Dessi's Romance (26 page)

I don’t know what to get
Emma. That’s really hard when someone isn’t talking. In the end I snail-mail a
very expensive box of acrylic paints. Three days later, they come back unopened
carrying the label: RETURN TO SENDER.

New Year’s Eve is another
non-event, even though Leila comes over with her new boyfriend Harry, her
brother Naiz, and several bottles of vodka and orange juice.

Harry turns out to be
almost everything Leila promised, and the couple are celebrating their first
month together. Though I’m happy for her, I can’t help feeling envious. This
should be me and Abdul celebrating.

‘Harry,’ I say. ‘Thought
good Muslims don’t drink alcohol?’

‘You’re right!’ Harry gives
me a broad wink. ‘But tonight we’re being seriously Aussie.’

They don’t stay long and I
finish off the rest of the vodka and still feel miserable. I wonder what Emma
is up to… if only we were celebrating the New Year together. But all I end up
with is a hangover.

The next few weeks are like
a bad dream from which I can’t wake. I almost stop eating and forget to
exercise. No one has a clue as to how much I suffer... how terrible I feel.
Mum and Dad try talking to me separately, but I tell them that I’ve nothing to
discuss. What can I say? Only that I’ve brought all this on my own head and I
despise myself for it. Though there’s no excuse for what I’ve done, I’m still
not ready to say this aloud to anyone but my reflection in that speckled
bathroom mirror. Anyway, everyone is too busy running his or her own life. Most
of the time, I either sleep or stare blankly at the TV. The only time I feel
half-normal is just on waking, that blessed moment before memory floods in.

I intercept several
‘private number’ calls with no one on the other end. Is Abdul trying to contact
me? One time I ask ‘Abdul, that you?’ I’m met by an empty line. I mull over
every caress, recalls every conversation in minute detail. In that week between
the drive to Flinders and our break-up, I was so happy.

Can it only have been one
week? Can one week change a person’s life so completely? But far worse is
Emma’s refusal to talk. I see no point in reading a novel or seeing a film if I
can’t discuss it with her. Though I
think
I understand why Emma hates me, I find it hard not to
feel badly done by. It isn’t my fault that I fell in love with Abdul, is it?
But I also know I could have drawn back and resisted his charm. I was so proud
of my virginity, but at the same time equally anxious to lose it. No wonder
intelligent, exotic, charming Abdul won me over. Plus, there was always the
irritation of listening to Emma rave on about her guys. Guess I needed to prove
that I’m equally attractive and can entice men as easily.

What’s more I’m really
worried about Emma.

What if she gets depressed
again? What if this time she goes through with all those suicidal thoughts?
What if nothing stops her? If anything happens, I know it will be my fault. How
will I ever live with it?

Everything is covered by a
dour veil that can only be lifted by Emma phoning, for things to go on as
before, as before, as before.

When I broach this with
Julie, all she says is, ‘Darling, I think it’s best I stay out of this.’ And
when I burst into tears, ‘Look, it’ll take some time for Emma to forgive
you...’

Falling for Abdul has cast
a shadow over my life from which I may never recover.

‘Someone to see you,’ Julie calls from
the front door.

I’m still in bed after a
frenzied night waiting tables. The soles of my feet feel as if they’re on fire.
Hospitality is hard work, harder than I ever realised. Yet even when customers
become overly demanding, some even unpleasant, it’s still better than working
in the supermarket-from-hell.

‘Hi Emma,’ comes a voice I
recognise.

I stagger into the living
room and gape. ‘Sash! When did you get back?’

Julie closes the door
behind him. ‘Is that a greeting?’ she says mock serious. ‘She’s a bit feral in
the mornings, you know.’

‘Sure do.’ He grins
wickedly.

‘We shared the unit in
Broadbeach,’ I put in quickly. ‘Mum, I did tell you.’

‘Did you?’ She looks
puzzled. ‘Like a coffee, Sacha? I was just going to make some for us.’

‘Yes please, Mrs S. That’d
be great.’ He thrusts a bunch of flowers at her. ‘Hope you’re feeling better.’

