Dessi's Romance (25 page)

Leila shrugs. ‘Well, maybe
Emma’s
not the problem,’ she says slowly.
‘Maybe it’s someone else.’

My jaw drops. But when I
was at the Maloufs’, didn’t some unknown stranger keep phoning? I say, ‘Those
times he was supposed to be meeting Antler… You reckon that was another woman?’

My friend picks at a lose
thread on her jeans and doesn’t answer. Poor Leila. I’m sure she’d like to be
anywhere else but here.

‘Okay.’ This comes out in a
rush: ‘I did hear something and I was going to phone you about it, but you got
to me first.’ She hands me a fresh tissue. ‘This Abdul you’re so keen on… Turns
out he’s engaged. His fiancée is Fatima Khouri and she’s studying law at
Monash. They say she’s real bright and comes from a good family. It’s been arranged
since they were kids.’

‘Engaged?’ I just stare.
‘You mean…’ I can hardly breathe. Everything seems to come at me in waves. I
feel faint. I manage a choked ‘I was… we were just his… his bimbos, his sluts?’

Leila nods.

‘The bastard!’          

More tears pour down my
cheeks. But now these are tears of fury. ‘What else did you find out about
him?’

‘My mum knows someone who
came out here at the same time. Seems his family are very nice.’

‘They weren’t very nice to
me,’ I say plaintively.

Leila reaches
out one comforting hand while the other passes me more tissues. ‘That’s because
they had this woman all lined up, and you were getting in the way.’

Now the Maloufs’
open antagonism makes total sense. In fact given all Leila’s and Abdul’s hints,
it always did. But his behaviour...that still doesn’t. ‘Leila,’ I whimper. ‘I
don’t understand. Why did he take me home to meet them when he knew how awful
it would be for me? Twice?’

She shrugs. ‘My guess is
that he was trying to tell them something. Maybe he hates the idea of this
marriage and he was throwing this in their faces, trying to get them to listen
to him by bringing home...’ she holds up two curled fingers... ‘a nice Aussie
girl who knows how to behave. He’d be trying to get out of this engagement. He
never mentioned anything about a fiancée or an arranged marriage?’

‘Only in a roundabout way,’
I sullenly reply, though of course he did, if only I’d listened. But I was too
besotted, too aware of the approaching gulf between Emma and myself to even
consider Abdul’s motives. ‘He did tell me that his parents had an arranged
marriage.’ I’m still hoping Leila is wrong. ‘No one,’ I protest, ‘but no one
has an arranged marriage in this country.’

‘That’s not true. Maybe
they’re not actually arranged, but it’s taken for granted that kids will stay
within their own ethnicity and religion. Some of the families get really
insecure if they don’t keep to the old ways. They’re scared their kids will
marry out and they’ll lose them.’

‘You mean, all those times
he was supposed to be with Antler, he was really with his fiancée?’

‘More than likely.’ Leila
wipes her fingers on a tissue. ‘Abdul’s not nearly as bad as this makes him
sound. You see, his folks would have fed him heaps on how he owes it to them to
maintain their name, their culture, their religion. Even if he really liked
you, he’d never dare admit it. In a way you have to feel sorry for him. He
might be only twenty-one, but his life is already mapped out and he doesn’t
dare change it. I feel real sorry for him.’

I peer at Leila from behind
a soggy tissue. ‘Huh? You still say that after he made me go through those
horrible dinners... never mentioned a fiancée... then got mad with me for
telling Emma...’

‘Hmm, I agree that’s gross.
But getting mad with you about Emma was more being angry with himself. Try and
look at it from his side, like he knows exactly what he has to do to keep the
family happy. And he hasn’t any choice.’

I now remember Abdul saying
this about his own parents, and the photo of his brother and his wife. ‘The
terrible thing,’ I ponder aloud, ‘is how all this love stuff makes everything
else seem trivial.’

