‘No thanks. Your nachos will be more than enough for me.’
It makes sense that Arthur would find it hard being around the two of us when he has just had his heart broken, but I do not want him to feel unwelcome. ‘The invitation is open if you change your mind.’
‘Thanks, Harri.’
Just then my phone lights up. I pluck it off the counter.
Darling Bubble, I am exhausted from a long albeit successful afternoon tea and need to lay low tonight. Raincheck? X
One of the many things I love about Edie is her text-messaging technique. She never abbreviates words or employs emojis. However, I am a little disappointed by the message’s content.
Poor Edie, you work so hard, my love. Can I tempt you with my salmon quiche? Or you could cook something for us if you prefer? Would LOVE to see you. X
My capitalisation in the final sentence is somewhat crass, and I regret it as soon as I press ‘send’. I hold my phone and wait for her reply. Although it makes sense that she is tired after running an event, I have been really looking forward to seeing her. I am very keen to talk to her about Will Everhart’s cartoon.
Will Everhart. When I think about her, my heart does a strange little flip. What a peculiar afternoon it has been, helping her out with a piece of artistic commentary. This would be bizarre enough had it been with one of my friends – Beth, say, or even Millie. But Will Everhart? This is the girl who, for a History assignment on ‘The Effects of War’, presented a twenty-minute video, spliced together from old movies, of people getting stabbed, macheted or shot. I wonder if it was wise to light a further flame beneath a person who courts controversy so keenly.
The more I think about it, the more I realise it was probably a very bad idea indeed.
If Will did as we agreed and dropped the cartoon into the Messenger’s office on her way home, by Monday it will be published for everyone at Rosemead to see. The possibility makes my jaw ache. Coach can be insensitive, and I certainly have personal experience of that, and that is partly why I suggested Will draw the cartoon. But there have also been times when he has been very kind to me, complimenting me on my hair, posture and even eye colour (‘as green as the Coral Sea’ he has said more than once). And if it weren’t for Coach persuading Miss Watson to give me a chance at tennis in the early years, I would never be playing for Tawney and fulfilling my lifelong dream.
Although lately he has not been quite so friendly.
He certainly never used to hold me back to swim extra laps like he did this morning.
What will Coach say when he sees the cartoon? What about Principal Croon? Thank God I convinced Will she should use a pseudonym.
‘Why are you staring at your phone?’ Arthur asks.
‘Waiting for a text from Edie.’ I hope she isn’t judging me for capitalising ‘love’!
‘She always makes you wait,’ Arthur says. ‘It’s mean.’
Maybe Edie does delay her replies. But her teasing ways are part of her charm. I put the chips and beans together on a plate and place it in front of Arthur. He pulls a chip away from the cheesy brown mound, takes a small bite and puts it back. ‘Taste okay?’ I ask.
‘Delicious,’ Arthur says, and coughs, which is a common reaction to spicy food. ‘I think I’ll eat it in my room if that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course.’
When he is gone, I start my quiche preparations, checking my phone every couple of minutes. Beth texts to confirm that our Music excursion to The Mikado is leaving at eight tomorrow, and to express a firm hope for a good-looking bus driver (‘a hottie’ are her exact words. She is so hilarious). Millie sends through a venue suggestion for the year-twelve formal, and I text back confirming I will consider it in my capacity as Formal Committee chair. My mother texts to say she and my father will eat at the surgery, and to give a ‘big hug’ to Edie (she and Mum adore one another). I’ve just popped the quiche in the oven when a text finally comes through from my girlfriend.
My darling Bubble, my dove, my destiny. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting for a reply. I fell asleep right after pressing send! Let’s meet on Saturday, and you can help me with my public speaking topic for SpeakOut – they just sent it through a few minutes ago. You have such a talent for putting words together. What would I do without you, Bubble? You are my lucky charm. XXXX
Edie never uses more than three X’s. She considers it over the top. That she has done it now is her way of saying she forgives me for capitalising ‘love’, I am certain. I read the message again. I am her darling Bubble, her dove, her destiny. I hold the bright screen to my face.
Chapter 5
WILL
‘I spoke to your father last night.’
Mum is at the sink with her coffee mug, face to the window, watching a bird on the lawn. Birds on the lawn are about as exciting as it gets at our place. Apart from the occasional wildlife – if a magpie can be described as wildlife – our garden is a square patch of grass dotted with bindi-eyes. Stooping around the edge like pensioners at a bowling green are one limp wattle, one diseased lemon tree and one anemic tomato vine. In the middle of the grass are two epic Hills Hoists.
Since moving to our ground-floor flat, playing Guess Whose Washing is Mum’s favourite new pastime. ‘That must be Julie’s load,’ she’ll say, nose to the window. ‘I can tell from the crocheted bedspread. And are those Emilio’s
