Angela Jooste

The thought of you is everywhere

It’s a love story. It’s also a love story about music.

YA novel

2 Months After…

Tallis

from inside the silence

There are different kinds of silence.

            I once saw some graffiti on a random wall in Paris, all these musical notes framing an empty space. Like music was the frame around silence. 

Seb told me about this cool muso, John Cage, who composed a piece, 4’33”, where for four minutes and thirty three seconds the pianist sat at the piano and didn’t play a note, so that the audience was hyper aware of him not playing. Everything they heard was nothing that Cage wrote. And there was no such thing as absolute silence—there was always noise from breathing, shuffling, coughing and fidgeting. 

I read about a guy who was so sick of the noises of everyday life, he found a facility with a soundproof room, basically a padded box suspended on springs, and he locked himself in it. Then he heard his breathing, his heartbeat. It brought him a moment’s peace.

Wandering one day in London I came across a gallery showing an artist who was deaf, and she made artwork about sound. While being able to hear, she could still sense and feel the effects of sounds: vibrations, bodily sensations, movement. 

            I was discovering new kinds of silence. 

The silence of texts answered too briefly, or not answered at all. 

Of phone calls going to voicemail and not returned. 

Of words not received on postcards. 

Of a vacuum where once there had been the living presence of someone else hearing my voice and echoing back. Someone who knew me, and whose resonance matched mine, so we heard each other when so many other people didn’t.            

  If this silence had a colour it would be dark pitch and mucky. It was a grease-smeared lens. A fogged up window. It was hardening mud. It had texture and weight. It muffled and clogged so that nothing was coming in or going out. 

            And I couldn’t fill the silence with music. Everything jarred, was out of sync, didn’t catch me and pull me in. It couldn’t distract me because so often it reminded me. 

            Tu me manques.

            Words I saw on a paste-up by WRDSMTH on another wall in Paris. It didn’t mean much then, but it did now. 

            You are missing from me.

            I didn’t know how to live in this silence. 

2 Months Before…

1

Tallis

to breathe—music is required 

Seb was having a party and he didn’t want me around.

It had become an unwritten law that I had to clear out. In Seb’s head he’s only trying to protect me by keeping me away from his downtime activities, but kind of forgetting it meant I had to fend for myself, which was pretty much the status quo. 

            “Cash in the studio desk drawer, Tal,” Seb yelled, ears muffled with huge Sennheiser headphones. He’s plugged into his Korg keyboard, bypassing the Steinway concert grand piano that’s one of his treasures inherited from generations of pianists in the Tavernier family.

            Despite Seb being my dad, I’d skipped being a musical genius. Instead I’d grown up on the sidelines, touring with Seb since I was four. Still music had seeped into my blood, as basic as oxygen. It was a passionate need, like fuel to live, that’s all about listening and getting lost. It was my escape, my dream, my way to connect with whatever I was feeling or going through. 

            For Seb, music was his life.

Sebastian Tavernier: classical pianist, brilliant, effusive, possibly neurotic, with a side-gig band, Zero, that fused jazz with funk and blues. When the pressures of the classical scene got too much, he wigged out and hit the road with his band mates, guys he’d known since his late twenties after he met my mother while on tour in Australia. At the time she was doing her doctorate in linguistics and two worlds collided. They got hitched and Seb made some friends for the first time in his peripatetic life.  Whenever he made it back to Melbourne, these guys seemed to have a mind meld happening where if one needed to flee they’d regroup like iron shavings pulled by a magnet. Somehow they cleared their schedules and hit the road or studio for a couple of months. 

            Basically, I was a musician’s brat straddling worlds. 

So, tonight I might go walking. Maybe find somewhere to eat. Maybe see a film. All I knew was I’d end up crashing in Seb’s black Porsche Boxster, parked in the basement garage of the warehouse that used to be a swank art gallery in Richmond, a semi-industrial suburb bordering the mucky Yarra River. The other option was to turn up at my best friend Liv’s house like I usually would. Although we’d talked, I hadn’t seen her since we got back to Melbourne. 

Last resort, I could barricade myself in my room, but Seb had always kept this false wall between me knowing the realities of his life and pretending I was somehow innocent. Just because I never talked about the stuff I saw while on tour didn’t mean I was ignorant of what went down in his life. Since my mother left, he’d never settled with anyone, and the parade of girlfriends had been a staple alongside his deep, passionate, all-consuming love affair with music. 

He also had a thing for Bach. 

One of Seb’s heroes, the virtuosic Canadian pianist Glenn Gould, had been an interpreter of the18th century German musician and composer, J.S. Bach. Gould was also one weird dude. Genius, meticulous, reclusive and quirky. He used to play hunched over the piano, nose to the keys, on a dilapidated folding chair. Wore coats and gloves all year round. He’d hummed and sang while he played, but hated performing in concerts, retiring from public recitals in 1964, at only thirty–two years old. 

Seb had more of a love-hate relationship with concerts. He tolerated touring, but he was a born performer. He also loved his groupies, which was why he was physically attached to his iPhone, Twitter and Instagram. But one thing Gould and Seb had in common, they were both obsessed with Bach. Seb had ditched the Korg for the Steinway and was now playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. 

At twenty-two, Gould recorded the Goldberg Variations, launching his international career. I was only four years younger and couldn’t imagine achieving anything like that. The fact Seb had already been touring for a couple of years at my age was also mind-boggling. But music was Seb’s world. There was no room for anyone else when he was playing. I’d learned not to take it personally and just let him be.

I trudged into the studio, fully equipped for recording. It’s where Seb’s band, Zero, rehearsed and produced most of their music. There’s a desk with locked drawers and only one key. Seb kept it hidden and only I knew where to find it. Another of his quirks, Seb had a thing about banks (mistrust bordering on paranoia), never putting his money in just one, or even in one country. He’s convinced there’s going to be a financial collapse at any moment, so he’d stashed cash in various locations around the warehouse. Same with our other home, the Paris apartment located in Saint- Germain–des–Prés. Seb had grown up on the other side of the Seine, but he loved the history of the 6th arrondissement, how so many writers, artists and musicians had found there way to this part of Paris.   

As usual, I didn’t take much cash. My needs were pretty simple and I was used to travelling light. Liv liked to joke I was some kind of survivalist, or really Zen. The thought of accumulating material goods just weighed me down, tethering me to this earth with the illusion that a lot of stuff meant I was here to stay. 

            I had no illusions about the staying part. At some point I’d exit this rock, but Liv believed a whole other scenario would unfold where I’d simply come back. Have another hit at this life thing. The soul part that is. If it weren’t for Liv, I wouldn’t have thought much about reincarnation. I was still pretty sceptical, while being open to it as an abstract idea, but when I was in the believing state of mind I often thought in another life Seb was probably my kid, and I must have been a really crap parent. Now I was doing a huge karmic payback. 

Growing up, I was the one who made sure the fridge was stocked, that Seb ate regularly, and that he never left stuff behind in the numerous hotel rooms we stayed in. Unless he got his personal assistant, Gabbie, to do it, and she would because she’s half in love with him and perhaps he’s a bit in love with her since she’s one of the longest relationships he’s ever had, even if it’s mostly business. We’d both learned early on that Seb’s about as functional with the life stuff as a kid. From the moment he got up to when he slept, music was Seb’s real life. 

            I headed back upstairs to find my backpack and a navy hoodie in the huge open-plan lounge. It was November and pretty mild in the evenings. The lounge, kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms were on this floor. The level below was taken up with the studio and massive practice area where Seb’s Steinway had pride of place. When I made my way back downstairs, Seb was utterly lost in his music, eyes closed but his fingers were agile and speeding across the keyboard. I could watch and listen to him for hours. 

Leaving, I put my headphones on. I didn’t say goodbye, not wanting to disturb him.  

2

Olivia

dreams that scare the crap out of you

“Hey, you were in my dream last night, Tal! What’s up with that?” I barked into my phone having called the moment my eyes opened. I didn’t even look at the time, which was pretty inconsiderate. 

And I kind of didn’t care, because this was Tal and he didn’t care about time, so I didn’t either.

            Tal groaned, mumbling drowsily, “I’ve got no control over your dreams, Liv. What was I doing?”

            “Hovering.”

            That perked him up. “Hovering? For real?” 

            “Not literally! You were just there. Suddenly. Standing. In my dream!”

            He laughed, a smoky kind of rumble. “I’ve got no idea. Sorry for inhabiting your dream.”

             Rolling over on my futon, I reached for a record lying on the floor and one-handed put it on the turntable. I loved surprising myself. The dippy, woozy sounds of Beach House’s Norway flooded the air as it had last night, accompanying me to sleep. Tal quite passionately hated them.   

            “Don’t be sorry. But were you thinking about me? Because that’s when you usually crop up.”

            I could hear Tal kicking against something. “Where are you?”

            “In Dad’s car. Ouch! Shit! Sorry, just hit my knee against the dash.”

            “How is he?” My arm lifted and I wiggled my fingers at the sky-roof of my room. I’d painted all the walls a washy cerulean blue. My mum had helped. Kind of. Being a painter, I thought she’d be good at painting walls. She kept making streaks and swirls, adding white for clouds. She was a landscape painter; more specifically she was fascinated by water and painted these amazing seascapes, if that explained anything. I did the second coat myself.

            “He had a party last night. I’m about to go in and check the damage.” His voice was raspy. He obviously hadn’t got much sleep.

             “So, were you thinking about me?” I was drawing circles in the air, listening to him breathe. It’s one of my favourite sounds in the world.

            Tal sighed. “Yeah. I was.”

            We’re silent. Sometimes we did that. Called each other just to hear each other’s voice since Tal was mostly travelling with his dad, while I was stuck in Melbourne. Just to listen that we were alive. We didn’t email much, although we texted. Tal also preferred having something of me when we communicated: my voice, the imprint of my handwriting. So we’d got into the habit of writing postcards when he was overseas with Seb. 

            “What’s up, Tal?” 

            “I’ve decided not to go on tour with him. Well, not the start of it.”

            Okaaaay. That was a big deal. “When’s he leaving?” Tal nearly always accompanied his dad when he was on tour. Sebastian Tavernier was an extraordinary concert pianist. And coming from me that’s saying something, because I wasn’t into classical music anything. My dad, bizarrely, was a musicologist, although he looked more like a surfer, and actually he did love surfing. I had him to thank for meeting Tal. 

            “Tomorrow. This was supposed to be a quick stopover, but he bumped up the departure date. He’s recording in London and then in Paris after Christmas. He’ll kick-start the tour there at the Philharmonie.”

            I whistled. “A big one.”

            “Huge.”

            I was itching to know. To ask. He beat me to it. “Anyhow, I was wondering if you wanted to come and stay here for a while. Hang out.”

            My heart unspooled in my chest. The tight, aching feeling I’d woken up with, melted. What I didn’t say was how in the dream, Tal just stood there with tears streaming down his face. I’d tried to move to comfort him, but I couldn’t, my body felt like it was encased in cement, the sense of helplessness was overpowering. 

            It scared the crap out of me, as if Tal was somehow lost to me.

            “I’ll be there this afternoon.”

            Tal breathed out in a long whoosh. “Thanks, Liv.” He sounded strangely relieved. But there’d also been something off about him for months now, and I was desperate to see him and find out.

            “See you soon,” he said almost too soft to hear.

            “Yeah. Soon.”

            Then silence. Both of us were waiting for the cue—it’s often a simple brief sound, barely a word—that signalled for one of us to end the call without it feeling final. A mere punctuation mark in a conversation neither of us wanted to finish.

            “Later,” Tal said and there’s a deadening emptiness that resounded with him no longer being there.

            I lay with the phone still clutched in my hand. He’s alive. He’s in Melbourne. He arrived earlier this week and I hadn’t seen him yet. Sometimes, knowing he was alive was all the proof I needed. That he was real. That we both inhabited the same earth. That what I felt was a tangible thing. 

It still seemed unreal that a chance encounter had delivered a friend I valued exponentially—as if our friendship kept expanding the longer we knew each other. “Best” didn’t cover it. “Close” didn’t cover it.  It was a world we created and inhabited and explored that was just about us. A connection that wrapped the globe whenever he was away. An energy that synced me exclusively to him. 

By my bed was a stack of postcards I’d picked up from the St Vinnies store in Northcote not far from where I lived. I rifled through them and found one with an image of the pyramids at Giza. It’s tannin coloured at the edges with age, one corner had a big dog-eared crease. 

And I wrote:   

             Dearest T

            Do you ever think we have enough time? Or does time feel endless to you?

Does time really exist at all???? 

I mean outside of mechanical time—clock time (tic-toc).

            Did we—humans—just make it up so we can all feel like we’re heading in the same direction (time’s arrow), instead of experiencing being here—planet earth—at our own pace, in our own unique way?

            love always O

I picked another record at random from the pile on the floor. It was a game Tal and I used to play, like pulling cards from a Tarot deck. We’d blindly choose an album or EP and whatever came on, we’d tell each other the first thing it made us think or feel, as if divining a hidden meaning. Telling stories to each other like a demented soundtrack to our lives. I put the needle on the vinyl and flopped back on the bed. 

The Belle Game’s Ritual drifted through the room. It was achingly beautiful and haunting, haunting, haunting. 

I closed my eyes. The blue of the ceiling disappeared.

And what I would have told Tal: I’m not here anymore. I’m in the sky, flying. 

Maybe as an afterthought I’d whisper: And I’m not sure when I’m coming back.

3

Tallis

apparently Miles Davis sounds great when you’re hung over

Post-party funk music hit me as I opened the front door. 

Which could mean a couple of things. Seb was either coming down from a high, or he’d sunk pretty low. 

I found him in the lounge sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed and mouth open to breathe, listening to Miles Davis’s album Doo-Bop. Not my favourite Miles by a long shot, although it’s significant for being his last studio album before he died. Apparently Miles had this thing when he was in New York where he’d open the windows of his apartment and listen to the sounds of the street, and this was what he wanted to capture on this album. I was a bit of a Miles classicist, loved his stuff from the 50s like Kind of Blue and Birth of the Cool. But with the surround sound system of speakers, it was pretty awesome to hear, like having Miles in the room.

  Seb’s wearing what he’d had on the night before, head-to-toe black, jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt. Black high-top Converses. I was taking it as a sign that he hadn’t hit the sack with anyone, or he couldn’t be bothered wearing something clean when he got up. His shoulder-length ebony hair was shiny with grease rather than health. When he had a hangover, Miles was about all he could cope with. Not the kind of music I associated with early to mid-morning. My favourite time to listen to Miles was at twilight, perfect for the kind of melancholy of the sun leaching, night spilling across the sky. When time feels like taffy, suspended and stretched all at once.

            But Seb liked to turn pretty much everything on its head.

            “Hey, kid,” Seb’s voice was scratchy as an old needle on vinyl.

            “Hey.” I dumped my backpack on the floor behind the sofa where Seb was reclining. Inelegantly. 

            “Have you eaten?” I asked, making my way to the open-plan kitchen. Getting practical was my way to deal with Seb’s roller-coaster moods. I took out eggs, bacon, milk and bread. Seb liked his eggs fried and slapped together with bacon on toast. I just scrambled mine.

            “Nope. Just woke up,” he croaked. I didn’t want to think what he’d ingested to sound like his windpipe had rusted. Luckily he didn’t need his vocal cords to perform. I was pretty sure when Seb cut loose alcohol and weed was his limit. I had a couple of reassurances: one was Seb never let anything interfere with his ability to play music; the other was Gabbie and his French manager, Cédric. They’d both haul his arse to rehab if it ever got serious. 

            “Do not worry, Tallis,” Cédric once said to me in his accented English. “Your father is my greatest friend. He is brilliant and yes, a little crazy, but his music will always come first.” Coming from this man who’d known Seb since his teens—Cédric’s father had been manager to Seb’s father, Antoine Tavernier—and yet seemed so different with his impeccably tailored suits, offset by shoulder-length brown hair and startling blue eyes, this was sadly comforting and true. 

            “I’ll whip something up,” I offered 

            Seb managed to peek over the back of the sofa. “You’re brilliant. Thanks, Tal.” He flopped back down.

            I put the kettle on to make tea. Born in France, Seb had also spent some time growing up in England thanks to my grandmother, Clarissa, who was British. My grandfather, Antoine, died before I was born, but he’d been an exceptional concert pianist as well. It partly explained why Seb was a fervent tea drinker, although he loved espressos. His excuse was he became addicted to the stuff at fifteen because he studied in Rome for a year with this raving lunatic of a pianist, composer and mentor Seb dubbed, Diablo. It kind of sounded like Diablo drove him to drink—espressos? Just one example of weird-Seb-logic. 

When I was fifteen I was studying via correspondence and hopping between Vienna, Berlin and London for half of that year, while Seb was performing and recording the Russian pianist/composer Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No.2. It wasmemorable because Seb always got melancholic playing Rachmaninoff. He believed Rachmaninoff composed music as if he were hanging over an abyss, a sense of impending doom permeating his music. The weight of it seemed to drag Seb down, despite the beginning of the First Movement always sending shivers down my spine and sweeping me away like a massive wave rolling back out to sea. It was also physically taxing and Seb said someone upstairs had blessed him with a handspan big enough to play Rach (as he liked to call him). Rachmaninoff, allegedly, could span a whopping thirteen keys, although Seb could only span twelve.

Luckily Seb’s hands were proportionate with his tall, lanky build that I’d inherited along with his mess of black hair. While Seb’s eyes almost matched his hair, mine were hazel and supposedly exactly like my mother’s. I’d given up believing I’d somehow bulk up. Seb could eat like a pig and not gain weight, probably because he burned calories playing and ate sporadically. I had the same metabolism and walked everywhere. I remembered vainly trying to get into weight training, failing dismally out of sheer boredom. 

The year I turned fifteen was also memorable as the year Seb got himself into such a funk that he forgot my birthday. The fact Gabbie forgot to remind him, despite programming birthdays in his planner, probably didn’t help.

            While I pulled the bacon out of the oven, the bread popped up from the toaster and I slapped butter on it then slid the eggs from the pan on top of the bacon and voilà! I’d done my version of multitasking for the day. 

            “Here you go,” I said, passing Seb his plate, forcing him to sit up which was probably a good thing. Being vertical was one way for Seb to wake up. I grabbed the pot of tea and cups and put them on the coffee table and then began preparing my own breakfast. 

            “Ish is goo,” Seb mashed out with his mouth half full.

            “Cool,” I said absently, scrambling eggs and wondering how to bring up the fact I was staying, not going with Seb when he left tomorrow. Tomorrow. 

            Fuck.

            I was a procrastinator.

            Other than Liv, I’d told Gabbie under an oath of secrecy so she could change the plane ticket. At least until I’d broken the news to Seb.

            Miles ended and then John Coltrane’s Blue Train started as I was scrambling my eggs, while Coltrane’s scrambling his notes. 

            I could hear Seb sigh as he slurped his tea. 

            “Want more?” I called out.

            “Not right now, thanks. I’ll just see how it all settles.” A subtle hint that he still had alcohol sloshing around his system. 

            Plate fixed, I sat on the opposite sofa to Seb’s. His eyes were shut, tea cup in hand—not a mug, he insisted on cups—and he’s half listening and kind of zoning out. 

            I got up and found the Panadeine Forte in the cupboard above the fridge. 

            “Here.” I dumped it on the table with a bottle of water.

            Seb opened one eye. “You’re a godsend.” Suddenly he’s alert, quickly downing a couple of capsules. 

            “So, the plane’s leaving at 10.00 a.m. or something. Gabbie’s calling with the details later today.”

            My heart thundered, blocking out all sound. Normally I just said whatever I had to with Seb, often not feeling like what I had to say would have much impact. But I’d never bailed on him before, and after recent events where he’d gone out of his way to be there for me, I felt a boatload of guilt. 

            “About that,” I cleared my throat nervously. “Um, I decided I might stay here for a while before meeting up with you later on tour.” Okay. That wasn’t too bad.

            Silence. Seb’s eyes were wide open and he’s staring at me. Not sure if he’s focused or his mind was somewhere else. But he’s definitely staring. 

            And then. “Oh.” 

            Anticlimactic. 

            I babbled on, “Liv’s coming around. I don’t know how long she’ll stay, but Gabbie’s in Melbourne until next week, and Liv’s family is nearby. I’m not alone. If you know what I mean.”

            Seb had this way of looking at someone like he’s absolutely paying attention even when he wasn’t. But he’s switched on right now. “I see,” he said, sighing and slouching into the sofa. “I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, Tal. I’ve been waiting for you to pull the plug on touring and travelling with me ages ago.”

            “What? Really?”

            Seb grinned tiredly. “I was touring at your age, no chaperone except Cédric’s father until Cédric was able to take over, so you can just imagine what I was getting up to. And I’d been living away from home since I was twelve to study at various schools and with mentors. You’re far more mature in many ways than I was and quite capable of looking after yourself.”

            A numbing relief washed over me. 

            “But I will say this. I had the focus of my music, what do you have planned? You’ve had a rough time lately, but you seem better since Hawaii.”

            Occasionally, Seb’s incredible brain could hone in as sharp as a blade. 

            “You know I’ve been looking at possible college courses. I just need time to figure out what I want to do next.” Which was mostly true. We’d just spent four months in the States and at the beginning I’d actually checked out some colleges. The drama he was referring to involved me hooking up with Serena, the daughter of one of Seb’s muso friends who lived in New York. Seb had been the one to suggest she could show me around some colleges in New York since she was only a couple of years older and a stellar physics brain doing undergrad at Columbia. Let’s just say, Serena and I didn’t set foot in an educational institution the whole three and a bit months we were together. Well she went to classes, but I didn’t accompany her. 

            Seb nodded. “Maybe staying here will be good. Being around your friends and in one place that’s more of a home—that might give you some time to figure things out.”

            My head sagged against the sofa and I breathed. Just breathed. I hadn’t realised how strung out I was wondering if he’d see my staying as a betrayal, like I wasn’t being supportive. Yet I kept forgetting how Seb managed for years with only Cédric and Gabbie until he met my mother. That’s when his life changed completely.   

            “Thanks, Dad.” I couldn’t move as a wave of exhaustion hit me. Sleeping in the car wasn’t exactly restful. I seriously wanted my bed.

            “Just promise to call or text every day so I know you’re alive.” He said it jokingly, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency. 

I lifted my head and Seb’s still looking at me. I wished I hadn’t. Sadness and worry lurked in the dark of his eyes. There were times when it hit me how Seb needed me as much as I needed him; the unspoken bond between us forged as much from love as from heartrending loss.

4

Olivia

imagining angels in disguise

“No. Freaking. Way!” 

            My brother, the drama queen—no scratch that—the straight-laced, brainiac, football loving, shit-stirrer; his screeching cut straight through my headphones.

            “No-freaking-way what?” I asked, already missing Grimes’s eerily, gorgeous song, Genesis. 

            “You cannot be serious about leaving the house looking like that!” He’s pointing for emphasis. 

            I looked down at my completely covered body. “What’s wrong?” Thankfully, Mum walked into the kitchen as my witness and hopefully, backup.

            Justin jabbed his index finger again. “Mum, you can’t let her leave wearing that outfit!” 

            Mum tried not to laugh, failing spectacularly. “Justin, lighten up! That’s almost sedate for Livie.”

            I seriously wondered if my brother was living on another planet. Okay, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalogue, and yes, I didn’t—and never would. 

            “What about the T-shirt? I mean why would you want to wear that?” His face was turning a lovely shade of crimson. It’s fascinating to watch, like looking into a mirror since Justin had the same milk-coffee skin, dark brown eyes, although his curly brown mop was cut close to his head and he was a couple of years older than me.      

            “I made this!” I said pulling the front of the white T-shirt out from my body. It’s sprayed with multi–coloured glitter paint and scrawled with black screen-printed text, I’M HOT & YOU’RE NOT.  It’s one of my faves from my line of glitter T-shirts. I sold them under the brand “glitterartzy” through my Big Cartel store. As for the rest of my outfit, I was wearing black tights, a denim miniskirt, my purple Ugg boots and a denim jacket tied around my waist. My hair was a riot of dark brown curls that I’d recently streaked with neon blue that I’d pulled back into a ponytail—if you could call the bunched-up mess a tail. A range of leather and fabric bands/bracelets wrapped my wrists and my nails were painted a deep green. 

            There was nothing that unusual about how I looked. 

            I stood there, hands on my hips waiting for Justin’s head to explode. I had a sudden wicked craving for popcorn that I normally got when I was ready to settle down and watch a movie.

            “So you want me to give you a lift to Tallis’s place?” Wow, he’s going to pull the bribery card. 

            “You offered,” I said mulishly. I wasn’t changing for anyone and he knew it.

            “Justin,” Mum butted in, sitting with a cup of coffee at the scrubbed oak table. The kitchen was at the back of the house overlooking Mum’s garden and studio. Other than my attic room and the bathroom with its claw-footed bath, this was where I loved hanging out. “You’re overreacting and Livie’s wearing what she normally does. What gives?” 

            The crimson was flushing his cheeks again. “I’m meant to pick up Sally on the way. We’re going out.”

            Yep. That explained everything. Mum’s usual patience was stretched thin. “I’d hate to think you’re allowing someone else’s judgments to influence your own.”

            Justin’s current girlfriend was not a hit with anyone in the family. Sally was gorgeous in a blonde, blue-eyed, pretty and put-together kind of way, but then she opened her mouth and it was either ingratiating platitudes spilling out or biting criticism. What Justin saw in her was an enigma, and also something I didn’t want to dwell on because my mind got smutty at what’s really going on between the two of them. 

            Justin threw up his hands. “Fine. Are you ready to go?” He stood up and reached for his car keys. 

            I swung the backpack with my gear onto my shoulder, and grabbed a small duffle bag that held the rest. “Yep.” I wasn’t letting his mood cloud the excitement at seeing Tal. I hadn’t seen him since the beginning of the year and I was nervous and also ready to squeal in anticipation. Justin shot me the stink eye before marching out.

            I gave Mum a big hug. “I said bye to Dad already.” He was in his study when I came downstairs. Didn’t matter it was a Saturday; when he was absorbed in a project, he could work 24/7. Mum was the same, which I think was one of the reasons why they’re still married. 

            “Say ‘hi’ to Tal and bring him over for dinner. And if he doesn’t want to stay at the warehouse, tell him the spare bedroom is his.”

            “Will do.” She kissed my cheek and I ran outside, the very thought of seeing Tal and just getting away sparked my blood with excitement.    

             Justin was seated in the car and scowling. Sadly, this was so not like how he normally was, and yes, this obsessing about appearances started with his girlfriend. He revved the car engine the moment I got in and I could tell there’s going to be zero conversation, so I put on my headphones and it’s a blissed out Grimes filling my head and taking me away from my moody bro. 

            I took out a postcard Tal gave me of the Stravinsky Fountain near the Centre Pompidou in Paris. It featured these incredible kinetic and colourful sculptures by this wicked artist Niki de Saint Phalle and her partner Jean Tinguely. Tal being Tal, when he saw how much I loved the postcard he went looking for a book of Niki’s artwork for my birthday at one of his favourite bookshops in Paris that he promised to take me to, Shakespeare and Company. He photographed a sign in the bookshop and sent it to me: Be Not Inhospitable to Strangers Lest They Be Angels In Disguise. I’d got gooseflesh thinking of angels living among us, that they could be anyone. And I could just imagine seeing a pair of lucent wings unfolding from the back of someone passing me by, for only a moment, but I’d see it. A small miracle happening at any moment, anywhere.

Tal had been away at the time of my birthday and had the book delivered express post. I clearly remembered opening it, holding my breath and seeing his blocky handwriting: 

DEAR LIV, A KINDRED SPIRIT I THINK, LOVE TALLIS x 

And of course he was right. Reading about Niki I was swept away by how she had this unique way of seeing things and how she didn’t compromise, didn’t try to fit in, she just carved a place for herself in the world. 

I found my fluoro blue pen and wrote:

Dearest T

            Thinking about evolution & change. I get how we need to constantly grow and change so we can become more, or maybe who we’re supposed to be—which I guess is about destiny or being true to yourself and purpose—DHARMA. Have you worked it out? What you think you’re here to do? It screws me up thinking that there’s something I’m supposed to be here on this earth to do but I haven’t figured it out yet, and what if I never figure it out????!!!! 

            love always O

5

Tallis

a homecoming, of sorts

I was wired like I’d sunk a gallon of caffeine and Seb had passed out on the sofa. 

            I’d spent most of the morning cleaning up the party mess. Seb kept protesting he’d get the cleaning service in, forgetting Gabbie organised for them to come in during the week. I was the cleaning service the rest of the time. 

Somehow my room had escaped being pillaged, but the two large garbage bags (I separated the recyclables) I dragged around in my cleaning efforts were filled with bottles, food and thankfully, nothing unidentifiable or identifiable in a way that would have turned my stomach. I aired out the rooms, because there was the definite lingering smell of weed funk, grateful the spare bedroom that was Liv’s when she stayed hadn’t seen any action the night before. Which made me wonder if Seb’s parties were getting more sedate. That was way too freaky to think about.

            Seb slept like the dead, so I plugged my phone in the sound dock and found a low-vibe electronic mix opening with Hooverphonic’s killer song, 2Wicky. It was one of those lucky roundabout finds. Liv’s older brother, Brad, who lived in Sydney, was a film buff and had recommended this Bertolucci film, Stealing Beauty, with a great soundtrack featuring 2Wicky. 

