Girl in Between Read online

  Neither Rosie nor Ben ever mentions Oscar around me, which I suspect is Rosie’s doing. On one of my days off Ben and I go out for coffee and he asks me about Joe, and how things are going with us. I respond that we’re fine, telling myself that love can sometimes be a slow burner, and that the dizzying infatuation between Rosie and Ben is always to be expected at the beginning.

  I tell myself it doesn’t matter that Joe and I never had the dizzying infatuation. Maybe it isn’t even necessary. Maybe what we have is enough, and probably there are heaps of couples in the world who charged through the absence of the dizzying infatuation, and are still happily together.

  Although we’re under the same roof, it feels like forever since Rosie and I caught up alone, and so one evening we head to Somerset House for a festive fix of ice-skating beneath the glittering Christmas lights.

  ‘Things all seem good with Joe, hey?’ she asks as we glide along.

  ‘Yeah, good,’ I say, concentrating on the ice. ‘I bet your mum can’t wait to meet Ben.’

  ‘I think she already likes him more than me. Whenever she calls he takes the phone and has big chats.’ She grins like she always does when speaking of Ben. ‘What does Denise think about Joe?’

  ‘I haven’t told her about him,’ I reply as we skate towards a huge ornament-laden Christmas tree in the centre of the rink. ‘If I do, she’ll never stop asking me about him.’

  ‘Luce, do you even like this guy?’ Rosie demands abruptly as we skid to a stop in front of the tree. ‘Because if you don’t you’ve got to tell him. He’s head over fucking heels in love with you.’

  ‘I do love him. I do. But it’s not like what you and Ben have. It’s not like I think we’re made for each other, or that the world would stop turning if we weren’t together.’

  ‘Can I give you some feedback?’ she asks.

  I nod.

  ‘It’s not like I think the world would stop turning if Ben and I broke up. I’d be sad as hell, for sure, but then someone else would come along. I don’t buy into this whole soul mates thing. I just think if you’re having fun with someone, then that’s a good sign.’ She smiles. ‘And Ben and I have fun.’

  ‘So I’m overthinking things?’

  ‘Well, only you can know how you feel about Joe. There’s no point staying in something if half the time you’re plotting how to get out of it. But I’ve seen how he makes you laugh and, you know, he’s a nice guy.’

  ‘Rosie,’ I say as we skate off, ‘can I give you some feedback on your feedback?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was good,’ I say.

  ‘Ha, Vegemite breath!’ says Joe, after kissing me at the kitchen table one morning. ‘I’m starting to recognise it!’

  I smile and angle the laptop towards him so he can see the screen. I’m in the midst of organising a trip to Spain for us as our joint Christmas present to each other. Joe’s only ever been there on boozy bucks’ weekends and said he’d love to see it with me. I’ve only overnighted in Barcelona, and can’t wait to escape the drizzle and darkness of this bitterly cold London winter.

  Half the fun of going on holiday for me is the planning beforehand, and Joe and I spend the rest of the day happily booking flights and ogling accommodation we can’t afford. Both being fixated on food, sunshine and sand, we decide to visit San Sebastián, Spain’s culinary capital, on the Basque coast.

  We click on images of bars lined from one end to the other with pintxos and reserve a charming room in a pension located in the labyrinth-like alleyways of the cobblestoned old town.

  With his friend returning to the Hackney flat the next day, Ben has pretty much moved into Rosie’s room and I have pretty much moved into Joe’s. We get around London as a puffer-jacketed foursome and I faintly perceive, with every Skype call home, that my yearnings for the chorusing cicadas and breaking waves are becoming less intense. One night, though, while Joe’s at an Arsenal match and I’m watching an episode of Outlander, Rosie knocks on the bedroom door and sends my world spinning in a different direction.

  ‘Luce,’ she says, ashen-faced, ‘Oscar’s in the lounge room.’

  I stare at her like a deer caught in headlights and she walks over and sits on the bed.

