Trust (13 page)

‘Finnie,’ said his mum, nudging him.

‘Obedient,’ Finn muttered.

‘Obedient,’ said Gabriel. ‘Yes. Pray to God to have a heart of apology. That’s what you should do, isn’t it, Finn? Because you hurt somebody with your bad words.’ He strummed some loud notes that resonated, filling the whole room, then slapped his hand down on the strings and stopped them. In the sudden silence, in that voice that was soft and hard at the same time, hard as steel, Gabriel said, ‘Kneel down then, Finn, and pray to be a better boy, and make better choices next time.’

Finn had no choice. He slid from the couch and kneeled down, closing his eyes and lowering his forehead to his clasped hands. What he prayed for, though, was not to have an apologetic heart.

While he knelt there, Gabriel got Angie to sing with him, a new song he was teaching her. He told her he was going to record a CD, and she would sing backup vocals on that. Finn listened and could hear so much in his mother’s voice, how she was happy and nervous and proud and … and something else. Something Finn hadn’t heard before.

When they were finished Gabriel told him to stand up, but as Finn was about to leave the room, he said again, ‘Wait.’ Finn stopped. ‘I spoke to Melissa this afternoon.’ That was the Sunday school teacher at Faith Rise – Faith Kids, the group was called. ‘Melissa told me that you didn’t do drawing with the other kids today.’

‘Finnie doesn’t like to colour in,’ said Angie quickly. ‘He likes to do his own drawings. They’re very —’

Gabriel raised a hand and stopped her. ‘And what’s the better choice here, Angie, for you to make?’ he asked kindly. ‘Should you allow Finn to defy his teacher and his elders, or should you help him learn that he must be obedient? As
we
are obedient, Angie, to our Master’s will.’

‘Of course,’ Angie said fervently. ‘You’re
right
, Gabriel, of course you’re right.’

He’s wrong, he’s wrong, he’s wrong
, thought Finn. But he couldn’t say anything.

Gabriel had brought home the outline drawing from Faith Kids of grinning children clustered around a grinning bearded man in robes, and Finn was sent off to his room to colour it in. He closed his bedroom door firmly behind him, thankful to be alone in the room which, even though it was so bare these days, with so much of its familiar clutter gone, was still his own. He put the photocopied drawing on his small desk and got out the packet of textas from the top drawer, along with a sheet of heavy white card he had saved from some packaging. On that sheet of card he drew a figure, a mechanical figure, dark and powerful.

You’re back, Robo-Boy
, Finn said silently as the figure took shape, and Robo-Boy said,
Yes, Finn,
and told him about where he’d been, and his adventures. He was so tough, so fearless. When the drawing was complete, Finn lifted up one corner of his mattress and slid Robo-Boy under it, as far as his arm could reach.
You stay there, Robo-Boy
, he said.
Okay?
Yes, he was okay. Then, quickly, Finn coloured in the Faith Kids’ drawing as roughly as he could, deliberately going over the lines.

The door opened behind him. Finn could tell it wasn’t his mum. He would not turn around, he would not look. He felt Gabriel standing right behind him, there against the back of his chair.

‘That’s the best you can do, is it?’

Finn nodded.

Tzung!

‘Ow!’ Finn’s right hand flew to his ear and its sudden burning pain – as though the biggest mosquito in the world had just bitten him – then his wrist was grabbed, hard, and his hand jerked away.

‘Don’t waste your time getting smart with me, you little shit.’ The man’s breath, hot on Finn’s stinging ear, his voice low and hissing, like a snake. ‘You’ll be sorry.’

Then Gabriel dropped Finn’s wrist, and stepped back. ‘Very well. You can go to bed now, Finn.’

Angie lingered in the bathroom after her shower, plucking stray hairs, examining her reflection minutely.
I’m still pretty
, she told herself.
I know I’m forty, but I’m still pretty.

When she came out, smoothing the front panel of her vintage satin dressing-gown, Gabriel was in the kitchen, leaning against the table, facing toward the bathroom door.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Angie exclaimed. She blushed; it was as though he knew what she’d been doing, thinking. ‘I didn’t realise you were waiting for the bathroom.’

Gabriel made a single movement of his hand, summoning her. Angie came close, damp tendrils of hair still clinging to her forehead.