Huddled around my laptop—Seb thought TVs were a time-suck—Liv and I settled in one night to watch it. The film was nothing like what we’d expected from Brad’s rave. It left us both eerily uncomfortable and quiet. Seeing the lead character trying to find her father after losing her mother, hit home for both of us: me, because my mother wasn’t in my life, and Liv, out of empathy for me. Then there was the sex scene near the end where she lost her virginity, which was awkward and real enough that I was holding my breath as I shifted my legs because of what was shifting in my jeans. 

I’d never been self-conscious about that stuff with Liv before, except we were both sixteen and I’d come home to find Liv now had a boyfriend. She’d grown to her current height of five foot four with curves on her body that I hadn’t really paid attention to before, but which I couldn’t help noticing. The guy she was dating also went to her school, an experience we’d never share. So for the four months that Seb and I were staying I vowed to myself I’d avoid this guy as much as possible. I didn’t want to admit to being jealous. I’d never had to share Liv like this before. I couldn’t even remember the dude’s name and from what Liv told me after I’d left, it lasted about as long as the summer break and the beginning of the school year because he’d got pissed that she’d ended up spending so much time with me. And yeah—I didn’t feel bad about that at all.

At the end of the movie I remembered blinking while watching the credits and surprised that I was holding Liv’s hand, had been for a while if the sweaty numbness was any indication. We sat there and said nothing, until Liv leaned to rest against me and fell asleep with the softest, “Night Tal”, so that I pulled a throw rug over both of us because we’d somehow agreed neither of us wanted to be alone.

            The reality was I hadn’t seen Liv in nine months, one of the longest stretches of time we’d been apart. I was also wired because I was jumped up on nerves. And I’d noticed how the nerves at seeing her after these absences had only got worse as we got older. After the debacle of my fifteenth non-birthday and Seb’s year-long funk, coming home I’d developed this stomach ache on the flight that escalated to vomiting when we landed. So it’s kind of understandable why I waited days before letting Liv know I was home. For the first time, I hadn’t given her a heads-up about the arrival date. Nothing much had changed in that we kept texting and writing and calling, but there was this part of me murmuring “psyche”, like at any moment our friendship was going to end and Liv wouldn’t be there for me to come back to. 

            Loading the dishwasher I smiled thinking about how she’d screamed at me over the phone when I’d finally got the nerve to call, storming the warehouse like she’d crashed the battlements, leaving Seb dumbfounded in her wake as she found me doubled up on my bed with cramps. Still furious with me and worried about me as well, she’d brought chicken soup her mum had made and fed both Seb and I, while bringing us up to speed about her plans for her T–shirt business and all the gossip about her family. It had been the best and worst homecoming, because that edge of fear never truly left.

            The doorbell chimed. I went to the intercom.

            “It’s me!” shouted Liv and there she was, miniature and warped on the security screen. 

            “Come up!” I pressed the door release. Palms sweaty, digging what was left of my fingernails into them, my heart was a horse racing out of the starting gates. 

            “Tal?” called out Seb, roused from sleep and with some serious bed-hair. 

            “It’s Liv.” I’d taken only a few steps when she walked through the entrance to the second floor and my mind went blank. 

            “Hey,” she said with the biggest grin.

            “My favourite girl!” Seb shouted as if all his Christmases had come at once, because Seb still got excited about presents at Christmas. I didn’t want to dwell on that thought because he’d be in London this year for Christmas and we hadn’t discussed how long I’d be staying here alone. He also seriously adored Liv, which set my heart thumping again and clenching as if an invisible hand was pumping it extra hard.

            “Seb!” Liv dropped her bags and hurled herself into Seb’s open arms. 

            “Hey bella, how’ve you been?” 

            “Good.” She leaned back in the hug-hold, “And free! Finished exams, officially released from my enforced slavery to the education system!”

            Seb roared with laughter and for a fraction of a heartbeat, it hit me as it always did at this moment of reunion, that the two most important people in my life were right here with me. I could finally let out the breath I’d been holding because Liv was here. She’d come back to me. We’d come back to each other. And after the past months, I hadn’t been sure if that was possible.

            Yet each time we came together after being apart, it was never the same as before, not really, and my gut tensed wondering if she’d changed in ways I had no idea about, because I knew I had and I’d kept Liv in the dark. Fear and guilt. Ugly twins. 

            When she finally turned my way, I could have sworn I saw an answering relief in her eyes, a bright joy, but shadowed.

6

Olivia

FAR FAR away from me 

I tucked the Stravinsky Fountain postcard under Tal’s pillow for him to find and then went to the bedroom next to his, which was my unofficial home away from home bedroom.

            The first time I slept over was by accident. Seb had taken us out for Chinese to celebrate Tal’s birthday. I’d had a slight temperature and felt drowsy but I’d insisted on seeing Tal, so my parents relented. He’d just turned twelve and Gabbie was there and my parents had been invited as well, but they’d had other plans, and while it was small, this dinner was for family. My “family” that was strangely outside my actual family, like it was in addition but still as fundamental to my life. 

            Anyway, we’d had a wonderful time and came back to the warehouse so Gabbie could pick up her car and Seb was ready to take me home, except I’d fallen asleep on the sofa with my head on Tal’s lap. The next morning I’d woken in a strange bed still fully clothed minus my shoes, yet the room felt familiar being similar to Tal’s, and he’d propped a note on the pillow next to me:

LIV, YOU FELL ASLEEP & DAD CALLED YOUR PARENTS & THEY LET YOU STAY, SO HERE YOU ARE! TALLIS x

I let my backpack fall to the floor and dug out my phone from my skirt pocket, placing it on the sound-dock by the bed. I found Flume’s remix of Chet Faker’s (a.k.a. Nick Murphy) single, Gold, and turned up the volume, the sound filling the space. I couldn’t help grinning as I flopped on the cloudy cream duvet, arms and legs splayed like a star. Tal loved electronic music, so I’d texted him about Chet/Nick while he was somewhere in Europe and he’d texted back saying he sincerely hoped this dude’s music was better than his hipster beard because the facial hair was unforgivable and his music was the only thing that was going save him. Tal—eventually—grudgingly admitted the guy’s music was okay. And kind of cool. But still bordering on hipster. If he’d had a man-bun, Tal would have banned him for life. 

            I could hear Tal and Seb debating where we might go for dinner and I’d retreated here to change because, despite my bravado with Justin, I wasn’t going out with Ugg boots on when both these guys looked subdued in their jeans, T-shirts and sneakers. I could have sworn Tal had shot up, although my eyes might be tricking me, or maybe I just didn’t remember how tall Tal was from the last time. That kind of froze my blood, thinking it had been long enough that I’d forgotten how he looked. 

            I rummaged for the small stack of postcards in my backpack and the blue fluoro pen. I chose one with a couple of ancient elephants grazing at the Addo elephant park in South Africa that my family and I had visited the last time we went. 

I sucked on the end of the pen; digging at the gnawing feeling that had wormed it’s way in since I got here:

Dearest T

            Where have you been? That might sound strange since you’re here now, and I’m here with you, but seeing you just hit home that you’ve been away, FAR FAR away this year—like I know where you’ve been, but it feels like you were somewhere else where I could never follow you. And it makes me wonder about parallel universes, and whether we can be on the same planet, but experiencing life so differently, it’s like living in another dimension.  

            I missed you. 

            love always O

            I put the pen and card on the side table, not sure whether I’d sneak it under his pillow with the other postcard. It felt like I wrote that one more for me, not Tal. 

Closing my eyes, I drifted before opening them to stare at the wall above the bed. The room was painted the same colour as my attic room. When Tal first saw my newly painted bedroom he’d been inspired, wanting to paint this room as well so when I came over I’d feel more at home. I didn’t say it wasn’t the walls that made me feel that way, but I went with it as it cemented something, as if a part of me was here even when I wasn’t. In spirit at least, because blue was my favourite colour and Tal knew that. I was also wonderfully surprised to find Tal had a practical streak and made a far better house painter than my mother.  

            “Hey,” Tal said from the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb with his hands in his jeans pockets. I recognised some of the friendship bands on his wrists as ones I’d made and had given him. My blood warmed a bit seeing something familiar, and how Tal’s hair was flopping in his eyes as usual, so that I’d catch glimpses of the gold and green flecks. Yet his face seemed sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced, his jaw a hard line with the faint smudge of shadow from not having shaved, and the thin wiriness of his body had filled out. I blinked, thinking I was mistaken, but no, he’d definitely filled out and his arms had these ropey lean muscles, and I blinked again because no way was I seeing right because there was this black marking on the inside of his arm…

            I shot up and went to Tal who looked startled, taking his hands from his pockets just as I grabbed his arm. 

            “You got a tattoo,” I said incredulously. I wasn’t sure why my voice sounded so flat, but I held his wrist to angle his arm and there it was. He’d never mentioned it. Not once. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. It was also one of those synchronistic things between us where I’d been musing about getting a tattoo, and yet Tal already had, like he’d made the leap and hadn’t taken me with him.

            Tal shrugged, tracing the abstract lines with a finger. It was strong and beautiful and I had no idea what it meant. I let go and then looked up into his eyes, truly gorgeous hazel eyes with stupidly long dark lashes, which were wide and a little wary staring back at me. Like he’d been sprung, even though he’d done nothing wrong. 

            “I got it in New York,” he said quickly, uncertainty edging his voice, as if he wasn’t sure how much to say about it. Which had my internal red flag flying wondering what the story was behind it. 

            “Okay,” I said, tamping down my curiosity. But I did want to know more, except I wanted Tal to tell me without me having to ask. “It’s cool.” My voice went from distant to dismissive. I stepped back, physically creating a space between us that I already sensed was there and didn’t want to acknowledge because it scared me. Suddenly, Tal smiled and it was the smile that opened his face where he hid nothing. 

            “Look, I was walking and saw this place and it was spur of the moment. I didn’t want something obvious, so I went for a more abstract design.” He slid his fingers over it while he spoke, and my eyes traced the design, how it followed the length of his inner forearm, stood out against the pale skin. It was subtle, yet it still glared at me for being so obvious. 

            I walked back and sat on the bed. Tal cocked his ear and grinned hearing the music. 

“So,” he began, hands once again stuffed into his pockets. “Dad suggested we head down to St. Kilda and go to Lau’s Kitchen. Gabbie recommended it.”

            “Is she coming?”

            Tal shook his head. “She’s busy with last minute arrangements to get Dad ready for tomorrow.”         

            I had to smile at the fact Seb needed minding. Still. “Sounds good.”

            Then silence. Not exactly awkward, it was the kind of silence if the music was turned off, I’d sense his breathing, his small movements. I couldn’t help glancing at Tal’s arm again. Our eyes finally met and held. It always took a while for me to get used to Tal being here. In the same city. The same country. To sense his vitality, accustom myself to how he filled the doorway, the room; how he reached a part of me that was usually kept off-limits to most people. Like I had to re-calibrate how I breathed, moved, felt, because he was now a part of my space. 

            “I’m glad you’re here,” I said at last, not knowing how to express how big this feeling was that threatened to push through my chest and spill onto the floor, as if it was slithering in my blood and had been dormant and now it wanted out.

            Tal got it. He walked over to me, reaching for my hand so that I stood as he pulled me into his arms for a hug. We’d hugged when I got here, but it had been hard and brief. Confirmation. This was a holding. I rested my cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beating, absorbing his warmth and inhaling his scent, a combination of citrus and the sea. I sighed as his cheek rested on my head.

            “Me too,” he murmured.

7

Tallis

the great debate—the pros and cons of a car with a backseat

“You’re a bloody git, Sebastian.” Coming out of Gabbie’s mouth, with her plummy British accent, this was a great opener.

            Seb was lounging on the sofa. He’d showered, but he was wearing pretty much the same outfit with the addition of his black framed glasses that he swore gave him a distinguished and intellectual appearance, but the fact was he got them because they made him look cool.

            “Hello darling. Thanks for coming over to give us a lift,” Seb drawled, in his equally upper-crust English thanks to his mother, although there was the inflection of his French heritage, which made for an interesting mix. He gave her a brilliant smile and Gabbie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. 

            There had been the usual drama of how we were going to get to the restaurant because Seb’s car only catered for two people, and so he’d called Gabbie, ignoring both Liv’s and my logical advice that we could get a taxi. Nope, Seb just had to make it complicated, or in his view—convenient.

            So Gabbie came to drive us, and was standing with her hands on her svelte hips, wearing black skinny jeans, biker boots, and an off-the-shoulder oversized knit jumper that dwarfed her five foot frame, made a little taller by her current hairdo, her usual blonde now streaked with black and tied up in a high ponytail. She looked like a pissed off skunk, but prettier, and with huge grey eyes.  

            “Oh my God! Livie!” Gabbie screeched as she spied Liv who’d traded her Ugg boots for high-top silver Converses. With her blue streaks and yet darker complexion, they were like two halves of a whole, yin and yang, matched and yet wonderfully complementary in their differences. 

            “Gab!” Liv hugged Gabbie and they both wore face-splitting grins.

  “It’s been way too long,” Gabbie said, happy to see Liv but I could tell she was simmering and pissed at Seb. 

            “I agree!” said Seb, eyeing me curiously for some reason. 

            Gabbie released Liv only to hug her with one arm and looked pointedly at Seb. “I’m amazed you’re up and about.” Liv leaned in like a cat. She loved touching and affection, and it surprised me when I saw her how much I missed her openness and ease with people, because I was so inscrutable and wary.  

            “As you can see, I’m alert, functional and eager to get something to eat.” 

            “Pompous prat! I’m not your chauffer and I’ve been rejigging your schedule to fit everything in so you can have a few days off over Christmas and New Year. I don’t call this gratitude.”

Seb squinted, genuinely bemused. “You always said to call if I needed a lift.”

            “In an emergency! Seb you’ve been in New York and getting taxis for months. They do have them here! And I told you to get a more suitable car just in case you needed it!”

            Seb looked alarmed. “A suitable car? What—a sedan? Why would I do that?”

            Gabbie squeezed Liv’s shoulder. “Because on occasion, there are more than two in your entourage. Including me. And I’m currently in Melbourne visiting one of my best friends and you gave me the week off!”

            Liv and I exchanged rueful smiles. We’d heard this before.   

            The squabbling was par for the course. Liv slid out from Gabbie’s arm and sat next to me on the sofa opposite Seb. Gabbie perched herself on the armrest of the other sofa near Seb as they vigorously debated the pros and cons of a car with a backseat. 

            “I never get tired of seeing them together,” murmured Liv. “Better than TV.”

            I snorted. “You haven’t seen them on tour.”

            On the stereo was Beethoven’s Pathétique. I was curious to hear it as Seb found the adagio heart wrenching and almost unlistenable without saying why. I do know that he’d recorded it for his second studio album when he was barely nineteen and it was that recording that had somehow led to Gabbie becoming his assistant. 

The convoluted machinations of how Seb found himself with his own PA in his twenties had something to do with his sister, my aunt Nina, who lived in London, having mentioned to her best friend, Raphaella, who happened to be Gabbie’s older sister, that Seb’s delightful manager, Cédric, was looking for someone who could handle the day-to-day stuff for Seb as he was completely incompetent. Gabbie was in her first year at the Royal College of Music, majoring in composition and piano. In that round about way that seemed to be Seb’s life, Gabbie rocked up for an interview and Seb promptly said he seemed to have run out of T-shirts and socks (meaning none of them were clean) and told her what he wanted, gave her his credit card and waved her off. The fact she was a talented pianist didn’t even come into it when he hired her.

            Which prompted me to ask why she’d taken on the job at all.

            “Well,” she said in that upper-crust voice that Seb confessed one night when drunk, he found a bit of a turn on, and which I promptly tuned out as something I was sure I’d misheard. “I came across his recording of Beethoven’s sonatas when I was still at school and I knew who he was. He was already causing a stir. I mean Raphie raved about seeing him perform live and the fact Nina was his sister, he was kind of in my orbit, but I’d never actually met him. And while I was studying at the College it became obvious to me that I was never going to make it as a soloist.”

            “Why?” I’d heard her play and to my untrained, but exceptionally knowledgeable ears thanks to Seb, she was really good.

            Gabbie’s grimace morphed into a self-deprecating grin. “I’m highly proficient. By that I mean technically I’m gifted. But to be a solo pianist, you need to be exceptional technically and brilliant at interpretation. Basically you need to be able to make the music yours.”

            “Right. I think I get what you’re saying.” Seb was always going on about interpretation, how there were so many aspects of approaching the music: taking into account the history of the piece, the intentions of the composer, the numerous interpretations preceding you, only so you could then get inside the music and play from there, as if you were shaping it, breathing life into it, not simply mimicking what had been done before.

            “An analogy for me is watching a gifted classical ballet dancer, someone who makes the ranks in a company and then you see artists that take the movements that countless dancers have made before them and turn it inside out, give it life and vibrancy and a sense of urgency that makes what they express seem new and unique and vital.”

            I did get it, because that was Seb. That’s how Seb played. 

            “Knowing how music can be when I hear Sebastian and knowing how I play—I made a choice that I’d rather be around such wonderful music and contribute in whatever way I could, but I wouldn’t live disappointing myself by trying to be someone I wasn’t.”

            Somehow they clicked. Gabbie’s love of music and Seb’s talent didn’t blindside her to his obnoxious faults and obsessions. How they’d lasted this long, navigating the ups and downs of their lives eluded me. Which is why I often wondered if they secretly liked each other more than they let on. 

              Liv cleared her throat having been engrossed in their drama. “Should we just get take-away?”

            Gabbie looked momentarily blank then smiled hugely, letting out a raucous laugh. For a fraction of a moment, Seb allowed a look of absolute delight to slip across his face just watching her.

8

Olivia

out of sync, out of tune

“How’d he take it?” I didn’t have the energy to elaborate, stuffed with delicious Chinese that Gabbie, the wonder that she was, ordered from Lau’s, and that was delivered hot and bothersome free on the transport side of things. 

            Since going out for dinner had been a bust, we’d ended up in the lounge with a spread of food on the coffee table, sitting on the sofa cushions on the floor. Seb was constantly getting up to change the music from his massive CD and vinyl collection. At one point he air-conducted as some Russian dude pianist called Sokolov played something from this Schumann dude—whatever—and was going into raptures about his fingering. Seriously. Gabbie rolled her eyes, and Tal and I burst out laughing while Seb remained happily oblivious. It all sounded pretty much the same to me. Gabbie manoeuvred the food so we each got what we wanted, plying me with questions about my final school year as Tal steadily mowed through the scrummy Chinese like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, while managing to mumble answers when asked. It was a great night. 

             “Surprisingly fine,” Tal said, as he fiddled with his laptop and a couple of small speakers. We were rugged up and sitting on banana lounges on the roof of the warehouse. It was my favourite place to be when I was here. It wasn’t embellished with plants or anything, just some chairs and the lounges. I lay back and let my eyes absorb the clear night sky. Most nights I’d hung out at the warehouse with Tal we ended up on the roof.

            “Check this out.” Tal upped the volume so I could hear a funky but subtle and layered beat. 

            “What’s this?”

            Tal grinned and sat on the lounge, his long legs unfurling. “A DJ I discovered, Dave DK from Germany. Listen to this song.”

            The track Whitehill featured a singer who’s voice was husky and seductive against the slipstream of beats that fit right in with being here with the traffic from nearby Punt Road, and the city lights gleaming so close it lit the sky. I’d grown up in leafier Clifton Hill with a park over the road. When Mum wanted to be near the sea for inspiration we went to Dad’s family’s beach shack down at Sandy Bay. I loved the sea and being able to sit under the trees in the park near my house, just to read a book or lie in the sun, to be close to nature, but there was something about being immersed in all this activity that energised me.

            “I’m not sure what it says about me that I actually love all these lights in the city even if it’s gobbling electricity.”

            Tal chuckled. “Wait until you go to New York. Yeah, and Tokyo.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Times Square. Enough neon to last a lifetime. Same with Tokyo.”

            I couldn’t quite imagine being surrounded by lights like Times Square, not the feeling of being immersed in it. I’d seen photos that Tal had sent and then films, but to be in it, I had no idea. It was the not knowing and wanting to know—wanting an adventure—that sparked the travel bug in me.

            “Was Seb serious when he said you were looking at schools over there?” I’d never felt tentative asking Tal anything, but his reaction during dinner at one of Seb’s throwaway lines had me hesitant. 

            Seb, being curious bordering on nosey, asked about my plans now I’d finished. And yeah—I was kind of sick of it. Gabbie sensed it because she made a face and I giggled. So I shrugged, conscious of Tal quietly watching me, which was so familiar, yet it also felt like his gaze was trying to figure something out, as if he wasn’t just watching me, but silently questioning me. He was also quiet because his mouth was stuffed full. I’d got used to guys, having two older brothers, eating like this was their last meal on earth. 

            I’d grudgingly answered. “I applied to get into graphic design at RMIT. But I’m not sure if that’s what I really want. I like the idea of it, especially combining graphics with fashion somehow. I also keep thinking I’d just like to travel. I’ve saved some money and my T-shirts are selling well. So maybe I’ll do that.”

            Gabbie grinned, ever encouraging, while Seb was nodding absently. “Well, if you want places to stay darling, let me know. We have plenty of people who’d be more than happy to have you stay with them. Just recently Tal hung out with a good friend of mine’s daughter in New York who showed him around.”

            Tal snorted and food almost sprayed from his mouth. He choked it back only to start hacking out a violent coughing fit. I had to thump him on the back and gave him my water to settle him, noticing how Seb’s eyes were honed in on Tal as if monitoring his reaction. 

            “I’m sure Liv doesn’t want to go straight to New York for her trip overseas.” That was all Tal said when he calmed down, but it was enough to have that red flag waving again, because the whole time he’d been in New York, he’d never mentioned this girl once. 

            What I didn’t say was I’d always imagined Tal travelling with me because over the years, Tal would share the places and things he’d seen through photos and words, and it’s like he knew which places would excite or inspire me. He’d also say things like, “wait until we go there”, or “you’re going to love this when we’re here”. 

            “I was looking,” Tal finally said, his voice barely audible. “Didn’t find anything, though.”

            I let it go, because the thought of Tal studying in another country cinched my heart. I always knew it was a possibility, but I’d had this bizarre hope he’d decide to stay here for a few years. As if. After living the life he had and being bilingual, speaking fluent French, putting roots down in Melbourne was ridiculous, even if this was his birthplace. Yet I’d hoped for the ridiculous, which probably made me a fool. 

            Dave Dk segued into Drake’s Wednesday Night Interlude. Tal loved hip-hop, rap, and R&B. Our tastes diverged in this area. Drake was cool, but I wasn’t as big a fan of Kendrick Lamar or Tyler, the Creator, despite Tal’s enthusiasm. Then again, my liking of Lana Del Rey and Lorde went right over his head, although he’d admitted reluctantly that Lorde was okay. 

            Tal’s voice was dreamy when he said, “Remember when I told you about flying into Dubai late at night and how spooky it was because there seemed to be no lights on. All I could see were the runway lights and it freaked me out because we had to land and it felt like we were plunging into nothing.”

            “Yeah, and then you figured out in the morning there were no lights because it was all desert.”

            Tal chuckled. “Totally freaked me out.”

            “It’s weird to think of a city with so few lights. Imagine here, if most of the lights had to be turned off at night.”

            “I guess we imagine cities as places of light—you know what I mean? Like that expression ‘bright lights of the city’; the lights are what attract us and pulls us here.”

            I sighed. “Yeah, but when we’re out at the shack at Sandy Bay, at night it’s just—night. The stars are amazing and I always wonder why I want to be in the city when I’m beneath this beautiful blanket of stars.”

            Tal laughed low. “I can’t forget that time you tried to take photos of the sky with your mum’s 35mm and they all came back pretty much blank except for wobbly blobs which were stars.”

            “Ugh. Don’t remind me! Total waste. But I so much wanted it to work out, to capture it. Mum tried to explain about the whole exposure, lighting, lens thing and it put me off, because it was a spur of the moment thing and I wanted to grasp the magic.”

            “And you wanted to share it with me.”

            “Yeah, I did.”

            He turned his face to me. “I did get to see it that one summer. It was everything you said it was.”

            I smiled at him thinking of the one holiday when Tal came down with us to the shack. Our one beach holiday. Tal had never really had a beach holiday because Seb didn’t see much point lazing on a beach. 

            “At least you got to have another beach holiday in Hawaii—I’m mega jealous by the way.”

            Tal turned his face back to the sky, quiet. He’d texted to say he and Seb were stopping off in Hawaii before coming back home. Something about Seb having this bizarre notion that he needed to get on a surfboard once in his life. If Tal hadn’t sent the photo with Seb in a wetsuit on a board, arms flapping like a drowning bird, I’d have never believed it.

            Tal turned up the volume when Blondie’s Rapture came on. I smiled because he knew this was one of my favourites. I loved how he mixed it up so that every track surprised me and was kind of perfect for chilling out here at night on the roof. And strangely intimate, because he knew me that well. It also felt like we were the only people around for miles, yet we were close to some of the busiest streets in Melbourne.

            “I think you’d love Hawaii,” Tal finally said. “Especially the North Shore on O’ahu where we stayed.” Then he snorted and turned to me. “And you have to try this drink. We spent a couple of nights at this historic hotel at Waikiki Beach with an amazing banyan tree with a bar under it. Dad said I had to have a Long Island Iced Tea at least once.”

            I giggled. “Tea?”

            Tal laughed. “So not tea. I had one and when I stood up the world spun.”

            “You’re kidding?”

            “Nope. Dad was killing himself. He made me sit and ordered me a hamburger with extra fries.”

            “It sounds like you had a great time.”    

            That’s when I caught it, as if the night sky had dipped to shadow his face, just as he turned away. 

“You’d love the sea,” he whispered.

Suddenly I had this urge to be far from here, near the ocean and the sound of waves. Tal and I swam nearly every day that holiday and it had been bliss. He’d loved the water as much as I had. He’d felt how special that place was without me having to say anything.

            “Maybe we should go to Hawaii and learn to surf. Together.”

            And there it was, that slight hesitation like hitting an off note I’d become attuned to all day. 

            “Yeah. Maybe.”

9

Tallis  

change, evolution, dharma, figuring it out

I loved Liv’s handwriting. 

            I was holding onto the postcard she’d left under my pillow, the one I’d bought at the Pompidou after seeing the Stravinsky Fountain, and wishing—wishing Liv had been there with me, just so I could see her face light up, because she would have smiled so wide seeing it. She had a gorgeous smile. 

            Liv wrote in cursive, loopy script that was a complete contrast to my blocky print. My early tutors were dismayed at my handwriting, and I’m sure they were secretly thanking the stars that I would probably be surgically attached to my phone and laptop and wouldn’t have to subject the world to my illegible scrawl. Which resulted in me favouring printing over cursive. No personality. Which was why I became fascinated by other people’s handwriting and what it said about them. 

Seb’s writing jerked like a drunken spider across the page. I think I may have tried copying it when I was younger, so it was downhill from there. Gabbie’s was precise and a cross between cursive and printing. Practical and elegant. Slightly quirky. Cédric, who was only a few years older than Seb, had writing from another era that would look perfect on parchment. But Liv’s writing had this openness, a liveliness, just like her. Some might call her a free spirit because of how she dressed and faced up to the world, but that was shallow. 

            Once I’d asked her to share one of the scariest or most shocking moments in her life. I gave her two of mine. The first was my mother’s sudden absence, the second was a horrible incident that triggered one of my worst fears, where I’d been shopping with Seb in London, barely seven at the time, and I’d looked around from getting lost amid racks of clothes to find Seb was gone. 

At first, it had been bewildering then as I kept looking, a shot of adrenaline hit my system when I couldn’t find him and I was truly scared. I’d raced out of the shop in Mayfair, only to be confronted by swiftly moving people I couldn’t navigate. I’d returned to the shop, frightened and shaking, with tears streaking my face. A kind salesperson had approached me and I’d asked if I could use the phone. Logic and panic sparred as I called the first person I could think of, Gabbie. She swore viciously on the other end and then told me to hold tight, she’d be there in a flash, speaking next to the attentive salesperson to explain the situation. The salesperson had been lovely enough to give me a hot chocolate and a comfy chair to sit on, although I could barely swallow, sick to my stomach at what might have happened to Seb and the shock of being stranded, my anxiety spiking with each minute so that I had to will myself to breathe. Gabbie was true to her word, I’d barely waited and she was there, fiercely hugging me, and it was one of the many reasons I believed if I ever needed a friend, she’d always have my back. She was basically family.

            She’d called Seb’s phone and he’d been wandering around, his head completely lost in a piece of music he was currently rehearsing, and while in the shop, he’d become so caught up in the piece, he’d forgotten about me and just walked out. He’d been horrified at his actions and bent over backwards to apologise, racing home and then sweeping me up in a bone-crunching hug. It was some comfort, and when I saw the tears streaming down his face, I knew that Seb would never intentionally leave. But he was frightfully forgetful. From that day on I was given a phone and cash, just in case. 

            Liv’s response had been a shot to the heart, and not one I could ever have predicted. 

            I’d written my question and story, while she called me late one night to give me hers, both of us in different cities, different parts of the globe, but her words felt like a binding, revealing her vulnerabilities that I knew only few would ever see.

