy that didn’t have to deal directly with Declan Tyler.

Mum wandered over to the window and looked out. “They’re all still out there,” she mused.

“Mum!” I hissed. “Get away from there! They’ll see you.”

“And what if they do?” she demanded. “It’s your house! They can’t make you hide in it!”

Fran gave me a sympathetic smile.

“You’re going to have to face them sooner or later,” Mum told me.

“I know,” I sighed.

Luckily, Roger arrived with drinks, and I disposed of mine in one big gulp. “Do you mind making me another?” I asked.

Roger wordlessly handed me his own glass, handed the third to Fran, and disappeared back into the kitchen with the empty one.

“He’s well-trained,” Mum said approvingly.

“Like a puppy,” Fran replied wryly.

“So how come you don’t have any photos of him?” Mum asked, her eyes scanning around the lounge room.

I sipped steadily at my drink, wishing I would black out. “Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I put stuff like that out, would it?”

I didn’t want to tell her about the one photo I had hidden in my room, the only one in existence of the two of us together. At least as far as I knew. Lisa had taken it when I was in Hobart, of Declan and I together on his couch. It was a terrible photo of me; I was mid-laugh and braying like a donkey while Dec was looking at me in amusement. Great candid shot, but not that flattering. Of course, I loved it. So I wasn’t about to parade it before my mother as proof of our relationship.

“Were you expecting the tabloids to pass by?” Mum asked.

“Well, they
are
here now, aren’t they?”

Roger walked back in, carrying a jug. “Saves making constant refills,” he said. I grabbed the jug and started on my third.

“You’re not becoming an alcoholic, are you?” Mum asked.

222 | SEAN KENNEDY

I contemplated drinking straight from the jug.

Mum and Dad left not that long afterwards, disappointed that they hadn’t gotten that much out of me and even more upset that they hadn’t gotten to see Declan. I hoped that would be a long way down the track, and seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in days, it could be even longer than I hoped.