Elegy Page 12

  Gabe nodded. ‘Yeah, I know about it.’

  Of course he did. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Don’t know. Depends on the weather.’ He grimaced. ‘We’ve got four hundred cows that need drenching. It’s supposed to be our afternoon off, but the farm comes first, you know?’

  She didn’t. Instead, she pointed to something she did know about. ‘What’s with all the books? You don’t strike me as the library type.’

  ‘I’ll take that as compliment.’ He grinned and dragged the pile across. ‘Research.’

  ‘Research for what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Michael and Cait. I just thought … I’m just trying to find out more, I guess.’

  ‘Why don’t you try asking?’ She couldn’t help being terse. First Sophie, now Gabe. And she’d been trying so hard not to think about Michael.

  Gabe’s smile faded. ‘I have. That’s why I’m here.’

  Jenny sighed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No biggie.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be studying for exams?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably.’ He picked up the topmost book.

  Jenny read some of the spines: Magic in Theory, Encyclopedia of the Undead, Magic: Fact and Fiction. There were others too, all of them weird-sounding, some of them unpronounceable. Jenny had no idea such books were available in a public library, particularly in a town like Kincasey. ‘Pretty heavy going. Did you pick these out yourself?’

  He grinned again, and she was happy to see it. Gabe without his smile was like a day without the sun. Then he nodded to the front desk. ‘What do you think?’

  She turned; the librarian was still there, still leaning, bookish and a little doe-eyed. Her glasses did nothing to disguise the lure of her chest.

  ‘Figures,’ said Jenny. ‘I wonder if librarians are born that way or if it’s the job that makes them all end up looking the same.’ Now she was just being bitchy.

  Gabe rubbed his jaw and stared at the woman. ‘Good point. Maybe that can be my next assignment.’ Jenny grimaced, and he smiled before opening the book and leaning back in his chair. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’

  ‘Do you even believe in that stuff?’ She was sceptical, though she knew she shouldn’t be, not after what she’d seen Michael do.

  ‘Nah, but I believe in Michael. And I figure this is as good a place to start as any.’

  ‘So you’re not religious then? You know, God and the Devil, good and evil, life after death and all that?’

  He lifted one long leg, crossing it over to rest his ankle on the other knee. Dust drifted from the boot’s sole. ‘I reckon we make our own evil. And I’m not one for angels and trumpets, Jen. Never have been.’

  No, she thought, looking at him. But the irony must’ve escaped him, because he was already light and bright and golden and so very good-looking. All he needed was a pair of wings. And that trumpet.

  ‘What?’ he asked, and she realised she was still staring.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just that, for someone who doesn’t believe in angels, you seem pretty comfortable in your halo.’

  He laughed, and several heads turned disapprovingly – including the librarian’s. Gabe paid no attention. ‘Reckon that got knocked off years ago in the bike shed at school, when I was about thirteen.’

  It took her a few seconds to understand his meaning and, when she did, she blushed.

  ‘And you?’ he teased. Her face reddened even more. ‘Whoa, awkward. Sorry, I just thought –’

  ‘What? That all the rumours were true?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘No. Just that I can’t imagine how anyone could pass you up.’ That floored her, every outraged feminist hackle rising, but he didn’t give her time to retort. ‘So when you said Michael was “the one”, you meant –’

  ‘Drop it, okay?’ Her voice had sharpened, and he held up a hand.

  ‘Okay. Sorry.’ Then he stretched across and clasped her wrist. ‘Really, I am.’

  She nodded and pulled away, because she wasn’t entirely sure if he was apologising for his comment, or because she was still a virgin. She decided it was probably best she didn’t find out. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get this draft done. It’s due on Monday.’

  They spent the rest of the time in companionable silence, Gabe sighing, flicking pages and shifting in his chair, Jenny gnawing the end of her pen between bouts of feverish writing. It would’ve been easier to bang it out on her laptop, but she liked scribbling by hand first, getting it down and then copy typing later, tweaking as she went.

  The library slowly emptied until they were the only ones left. At eight Gabe called it a night, tossing the book he’d been thumbing through back onto the stack.