            “You don’t have to tell me,” I interrupted, because she was having trouble finding the words. And I was scared of the tremor I could hear in her voice. 

            Liv cleared her throat. “No, I want to tell you. It’s just—I haven’t really told anyone about any of this.”

            “It’s okay, Liv. Take as long as you want.”    

            For a while, all I could hear was her breathing. 

            And then she spoke of how in grade 4 around the time she’d met me, while playing basketball at school, the opposition team leader, an American called Jaden, not only snubbed her while picking his team, he collided with her, pushing her over. Then he smiled and said, “Nigger. Stay down, Nigger.” How recently, a girl at school gave Liv a backhanded compliment, that it must be great never having to worry about getting a tan with skin like hers, and didn’t she love being so exotic? How when she was walking down Chapel Street and a stranger spat and sneered at her, no words needed. Liv had defiantly flipped the guy, but then walked for ages, hugging herself as if her arms could shield. 

And last—

“Yesterday I was walking in the city and some guy walked past and told me to get out and go home.”

            She paused and I felt it, this clenching in my gut and a pounding in my head as the blood rushed to my brain. I’d been holding myself so tight at her litany of everyday racism, ignorance and hurt that she’d recited in a deadpan voice, just hearing this last insult—one more in a string of them—my whole body recoiled, like being jolted by lightening. 

            “Who the fuck was he?” I exploded.

            “Nobody.”

“He’s fucking somebody! He had no right saying that to you!” I was furious, inflamed that she’d had to deal with any of it, and that she’d kept it mostly to herself. And sick with my own helplessness, that I hadn’t been able to stop it in the first place. I was trying to get my head around how the fact of Liv’s heritage, that her mum was born in South Africa with parents having grown up during Apartheid with the insidious designation of  “coloured”, and that Liv looked a lot like her, could trigger these kinds of reactions. 

I was reeling as if each strike at her had been aimed at me.  

“This time was weird though, Tal. I was so in my head thinking about these new designs for some T-shirts, and I was shopping to get some glitter paint and stuff, so it kind of didn’t register, then it did, and I turned around while I was still walking and I said, ‘Dude, I’m already home.’ And I walked away and he nearly crashed into a bin because he couldn’t stop staring. And I didn’t care.”

            I was barely holding it together. “How could you be so calm about it? Please don’t tell me you’re getting used to people dishing that crap to you.”

            “And if I was?”

            “Because it’s wrong, Liv! It’s so absolutely, fundamentally wrong! You are home! Wherever you are, it doesn’t matter if it’s here or fucking Italy or fucking New York or the fucking moon!”

            “Actually, that’s kind of the point.”

“What?”

            “I mean, think about it Tal, it’s kind of ludicrous when you really think about it. And I agree absolutely that it’s wrong and no one has the right to go around abusing people like that. But later when I was in my room lying in bed and staring at the ceiling I kept thinking how the blue was like the sky and I was drifting in it and then I thought of that guy and how maybe even a year ago I would have reacted so differently, but I didn’t and I wondered, why? And in this kind of drifty headspace I imagined actually being in the sky, like flying, and above everyone and everything and getting farther away like I could see the ocean and land, and people were invisible, but I could see just this vastness and it kind of came to me, we’re all on this planet, all these people, and home isn’t just a building or family or friends or a country, it’s a freaking planet and we’re all on it.”

My anger simmered, but it was cooling at her impassioned words. This was Liv: optimistic and with a big picture view. Hopeful. 

“I mean we’re all in the same boat metaphorically speaking, because we’re all human. We all need basic stuff like food and water to survive. Most of us need to feel loved, to feel like we matter. And maybe being able to do something we really care about. And yeah there’s crappy stuff like greed and violence and all the messed up ways people can hurt each other, but that’s my point I guess—it’s so weird when you flip it to see we have so much in common if you strip away these perceived differences, so why the hell do we keep fighting or hurting each other? It’s like we’re just fighting ourselves. That’s what that guy was stupidly doing—it was all about his anger or hate or whatever. It wasn’t about me. But it was about me too, because if he could see underneath, I’m just like him. Human. And this planet is our home. So it’s this contradiction of how we’re all unique, especially in the circumstances of our lives, but we’re also the same. If you get my drift.”

It gushed out, my voice rough, “God you’re beautiful.” 

She was quiet and then shyly, “Thanks.” 

“I mean it. It infuriates me knowing you’re dealing with this shit, Liv. But the fact you could turn that ugliness around to see it like that. There’s no one else like you and I’m freaking amazed I found you, or you found me.”  

It meant the world to me.

I remembered wondering what my life might have been without her. As close as I felt right then, I imagined us flung apart. As if we’d never met, both of us living separately, at a distance, oblivious to each other’s existence. If we hadn’t met, I wouldn’t know what it was like to have her in my life, so maybe I’d never be aware of what I was missing. Or maybe, I’d be walking around with an ache and longing in my heart that would persist and get bigger as the years went on because somewhere out there, tugging at me, was another soul feeling the same—this missing, for someone they didn’t know but knew was out there and wanted to meet me, just as much as I wanted to meet them. Because together we could be more than we ever could be alone.

* * *

Change, evolution, dharma, figuring it out.  

            God, only Liv could pack so much into so few words.

            And tonight I’d been mostly quiet. Not completely silent, but just quiet. Because I could be. 

            I hadn’t even told Liv why I’d truly decided to stay, yet another unspoken thing between us, although I had every intention of telling her. Somehow saying it while Seb was still here felt like I was jinxing myself and possibly betraying him. Although he wouldn’t see it that way. But tomorrow—no today—he’d be leaving, and Gabbie was staying a few days before following him to London.         

            Resting the postcard on my chest, I had my headphones on, volume low, an old recording of Seb in the studio rehearsing Debussy’s Clair de lune. When my mother left and I didn’t understand why, despite Seb telling me she was ill and had gone somewhere to get better, Seb would sit me beside him on the piano stool and play. He’d rug me up on the sofa so I could fall asleep to him playing. He didn’t have the words because he was devastated. So he played. He played Chopin’s nocturnes, Satie’s Gymnopédies and Gnossiennes, Rachmaninoff’s preludes and Schubert’s sonatas. Night music. Dream music. Quiet music. Heart music. Music that whispered, sorrowed, carried me, lulled me and soothed me. This was what he played to help me sleep. If I woke and cried, he’d hold me, but he’d return to the piano once I’d calmed. I can’t remember him stopping. Sometimes I’d wake and he’d still be at the piano, except once when he’d been hunched over the keyboard, crying almost silently. The only time I ever saw him cry because of my mother, Marissa. 

            Music imbued with such sadness in my memories that for years I avoided listening to it, except for the past month I’d been listening to select pieces, hoping that some of that magic would ease me into unconsciousness. Hearing Seb playing had felt like security, safety, that someone was watching over me and would be there when I woke. Somehow he knew that silence would only fill me, haunt me with my mother’s absence. From then on, music became a solace, a way to connect with myself and to find comfort. To fill the aching void of that early trauma whenever an echo of that abandonment crept into my life. 

Seb always believed that music began where words ended. For him, music was his first language, words his second.

He gave me this recording before we left New York. 

            Closing my eyes I saw Liv tonight, incredibly vivid as she laughed and talked with Gabbie and Seb. Some things about Liv hadn’t changed since we met when she was eight and I was nine. Her dad, Tom Hyland, had come to interview Seb and brought her with him. She’d barrelled up to where I’d been sitting, reading and eating chocolate chip cookies, and without an introduction she’d asked what the story was about and whether she could have a cookie. Then she spied the stack of comic books (The Sandman comics were Seb’s) and chose one to read. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of her. I rarely met kids my age, but she somehow sensed my wariness and didn’t say much until she showed me something in a Phantom comic she liked and asked what I thought. I started talking—we were talking—and we fell into a kind of sync of reading, talking and sharing that hadn’t stopped.  

            It was meant to be, according to Liv. So yeah—she was a big believer in destiny. 

            And change. Change was just life. Movement. Energy. All things I associated with Liv, but today she seemed more solid, an anchor, while I felt adrift, fluid and shapeless; wanting to hang on to her, but floating at a distance. It was disconcerting how close I felt to her, yet so far away. But always wanting to be near, to hold on to this thread or whatever it was between us, that had stretched across the globe but had remained intact. 

            How we always managed to find a way back to each other. 

            I knew it was fear that kept me from spilling my guts. 

Fear of change. For us. Fear of losing Liv.

            How do I tell my best friend that on some fundamental level I’d definitely changed because I fell in love and got my heart spectacularly smashed?

            I was still trying to figure it out myself so I didn’t have the words, or the energy. 

            Not only that, for the entire time I’d been with Serena, I’d tried not to think of Liv at all. I’d barely contacted her, texted her, wrote to her. I didn’t send her any photos because most of the photos from this time had Serena in them. A part of me knew there was something wrong, because Liv should have been the first person I shared this with. 

            And I hadn’t. 

            What would I say? 

             It felt like betrayal and it confused the shit out of me. 

10

Olivia

heading into the unknown, better together than alone

“Please tell me we have food. I’m too tired to go out and get something.” I barely got it out, my head resting on the dining table as Tal rummaged in the fridge. He emerged with eggs, milk and other consumables. 

I sighed. Food. Bliss.

            “Gabbie brought some things and I stocked up this week. So we’re covered for a few days.”

            I watched as Tal proceeded to break eggs and whisk. He knew how I liked my eggs. I wanted to get up and help, at least put the bread in the toaster, but the crack-of-dawn wake up to say goodbye to Seb had me comatose. 

            I was also processing Seb’s words before he left. He’d hugged me as usual, although longer, and low enough for only me to hear: “If Tal comes over for Christmas, come with him. It’s on me. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

            I thought I’d misheard him, but his eager smile confirmed it. 

            “Are you sure?” I asked dumbly. I was used to Seb’s generosity, how it had always extended to me.

            Seb kissed my cheek. “Couldn’t think of anyone else I’d love to spend the holiday with. Convince him to come, darling.”

            Then he was hugging Tal while Gabbie was checking the never-ending list of things to do on her iPad, surreptitiously making sure Seb was nearly ready to go. 

            “Take care of each other. And check in Tal. Every day.”

            Tal had smiled sleepily and nodded.

            Neither of us had gone back to bed. 

            Tal slid the plate of perfectly scrambled eggs and buttery toast near my face so I could smell it. It roused me from my stupor.

            I stared at the plate, picked up the fork and dug in. After a couple of delicious mouthfuls I finally asked, “What gives Tal—is there a reason for you staying or are you just tired of travelling?” 

The eggs were yummy and I ate hungrily, waiting for his response. Tal continued to cook, but he kept glancing at me, as if he was unsure what to say.

            “Spill,” I prodded, because it was way obvious I’d hit a nerve.

            Tal was wearing pyjama bottoms and a holey Nirvana t-shirt that I’m sure used to belong to Seb. He came to sit at the table with his own plate piled twice as high as mine. I’d love to see him and Justin eat-off against each other. I’ll never forget Justin piling a mixing bowl with over ten Weet-Bix, adding about a half a litre of milk, and because he couldn’t find a spoon, he’d used a serving spoon about twice the size of a regular one to eat it with. I had photographic evidence I’d been itching to send to Sally, hoping she’d be thoroughly put off by his piggishness and ditch him. Which was cruel and I’d never do it. But mini-evil-me wanted to.

            “My mother is living in Sydney and teaching at the University of New South Wales. I want to go and see her.”

            I dropped my fork, my mouth gaping. 

            Tal sat back, his food untouched. He watched me in that steady way, although I was sure he was less than calm. I sure wasn’t.

            “Say something, Liv.”

            I managed to close my mouth, which still had food in it. I chewed. I thought. My sleep fuggy brain had been doused with iced water. 

            “Serious?” I gulped.

            He nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

            I sat back, bending my knees to curl up on the chair. Even through the flannel of my sushi pyjamas, I felt chilled. 

            Tal got up and put the kettle on. It was a weird habit that when I was upset, he made tea. I did the same for him, although I was usually the one who got riled up and emotional. 

            I let his words settle in my mind, the shock dissipating. Tal brought over a pot and two cups. He poured and added honey to mine. 

            “Why?” I finally asked, hands warming against the china. “Does Seb know?”

            “No, he doesn’t. And I just want to meet with her. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”

            “Why?” I asked again, not being able to get past that. “Why now, Tal?” 

            His eyes were unbearably sad. “You know I’ve pieced together stuff about what happened between her and Seb before things fell apart and she got sick, but there’s still a lot I don’t know. Especially why she agreed that I would live with Seb. Seb isn’t exactly forthcoming because it upsets him so much.”

            I butted in. “You didn’t see her for nearly a year, Tal! You were only four! Of course you should have stayed with Seb!”

            “I did see her, Liv. And it’s always been complicated.”

            “Yeah,” I scoffed. And I knew exactly what happened when Seb took Tal to see his mum at the clinic outside of Paris she’d been admitted to. His mum had taken one look at Tal and burst out crying, and then she’d started rocking and keening. Seb, utterly distressed, had tried to comfort her, not realising Tal had frozen in terror at seeing his mum, who had been absent for weeks already. Tal ran and hid. One of the nursing staff found him, but he’d refused to move until Seb came to him. He was shaking so much they’d had to rug him up in blankets for warmth so Seb could drive him back home. On subsequent visits, Seb went alone.

            “Liv,” he pleaded.

            “Okay! I’m sorry—I just get so angry thinking about you dealing with all of this.”

            Tal’s face softened. “I get it. I’m trying to explain my reasoning.”

            “I’m listening,” I sighed. 

            “There’s just a lot of gaps I need filling. And because of how much trouble I had with being around her when she came back into my life, I’ve blocked myself from trying to get answers as well.”

“Of course!” I said defiantly, seriously pissed at Tal’s mother. I know she suffered some kind of breakdown which led to her staying at the clinic, but the details were frustratingly omitted. “But I thought you were happy keeping things distant between the two of you.”    

            Tal patiently let me vent before continuing. “Yes and no. You’ve got to understand Liv, when she got out of the clinic it wasn’t long after that she and Seb got divorced. It was like another loss. I hadn’t been able to see her in the clinic because it freaked me out, and then she’s back and it’s like, she’s gone again.”

            I swallowed hard. Tal so rarely talked about his mum and what happened that I forgot it was this raw wound that he’d been nursing for years and trying to keep hidden from everyone. Even me.

            His eyes were pleading with me to understand. “I remember Seb asking me how I felt about staying with her on weekends and I clammed up. I could barely spend time with her without Seb being present.”

            “She abandoned you, that’s why,” I said with barely concealed anger.

            Tal picked up the fork, toying with it nervously. “I know that’s what it felt like. And I know I was dealing with separation anxiety and all this fear and whatever other terms you want to name about what I was going through…”

            “At least Seb had you seeing a psychologist.”

            Tal sighed seeing how intransigent I was being. But it was a protective instinct I couldn’t shut down. I hatedseeing him hurt. 

            “Yeah, well it ended up that I began going with Seb on tour because I had so much trouble being away from him and didn’t want to stay with my grandmother or Nina…” 

            “Seb needed you with him, Tal. It wasn’t just you not being able to deal with him leaving.”

            “I know. But what I’m trying to get at, it just got harder trying to connect with my mother. She always made the effort and wanted to be a part of my life, but I was the one who kept pulling away.”
            I tried not to say anything that would only add more fuel to the fire. Over the years, while Tal travelled with Seb, his mother took up academic posts at various universities, from Bologna where she’d done a post-doctoral fellowship, to Paris and London. She’d visited Tal whenever she could and spoke and emailed him. I know she stayed in Paris for a long time in the hopes of having more regular contact with Tal, but with Seb’s schedule, it became increasingly sporadic. But Tal was always the one who had the final say about whether he’d see her. They both gave him that choice.   

I was fighting against the tears, wanting to just hug him for the boy he’d been dealing with more than he could understand.

            Tal rested his arms on the table and began to eat. I resumed eating too, but the eggs tasted powdery and cold. I bit into the toast.

            “In the end it was me who stopped seeing her, Liv.” His eyes darted to me, then averted to his food. “I asked Seb if it was okay if I didn’t see her for a while. In my gut I had a really hard time trusting her and it was stressing me out. I’m the one who shut her out.”

            “But you kept in contact?” I said, puzzling over what I knew and didn’t. Tal occasionally mentioned if he’d heard from his mum, but he’d become a lot like Seb, he just didn’t talk about her.  

            “Yeah. Kind of. Emails and letters. Sometimes phone calls. Although she made most of the effort. I’m aware of that.”

            I reached and squeezed Tal’s hand. “It’s understandable, Tal.”

            “Maybe.” That’s all he said. I knew he felt conflicted about his relationship, or the absence of it. I’d just never understood the depth of it. He put his fork down and slumped in his chair. He stared tiredly at me. “I can’t change the past Liv, but I need to face it, face her. I was so scared of her not being there, of her not seeing me when Seb and I came home from tour, or that she’d leave again. Didn’t matter what she said or promised. And in the end I pushed her away so she wasn’t really in my life.”

            “It was self-protection.”

            He shoved his hands in his sleep tussled hair. “It was fear and hurt. And I kept that fear alive. Even when it seemed irrational. I can’t do that anymore, Liv. I can’t let it rule my life. I can’t keep running away from it.” His gaze was almost desperate. “I need to see her.”  

            My hands were shaking as I picked up the cup of tea. Tal suddenly got up and nudged me to stand, taking my hand as we walked to the sofa. He sat then pulled me down. I curled up, and he hugged me, his warmth becoming mine. 

            I should have been comforting him, but I knew that by holding me, Tal was comforting himself as well.

            “I’m sorry, Liv. A part of me doesn’t want you involved in this. But I also want you with me. I know that’s selfish.”

            I nodded, numb and yet tingly from his warmth. “I’m glad you told me. Of course I want you to tell me. And I want to be here for you, that goes without saying.”

            We sat, rocking gently and just keeping each other together. I could sense the weight of his words and decision. There were so many truths that made up our lives, that I had to separate them at times just to manage. Tal’s mum leaving when he was little was one truth; Tal pushing his mum away, basically absenting her again, was another. 

            “So, do you feel you want to see her because you want her in your life?” 

             “I have questions. And I think I can deal with what she might say now. She’s always tried to reassure me she loves me, but it was mixed up with all this guilt and the fact she gave up custody when they divorced. It was a mess. I think now I’ll be able to better understand what she has to say.”

            He hadn’t really answered my question. “Do you want her in your life?” I asked again. 

            He was silent for a while. “I don’t know, Liv. I don’t know how to have her in my life.” There was an unmistakeable yearning in his voice. 

            “Do you still see that psychologist?” Tal had been seeing psychologists on and off for years. At first Seb had insisted, then Tal had reached out on his own when he needed help. He was smart like that. The last one had been based in London and particularly astute. She specialised in trauma experienced by kids. She’d insisted healing was a process and that she’d do her best to guide Tal towards some kind of peace about what he’d experienced. 

            Tal breathed deeply and his arms tightened. “Yeah. Jane’s been good. She suggested at some stage I should either try talking to my mother directly about what I’ve been dealing with, or write it all out and maybe send a letter. I’ve written a lot, but last year I started seriously thinking about seeing her.”

            I was on the verge of crying. Tal was staring his demons down. That was brave. He was also honest enough to admit the lack of relationship with his mum was as much his doing as circumstance, no matter how much it made sense to keep his distance. I wanted to say all of this but the words were ash in my mouth. I knew he didn’t talk to Seb about his mum to protect him from his own pain. I pulled back to search his face. Open, vulnerable, sleep-creased and tired. 

“Have you contacted her?” 

            Tal relaxed his hold and we both sagged against the sofa. “I haven’t yet. She’s moved around a bit. She’s been teaching and researching in Sydney for a couple of years. She’s written a few books and loads of articles. But she always lets me know where she is.”

“Shit.”

            Tal smiled. “Yeah.”

            We sat absorbing it all. Tal got up and made more toast, as if eating would focus us, give us fuel to deal with this. Tal also made more tea and we settled on the sofa, both rugged up in the duvet from his bed. It was then that I noticed how quiet it was in the warehouse. Normally there was music, either on the stereo or when Seb was here, because he was often playing. 

            There was almost too much to say, so we kept the words to ourselves. It was enough to be sitting here with all this uncertainty hanging over us.

            “You said she’s in Sydney?” 

            “Yeah. It’s near the end of exams, and I know for sure she’s been teaching. I called the university and asked to speak to her. They confirmed she was there.”

            I nodded slowly. Tal sensed I was heading somewhere with this. “What Liv?”

            “Bradley is living in Bondi with his girlfriend. We could stay with them. He’s always asking me to visit.”

            The light from one of the many windows lining the huge warehouse wall hit his eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes I’d looked at countless times. Apparently his mum’s eyes. They were gleaming from a sudden wash of tears. Tal reached for me the same moment I reached for him. We held on to each other, knowing I’d just agreed to go with him.

            “I don’t know what to expect,” his voice muffled against my shoulder. “But I need to do this.”

            My hands fisted against his back before relaxing to pat him, soothe him. I smothered the panic that was rising to engulf, that Tal was putting himself in the path of an unknown threat. Every protective instinct reared up, wanting to shield him from being hurt and quietly angry that he was putting himself out there regardless. 

            I voiced none of it. 

“It’s okay, Tal. We’ll get through it.”

            But I didn’t have a good feeling about it. Not at all.

11

Tallis

keeping secrets from your bestie is kind of weird, just saying

When I was fourteen I did something really stupid. While touring with Seb I’d been tutored as well as doing distance online education, but I actually convinced him I needed to experience going to a regular school at least once. Somehow we agreed I’d spend a year at a boarding school in Melbourne. Seb decided on an all-boys grammar school as it weirdly mimicked the school he’d attended for a few years when a young boy himself. At the time his family was spending more time in London and his mother had insisted he attend a good public school. However, Seb left when his talents became obvious and he’d insisted he wanted to pursue his music. He had about as much knowledge of regular schooling as I did.

            The other reason he agreed was at the time, Gabbie was in a relationship with a businessman based in the Melbourne, which meant she was visiting often. Liv’s family was also here. Seb capitulated, rearranging his schedule to spend chunks of time coming to one of the few places on the planet we called home. 

            Needless to say I hated it, from the uniform, the hierarchies, bullying, blokey camaraderie around sport (I played nothing), the competitiveness, the monotony of a day structured around bells, and a mind numbing conformity. And I saw too many guys wearing Gucci loafers, and that was just wrong, wrong, wrong. No one could truly relate to me and vice versa, although having a famous father among certain cliques gave me cred, which only said something about the snobbishness. I lasted two terms, much to Seb’s amusement and unspoken relief, and any attempt at “normalcy” was chucked out the proverbial window. 

About the only thing that saved me was a fellow student, Adam Chung. Adam was the only friend I made who had any inkling of my life outside of school. He commuted between Hong Kong, Sydney and Melbourne because of his dad’s business, had travelled extensively and been out of school more than in it, being tutored as I had. He also loved music, specifically indie and electronic. He was far from impressed about my dad, which was actually a plus in my view since the only reason he hung out with me was because he liked me.

            We kept in contact after I left, catching up if we were in locations near each other and by some fluke he was in Melbourne, staying at his parent’s apartment in the city, and he was throwing a party. 

            Liv was highly sceptical about going. 

            “I thought you liked Adam?” 

            Liv gave me the stink eye, which was basically a squint. “I’ve met him maybe twice. He doesn’t know me at all.”

            “He told me to bring you,” I insisted. Liv snorted. She was painting her toenails black, utterly focused while I was lounging on the sofa listening to a Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds marathon. The dark irony suited both our moods. Murder Ballads was playing, the Bad Seed’s self–confessed party album, which was hilarious considering the song The Curse of Millhaven had a body count of twenty-three (minus the dog), and the album in its entirety killed off about seventy-five people. 

            “He’s your friend. Okay. I’ll go! But I’m leaving if I don’t like it.” 

            I had to admire her focus, puzzling why she bothered since she was only going to cover up her toes. 

            “Deal.” 

I was relieved she’d agreed, because I was itching to get out, the revelations this morning had set us both on edge. Liv had called Bradley and her parents about the impromptu visit. Both were surprised, but cool about it. Organising tickets for the flight up there and back was left to me. It hit me as I was booking the flights that this was the first time we were travelling somewhere together. Just the two of us. I was about to blurt it out when the shadow of why I was going smothered the flash of joy. And given Liv’s almost sullen mood, she hadn’t noticed.  

When Liv got cranky or edgy she had to make stuff. Keep her hands busy as a way to process her thoughts. So she’d been busying herself sketching and designing T-shirts; she’d braided a few friendship bands to sell through her website, trimmed her mass of curls, wondering whether she needed to re–dye her neon blue streaks, and now she was painting her toenails. I’d tried getting lost in my music, sitting on the roof for a while but the cloud cover was low and depressing, then lounging on the bed, finally moving to the living room.

It’s like we were orbiting each other, giving each other space to get our heads around the massive decision we’d both made by trying to distract ourselves. We’d be leaving the day after tomorrow, and now that it was actually happening I felt sick. 

Adam’s invite couldn’t have come at a better time. 

By eight that night we were ready to go. 

“You brought a dress?” I asked dumbfounded. 

Liv scowled. “I’ve worn dresses before!”

“But…but,” I couldn’t quite get the words out. “Not so shimmery.” WTF? Where the hell did that come from?

“Seriously? Shimmery?” Liv looked down at the mid-thigh sheath she was wearing. It was a pale, silvery colour, held up with thin spaghetti straps that left her shoulders and arms bare. It fit her slim but curvy body to perfection. And the fabric did shimmer, especially against the warmth of her milk-coffee skin. But what made the outfit very Liv were the Doc Martin boots, no tights, so her legs were bare as well. I found my eyes wandering over skin and curves while trying to look away. 

Liv snatched up her denim jacket, jamming her wallet and phone in the pockets before putting it on. She didn’t notice me looking at her. She looked gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy. She’d swept her curls up high on her head, which brought out her slender neck, the oval of her face, and there was the faintest brush of lipstick that only accentuated her luscious mouth (Luscious? Crap!). Her eyes were huge and the deepest brown. My mouth went dry. She was truly beautiful. Although she hated her nose. It was small, slightly upturned, but a little pudgy. Her words, not mine. All I could think was it suited her, belonged to her. 

I so rarely saw Liv dressed up I never truly noticed the details. Or maybe, knowing her so well, I was always seeing beneath the surface. My eyes lingered and with a huge effort I grabbed my duffle coat and tried hard not to keep looking. Deliberately looking that is. It’s one thing to accept your friend is gorgeous and another to truly see and appreciate it.

I cleared my throat. “Taxi is on its way.”

“Excellent,” she said, and plonked herself on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table. I let out a breath, pacing as we waited, shaking my arms and the wristbands to a silent beat. I’d opted for the usual jeans, black adidas Gazelles and a long- sleeved T-shirt under a Radiohead band T-shirt. I felt incredibly boring next to her. 

And pretty invisible when we arrived and Adam bypassed me going straight to Liv, hugging her like his long-lost friend. 

“Liv!” he said, stepping back. 

Liv’s eyebrows took a hike, her eyes assessing Adam with a cool gaze. “Adam,” she said with no particular inflection. 

“Wow.” Adam’s eyes roved the length of her and Liv rolled her eyes at me, while I was drawing a blank about how to handle this. “You look incredible.” Turning to me—finally—“Hey, man.”

Liv laughed and gave Adam’s arm a pat. “I’ll let you two get reacquainted. Cool hair by the way.” Adam dragged his fingers self-consciously through his spiked black hair featuring a wide stripe of acid green down the centre. 

“Thanks,” he said shyly.

Liv strolled into the huge open lounge of the apartment that was dimly lit and studded with groups of people. A long dining table was topped with food and an array of drinks. The glass wall of windows and doors leading onto an equally large terrace offered a stunning vista of the Melbourne city skyline. In the heart of the city, the apartment ran over two levels and had that minimalist feel that meant swathes of space, little furniture, and a pretty great venue for a party. 

We both watched as Liv went straight for the food and drinks, attracting three guys in her wake, the first reaching the table just as she did, began talking to her. Timing. And so obvious. I was gritting my teeth without even realising it.

“How come you never pointed out she was hot?”

Adam had a talent for stating the obvious. Sometimes that was good, or bad. Right now, not appreciated. 

“She’s my friend, Adam.”

“I don’t remember her looking like that.”

I sighed. “How’ve you been?” 

Adam grinned. “Brilliant!” He angled his head for us to get a drink. Liv was now sitting on a sofa with the good-timing guy who towered over her, but couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She’d taken the denim jacket off exposing all that beautiful skin, tying it around her waist. 

“Taking some time out before hitting the books again has been great.” Adam handed me a beer, grabbing a long neck for himself and we walked out onto the enormous terrace. We found a couple of chairs unoccupied and propped our feet on a stone table. The balcony railing was high and densely fenced off with plants. I tilted the chair back, soaking in the crisp night air, and the sounds of a mixtape of deep house and techno music Adam had concocted, playing on a sound system that rivalled Seb’s. 

“No DJ?” 

Adam shrugged. “Too last minute. I just got in yesterday and called everyone I knew.”

I had to grin. “Everyone?” I looked around. “I didn’t know you had this many friends.”

“I don’t,” he laughed. “I just said bring anyone along, so half the people here I don’t know!”

“After tonight you might have some new ones.”

