‘Mum, can I call you back?’ I ask.
‘Not yet, darling – zoom in on the entrance to the sunken lounge. Are those French doors? Ooh!’
Despite my thorough, cringeworthy inspection of the house, my mother instructs me not to grab an application from the property manager. ‘I love the place, but I really can’t get past that window …’
Cool. I missed out on half of footy training for no reason. Although if my mother stays this fussy, she’ll never be able to move to Perth because nowhere will be good enough for her.
When I get back to my Nissan, I race through my messages.
Mason’s text tells me he can’t make it to training and could I let Brick know, as he’s not answering his phone. Bit late now as I’ve missed footy too, and also couldn’t manage to tell Brick. But teammates always have each other’s backs – even more so after our footy trip bonding in Lancelin.No worries, Firetruck, I gotchu.
Charlie’s left me a voicemail: he broke up with Mason. He says he was a dick and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Guess that explains why Mason pulled out of training. I text him that I’m at training but I’ll debrief with him when I get home.
Sabrina’s next. I’ve never felt so popular. She has a half-day off work tomorrow and wants to get lunch with me so we can talk things out. I’m glad she made the first move. I agree to lunch.
Last is Hammer with a classic Hammer message – no preamble, no caution, just a cocky,When we gettin that beer?
I tell him we can meet on Friday. I give him Curtis and Ahmed’s address, because I want him in a place where I have a bed accessible. I know that’s stupid, but I don’t care.
As I start the Nissan’s engine, my mother phones me back.
‘Darling! Look! I changed my mind. Your father pointed out we can get that window fixed if we buy the flat. Can you get an application after all?’
‘Sure, happy to,’ I say, putting on a positive smile even though she can’t see me. ‘No worries.’
A little radioactive pill of rage dissolves in my stomach, destination unknown.
‘And don’t forget we’re in Perth this weekend for your little cousin’s christening and to look at some home opens ourselves. We’ll come see you for coffee again on Sunday morning after the christening.’
‘Awesome,’ I lie.
I hang up the phone call and stare at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. My eyes, always dark like charcoal, have no light left in them, deadened and over it all – but my mouth is determined to shine on, fixed in a permanent customer-service smile.
I miss almost all of footy training.
The night air is cold and my breath mists as I walk onto the oval, cold needles of rain stabbing my face. I hate getting wet in the rain – whoever romanticised that notion is a blithering idiot – but footy guys power through the elements, no matter what.
The boys are gathered in the usual circle of duffel bags and sneakers, panting after the end of their latest drill. Brick’s pumping up some footies; Dom and Rogan are slugging back Powerade; Tommo’s smoking a dart which is surely getting wet; Jack’s hammering out a text on his phone, his face thunderous; Fergus is shivering; and everyone except me was smart enough to wear a jacket or hoodie over their footy gear.
‘Fudgy!’ Tommo booms. ‘Look out, here’s trouble.’
‘Only an hour late, mate!’ Brick says sharply. ‘Bit shy to show your face after your antics on the footy trip, ay?’
The heat from my cheeks is almost enough to warm me up. I throw a sidelong glance at Fergus, but he doesn’t look awkward after our encounter in Lancelin; in fact, he bounds over and throws his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me, but not affectionately – just as a teammate. His way of letting me know nothing has changed between us.
I’m relieved. ‘Sorry I’m late – had to run an errand for my parents,’ I tell Brick. ‘Firetruck also messaged me to say he was late – he couldn’t get through.’
‘Noted,’ Brick says curtly. His mood is off. ‘I switched my phone off to stop getting pestering phone calls from our new least favourite person.’
‘It hasn’t stopped him, but,’ Jack says, holding up his phone to show Brick a message. ‘Now he’s contacting me instead. Is this prick for real? The fucken nerve.’
‘Ignore him,’ Brick says. ‘We’ve been polite, we’ve been civil. Enough’s enough.’
I go to ask what they’re talking about, but Fergus interrupts me.
‘I thought Australia was meant to be warmer than Ireland,’ Fergus mutters, bulging his eyes at me. ‘It could freeze the balls off a brass monkey tonight. Fuck me, Fudgy!’
Tommo snorts. ‘Pretty sure Fudgy already did that in Lancelin, Potato Boy.’