  ‘Anything?’ Jenny asked, stuffing her things into her bag.

  He rubbed his eyes and stretched back in his chair. ‘Who knows? It’d help if I knew what I was looking for.’

  ‘It’s a big job,’ she conceded. ‘Plus there’s the internet. And the library’s probably got a whole load more on microfiche.’

  He frowned. ‘What’s fish got to do with it?’

  ‘Wow,’ she murmured, and smiled. ‘It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Gabe.’ He just laughed and they made their way over to the desk where the librarian was waiting impatiently. Probably eager to get home to her cats, Jenny thought, and her vehemence surprised even her. ‘You know you’re only allowed to borrow four at a time,’ she warned Gabe.

  ‘Is that so?’ he said and, sure enough, he left with all of them. ‘You’re right,’ he joked, dumping them on the seat of the ute. ‘I guess it is a good thing I’m pretty.’

  Remembering his earlier comment, she couldn’t resist asking, ‘Thirteen? Really?’

  ‘Never? Really?’ His grin faded as he patted his jeans. ‘Left my wallet inside. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  She watched him sprint to the library, clearing the few steps in one bound and thumping on the locked door. It was hot in the ute and she wound down the window, grateful the vehicle was too old for push-button controls. The bench seat was covered with dust and grime, the middle seatbelt just a twisted, frayed strap. But the cab had that warm summer smell she remembered; the smell of the farm, the comfort of old grass, old sweat, old boots and old dog. Curious, she pulled open the glove box. There were a few screwdrivers, a balled-up T-shirt, some broken pens, a torch and two boxes of condoms. Two? Really? Sneaking a quick peek at the library and not seeing Gabe, she ferreted one of them out, holding it up to better read the label. It’d already been opened.

  ‘Fancy getting some, huh?’

  Jenny jumped in fright, banging her head and crying out; the box dropped to the floor. Casey bent down to lean on the open window, forcing her back.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you,’ he said. ‘Reckon he uses extra small.’

  ‘Get away from me!’ Fumbling for the winder, Jenny tried to close the window but his weight held it down.

  ‘Now, if you’re lookin’ for that bit more, I’ve got just the thing.’ His hand dipped below the frame and he grabbed at himself.

  She screamed, pushing at him and hitting his other arm. It was like sinking a fist into soft dough. He yelled and stumbled back, then rushed at her, reaching in and clutching her hair, yanking on it hard and hauling her to him. His breath stank and his face shone with sweat. Jenny whimpered with pain and fear and loathing. Oh God, hurry up, Gabe! Please!

  ‘You’ll pay for that, bitch. You wait. Not now, but soon you’re all gonna pay. Tell lover boy: when he wants to come looking for me, I’ll be ready.’

  He twisted his fist hard, burning her scalp and stinging her eyes, and then, just as suddenly, the pain eased and he was gone, fading back into darkness. She sank against the seat, trying not to cry.

  Damn it, Gabe, where are you? But she didn’t dare get out of the car to look for him. When she sent him a text, she heard a buzz and found his phone beside the books.

  Lightning forked the thick clouds and they thundered in protest, making her
jump again. Wiping at her face, she wound up the window and slammed down the door lock, then reached over and did the same to the other side. And she waited, staring out into the dark, looking for shadows and sweating in the confined heat.

  The pull of the doorhandle startled her, and she whirled around to face Gabe. He bent and tapped on the window, and she leaned across to unlock the door.

  ‘Christ, it’s like an oven in here,’ he protested. ‘Why didn’t you open a window?’

  Jenny hit him on the shoulder, hard. ‘Where the hell were you?’

  ‘Hey! What’s wrong?’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she screeched.

  He started up the ute. ‘I’m sorry. Took us a while to find it.’

  ‘Us?’ she yelled. ‘You and Miss Big Boobs? Did you get her number, Gabe?’ How dare he? How dare he stay in there flirting while Casey had scared her half to death?

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business.’ His voice was low, a warning.

  ‘Here, you’ll need these.’ She scooped the box of condoms off the floor and threw it at him.

