The Bit In Between (22 page)

Rita sighed, then rose to her feet. ‘So you will think about the grant.'

It didn't sound like a question. Alison nodded in response. They shook hands and she accepted the paperwork Rita had pulled from her bag.

On her way out the door Rita paused. ‘You put that in your proposal. When enough women come to places like this, we don't have to be statistics anymore.'

Alison arrived home late that evening. She tossed the plastic bag she was carrying onto the table, kicked off her shoes and sunk into the couch beside Oliver. He met her with a kiss.

‘What's in the bag?'

‘Wool,' she replied, snuggling into his shoulder.
‘For the babies. I'm going to learn to knit so I can make them bonnets.'

‘In this heat?' he asked, and she shushed him.

‘I met the most amazing woman today,' she murmured. ‘There's this grant, one-off money. If we get it, it'd change everything. It's competitive, so I doubt we'll even get a look-in. I don't even know if it's worth the hassle. But Sera and Janet are so excited about it. It really would change everything, Ollie.'

Her voice trailed off as she drifted into sleep, Oliver nestled beside her.

Time passed because that's what it does. The office grew into itself, attracting a steady stream of visitors, and in between clients, despite her reservations, Alison helped Sera and Janet develop the proposal. Oliver lost himself in the world of his book. Rick recovered from his malaria. Shirley continued working one day a week for Oliver and Alison. Life went on, and inside Sera her babies spread their six-month-old toes and for the first time opened their eyes.

Late one afternoon Oliver was working on his novel, trying to decide what kind of cereal Colonel Drakeford would eat. The table vibrated and he jumped, glancing down at his mobile. Rick. The message said:

Brs trans4 2 Astan. B& n hi8uz. 5:30 2nite @ IBS.

Then a second message arrived, this one slightly less cryptic:

Beers 4 all.

Oliver glanced over at Alison, who was immersed in a book.

‘Do you feel like a drink at Iron Bottom Sound?'

She looked up lazily.

‘I've been thinking.'

‘Oh dear . . .'

‘Did you know that they reckon there are at least hundreds of other solar systems in the Milky Way?' Alison's eyes were wide with wonder.

‘I didn't.'

‘And that's just our galaxy. Don't even think about other galaxies because there are like one hundred billion others out there.'

Oliver nodded patiently. He wasn't planning to.

‘When you actually think about it, we, Earth, are just being held in place by our sun, which isn't even that big, but it's keeping us in orbit. And if you look at me, Alison, I'm barely a speck of dust being held in place by gravity instead of drifting out into a celestial desert that goes forever. When you think about it that way it just blows your mind. It really puts everything into perspective. It's like, “Does it matter if I brush my teeth tonight or not, in the grand scheme of things?
”
'

Oliver looked at her patiently. ‘So what you're saying is . . .'

‘I don't think I'll come.'

Oliver arrived at the bar of the Iron Bottom Sound Hotel and found the band huddled around a table.

‘Because of the fortuitous existence of a gravity created by a finite sun in an otherwise enormous solar system, Alison has decided to stay home and watch Seinfeld tonight,' he announced.

He was met with a sea of glum faces.

‘What's up?' he asked.

Rick scowled at him. ‘Didn't you get my text?'

‘I did, but I didn't understand it. You were just inviting us for beers, right?

‘Can't you read?' Rick shook his head. ‘Man.'

He grabbed Oliver's mobile from his hand.

‘Boris transferred to Afghanistan. Band on hiatus,' he translated.

‘Afghanistan?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Wow. And he's already gone?'

‘Yeah.' Rick sighed and took a sip of his SolBrew. ‘I'm going to miss that straight-talking bastard.'

He seemed on the verge of tears. Oliver glanced at Clive and Junior, who were hiding their smiles behind their hands.

‘I think he brought a . . . a realism to the band. Where I was Lennon, he was our McCartney. He grounded my genius, you know?' Rick looked up at them. ‘He contextualised me.'

Oliver smothered his smile by taking a large sip of beer.

‘If only he'd stayed, we could have gone to a whole other realm of musical brilliance. I mean imagine. Imagine . . .' Rick trailed off as the rusty cogs in his mind starting clunking.

‘Imagine . . .' He looked around and grabbed a pen and notepad from his backpack. ‘I feel there could be a song in this . . .'

Oliver was about to reply that there already was but stopped himself. He watched Rick bite his lip and start writing.

‘Imagine there's no Boris . . .'

‘It's easy if you try,' Oliver added.

Rick looked up. ‘Dude, don't be so insensitive. He's in Afghanistan.'

Alison had planned to watch
Seinfeld
, and had even settled down on the couch with the laptop ready to start watching, when suddenly, out of the blue, there it was, a text from Ed:

Hey Coops. Drink?

One minute the world had been perfect, full of sunshine and happiness, and the next there was nothing but chaos. Well, there was still sunshine, but it was a sinister, blistering, overwhelming sunshine. Ed was back from the provinces. Ed wanted to see her. One thousand per cent of Alison knew that she shouldn't. She thought this as she closed the laptop and put on her shoes. Thought it as she dialled the number for a taxi. Thought it as she locked the door to the little blue house and headed down the street.

