‘Are you feeling better now?’ I enquire.
He nods. ‘As a matter a fact, I rescheduled my meeting for tomorrow afternoon.’
I give a little clap that feels quite jaunty and I make up my mind to try it again tonight. ‘Fantastic news. And you’ll park at my place?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say, replacing my earplug. Wally opens his mouth again, but when I point to my earplug, he closes it again and we venture inside.
My senses are assaulted the moment the doors open, even with the goggles and earplugs. The inside of the bowling alley smells like popcorn and hotdogs and fairy floss, a smell that coats my skin and clogs my pores and fills me up from bottom to top, like sand inside my skin. My sneakers stick to the patterned carpet as I walk; the flashing neon lights burn into my retinas. The music blares from all directions – the game machines, the bowling lanes, the overhead speakers – and while the earplugs dull this slightly, it’s still overwhelming. I keep my head down and forge through it, wading further into the wild. Along one wall, about a dozen kids crowd around a long metal table singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a boy who, according to the numerals on his cake, is eleven years old. Everyone coexists in the space, entirely unperturbed by all of it. Everyone, apparently, except me. On the back wall, I locate a sign that reads BAYSIDE LIBRARY TEAM BUILDING, and usher Wally toward it. Carmel is standing there, wearing a red shirt and a short scarf tied at her throat. Strange as it sounds, she looks rather nice.
‘You’re wearing a scarf,’ I say to Carmel.
She studies me curiously, then says something I can’t hear. I turn away from her, looking instead at a group of youths standing around a vending machine dispensing Pokémon cards. Their appearance suggests they are around ten or eleven. Rose and I had gone bowling when we were a similar age. I was apprehensive about it, but when Rose suggested to Mum we stay home, she just became more determined to take us. ‘It will be great fun,’ she’d said, before she and Rose got into an impassioned argument that only made things worse. Eventually it was clear that we would have to bowl.
When we got there, my strategy was to remain focused on the bowling. I’d read a book about bowling technique and I got three strikes that night. It might have been fun if not for the back and forth between Mum and Rose the whole time. ‘The food is cold.’ ‘My shoes don’t fit.’ ‘It’s not your turn!’ And then, as we waited in line to hand back the shoes: ‘You ruined the evening. This is why we can’t ever go out. What is wrong with you?’
Rose cried all the way home.
I look back at Carmel who is talking animatedly to Wally, frowning and smiling and nodding at intervals. I haven’t seen Carmel smile much before. I notice she has a silver tooth, close to the back. As they talk, Wally rummages through a tub of bowling shoes. He catches my eye and mouths: ‘Foot size?’
‘Seven,’ I reply, and the next thing I know I am sitting on a bench while Wally fits me with bowling shoes. It’s bizarre having someone put your shoes on, as if you’re a child or a mannequin. I tell Wally it’s unnecessary but he keeps doing it, so I let him. It’s actually rather nice.
By 6.45 pm, the whole team has arrived and Carmel gathers the group to deliver some sort of welcome that I can’t hear. Then we are divided into teams and Wally and I are placed with Gayle and Linda, who are delighted by Wally’s presence, judging by the amount of unnecessary touching of his shoulder, forearm and hand.
Wally was correct when he said he was quite good at bowling. In fact, it’s fair to say that he is an exceptional bowler. He gets three strikes in the first three bowls, and I get two. Gayle and Linda don’t hit a pin between them. Carmel, I notice, doesn’t bowl at all, instead using the time to wander up and down among the three teams, much like she does at the library with her cart.
At the end of the round, Wally waves his hands in front of my face. I watch his mouth carefully.
‘May I get you a drink?’ he says slowly.
I am thirsty, I realise. I glance over at the bar area, past a horde of squealing children, to see what they might have available. Behind the bar, which is staffed by a woman in a pink and white-striped boiler suit, I see a sign that says SPRITE.
‘A Sprite would be very nice, thank you, Wally.’
Wally nods and wanders off toward the bar, leaving me to ponder how nice it is, having someone enquire after my thirst like this and then procure me a drink! Wally is, I realise, an above-average date. Linda and Gayle appear to think the same, judging by the way they appear in front of me the moment Wally is out of sight.
‘I can’t hear you,’ I remind them.
They gesture for me to remove my earplugs. I sigh loudly but acquiesce.
‘You’ve been keeping this quiet, haven’t you!’ Linda exclaims.
‘They met in the library,’ Gayle quips.
‘I like his hat,’ Linda says. ‘It reminds me of something.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Gayle says.
I don’t know why they required me to remove my earplugs since they are only speaking among themselves. I glance around for Wally to see how he is doing with our drinks, but he seems to have disappeared.
‘Where’s Wally?’ I ask.
‘Of course!’ Gayle and Linda cry in unison. ‘Where’s Wally? That’s who he looks like.’
Noises ricochet around the room. Someone cheers, and a child cries and a bowling ball hits the polished lane. I wrap my arms around my middle.
‘Finished here, ladies?’ Carmel says.
‘Just taking