  He glared then, his eyes narrowing. Grabbing the box, he leaned over and tossed it back where she’d found it before slamming the glove box shut. ‘And that’s none of your business either. What the hell’s got into you?’

  But she couldn’t tell him. Casey’s threat terrified her and she was sure Gabe would go after him if he knew. It was better to let him think she was a stupid, jealous cow. Safer, for all of them. She turned away and stared out the window. ‘Just take me home.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ he replied, and they drove the three blocks in silence, the books stacked between them like a wall.

  Jenny opened the door and was halfway out of the car when he grabbed her arm. ‘Hey. I’m sorry, okay? I really couldn’t find it, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have left you for so long.’

  ‘No,’ she said, and he sighed.

  ‘You wanna tell me what’s going on?’

  She shook her head, miserable. A curtain twitched in the front window of the house. ‘Not now. I’ll see you at school.’ Lightning strobed the sky again, and she flinched at the thunderous clap overhead. ‘God, I hope it rains.’

  Gabe peered up through the window. ‘Sure to. Careful what you wish for, though. When it comes, winter won’t be far behind.’

  ‘He is coming! he is coming!’

  Like a bridegroom from his room,

  Came the hero from his prison

  To the scaffold and the doom.

  W. E. AYTOUN, ‘The Execution of Montrose’

  X

  It did rain. It rained for three days, soaking the land, washing it clean and filling rivers and streams with a muddy rush of water. And just as Gabe had predicted, the change came on an icy south wind that blew up and over the ranges, driving the rain before it in thick sheets. Fireplaces were stacked and stoked and the town filled again with the smell of burning wood, this time bringing comfort, not dread.

  There were plenty of words exchanged at the Lawson house that Friday night, after Jenny returned from the library, and most of Saturday too. Her mother accused Jenny of setting her up; it was so obvious she’d planned a secret rendezvous with ‘that Webster boy’ (she almost spat the word). Jenny yelled that her mother was paranoid, that Gabe was nothing like his stepbrother (she emphasised ‘step’); he was just a friend – the only friend she had in this whole shitty town – but if her mother wanted her seventeen-year-old daughter to be a social outcast, then fine! Gabe’s advice, as well as the tenuous progress they’d made all week, was cast aside.

  ‘And you’re not going to that party!’ Her mother’s parting shot.

  That was fine with Jenny too because she hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but the pronouncement fuelled her rage. ‘You can’t stop me! I can leave home if I want to and you can’t stop me.’

  ‘That’s what you think, young lady.’

  ‘It’s the law! There’s nothing you can do about it. And you can’t stop me going to that party.’

  Her mother opened her mouth to retort, but her father chimed in from the depths of the sofa. ‘For God’s sake, Val, leave it alone.’

  Jenny stared, not expecting this support and definitely not wanting it. He looked tired, fed up like she was, but it was hard to feel much sympathy.

  ‘She’s not a child,’ he pointed out. ‘Stop punishing her.’ The rest was left unsaid, because they all knew what he meant.

  Jenny didn’t stay to hear any more, barricading herself in her room, the essay abandoned in favour of more tears. The next day it was too wet and cold to escape the house, and when she finally managed to talk to Bella, her friend’s happy voice that she loved and missed so much – sympathising wholeheartedly if somewhat briefly before moving on to gossip Jenny didn’t want to hear, and longwinded gushings about her new boyfriend (yes, Jenny had seen the photos on Facebook; yes, he was cute, she lied) – was no help at all.

  But it only got worse when her father told her she could go to Paul’s party after all. Now, having fought for the right without really wanting to win, Jenny could hardly back down – she wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction. She didn’t thank her father either, not then and not when he dropped her on the other side of town the next afternoon with quiet instructions to call him when she was ready to leave. She stood for a moment in the rain, watching him drive off and wondering miserably at the irony of mixed blessings; she really didn’t want to be there.

  Paul’s house was a small brick box in one of the new developments. A few people were smoking under the narrow verandah; a couple of old cars were tandemmed in the narrow drive while others lined the cul-de-sac, but she couldn’t see Gabe’s ute anywhere. Wishing she could have arrived with others, Jenny scurried up the path, past the smokers and into the house, where she weaved her way through the throng until she spotted Sophie. She was with Kylie and the rest of the girls, and Jenny’s heart sank.

