Fifteen Love (18 page)

Harriet is not to be moved, so Mia promises to come back in the morning. When I offer to walk her home, Dave is already halfway out the door.

‘What about me, Will? Can I come, too? What do you think, Mia? Would that be okay?'

Mia takes Dave's hand, which shuts him up better than a roll of masking tape.

‘Another time, Dave,' she says. ‘Will and I need to talk.'

MIA

It's a warm, misty night. Will and I walk slowly along the main road, looking in the shop windows, reading the price tags, feeling the tiny droplets on our skin and hearing the occasional swish of a passing car. We don't really need to talk. We don't need to talk about the concert. We don't need to talk about music or sport. We don't need to talk about Harriet or Dave. We don't need to talk about our parents or our friends, about the past or the future. We don't need to talk about feelings or facts, about being reliable or redecorating our bedrooms. It's warm and misty with the feeling of invisible raindrops in the soft night air. Will and I are happy just walking. We don't need to talk . . .

WILL

Talk? What is there to talk about?
Don't forget
V
!
Is Mia still upset about Vanessa? Or has she fallen in love with the first violinist? (
V
for Virtuoso?) If Mia wants to talk, then why isn't she talking? Does she expect me to launch into an apology when I didn't even kiss Vanessa? Or is she waiting to break the news gently about her and the talented Mr V? Should I say something? Should I break the ice? Should I apologise one more time about Harriet? Should I tell her how beautiful she looked up on the stage?

Mia and I walk on in silence up the main road. Ahead of us, the hands on the clock tower are covering the twelve. Either it's midnight or the clock is broken. Mia stops walking and turns to face me. This is it – the big
V
– the thing she wants to talk about.

‘Look up in the sky,' she says.

Mia looks like Cinderella, but I think I'm about to get hit by a falling pumpkin.

MIA

I ask Will, ‘What do you see up there?'

He looks uncertain. ‘Clouds?'

‘Do you ever think about raindrops?'

‘Raindrops?'

‘Did you ever think about what happens when two raindrops fall on the top of a mountain? One raindrop rolls down one side of the mountain, then into a stream, then a river, before it gets swept away into the sea. But the other raindrop runs off in a different direction, down into a different river, then off into a different ocean, maybe. The two raindrops started off so close but then ended up so far away.'

‘Maybe one day,' says Will, obviously choosing his words carefully, ‘they might meet again, in the clouds.'

‘Is that possible, do you think?'

‘I'm sure it is.'

WILL

There is no pumpkin! There is no
V
! Mia is a modern-day Cinderella who doesn't care what time it is, a.m. or p.m. She doesn't want to fight with me. She just wants to talk about the weather! We leave the main road and walk through empty suburban streets with their parked cars and leafy trees, their picket fences and immaculate gardens. It feels like just the two of us now, while the rest of the world is asleep.

‘What do you throw away when you need it,' she says, ‘and pick up when you don't need it?'

‘I give up. What?'

‘It's a riddle,' she says. ‘I'm not
telling
you. You have to work it out.'

‘What do you throw away when you need it . . . ' ‘ . . . and pick up when you don't need it?'

‘A light switch?'

‘Wrong!'

‘Chewing gum?'

‘No.'

‘You're not going to tell me, are you?'

‘Sorry.'

‘But I might never guess. I might go to my grave without knowing the answer.'

‘That would be sad.'

‘Secrets?'

‘Incorrect.'

‘Time?'

‘Hmm . . . no.'

‘A friend?'

‘I hope not.'

‘A boomerang? A yoyo?'

‘No . . . and no.'

‘Underpants, astronauts, Eskimos?'

‘You're not really trying anymore, are you?'

MIA

Will and I have come to a crossroads. All the streets look the same – north, south, east and west. There is a roundabout like a grassy green island with a big leafy tree in the centre. We sit down like castaways, feeling stranded and invisible behind a curtain of mist. It is after midnight but instead of feeling tired, I am almost dizzy with excitement. It doesn't feel late anymore, it feels early.

‘Can you give me a clue?' he says.

‘I feel as if we're floating,' I say.

‘Floating?' Will thinks for a while. ‘A lifebuoy?'

‘A lifebuoy gets thrown
at
you, doesn't it?'

‘I've got it!' he says suddenly.

‘What is it?' I say. ‘What do you throw away when you need it and pick up when you don't need it?'

‘An anchor!'

‘Yes!' I say, holding out my hand.

Will takes it and squeezes gently.

‘You're my anchor,' he says, softly.

WILL

Love is an anchor – it stops you from drifting away. Love is sticking up for your friends and family, or even your pets. Love is being brave and saying what you feel. Love is making music or playing tennis, it's doing what you want to do. Love is holding on and not letting go.

MIA

Will's hand feels soft and warm in mine, but also strong and determined. I feel his grip tighten as I gently pull towards him . . .

WILL

. . . and we . . .

MIA

. . . kiss!

Seven

WILL

One month later, my elbow is still pretty stuffed. Playing tennis is out – along with directing traffic and cooking with a wok – so Ken has given up trying to make me into a star. Instead, he and I are training Dave to be the star. Go, Dave!

Dave loves the attention, of course, but his favourite thing is walking Harriet. Dave is crazy about Harriet, and Harriet is crazy about Dave – probably because he takes her on such epic walks.

‘She's a good dog, Will. A very good dog. You need to be patient, that's all.'

‘Sounds like you're the right man for the job, Dave.'

‘Except that I'm not a man, Will.'

‘You will be one day, Dave.'

‘Are you a man yet, Will?'

‘Almost, Dave.'

‘When you're a man, you should ask Mia to marry you.'

‘It's not out of the question, Dave.'

‘If you and Mia got married, then Harriet would be our dog, too!'

‘You'd like that, wouldn't you.'

‘If you married her, would you have babies, Will?'

‘Well I don't know, Dave.'

‘Are you going to have
sex
, Will?'

‘If we're going to have babies, Dave, it might be necessary.'

MIA

So now I have the perfect bedroom, with the perfect boyfriend to go in it. Will comes over to my place and lies on my new bed while I practise my viola. I make him close his eyes, because otherwise he goes all gooey and it's too hard to concentrate. Will talks about how good things are between us. He wants to get an anchor tattooed on his arm, but I say to him, ‘Who do you think you are, a sailor?'

Things have quietened down at home. Dad comes around to visit, and Mum even lets him in. Dad and Tina aren't together anymore, as far as I know. But Mum has a new male friend, so that sounds interesting.

Renata is still in Europe. Her family has decided to live there for good. Renata wrote a long, sad letter, addressed to
my two best friends
. Vanessa and I cried when we read it. If we could still be best friends with Renata, how hard could it be being friends with each other? Vanessa is okay. You just can't leave her alone with your boyfriend for too long.

Vanessa has had plenty of flings with boys, but she's never actually had a relationship.

‘What's your secret?' she asked me the other day.

(That was funny. Vanessa asking
me
about boys.)

I could have said all that stuff about trust and commitment, about not letting go, but giving the guy a bit of slack to let him find things out for himself. I could have talked about respect and compromise. After all, that stuff is important.

Instead, I told Vanessa, ‘The main thing is, we're not in a hurry. And Will is
such
a good kisser!'

About
               
the
                         
Author

As a teenager, Robert Corbet constantly fell in love with blonde girls called Michelle. At university, he always fell for clever girls with long velvet dresses and short, dark hair.

Finally he met a girl in pink overalls who rode a motorbike.

After a long, agonising courtship, they bought a station wagon, had three children and were happy ever after.

His other books with Allen & Unwin are
The Passenger
Seat
and
Shelf Life
.