“Don’t think so. I’m a little choosier than that. So, what about you? Last time I saw you, you were snuggling up to that gorgeous college chick.”

I took a swig, defensively, but I couldn’t sidestep so easily. Adam had been in New York the same time as me with his family. Total fluke, and he was probably the only witness to the insanity of Serena and me. I’d deliberately kept it from Seb because of his friend, who was Serena’s dad. And since Serena lived in a shoebox apartment in Brooklyn, avoiding everyone had been easy, except Adam. 

Adam waited expectantly for an answer. 

“It ended.”

“Real forthcoming, bro.” Adam snorted. I had to grin. “That bad, huh?”

“Yep.”

“What did Liv have to say about her?”

Beer squirted up my nose, and I started a coughing jag. Adam thumped my back hard. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I spluttered. “Liv doesn’t know.”

Adam blinked. His face was ridiculously handsome with skin as flawless as Liv’s. He’d had a cocky assurance about him even back when we first met. He’d also shot up close to my height, maybe five foot nine, and had a lean body; clothes hanging off of him like a model. His mother was French, his father Chinese and he’d inherited wicked bone structure, eyes bordering on black, a sensuous mouth and patrician nose. Actually, he could model, but he said it would bore him to death.

“I thought she was your bestie? Isn’t that what you do—you know—share stuff like that? I mean, you know who she’s gone out with, don’t you?”

It’s like he knew just where to dig. “Yes, I do.” Or did. I was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment. She’d been flat out with her final year, her business, and acting as her mum’s paid assistant, which involved liaising with the galleries that represented her, ordering supplies, whatever freed her mum to paint. 

Adam was staring, obviously trying to figure me out when I could have told him not to bother, because I was still a mess. 

“You’re either hiding because you think she’s going to take it badly, or you feel guilty for some reason. Interesting.”

I snorted. “That’s your take on it?”

“Dude, you’re a free agent. And from what I saw, you were seriously into her. Actually, you both seemed pretty into each other. If Liv’s your best buddy it’s kind of weird you haven’t told her. Just saying.”

And here we go, running circles around the why of it all. Because it was now after the fact. I’d said nothing. It was over. I still hadn’t told Liv. 

“Do you have anything other than beer?” I shook the bottle. “And I don’t drink spirits.”

Adam grinned. “Got some fine grass. Wait here.” He got up, clamping his hand on my shoulder as he walked off.

I breathed deeply. I just wanted to escape thinking about all that was whirling in my head. My mother. Serena. Seb. Liv. I didn’t usually smoke, but there was a gnawing part of me that just wanted out.

Glancing over my shoulder I saw Liv was still talking to the super tall dude. She was petite, yet her personality made her seem bigger. Her vibrancy. The way she was smiling and laughing at whatever that guy was saying meant she was enjoying herself. She glowed and not just because of the shimmery dress, which accentuated all those curves I’d seen change over the years. I remembered how she’d tried to hide her body for a while, the baggy T-shirt phase, mostly to hide getting breasts. Not that she said anything, but her self-consciousness had been obvious, until there came a time when she seemed fine with it, her clothes fitting more snuggly, less hunched, more confident. She’d also seen me with feet too big, a body too thin and lanky as I grew in spurts to become Seb’s height; the cringe worthy stint of pimples outcropping on my face, my nose seeming way larger than it should, and the general calamity of not feeling like I fit into my own skin. Somehow we’d accepted the most awkward parts of each other without making a big deal of it.  

Adam stopped by Liv and gave her a friendly hand squeeze. I definitely got the feeling if she showed the slightest interest, he’d be right there. 

Yeah, I’d known about the guys she’d been with. We didn’t exchange details, but she’d never hidden it. 

But I realised something, and it was a smack to the face, because I’d never really questioned this. I had no idea if she’d ever truly loved any of those guys. Or if she was still a virgin.

Maybe we both had secrets. 

Worse, maybe I’d deliberately avoided finding out.

12

Olivia

not quite herding cats, but…

This was probably the swankiest party with people around my age that I’d ever been to. Or it was just the venue, because no one from my school who was a friend lived like this.

            I’d got used to the fact Tal had money, that Seb was independently wealthy as well as coming from a wealthy family. Yet I’d never felt uncomfortable about it because I learned something pretty quick—the money was a means to an end. Money bought time to do what Seb loved. It gave him the ability to have Tal with him on tour and provide Tal with the opportunities to do whatever made him happy. Seb supported charities and played for fundraisers. He never forgot that others weren’t so fortunate. And Tal was so minimal in his needs that I never thought there was an imbalance between us. He shared what he had with me and vice versa. 

            The view from the apartment was magnificent. Adam had forked out for catering, although it was finger food that didn’t satisfy my growing hunger, and the booze line-up was impressive. Not to forget the crowd, a mix of incredibly casual, dolled up, a few try-hard Goths and Grimes-wannabes, and the strange sensation of knowing no one except Adam and Tal. I could drift around and be—whoever. 

            “So, you know Chung?” asked the rather lovely, incredibly tall guy called Ethan, who had come with his equally tall and gorgeous friend, Ali.

            “Chung?”

            Ethan grinned. “Adam.”

            “Wow, you call everyone by their last name?” We’d found space on the plush sofa in the unfortunate shade of cream that I was super conscious of since I had a Coke and didn’t want to spill. I rarely drank alcohol, beer tasted vile and wine or spirits just got me tipsy way too quick. I liked keeping my wits about me and if there was music to dance to, it was the best way to fly and feel free. 

            Ethan laughed. He had a really great smile. I was a little surprised I was enjoying myself. “No, that’s just what he answers to.”

            “How do you know him?”

            “School,” he said simply, slightly guarded.

            “Oh, the grammar school. My friend Tal went there for a while, that’s how he met Adam.”

            Ethan took a swig of his beer. “Ah, the plot thickens. Tallis. I kind of know him. I was a couple of years up from him and Adam. His dad’s a concert pianist or something.”

            “Yeah, something like that.”

            Which prompted me to look outside to see Adam and Tal sharing a cigarette. Okaaaay. Tal didn’t smoke, so I had a pretty good idea what that was. The last time Tal smoked weed that I knew of, was a year ago when we were at a party of someone at my school. It was pretty much the opposite of this, with BYO booze, a few fairy lights strung up in the backyard, some chips and dip—if you were lucky to find it—and the kind of music that had me on edge, bordering on metal and not anything I could dance to. Someone passed around a joint and it didn’t take long for Tal to be less than compos mentis, but in a loopy, happy kind of way. Which had been surreal and funny as I remained absolutely sober and had to figure out how to get him to a McDonalds, because he had a craving for French Fries, and then back to the warehouse. 

            “Would you, um, excuse me for a minute? I just need to go ask Tal something,” I said, rising a little abruptly with Ethan standing as well. He completely dwarfed me so I had to crane my neck or step back to see his face, a really lovely face with incredible blue-green eyes. I had this image-flash of trying to kiss him and I was sure I’d need to stand on a chair to do it. I shook my head because I was way ahead of myself.

            “Sure—I’ll just be here, or over there with Ali,” he said awkwardly, and yeah, my exit was clumsy, but the idea of Tal on the terrace getting stoned was freaking me out.

            The cool air bit against my skin and I quickly put on my denim jacket. Walking purposefully, I could here the beginnings of what was probably the end of my night. Tal was giggling, so was Adam, and the joint was shortening. 

            “Hey, Adam, what else is there to eat here?” I faced them both, neither looking at me straight away.

            “Food?” asked Adam, his beautiful face scrunching, as if it were a foreign concept.

            “Yes, food, as in things you eat. The finger food isn’t exactly a meal. I’m starved and I know Tal didn’t eat much before we left, either.”

            “Geez, Liv, I’m cool,” Tal said, passing the joint to Adam and then smiling, which morphed into a cross between a snort and a laugh that set Adam off.

            “Food,” Adam repeated and I rolled my eyes.

            “How about pizza? I can order some and get it delivered.” 

            That perked them up. “Sure, that’s good. Yeah. Pizza.” Adam was on mimic mode.

            “You okay to pay?” 

            Tal’s head was tipped back as he was precariously tipping the chair. And just as he was about to topple, Adam grabbed the chair and righted it.

            “Whoooah,” Tal said shaking his head.

            “Dipshit,” grinned Adam. Aaaaand they both started laughing again.

            “Gaaah!” I was almost screaming. I took out my phone and found a pizza joint that had traditional and gourmet and wasn’t too far from here. I stuck my hand out in Adam’s face.

            “I’m ordering, you’re paying.”

            Adam nodded, fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and gave me his credit card. 

            While they went about finishing their joint, I ordered a ton of pizza and hoped they were relatively quick getting it here. Ethan kept glancing my way and Ali was talking to another girl, and seemed pretty engrossed.

            “Hey, who’s the tall dude?” Tal’s eyes were glazed, but he wasn’t that gone that he couldn’t string a sentence together. 

            “Ethan,” was all I offered. I gave Adam his card back and spied the lounges close to the sliding doors that were currently free.  

            “He’s cool,” Adam said, taking a drag, puffing smoke into the air so that I coughed and waved a hand, stepping back not wanting the weed fug clinging to my clothes. 

            “Yeah,” I said tersely, and then trying to appear casual I said, “Hey those lounges look comfy, better than the chairs, how about we move?”  

            Tal and Adam looked blankly, slowly grinning and it was like time was sludge with these two; their idea of moving was a cross between extreme nonchalance and a fuzzy stumbling. Not quite herding cats, but I felt like a ringmaster trying to get two big cats to sit on stools. Although, for the record, I hated circuses that still had animals.

            “This is good,” Tal sighed, now horizontal and gazing at the sky, while Adam draped his lanky frame like he was posing for a fashion shoot. I dashed inside, grabbed a couple of Cokes and a plate of potato wedges. Juggling everything, I went back outside and placed them on the terrace tiles between them.

            “I’ll just go and wait for the pizza, but here’s something to munch on and drink.”

            Just as I was leaving Tal grabbed my arm. He pulled me close enough our faces nearly touched and I tried not to breathe in as he whispered, “I love you, you know that?”

            A weird buzz sounded in my ears. For a moment I forgot where I was, lost in those eyes and a face I knew as well as my own. For a moment—until Tal did his cross between a snort and laugh and Adam punched his arm.

            “Ow, shit man.” 

            I loosed my sleeve from his grip. “Yeah, Tal, sure. Love you, too.” 

            I found space on a sofa inside and collapsed. Tonight, it seemed, I was Tal’s wingperson. Unless I wanted to explain to Seb that Tal had imbibed the happy leaf and decided to grow wings and fly, only to splat from a great height, I was going to have to watch over him. No fun for me. And seriously, this wasn’t the Tal I was used to. When we’d gone out to parties or gigs, he preferred being alert, because he knew he was a cheap, albeit happy drunk, but he wanted to take it all in. We had fun without it. Yet with his mum cropping up and Seb gone and this weird quiet about him, I could only put it down to stress and just wanting to cut loose. Which was fine. My stomach growled. I wanted food, and hopefully, to make an exit sometime before midnight. 

            “Hey, thought you wouldn’t come back.” Ethan squeezed beside me and his proximity was welcome and not. My brain was muzzy and I had to focus on Niall for a moment to wipe out Tal’s face. 

            I grimaced-grinned. “Sorry, I just ordered pizza for everyone.”

            “Seriously? Great, I’m starved.”

            Right on cue, a bell chimed signalling the delivery. Ethan shot up. “I’ll get it. I know where the intercom is.”

            “Thanks.”

            A couple of towers of boxes were brought in and people congregated and cheered like they’d never seen food before. I grabbed two boxes and took them outside. I shoved them unceremoniously at both Adam and Tal.

            “Eat.”   

            “Ooooh, pizza,” crooned Adam, taking a box and inhaling the smell. “Mmmm pizza.” No intelligent life there.

Tal’s eyes were shut, hearing me he opened them, smiling dreamily. I dumped the box on the lounge beside him, and just as I was about to leave: 

            “Hey, Serena.” So soft I barely caught it, and Adam was gorging, hearing nothing. 

Tal’s eyes shut again and all I could think and say was, “Who’s Serena?”  

13

Tallis

and like that, everything went to shit

I woke in my bed and that was a bit of a surprise, as I wasn’t quite sure how I’d made it here. I rolled to the side and there was a note on the pillow in Liv’s distinctive script:

            Who’s Serena??????? 

            Well, shit.

            Shit.

            I shut my eyes trying to remember and the night only came in flashes. I recalled lying on the lounger and thinking I’d be happy flaking out there for the rest of the evening, and then a whiff of pizza, eating, and then I was drifting between sleep, and listening to Adam waffling, yet I couldn’t remember seeing much of Liv at all. 

            Somehow I’d mentioned Serena. 

            Not surprising as she kept surfacing from my subconscious. I obviously hadn’t said much else.

            I lay there, eyes unblinking in the light flooded room. I was under the duvet but clothed, minus my sneakers. Liv somehow got me in here. 

            I pushed my face into the pillow and groaned.

            Idiot.

            Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

            I so rarely cut loose I had no idea what I might have said. Last time I’d smoked weed was with Serena. We were at her apartment, in bed, and there didn’t seem any harm in it. She was a recreational user (whatever that meant), but she seemed pretty much unaffected while I just mellowed out, and it was inevitable that we ended up making love. Which we spent a lot of those three and a bit months doing. 

Since our early teens, Serena and I had crossed paths sporadically over the years. We’d barely talked and nothing had ever sparked between us but this time it was like a bomb exploded. It happened so quickly, from meeting her at her dad’s studio where Seb was practicing and recording, and then he was insisting we go out and talk about college options, except we talked about everything but that. Flirting turned into kissing, then finding our way back to Serena’s place. It was hours. Not days or weeks. I’d never wanted to be with someone like that before. It felt urgent, necessary, inevitable. Never had I been consumed by such an intense physical need to be with someone. She had this sheath of black hair, incredible green eyes and skin that was so soft to touch I’d get lost in it. But her smile, it had shot right through me, then it was her laugh, and how her mind raced from one thing to the next. Lightening smart. Mesmerising.

            I fell hard. I was lost and found, undone and remade.  

            A couple of years older, she was way more experienced than me sexually, but incredibly generous with everything she knew. The fact it had been my first time hadn’t fazed her because she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Whatever attracted her to me, she made me feel an equal participant all the way. Serena never condescended, because she wanted sex to be pleasurable for us both. And I was a quick learner. So those hours became days, which became weeks.

            I was in love, I was sure of it. I was pretty sure she felt strongly about me, too. But we never said it. That’s what seemed strange now. We never said how we felt. We just lived it, learning each other, living in each other’s skin. There were these moments, when everything stopped; it was just the two of us, and nothing else existed. Often it was when we were making love and I was inside her and her eyes were locked with mine as we moved in this incredible rhythm like we were completely in sync. I felt invincible, that we were invincible, and I was right where I should be and would always want to be. 

And just as fast, everything went to shit.

Occasionally I’d go back to the hotel in Tribeca to stay the night, and Serena insisted it would be easier for me to sleep at the hotel after going to Dad’s opening performance at Carnegie Hall. She wasn’t into classical and said she wouldn’t be able to sit through his performance, so I was on my own that night. Perfectly fine, except I kept thinking about her, texting her during the interval, and at the after party. I was about to leave and go back to her place when she sent a text:

            Need a night to myself Tal. Hope concert was good S

            It was a little distant, well, way more distant than usual. I texted back that it was okay, planning to go over and see her in the morning. So I picked up coffees and croissants from a café near her apartment first thing, and just as I was about to buzz the intercom, I saw her coming towards the glass doors with some guy. I stepped back, because she’d seen me, and a flicker of shock registered before the shutter went down on her face. They were holding hands. In my gut, I knew something was horribly off about this scenario. 

            The blandly good-looking hipster dude walked out, smiling, as if he didn’t have a clue about me, and Serena followed, slowly, releasing her hand from his.

            “Ser, which way? I’m starved since we skipped dinner.” 

            But Serena was staring at me. The guy twigged and then he was looking between us. 

            “Dean, can you give us a minute? I’ll meet you at that organic deli you like, okay?” She spoke softly, but urgent enough that he got the message and thank God he didn’t say anything although his mouth went tight, lost in that freaking beard of his. 

            “Sure,” he said, eyeing me curiously before walking away, glancing back a couple of times. Serena didn’t watch him leave, her eyes fixed on me, clutching my breakfast offering with trembling hands that I wished I could hide before everything in me began to shake.

            She licked her lips nervously. “We went out, Dean and I, during my freshman year at college.”

            “He’s from Columbia?” I asked stupidly, barely able to speak and wondering why the fuck I was standing there talking about this guy while fearful of where this was heading.

            She nodded jerkily. “He got back a few days ago from travelling and we met and…”

            I was shaking my head, stepping back without even realising. “When?”

            “You were at Seb’s rehearsal and then you had that dinner.”

            “Two days ago,” I said flatly, as if the timeline gave everything perspective, while my eyes began swimming. I knew I was going to lose it. “What’s going on Serena?” My mouth could barely form the words. “I thought—I mean, we’re seeing each other…” 

            Serena’s hands wiped across her face, then she flung them into the air. 

“This happened so fast! You and me. I mean, it’s been wonderful and I wanted to be with you, but—Tal, where is this going? You don’t even know what you’re doing, or if you’ll be leaving soon, and I’m staying and working towards my graduate studies. Seeing Dean kind of—” She fumbled for words.

“Kind of what?” My voice was edged with a rising anger that masked the bile burning my throat. “What Serena?”

She looked at me helplessly. “It made me see the bigger picture, Tal. We’ve been in our own world and it’s been great, and I care about you, but I don’t know where this can go and I do have a life outside of our relationship.”                    

            Life, she had a life apart from me. “Why didn’t you speak about this before if you had doubts?” I barked out, startling Serena who’d never heard me raise my voice because I never had a reason to. “Weren’t we seeing each other so much because we were happy? And,” I hacked a laugh that was more a harsh breath, “shouldn’t we talk about this stuff, especially if you were worried about it? We could have figured something out if we wanted to make it work. That’s what people do if it matters.” 

My own words felt like they were answering the question. A searing pain in my chest echoed with an ancient loss in the face of another more imminent one. 

I didn’t matter. Not enough.    

“How Tal? You said you were unsure about whether you wanted to go to college. What are you going to do to stay here? If it’s not college what do you want to do? Be a writer? Is that what you really want? And sure, we could have talked about it, but maybe I didn’t because I couldn’t see how we could make it work long term. I’m sorry, but seeing Dean was a reality check. I honestly don’t think we can keep going on like we have. I don’t even do long term relationships, Tal! I’m really sorry, but I think it’s for the best if we end it now.” 

There was such quiet resoluteness to her words, and it was the match to light my burning anger. I refused to see the quavering fear in her eyes, the strain in her face. I’d seen it before when she was stressed out and worried about her schoolwork, about not making the grade and the incredible pressure to perform. I could have jumped on that fear and made Serena admit what we had together scared her. I could reason, cajole, soothe, but she’d smashed something precious, crossed a line I didn’t think I could step back over. And I snapped.  

“Did you sleep with him?”

Serena didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

            The pain was a flash-fire in my chest. “So you slept with him to make your point! Is that your escape route? Your way out? That’s absolute shit, Serena! It’s low and fucking cowardly!” I yelled, my body vibrating with my voice, with every nerve going taut and threatening to shred.

            That gorgeous skin of hers blushed and she had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t mean for it to happen! Honest! It just did. And I never said we were exclusive, Tal.”

            That was too much. I chucked the coffees onto the pavement at her feet, liquid exploding between us, dumping the bag of croissants, now greased and clammy from my hands. “We’ve been with each other nearly every day since we met! Isn’t that exclusive? Isn’t that because we were together?”

            “Tal—” She stepped towards me and there were tears pooling in her eyes, but anything she was going to say wasn’t going to take back what she’d done. And the very clear message she was sending me. 

            I didn’t want to be there, with people gawking and trying to avoid us, as if everything I thought we’d meant to each other was splattered like that coffee out on the pavement. She’d discarded us without even telling me we were over. That she was done and wanted it to end. I could feel the pressure in my chest, the sob that threatened to leave my mouth if I opened it. I turned and I ran. 

            For days I stayed in the hotel room. That’s where Seb eventually found me. He’d been performing and texting to make sure I was still alive, but so engrossed in performing he didn’t notice I was actually in the hotel and hadn’t left. 

            “Tal,” he called through the door, knocking. “Tal, if you’re in there, just open the door so I can see you’re okay.”

            I barely had the energy to get off the bed. I was wearing sweats and a T-shirt and hadn’t changed out of them since that day it all exploded and I came back here like a wounded animal, vomiting my guts up and crying until I couldn’t see. I ignored Serena’s texts and calls. Hearing her voice would only mean reliving it. There was no finality, no closure, none of the crap you think about when something finishes, just this alternating pain with the heavy numbness of sleep and all desire stripped from my bones.

            I opened the door a crack and it was enough for Seb to swear a blue streak, pushing on the door so he could enter. The darkened room and smell of rank despair had him flinging back curtains and opening the windows as far as they’d go. I collapsed on the bed, squinting at the light and feeling so hollow I thought a gust of wind could carry me away. And maybe I wanted it to.

            Seb called room service ordering tea and breakfast even though it was mid-afternoon. He sat on the sofa and waited, saying nothing. The food came and he busied himself pouring tea and buttering toast and then he gently placed them on the nightstand and sat back down again.

            The faint whiff of food sent a pang of hunger through me. I couldn’t remember when last I ate, so I crawled to sit, resting my back against the headboard. I picked at the toast, chewing and tasting nothing, except it was warm and it satisfied the hunger.

            Seb’s eyes were mournful. I didn’t know how much he knew, because I’d kept this to myself. However we’d always been able to gauge each other’s moods. Ever since I was that little boy needing comfort, needing him, because of the sudden absence of my mother, he’d been there for me in his own way. 

            “I don’t need to know particulars, but I gather you’ve been seeing someone. It’s been obvious with you not being here most of the time.”

            I just nodded, eating slowly. Seb got up and lifted a cloche revealing poached eggs on wilted spinach. Plain and perfect for the recently starved. He handed me the plate and a fork. I could barely hold it my arms were as weak as limp noodles. 

            “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. Always. But until then, I thought you should know I’ve cancelled the trip to Washington.”

            My eyes widened. Seb rarely went off schedule during a tour. But the Washington gig was a private concert for some political big wigs and a personal favour. 

            “I thought we should take a small holiday. I have a need for some sun and I thought Hawaii might be lovely, and we’ve never been there.”

            My eyebrows arched as I chewed on the eggs, masticating but not really tasting. 

            Seb’s lips twitched. “I’ve always wanted to try surfing, despite my aversion for sand. At least once. Gabbie’s organised a house by the beach on the North Shore on O’ahu. We can stay as long as you like, but I thought we should stop off in Melbourne as planned before London. Touch base.” 

            There was a subtle hint and a query there. He meant seeing Liv. He was thinking I’d need her. The eggs gagged in my throat. I’d pretty much avoided Liv this entire time. I’d stepped out of the life I’d had, shedding it like skin. I had no idea how to stitch it back on.

            Seb sat quietly, watching me eat. The tea was hot and soothing. I’d consumed everything and that seemed to satisfy him. He took the plates away and wheeled the trolley into the corridor.

            Leaning against the wall by the door he said, “I’ll come back later and we can have dinner together. I always find a bath helps when I feel like crap.” That rueful grin almost had my own lips tugging. And my throat jammed at his genuine concern. 

            “If it was anything like the first time I fell in love, it must be brutal. And I’m sorry for that.”

            In his uncanny way, Seb had figured it out.

            “When was that?” I croaked, my voice froggy from disuse, vocal cords cried out.

            He turned to leave. “Your mother.”

Everything stilled and my chest caved in. His confession whisked me back to the days, weeks, months following her absence. His lover, wife, the mother of his child.

Somehow I found it in me to say, “It’s not like that.”

“Good,” he said quietly and then left me with my thoughts.

14

Olivia

the soul of a vampire

Tallis’s name meant “wise” in Persian. Its French origin meant “forest”. I preferred the Persian.

            It was one of the first things I’d asked him when we met because it was so unusual. His mother chose it, as if she’d sensed something in the child she’d brought into the world.

            Wise and very, very human.

            Sitting on the lounger on the warehouse roof, I stared at my phone, unable to stop looking at the photograph on the screen. I’d found Tal’s mum on the UNSW website. She was a Professor in the School of Humanities & Languages. Marissa Ricci. Curling dark brown hair, the eyes were unmistakably like Tal’s; a wide mouth, thinner lips than his, high cheekbones, a heart shaped face, and honey coloured skin. She had a serene kind of beauty, but that might have been the pose in the image. From what I’d gleaned, mostly from Gabbie, she had a temper that had matched Seb’s. 

            Passionate. Brilliant. Fiery. Words that equally described Sebastian. Gabbie had said Marissa’s grandparents had been migrants from Italy and made a home in Melbourne. They’d set up a restaurant in Carlton that was still there and now run by Marissa’s brother. A chance encounter at one of Seb’s concerts at the Arts Centre changed everything. Tal knew Gabbie had spoken to me on occasion about his mum. I felt a little guilty for knowing what I did because no one ever brought her up. Not unless asked. Every morsel of information seemed illicit.

            My gut churned thinking we were heading her way tomorrow. It felt like barrelling towards the unknown. For all Tal’s wisdom, whether through his vast book learning, patient observation, having lived a not so ordinary life, and extensive travel—for all that, I don’t think he could truly see the potential fallout, or if he did, he was throwing caution to the wind. 

            Why now? That’s what I kept thinking. 

            Not that I was thinking that clearly. My head pounded, slightly relieved by the Panadeine I’d found in the makeshift med-kit in the kitchen. My headphones were on low, playing Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s song, Red Eyes and Tears, which I loved; loved the whole album. The year before, Tal and I saw this film, a vampire love story, Only Lovers Left Alive. Adam and Eve became my second favourite vamp couple next to Spike and Drusilla from Buffy—although they were kind of highbrow—far more poetic, artsy; a touch droll and tragic. This song was featured in the club scene and it immediately caught Tal’s and my attention. We just looked at each other and there was that spark of recognition that we’d found something special and wanted to discover more. 

            Sometimes I imagined I had the soul of a vampire. Yes, soul. It felt really, really, really, old, like I’d lived for centuries, eons, thousands of years. 

            I picked up my notebook I’d dumped on the ground by the lounger. Inside were a few postcards. I knew the one I was looking for. Tal found it for me when he was in Berlin. Knowing my strange love of old vampire movies he’d found a black and white postcard of a film still from a classic silent vamp movie, Nosferatu. It was an image of Max Schreck as the creepiest, scariest, most rat-like vampire ever.

  Dearest T

If we can imagine vampires, do you think they could ever be real? Kind of like imagining angels. People sense them, even claim to see them, so a part of me believes it’s highly possible they exist. But VAMPIRES?

And if they exist, would they have a soul?            

I mean they’re supposedly dead or undead. But so often they’re portrayed as being capable of love, so they’d have a soul, right? And that makes me wonder, what does it mean to have a soul? Is it a conscience, a purpose, a destiny? I mean Buffy’s Angel had a soul and it was tied to his destiny, it gave him a conscience and it made him capable of love. Where did that idea come from???     

It’s a mystery,                       

            love always O

I put the lid on my pen. My vampiric soul felt especially tiresome today, heavy, like I’d done too many rotations on this earth. I uncapped the pen again and picked out another postcard, a black and white image from one of Tal’s favourite films, Wings of Desire, of the angel Damiel standing on the edge of a building looking over Berlin:

PS It comes back to the reincarnation thing—having a soul—I mean have you ever wondered why our souls would keep coming back? Why they’d be pulled back to earth

over and over? Is it experience? Getting it right? 

Getting what right exactly? 

Or are our souls pulled back to a person—another soul—or maybe many, time and time again?  

            MYSTERY.   

Ugh. My head hurt musing about this stuff. And the heaviness was mostly from lack of sleep.

            Destiny. Love.

            I closed my eyes, drifting with the music, still able to hear the traffic, a constant hum. 

            I wondered whether destiny and love were connected, and I wasn’t thinking of romantic love but something bigger, like the love that makes you want to do something because it means so much to you that it becomes a kind of destiny. Or loving yourself and that gives you the strength to do something you love that’s just about you, despite what everyone around you says you should be doing. 

            I didn’t have that sense of wanting to do something that strong, but I was thinking Tal might. He was always writing, stories and poems about stuff he’d seen on his journeys, people he’d met, weird scenarios in his life. I had this tingly spidey sense he was laying a foundation without even knowing it—or maybe he did. That everything he wrote was building on each other, and it might not seem like a clear path, but he was making his own road, his own direction just by doing it.

            When he started taking photos with his phone and then pairing them with stories, something kind of clicked for me. It was a seamless development on what he’d been doing, like he was just taking it to the next level.

            The first one I recalled vividly. He’d emailed me a photo of a misty morning in Paris, and he’d captured this man with his elbows leaning on the ledge of the Pont Neuf, looking down into the Seine. Beneath it he wrote:

            The river ran still. 

Even while it moved, it appeared still, heavy with silt and sludge and debris. 

Like his life. 

Maybe today he’d find a way to kick-start into something new; a new way to move forward, beyond this weight and feeling that nothing had changed and he was drowning in it.      

            He’d taken countless photos accompanied by these stories since then, and I could see him taking the next step, where he’d publish them, perhaps do it himself, and find a way to share it with the world. 

