The Impossible Story of Olive In Love Page 12

  There is nothing worse than being stuck in a toilet with someone when they think they’re alone. Honestly—nothing.

  I clamp my eyes shut, trying to pretend to be somewhere else, but the foul smell pervades my nostrils. It’s my punishment. Instant karma for spying on her.

  Eventually she reaches for the toilet paper and I have to squeeze myself back to fit into the space behind the lavatory. That part of the toilet is always dirty. I try not to think about all the grime. Tamara flushes and washes her hands. I’m desperate to wash too—all over my body though.

  This is hopeless. She’s about to leave and I’ve learnt nothing, apart from the fact she’s still disturbingly obsessed by Tom. I can’t find what I need here, I should go to his house. But where does he live?

  Tamara’s bent over doing up strappy sandals so I go out into the hall and pull out my phone. Sadist that I am, I stored Tamara’s number that first night at the club. I type quickly.

  Olive:

  Tam, I got a new number. Come over if you want.

  I hear a squeal of delight from her room and then my phone vibrates. She’s replied. Just as I suspected, she assumed it was from Tom.

  Tamara:

  Tommy. Knew you’d call. I’m on the way past in ten minutes, I’ll pop in.

  I don’t answer it. The poor girl still has her hopes up. I feel bad.

  She finds it necessary to shower all of a sudden. Brilliant. I wait until the water is running and open up the contacts on her phone. New plan: find Tom’s address and then text her not to go over.

  I scroll through—damn it. His name and number but nothing more. I rifle through her drawers for an address book but there isn’t much to be found: fashion magazines and … diaries! Here we go. They are all identical black leather with the year printed in gold. Standing order Christmas present from her mother, I bet. I can just imagine the thought process: I’ll pre-order for the next ten years, that way I won’t have to bother thinking about her again.

  I flick open the top one, this year. She hasn’t written for a while, three weeks maybe:

  Work has been busy, I have at least four new customers but Alec is still riding my ass. Ashallah says it’s because he likes me, ew disgusting. Like I would ever go there. There is a new sushi place down the road that is just brill, I’ve been there every day this week. I’m getting into miso soup.

  Christ, how boring. I put it back and pick up one from two years ago, when she and Tom were going out. It’s immediately more interesting, she’s doing that schoolgirl thing, scrawling hearts everywhere. I love this stuff. It’s the real deal.

  Today Tom had practice at lunch and I didn’t get to sit with him. I missed him soooooo much. Evie says we make the best couple and Charlotte agreed but I could tell she was only saying it. She’s jealous because Kalen isn’t into her as much as Tom is into me. Kalen is okay, he has a cool car. He sits with us sometimes but mostly he’s off with his friends playing football and it really hurts Charlotte. I understand a bit more after missing Tom at lunch today. If he did it to me tomorrow as well I would just die!!!!

  It’s hard not to laugh. I imagine teenage Tom sitting with this group of teenage prom-queens for lunch every day while the other boys got to go off and play football. No wonder he finds me interesting!

  Tamara walks out wrapped in a towel. Cac! I didn’t find the address: I was too busy snooping. I drop the diary back in the drawer but there is no time to close it. I tiptoe for the door. I hear her make a confused sound and then shut the drawer. Too close, Olive, I warn myself.

  Tamara is in a totally different outfit when she comes out of her house. Short skirt, tight top, higher sandals, more make-up—she looked better before. I’m going to have to follow her to Tom’s house. It’s not ideal.

  I text her questions as I follow. I may as well make the most of it. She seems delighted by the exchange. You can see it in her gait and the sharp angle of her shoulders.

  Olive:

  I have a few questions to see if you really do know me.

  Tamara:

  Fire away babe. I’ll ace this exam!

  Olive:

  What is my favourite food?

  Tamara:

  Easy. Ham cheese toasties, BBQ chicken rolls, mangoes and your mum’s spaghetti.

  Good to know.

  Olive:

  My best friends?

  Tamara:

  When are the hard ones? Jason Harry Dave and me!

  That’s disturbing. Are they still good friends or is she deluded?

  Olive:

  When did we see each other last?

  Tamara:

  Harry’s on Sunday

  What? I didn’t know about this! I’ve been moping around all miserable after our fight and he’s been out seeing his ex? I try to stay focused.

  Olive:

  My family?

  Tamara:

  You’re kidding right? Sisters Sarah, Jacqui, Marnie. Mum Janelle, dad Maxwell, step-dad(?) Paul

  She knows his real dad—Maxwell. Great name. He has a step-dad too. I wonder if they get along.

  Olive:

  Do I like Paul?