‘I was waiting … for you,’ he said in a low voice. They looked at each other and she felt breathless all of a sudden. Putting her hand to her chest, she took a couple of deeper breaths. His eyes followed the hand, then rose, slowly, up to her face.

‘Your name is perfect,’ Gabriel said. ‘You are like an angel.’

She gave a quick delighted giggle. ‘Oh! That’s exactly what my dad used to say. He was the one who called me Angela. My mother wanted to call me something else but Daddy said I looked just like a little angel, and he in
sis
ted.’

Gabriel stood straight, away from the table, and the next moment his arms were around her. The heat from his body – he was holding her so close, Angie thought she might faint. ‘He was right,’ Gabriel murmured into her hair. ‘Angel, shining and pure … You want to make the better choice, don’t you, Angie? You want to do your Master’s will?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, yes.’

Tonight.
It was so soft; had she misheard him? Imagined the word? She drew her head back, looking uncertainly into his extraordinary eyes. ‘To – tonight?’

He placed a forefinger on her lips – ‘Shhh …’ – released her, and Angie watched him turn and limp away. She went to her own bedroom. Without allowing herself to think about what she was doing, she changed her cotton nightdress for another one: silk, with soft antique lace at the bodice. She got into bed, turned out the light and lay there, shivering in anticipation, wondering.

It seemed forever before the door silently opened. Gabriel was outlined there for only a moment, and then all was darkness again. She sensed more than heard his approach, soft as a huge moth. Then he was beside her bed, lifting back the covers. Lying his body down on top of hers.

‘Gabriel.’ The name floated from her lips in a heartfelt murmur, but he lay his hand across her mouth until she understood: she was not to speak. He lifted his weight fractionally for a moment while he tugged the nightdress up.
Tear it
, she thought. And, as he pushed inside her,
please.

Gabriel came and went without a word.

In the darkness, once he was gone, she lay there still aflame, and trembling, and triumphant.
Mum always said it was Susanna who was the good one, the one who did the right thing and made the right choices. But it’s me, it’s me! I’m the one who’s chosen now!

ELEVEN

This is
insane, thought Seb, close to panic.
How did I get myself into this?
He’d breezed through the school social with Rory, the exams were over, the school year was almost at an end – so why the hell did he have to go and complicate things now? He wasn’t even sure how he and Rory got from strolling out the school gates mid-morning – no particular agenda, just because it was so easy to nick off now – to being here, in his bed, totally
un
relaxed, naked and sweaty and trying to … hook up. Do it. Have sex.
Fuck.

Trying being the operative word
, he thought grimly
.
Holy shit, he was going soft. Oh,
no
, not again. He held the condom on, pushing desperately, trying to find Rory’s elusive hole.
Fuck!
he ordered himself fiercely.
Stick it in! This is what guys
do
!
But his dick did not agree.

‘Seb,’ said Rory. They’d tried various positions: they were on their sides now, with their bodies angled for what they’d hoped might be better access. ‘Seb! Let’s take a breather.’

‘Okay.’ They both flopped onto their backs.

Rory pointed to the poster on the wall above them. ‘He’s cute. What’s his name again?’

‘Rafael Nadal. He’s a bit more than cute, actually; he’s now number one in the world,’ Seb said. Discreetly, he reached down and got the poor sad condom off his poor sad cock, letting it drop on the floor, and gave a sigh so big it was virtually a groan. ‘Sorry, Rors. I dunno what’s …’ He shrugged helplessly.

‘It’s cool,’ she said. And she really
didn’t
sound pissed off, he realised, which was some small relief.

‘I keep feeling like I’m doing something
wrong
,’ he said. ‘I mean, obviously I’m
doing
it wrong, but worse than that, like I’m … committing something. Not a crime exactly but …’

Rory reached across and patted his arm casually. ‘Chill, Visser. This was my idea, remember? It’s not like you lured me here and forced yourself upon me. And we’re both seventeen: totally legal.’

‘Yeah. You’re right.’ He relaxed a little. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.

‘Have to say, though, I never would’ve thought you’d be the type to get performance anxiety.’

‘Performance anxiety,’ Seb repeated in a neutral tone
. Is that what this is? Just first-time nerves?

‘Yeah, I figured that being the big tennis champ, you’d have the pre-match jitters all sorted out. Kind of thing,’ said Rory, pushing at his shoulder to free her long black hair from under it.