            That felt like destiny to me. 

            Every time I read something new he’d written I felt this awe that he thought, felt and saw the world as he did. Such depth and sensitivity; humour and lightness; melancholy and sadness. He was wise, without having any sense of being wise. 

            My phone suddenly lit up, ringing. My mum.

            “Hey,” I said, still muddled with my thoughts.

            “Livie, how are things?”

            “Cool, is everything okay?”

             “Yes, just got off the phone with Bradley. He’s looking forward to seeing you and a little bemused at the sudden visit. You didn’t mention about Tal’s mum?”

            I sighed. Reality was back. “Nope, I just said Tal was checking out university courses and stuff. It’s his business.”

            “Absolutely. But Bradley always thinks there’s a subtext.”

            I snorted. “Conspiracy theorist.”

            Mum laughed. “Don’t say that to his face. But how are you, about the visit?”

            “It’s kind of a shock, Tal wanting to see her. I’m still processing how I feel about it.”

            “That’s okay. I’m not surprised he wants to see her, though.”

            “Why?” My parents had become great friends with Seb over the years, especially Dad, and they’d accepted Tal as an extended part of our family. 

            “She’s his mother. Whatever led Tal to stop seeing her, and Seb did mention this to us, that it was his choice, I guess I always had a feeling he might change his mind when he was older.”

            I absorbed what she said, swinging from my instinct to judge and condemn her for leaving him in the first place—which I found myself doing a lot—and knowing she must have been in a very bad place that she’d had to leave.

            “It’s the why of it, isn’t it? Wanting to know why it got to that point where she had that breakdown and couldn’t be there for him,” I mused, mostly to myself. 

            “Maybe. And I know Sebastian’s reticence to talk about her is because his own feelings about Marissa are so strong. Even now.”

            Gabbie once spoke of Seb and Marissa’s love as being a flash-fire. It burned with an intensity that was instantly blinding, all-consuming, devastating. I had no idea how to relate to that. I’d never been overcome in that way; never thought of love being overpowering, destructive, as well as thrilling, stunning.

            “I still don’t get how you could love someone that much and then it could end like that.”

            Mum was silent. She was always careful with words, said they had power, especially when you couldn’t take them back. 

            “We’ll never truly know, although if Tal’s mother agrees to see him, he might find she can explain. But there are many kinds of love, Liv. We’re all unique, so each experience of love has to be different. It doesn’t make sense that we’d all feel the same. It’s one of those strange phenomenon in life that we all agree love exists.”

            “So how did you know you loved Dad?”

I’d heard versions of how they’d met. Like Seb and Marissa, they met accidentally, or in my view, not by chance, that it was destined to happen. Dad was in London doing a postdoctoral fellowship and he’d stumbled across a contemporary gallery, saw Mum’s work through the window and said he almost fell to his knees, her work was so breathtaking. Mum worked mostly with soft chalk and pastels creating these large scale works on paper featuring the sea, water, waves, and her passion for ice and northern landscapes. She wanted to reveal the beauty so people would be inspired to appreciate what we might lose if we didn’t take care of it. I can only imagine Dad’s own passion for the sea, which led him to surf, meant there was an immediate connection through Mum’s work. In resonating with her art, he was resonating with her.  

Dad stayed looking for ages until Mum just happened to walk into the gallery. When he overheard the gallery assistant talking to her, discovering she was the artist, he asked her out then and there. 

            Mum laughed. “Well, he was absolutely gorgeous and there was definitely an attraction. He had that tall, broad shouldered build from years of surfing, his hair was down to his shoulders, and he had an incredible tan having just surfed in Johannesburg, which was one of those strange coincidences, that he’d been to the country I was born. The fact he loved my work also helped! But if I was to describe how it happened, it was like this build up of energy between us. Each time we saw each other or talked, it kept fuelling the energy, or attraction. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever met. So athletic and confident, adventurous and yet incredibly cerebral. So passionately engaged in life. It was,” she paused trying to find the words, although this sounded so much like Dad, she didn’t need to elaborate. “He was so vibrantly alive, just being near him made me feel the same. Tom was incredibly beautiful. I’d never met anyone like him and I just knew I never would again.”

            “When did you know?” I asked, loving how she talked about him after all these years.

            “It took me by surprise, like that day when we first met. I was on a trip exploring the coastline of Cornwall and taking photographs for a series of works I wanted to make. And it blindsided me. I was on a desolate beach, the sea metallic and threatening. I felt awfully alone, and it was because of this overwhelming sense of missing. Almost a foreshadow of loss. I knew Tom was in London and safe. For the first time I was imagining what it would be like for Tom not to be in my life. It shocked me at how devastated I felt.”

            “Is that when he came to see you?” I prodded, smiling because I knew this bit of the story.

            She chuckled. “Yes. I’ve never told you how I had the strangest feeling while I was there. I was walking along Perranporth beach one morning and I remember feeling this sudden warmth in my chest. I couldn’t describe it but I had such a clear vision of Tom, that I could only believe he’d been thinking about me. The next day he arrived at the hotel. I remember coming back from taking photographs and I just had this sixth sense he was nearby. And when I saw him—ah, it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Truly.”

            God, that was amazing. I had a glimmer of that when I saw Tal after we’d been apart, and I definitely had those feelings, that sixth sense where I’d feel this warmth or have this sudden flash vision of him in my mind, and either we’d call each other or text soon after. 

            I took a shaky breath. “I’m worried what it’s going to do to him. Seeing her.” 

            “Of course, Livie. It’s absolutely natural to want to protect the people we care about. But we also have to let them do what they think is best for them, no matter what the outcome, even if their decisions lead to them getting hurt. But you can be honest and voice your concern, even try and persuade them to see if they’re acting foolishly, or needlessly reckless.”

            I’d struggled not to tell Tal I thought it could rake stuff up in a bad way. Yet it also wasn’t my call to make.

            “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

            “Sixth sense, love.”

            All I could sense was that everything felt like it was about to change.          

15

Tallis

all she said

I made breakfast when I was stressed. Any time of day, it was my meal of choice.

            Liv was nowhere inside the warehouse when I finally made an appearance. But there was evidence she’d been up with a plunger of coffee cooling by the sink. I drank coffee in small doses, but in the morning, Liv needed it like fuel.

            I got out eggs, bread, avocado, and found some mushrooms I could cook in the pan. All the while my brain was buzzing, so I kept my hands busy to settle my nerves, knowing what I had to say and dreading it.            

            “You’re up,” Liv said, traipsing through the doorway from the stairwell that led to the roof. She had on her sushi pyjamas, purple Uggs and my grey hoodie. Her hair was a riot, curls frizzing out with the light catching the neon blue streaks. Blue was her favourite colour, but she had a rotating system of colours, sometimes combining a few. 

            “Brad’s picking us up at the airport,” Liv announced, sitting at the huge jarrah table that was littered with our notebooks, sketchbooks, magazines, books and laptops. 

            “Good,” I said, distracted while scrambling eggs, making toast, slicing avocado and mushrooms. 

            Liv got up and topped up her coffee.

            “That’s cold.”

            She shrugged. “Iced coffee.” Her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile, peeking over my shoulder and breathing deep. “Yum.” Then she sat back down, legs tucked up. 

            The quiet between us was heavy, and I was bearing most of the weight. I quickly pan-fried the mushrooms before plating everything. Toast was piled separately, and I moved between the island bench and the table. I put the kettle on for tea and then sat down. 

            Liv buttered some toast, biting into a slice, and watched me expectantly. 

            I took a shuddering breath, swiping my hands through my hair and dived. “Serena was my girlfriend. In New York.” I picked up my fork, staring at the pile of food and balked at how I was going to eat it with my stomach a writhing mass of worms.

             “Oh,” Liv said, and it sounded almost indifferent until I dared look at her. She’d masked her expression in a way she rarely did. Which was never good. 

            “How long?” she finally asked.

            I stabbed at the eggs, valiantly putting a forkful into my mouth to delay answering. 

“Pretty much the entire time we were over there.”

            Liv stilled, like she’d been freeze-framed. I ate while it sunk in. Because it was sinking in. The whole time I’d been in New York, every time we’d communicated, I’d said nothing. And I’d been noticeably absent. Liv had even left texts asking if I was okay and if something was wrong.

            She’d been right.

            Liv finished her toast. Her tone was flat when she next spoke and I knew she was trying to rein in her feelings. “You said nothing, Tal, why?” 

            It was horrible how she’d leached the emotion from her voice while my nerves were shredding. “I was…involved. We were both pretty involved. I’m sorry, I just,” I put my fork down, giving up, and leaned back as my energy deflated. “I just got so lost in the relationship, I didn’t say anything to you, or Seb. I didn’t say anything to him until it ended.” Because I was a freaking mess and couldn’t pick up the pieces alone. We’d stayed two weeks in Hawaii. I could have stayed forever in that limbo.

            Liv’s eyes never left my face and I had no idea what she must see. She was usually so expressive that the lack of response sickened me.

            “You,” she took a deep breath, “you were in love with her.”

            And that was it. All that needed to be said I guess. I nodded.

            “But it ended?” 

            “Yeah. She ended it.” 

            Okay, there was always more to say. The fact it wasn’t mutual was another depressing nail in the coffin.

            “You didn’t want it to end, though.”

            Not even a question, like she knew me so well, she intuited without me saying a thing. I was close to throwing up.

            This was the crappy stuff I’d been wading in since leaving. No, I didn’t want it to end, but with distance, I wasn’t so sure. Serena had been right, there was a bigger picture. We were so absorbed in each other both our lives had warped to create a space for us just to be together. But wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? I could have argued this with her; that we could have found a way, so that what we were together could have encompassed all the other facets of our lives. Questions about what I was going to do, where I’d live, how we’d manage, what would happen when she started her graduate program—all of it just didn’t factor. We lived for the moment, day-to-day, and before I could think of the future, we were done. So, I didn’t know how I would have felt if we’d got that far; I didn’t know how I’d feel if she’d told me she wasn’t great with relationships long term, or that there was any issue about our exclusivity. 

            I didn’t know, because I never got to find out, and she’d decided she could excise me from her life before messy reality came crashing in. 

            She decided, not me.

            So I was going to be honest. “I didn’t want to at the time.”

            Liv uncurled her legs and picked up her fork. She moved carefully. She began eating, picking at her food. I could tell she was stalling. So, I ate as well. It was probably the most awkward silence we’d ever shared. 

            Suddenly she put her fork down, looking at me with a direct gaze. Her eyes were shining and I couldn’t breathe for wondering what she was going to say next. 

            “I’m sorry, Tal. She obviously meant a lot to you. I’m sorry it ended. I don’t know what it must feel like to go through that, but I’m sorry.” She stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

            That was it. All she said. And she meant what she said because she cared about me and would hate to see me in pain. I stared at her walking through the doorway leading to the bedrooms. She moved so quietly. She was there and then suddenly she wasn’t, leaving me with words that any good friend would say, but it felt hollow, as if she’d drained out the warmth that might have eased me. 

            Or maybe it was the fact I was shaking and cold and my stomach was doing flips. I’d hurt her. She didn’t have to accuse me or say I should have told her because she was my best friend and when you have life changing experiences, isn’t that what you share? Or the fact when it fell to pieces, I didn’t reach out to Liv for help. 

By not saying it, she said so much more. I would have felt better if she’d yelled and thrown stuff at me for being a jerk and so not the friend I was supposed to be. 

            When Liv felt hurt, she hid. She’d hide in her attic room. She’d put her headphones on and space out. She’d draw. She’d lose herself in her own world and block everyone out. Then slowly, she’d reemerge. 

            For the first time since that hotel room, tears sprung to my eyes and my heart felt like lead. One of the few people in the world I’d never wanted to hurt intentionally, and I had. A part of me had deliberately kept her in the dark. I’d faced that fact after the fallout. The why of it still stumped me. Liv was too smart not to figure out I’d made a choice not to tell her. It wasn’t simply carelessness or being so lost in Serena that I completely forgot Liv. I could never forget her. She was in my blood. I’d seen her messages and ignored them, or answered saying I was fine and just busy with Seb and stuff. It was cowardice, simple avoidance. I didn’t think about the ramifications. I wasn’t thinking straight at all.

There was no going back from any of it. 

My thoughts were ricocheting until I hit on the fact she’d answered a question I’d only recently posed to myself: Liv had never been in love.

16

Olivia

blood in the water

Cold and quiet.

            So cold, yet I was sitting under a downpour of scalding hot water. 

            I was shivering in the heat and steam, legs tucked into my chest and cradled with my arms.           

I’d locked myself in the en suite, undressed, and fogged up the bathroom turning the water on high, the rain showerhead creating a mini waterfall I gladly submerged myself under. 

             The water dampened all sound. I was in a null space, the silence in my head welcome and deafening as it numbed all my thoughts. I didn’t want to think, because I didn’t want to feel, or I’d be spiralling with the water down the drain.

            There was a giddy lightness in my head as I’d walked away from Tal. I was untethered, his words and all he hadn’t said had snipped at the thread between us. Is not saying anything the same as lying? Tal had never lied to me. 

            He’d never kept something so important from me before.

            My skin was frozen to the touch, my face similarly cast in ice from the brief glimpse in the mirror. I needed heat. And it was so hot my skin was reddening, yet I could barely feel it.

            Tal fell in love. Might still be in love. 

            In love.

            He fell.

            He didn’t tell me.

            Why?

            And why did I feel like something vital had just been ripped from out of my chest? Like he’d cracked open my ribcage, and squeezed my heart, wringing it of blood.

            There should be blood swirling in the water. 

The tears streamed but I couldn’t feel them against my skin. The mewling sound that came the moment I opened my mouth I stopped with my fist, biting the skin of my hand with my teeth. 

            If I stayed here I could keep the silence inside me. I could keep all the questions and thoughts at bay. I could melt the ice spiking my heart with heat.

            So I stayed.

17

Tallis

the ground just fell from beneath me

My mother answered my email. My hands shook as I pressed on the screen of my phone to open it. 

            Dear Tallis,

            Of course I want to see you. Of course. 

Let me know where you’re staying and we can arrange the time and place.

            Thank you for reaching out to me. I so much want to see you.

            Love Marissa  

            It was brief and yet, I felt I could hear the echo of her voice from the last time we’d spoken. I rubbed my face with sweaty hands and answered. This was happening. This was actually happening.

            And Liv. 

            We were at the airport, waiting in the departure lounge. Yesterday and this morning she’d kept mostly to herself and it was enough to let me know things between us had skewed into bad territory. Completely frightening and unfamiliar territory. 

            When I went to her room to say the taxi was on its way I noticed she’d packed all her stuff. I hadn’t thought why that should register until during the taxi ride here it twigged that if she were coming back to stay, she’d have left things. But she hadn’t. We exchanged words, but a frigid wall was forming and between my mother’s email and Liv’s silence, I was ready to puke. I had to hold it together or I wouldn’t get on that plane.

            I looked around, Liv had wandered off. 

            I couldn’t hack sitting here without her. I jostled through legs and people standing around and spied her at an empty lounge staring at the planes through one of the huge windows. 

            Even her clothes had a back-off vibe, with her Doc Martin boots, black tights and denim mini, and under her denim jacket was a vintage Jaws T-shirt. A present from me. 

            “Hey,” I said cutting though the quiet, standing beside her and looking out, while my eyes kept darting her way.

            “Hey.” Even her voice was off, raspy and tight. If I were honest I’d guess she’d been crying, because I’d heard that voice before. It was a punch to my already queasy gut.

            “Talk to me, Liv,” I pleaded. And I realised I wasn’t beyond going down on my knees to say sorry and beg her to forgive me. She was scaring me. Scaring the shit out of me with not speaking. 

            She turned and tilted her head to look up at me. The frozen stare had gone, and her eyes were raw. Raw and red rimmed. She’d been wearing sunglasses for most of the ride here, so I’d missed seeing what now was laid bare. 

            “I’m sorry, Liv. Please believe me I am so sorry for not saying anything.” I reached for her hand wanting to haul her into my arms, but she stepped back just enough that my hand fell, limp and useless.

            “Can you tell me why, Tal?” 

            My tongue seemed to have swollen, my mouth dry and throat squeezed of air. I tried swallowing and almost choked. 

            “I don’t know. I could make excuses, but I stopped myself and I don’t know how to explain why.” 

            She studied me and the hurt flashed across her face, a kind of seizure that vanished just as quick. The ground beneath me was unsteady. No, my legs were shaking and barely able to support me.

            “Then I don’t think I can talk about this now, Tal. If you can’t explain why you locked me out, I’m not sure what we can say.”

            I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets. “It was a crazy time, Liv, just—I wasn’t thinking straight, I was—”

            Liv touched my arm and I almost swooned just to feel it. I hated this distance widening between us that I wasn’t sure how to mend. She shook her head slowly, swallowing hard. “Let’s wait, okay? You’re about to see your mum and I don’t want to be having this sort of conversation here. Just give me some space, Tal.”

            Her hand fell away and I wanted to yank it back. Wanting space felt like retreating. Leaving. 

            “Okay,” I managed and I could see her visibly relax. If that’s what she needed, I’d give it to her, even when warning bells were clanging in my head that giving her space was only going to make things worse.

            The announcement for our flight departure came. Walking towards the gate I felt another wave of nausea at thinking about seeing her brother. The last thing I wanted was to impose myself on Liv seeing Brad when she felt like this about me. 

            I cleared my throat, hating what I was about to suggest when Liv’s presence had been my lifeline as I was about to step into such an unknown. 

            “I can stay at a hotel in the city if that would be better for you? I arranged to meet my mother at the Rocks tomorrow, a café at MCA.” 

            Liv hesitated, and that’s all I needed to know. Her words just confirmed what I sensed. “Okay. It would be easier for you. But I’ll be there, I promised I would, so I’ll meet you there before and hang out until you finish. Whatever suits you, Tal. But I’m here for you.”

            Just hearing those last words cut deep. She meant it and I felt inches small. Despite whatever she was feeling, Liv still cared enough to be there if I needed her. I had this strangling urge to grasp her into my arms, not letting go. Instead I walked along the snaking line towards the gate with a sense of impending doom at what lay beyond. 

            None of this felt right. 

            “Sure, that’s fine,” I said, but Liv could tell I was lying.   

18

Olivia

wishing for a time machine

I hadn’t realised how much I missed my brother until I saw him waiting at the arrival gate. I ran to him through a throng of people, leaving Tal in my wake.

            “So good to see you, Liv,” Brad mumbled into my hair, picking me up for a ginormous hug.

            “Hey you,” I whispered, stupidly close to tears, my emotions swan diving. I needed an anchor and Brad was it.

            Brad pulled one of my blue curls. “I like. A definite upgrade from lime green.” I stuck out my tongue and Brad playfully tried to grab it. He was six years older, looked a lot like Dad except with darker colouring like Mum, and we seemed to automatically fall into this easy, joking way of being together despite the time apart. 

            “Tal, good to see you.” Brad smiled and bumped Tal’s fist. 

            “Hey, Brad. You look like you’ve been surfing.” Tal was subdued, but he masked his feelings well. I felt a sharp pang of regret that he wasn’t coming with us, but my mind flashed to the morning he’d confessed and an icy wave dumped over me. I was back in the shower, trying to fight the painful freeze. 

            “Yeah, been going out. You should give it a go with Liv while you’re here.” Brad winked at me. How I’d managed to avoid the surfing bug was beyond my family. Even Mum could surf, but I’d always chosen to swim.

            Tal gave a tense smile as we walked towards the baggage claim. I knew it was time to come clean with Brad before we got much further. “I didn’t mention it, but Tal’s here to see his mum.”

            Brad visibly reeled back; stopping for a moment except the flow of people carried us forward. “Seriously?” Both Tal’s and my nods confirmed it. “Wow, that’s huge.”

            “Yeah,” was all Tal said, and without thinking I gave his hand a quick squeeze. Tal’s head whipped round and his hand clasped mine. Hard. Our eyes locked and I saw the aching desperation in his expression, silently pleading with me. I pulled gently, and he let go.

            I would not cry. Not here. 

            Brad hadn’t noticed, and I quickly relayed our change of plans. 

            “Are you sure? You’re more than welcome to bunk with us, Tal. Although you’d be on the floor and it won’t compare to a 5-star bed,” joked Brad.

            “It’s cool. I managed to book a hotel in the city.”

            “Well, the least we can do is drop you off.”

            “Great, thanks.”

            I’d never been more grateful for crowds of people to hide amongst. Tal stared at the baggage carousel, while Brad asked me about family. I was inches away from Tal and that need to touch him, to make sure he was okay, was fighting with the wrenching pain in my chest. 

            When my duffel bag came into view, we both went for it at the same time.

            “Sorry,” he murmured, our hands grasping, touching. 

            “It’s okay,” I said, wobbly with my warring feelings, wanting to take back his offer to stay in the city, while I went my separate way. 

            Wanting to step back in time and erase the silence of all we’d left unsaid and couldn’t find the words to say.

            But my splintering heart won, and I kept quiet.

19

Tallis

destiny, love, soul 

It was official: I was fed up with staying in hotel rooms. 

            When on tour, it was necessary, especially for short stays. Seb saw hotels as merely functional spaces that catered to what he needed. The practice rooms, recording studios and performance spaces were his domain. 

            Occasionally though, he’d do the unexpected and insist we stay somewhere off the beaten track. One time visiting New York in my early teens, he’d insisted Gabbie book us rooms at the Chelsea Hotel. It was only for a couple of nights before we moved somewhere more swank and convenient.

            “History, Tal! History! It’s legendary. It was the hub for artists, musicians, poets, writers—it was a scene along with Warhol’s Factory!”

            Gabbie’s eyes went heavenward, dutifully making the arrangements. 

            Seb was on a roll. “The musicians, Tal! Leonard Cohen. Bob Dylan. Patti Smith. Janis Joplin. Jimi Hendrix. Yes, yes, yes! It was a revolving door for the arts community in the 60s and 70s, Tal. We have to stay there at least once and soak up the history!”

            It certainly had been one of our more memorable hotel stays. People lounged in the foyer with an inordinate number of pug dogs. Artwork hung everywhere, from the weird, atrocious, to the fantastic. The service desk was manned by a friendly, but noticeably indifferent hotelier. Checking out our rooms, we discovered each room was individually decorated. The claw-footed bath in mine was a treat until I saw an unidentifiable substance clogging the drain. While it was relatively clean and neat, Seb’s room proved more “atmospheric” while mine looked over a back alley and had a TV that I swore was older than me—definitely historic. It didn’t help that the occupant of the room next to mine kept his door ajar and sounded like he was coughing up a lung.

Seb loved everything about it. He gave me a crash-course in Hard Rock, Punk, and New Wave, shoving his iPhone in my direction every chance he got. If I’d had to listen to Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne one more time, I would have pulled my freaking hair out. Of course, Leonard was a great musician, but Seb had a thing for listening to his favourites on repeat. He dragged me to MOMA, the Met and the Guggenheim in quick succession. He insisted on a pilgrimage to the building that once housed CBGBs in the Bowery, and wrangled a private tour at The Electric Lady Studios in Greenwich Village, giving an impromptu performance in one of the studios. 

While still in the Village, he phoned Gabbie to find the nearest bookstore. Seb kept her on speakerphone as she barked directions, yelling at him that she wasn’t an app and Google was invented for a reason. Seb proceeded to raid the shelves for Kerouac, Burroughs, Bukowski and Ginsberg (there was an obvious theme to our excursions), which he then unceremoniously handed over to me saying my education was sorely lacking without them. We had dinner in Little Italy and Chinatown, lunch and shopping in SoHo because Seb hadn’t packed enough clothes, went to the top of the Empire State Building and took a brisk walk through Central Park.

            This was Seb’s version of sightseeing. He packed a couple of weeks into a few days, and then just as quick, he tuned out everything, focused solely on his music, and I was back to fending for myself.

            I’d never stayed in a hotel without him. It was an unnerving realisation. 

            After my check in with Seb, omitting why I was really here, my stomach souring with more guilt, I spoke to Gabbie who was about to leave for London. 

The inevitable question came up of whether I was coming over for Christmas or staying, and I balked. I couldn’t think further than tomorrow. The small comfort of hearing their voices vanished when I was left alone and wishing I’d at least got a room overlooking the harbour to distract me. 

            Brad didn’t get it. I would have happily ditched this place for his floor if I could be near Liv. Knowing she was in the same city but somewhere else had my eyes brimming. I’d screwed up big time and the night stretched before me with no promise of rest or sleep. 

            I got up from the bed, grabbed my backpack and swipe keycard. When I wanted to outrun myself, I walked, escaping from unfamiliar places, silent and sterile rooms, Seb absent in his music, ghosts from my past, and Liv far, far away. 

            My backpack was open and my notebook fell out and with it, a couple of postcards. I dived for them, seeing the image of Max the creepiest vampire ever.

            Liv. This time the tears slipped free and my hands shook while reading it. 

            Destiny. Love. Soul.

            It was perfect.

I was pretty certain she’d smuggled them into my notebook after I’d spilled about Serena, or maybe before while I was making breakfast. I didn’t want to second-guess what it meant; I just snatched at this thin, thin thread of hope that we could get through this. Liv always reminded me that we were destined to meet in this life. Nothing was chance. But that didn’t mean it was meant to last.

This was the horrifying truth I wanted to outrun. Our souls might have found each other, but our human actions guaranteed nothing was certain.  

            I texted Liv before I went out.

            I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well. Love T

20

Olivia

too scared to go into the water

Head tilted back, I was looking at the first stars of night while lying on the beach.

             Brad had wanted to go for a swim before dinner and I happily agreed. His girlfriend, Belinda, who answered to the unfortunate nickname, Bindi (Brad and Bindi—ugh), although Brad called her Bel, was a welcome surprise. Laid back, earthy, athletic and friendly, she was so not like Justin’s girlfriend I knew I wasn’t going to have any trouble liking her. 

             “I’ll get dinner started, you two have fun,” she’d offered not long after we arrived at their ground floor duplex apartment. Brad lifted her up in one of his bear hugs and Belinda giggled as he kissed her full on the mouth. It was so casual, yet familiar and loving, that I turned away to look out through the glass doors leading to the deck and backyard. Lush plants bordered the small yard. A couple of Brad’s surfboards were propped up against a wall, and there was a wooden table and chairs and a couple of sun lounges. One of Brad’s favourite musicians, Jack Johnson’s song Never Know was playing in the background (our musical tastes differed greatly). Very chilled out surfer-dude. So not my thing. Everything about this place signalled “home”.

            Brad flashed a grin. “Got any shorts, Liv? Bathers?” He never ribbed me about my clothing, but he was eyeing my tights and Docs sceptically. I pulled a face and rolled my eyes, pointing at my Jaws T-shirt.  

            “I came prepared. I’ll go get changed.”

            Belinda smiled and she was lovely with her tanned skin and blonde streaked brown hair, eyes a soft blue, and I could believe that she’d met my brother surfing, almost dropping in on his wave. Instead of giving her grief he’d smiled and told her to drop in anytime. So corny. 

“You can change in my studio or the bathroom.”

            “Cool,” I said picking up my duffle bag and finding my way to the second bedroom, which doubled as Belinda’s studio. She designed and made casual beach wear and the room was strewn with bolts of cloth, tables for cutting and sewing, a drafting table with designs pinned to them, and one of Mum’s breathtaking artworks of waves taking up an entire wall. There was another in the lounge. I stood there, soaking in the energy, because it definitely had a vibe: serene and industrious, light and purposeful. I loved it. 

            Lying on the beach towel, I propped myself up on my elbows, spotting Brad making his way out of the water. He was a dark silhouette against the streak of orange-red flaming on the horizon. 

            “Aaargh! Stop!” My hands tried to fend off the spray of water as he shook like a mangy dog. 

            “Too scared to go into the water?” he joked eyeing my T-shirt.

            “Too cold. That water is freezing.”

            Towel drying his hair, he looked back at the sea. I swear it was in his veins. “Yeah, but it’s the best way to wash off the day.”

            “I’ll take your word for it.” 

            Brad spread his towel on the sand and sat, pulling on his T-shirt. “So what’s up with Tal?”

            Just hearing his name had everything tightening from my stomach up to my throat. “He decided he needed to see her. She’s teaching here at uni.”

            “That’s full on.”

            “Yeah.”

            I focused on breathing, not the pounding roar of blood in my head. 

            “But what gives, Liv—you and Tal are tight. He was supposed to crash with us.”

            And like that, the blood went south like a crashing wave. Trust Brad, he was always the observant one, standing a little offside in the family, watching. Nothing escaped him. 

             “It was more convenient. He’s meeting her at the Rocks tomorrow.”

            Brad’s eyes didn’t leave my face. He nodded. Then so quiet I could barely hear it over the water rolling in and sucking back out. “So why the tears?”

            Tears?! I sat upright, touching my face and there they were, slicking my skin. My eyes had smarted, but I hadn’t felt them with the sting of sand in the on-shore breeze.

            “Shit,” I muttered. Brad touched my shoulder and I gritted my teeth not to turn and curl into him for a hug. 

            I hadn’t really confided in Brad in years. He’d been my defender at home when Justin got cranky with me for whatever reason, or if I met opposition from Mum and Dad, which was rare. And after that jerk mouthed off at me in the schoolyard, calling me a “nigger”, he’d made sure I felt safe, personally warning Jaden to keep his distance or else, and waiting for me after school until his overprotectiveness became overbearing. Justin had been just as bad. But it had meant everything as well.