‘You mean, like getting
decent results and gaining a place at Uni? Everything has its flip side.’ Leila
peers at my reflection in the dresser. ‘What’s worse? Losing Emma? Or losing
Abdul?’

‘Oh, Emma,’ I say without a
moment’s hesitation. ‘But sooner or later, she’d have found out for herself.
Wouldn’t she?’

Leila is too tactful to
comment.

The day Julie goes into hospital feels
like the very worst of my life... even worse than when Dad announced he was
leaving for Surfers… even worse than when Danny dumped me and I thought my
heart would literally crack and splinter.

I just feel sick.

While she’s being operated
on the nurses are kind. One asks if I’d like a coffee. I thank her and shake my
head. In the end I go to the ground floor and check out the gift shop. Is it
tempting fate to buy Julie a gift? No, whatever happens, it will be nice for
her to wake up and see flowers. I buy a very expensive box filled with pink
roses, select a card and write:
I love you, Mum.

Back in the waiting room,
it’s not long before a nurse comes in. My heart misses a beat… then races like
mad. She says, ‘Doctor will be in to see you in a minute.’

‘Is she…is my mother all
right?’

The nurse smiles but
doesn’t answer. A man comes in. He’s wearing pale blue pants and a sleeved
V-neck top like summer PJs. His feet are enclosed in big paper bags tied at his
ankles. I can’t take my eyes off them. I have this horrid urge to laugh. He
pulls what looks like a shower cap off his head and his hair is dark and curly
streaked with grey.

‘Emma? Your mum is fine,’
he says without any preamble. ‘We’ve done a lumpectomy.’

I nod to show I understand.

‘Not too painful and it
won’t disfigure her too much. She’ll be a bit sore for a while. No heavy
housework, no lifting and she won’t be able to drive. Got it?’

‘So…so…she didn’t have
cancer after all?’

He frowns slightly. ‘Yes,
she did. But we think we’ve contained it. She’ll need radiotherapy to make sure
we’ve got rid of all those cancerous cells.’

‘Can I see her?’

His face clears and he
gives me a quick grin. ‘She’ll be back in the ward shortly.’

I find Julie in a bed near
the window. A nurse is fiddling with a drip snaking into the back of her hand.
She seems to be asleep and looks peaceful if very pale. The nurse indicates a
chair by the bed. I pull out my notebook and sketch her lying there, all
peaceful.

Her eyes open. ‘Emma,’ she
whispers.

I start to cry.

As she drifts in and out of
sleep, I go to the coffee shop and order a huge sandwich. I want to sing and
dance and shout:
She’s going to be all right!
At four thirty, Hannah arrives with a
box of exotic fruit and an enormous bouquet. I leave the women to chat and
think how this day could have been helped if only Dessi was here... my
ex
best friend who stole my boyfriend and
is now too selfish to turn up and offer any support.

Somehow I’ve managed to
push Abdul out of my mind. In a curious way I don’t find this too difficult.
After all, we did only date twice… well, only once if I’m being totally honest.
If anything it’s more a case of hurt pride that he could ditch me so easily. I
now see him as someone who did his best to drive a dagger between best friends.

Hannah drives me home and it’s all a
bit awkward. ‘Anything Julie needs just call,’ Hannah says as I climb out of
the car. ‘You should be staying with us,’ she adds shaking her head.

‘I’ll be okay, Hannah.
Thanks anyway.’

Still, the empty cottage
does feel strange. I decide to spring clean. I want to make everything perfect
for when Mum returns. The cats are yowling and I realise that I forgot to feed
them this morning.

‘Coming, Myrtle,’ I tell
her and fill her feed-bowl. Myrtle looks offended but scoffs everything down,
then meows for more. She won’t let the kittens suckle. Then it hits me… Myrtle
is trying to wean them. I fill another bowl and Myrtle nudges the kittens
towards it. I grab my pad and try in the fewest lines possible to record what
is happening. The kittens sniff and fuss until Chagall sticks his nose into the
dish. Within minutes, all three are tucking into their first solid food while
Myrtle grooms herself.

