I do what she did for me, what I’ve wanted to do since the second I saw her: I pull her into a hug. Amie’s breath puffs out against my chest, through my thin T-shirt. Her arms slide around my waist, and she squeezes me tight.
‘It’ll be okay.’ I don’t know if it will be, but I want to say something. ‘It’ll work out.’
‘I hope so.’ She pushes back and smiles weakly. ‘Thanks. You should go. And me, too.’
‘Yeah. Go say hi to your nanna.’ Then something occurs to me. ‘Actually, no – do me a favour and wait here for a bit before you go. Just like at the river. Better if no one sees us peel out together.’
‘Okay. Ten minutes. Then I have to get back.’
‘You all right?’
‘I’m fine. Go, go.’
The drive back to the house is quick: the footy ground is walking distance from Amblin Court, for Christ’s sake. It’s too close. My two worlds are starting to rub up against each other. It’s not a comfortable feeling.
Inside, the house is muggy as the sun hits the roof. I wanna tear the batik curtain off the living room window, let some air in, but I don’t do that. I go and slick my face with water in the bathroom, which makes me feel slightly better. As I come back out into the hall, Reggie appears, lolling at the edge of the doorway to the spare bedroom.
‘Hey, Harris.’ He props himself higher against the door jamb with one shoulder.
‘Hey, mate. What’s happening? Didn’t see you at the club the other night.’
‘I been busy.’ Reggie glances around absently. ‘Yeah, I been real busy.’
He looks like shit warmed over: dirty grey-brown skin, his awful shave job making his face look skeletal. I wish I could’ve had more time to keep an eye on him lately, but with everything that’s been happening, I’ve been distracted.
I’m regretting it enough now to try to make up for it. ‘Too busy to come for a kick later?’ I wipe drips off my face with the hem of my T-shirt. ‘Whaddaya reckon? Go out with the ball and –’
‘Sounds good.’ Reggie rubs at his flushed neck and face, pulls at his hoodie. ‘Shit, I’m hot.’
‘It’s a warm one, for sure. Take your jacket off, ya goose.’ But I look at him more closely. I don’t think he’s talking about the weather. ‘You right, mate?’
‘Good, all good, yeah…’ He tugs at the hoodie collar, struggles with the zipper. ‘Fuck. This –’
‘Reggie?’
It’s like he goes a little crazy for a second: he wants the hoodie off, it’s gotta come off. He flails around, arms flying, elbows hitting the wall. His face is screwed up. Finally, he squirms out of the hoodie, shakes it away violently. Bangs against the wall again.
‘Reggie.’ I take a step nearer. ‘Mate, don’t get –’
His head bounces forward on his neck once, twice, and then he goes down.
Oh fuck. I bolt to catch him, miss, manage to get a handful of his T-shirt. It stops his forehead from connecting with the hard carpetted floor, but the rest of him is like jelly. I sling an arm around his front, flip him over.
‘Shit, oh shit.’ I half-kneel, cradling him in my arms. ‘Fucking –Reggie!Reggie, wake up, man. Reggie, comeon–’
God, he’s thin. His arms and legs are floppy. They fall out of my grasp like he’s falling apart. And he’s hot as a furnace.
‘Fuck –’ I cast around for someone, anyone. ‘Steph! Steph, fucking get out here!’
I fumble to stand, try to keep Reggie in my arms. It’s like trying to keep an octopus in a string bag.
Steph’s voice sounds out suddenly behind me. ‘Harris, what are you bloody –’ She cuts herself off, and one second later she’s next to me. ‘What, did he drop?’
‘What the fuck does it look like?’ I snarl. ‘Help me get him to the couch. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking on fire –’
‘Dump him,’ she says quickly. ‘Take him out to the street, put him on the pavement, I’ll call triple-oh –’
‘Are you outta your fucking mind?’ I round on her, clutching my armful of OD-ing kid. ‘I’m not fuckingdumpinghim, all right?’