            He’d been living here since he was twenty, studying to be an engineer and just recently began working with a company specialising in alternative energy systems. But what connected us was more than blood. He’d always had my back. I trusted that if I spilled, it wouldn’t be broadcast to the family if I told him to keep it secret. 

            I just wasn’t sure if I could get the words out, if I even knew what words to say. Something inside of me just felt broken. I didn’t know if I was holding on, letting go, or falling apart.

            “Hey, you don’t have to tell me. Just know you can.” 

I nodded. “I know.”

Wrapping my arms around my bent legs, I let the movement of the waves lull me. Mum believed the sea healed. It had properties similar to blood. We needed it to breathe, as the ocean’s water made up air. The currents regulated the weather, and the ocean supported more than marine life, it supported all life. Without it, we wouldn’t survive. She was passionate about ocean conservation, as was Dad, and it had passed on to all the kids. 

Going down to the shack at Sandy Bay each summer for New Years and the holidays had been the highlight of my year, a chance to regroup, connect and play. I knew that this year, I’d be going again. Brad was bringing Belinda to meet the family for the holiday, and if there were one place where I could sort myself out, it would be there. I wouldn’t be taking Seb up on his offer and going with Tal to London.

The tears kept falling. 

Brad scooted over and put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned in.

“I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

I gave in and wept.

21

Tallis

never truly left

Liv looked about as good as I felt when we met next morning.

            Wan, dark smudges under her eyes and sluggish. Even after downing two cappuccinos at the café we found to have brunch, she had that droopy-eyed look that meant she’d be happy to find a corner, curl up and have a nap. Questions tripped my brain, but I said nothing.

Taylor Swift was playing on the sound system, and before I could comment, Liv made a face because she’d seen me listening and knew I was about to make a less than favourable comment.  

“Don’t say it, Tal. I know how much you love her.” I snorted. She grinned and it was that laid-back knowing that we slipped into that eased my heart. 

“Just because you like her,” I countered. Liv just made a face.          

“I don’t think she’s offensive like you do. Are you ready?” Liv asked, ordering another coffee, slouching in her chair.

I sipped my Earl Grey and my stomach contracted. It had been going into spasms all morning. “Nope.”

It was momentous for the fact I’d initiated this meeting, and yet I felt numb. Sitting here with Liv felt so ordinary that I couldn’t get my head around the conflicting feelings. Liv reached over the table and grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers. I grabbed back at her warmth, but it was too brief as she let go. I couldn’t help thinking she’d normally hug me. Liv was a hugger. Ever since we were kids, she’d hug me at the slightest hurt, or just for comfort, in happiness.   

She was sitting in front of me yet my aching heart sensed she was slipping away. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” I said, wanting air, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Sure, I’ll get my coffee to go,” she said puzzled, but she didn’t push for an explanation.  

We walked aimlessly along the waterfront, going far enough to sit on the steps of the Opera House. 

“Seb told me to take you to a concert when I mentioned we’d be in Sydney.” Although, I didn’t mention why we were here.

Liv groaned, tilting her head to the sun, eyes covered in sunglasses. “He would. He’s sure he can convince me classical music is great. Life changing. It’s like he’s trying to sway me over to the dark side.”

I laughed. “To him it’s the force, Liv. Definitely not the dark side.”

“Whatever. Between him and Dad, if it hasn’t happened yet I can’t see it ever happening.” 

The harsh sunlight glinted off her sunglasses; her skin glowed with it, highlighting the fine bones of her face. I had this insane urge to trace the curve of her cheek, touch the skin that earlier seemed washed out, now flushed with heat. I noticed more than one person glancing at her and one guy in particular stopped, eyeing not just her face, but the expanse of leg she’d left bare wearing cut-off jean shorts and white Converse sneakers. I glared behind my own sunglasses, wanting to tell him to piss off. When he moved on my own gaze proved traitorous, skimming the curves of her legs, swallowing hard while clenching my hands.    

She was so close, yet somehow beyond my reach.    

Liv checked her phone. “It’s nearly time, Tal.”

Despite the muggy heat, my skin broke out into a chill sweat. 

“Let’s go,” I said, wanting to do the exact opposite

* * *

She was already seated at the Museum of Contemporary Art café on the outside terrace. 

            Liv had gone inside the gallery and said to text when I was finished. This time she’d hugged me and I’d held on like this was the last one I’d ever get.            

            When I was little I’d called Marissa, Mama. Seb always referred to her as “your mother”. As I got older, I’d call her mum, but she’d always signed her emails or letters with her given name, as if aware I found it hard to place her in my life. I stumbled going up the steps, wondering at now seeing her face-to-face, how I’d even address her. 

            She stood the moment she saw me and I gaped seeing how short she was. Just over five foot, shorter than Liv. Petite. My own memories had her towering, and here she was making me feel like a clumsy giant.

             The drag of humid air slowed each step until I was standing before my mother, the table the only thing separating us. 

            “Tallis.” Her voice quavered and again I was taken aback, this time by how deep her voice was. And her perfume. White flowers. Gardenias. I felt dizzy at how that scent was so deeply etched in my memories of her.

            “Hi.” It sounded tinny to my buzzing ears. I needed to sit and drink a gallon of water, or I’d keel over. 

            “Please,” she indicated the chair and we both sat. Stilted and tense, each movement felt heavy. I drank from the already full glass, while my mother gazed disconcertingly at me with my own eyes, drinking me in, as parched as I was. 

            Fine boned, creamy skin and a face that had barely aged. A dark cascade of curls fell around her shoulders and she wore a simple black linen shift dress and black heels. Elegant and sophisticated. Yet she clasped her hands on the table to stop them shaking. 

            Eyes shining, she finally spoke. “You have questions, I’m sure.” She hesitated before saying, “It’s wonderful to see you.” She sipped at her own water and gestured to the waiter. 

            “Did you want something else?” she asked.

            “Tea is fine.” 

            Her lips quirked. “Of course.” She ordered a pot of Earl Grey and we both sat back as if synchronised.

            She breathed deeply. “I can’t believe how much you look like Sebastian. None of the pictures I’ve seen do you justice. Sorry, I’m just trying to get used to you being here.”

            Seb would say she had a melodious voice. A voice for lullabies, secrets and whispers. She spoke something like seven languages and her accent was almost impossible to distinguish. At once clipped, she could be mistaken for British but there was the slightest inflection that she could also be mistaken for French. With her colouring and the way she dressed, she was recognisably European.

            “Ask me anything,” she said softly. “Anything.”

            I’d rehearsed so many possible speeches, but in the end the most basic and urgent question came out of my mouth. “Why did you let me go?”

             I heard the sharp intake of breath, her eyes shuttering before she steeled herself. The tea came just then and the brittle awkwardness stretched as the waiter poured. Her hand shook as she reached for her cup.

            “How much has Sebastian told you? About us?” she asked after sipping her tea. She was flustered and it echoed the winged flight in my gut. 

            “The basics. How you met and married soon after. That you went to live in Europe and then you were pregnant with me.” I paused wondering where I was going with this. What did I want from her? “He told me about your father becoming sick—”

            “Cancer,” she confirmed, her face inscrutable. But I didn’t know her well enough, so I wouldn’t be able to tell what she might be feeling. It pricked at me, unnerved me that I’d created this distance, just like her initial absence had. 

            “That’s why I was born in Melbourne. Dad said your mother didn’t last long after your father passed away.” My grandparents. I’d never even thought of them as such.

            And there it was, a flash of pain that cut through the mask. She closed her eyes and I felt a twinge of guilt for having spoken about it. I so rarely tried to place myself in her shoes, no matter what my psychologists had recommended. It was like a physical block that I’d placed between us.           

            “No, she didn’t,” she said softly, taking a sip of water, while I gulped from my glass, not able to quench the thirst that was fuelled by nervousness. 

            I cleared my throat. “He was vague about us moving back to Paris. Or London. But we were in Paris when you became…” I wasn’t sure how to say it.

            She gave a slight smile. “Sick. Or more accurately, I was suffering from severe depression. I was also dehydrated, malnourished and addicted to sleeping pills.”
            I nearly gagged trying to swallow. I’d only heard Seb refer to her breakdown as a result of depression. He’d never elaborated beyond that and I’d never asked for more. My mother intuited my surprise because she clarified, “I’d been ill, if that is the best way to put it, for some time. It began in Melbourne. I was grieving for my father when he passed away, then my mother died. She adored Papa, couldn’t survive his leaving I think. My brother Paolo took over running the family restaurant. But she just stopped living. She died of a heart attack.”

            There was raw hurt in her eyes, her voice, echoing after all these years. Guilt slashed through me again; that I’d had no idea of the depth of her pain, only how the repercussions had affected me. Yet Liv would say I was still a child, and she was right. 

            “Is that when the depression began?” I asked tentatively.

            She nodded. “It’s hard to know what to say, Tallis. How to explain…”

            “Please try. If you can.” Because I’d come here for clarity, for answers to an unknown source of terror that had plagued me since she’d left all those years ago. 

            She sat back and briefly gazed out towards the bay. When she looked back at me her eyes were steady, as if she’d resigned herself to speak. 

            “I’ll begin by saying this. You were very much wanted, by both of us.”   

            Uncanny that she’d hone in on that particular fear that had haunted me, and that I’d tried so hard to work through. That somehow my coming into their lives wrecked everything. That it had changed everything. It was irrational, especially as Seb had never made me feel that I wasn’t wanted. But I’d never been sure about my mother. 

            “We were so very much in love, but we’d never really thought how we’d manage being a family. Sebastian assumed that you and I would travel with him, that we’d base ourselves in Paris.” She gave a rueful smile. “It obviously didn’t work out that way.

            “But we went back?”

            “Yes. After my mother passed away. Sebastian began touring again and he had recording contracts to honour. But all these commitments were in Europe and the States.”

            “Couldn’t he stay if you weren’t well?” I asked, while knowing the answer.

            She shook her head. “No, he’d already taken significant time off. He didn’t want to, but there was always a part of Sebastian lost in his music. I needed him, but this was the price for being his partner in life. He’d always have to leave unless I could go with him. So, you were two when we left. Sebastian insisted we move back to London at first. He saw signs I wasn’t coping. Not just grieving.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I began to feel lethargic, my appetite went. I could barely find the energy to play with you some days.”

            “Depression,” I stated flatly, that dread forming a rock in my stomach, my chest. “You got help though, didn’t you?”

            She nodded, surprisingly calm at narrating what was obviously traumatic, while I felt ready to jump out of my own skin. My foot was tapping a restless rhythm, a habit when I was nervous. 

“I did, but it became more than just dealing with grief, or Sebastian’s absence while he toured and having a child to care for. You have to understand that I loved you and Sebastian more than anything in my life, but it felt a lot like drowning. I felt almost helpless against it.”

            I had a feeling I knew where this was heading. Obviously I knew how it ended, but it was becoming all too clear.

            “Didn’t moving help?”

She brightened a bit, lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach those hazel eyes. “For a while. And Sebastian’s family were very supportive. His mother and sister adored you, but they didn’t understand what I was going through.”

            “And Dad?”

            “Not really. He hates not being able to solve things. And he’d always seen me as energetic and vibrant. I think he was shocked to be honest and very, very lost.”

            “So he focused on his music.”

            “You know him too well,” she said dryly.  

            I smiled ruefully. “It’s how he controls his life, by focusing on it.”

            She returned the smile and it was a jolt, how it enlivened her face, gave me a glimpse of what I remembered all too fleetingly.

“Exactly. But it felt like he was pulling away, even if that wasn’t the case. He was scared. That’s when I decided perhaps if I went back to work, reclaimed something of my life I’d be able to pull out of it. Sebastian didn’t agree.”

            “What? Why?” I couldn’t imagine Seb denying her that.

            She picked up a linen napkin, clenching and unclenching it in her lap. But her eyes never strayed from my face. “He was worried about you. He wanted me to focus on healing and looking after you. He knew his own shortcomings; that he wasn’t able to be there all the time. He kept insisting on us both touring with him, maybe get a nanny as well, but I knew I couldn’t cope with that. It’s like we were on different trajectories, sometimes we were going in the same direction, other times we were flying apart. And I did need him to be there and when he wasn’t, I began resenting it.”

            We just stared at each other. Hearing it felt like witnessing a body in free-fall. I was holding my breath, already anticipating the end.

            “We’re both so stubborn and prone to quick anger,” she continued, “so there were fights and tears and it was tearing us apart because we still loved each other, but our lives were burdened by so much that it got harder to believe that how we felt for each other would keep us together.”

            “What about counselling?” Imagining Seb in therapy had me internally rolling my eyes.

            My mother grinned. “Sebastian in couples therapy? I think you know the answer to that.”  

            I snorted. “Yeah.”

            “For all his brilliance and his love for his music, he couldn’t see I was losing myself. He thought I’d move on after the grieving period for my parents, he didn’t see how my life had changed so much that the person I’d been had changed too. That’s when I began looking at teaching and researching again and offers came from Bologna, Paris and Amsterdam.”

             “It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t have supported you.” Because he’d always supported me.

“Well, if things were more stable, if I was more stable he might have felt better about it. But when Sebastian discovered what I’d done he felt betrayed that I’d gone behind his back. He was right in one sense, but since I believed he wasn’t listening to me, I felt justified to pursue what I thought I needed. We were both wrong.”

            My mother suddenly looked as drained and torn as I felt. She leaned in as if trying to lessen a gap that I wasn’t sure would ever truly close. “Tallis, I’m not proud of how I handled myself. There’s no excuse for not considering the consequences. But when you’re living it and trying desperately to find solutions, to make it work, sometimes you grasp for a lifeline. I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.”

            “Did he leave you?” I asked tensely. I’d never thought of this possibility. That maybe he’d given up on her and asked for the divorce.

            Her head bowed before she looked at me, her hands clasped tightly around that napkin in her lap. I kept focusing on the smallest gestures as if this might let me see her more clearly. 

“We left each other. He said I’d crossed a line. Then he begged me to reconsider because he didn’t want this to come between us. But so much was between us already. I was exhausted and desperate. He was furious and hurt. It was a volatile combination. I said I’d take the Paris job so we could live in the apartment. I’d get a nanny for you and we’d make it work. He reluctantly agreed.”

            I was puzzled. “I can’t remember this.”

            “That’s because I left to take up the position while you stayed with Sebastian in London. When you finally came over, Sebastian became incredibly sullen, moody. He was also under a lot of pressure in his own career. And here I was, focusing on re-establishing mine and I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted you and me with him so he could focus. He especially hated being apart from you.”

            “So you couldn’t make it work,” I said dully. It almost felt like a letdown, like this knowledge made perfect sense confirming the inevitable. I was floating over the scene of their relationship falling apart and oddly numb to my own feeling about how it had affected me. It was like I had to separate from my own feelings to see the bigger picture, that this was so much about the two of them, not just me. 

            “We struggled, but what came next defined everything,” she breathed deeply, and not for the first time I felt a twinge of empathy. It was like I knew her and didn’t. I could sense her shifting moods, and yet it felt like looking through frosted glass.  

She didn’t look at me when she said, “I snapped. I couldn’t deal with everything. One day I just started crying and couldn’t stop. Sebastian panicked and frantically got me a doctor who recommended a stay in hospital. I was dehydrated and underweight. I’d kept the dependency on the sleeping pills a secret. Sebastian was rightly furious when he found out. Clarissa came over to help look after you and it snowballed from there. With Cédric’s help, they found a private clinic that would allow me to recover. I obviously needed therapy among other things.”

            “I only saw you once at the clinic,” I said my voice foggy with memory, touching on what felt like the beginning of a nightmare. That’s when I couldn’t sleep, when I felt the loss of her and Seb’s own pain. The terror of it.

            Her look was almost pleading. “I know how horrible that was for you. To see me like that. I saw you and I felt such anguish and loss, that I couldn’t be the mama you knew, who was there for you.” Her eyes were sheen wet with tears. My throat was tightening, as was my chest, although I was determined not to lose it. Not here and not with her. This was what we’d never spoken of, couldn’t speak of, as for years I hadn’t been able to find a way through my own fear.  

“Sebastian was devastated. For you and for him. He hated seeing me as I was, especially when he couldn’t bring you along. Truth is I was in a stupor for so long, just a horrible inertia as if I’d shut down. Time meant almost nothing. If I could have healed faster just to be with you, I would have. Please believe me. When I finally left, I had to take baby steps to rebuild. And there was the tragic realisation that my relationship with Sebastian had suffered greatly.”

“Did you ask for the divorce?” I found it hard to think Seb had been the one to initiate it. Not after witnessing his grief.

Her eyes glassed with tears. “Yes, I did.”

And now we were back to the beginning. To the burning question I’d blurted on arrival. Yet if felt far from closure.         

“It was the hardest decision of my life, agreeing to Sebastian’s insistence you were better off with him.”

My hands flexed into fists, involuntarily. “Why didn’t you fight it? For me?” My voice shook. It barely registered that I’d shouted, other people nearby turning at the sudden volume of my voice, but I didn’t care who heard. I slumped back in the seat at the slight wince I saw spasm my mother’s face. 

“Whether you believe me or not, Tallis, I always tried to do what was best for you, and when I came back into your life what became very obvious was you needed Sebastian more than you needed me.” Her words sent a ripple of shivers through my clammy skin. My gut was a hard knot. My chest felt as if someone was sitting on me, compressing my lungs. I recognised the truth of her words, but also I was fighting them. A primal part of me had wanted more. Had wanted her.

“You still needed both of us,” she reiterated and yes, I most definitely did. “But Sebastian was the person you were instinctively turning to, who made you feel loved and safe. It broke my heart, but it was the truth. Even after seeing you when I got back and trying to become part of your life again, I knew you found it hard to be with me for long periods without your father present. He was your primary support, not me.”

It was humbling and devastating to witness her say this. A part of me still held on to the pain of her being so absent for so long, and the fact I couldn’t readjust to the reality of her and Sebastian not being together. A further fracture to a broken life. 

I couldn’t resist saying though, “Sebastian isn’t exactly stable.” Yet he’d been there for me when it mattered.

She seemed grateful for the reprieve, even smiled. “Maybe not his lifestyle, but I know he gave you all you needed. He looked after you when I couldn’t. Keeping you with him meant you were also around his family and those closest to him like Gabbie. You were safe. It wasn’t perfect, but one thing that gave me some comfort was how much he loves you. He absolutely loves you, Tallis. I trusted that with my life.”

And so began my life travelling with Seb and seeing my mother infrequently or sometimes more regularly, talking to her on the phone or FaceTime. She also travelled to see me when she could. Yet, the fear of her abandoning me never left. Of her not being a source of stability that I needed. Ironic Seb became exactly that.

She was surprisingly intuitive, saying, “I understand why you wanted to stop seeing me, Tallis. I wasn’t the reliable presence you needed. It was distressing having to see me leave all those times. I was kept apprised of what the psychologists said when you were younger. Sebastian made sure of that. But I never stopped loving or wanting to know how you were. There’s been an ache in my heart that refuses to go away, knowing I couldn’t truly be with you. Each day I have to consciously breathe past it. To keep going forward. When you didn’t write or speak to me, Sebastian always made sure I had news of you and how you were doing.”

I shoved a hand through my hair, exhausted yet sharply alert. I thought of Liv then, wondering what she’d make of all of this. I’d come here for answers and I was getting them. And a glimmer of truth was nudging through: I’d kept fearing my mother leaving, but I’d also left her. Despite her continued presence in my life, her absolute desire to be there. In making a choice not to see her, I exerted my will, stepping into a future where any relationship I had with her would be exactly about that: choice. Because I was beginning to see, my mother never truly left, not in her heart, in her love for me.  

My voice was husky when I asked, “And Dad? How do you feel about him now?”

She bit her lip, hesitant. I had never wondered about their continuing relationship thinking Seb’s reluctance to speak of her meant there was very little. Not so it seemed.

“I never truly stopped loving him, either. That didn’t mean it could work between us. I wished we’d been wiser, or events had been a little kinder. But it happened as it did and we tried our best. That doesn’t sound like much, but that’s all I have.”

“So, why didn’t you try later?” I didn’t want to say Seb had never got over her, either.

Her lips tweaked. “Oh, we did. One year we bumped into each other in Vienna. It was such a shock seeing him because we’d kept our distance thinking it best. He was recording Rachmaninoff that year and he gave a one-off performance that I saw. I sent him a message congratulating him, the next moment we were having dinner and it was like when we first met, such a spark between us even after all that time. For six months we tried to rekindle what we’d lost.”

My mouth just dropped. “What?”

22

Olivia

what a freaking mess… 

“What the hell?” I squealed. “Are you kidding me? They actually got back together?”

            Tallis was lying on the grass of the Botanical Gardens, the sun setting over the bay and it was a gorgeous sight except my whole body was riveted on him, not the view, listening to the unfolding saga of what his mother had said. Talk about drama!

            “Yep,” he said his voice raspy with tiredness. “My parents rekindled their relationship when I was fifteen. No wonder Dad was so all over the place that year. I thought it was the pressures of recording and performing the Rach. Nope, he was seeing my mother.”

            I blurted a laugh. “You gotta admit, that is kind of funny. And weird. And awful that you didn’t know.”

            Tal rubbed his eyes. “Yep, the mind boggles. God, it’s so Dad! I mean from the way she spoke, they do love each other—or did. Probably still do. I don’t think either of them wanted it to end like it did. I just don’t think they knew how to make it work.”

            I sighed, chomping on some chips. Tal was ravenous when we caught up. We grabbed some fish and chips and then walked to the gardens. 

            “It’s horribly romantic. And tragic. A part of me wishes they had made it work.”

            “I guess. Crap, I’m going to have to tell Dad about all of this.” Tal flung an arm over his face and the tattoo glared at me. I choked on the chip I’d swallowed. I was so naturally drawn to him I’d fallen back into just being with him, yet his ink was like a repelling force field. I had a gut sense that Serena had been with him when he got it done. Secrets within secrets. 

            I’d given in to the morbid curiosity of finding out more about her. I checked Tal’s Instagram while running a bath, away from Brad and Belinda, finding her easily. He hadn’t unfollowed her, which set that red flag flying. His account featured photos he’d taken and some of his writing, but hers, hers was social and mostly casual snaps of her life. So many of the recent ones were of her and Tal. Together. And Serena was beautiful. I was my mother’s daughter and she’d taught me to appreciate beauty in its many forms. I couldn’t deny her beauty, despite evil mini-me hoping Serena would simply be quirky, different, ordinary—anything but beautiful. Of course Tallis would attract someone extraordinary. Because he was. But what gutted me was how happy they seemed. How close. How intimate. Two beautiful people in love. 

I’d promptly vomited up dinner while the water ran, drowning out my retching. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d puked blood the spasms were so violent. I finally found the energy to strip and sink into the water, curling into a foetal position sideways in the tub, with my head resting on one side and feet on the other. I cried, my tears slipping across my skin so that I wasn’t sure if I was bathing in my own tears. I’d stayed until I pruned, never wanting to leave. 

And I’d faced the harsh truth that this person I didn’t know probably knew things about Tal that I never would. While I tried not to let my mind wander to how many ways she knew Tal intimately—I wasn’t a masochist—I also couldn’t ignore it as truth. Apart from the lying by omission, this changed something fundamental between us. 

I shifted my gaze to the people around us, lazing on the grass, or walking. The water of the bay was oil-slick dark, reflecting the sinking rays of the sun. I looked at anything but Tal.

            “So what are you going to do? Will you speak to her again? See her?”

            Tal sat up, grabbing a handful of chips, stuffing his face. Some things hadn’t changed at least. He nodded slowly. “We’ll keep talking. And write to each other. She’s staying here though. She’s got an ongoing contract and she’s in a relationship.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Yeah. She obviously moved on when she and Dad couldn’t make it work again.”

            I was feeling fuzzy headed with all the revelations. I couldn’t imagine the maelstrom Tal was in. “Did she say why it didn’t? I mean if they still loved each other?” My foolishly romantic heart grasped for reconciliation.

            “Not really, although I think Dad’s line-up of girlfriends didn’t help.” He smiled sheepishly at that. I kind of blocked out that aspect of Seb’s life. I didn’t need to know unless it bothered Tal. But Seb was discrete and kept Tal away as much as possible from his love life. Interestingly, he’d never met anyone in all these years he’d wanted to introduce to Tal, to make a part of their life, which also said something of how protective Seb was. 

            “Not that he’d cheat,” Tal went on. “Just that his life had changed a lot and I guess hers had and they didn’t fit. Again.”

            I heard the exasperation and disappointment. The heavy sadness that had edged every word since we’d met after Tal saw his mum. I’d been stressed the whole afternoon, barely taking in the exhibitions I’d seen. I tried listening to music, and kept flicking from one song to the next and I’d ended up sitting by the water mindlessly people watching until I got his text to meet. When I saw him, shoulders hunched, face drained and solemn, I’d run and hugged him. He’d held on like I was a lifesaver, as if I could keep him afloat.

            “What a freaking mess,” I murmured. It echoed my own inner turmoil. The push and pull of my feelings for Tal. He flopped back down, eyes closed and my breath caught, the fading light tinging his skin with gold. My eyes traced the shape of his face, the relaxed line of his lips, those long lashes casting shadows, a hint of stubble and his hair—I bit my lip, wanting to brush the hair from his forehead with my fingers. Wanting…and my thoughts were almost drugging. This wanting, just once, to know what it was like to feel his lips…no, no, no, no, no!!!!

            No!

            I turned abruptly away, looped my arms around my legs and tried to squeeze those thoughts from my mind. No! Was I insane? Or, maybe I was a masochist.

            “What?” Tal asked groggily.

            Crap, I’d said it aloud. “Nothing.”

            Tal sat up and mimicked my pose. I could hear him taking in a deep breath. How many times had I listened for that sound? Just him breathing? 

            No.

            “Come with me to London, Liv,” he pleaded. “Dad told me he asked you to come if I wasn’t staying. And I want you to. So much. Please? I know we need to talk more about—about stuff and I know I hurt you—” 

            My head dropped to my knees. I would not cry! I could feel my body wanting to lean in and just say, “Yes!” I raised my head and looked at him, at the need in his eyes, and I could melt in that look, give in and forget.

            Secrets. He’d kept things from me. Big things. Life altering things. We’d never done that with each other. Ever. 

            I couldn’t forget. And Serena had become a ghostly wedge between us that I was still trying to come to terms with. I didn’t know how to feel about him right now, knowing he could hide this from me. Could hide her. That he’d want to. I was all over the place, yo-yoing from acting like nothing had happened to being slammed in the guts every time I remembered. Going to London wasn’t going to help. Not at all.

            I sighed, knowing I was doing what was best for me, yet hating it.  

            “Brad asked if I’d like to stay here longer. He and Belinda are driving down to Melbourne to spend the holidays with the family. Mum and Dad want to have Christmas at Sandy Bay this year, so they’re going down earlier than usual.”

            With each word the light was leaving his eyes and the flush of the day’s heat from his skin. It was awful, knowing I had this effect. I despised hurting him in any way. But this wasn’t simply about Tal.

            “You’re staying?”

            I nodded. “Yeah. And I’ll pay you for the return airfare, I’m so sorry to do this.” So sorry for all of this. For feeling such a mess. For pulling away. “But I said I needed some space, Tal. Just—just to process stuff.”

            It sounded lame, yet it was the truth. 

            Tal’s jaw became a hard line as he looked away. “No need, Liv. I understand. I think.”

            No he didn’t. And I couldn’t begin to make him when I didn’t understand myself. What’s worse, he sounded so lost it tugged at my heart like it was being pulled out of my chest. Like we were connected. It would be stupid to deny that we weren’t. Always had been.

            He quickly glanced at me, but his eyes were masked. “I get it, Liv. It’s okay.”

            I was so far from okay I couldn’t trust myself to speak.   

23

Tallis

too quiet, too empty, too much

The warehouse was cold.

            Or I was freezing. 

            I flipped on lights, passing the hulking shadow of Seb’s grand piano. In the lounge I halted, seeing evidence of Liv even as we’d hastily cleaned up before leaving. The blanket she’d wrapped herself in to walk around when she got up. The cushions arranged so she could lie down and read. A book she’d borrowed, open, spine out next to an empty cup.  

            I dragged myself to my bedroom. I hadn’t slept; changing to the earliest flight I could to get back to Melbourne. I stopped instinctively at the doorway to her room. I always thought of it as Liv’s room. I shouldn’t have breathed, because the orange blossom of her perfume hung in the air. I was enveloped in her scent.

            Giving in, I threw myself onto her bed. Tugging a pillow towards me I held it to my chest as if it could fill the gaping hole that was opening wide inside of me.

            It was too quiet. Too empty. Too much. These feelings were too much to hold in. But I’d been trying. My hand groped in my pocket for my phone. I’d already made my decision at the hotel last night. 

I texted Seb that I was flying back to London without Liv. I had no reason to stay.

I stared at the ceiling we’d painted blue. My eyes flicked round the room and I spied something on the nightstand. I reached for it. Postcards.