‘Oh, that’s so sweet. I’ll
go and put them in water.’

‘Why don’t you go with
her,’ I tell Sacha. ‘Give me time to get dressed?’

Ten minutes later, we’re
drinking coffee and eating leftover pizza. Julie has always liked Sacha. So do
I… but still only as a very close friend. If ever my thoughts flickers back to
that
night, it’s
something I prefer to forget...

‘…doctor’s pleased with the
results,’ Mum is saying, ‘and I don’t know what I would have done without Emma.
She’s even got her P’s.’

‘How about that!’ Sacha
gives me a high five. ‘Want to take me for a drive right now?’

Is he going to pressure me?
‘Actually no,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

Mum’s eyebrows shoot up.
‘Go on, you deserve a break.’

I decide not to argue. In
the car with Sacha driving, he says, ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet. I need to talk
to you.’

Does he intend putting more
unwelcome pressure on me? ‘Where?’

We end up in Elwood. ‘Let’s
walk.’ He takes my hand and we amble towards the beach. It is one of those
blindingly clear days that Melbourne has occasionally. Every detail of Port
Phillip Bay is crystalline. I can see Williamstown, the Westgate Bridge and a
queue of container ships lined up waiting to dock at Port Melbourne.

I can’t wait to somehow
capture it. How to best achieve this? Photos and a collage? Or a simple
watercolour using as few lines as possible, or an abstract constructed from
those basic outlines. My thoughts float like bubbles as we end up on a bench
right by the lighthouse. Sitting there admiring the view I have a sudden
explosion of joy. Yes, that’s it! A feeling of how good it is to be alive and
Mum being well, and having final results that will get me into the course my
heart is set on... and finding a not too unpleasant job to keep me going…well,
just about everything except… except my ex-best friend...

Why does Dessi have to
intrude into my happiness and spoil it all?

I wake up Sacha is saying
‘…so I was wondering whether your mum would agree.’

I swallow. What is he on
about? I haven’t taken in a word. Then I realise that he wants to board with
us. He’s saying, ‘I figure what with my student allowance and a job I could pay
your mum say, a hundred and fifty bucks a week. I don’t eat much and I’d hardly
ever be there except to sleep. Basically I just need a place to crash.’

I digest this as badly as
burnt toast. ‘Sash, you crazy?’

He turns to face me and I
see shadows in those clear blue eyes. ‘I can’t live at home anymore. My dad…’
he throws up his hands, ‘he’s impossible.’

I stare at him. The few
times me and Dessi met his dad, we avoided getting close. He’s huge, hairy and
he tackles teachers aggressively if he doesn’t like what they say. I’m not
surprised Sacha doesn’t want to live with him.

‘What went wrong in
Surfers?’ I ask, trying to deflect him from his latest idea. ‘I mean you seemed
rapt in the idea of working on Dad’s boat.’

He shrugs. ‘Surfers seemed
dead after you left, so I decided to come home.’ He looks at me with open
pleading. ‘I’ve never told anyone this before,’ he says in a low voice. I
instinctively tense. ‘My father…he’s cruel.’ The words barely emerge.

Now really hearing him, I
cry, ‘Cruel? What do you mean?’

‘He…he hits me… beats me.’

‘Beats you?’ I echo not
quite grasping what he’s saying.

‘You know.’ His fists make
vicious jabbing movements. ‘When he gets upset with me… calls me “girlie,
sissy, wimp, poofter”
…
stuff
like that. Says he’s going to make a man of me.’ He laughs feebly. ‘Guess
that’s another reason I thought I was gay. Only I’m not,’ he quickly adds in
case I think he’s changed his mind once again.

I’m totally horrified. ‘Oh
Sacha... hitting you. That’s awful. Can’t you do something about it? Get some
sort of help? Call the cops and have him stopped.’

He stares out across the
bay. More of his story comes out. ‘Dad... he used to drink a lot, still does.
He’s a binge drinker. Vodka,’ in answer to my questioning look. ‘Whenever he
got drunk he’d belt mum up, bash into her.’ Sacha’s face takes on a dull
expression, almost as if he’s finally admitting to the world what his family is
like. ‘When I got older, and tried to defend Mum, he turned on me.’