  ‘This is what I’m thinking: I’ll send Ben and Oscar off to the Nag’s Head and tell them we’ll meet them there later. That’ll give us a chance to regroup and—’

  ‘Shit, Rosie,’ I say, shocked. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘I think he’s having a break. He put someone else on to help manage Bev’s Buffet. That’s all I know.’

  I look at her blankly, not really taking in one word she’s saying. All I can register is that Oscar is only metres away.

  ‘I had no idea he was coming, Luce,’ she says and takes my hand. ‘You don’t have to go tonight, you know. There’s no pressure on you to be there.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘How about I tell them that we might join them later, hey?’ she says, hopping up.

  I nod and stare vacantly at the door after she closes it. Then I hear the sound of Oscar’s voice drifting faintly from the lounge room, and sit up with a startle, knowing with every bone in my body that I will be there.

  Half an hour later, after I’ve showered and dried my hair, I change into the new black dress I got from Zara and shrug on the overcoat Mum bought me before I left Rocky. Rosie and I then catch the tube in to Covent Garden, and I tell myself to downplay any excitement I feel at seeing Oscar by acting elegantly subdued.

  The evening begins in a civilised fashion around a table at the Nag’s Head. As soon as I step into the pub I think how achingly handsome Oscar looks, but then remind myself to stay cool. As I hug him hello I hope I’m conveying the message: It’s amazing to see you, but don’t think you can fly in and turn my life upside down again. But really, my heart is screaming: I still love you, Oscar! Oh my god, I freaking love you like these British people love marmalade and bacon butties. I want to keep you in my pocket like a folded tube map. Please hang out with me until we’re so old we have trouble hearing each other. Please don’t ever leave!

  Oscar hugs me back, saying, ‘You look amazing, Luce! It’s so good to see you!’

  I smile and take off my coat before accepting a sauv blanc from Ben. While everyone’s talking I hold back and try to maintain a slightly aloof air, but only succeed in attracting puzzled looks from Rosie, who hustles me off to the bathroom at the first opportunity.

  ‘I know Oscar’s here and it’s thrown you a bit, but holy shit you’re acting weird!’ she says to me as I stand next to her at the basins.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say.

  ‘Oh, just this whole ice-queen thing you seem to be doing. You’re bloody boring! And you’re going to turn into an ice-queen if you don’t put your coat back on!’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘Oh, mate, if you weren’t my best friend I would have moved with Ben to a booth!’

  To the obvious relief of my companions, I return to being my normal self, and soon we’re all laughing as Ben recounts his struggles to keep pace with a priest on the Camino. When I next hop off the bar stool, though, I overbalance and, instead of steadying myself on the table, I accidentally steady myself on Oscar’s thigh. My hand lingers there a fraction longer than if I’d stumbled into my aunty, and when I look up at him, I imagine he sees the desire in my eyes.

  An hour later, Rosie gives me another talking-to in the bathroom. ‘Luce, pull yourself together! You’re falling all over him!’

  ‘Oh shit. I’ve really got to lay off the wine, Rosie. There’s going to be hell to pay tomorrow,’ I say.

  ‘There’s going to be hell to pay if you go home with Oscar too, you know? You’re looking at him with such longing in your eyes!’ Rosie replies.

  ‘Oh God, I’m not, am I?’ I cover my face in horror.

  ‘Yep, you are. Let’s get out of this pub, hey? Fresh air’ll do you good. They’ve turned on the Christmas lights in Covent Garden—s
hould we …?’

  ‘Yes, we should,’ I reply.

  As we walk into Covent Garden’s famous piazza, I’m overcome with a love for life as incandescent as the red and gold bulbs twinkling on the tree soaring above us. I’ve always delighted in the traditions of Christmas, and when Oscar loops his arm through mine and we crane our necks to look up at the dazzling decorations, I think there can’t possibly be a more perfect moment occurring anywhere in the world.

  With Ben leading the charge, we stroll across to the Apple Market, which is festooned from one end to the other with mistletoe chandeliers.

  ‘How about those two?’ Oscar says as we stand at the back of the hall and watch Ben attempt to kiss Rosie beneath every one of the forty chandeliers. ‘I’ve never seen him so into someone.’