  Tamara:

  You tolerate him coz he makes your mum :-)

  Figures. Tom’s such a stand-up guy.

  Olive:

  What do I hate?

  Tamara:

  Traffic, the city, sitting around inside doing nothing, stubborn people.

  Mmm. We may have a problem.

  Olive:

  What do I love?

  Tamara:

  I’ll show you in person.

  Argh. Yuk.

  Tamara is knocking on the door of a small caramel-coloured brick house. Wow, they live close. I scuttle up behind her.

  ‘Tamara!’ A tiny woman answers the door, white-bleached hair, wrinkly tan, obviously doesn’t care about that skin cancer stuff. Good healthy tan, she’d call it. She’s in lycra and sweats, probably been running or at the gym. Typical beachy mum. ‘Come in, come in,’ she insists.

  ‘Tom just texted.’ Tamara follows her inside and I slip in behind.

  ‘He did? He’s supposed to be at work.’ She notes Tamara’s dejected face. ‘Have a cuppa anyway love, I’ve just made some for Paul. We’ve missed having you around.’

  This house would never make the pages of Home Beautiful. The kitchen has spotty orange and green wallpaper, a cracked lino floor and glass cabinets heaving with knick-knacks. None of it matches.

  A skinny guy in a cheap shirt is sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea in his hand.

  Tamara sits next to him. ‘Hi Paul, hope you don’t mind the intrusion.’

  ‘Not at all. Tea?’ he says, holding up the pot.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replies. But there is no cup.

  I settle against the kitchen bench, half perched on a stool as Tom’s mum starts fossicking about in an overstuffed cupboard trying to find a mug that’s not chipped.

  ‘How is Marnie, Janelle?’ Tamara asks her.

  Janelle. It’s not awful, but it’s not a great name either. Still, she seems like a kind enough woman. ‘She’s gone five months now. Won’t find out the sex of it either. Driving me mad—I’ve seen that many cute-as-a-button pink things.’

  ‘You’d be keen for a girl after Sarah’s boys.’

  So Tom is an uncle! And his sister is pregnant! I’m making some mean mental notes here.

  Janelle answers her. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love the boys. Nice change after all my girls. But a little granddaughter …’

  ‘So cute—I know.’ Stupid Tamara, I bet she wants a dozen kids. ‘Any news on the Alex front?’

  Janelle sighs as she hands Paul the cup.

  ‘Selfish bugger still won’t make an honest woman out of her,’ Paul mutters as he pours the tea.

  Baby out of wedlock! Scandalous! I wonder how old this sister of Tom’s is. This family stuff might be more interesting than I thought.

  A dog barks with excitement outside and I turn around to see
Tom in the pebbled courtyard at the side of their house. He is bent over greeting Bluto, his work bag slung over one shoulder. I spring to my feet but I can’t move fast enough, he’s seen me before he slides open the glass door. He stands there in mild shock, looking at me, then Tamara, then back at me again.

  ‘What’s going on?’ He directs that at me. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Tamara speaks up. ‘You told me to come.’

  He looks back at her, confused. ‘What?’

  ‘Your message.’ She holds up her phone.

  ‘What?’ He looks back at me. ‘And you?’

  I put my finger to my lips, squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remind him nobody else can see me.

  The sigh that comes out of his mouth is the longest, most painful one I’ve ever witnessed.

  I so shouldn’t have come.

  CHAPTER

  22

  ‘Who are you talking about, Tom? Paul?’ Tom’s mum walks up to him and puts both hands on his cheeks, she pulls his face down to level him straight in the eye. She is a ferocious little thing—I wouldn’t want to cross her. ‘He’s every right to be here now. We spoke about this.’

  Tom’s eyes flick toward Paul. ‘I know. Sorry Paul. I just wasn’t expecting … Just a minute Mum.’ He walks over to Tamara. ‘Can I see your phone?’

  She hands it to him. ‘Should we go to your room?’

  ‘No,’ he says, scanning the text conversation with a frown. After a minute he looks over at me furiously, then turns back to Tamara. ‘I’m sorry Tam, I didn’t write this. See, it doesn’t even say it’s from me.’

  Tamara’s bottom lip has turned out. ‘I just assumed it was you. Who else could it be?’

  ‘Mason?’

  Tamara looks horrified. ‘He’s testing me!’

  ‘Don’t worry. Just pretend you were having him on for testing you like that. He’ll probably deny it, anyway. Give him one of your special smoochi-poos. He’ll forget soon enough.’ He gives her a wink and I want to vomit on the spot. He pushes the phone back into her hands.

  She stows it in her purse. ‘Do you want to do something, babe? May as well, since we’re both here.’

