Stan (3 page)

Stan was nowhere
to be seen.

Good.

I excused myself
to use the bathroom, hoping no one noticed the need for me to steady myself as
I stood; the fuzzy edges of my mind didn’t seem to compute with my legs.

“Oops.” I giggled
as I swayed my way to the doorway leading into the long, darkened hall. I half
expected to hear a muffled sound, or a TV from a bedroom somewhere along the
way, thinking Stan might have chosen to barricade himself in for the night;
that’s what I would have done given the chance. But the rest of the large house
was unlit and very silent. Mercifully, I could see the bathroom halfway down
the hall as its door was open and a faint light illuminated from within. I used
the hall to steady myself and move toward the direction thinking maybe the
darkness was making me feel dizzy and less likely the several wines I’d downed.
I laughed, clasping onto the sink, looking at my reflection, thinking myself an
idiot for changing my hair, and thinking myself so paranoid to care. I dampened
my fingers and worked on setting it back to the way it had been. Who cares
anyway? I like it, that’s all that matters. Stan was probably out with his
girlfriend. That would make more sense than dining with his parents as they
entertained guests—lord knows it was the one thing I hated when Mum and Dad had
their wine nights at home.

I studied my
reflection with good humour, in place but not perfect, as I turned to switch
off the light and opened the door into the unlit hall. Maybe it was tainted
senses, or my distracted one last glance in the mirror checking myself out that
had me slamming full force into a wall. A living, breathing wall, that was
nonetheless rock hard and really, really painful as I latched onto my nose,
wincing in pain, my eyes watering.

“What the frig?” I
moaned.

The hall was
suddenly flooded with light and the stars in my vision cleared, to see before
me that the wall was a chest, a bloody rock-hard chest, belonging to … Stan.

“Nice hair.”

Oh, hell, no.

Chapter Four

Stan

If looks could
kill, I would be a dead man.

I swallowed down
the urge to laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I thurnk I broke
my nurse,” came the muffled reply.

Dramatic, as
expected.

“Give me a look.
Is it bleeding?” I managed to pry her reluctant hands away from her face, to
see nothing but slightly flushed cheeks and watery eyes.

I gently touched
the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!”

“Shhh, keep it
down. My mum goes apeshit if I break a coffee cup, there’s no telling what she
would do if she finds out I’ve broken a house guest.” I smirked.

“Good. I would
like to see that.” She glowered.

“Trust me, you
wouldn’t,” I said, examining her perfectly unbroken nose. “I think it’s okay,
you will play the piano again, Miss Evans.”

Bel laughed, and
then just as quick as it came, she clamped down the emotion, coughing and
squaring her shoulders, repressing all her humour.

Interesting.

“Bit late, aren’t
you?”

“Late?”

“For dinner, or
does Mummy keep your dinner warmed up for you?” A flash of humour lit her eyes.
You couldn’t miss those beauties; they were big and bluey-green, framed by inky
long lashes. I blinked from thinking too much about them, confusion lining my
face. Bel rolled her beautiful eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a
hot-drink-before-being-tucked-into-bed kind of boy?” She looked at me
pointedly, swaying from side to side and pressing her hand against the wall as
if to steady herself. My brows lowered, my mind ticking over what she was going
on about, before it dawned on me, my brows raising at the sudden discovery of
what her taunts were about. I laughed.

“I don’t live
here,” I said incredulously. Now Bel was the one that looked confused.

“I just dropped in
here to ask, well, beg actually, for the weekend off. I like my luck better
when they’ve downed a few vinos.”

“It’s Sav Blanc,
actually.”

“So I see.” I
studied her intently.

“So you don’t live
here?” Bel asked, as if each word was a question itself.

I shook my head. “Not
for years.” I took in the slow blink in her eyes as each answer was something
slowly being absorbed.

“So, where’s home
then?”

A smile lined my
face; she was genuinely perplexed. “I live in a cabin on the edge of the park.
It’s off the beaten track a bit, but I like it. It’s a place that can’t be
found easily by tourists and their endless, endless questions.”

“Bloody hell. It
sounds like you’re on the witness protection program or something,” she said,
cocking her perfectly manicured brow.

“Or something,” I
agreed. Once again, I found myself staring down into her eyes, transfixed by
their colour and more importantly, how they too were locked with mine in a
moment that seemed to last a lot longer than civilised society would deem
appropriate. But, hell, we were standing in a hallway, in a caravan park in
Onslow. The hall was warm with no air conditioning ducts reaching into this
part of the house; the heat was not helped with the trail of down lights
burning above us, one directly above Bel. It shone over her, giving the
illusion of an angel. My mouth curved at the thought - more like the devil in
disguise. Her eyes flicked to my mouth and the moment was broken in an instant,
as if the crooked curve of my mouth slapped her back into reality, and the
reality was she looked annoyed. A crinkle of annoyance pinched between her
brows as she cleared her throat and took a step back.