All of them from the time Liv visited the Addo elephant park with her family. I had a stack of them that she’d sent me, stashed in one of the many boxes where I stored her letters. Sometimes I placed a postcard in a book I was reading, finding it unexpectedly later on, like a small gift. They were in notebooks, drawers, bags and on shelves. These postcards were so embedded in my life, rereading them I could remember where I was when I got them, immediately recalling a mood, what I was listening to, how I was feeling. More evocative than scent, they’d permeated my life to become inextricable. Like Liv.

The thought of never seeing another of these postcards again was like a void cracking open in front of me. Cracking open my chest. There were times I’d feared Liv no longer being there, but I’d never faced the crippling reality of her actually no longer being in my life. Not like this. And it was more than fear. It stole my breath away.     

I eagerly read the one postcard she’d written on then wished I hadn’t. She’d sensed so much, and still she said she missed me.                            

I clutched the postcard with the pillow, breathing against the vice around my chest, while tears escaped, sliding through my hair onto the duvet that still smelled like Liv.   

24

Olivia

sometimes it just is 

Dearest T

            What’s your favourite piece of classical music? It’s amazing, but I don’t know. I’ve never asked. I blame me. I’m not interested I guess, but Dad’s listening to something as he’s working and it’s lovely—no, not good enough—it makes me ache. In my heart. It makes my throat tight and my eyes smart. It makes me feel. 

            Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

            love always O

A week into staying at the shack and I’d written to Tal every day. I’d sent none of my letters.

When he left Sydney, I couldn’t write. I found countless things to distract myself. Belinda taught me to sew. I drew designs for my next range of T-shirts. I swam with Brad every day and went walking around the city, along the harbour, down Oxford Street, and the market at Paddington. And I couldn’t stop thinking: this could have been Tal and I, doing this together. He’d texted me when he got back to Melbourne, then London. He was safe. Each word I wrote back, I had to think what to say. I’d never done that before. I’d never held back before. So, I kept busy, tiring myself out, and avoided talking about him while thinking about him constantly.

He was everywhere.

He was there when I woke, when I slept. He was there when I dreamed, and so many nights, when I cried.

And horribly—insidiously—images kept flashing through my mind of Tal with Serena. Like I was haunted by someone I didn’t know, but who meant so much to Tal. Someone I should have known. If I was so important to Tal, it seemed reasonable that anyone else important to him should be known to me. My mind went round in circles. Worse, against any self-preservation, I kept checking Serena’s IG. She had a lot of followers. Which meant—they’d all known about Tal when I didn’t. Which just choked me so I couldn’t breathe properly, my heart aching like it was hollowing out. Partly with sorrow. Partly with anger. Did Serena even know about me? Did that matter? It kind of did. And down the rabbit hole I went because if she didn’t know about one of the most important people in Tal’s life—was I really that important at all? Logic, and years of knowing him, made that line of thinking seem foolish and self-defeating. It cut so deep, that I’d been relegated to this anonymity. Sidelined. Like I was a ghost. But I refused to diminish myself, despite what Tal had done, because I knew what we’d had, what we’d been to each other all these years. I couldn’t ignore any of it. Even if Tal could.         

I picked up another postcard, this one with a spiral staircase from Gaudí’s cathedral in Barcelona, the Sagrada Família, that Tal had given me after climbing it himself. It made me dizzy just looking at it. 

Dearest T

            Why? Why didn’t you tell me? You’re the one person in my life who knows me better than anyone else. Maybe there are a lot of things we haven’t shared because it’s never come up. But what I know—what I think I know, is what you value, what you love, what you fear, what you believe and what you want from life. That’s what I thought I knew.

            Now I’m not so sure.

            And it hurts. So much. Like I can’t think without wondering what has changed and what hasn’t.

Like I can’t breathe sometimes, it hurts so much.

            Right now, everything feels like it’s shifting. 

            I don’t know what to hold onto Tal. What I hate is that I don’t know if I can hold on to you. 

            love always O

“Liv,” Mum said as she came and sat beside me. She had a tray that she placed carefully on the timber deck. Tea and homemade chocolate fudge. Yeah, it’s one of my favourites. 

“Hey.” I grabbed a slice and bit into the extra creamy, chocolatey yumminess. “So good!” 

Mum relaxed against the timber wall of the house, legs stretched out in front of her and barefoot. She’s wearing paint-splattered overalls, a white T-shirt and her hair was in a messy bun. Her studio was basically a converted two-car-wide garage. They’d added skylights and sliding glass doors. That’s where she spent her days, while Dad had taken over the dining table with his laptop and piles of books and papers. I learned years ago that “holiday” was a foreign concept; they never saw doing what they were passionate about as “work”, so doing it in the city or here, it didn’t matter. As long as they were doing it. Although Dad got to surf here, which was a definite bonus. 

“You’ve been sitting on the veranda more than going to the beach.”

I knew it wasn’t a criticism, more a segue into Mum asking how I was feeling, and maybe why she kept catching me staring off into space, or hanging out by myself. 

“Reading,” I said picking up the book I’d been trying to focus on, failing dismally.

I chomped on my fudge. “What’s Dad listening to?” I hadn’t wanted to ask as he was writing and I was lethargic. It was hot and apart from going for a swim earlier, I’d pretty much done nothing. Sometimes it was hard being in a family of “doers”. Brad had such a big heart and had taken months off during his university course to help build housing in townships just outside of Cape Town. Justin’s big math brain had him itching to solve problems, always looking and seeing things that he could relate to his work. Mum’s amazing gift to visualize what she saw, to create, was so real and tangible, but had a purpose that was bigger, focusing on the environment. And Dad with his love of history, music and writing. Even Tal with his incredible life experiences, he could probably write a novel. Maybe I just didn’t have that kind of passion or drive in me. 

“Ravel’s Pavane pour une infante défunte,” she said snagging a piece of fudge and then pouring tea. I took a steaming cup wondering at the insanity of drinking hot fluids in the heat, but Mum insisted it opened your pores and helped you cool down. Go figure.

“Translation?”

“Pavane—which is a kind of dance—for a dead princess”     

I grimaced. So not what I was expecting. “Kind of morbid. And horribly sad.” Which fell short of describing how it spoke to the pooling, bottomless despair inside of me. I put the cup down, bending my knees to my chest as if I could cage it, stop myself from drowning in it. 

“Haunting and beautiful. It’s one of my favourites.” Mum’s fingers raked through my mess of curls. I hadn’t even bothered to re-dye my streaks. “Seb called before he left and asked if we would be okay with him offering to fly you to London.”

My head hit my knees. I’d thought I could keep this all to myself. Apart from Brad. He’d tried talking to me and I’d blocked him. I just didn’t know what to say. When I got like this, I went into my shell. Except, it was hard hiding when we were living on top of each other. 

Mum kept stroking my hair. It was anything but calming as I fought the rising tide of feelings. I was a volcano about to erupt. Except I didn’t know if I’d explode crying or yelling.           

“I was very surprised that you decided to stay.”

More stroking and she was drawing it out of me, or maybe I just needed to—

“Tal fell in love,” I blurted and then burst into wracking sobs that had my whole body shaking. Mum’s hand stilled and then she scooped me into her arms, hugging me like a kid as I bawled. Of all the thing to say, I said that.  

“Oh baby,” she murmured and we rocked together as that rib-cracking ache in my chest busted like a dam. 

Tal fell in love.            

But not with me.

I’d been running and running and hiding from it. 

My brain must have been wired to keep the most glaring truths from myself—that I’d never thought Tal would love someone else. 

“Oh God Mum, what’s happening to me?” I gasped because each sob felt like I was breaking apart.         

She held on and kissed my hair and I didn’t care who heard me or saw me, because we were locked in this moment and everything had stopped. 

“I wondered what would happen between the two of you,” she said quietly.

“What?” I croaked.

“It’s so special, what you have with Tallis. I never had that kind of friendship. Your Dad didn’t either growing up. Same with Justin and Brad. But you, it’s like the two of you just knew each other. It was beautiful to see and be around.”

I found a wad of tissues I kept near me. Just in case. I blew my nose hard. “I don’t get it. You never had a best friend?” I rested my head on her shoulder. I was a wrung out rag.

She shrugged. “I thought I did, but then it never lasted that long, or we lost touch and never kept it going. I guess when I met your Dad, he became my best friend.”

Which started me off on my crying jag again. 

“I’m sorry. So sorry love,” she crooned, but nothing she said was helping. Nothing was magically taking away the pain. 

It was too much, too overwhelming, I sat up and bent double fighting between crying and trying to get air into my lungs. “I can’t—can’t breathe,” I gasped, panicking.

She slipped her arms around my huddled form. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Let it out. Try and relax so you can get air in, Livie. Just let it out.”

“It hurts,” I wailed and it was a pitiful admission, helpless, because I didn’t know how to make it go away.

“You love him.”

I cried harder just hearing it. Hearing her spelling out what I couldn’t escape.

“You love him so much, Liv. That’s why it hurts.”

“But I didn’t—” I didn’t fall. I couldn’t get it out, still gulping for air, spluttering and wiping my snotty nose on my T-shirt because the tissues were used up, eyes nearly swollen shut. I was a crumbling, dissolving wreck and right then, Mum was the only thing keeping me from falling completely apart.

Falling. That never had a good end. Somewhere there was a bottom to hit, a point where gravity’s pull had its end. It also didn’t feel right. Yes, it implied vulnerability, of a world turned upside down, of being taken by surprise. I hadn’t fallen—more like woken up to realise it had been there all along. And that almost seemed worse, like I should have known all along. 

But falling apart, that I could understand. 

Mum was quiet, my sobs having dulled to these horrible keening sounds that sounded just as bad.            

Intuiting the words unspoken, while rubbing circles on my back like she’d done when I was upset as a kid, she said, “Sometimes it just is. You love him. You’re in love with him. What you’ve felt has just gotten deeper over time. He’s as much apart of you as you are for him. You just didn’t know how much you loved him until now. Sometimes it can take a real shock for how you feel to come to light.”

“I think he might still love her, Mum. It ended, but he didn’t want it to. And he didn’t tell me!” Which had me sobbing again as a whole other layer of pain got exposed.

Mum pulled me closer. She didn’t say anything, no doubt absorbing each revelation. 

“Whatever his reasons, Liv, I’m in no doubt he cares deeply about you. He loves you, Liv. Whether it’s the kind of love that reciprocates your feelings, I don’t know.”

She didn’t say anything else because what could she say? It was a freaking mystery and yet made absolute sense. I was in love with my best friend. I loved him. Love. Big love. Aching, horrible, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t imagine my life without him, love. Love. I’d been grasping for a way out, denying it, disbelieving and yet I sunk into it further every single day.

And he didn’t love me back. 

Not like this.

It was an agony to admit.

I didn’t know how to move on from here. I didn’t know if Tal could still be a part of my life. 

How could it have come to this, where loving him might mean losing him? 

25

Tallis

from inside the silence 

Tu me manques.

            You are missing from me.

26

Olivia

and she wrote

Postcards written. None sent. All were bought by Tal and given to me, so I could send them back to him. 

            A touristy postcard of the Empire State Building.

            Dearest T

            I mean really? The Empire State Building? What were you THINKING?!!!!

Although I kind of know what you were thinking—because you gave me a stack of these postcards after a visit to the States and said: “we’re going to ALL these places together.” And I’d believed you. 100%. 

            It’s strange isn’t it, that I never thought we wouldn’t get the chance to travel together. Now, I’m not so sure.  

            And you forgot something Tal—I’m scared of heights!!!!! There is no freaking way I’d go up to the top of this protrusion! And yeah for the record—and I’m going to get feminist on you—this kind of phallic construction screams control and domination—I’m bigger than EVERYTHING around me! Ugh, ugh and UGH! 

            love always O

            Two postcards: film stills of Buster Keaton with his head stuck in a canon, and one with Buster perched on top of a big balloon. Yeah, Tal had a thing for Buster.

            Dearest T

            When does keeping silent become a lie? 

            I’ve been thinking about it and thinking about it…and I don’t know. It’s like I’m circling a drain and the only way is down. Why wouldn’t you tell me? And then I wonder if it was me—would I tell you? Would I hide it? Would you be the first person I ‘d tell? Or would I be so caught up in the experience, I’d forget all about you?

            That’s the hard one. That you might have forgotten me, or demoted me to being less important than your girlfriend. And maybe that’s the way it has to be.

            Maybe we were always going to meet other people and become so caught up in them and our lives with them, that who we are to each other becomes less. Maybe that’s natural. But all this feels horribly unnatural. Like not having you in my life is the opposite of life flowing the way it should.

            And another thing—if I asked you why, I’m not sure you’d be able to tell me. So I don’t know if you lied by omission or you were very, very confused. 

            love always O

            Two postcards: a black and white image of Albert Einstein photo-shopped so he’s wearing a T-shirt printed with his own words, “Imagination is more important than knowledge”—a much loved quote for both of us—and one with Einstein hilariously sticking out his tongue.

Dearest T

            Letting go—what does that even mean? 

            I have no idea how to even begin to let go of you, and I’m crazily thinking about doing it. Because I don’t know how to have these feelings for you and have you in my life knowing you don’t feel anywhere in the vicinity of the ballpark like me. 

            I asked for space and maybe what I really need is TIME—or both—and maybe over time my feelings will change and I can still be your best friend and not want more. But I don’t know how much time because we all experience time differently, and at the moment it feels like sludge and I can only imagine it’s something else for you. And what if I take time and when I finally see you again you’ve moved on and changed so we can’t even be friends anymore?

            We’re both experiencing this relationship in different ways—so how do we ever meet? And that’s about as close to doing a physics equation about space, time and relativity as I’ll ever get. 

            love always O

One of my favourite artists from an exhibition Tal saw, Yoshitomo Nara, a postcard of one of his artworks of a girl with a speech bubble saying, “Oh My God, I Miss You”:

            Dearest T

            What she said. 

            love always O

            A postcard of a public sculpture by Robert Indiana, featuring four letters in bright red, two stacked upon two: L and O above V and E:

            Dearest T

            Enough said. 

            love always O

27

Tallis

a deep soul satisfying sense of rightness

It was Christmas day chaos at Aunt Nina’s with her two kids under five, another who’d just turned eight and Seb. Yep, Seb. He was a big kid on Christmas day, diving under the tree for presents and getting lost in wrappings and boxes with the rest of the kids. The extra kids were care of Nina and Seb inviting friends, such as Gabbie’s sister, Raphie, who’d brought their own rugrats.

            Then there was Nina madly dashing between the kitchen and the dining room, ordering anyone willing to help. She’d been up since 4.00 a.m. preparing the big bird and I was sure by 4.00 p.m. she’d be passed out on the sofa. Last year I found her under the Christmas tree. Her husband, Frederick, a barrister and in Seb’s view, an utter bore of a brother-in-law, flitted around filling glasses of champagne from the moment guests arrived, so by lunch, most of the adults were a little sloshed, the kid’s were hyper from eating too much chocolate and sweets, while Seb was a combination of happily tipsy and a little manic from the sugar hit. 

            Which led to Seb drifting repeatedly to the Steinway baby grand to play, accompanied by raucous catcalls for various song requests. He ignored everyone and just played whatever he liked. 

            The turkey was ginormous and Nina looked about as flushed as the cranberry sauce. Frederick officiated like a priest to carve the bloody huge thing, and my grandmother, Clarissa, presided at the other end of the table like the Queen. The madness of food being passed around by too many hands, arms threatening to sideswipe anyone at elbow height, and plates filled overbearingly, was enough to make me swear off Christmas as an overindulgence I’d willingly miss next year. But each year Seb and I made our way here. He got awfully nostalgic about having a snowy white Christmas with the family, although today it was more sleet, with the large birdbath in the garden frozen over and featuring as a miniature skating rink. 

            I was fixated on the birdbath because I’d gravitated to the glass enclosed back room that looked over the mews style garden. I guess it was what posh people called a “conservatory” with its tiled floor, wicker chairs and lush plants, despite the garden outside frosting with ice and the cloud heavy sky low enough to scrape my fingers across. My stomach felt like a lead sausage had got stuck in my entrails, and I’d ducked out to escape the rowdy festivities for a moment of…nothing.

            It didn’t help that my heart felt as leaden as my stomach. 

            “Every year you do this,” said Seb from the doorway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed. He’d bought himself a Christmas present, a pair of Yeezy adidas sneakers and I’m putting it down to temporary insanity, because he was no fan of Kanye West. But he had this tradition of splashing out once a year, buying himself some crazy footwear and then he went back to wearing Converses, which was classic Seb.

            “What?” My voice sounded like I was speaking from the bottom of a pool.

            “Retreat,” he amusedly quipped, sitting beside me on the two-seater sofa. 

            It was nearly dark, so it was probably between 3.00 and 4.00 p.m. A couple of things I did not miss about London winters were the short, short days and vitamin D deficiency. 

            “What gives, Tal? You’ve been hiding, or keeping to yourself and not going out anywhere. I don’t want to pry but my gut says the fact Liv isn’t here means something.”

            I could barely talk. “She wanted to spend Christmas with her family.” I was on repeat.

            “You’re a crap liar.” Seb shook his head, but he patted my leg as if he knew I wasn’t holding it together.

            And yeah, I was a crap liar. Which brought up the whole why I didn’t say anything to Liv and whether my silence was just as bad as if I had lied. And why did I keep it all to myself? She’d been right to ask and I’d been dumb to my own motives to answer.

            Which led me back to the shitty mess of Liv’s silence and the fact I’d hurt her, busted her trust, and worse, I wasn’t even sure why she was pulling away. I thought we’d be able to deal if we could finally talk. But that would require honesty and she was too smart—she knew I wasn’t going to give her straight answers because nothing was straight in my head.

            To make it worse, Serena decided to drunk text me yesterday saying she thought she’d made a huge mistake breaking up and that she missed me terribly, admitting she’d royally screwed up sleeping with Dean (yeah—that’s definitely one way to put it). I never replied. I’d felt this sinking in my stomach and a sharp pang in my heart, but it didn’t compare to the crater opening up inside of me that was Liv’s absence.

            Usually she’d send me a Christmas gift that resembled a care package. And it was always themed. Last year it was summer and the beach because I was stranded in snow and shitty grey sleet. The box had been packed with a tube of 30+ sunscreen, a hideous Hawaiian shirt that Seb grabbed and wore Christmas day, a hot pink plastic ley and matching hula skirt, one of her t-shirts of a glittery wave, and Beach House’s album, ‘Teen Dream’ (definitely pushing it). This year she texted and it was still full of her warmth and best wishes, but none of the verve and fun that we shared despite being apart. 

            I’d got her a present though. In my desultory efforts at Christmas shopping I’d spied something in a jewellery store. I hadn’t planned, hadn’t thought of what I could give her, but there it was on a slender gold chain, the most delicate gold heart, like the outline had been drawn, the centre empty, the shape finely wrought. It was quite large though and I could see it against her gorgeous skin. It was as beautiful and big as Liv’s heart. I’d had the box gift-wrapped, and it now sat taunting me in my room.

            Not wanting to think about it, I changed the subject.

            “I met with Mum.” It felt strange to call her that, but since we’d met, we’d talked and I found it slipped out without me even thinking. 

            I glanced at Seb and his face was impassive. Then he grinned. “I know.”

            “How?” I asked stupidly, quickly figuring out what he was going to say.

            “Marissa called before she saw you. She wanted to make sure I knew about it.”

            That figured. “You could have told me how much you two were still in contact.” And the rest.

            “When you didn’t want to see her, I respected that, Tal. We both did. So we kept our correspondence to ourselves. I always made sure she knew how you were and what you were doing. She’s still your mother.” There was a slight admonishment in his tone. I was too tired to fight.   

            “And the fact you tried getting back together?”

            Seb’s cheeks actually flushed. “Yeah, well that was definitely something we kept from you since it didn’t work.” He gave me a sheepish look. “So, how did it go?”

            I shrugged. “It helped and she was,” I searched for a word, not really finding one to encompass everything I’d thought. “She was honest and open. A part of me feels awful that I probably hurt her a lot not seeing her, but I’m not sure I’d have made a different choice. But she was nothing like I remembered.” And also, everything like I remembered in some ways. 

            “You did what was best for you and I’m glad you did, Tal. I’m not always great at knowing what you need, or being able to be there and check in with you. When it comes to Marissa, I admit I’ve got a huge blind spot.”

            Which said a lot for how he probably still felt about her.

            “We’re talking.” It was a start of what I wasn’t sure.

            “Good.”          

            We sat quietly. I could almost feel Seb’s mind ticking over all I wasn’t saying. I gave in. 

            “I told Liv about Serena.” I dredged the words up into the silence. Seb had been lost in thought and startled hearing my voice.

            “Aaah. So you hadn’t said anything at the time?”

            “Nope.”

            “She’s your best friend and you said nothing?”

            I groaned and shoved my hands in my hair. “We’ve established that, Dad. No.” I leaned forward with my elbows resting on my knees. Bending forward eased the gut pain. When things went wrong, it always hit my stomach first.

            “Do you know why?” he gently prodded.

            “Because it felt weird telling her! And yes, I was so caught up in it, half the time I wasn’t thinking about anyone else! I feel like an utter prick for pushing Liv out like that because she is my best friend, and yes, I know what everyone thinks, she should have been one of the first people I should have told! But I kept it to myself and kept stopping myself from saying anything and it confused the fuck out of me!”

            Seb let me rant. “And now? Any idea why you were confused?”

            I shuddered. My body felt like it was about to splinter. “I hurt her. By locking her out, I hurt her. She didn’t yell, or scream, or tell me to get over myself. She did that thing where she pulled into her shell. But she came to Sydney, she supported me and she was there for me. Then she said she needed space.” I turned to Seb and he had that heavy, infinitely sad expression on his face that nearly did me in. “I don’t know what she’s feeling, Dad. I don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling. She doesn’t want to talk. I know I fucked up, but I thought we could get through it. But something feels completely off about this.”

            “What would you do in her place?” It was so left field, I didn’t know what to say. “Tal?” Seb prodded. “I’m asking just so you can take a step back, see it a bit differently instead of tying yourself in knots.”

            “I don’t know,” I admitted. 

            Seb nodded. “Well, you won’t know until she talks. So give her space and see what happens.”      

            I gripped my hair and pulled. “Not hearing from her; not knowing what she’s going through. It’s driving me insane!” Not to mention I felt like puking thinking she was never going to contact me again. 

            “What are you afraid of?” Like that, he’d nailed it. 

            The frustration morphed to heat surging into my face, my eyes stinging. “That she’ll leave. That she won’t want to be friends. That I’ll lose her.” 

            “Is that all?” 

            The rain sheeting outside spattered the glass and it was meshing with the tears filming my eyes. This welling sob broke from my mouth and I buried my face in my hands. I wanted to hide, but Seb placed a hand on my back, grounding me.

            “I can’t lose her, Dad. I don’t know how to live without her in my life.”

Seb sighed, muttering, “Yeah, that’s the most devastating kind of love.”

            “What?”

            “Do you love her, Tal? And not just as a friend? I’m asking because there’s just too much going on here that makes me wonder that maybe you feel a lot more for her than you realise.”

            My throat went tight and I swiped the tears from my face. Seb was stirring all the unwanted thoughts that had been swirling in my brain. The nights I’d wake, sweating and breathing hard having dreamt of her turning away, or not being there at all. Then the dreams which I’d had after I split with Serena, sensuous dreams which I hated but still they came, yet since leaving Melbourne, what began as Serena then morphed into Liv, and it was her that I was touching, kissing and making love to. The stress I’d felt waking was immediate. I was in a sweat, panicking, aroused and wondering if my mind was confusing the two having lost Serena and feeling like I was losing Liv. 

Then there were the dreams with just Liv and I—dreams where we’d be lying together and I could feel her breathe. We were folded into each other so I didn’t know where I began and she ended. And being with her, it was peace. A deep soul satisfying sense of rightness. Of belonging. The truth was staring me in the face and I still wanted to turn away. 

            “What do I do?” I strangled out, not answering but also not denying anything either. 

            “Well, I think you’ve got to figure out what you truly want, Tal. You’ve hurt Liv’s trust. You can’t go rushing back to her if you aren’t clear about whether you’re still friends or something more.”

            This was Seb at his most lucid and I was hanging by the thread of his reasoning. I’d never thought I’d be getting this kind of advice from him.

            “You’re right.” I slumped back, my muscles cramped from being wound so tight.

            Seb didn’t say anything else, and I welcomed that too.

28

Olivia

LOVE LETTERS

I was sitting on the veranda, where I seemed to have taken up residence for the holidays, doodling with a red pen and everything resembled hearts—smudged, duplicated, crossed out, ripped in half, filled with letters, unwinding like balls of yarn…hearts, hearts, HEARTS!

            “Interesting,” mused Dad, standing above me with two steaming mugs. He grinned and offered me one. I took it and sniffed.

            “Whoa, what’s this?” I didn’t dare take a sip. 

            Dad sat heavily beside me, dwarfing me as he stretched out his long legs. “Chai tea,” he said dubiously, tasting it, making a “hmmm” sound. Not quite sure what that meant.

            “Something new?” I tried it and decided it was passable.

            “Annie’s trying to wean me off coffee.”

            “Oh,” I said taken aback, making a sour face and hoping my mum’s efforts weren’t extending to me.

            He grinned and it was big and warm and everything about his smile that I loved. “Yes, oh.”

            Dad sipped, I doodled some more, blocking out one heart completely in red. Justin, Brad and Belinda were on the lawn waxing their surfboards. Justin’s girlfriend was currently in Europe, and funnily enough, Justin was having a great time. It gave me hope. And yeah, mini-evil-me was cheering. 

            “You joining them?” I asked absentmindedly.

            “Later.” 

            I was happy hanging out with Dad. He didn’t force conversation or try and use our time together as a fact-finding mission about the state-of-all-things Liv. His head was in his writing and mine—well I was trying to keep mine occupied and not thinking of a certain person.

            Dad glanced over at my heart-making.

            “They’d look good on a t-shirt.” He nodded at the heart-doodles.

            “Which one?” 

            “Most of them.”

            I took a mental step back. Huh. He was right. Some of them would look really good. And yet I couldn’t see them all glittered up. The red against the white, sometimes I’d used black; it worked for being so simple graphically. 

            I stared absently at the lawn, then over at the studio. Mum was in there, but there was a large table I’d used the previous summer to print T-shirts. There was still stuff to make stencils, some paint and I’d even brought a box of T-shirts with me thinking I might make some. There’d been zilch productivity so far.

            “What’s up?” Dad asked, his eyes keen and I’d noticed ever since my “breakdown” with Mum he’d been watchful. Mum would have told him, because they shared everything, and he’d probably overheard me losing it. But he hadn’t said anything, just pulled me in for random hugs, made me cups of tea and generally took time-out to hang with me. Like he sensed I needed that more than words.

            I smiled at him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks!” I got up, haphazardly juggling my pens, notebook and tea.

            “For what?”

            “For the idea!” I walked briskly away, hearing him chuckling.

            Mum had some radio program on and was so engrossed she didn’t hear me come into the studio. I cleared the table at the far end of the space and found the box with my supplies. Black and red paint. Perfect. I pulled out a cutting mat, stencil sheets and various blades, found a stool and sat. Opening a clean page I began sketching designs. The process was quick, as if it was all ready to download into my brain and come out onto the page.

            I ran to the bungalow I’d been sleeping in and hauled the box of T-shirts across the lawn to the studio. I’d cut one stencil and had done some test prints on sheets of paper. Pulling out a T-shirt, I was happy I’d chosen organic cotton. They felt amazingly soft. Using an old ironing board for support, I slipped the T-shirt over the narrow end, placing a backing board between the front and the ironing board. I stretched and weighted the fabric so it wouldn’t shift. Donning latex gloves, I did the first print. A red heart, centred, large, but I’d only partially filled it so it had a sharp edge running diagonally across it. Taking away the stencil, I smudged the heart with a small squeegee, creating the effect of the heart fading out to white.

            I stood back and it was perfect.

            Mum padded over to me and appraised my efforts. 

            “I like that. Make one for me,” she said before going back to her work. 

            And that became the focus of my days. The designs varied from full hearts, smudged hearts, a series of small ones in grid formation, hearts made up of the letters “LOVE” jumbled up, sometimes the letters spilled from the heart, like it was emptying out; some hearts were torn, some barely there, just an outline. I kept drawing and printing and finally I had a series that I knew was the beginning of a new venture. It wasn’t “glitterartzy” anymore.

            So, in the spirit of the “new”, I renamed my business “LIV”, which I kind of liked because it was my nickname, but also, it had that energy of “live”. Then I created a stencil that I printed on the inside of the back of the T-shirts, serving as a label with my name and the title of my first collection:

LOVELETTERS

BY LIV

            The title just came to me and was a nod to a paste-up by WRDSMTH that resonated, one Tal had photographed and sent to me from Los Angeles: jumbled up letters that spelt “LOVELETTERS” on a wall beside a paste-up of a couple kissing. Whether I liked it or not, Tal was with me in spirit, despite all my attempts to block him.

I photographed them, posted them on a new Instagram account under “LIV”, and loaded it all on my re-branded online store. I’d barely put them up and they began to sell, which was a great sign I was on the right path. It instinctively felt right and Mum had always said creativity worked best coming from my heart and a sense of things right in my gut. Instinct. Trust it.

            Before cleaning up the studio to go back to Melbourne after New Year’s, I made one final thing: a postcard with a painted red heart. A full heart. Bjork’s song Unravel accompanied me as I made it, expressing a kind of anguished yearning that that had burrowed in my chest and made a home for itself. I’d been listening to her a lot, as if she could hook into my feelings and say everything I couldn’t. 

