Sweet Damage (25 page)

Anna concentrates on her omelette.

‘Anyway, what I was going to say before I sidetracked myself is that Tim's such a nice guy – even though he's totally hopeless in so many ways – he's also really loyal and honest and stuff. An excellent boyfriend, really. You just have to convince him to fix a few things, you know, take his mum and dad's advice and try a bit harder. Wear some nicer clothes, get a better job, stuff like that.'

Anna makes an effort not to get offended at Lilla's comments about rich people. She has learned that Lilla is always blunt and insensitive, an expert at dumb remarks, and it would be a waste of energy to take offence. But the comment about Tim's parents sticks in her throat. She has never met them and it's slightly painful to realise that Lilla knows a lot more of Tim's history, his past.

‘So.' Lilla drums her fingers on the table, not at all perturbed by Anna's silence. ‘Are things okay for you right now? Tim mentioned the other day that you were going through a hard time. I mean, you personally, not you two together.' She leans forward, tilts her head to the side sympathetically. ‘I know I don't deserve your trust. I mean, God, you must think I'm a complete bitch, but I am actually a pretty good listener. People tell me that all the time. I know it's probably hard to believe but I can be a good shoulder to cry on. If you need someone, that is. If you want to talk?'

Anna shakes her head, forces a smile. ‘I'm fine. But thank you. That's a nice offer.'

Lilla stares at Anna thoughtfully. ‘You're quite a private person, aren't you? I envy people like you, people who can keep their feelings and stuff to themselves. I'm all over the place. A complete open book. Gush gush gush, blah blah blah. I can't stop myself.' She flashes a wry smile. ‘As you've no doubt noticed. You'll probably know my whole life story by the end of the day. Feel free to tell me to shut up if I annoy you. I won't notice, otherwise.'

Anna doesn't say a word. She doesn't feel particularly annoyed by Lilla; instead she feels wary, on guard. She knows the type of girl Lilla is: curious and engaging but also smart and manipulative, the kind of person who wants to be involved in everything, to have an impact on everyone she comes in contact with, to always be thought of as special. She's the kind of girl who wants to know your secrets – not necessarily because she wants to help, but just because she can't stand being left out. And so she sidesteps her way around Lilla's questions, avoids revealing anything personal.

Lilla's curiosity makes her feel defensive, as though she needs to be vigilant, cautious, as if the questions themselves have the potential to peel back her skin, layer by layer, until she's left exposed and raw and vulnerable.

63

‘T
HERE
'
S SOMEONE HERE TO SEE YOU
.' D
AD LEANS INTO THE
kitchen. I'm just wiping the benches clean. I've done most of my prep and I've still got a good half-hour before service starts.

‘Who is it?'

‘Michael? Mark? Didn't catch his name properly.'

I'm surprised to find Marcus standing on the other side of the bar. It's not a happy surprise. I'm not in the mood for making stiff small talk, and at the sight of him I feel an unexpected but definite rush of hostility. I'm annoyed that he's here, but I'm even more annoyed that he ever had a thing with Anna. Anna told me that it was only one night, that it was never anything serious. But they had a baby together and no matter how insignificant and brief their relationship was, they will always share the momentous reality of Benjamin. But I'm being a jealous turd and it's pathetic and I have no real right to feel that way.

I force myself to smile and lift my hand in greeting. ‘Hey.'

‘I just had a meeting with a client up the road. Noticed your restaurant and thought I should drop in and have a look.' He stands there, stiff and upright, and looks around the room. ‘Nice place.'

‘Take a seat. Relax.'

He pulls out a stool and sits down, puts his satchel on the counter.

‘Can I buy a beer?'

‘We're not licensed to sell booze unless you order food as well. So, no, you can't buy one. But I can give you one.'

I grab a Boags from the fridge, take the lid off, put the bottle and a clean glass on the bar.

‘You sure?' he says. ‘Thanks. I owe you one.'

We don't have a lot in common, and it's a struggle to think of what to say, so I ask him who he had to meet in Manly. He tells me a convoluted story about some rich arsehole involved in some kind of property dispute. I try to follow the story, try to appear interested, but I find my thoughts drifting. I think we're both glad when he finishes his drink.