It got the better
of me. “Are you drunk?”

Her eyes widened,
her mouth gaped in incredulous horror. “I am not,” she insisted.

“So you usually
make a habit of ramming into people?”

A scowl creased
the lines of her face that, funnily enough, added to her charm.

“You just need to
get out of my way. You bumped into me.”

“Right, and did
the hall stand bump into you, too?” I asked, my eye line drifting down the
corridor to the hallstand that had a previously pretty and upright flower
arrangement turned on its side.

Bel scoffed. “Well,
how was I supposed to know where the light switches are in this bloody mansion?”

I folded my arms
and leant against the wall. “It’s hardly a mansion.”

“I’m spending my
summer in a caravan; believe me, it’s a mansion.”

“Oh, right, yeah.
I forgot you’re totally slumming it in the eighty-thousand-dollar caravan.”

Bel’s eyes
darkened. I had hit a nerve. I knew it as soon as the words fell out of my
mouth.

“Oh, piss off,
Stan,” she snapped, pushing past me and making her way down the hall.

Somehow, by her
calling me Stan, it was like a slap in the face, as if she really meant what
she was saying. I was unprepared by how the look of hurt and anger in her eyes
would make me feel like utter shit, and that my first instinct was to go after
her and apologise for what I’d said.

“Bel, I didn’t
mean to go there.”

“Well, you did.”
Bel stopped before the door, turning toward me. “You did go there, and of all
the people, I really didn’t think you would.” Twisting the handle and pushing
her way back into the main house, the door closed causing me to blink, hardly
believing her words could feel so much like a physical blow. That the accusative
stare of those eyes could make me feel even more like shit than I already did.
She probably had enough people judging her for being a doctor’s daughter, just
as people judged me no better than a caravan park boy or the son of a glorified
maintenance man. While mostly everyone I had ever grown up with had left Onslow
to further educate themselves, travel, and find their place in the world, I was
stuck here. The only son, and a sense of duty to help every summer of my life.

I leant against
the wall, thudding the back of my head against it with a sigh.

Christ, I
needed to get away.

It was the main
reason I had come up to the house, to talk to my parents about having the
weekend off. Little did I know they were bloody entertaining the Evanses. I
hadn’t meant to interrupt their night, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to
concuss and offend their daughter, who was no doubt sulking and demanding she
wanted to go home. I inhaled another deep breath as I pushed myself off the
wall and followed the same line down the hall where Bel had stormed before.
Each step I felt less sorry for what I’d said. She was as good as calling me a
mummy’s boy, and then what? I have a joke about her holidaying digs and I’m the
arsehole? I stilled before opening the end door that led into the main living
room. I closed my eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. If she was going to give
it she had to learn how to take it, I thought, anger twisting in my gut. But as
I closed my eyes all I could see were her eyes, the way they had looked when my
words obviously crossed a line. And in one flash of that image in my head of
her sad eyes, I felt like shit again. As I grabbed the handle of the door, my
first point of call was to go to her and say I was sorry. And then my phone
rang.

***

Seeing the screen
illuminate with a familiar name across it, I smiled, clicking the answer
button. “As I live and breathe, Sean Murphy.” I moved away from the door and
instead headed toward the back of the house to my old bedroom.

“Stan, my man,
what’s happening?”

“Oh, same old,
same old.”

“That’s not what I
hear.”

I paused in my
doorway; my best mate, Sean, who had been working up north, always had a
certain skill in getting to the bottom of anything, but unless he had some kind
of psychic ability, I seriously doubted he would be in the know for what
plagued me in this very moment.

“Oh?”

“Young Ringo
informs me that you two are headed for a massive adventure this weekend.”

My shoulders
slumped in relief as I sat on the edge of my old bed. “Oh, that. Well, yeah, that’s
the plan.”

“How the bloody
hell did you swing that with the olds?”

And there it was,
the sound of incredulous disbelief that my parents had actually
let
me
have a life for once, a life that didn’t involve me getting permission to use
Dad’s man cave to have a couple of mates over to play pool.

“Oh, ya know. They
were pretty cool about it.” I winced through the lie.

“So they should.
You work too hard, mate. That place will be the death of you.”

“This coming from
a bloke that works a seventy-hour week,” I scoffed.

“Yeah, well, times
are a-changing, Stanley, and if all goes to plan, maybe for both of us.”

I straightened. “Oh?”

“Will tell you
more when I know more.”

“Okay, well, if
you’re going to leave me hanging can you at least give me a hint?”

“Sure, I can even
sum it up in a few words if you like. You, me, life changing.”