  ‘Hey! You came.’ Sophie seemed glad to see her, and even the others turned and smiled. Perhaps it was because she was no longer with Michael, perhaps they felt she’d been punished enough. Or perhaps they weren’t the evil, small-minded country bumpkin bitches she’d thought they were. Whatever the reason, she was welcomed warmly, the girls admiring her long boots and her jacket. Kylie slipped away and returned with a large plastic cup filled with some kind of pink liquid.

  ‘Fruit punch,’ she said, handing it across. She winked. ‘With a tiny splash of voddie.’

  Jenny took a sip. The juice was strong and sickly sweet, overpowering anything else that might have been in there.

  There was music, but it wasn’t so loud they had to shout, and people came and went. Seeing Pete, she made her way over and he introduced her to the group of guys he was with. Some she knew by sight, others she didn’t, but she could tell immediately they didn’t live in town. They had that look about them, the same one Michael and Gabe did. When her cup emptied, Clare appeared with another, and Jenny smiled her thanks. Why had it taken her this long to realise these people were actually okay?

  ‘You know Paul, right?’ Clare asked, grabbing the arm of a passing boy and pulling him up short. He wore an easy smile and a black T-shirt with a picture of the world as a broken jigsaw; under it was the slogan ‘Peace It Together’. Jenny liked it.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, smiling back. ‘But I’ve seen you at school with Gabe.’ And immediately she knew she’d said the wrong thing. Clare and Kylie stiffened and exchanged looks. Sophie squirmed.

  But Paul just nodded and looked around. ‘Yeah, he’s here somewhere.’ Over his shoulder, he yelled, ‘Hey, anyone seen Gabe?’

  ‘Checked your bedroom?’ someone called back, and everyone laughed. Jenny didn’t.

  ‘Aw, shit,’ Paul muttered, and disappeared down the hall.

  Jenny gulped her drink. ‘So is Michael here too?’ she ventured, desperate to break the group’s silence.

  ‘Thought you two had broken up,’ said A
lanna.

  ‘Leave her alone, Al,’ Kylie said, and Jenny shot her a grateful look. ‘No, Michael didn’t come. Just Gabe.’

  ‘With Kathy,’ someone else said, and Jenny was quick to take the hint. She had no idea who Kathy was and she didn’t ask. They’d made their point – one brother was enough, so she nodded and changed the subject.

  But something had changed. There was a charge in the air that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had and she just hadn’t realised. She saw the sideways glances, heard the doublespeak – their smiles were too bright and too brittle – and she looked around for a familiar face, an excuse to leave this close, little group that was hemming her in and fetching her drinks and treating her with such chumminess.

  She noticed him then. He was leaning against the far wall, his arm around a girl she knew by sight but hadn’t met before. She was pretty and all made-up, though her hair was a little mussed. That’s what happens when you roll around on a bed, thought Jenny. Gabe looked tired. His hair was bound back, darker and dirty, and stubble coated his cheeks and jaw. Others were with them, but Gabe wasn’t joining in their conversation. He was looking right at her, and when she smiled he didn’t return it with his usual lazy grin. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he frowned. She watched him bend his head to Kathy’s ear, and felt herself flush, disappointed; he was still angry about her outburst at the library. The air wasn’t clammy any more; it was stuffy and she drained her cup. Her fourth. Or was it her fifth? She’d lost count. And she was so thirsty.

  Suddenly hot, she shed her jacket. Which way to the bathroom? She didn’t know and stumbled when she turned, knocking into a girl behind her who exclaimed angrily. Others sniggered.

  ‘You all right?’ Kylie asked, and Jenny nodded. But she wasn’t. She was feeling sick, hot and sick and desperate for fresh air. And water. Kylie looked across at Sophie. ‘Get her another drink, Soph.’

  ‘I think she’s had enough.’ A large hand grabbed Jenny’s shoulder, steadying her, and the girls stared.

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ Kylie said, smiling. ‘She’s been knocking them back all afternoon.’