On the other side of the postcard I wrote:

love always

I put it on the pile of postcards I’d written all summer and never sent to Tal. I bound them up with red string, and packed them in my duffel bag, ready to go home.       

29

Tallis

the starman, forever

To fill the silence, I wrote. 

            And I dreamed. Of a girl who was now a young woman and who I knew so intimately in some ways, and also, not at all. How I saw Liv was being turned upside down. In her silence, I reimagined her. 

            So I wrote about it. It began as short pieces that I wrote randomly. When Seb went to Paris at the beginning of January to record and begin his tour, I went with him. We stayed at the apartment in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, which was just as much a home as the warehouse. Seb was absorbed in recording Beethoven’s, Emperor piano concerto, so-called because when it was first performed in Vienna in 1812, one of Napoleon’s officers supposedly exclaimed it was “an emperor of concertos”. A majestic, transporting, sweeping romantic piece that resounded in my heart. It was also the last piano concerto Beethoven ever composed. I was equally absorbed in my writing. 

            The short pieces melded into a story that I worked on when I got up and pretty much until I slept. I’d never been so lost in the process before, and I barely registered Seb coming and going, or Gabbie and Cédric. Everyday I’d check my email, texts and the mail. 

Liv was still silent. 

That is until the unthinkable happened.

I was barely awake when my phone buzzed with a text. Groggily, I reached for it and promptly woke up.

Have u heard????? David Bowie is dead.

I didn’t hesitate, I called her back.

“Liv?” I asked when she answered immediately.

“Oh Tal, did you know?” She sounded raw. I couldn’t answer, I was too shaken by how quickly the silence was suddenly filling just by the sound of her voice.

“Tal?”

Then it hit me. “What? He’s dead?” I asked incredulously. “I just got his album yesterday—I don’t understand.”

Liv sniffed hard. “He had cancer. No one but those closest knew. I can’t believe it. I just can’t.”

I was glad I was lying down. I flung my arm over my eyes and just listened to her breathe. It punctured the numb emptiness that had swallowed me, although my chest still felt caved in. I could hear her, and it was almost as if she was with me. My eyes welled with tears and I wasn’t sure if it was a mixture of relief, a stunned disbelief at the news, and an overflow of weeks of what felt like holding my breath, waiting.

“Tal—I thought he’d go on, just keep making music and go on.”

I knew instinctively what she meant. We were both huge fans. He was iconic. An amazing creator. The Starman. One of those rare musicians who kept moving forward, kept changing, kept making music that was exciting, relevant and that pushed the boundaries. 

“I was listening to Blackstar yesterday,” I said stupidly, not sure when it would sink in. “It’s impossible. He just made this. And it’s amazing!”

“I know. I—I haven’t been able to do anything except listen to his music. But the weird thing is—I was lying on my bed and listening and then I noticed the sky Tal, it turned the most amazing golden colour. The light was incredible and I had this strange spidey sense it meant something.”

The tears spilled then. Quietly. This was Liv. My Liv. “What do you think it meant?” I asked gruffly.

She sighed. “He was gone. His spirit. But it was so beautiful it was like a gift just to see it.”

“Like making his last album.”

“Exactly,” she said before blowing her nose. Even that made me smile. “He knew he was ill and he made it. Like he was giving something to the world even though he might leave it.”

I didn’t know what to say. It seemed almost unimaginable that after hearing him, after such a strong sign of him living, he was gone.

And I was talking to Liv. 

I couldn’t hold back. “I miss you,” I whispered. If I spoke louder the sob threatening to escape would come out instead of words. 

Silence. Not the vacant emptiness, but the silence of Liv. 

“I miss you, too.”

“I—I have so much I want to say,” I blurted wanting to somehow reach over space and find her. Hold her so I could feel how real she was. I needed to feel her.

Liv sniffed again and I could tell she was crying. “Write to me,” she said, her voice cracking on the words. “Write to me, Tal. Also I made something for you I want you to see.” 

I sat up. “Made for me?  What? Please, I need to talk to you, Liv. To explain. To say things—”

“Tal, just wait and see. And write to me, please. I’ll text you the details of my new Instagram account. It’s the most recent post. But I’ve been thinking and writing and I don’t think I can say everything right now. Not today anyhow.”

I fell back. To want life in the face of loss. It was an instinct to hold on to it. To hold on to her. Even if the loss felt distant, that such a creative individual was no longer in the world. But Liv had reached out and I wanted to grab her and never let her go. 

“And once I’ve looked at it?” I asked tremulously.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s up to you. Not just me, Tal.”

I shut my eyes and imagined her. “I miss you.” 

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. 

You are missing from me.       

I could have kept on saying it. 

“I know,” she said softly and then she was gone. But not gone. Not like it had felt recently. This felt like we were at a juncture, a crossroad.

I held the phone to my chest. She said it was up to me, not just her. 

My phone vibrated with a text. It was the details to Liv’s new account. I found it and paused. 

LIV. And underneath a link to her online store and also a description of her new T-shirt collection: LOVELETTERS. I scrolled through, my hands shaking and I couldn’t help the smile spreading wide on my face. Gorgeous. All this time she’d been quiet she’d been making these. So unexpected and yet it was perfectly Liv. I felt a mixture of pride and regret that I hadn’t been there when she’d created them. But pride—so proud of her. I found the most recent post. It wasn’t a T-shirt, but an image of a handmade postcard featuring a full red heart. And in the description she’d written:

for Tal, always

A heart. Her heart? What was she saying? A declaration? My own heart raced and a thousand questions flooded my brain. I wanted to call and yet she’d asked me to write. What was she saying?

Was she giving me her heart? 

Or was it simply friendship? 

I went completely blank and then my own heart pummelled my rib cage, wanting to explode. 

Was it even possible? Could this mean what I thought it might? It was a leap, but it was one I wanted to take. Like reaching out to Mum, I realised that if I wanted answers, I’d have to take the risk and go and find them. Even if I feared what I might discover.

I shot out of bed and quickly dressed.

I had a letter to write. 

Coming out of the bathroom, I heard Seb playing Bowie’s Heroes on the piano.

It stopped me in my tracks. I walked in a trance to find the familiar sight of Seb lost in his music. I stood and listened, thinking of the story about how Bowie sung this at a concert in West Berlin before the wall came down, but the audience extended over the wall as East Berliners gathered to hear him. He was singing to all of them, not just a divided city, people. And it became a sign of hope, even love.     

“You know?” I asked from the doorway to the enormous living room of the apartment, with it’s ceiling high windows and French doors and the pale morning light streaming through, warming the reddish wood of the parquetry floor and cream walls. It was truly beautiful and smack bang in the centre was the Steinway concert grand. There was barely any furniture in the apartment, and was pretty much set up as it had been in his twenties. I couldn’t picture my mum here, or strangely, in the warehouse. These spaces revolved around Seb and his music. And me.

“Yes,” he said simply. I went and sat on the sofa. Seb continued to play. Ziggy Stardust, Space Oddity, Starman, The Man Who Stole the World—he played on showcasing that amazing ability to recollect and play from memory, ending with Ashes to Ashes. The fact he knew so many of Bowie’s songs showed how much Seb loved him.

When he finished he just sat. 

“The best way to honour and celebrate his life is to listen,” he said solemnly. 

I brushed my hand over my eyes, smearing the tears that were falling for one of my musical heroes. I still couldn’t believe he was gone, because his music was so alive. 

“Have you heard his new album? He recorded it at The Electric Lady Studios you took me to.”

“No.” Seb turned to me and without words I could see Bowie’s death affected him, a loss of a great musician. I was so grateful to Seb at that moment for his capacity to feel and to know that it meant something to me as well. That we could connect simply through a shared love of music. He’d given me that gift and it would last a lifetime.

“I’ll make breakfast and we can listen.”

Seb placed his hands on the keys. “I’d like that.” He went back to playing as I got up and headed for the kitchen. 

We listened to Bowie all day.

30

Olivia

R U Mine?

“Hey Mum.”

            “Hello, darling. So how is it? Have you settled in?” 

            I reclined on the banana lounge in Brad’s backyard, which was now unofficially my backyard. Coming back to Melbourne, Brad and Belinda informed me that their neighbours in the flat above were going away for nine months and needed a house sitter. Not only that, the offer extended to Justin and I, which raised all sorts of debate, especially as I got my results and a first round offer to do the graphic design course at RMIT. 

            Decisions. But when Belinda showed an interest in my T-shirt business, it became a stepping off point for expanding my venture, which in a round about way became an adventure. I accepted and deferred my course. Justin surprisingly also agreed when he found out Sally had cheated on him on her vacation, which she somehow saw as a vacay from her relationship. We all silently cheered while being horrified and indignant that she’d betrayed him. Despite his initial fury and despair, Justin got over it rather quickly. 

            “Well, it feels weirdly like home,” I giggled, spotting Brad and Justin in the kitchen getting food ready for a barbeque. “You and Dad should come on up as well. Relocate.”

            Mum laughed. “As much I miss all of you, it’s a strange pleasure to have the house to ourselves. We’re having a mini-holiday of sorts.”

            “I so don’t want details.”

            Mum snorted. “Not likely. But I called because something came for you from Tal, I sent it express instead of redirecting it with your other mail.”

I swallowed hard. Tilting my head the sky was shading a deep blue and it was always this time of night I thought of Tal with an especial longing. Don’t know why, just did. 

“Thanks,” I said.

“Do you need to talk?” Since the meltdown, I’d said very little, basically because I’d had nothing much to say. But if this was what I thought it was, I felt a horrid mix off dread and anticipation. I still had the many postcards I’d written to Tal. I’d thought about sending them after reaching out to him when Bowie died. It had been pure instinct, I hadn’t thought when I called him; I just had to speak to him because he was the only person who would truly understand how I felt. 

Posting the heart had been more complicated. Instinct, whim, want. It all collided. I’d come to realise how I felt wasn’t going to miraculously disappear. I could keep hiding from Tal, keep him at a distance, but this love was a part of me. It would come out, somehow he’d know because I wouldn’t be the same with him. If I couldn’t be around him, couldn’t see or speak to him, I wasn’t going to lie to him. After all we’d meant to each other, I had to be honest, no matter what it cost me. I’d lose him either way, but at least he’d know the truth. Dealing with not knowing what Tal had gone through, I wouldn’t want the same for him. And I wasn’t going to lie to myself. I deserved better.

So I posted it. Whatever the fallout. At least I’d know once he’d responded, and maybe it would give me what I needed to move forward.            

Mum had said what I felt for Tal ran so deep, it was like divining for water; until I made the effort to find it, whether out of necessity or desire, it remained hidden. Those feelings were well and truly at the surface now, but I still held back.

Like I was holding back now. “Not really.”

“Okay, well I might be in another city, but I’m always here for you.”

“I know. Love you, Mum. And tell Dad it extends to him, too.”

Mum laughed. “Love you. Take care.”

I lay back and just watched the first stars come out for the night. I hadn’t told Tal about how my life was shifting with these changes—changes I welcomed—but I think I was waiting for the biggest shift of all. 

It came the next day.

I waited until I’d gone to bed to open it. I wanted the solitude of my temporary bedroom and a closed door to read Tal’s letter. When I felt the package, it wasn’t just paper. Opening it with trembling and sweaty fingers a flash drive slipped out with a small beautifully gift-wrapped box, and a letter on heavy cream paper. On the front of the envelope was Tal’s signature script and my name: Liv.

I was ready to barf. 

I held onto the flash drive. It was wrapped in a note and written in a black marker: MY THOUGHT-SCAPE & THE LETTER CONTINUED.

Interesting. As was the box.   

I shut my eyes and breathed deeply before opening the envelope.

And this is what he wrote:

DEAREST LIV

I MISS YOU. EVERY DAY. I CAN’T SAY IT ENOUGH BECAUSE IT’S SO TRUE. WHEN YOU CALLED I WANTED TO SPILL EVERYTHING I’D BEEN THINKING & FEELING, BUT I’M GLAD YOU ASKED ME TO WRITE BECAUSE THERE’S A LOT I CAN’T EXPRESS SIMPLY THROUGH WORDS. THAT’S WHY I DEVISED A PLAYLIST WITH SONGS THAT WILL GIVE YOU MORE OF AN IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN GOING THROUGH. MORE THAN MERE WORDS ON A PAGE. SO PLEASE LISTEN—IT’S ALL FOR YOU. 

YOU ASKED WHY I DIDN’T TELL YOU ABOUT SERENA. I KNOW I HURT YOU GREATLY BY NOT TELLING YOU & BROKE YOUR TRUST. BECAUSE IT DID MEAN SOMETHING AT THE TIME & I SAID NOTHING. I STILL COULDN’T MAKE SENSE OF HOW I WAS FEELING WHEN I SAW YOU AFTER I’D SPLIT FROM HER. BUT I’VE BEEN ABLE TO MAKE SENSE OF IT SINCE THEN. WHAT I CAN SAY IS I FELT I WAS BETRAYING YOU. BETRAYING US. BY BEING WITH HER & FEELING THE WAY I DID—YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND, MY FAMILY & STILL I FELT ON SOME LEVEL I WAS BETRAYING YOU. THAT’S WHEN IT TWIGGED THAT MY FEELINGS FOR YOU WEREN’T AS STRAIGHTFORWARD AS I’D THOUGHT. THEY NEVER WERE. THEY WENT SO MUCH DEEPER. DEEPER THAN ANYTHING I’VE EVER FELT IN MY WHOLE LIFE.

BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY I’M SORRY FOR KEEPING IT FROM YOU. IT WAS AS GOOD AS LYING. I WAS LYING TO MYSELF IT SEEMS. I NEVER WANTED IN ANY WAY TO HURT YOU, BUT I DID & I CAN’T TAKE IT BACK. YOU WERE RIGHT TO PULL AWAY. I FELT SUCH A HORRIBLE DESOLATION AT FIRST BECAUSE TO LOSE YOU WOULD BE TO LOSE A PART OF ME. BUT YOUR SILENCE BECAME A GIFT BECAUSE IT BROUGHT TO LIGHT HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU LIV & PUT EVERYTHING INTO PERSPECTIVE.

PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONGS—THEY SAY WHAT I NEED YOU TO HEAR. 

I MISS YOU.

ALL MY LOVE, TALLIS

PS. FOR THE RECORD, SERENA & I ENDED AS IT WAS MEANT TO—WHAT I FELT FOR HER DOESN’T COME CLOSE TO HOW I FEEL FOR YOU, I WANT YOU TO BE ABSOLUTELY CLEAR ABOUT THAT.

THE BOX IS YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT XOX        

I read it again. And again. I was shivering uncontrollably and the warmth of the muggy night made no difference. The paper was shaking in my fingers, the ink smudging with my sweaty hands. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. I wasn’t even sure I’d hoped for what I felt was suddenly opening up before me. 

I grabbed my laptop and headphones from the floor and propped myself up with pillows on the futon. I connected the flash drive and listened.

Each song had a meaning. On a separate page he’d annotated the playlist:

PLAYLIST: FOR LIV

1.              “THE LETTER”  PJ HARVEY 

MY HANDWRITING SUCKS SO IT CAN’T EXPRESS WHAT I’M FEEELING—BUT PJ CAN.  

2.              “A RATHER LOVELY THING” NICK CAVE & WARREN ELLIS 

I COULDN’T SLEEP, SO I WATCHED THE SKY AT NIGHT LISTENING TO ONE OF SEB’S RECORDINGS, BUYT I THOUGHT YOU’D APPRECIATE THIS MORE—ALWAYS MADE ME THINK OF YOU.

3.              “STRONGER” LAMB 

I WAS SO AFRAID OF LOSING YOU—IT DREDGED UP ALL MY FEARS OF THE PEOPLE I LOVED LEAVING, BUT I HAD TO FACE IT AND THE PAIN.

4.              “SIGNS” HOWLING 

WALKED A LOT, ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT & LISTENED TO THESE GUYS ON REPEAT, ALWAYS LOOKING FOR SIGNS OF YOU LIV, BECAUSE YOU TAUGHT ME TO SEE THEM.

5.              “WHERE’S MY LOVE” SYML 

NEVER MIND WINTER, IT’S BEEN COLD WITHOUT YOU—DOWN TO THE BONE—I JUST WANTED YOU WITH ME, I WANTED YOU HOME & THIS IS ALSO YOUR KIND OF SONG. I COULDN’T RESIST.

6.              “LOVE BURNS”  BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB 

TOOK YOU BEING GONE FOR ME TO FIGURE OUT HOW I FELT—A NIGHTMARE & A BLESSING, BECAUSE I HAD NO IDEA HOW YOU WERE FEELING.

7.              “TRUE LOVE WAITS” (LIVE)  RADIOHEAD 

THERE’S A THEME HERE—HOPE YOU’RE HEARING IT.

8.              “R U MINE?”  ARCTIC MONKEYS 

YES/NO?

9.             FOR YOU

The shivering had overtaken me in waves throughout the whole playlist so that I could almost hear my bones rattle. I was on a rollercoaster as it began slowly to sink in what Tal was saying to me. It felt like a dream. A really, really amazing dream. 

At the end there was silence as I waited for the last track, then I heard Tal’s voice: “Believe me when I say this Olivia Hyland, I love you—I love you, I love you, I love you. You have my heart. So, are you mine, Liv? Just say ‘yes’.”

I burst into tears, clutching the letter to my chest with the headphones still on, and burying my face in the pillow to muffle all sound. I cried until my throat was hoarse and the pillow drenched. Even then dry sobs escaped as I lifted my face to feel the warm breeze wafting through the open window. I played the last track over and over to hear his voice and those words.

Tal loved me. Truly loved me.

This wasn’t just my best friend talking to me. No, this was entirely something else.

It took awhile before I realised there was a question somewhere. He wanted me to say “yes” to something. The last track was the key.

R U Mine?

            I lay back in a daze.

            This couldn’t be real.

            I played the songs again and again. I reread the letter. I listened to his voice, the music, the words. The feelings rolled through me: I was swimming, diving, floating and swept away. I listened until light seeped into the dark outside.

            I felt suspended on the edge of knowing what I did next would change something fundamental between us. But it had already changed when I realised he’d become more than my best friend. He was still my best friend. What we could become was bigger—more.

            I wanted this, but it didn’t make it any less scary.

            It felt like being given the world and stepping off a cliff, all at once. 

After…

Tallis

so, is that a yes?

“This is good,” came Seb’s unsolicited comment. 

He was lounging on the sofa drinking tea and holding a manuscript. A manuscript? My unfinished manuscript!

            I marched up to him and swiped it. “Hey! It’s not ready for you to read—for anyone to read it yet!”

            Seb nonchalantly sipped his tea. “It’s just me, Tal. And I mean it—it’s good. Very good. You should keep going with it.”

            I flopped down beside him. “I intend to.”

            “They’ll be plenty of downtime on the tour for you to write. Perfect opportunity.” He handed me a cup of tea he’d just poured, and refilled his own. We’d gotten into a routine of meeting in the morning for breakfast before going our separate ways. We’d be leaving soon to begin his European tour. The big difference was I was acting as his PA for the trip as Gabbie had pleaded she needed “long service leave”.

            “What the hell?” Seb had yelled when she’d approached him with the request. “You can’t leave!”

            Gabbie rolled her eyes. “Sebastian, it’s merely a term meaning extended time off.”

            Seb looked bemused. “Whatever for? You just had a holiday!”

            “A week off for Christmas and New Year is not a holiday you ninny! I need time out to do something for myself, Sebastian! To travel or read a whole book without interruptions, or lie on a beach and get frigging sunburn or—I don’t know— find a lover!”

            Seb gasped, seriously shocked, mouth agape, his hair sticking up from where he’d shoved his hands through his mop. 

            “A lover?” he yelled. “Why the fuck do you need one of those?”

            Gabbie bent over laughing so hard and so long that tears squeezed from her eyes. Finally she managed to get out, “Well, you kind of answered your own question if you think about it.”

            Seb eyed her, askance. “Oh.” He threw his arms in the air, “No, no, no! You can’t pull out on this tour! How the hell am I going to manage without you?” 

            Cédric had been sitting idly by, a witness to the drama, as was I. He cleared his throat. “Sebastian, Gabbie made a very good suggestion which you should consider.” He looked pointedly at me and I straightened, knowing exactly what he was going to say as we’d all debriefed beforehand. “Tallis has agreed to fill in for Gabbie for the European leg of the tour while she takes her ‘leave’.” He smiled rather wickedly at the last word. 

            Gabbie grinned encouragingly and Seb’s eyes honed in on me. “You want to do this? Are you sure?”

            I nodded. “It’s cool, Seb. I can manage doing what Gab does. No sweat.”

            He knew I was the best person for the job other than Gabbie. He visibly deflated, all his ammunition lost to get Gabbie to stay. He still looked bereft and Gabbie was a trifle too happy at seeing it. Which made me wonder if there was some ulterior motive to this. Cédric was equally interested in the exchange. 

            “Fine,” he spat out. He stabbed a finger at Gabbie. “Come back. Or else.” And he abruptly turned on his heel and left the room.  

            Cédric gave an enigmatic smile. “That went well.”

            The deal to go on tour had been made before I sent Liv the letter. 

            The letter. My stomach flipped every time I thought about it. Writing it had been terrifying. Creating the playlist had been healing, so much pent up feeling finally released not through words, but music. 

            And again, Liv’s silence. 

            I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. A resounding and immediate “YES!”. At least something that might give me hope, my heart was balancing a tightrope of want and need and incredible anxiety.

            Focusing on the tour preparations and Gabbie’s handover, as well as writing, alleviated some of the stress. 

            And the sinking feeling I’d got it all wrong. I owed Liv the apology, the truth. Even if that truth exposed me to a heartbreak more devastating than anything I’d felt for Serena.

            Realising that was proof enough of how far gone I was, and how serious my feelings were for Liv.

            I clutched the manuscript and sipped my tea. Seb was squinting at his phone. 

            “Where’s Gabbie?” I asked. Seb had been behaving oddly for the past few days, almost secretive, which had me worried. 

            “Hmmm,” he said absently. “She had to go to London yesterday to sort something out. She’ll be back today.”

            His phone buzzed and his lips curved into a small smile. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up and headed for the front door, no explanation.

            “Okaaaay. Weird,” I murmured, finishing my tea.

            The front door opened and I heard Seb talking to someone. Probably Gabbie, except, except…

            I dumped the manuscript on the floor and just as I stood, Seb walked in with Liv.

            Liv.

            Here, standing barely a couple of strides away from me, with Seb’s arm around her and smiling shyly. Shyly. And happily.

            Seb was grinning smugly. “Well, I’m sure you both have much to catch up on and I’m going out until late this afternoon with Gabbie and Cédric.” He bent and kissed Liv on her cheek, then pulled her in for a hug. “So wonderful to have you here, darling.”

            “Thanks Seb,” she said. 

            Seb turned to walk out. “Oh, and we’re all going out for dinner this evening, so please make sure you’re both respectable when I come home to get you. I’ll text beforehand,” he said cheekily, exiting. 

            He was gone. 

            She was here.

Liv’s smile broadened, our eyes locked on each other and then we both moved at the same time. Liv launched herself into my arms, legs going around my waist so that I stumbled back and fell onto the sofa. But by this stage we hadn’t said a word because we were kissing. Liv and I were kissing. 

            Falling sideways we became a tangle of limbs. Orange blossom flooded my senses and I groaned, my hands finding the skin of Liv’s back. Skin, gorgeous, soft and incredibly warm and I was greedy, wanting more. Her hands were just as quick to explore underneath my T-shirt and we were completely on the same wavelength, needing to get closer. I was captivated by her mouth. I couldn’t help another groan escaping as her tongue slipped against mine. It was almost too much, sensory overload, but matched utterly by my heart. 

            Liv’s eyes fluttered open, a look I’d never seen glazing her expression. Desire. For me. She pulled away so we were a mere breath apart, both gasping for air. 

            I’d lost all ability to speak. After so long without her and never thinking we’d come together like this, it was bliss bordering on a dream. 

            “Hi,” she whispered. 

            I laughed and Liv joined in because we seemed beyond the point of actually saying hello. We’d kind of done it in a much more appealing non-verbal way. 

            “Hey you,” I whispered back and then kissed her nose which she scrunched up adorably.

            We were lying there as I’d imagined in my sleep-deprived nights. My fingers traced her face as hers were making patterns across my back. I could feel every move she made, how she shivered as I touched her neck, how her eyes became impossibly darker when the air between us heated at just being this close. 

I found the heart necklace around her neck. “You’re wearing it,” I said wondrously.

“I love it,” she whispered and kissed me, showing me exactly how much it meant to her—that I meant to her.      

            We kissed. And kissed. When clothing started to be an impediment, we became a tangle of limbs trying to manoeuvre on a small sofa, and—

            Oomph!

            We both fell and rolled onto the floor. 

            I was half on top of Liv and she was staring at me in shock until she began giggling so that we were both sprawled on the floor, laughing.

            Lying on our backs, I held her hand and tugged. Motioning with my head for us to go back to the sofa. We sat curled up together, and it suddenly hit me: Liv was here in Paris! 

            “We need to talk,” I murmured against her lips as we’d resumed kissing. Not something I thought I’d ever say in the midst of making out with Liv.  

            “Mmm,” Liv said, lost in exploring my neck.

            “Liv,” I pleaded, stupidly because I didn’t want her to stop. Liv smiled against my skin, pulling back reluctantly and we sat there looking at each other and it felt unreal to be experiencing this. I just wanted to sink into the feelings, not think at all.

            “What do you want to know?” 

My reeling mind wanted to ask if her feelings for me were what I’d hoped, except I was also lost in the simple feeling of her being so close.  

            “How did you get here?” 

            “Well, after I got your letter I didn’t stop to think, I called Seb and asked if it was still okay to come over. He was over the moon. We wanted to surprise you.”

            “I thought he was acting strange.” I gently kissed her mouth. Irresistible. “I’m eternally grateful for his conniving ways.”

            Liv laughed. “He organised everything and Gabbie met me at Heathrow. We stayed the night in London before making the trip here because my jet lag was pretty bad.”

            I jolted studying her face “Are you okay? Oh my God! You must be knackered.” I frantically searched for signs of fatigue, and yes her eyes were underscored with dark rings. I knew the signs when Liv was exhausted. But she was vibrating with energy.

            She kissed me. “I’m okay. Yeah—it’s hitting me again, but my eyes have been saucers since I arrived in Paris. I just want to see everything!” Her smile was pure delight and I hugged her closer. 

            “We will see everything.” I couldn’t wait. Our first adventure together. Except—

            “I’m going on tour with Dad. How’s this going to work?”

            “Well, I’m coming along it seems. Seb insisted. I don’t know if that makes me one of Seb’s groupies. I hope not.” She scrunched her face up and I laughed, raining kisses across her cheeks, eyes and lips. Just because I could.

            “How long?” I asked, not wanting this to end, anxious at the time constraints. 

            “I’ve kind of become Belinda’s partner would you believe—we’re partnering up! I’m designing the T-shirts for her clothing range. So she’s handling my side of things while I’m away. But I’ll be going back to Australia when you do.”

            “Yeah, he’s got some concerts there and then he’s heading to the States.” I mentally calculated all the possible outcomes.

            Liv giggled. She was a giggler. “I’m probably going to have to stay when we get back home. I’ll also still be house sitting and yeah, I guess we’ll have until then,” she said wistfully. 

            “Gabbie will be back by then,” I began, and it was incredibly easy to take the next step. “I’ll stay. I can stay while Gabbie goes with Seb on the next leg of the tour.”

            “Are you sure? Won’t Seb still need you? What will you do?” I smoothed the creases on her brow with my fingers. 

            “I’ve got my writing. I’m determined to finish this book and see where it leads. I can work on it during the tour but, if you don’t mind an extra house sitter, I can pitch in and stay with you.”

            Liv squealed and hugged me tight. “Oh my God! Yes! But you’ll have to help with the house painting. It was part of the deal with the owners and Justin’s hopeless.”

            “I’m okay with that.”

            We lay back down, wallowing in sheer proximity. “What then?” Liv whispered and there was the faintest consternation in her eyes. 

            “We make it work, Liv. Every day.” I kissed her lips and she sighed, melting into me in a way that was hopelessly distracting. The very thought of us being apart after this seemed impossible. Yet I understood her concern. Until I figured out where to base myself, and whether I’d still be travelling with Seb, or possibly living here, this would impact on us. I hadn’t even factored doing further study. Seb had spoken to me in passing that if I was intent on making the writing happen, he’d help me out while I found my feet. In exchange, I’d agreed to work with Gabbie and Cédric to manage things behind the scenes. If college became an option, we’d take it from there. So, I would still be travelling with Seb, no doubt. I also had two places I could base myself rent free, and my expenses were pretty low. What I needed was time to make things happen. And Liv was essential to it all.

            “Is this a ‘yes’ then?” I murmured and Liv pulled back to look at me. She held my face in her hands, her forehead touching mine.  

            What she said next was like a perfectly held note that seared my senses. Just one word that sparked such a luminous hope in me, that busted open my heart when it had been so full of waiting and wanting. Wanting her. Just one word that had all the power to shift my very being as it promised everything, arced towards endless possibilities in a future unknown, that sounded like destiny:

“Yes.” 

© Angela Jooste 2019