“Well, that’s
really sweet, Sean, but I’m afraid I don’t feel that away about you. Besides, I
always thought that you and Toby would kind of elope to Vegas or something.”

“Stan?”

“Yes?”

“You’re an idiot.”

And just like that
the phone went dead. I shook my head; it was pretty much how every conversation
went with us: a few catch-up questions, a few insults, and then abrupt endings.
The common themes always seemed to be telling each other we worked too much and
me usually referring to Sean and Toby’s bromance. But something in Sean’s voice
piqued my interest.

Something life
changing? For both of us?

I felt like I had
just been to a fortune teller who had given me a cryptic message about the
future, and in a way I guess he did.

That place will
be the death of you.

And as Sean’s
words echoed through my mind, I stood with a new determination as I pocketed my
phone. It was time to clock off and get away.

Chapter Five

Bel

Yeah, I was
mad.

I was mad he went
there, that he put a judgmental money value on our van like every other person
did. I don’t know why it shocked me and I knew I really had to toughen the hell
up, but coming from Stan, it seemed to hurt more, and that bothered me, really bothered
me.

Before Mr
Foot-in-Mouth had pissed me off, I had been too busy asking questions about his
living situation. So many questions. I cringed as I wondered maybe that’s where
my little brother got the habit from. My inner monologue had even so much as
screamed at me.

Stop being
creepy! So what if he doesn’t live here.

I guess I had just
thought he was so readily available around the park, or he was in the office or
around the main house so much, that I just assumed he did live at home still.
Even if he was in his mid-twenties, it was a family-run business, so it made
sense. And then dread swept over me as I recalled my comments about being
tucked into bed; he hadn’t exactly stormed away in a huff like some brat.

Now I felt bad,
really bad.

What had I done?

I had made my way
back to the adults in the lounge, my blood bubbling under the surface as Stan’s
smartarse ‘poor little rich girl’ joke played on repeat in my mind, only
serving to make me angrier and angrier as I stared outside the French door windows
biting my lip and masking my scowl from the rest of the room. If anyone had
noticed the change in my demeanour, no one mentioned anything. My mind drifted
in and out of their conversation.

My mum sighed. “It’s
such a shame we don’t get up here often enough and the Barinya Valley is so
beautiful, even in the summer.”

“You sure you can’t
make it next weekend?” asked my dad. “It’s really the last chance we’ll have to
break away before the New Year hits and we head back.”

I caught Glen
shaking his head in the reflection in the French door glass. “Nah, next weekend
is definitely out. It’s the Blues Festival down at the park, and it makes for a
busy weekend.”

Paula sighed. “Such
a shame, it would have been lovely for the four of us to get away.”

“I know, such
crazy pipe dreams, right?” my mum added.

Coming in on the
end of their conversation that had continued on from dinner earlier about their
desire to do a wine tour some time had the cogs turning in my head; my rage
simmered some, and an evil grin curved the edge of my lips as I casually
recalled the reason Stan was even here in the first place.

To beg for the
weekend off.

I spun around
casually, making my way toward the coffee table to snag a carrot stick and some
hummus, as I halfheartedly mentioned, “What about this weekend?”

I had a bit of an
inward chuckle. Now wouldn’t that be something?

“This weekend?”
Glen laughed.

“Yeah, I think
that would be stretching it a bit,” said Dad, as he looked at Mum in disbelief.

Mum shifted in her
seat. “Just a bit.” She laughed.

I shrugged,
crunching on the last mouth full.

More’s the pity, I
thought.

“Well, why not
this weekend?” said Paula, straightening in her chair.

A piece of carrot
got caught in my windpipe causing me to convulse into a violent coughing
attack.

WHAT?

“Well, like you
said, John, next week would be out, but what if we went this weekend? I know it’s
a bit short notice, but we have nothing on this weekend.” Paula’s eyes were
wide with excitement as she looked at her husband, who was also lost in his own
thoughts.

The four of them
were all lost in deep thought, silent with the hope and possible fear to
believe.

Oh no-no-no-no.

I wasn’t serious.
I hadn’t meant it. It was a joke. A joke because I knew MY parents, the
painstaking pre-planners, would not go anywhere at a moment’s notice, would not
act on anything unless there were multiple lists and at least six months’
advance in their agendas.

But the moment I
saw the smile slowly spread across my mum’s face, and when the glazed-over look
of uncertainty morphed into something like that of a small child giddy on
Christmas Eve, I knew I was in trouble.

“Let’s do it!” she
said.

Oh, crap!

“Well, what about
this place? Who will look after it? Isn’t it peak season for you guys?” Dad
asked.

Good ol’ sensible
Dad, always thinking of the bigger picture, always thinking of others and using
his head.

I nodded in
agreement.