Seb nodded thoughtfully. ‘Oh, yeah. Well. Bit different to playing tennis, actually.’

‘True,’ she agreed, pulling the sheet up over them. ‘Clothes, for one thing.’

‘And standing up.’

‘And no spectators.’

‘Which is just as well!’

They both sniggered, and then Seb couldn’t help saying, ‘I guess Rob de Clario never had performance anxiety.’

‘A lady never discusses her previous gentlemen friends,’ said Rory primly. ‘Besides, that was so long ago, I can hardly remember. We’ve both moved on. Well,
he’s
moved on, and I’m trying to.’

Seb knew Rob had taken a gap year before going to uni, working, and now backpacking overseas. He’d have liked to ask Rory more about what had happened between them, but was afraid his curiosity would be seen as jealousy, or comparison, or just kind of creepy. Even though he and Rory had been friends for so long, this —

‘Friends!’ he said suddenly. ‘Maybe
that’s
it!’

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Friends?’

‘Yeah. Maybe it’s because we’re
friends
, that’s why it’s not …’ he waved his hand in the general direction of their lower bodies, ‘you know, not happening.’

‘Friends can’t get the hots for each other? Oh, that would be
extremely
disappointing!’

‘Yeah, no: maybe we just need some time to kind of … shift gears. Don’t you reckon?’ Seb was quite excited by this possibility. ‘Because you and me used to, you know – we used to make little plasticine animals together in kinder. Remember?’

‘I do,’ said Rory. She poked him in the side. ‘Your elephant was ridiculous.’

‘It was not. It was a great elephant.’

‘You wish! Y’know, it’s kind of amazing. Who’d have thought the little shrimp you were back then was gonna turn into such a hottie?’ She rolled over onto her front, giving him an exaggeratedly come-hither look. ‘Even if you do need to get a bit more practice with how to shift that gear stick.’

He laughed, biffing playfully at her cute little nose.
I’m laughing about it
, he realised. Who else but Rory could he possibly do that with?

‘Yeah, I was a shrimp, wasn’t I?’ he said. ‘For ages. I still remember seeing you one night in the city a couple of years ago – I think it was the first night of one of the Harry Potter movies or something – and you were all dressed up, with make-up on and stuff, and I realised, shit, she looks like she’s twenty, and I look about twelve.’

‘Thirteen,’ she said. ‘You were being hard on yourself.’

‘Yeah, well. I can remember back then, I used to look at the guys who were getting hair on their chests and their voices were breaking and stuff, and I used to feel kinda
sorry
for them. I thought it looked … gross. And then it started happening to me. I remember we were on holiday in Bali, and I just lay there the whole time on this big carved bed on the verandah feeling totally, comprehensively, blah. My mum was worried I was sick, and my dad was like, “Get up, ya lazy bastard!” And then after two weeks I stood up and I’d grown ten centimetres. Literally. I got all these stretch marks —’ he pulled the sheet down and rolled to one side to show her the silvery lines across his hip.

‘Wow!’ said Rory, putting her glasses on to inspect them. ‘Wadda you know, so guys get them, too. There was this one girl at my ballet school, it seemed like overnight she got these huge boobs and these enormous thighs. It was awful. She had to give up ballet. I was
so glad
it didn’t happen to me.’

‘Yeah,’ said Seb. ‘I really like your body,’ he added, more or less as an aside. ‘It’s kinda … aerodynamic. Like you could fly.’

Rory shot him a pleased look. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Visser.’ They lay back down side by side on the pillows. It was very pleasant, actually, just lying there with her. He started mucking round with Rory’s long dark hair, draping strands of it across his face. It was really soft, and each strand felt so clean and separate.

‘And you’ve got beautiful hair, Miss Feng.’

‘Ta,’ she said. ‘So …’ There was a pause. ‘Would I be right in thinking you’re still a virgin?’

Inwardly, Seb cringed.
But what’s the point in denying it?
He clasped his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling and whistling ostentatiously.

She laughed. ‘That’s so sweet,’ she said, resting her head on his arm. ‘Really.’

‘You reckon?’ said Seb.
Oh, phew!
‘I think it runs in the family, actually. My dad told me he didn’t start hooking up with girls till he was at uni. I was almost thinking it’s my biological destiny or something. And my mum’s always going, “You’re in Year Twelve next year; forget sport, forget girls, you gotta focus on your study.” ’