  ‘Well, it’s Rosie, isn’t it?’ I say, grinning as Ben steals another kiss from my best friend.

  I successfully negotiate the mistletoe gauntlet by engaging Oscar in intense conversation about Bev’s Buffet’s Brisbane expansion, wondering how he can take time off during the peak Christmas party season. It transpires that he’s recently hired a guy with an MBA to share his workload because he was getting too stressed and needed a break. When I try to ask him more he changes the topic to Diamonds in the Dust and when I tell him I’ve finished and have sent it off to some Australian publishers he asks if I intend to write a sequel. I laugh and say there’s no use thinking about a sequel if I can’t find a publisher to take on the first one.

  We’re so caught up in conversation that we lose Ben and Rosie for a while and I’m beginning to panic slightly when Rosie texts to say they’re outside the Apple Market. We link back up with them and then join the jolly crowds heading towards Covent Garden’s Mulled Wine Festival.

  ‘How awesome!’ cries Ben as we near the ticketing area. ‘My shout!’

  ‘You don’t have any money, Ben!’ yells Rosie. ‘You just told me.’

  ‘Shit, that’s right,’ he replies. ‘Ah well, I’ll busk.’ He takes off his beanie and puts it on the pavement, then launches into an error-ridden version of ‘Six White Boomers’. His spirited mashup of Australian and English Christmas carols attracts smirks, sympathy and a small amount of shrapnel before one of the guys stamping people’s arms to get into the festival offers him free entry if he shuts up.

  When we finally get inside we end up in front of a friendly Irishman called Kevin, who dispenses generous serves of warm wine from cavernous steel pots and challenges us to try every one of his twelve variations.

  After the seventh cup we’re all sporting rosy cheeks and dispositions, and Oscar asks if I’d like to check out the stall selling hog roasts. I say that I’d love to and we grab a wine for the road and weave our way towards the food vendors. Laughing at the frosty plumes of breath that feather our words, Oscar and I discuss books we’ve recently read, bands we’ve discovered and gripping podcasts we think the other would love, and rave about Stranger Things, which we’ve both been watching online.

  In fact, we cover so much common ground that it reminds me of Dr Karl once telling a listener on Triple J that your brain is your main sexual organ. Consequently, I don’t mind in the slightest that the queue for hog roasts is colossal.

  ‘I love your laugh,’ Oscar says to me. ‘It’s like you just don’t know what might happen next with that laugh.’

  I grin, elated; no-one else has ever said that to me.

  From the back pocket of his jeans, Oscar pulls a crumpled piece of paper and says, ‘Luce, I’d envisaged a more romantic setting than the queue for a hog roast, but I want to say that I’m hardworking, honest, fit, wear decent pants and shoes, and have good dental hygiene.’

  ‘That’s Rosie’s top-five list, Oscar!’ I say, doubling over with laughter. ‘Didn’t the dental hygiene thing give it away?’

  ‘Oh, is it?’ He grins. ‘Actually, I didn’t think any of it sounded much like you!’ Then he lifts me off the ground with a hug. ‘Well, what are your top-five requirements then, Luce?’

  I’m ashamed to admit that it is only then, when I spot an army of people in Arsenal jerseys whooping their way through the crowds, that I think of Joe and how much I care for him, and how lovely he is to me, and his mum and dad, and the scurries and the sunbathing seals.

  ‘I’m seeing someone, Oscar,’ I say, and step back from him as he sets me down. ‘We’re going to Spain next week.’

  ‘I know, Ben told me,’ he says quietly. ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I reply, suddenly feeling anxious. ‘Sometimes I think so.’

  ‘But sometimes not?’ he asks.

  Before I can respond he says quickly, ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. Luce, I realise things haven’t been straightforward between us. But when Ben said Rosie thought you might still have feelings for me, I knew I had to come and see you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since you left, and when you walked into the pub tonight, you took my breath away.’

  I avoid his gaze, feeling wretched and lost for words.

  ‘Do you want to be with me, Luce?’ he presses.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘The timing’s not right, Oscar.’

  ‘The timing will never be right. But if you want something badly enough, you have to make it happen. Do you want something with me?’