Ed was sitting coolly at a table in the beer garden drinking a SolBrew with an open notebook in front of him. His face broke into a mischievous grin when he saw Alison.

‘Coops!'

He leant over to give her a kiss on the cheek, which Alison thought was going to be a hug, and they ended up caught up in an awkward embrace a single inch off being a lip to lip kiss. Alison sat down flustered. She shouldn't be here.

‘How was Choiseul?' she asked.

Ed placed his palms together in a prayer-like pose. ‘Breathtaking. Incredible. My spirit feels rejuvenated to the point of near cosmic rebirth. And you?'

‘Yeah, I'm good,' Alison said. ‘So . . . how long are you in town for?' She tried to keep her tone neutral.

‘Until it's time to leave.' Ed grinned mysteriously. ‘Actually, tomorrow we're catching a cargo boat out to Temotu province to see what's left to discover.' He looked excited, but then his face suddenly fell. ‘I didn't know you'd brought your boyfriend.'

Alison's heart froze. ‘I didn't,' she said and inside her a little voice went
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
.

She turned around. Oliver had just entered the beer garden followed by a mopey-looking Rick. She had thought they'd be at the IBS bar but now they were at this bar. They had changed bars. She hadn't anticipated this. As their eyes met, Oliver looked confused, then pleased, and then, when he noticed Ed, annoyed. Alison gave him a bright idiotic smile and beckoned them over.

Oliver pulled up a seat. Rick trailed behind him and gave a shuddering sigh as he collapsed in his chair.

‘Ed,' Oliver said curtly.

Ed gave him a cursory glance. ‘Ogbert.'

‘It's Oliver. You know it's Oliver.'

Ed didn't respond.

‘Ed just came back today. He messaged me tonight after you left,' Alison said by way of explanation.

‘Oh, yes?' Oliver replied. ‘And how was your trip, Ed?'

‘Exceptional,' Ed said. ‘How's your book coming along?' He sneered as he said the word ‘book'.

‘It's great,' Oliver said. ‘Exceptional.' Alison could tell he was fuming.

No one said anything for a while. Rick let out another body-shaking sigh and opened his mouth to speak but Ed cut him off.

‘I did a lot of writing in Choiseul. Coops, I'd like to share one of my creations with you.'

Oliver looked like he'd swallowed poison but Alison nodded encouragingly. She didn't know what else to do.

‘Here it is, but imagine me dressed in children's pyjamas with a bright red rifle target painted on my face and heart.' Ed cleared his throat.

I saw my parents having sex

when I was seven years old.

Why weren't they making love?

A seagull with one wing cannot fly.

Ed looked at them expectantly. ‘Don't forget I'm wearing the pyjamas with the target.'

Oliver looked scandalised, while Rick appeared lost in his own thoughts. Alison gave Ed a serious look.

‘It's . . . yes . . . it's . . . I mean, the images . . .'

‘Especially with the pyjamas,' Ed prompted.

‘Especially, yes.'

She glanced at Oliver, who was frowning.

‘Is it because it would just go round and round in a circle?'

They all turned to Rick.

‘What?' Ed said.

‘The seagull,' Rick continued. ‘Like a boat with one oar?'

Oliver snorted. Ed gave them an icy glare. ‘Clearly you don't get it.'

‘Clearly we don't,' Oliver said. ‘It might help if we saw it with the pyjamas,' he added.

Alison shot him a look.

‘It's okay, Coops,' Ed said. ‘I don't expect the writer to get it. Not the published writer.'

Oliver could hear the derision in each word. ‘Isn't that the point? To be published? So people can read your work?'

Ed scoffed. ‘Right. People. That's the whole point.'

He gave Oliver a superior look and stood up. ‘Catch you later, Coops.' Ed scooped up his notebook and pen and strode towards the door.

Oliver watched him leave. ‘Man, I hate that guy.'

Rick chuckled then noticed the look on Alison's face and quickly muttered something about needing the bathroom and then hurried away.

Oliver looked at her. ‘What?'

‘You shouldn't have been mean about his poem.'

‘What?' Oliver looked at her with disbelief. ‘But it was stupid!'

‘Of course it was stupid. All Ed's poems are stupid. But you don't tell him to his face. He's an artist.'

Oliver looked crestfallen. ‘And what am I?'

‘Ollie!' Alison cried. ‘It's not a competition to see who's the better writer.'

‘No, it's not a competition,' Oliver cut in, ‘because clearly I –'

‘Ollie!'

‘What?!'

They stared at each other in frustration. They both opened their mouths to say something just as Rick appeared. He had somehow acquired a sombrero and was carrying a tray of shots.

‘Tequila!' he cried out with concentrated glee.

Contrary to popular belief, tequila fixes nothing. That night Oliver slept on the couch. He woke up the next morning to a dreary rain that wouldn't stop. It clung to the daytime and continued into night-time, forcing them both to stay indoors. Neither had found enough humility to apologise yet. At one point Alison could stand the screaming silence no more and locked herself in the bathroom, where she sat under the shower until the water slowed to a trickle and drip-drip-dripped on her head like a torture device.