‘I should probably get going,' he says, standing up.

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘Thanks for dropping in.'

It's then that I notice his satchel. It's made of a soft brown leather, expensive-looking, with a large red logo engraved in one corner.

‘Is that a designer bag?' I ask him.

Marcus looks down at the case, then lifts his head and smiles. ‘No, you can get leather bags like this anywhere. But I guess you could say the engraving's designer. Fiona had it done for me.'

‘Right. A one-off. Cool.'

‘That it is,' Marcus says.

I stand there for a moment and watch him go, my heart racing, my head full of confusing thoughts.

64

A
FTER LUNCH SHE GOES BACK UP TO THE ATTIC
. S
HE SITS IN THE ARMCHAIR
for over two hours but finds herself growing unusually restless.
Bored even. Usually she can sit there for hours and hours. Normally she can easily waste most of the day in the presence of the cot, Ben's blanket and photos, in the simple act of being numb. But being with Tim has changed things, filled her with a restless energy, all her senses heightened, as if she's been charged with electricity. She finds herself fidgeting, remembering the smell and taste of Tim, reliving their time together, wondering what the time is and how soon he will be home. She gives up after a while and gets up, locks the attic door behind her.

She's so startled to run into Lilla in the downstairs hallway that she screams loudly, takes a step backwards. She'd been so distracted thinking of Tim that she'd momentarily forgotten there was another person in the house. Forgotten that Lilla had even moved in.

‘Oh Jesus,' Lilla says. ‘Sorry.'

Anna puts her hand to her chest, breathes out.

‘I scared you to death,' Lilla says, laughing.

Anna nods.

‘I didn't mean to. Sorry.' Lilla looks at Anna curiously. ‘But then you're easily scared. I bet it doesn't take much.'

‘I don't know,' Anna says defensively. ‘I think most people would scream if they ran into someone in a dark hallway.'

Lilla looks doubtful. ‘So? Where have you been?'

‘Upstairs. In the attic.'

‘The attic? Really? Again? Weren't you up there before?'

Anna nods. ‘I thought you were going out?' she asks, suddenly remembering what Lilla had said earlier.

‘I was going to but then I got this great idea.' Lilla grabs her arms, smiles excitedly. ‘And I wanted to do it quickly while you weren't around. I wanted to surprise you. I mean, I knew you must be around here somewhere, doing your thing – whatever that is – but I thought if I hurried I could get it done before you emerged back into the light.'

Anna watches Lilla's face, trying to gauge things, to understand whether there's some kind of cruel double meaning behind Lilla's words.

But Lilla's smile is wide and inscrutable.

‘Come on,' she says. ‘Come and take a look.' She leads Anna down the hall towards the living room. When they get there she pushes the door open with a flourish. ‘Ta-da!'

The room is barely recognisable. The sofas have been moved, the entire room rearranged. Coffee tables that Anna recognises from the junk room sit at the end of the sofas. Large pot plants give the room a sense of lushness. The pictures have been changed, the ornaments replaced. An enormous green rug in the middle of the floor ties the whole thing together. The room looks transformed. Beautiful. Both more modern and more spacious.

‘The sofas work much better facing this way, don't they? I could see that they would as soon as I saw this room. And I brought these pot plants in from the courtyard.' Lilla walks around the room, beaming. ‘And all the other stuff? The coffee tables? This gorgeous rug? I found them all in that junk room. Which shouldn't be called a junk room at all, by the way, it's more like a treasure room. Anyway, I took the old stuff and put it in there. And I rolled up the old maroon rug. It was far too dusty and old-fashioned. Did nothing for the space.'

Anna stares, trying to take it in. She can't believe that Lilla has done so much so quickly.

‘Where's the flower?' Anna asks, suddenly noticing that it's missing. She runs over to the sideboard. ‘The ceramic flower that normally sits on here. Where is it?'