Paula waved off
his concern. “Stan will be here. He can man the fort for a few days. He won’t
mind.”

Oh, double
crap!

My parents’ shoulders
slumped in unified relief. “Of course,” my mum said.

I tried to gain
some speech back after my coughing attack, the attack that saw grown adults too
excited about their weekend wine adventure to even offer me the Heimlich
Manoeuvre. I mean, seriously, Dad, you’re a bloody doctor!

“Um, maybe you
should ask Stan if—”

“Oh, he’ll be all
right,” Glen said, cutting me off. “He has nothing better to do anyway.”

“Wow, so this is
really happening?” my mum all but squealed like a teenager.

“Yes. It. Is,”
Paula said, holding up her wine glass. “Here’s to a great weekend, with great
company,” she exclaimed.

Each clink, each
unified toast was like a nail in Stan’s coffin, a coffin that housed all his
plans, all his dreams of a weekend escape.

What had I done?
What could I do? Maybe I could quickly—

“Ah, young Stan.”

It was too late. I
turned to see Stan step sheepishly into the main room. His eyes flicked briefly
to me and then to my dad who had made a beeline for him, shaking his hand.

“Good to see you
again, Stan.”

“Yeah, good to
have you back, Doc.” Stan nodded.

Mum placed her
wine on the coffee table and hooked her elbow over the lounge. “Stan, I think
it’s safe to say that you are our favourite person in the world right now.”

I closed my eyes
briefly, dread twisting in the pit of my stomach.

Stan stepped in
the room, intrigue lining his face. “I am?”

“Well now, Lisa,
we can’t forget Bel’s part in this,” Stan’s dad said, saluting with his drink.

Oh God.

Stan’s confusion
deepened as his gaze flicked from me then around the room.

Stan’s mum moved
to wrap her arm around my shoulder, squeezing me, or more like imprisoning me
as she delivered what would be the final low-bearing punch.

“Bel suggested the
four of us should get away for the weekend up to the wine country, sample some
of God’s creations. Isn’t that a great idea?”

Stan stilled; the
only thing that moved were his eyes that landed squarely on me. They burned
into me like laser beams, the intensity of his gaze made me want to shrink
away.

“This weekend?” Stan
bit out.

“Yeah, you’ll be
right to hold the fort for a few days.” Stan’s dad collected Mum’s empty wine
glass; his words were a non-negotiable throwaway sentence. I could feel my
heart sink, and saw the same resignation on Stan’s face, as he warred between
saying what he truly felt and forcing himself not to make a scene in front of
us.

“Yeah, sure,” he
said lowly, a weak smile lining his face as he looked at my mum, who squealed
with tipsy delight.

“Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Wait for what?”
Alex lifted his sleepy head off the couch, his eyes squinting, his hair in
disarray.

“Never you mind,
go back to sleep.” Mum rubbed his hair gently, which seemed to instantly settle
him. I wish something so simple would settle me. I felt sick.

I had walked a
defiant line in from the hall, angry with Stan, wanting to somehow go back and
yell and scream at him. He’d said the last thing I’d expected from him—a snide
remark about my wealth; I thought he was better than that.

And in a flash of
insanity, I came up with a plan that was far better than anything I could have
ever said to him. As I recalled his eagerness to get away for the weekend, how
he had come here to ‘beg’ for the weekend off, I thought of the best possible
plan - sabotage.

In one seemingly
innocent moment, a light-hearted suggestion to four tipsy adults seemed like a
great idea, until I saw the cogs turning in their heads as soon as I had
mentioned it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him now; instead, my eyes were
focused on my fingernails, studying the half-moon tips with great interest.

Excitement was
paramount as plans were laid down for the weekend to come; the only two silent
people were Stan and I. It was like an invisible string linked between us, an
invisible line of misery. A string that drew taut when Stan stood. My eyes
snapped up, ever aware of every movement he made.

“Well, I better
call it a night,” he announced with a friendly enough smile, however faked I
knew it was.

Dad stretched in
his armchair. “Yeah, I think we’ll be right behind you, Stan.”

I stood lightning
fast, my eyes on Stan who refused to look at me. Everyone said their goodbyes
as Stan made a line toward the front door. I wanted to speak to him, to throw
myself in his way and tell him how sorry I was, but just as quietly as he entered
the room, he left it, without so much as a backwards glance.

Stan and I had
never been friends. He’d been friends with Grant and Ben, but not me. In fact,
we were closer to sparring partners who knew to keep their distance. He had
gained my respect over the years, simply from his constant commitment to his
parents’ caravan park. But, other than that, we’d had little to do with each
other. Up until now, I’d been thankful for that. Right now, though, I felt
awful. I had never wished for a dirty look so much in my life, and never before
had I deserved one more.