After a few sketches I
remember to check my email. There’s one from Sacha. I feel a rush of gratitude.
After the way I’ve treated him, he’s turned out to be an even better friend
than I could ever have hoped. It’s a good reminder that not
all
men are jerks.

‘Has your mum had her op?
How is she?’

I hit the reply button and
type. ‘She did. She’s okay.’

He comes back with: ‘Can I
tell the others?’

‘OK. But please no fuss.’

A few minutes later Kaz and
Jodie call me on our landline. Once I tell them that Mum is out of danger,
they’re full of news about the parties they’ve been to, some of the clubs, how
Bodie has let Kaz down, and how they’re so sorry I had to leave, and anyway,
how is Dessi?

Though I say all the right
things, deftly avoiding any questions on Dessi, I’m really not interested. It’s
not as if my
ex
best-friend is here to share this gossip. Though I miss Dessi like mad, I know
I can never forgive her. It’s a shame really. Sacha and Kaz and Jodie might be
good mates but no one else will, or can ever, fill that gap in my heart.

Two days later when Mum
comes home, I’ve worked hard and the house sparkles. ‘It’s going to stay like
this from now on,’ I tell her. She has a bandaged chest, one arm in a sling and
is still looking wan. ‘Oh, and I’ve got a job. Remember the bistro we went to?
Three nights a week and $18 an hour cash in hand to start with. I get to eat
too. I could bring you home something too so we don’t have to cook. Isn’t that
great?’

‘Great.’ She leans back on
the couch. Her smile reflects her intense relief.

There’s no relief for me, even though I
weaken enough to phone both Abdul and Emma. Neither picks up their phone.

Neither bothers calling
back.

I can’t believe what I’ve done. Did I really bring this
onto myself? Now I understand why people become hermits or hide in monasteries.
I’m so ashamed of myself I can’t bear to look in the mirror. Abdul was right.
How could I have thought it was okay to confess to Emma when she was so worried
about Julie?

The next fortnight lingers
on in a permanent haze. I can’t listen to any music except songs that wail
about lost love. I spend a lot of time in the living room gazing out the
window. In some hopeless way I want a twelve year old white van to stop outside
my house. But deep inside I know this will never happen. How could I have
created such a terrible loss? But then, what else could I have done? I still
feel that Emma had to know about Abdul.

I remain in a permanent
state of mourning for both my lover and friend. But curiously as time passes,
Abdul’s face becomes confused with Emma’s. I find myself mouthing Abdul’s name
while picturing Emma’s face. The knowledge that I’m not the only one to suffer
from falling in love with the wrong person offers the only consolation I can
find. Poems pour out of me. They’re the only solace I can offer myself:

Gale, hurricane, tsunami

Which best describes this
cataclysmic event

that’s destroyed my beach, my rocks,
my coast?

I’m tumbleweed

Blowing in the wind

I’m flotsam

Floating on the tide

Gliding in the air

I’m anything but me.

Leila does her best to try and cheer me
up, phoning every day with something funny to report. One day when I’m feeling
particularly low, she calls to ask, ‘Ever heard of the drop-kick alphabet?’

‘No,’ I snap, before
reminding myself what a good friend she is, and making an effort to sound
interested. ‘What is it?’

‘Something you can use when
someone’s really pissing you off. Like whenever you think about Abdul say aloud
“A is for arsehole. B is for bugger. C is for…’ Her infectious giggle comes
over the line.

I laugh in spite of myself:
‘What about Z?’

‘Z?’ Leila giggles. ‘Zoom
him away because he’s worth zero.’

This time we both laugh.

Christmas comes and goes.
For me it’s a big non-event, even though Mum and Dad pay for my L’s and Nanna
Pearl hands me a generous cheque saying, ‘Darling, this is for some new
clothes.’
As an
act of contrition I use the money to buy Jeremy a computer game, the latest Man
Booker novel for Mum, Dad’s favourite whisky and an expensive face cream for
Julie.