‘Oh, I put it in the junk room,' Lilla says dismissively. ‘Just so tacky. I wrapped it in newspaper in case it was a treasure or something.' She sighs happily, collapses back on the sofa. ‘Looks fantastic, doesn't it? I bet you had no idea it could even look this good. I'm buggered now, though. I did it in a mad rush so I could surprise you. I just couldn't help myself. I knew it was all wrong the way it was.' She looks around, a satisfied smile on her face. ‘So? What do you think? It looks a lot better, doesn't it? Much more inviting. Bigger too.'

It does look better, but Anna can't bring herself to feel pleased about it, or to be grateful for Lilla's effort. She can barely bring herself to smile. She can feel the scowl on her face, her tightened lips.

‘I hope you don't mind,' Lilla says. ‘Oh God, you do mind, don't you?' She sits up straight, looks imploringly at Anna. ‘Don't be upset, Anna. Don't look like that. It's just that I could see immediately how to improve it. It was all so sad and neglected. And I know you're not up to this kind of stuff right now. I know you're depressed. I know you're having a hard time. I just thought the room would look a lot better this way and I thought it would make you happy. But I've upset you, haven't I? You don't like it? You prefer it the other way?'

Anna goes to the door, wanting only to get away, be alone.

‘It's very nice,' she says stiffly. ‘Don't worry about it.'

And then she turns and leaves the room.

65

L
ATER THAT NIGHT, WHEN
I'
VE FINISHED WORK
, I
RETURN FROM
having a shower to find Anna sitting on the edge of my bed. She's chewing her fingernails, looking thoughtful. She watches me as I go to my wardrobe, drop my towel, get dressed.

‘What's up?'

‘Lilla,' she says. ‘Did you know she rearranged the living room?'

‘That was Lilla?' I say. ‘I noticed that. Didn't know who . . . It looks all right though, doesn't it?'

‘Don't you think it's a bit rude? Doing that in someone else's house? The day you move in?'

‘I guess so.' I shrug, pull my boxers on. ‘But that's Lilla.'

‘It's so annoying. So intrusive. She acted like I should be grateful, but I just wanted to tell her to put it all back the way it was.'

‘You should have, then. If that's what you want. It's your house, Anna. Tell her to change it back tomorrow. Or I will if you want.'

‘No. Don't worry.' She shakes her head. ‘It doesn't really matter. It probably is actually better that way. It looks more spacious or something. I've never really thought about it. I kept it the way my parents always had it. But that's not really the point. Whether it looks better or not is irrelevant. It's just Lilla's arrogance that annoyed me. She didn't even ask first. It made me feel really strange. I had no idea what to say.'

‘Don't let it bug you,' I say. ‘That's just Lilla. She can't help herself. She has to fix everything, change the world, even the things that don't need fixing.'

When we're lying in bed she asks, ‘Does Lilla know about my agoraphobia?'

‘No.'

‘You haven't told her anything?'

‘Nope. But I will. If you want me to.'

‘Oh no, don't tell her. Not unless you have to. I don't want to make a big thing of it. She'll work it out if she stays long enough, and if she doesn't, then it doesn't matter, does it? It's so . . . I don't know. It's just so
uncool
. It's embarrassing.
Agoraphobia
. It's even got an ugly name. And Lilla's so full of life . . . she'll just think I'm completely nuts. And, anyway, it's not the real me. At least, I hope it's not.' She looks at me then, bites her lip. ‘Although I wonder sometimes. You must see me like that. You must think I'm this weak, timid person, too scared to go out. You've never seen me any other way.' And then, before I have the chance to say anything, she takes my hand and squeezes. Her voice is determined. ‘I'm going to get better, though. I'm going to force myself. I promise you, Tim. Before the year is up, I'm going to be better.'

I watch her face and marvel at how beautiful she is when she's not feeling self-conscious. The last few weeks, as we've become friends, and then lovers, it's as if she's transformed before my eyes, shed a rough and uncomfortable skin to reveal something smooth and natural underneath. She seems like a different person to the girl I first met, that awkward, unfriendly girl who could barely talk to me, or look me in the eye.