  ‘Oscar, you live in Sydney and I live in London and Joe lives in London too.’

  ‘We could be together in Sydney,’ he says with a pained expression.

  I’m silent, surprised by what he’s just said.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ he asks helplessly, searching my eyes. ‘I don’t know what it is you’re looking for.’

  I stall for time by sculling my drink, then say, ‘My life is here now. I have Penny and the bookstore and …’ As I speak, I feel my head whir with words, and though I try to focus on Oscar, he and everyone around him have started to spin.

  ‘I’m sorry, Loscar,’ I slur into his neck as he steps forward to steady me. ‘I thought move to London I’d wearing stilettos, but I can’t shake ugg boot. Fucking ugg, Oscar.’

  He laughs and strokes my hair. Mulled wine should be illegal.

  ‘Take me home, Oscar,’ I say. ‘Need to go home.’

  In the cab back to the Putney Palace, I lie with my head in his lap and cry drunken tears into his jeans. After he pays the fare, he helps me out of the taxi and steadies me as I stumble up the stairs. Inside, he and Joe have a brief conversation before Joe carries me into the bedroom and lowers me gently on the bed.

  ‘Who was that guy?’ he asks as he empties a sachet of orange electrolyte powder into water.

  ‘That’s Oscar’s brother Ben,’ I explain. ‘No, Ben’s brother Oscar.’

  ‘Do you like him?’ he asks, helping me to sit up and handing me the glass.

  ‘His mum’s our neighbour in Rocky,’ I reply and hope that he doesn’t notice I have dodged his question. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled with the answer.

  I wake the next morning knowing I need to resolve things with Joe. We’re supposed to be flying to Spain together in two days and, after seeing Oscar, I know I can’t get on that plane.

  Joe deserves someone who adores him, not someone who isn’t completely sure whether she’s in love with him and is hedging her bets while she tries to work it out. If I went to San Sebastián, only half my heart would be present.

  Later that morning, as we walk across Putney Bridge, I blurt out the sentences that have been circling in my mind like sharks.

  ‘I’m sorry, Joe, but I can’t go to Spain. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I think we should break up. I’m so sorry.’

  Joe looks at me with such utter shock that tears immediately spring to my eyes.

  ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘I love you, Joe, I love hanging out with you, and I thought maybe what we had was enough, but I just don’t think it is.’

  ‘Luce,’ he says, taking my hand, ‘where is this coming from? You’ve
never said anything at all about being unhappy.’

  I can’t bring myself to speak as tears trickle down my face.

  ‘Are you unhappy with me?’ he asks, gently brushing the tears away.

  ‘No, I’m not unhappy with you,’ I reply truthfully. ‘I just have doubts sometimes, Joe, and I think you should be with someone who doesn’t have doubts.’

  ‘But having doubts is normal, isn’t it? Don’t you get through the doubts by just spending time with each other? We have fun together, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply with a sob.

  He looks at me in disbelief. ‘What about our trips to the Borough Market and our runs around Battersea and bike rides over Albert Bridge? And the seals and jam fancies and the scurries?’ His eyes are glistening with tears too now. ‘Mum and Dad—’ he begins, choking up. ‘They love you.’

  ‘I love your mum and dad, and the fun we have in London. I love you too, Joe—but not in the way you deserve.’

  ‘Please don’t do this, Luce,’ he says, pulling me towards him. ‘Please come to San Sebastián with me. We can talk about things there.’ I feel his tears slide down my neck. ‘Please,’ he repeats.

  I cry into his jumper and we stand there and hold each other for the longest time.

  Eventually, I take a step back and say, ‘I’ll get my things out of your room. I’ll start looking for somewhere else to live.’

  ‘You don’t have to go anywhere. You can stay with me forever. Don’t leave, Luce—I love you.’

  ‘You’re a beautiful man, Joe,’ I say. ‘You deserve someone who loves you absolutely unreservedly.’

  ‘I don’t want someone different, Lucy. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t understand this at all.’ He covers his face with his hands, then looks up, anguished. ‘Is it that guy from last night? Is that why?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper agonisingly.