‘Oh my god...’ I’m
speechless as I recall Mrs Bukowsky’s intense blue eyes and buxom frame.
‘But... but your mum’s such a nice warm lady, why would anyone want to hurt
her? Does he still lay into her?’

He smiles wryly. ‘No these
days, he’s more interested in his son. Anyway, the night before last, it was
just after I got home, he made me show him my results. Course they were bad...
bad enough to really get him going. Only...’ he sighs, ‘this time I messed him
up a bit... In the end I had to knock him out... it was the only way to stop
him.’ His grin is wry. ‘You should see our living room. What a mess.’

‘I’ll bet,’ I say feeling
for him and his mother. ‘But... but why doesn’t your mum tell someone? Get an
order taken out? She can do that, you know. I mean, how come no one saw her
bruises and reported him?’

He shrugs. ‘Dad was always
careful to never touch our faces. And after... he always apologises, like he’ll
cry and give me bear hugs. Trouble is, Mum believes him. But that only lasts
until the next bender.’

‘Don’t you ever tell her to
go?’

He looks at me as if I’m
mad. ‘What do you think? Course I do. All the time. But she’s old fashioned
enough to think her place is with him. I think deep down somewhere she feels
sorry for him. He had all these expectations about coming to a new country
– that he’d do well here, make heaps of money, only it never turned out
that way. He’s still in his old factory job, and I think he hates it more every
day.’

‘Is that why he’s angry
with you?’

‘Suppose so. He wants me to
do something more with my life and he thinks turning me into an accountant will
do it. Then at least he could be proud of me.’ He sighs. ‘My dad, he’s just so
confused.’

‘Confused he may be, but
bashing into you, that’s just not on.’

‘He blames Mum, claims she
turned me into a sissy.’

‘There’s no excuse,’ my voice
rises, ‘absolutely no excuse for belting you. Did his dad hit him up too?’

‘Yes. That’s how back home,
kids are disciplined. Dad says it made a man of him so he figures it should
work on me.’

‘That’s not making a man of
you,’ I say scornfully. ‘That’s just being a bully.’

We silently look at out to
sea. But my mind is buzzing. What’s wrong with all these dads? Some fathers
don’t deserve to have kids, not the way they treat them. But that’s not fair.
Dessi’s father Graham, is great. The gentlest, kindest man possible. So often
in the past I wished I could change places with Dessi. Oh, hell. How can I
refuse Sacha now? I’ll have to ask Mum if she’ll mind him crashing in on us.
I’m sure she’ll appreciate the extra cash. There’ll have to be certain conditions,
though. Definite rules. ‘Hey, cheer up,’ I cry. ‘I’ll ask Mum, all right? ’

He throws his arms around
me in a giant hug. ‘Thanks, Emma. You’re a good mate.’

‘But we’re just friends,
great close friends.
Nothing else.
Promise?’

He nods solemnly. ‘I’ll always
be your friend, Emma. You can rely on that.’

Where have I heard that
before, I wonder.

My final score is good enough to get me
into Monash Arts. Hannah also reports that Emma’s art folio was judged as one
of this year’s best and will be hung in the National Gallery with the other
finalists. If only we could discuss this. But Emma still isn’t talking.

Will she ever talk to me
again? What will I do if she doesn’t?

This first Saturday in
February I finally give in to Leila’s gentle insistence that I go to Jodie’s
eighteenth birthday party. Because the invitation says’ formal’, I can wear the
green taffeta strapless I bought for the end-of -year celebration I never got
to.

I try it on. But I’ve lost
too much weight and the bodice gapes hideously. In the end I wear the same top
and skirt as when I met the Maloufs.

Leila’s Harry drives Leila,
her brother Naiz and Dessi to Jodie’s. Harry is amusing and charming, Naiz
sulky and immature. All the way there, Harry and Leila do their best to include
me in their chatter. I answer just enough not to be rude. After a while
everyone gives up and we travel in silence. I hardly notice. My stomach is in
my mouth. My heart won’t stop fluttering.