  ‘Sorry, Tam. I’ve got plans.’ He looks at me firmly, directing me with his eyes to the corridor. ‘You’re welcome to stay and finish your tea but I need a shower.’

  ‘It’s that girl again,’ Paul mutters with disapproval as I slink past with Tom.

  ‘No, no,’ Janelle replies, ‘I think that’s over. He told me they had issues. He wasn’t sure they could work it out.’

  ‘She sounds awful,’ Tamara agrees.

  I turn around. I want to scratch out her eyes but Tom grabs my wrist and turns me back around, jabbing me down the hall in front of him with his index finger.

  He’s furious but I’m upset too. He’s told Tamara about me and he’s told his mum we have problems! It’s worse than terrible. I knew he couldn’t handle me! I’m too difficult for his prom-queen constitution. Well I’m not going down without a fight. This boy is mine.

  Tom slams his bedroom door, almost catching my heel. He turns on me. ‘What the hell, Olive?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. It’s easy to apologise. I feel genuinely bad for what I’ve done.

  ‘You’re snooping around my house? Lying to Tamara? Like she hasn’t got enough problems!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘Felix said I should get to know your family.’

  ‘And you thought this was the best way of doing it?’ He is looking at me like I’m the stupidest creature on the planet.

  I push down my pride. ‘Well I wasn’t getting any invitations. You haven’t called me in days!’

  ‘Days!’

  ‘Tom, I know this looks really, really bad, but please—try to see my good intentions.’

  ‘Ha.’ He snorts.

  ‘Seriously. Why would I waste my time stalking your ex and your family? I’ve been learning about you. What you said the other night, it was true. I have been terrible at getting to know you. I was trying to make up for that.’

  His eyes search mine, trying to gauge my sincerity.

  ‘I’m trying to change,’ I plead softly. ‘Honestly. I know you like cheese toasties now …’

  He sighs and sits at the edge of his bed, starts pulling off his filthy work boots and socks. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  I glance about his room. It was obviously not decorated by his mother. Grey walls, big double bed with a black cover, surfboard against the wall, three enlarged black-and-white framed photos of a surfer. I step forward to study them. It’s him in every frame. There is an inscription from Tamara. She does know him. I feel that pang of jealousy again.

  ‘Your room is huge.’

  ‘Sarah and Jacqueline used to share it. I took it after they left home.’ He leans back on his elbows and watches me.

  I try Felix’s line. ‘Your mum’s really nice.’ He smiles at that. Mmm, maybe Felix is onto something. ‘And your sister—she’s pregnant and not married—tad scandalous!’ He frowns. Oops. Must be a touchy subject. ‘Don’t worry, even Anne Hathaway was pregnant before she and Shakespeare got married.’

  ‘That actress?’

  ‘No Tom, fool, I’m talking 1500s. Shakespeare was like seventeen and he got this older woman, Anne Hathaway, pregnant. She was like twenty-five or twenty-six, totally old-maid candidate back in those days. Shakespeare had to marry her to keep her reputation intact but he was so young he had to get permission from his dad!’

  ‘That’s a comforting story,’ he says, obviously sarcastic.

  I blow air through my lips with impatience. ‘I’m just saying … she’s in good company.’

  ‘If Alex hangs around.’

  He’s all protective of his sister. It’s cute. I move over and play with his knee. ‘I like your bed.’

  That earns me a little smile but he stands up and pushes me gently away. ‘I do actually need a shower.’

  ‘What’s with all the showers this afternoon?’ I mutter, slumping down on his desk chair.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Tom says, stripping off his shirt. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  He walks to the door. ‘You’re leaving me?’ I say.

  ‘I’ll be back if you want to wait.’

  I nod at his chest. ‘Oh, I’ll wait for that.’

  Reluctantly, he smiles. ‘Just stay in here. No more trouble.’

  ‘No more trouble,’ I repeat.

  I spin around on Tom’s chair, waiting. I can’t believe Tamara knows about me. Maybe it’s a good thing, even though I ‘sound awful’.

  I don’t want to ‘sound awful’.

  Tom has only been gone five minutes but it’s too long. I miss him like crazy. I don’t know if he has forgiven me and it kills me to wait. What is he thinking in there? Maybe he’s building up the courage to dump me.

  But before I have the time to dream up a really impressive story to force him into staying with me, he ducks his head into the room, hair still slick from the shower, a blue towel wrapped around his waist and says, ‘I have to shave. Give me five more minutes.’ Then shuts the door again.

  I kick off the ground so the chair spins furiously, my arms pump in the air. Sweet victory! Tom couldn’t play it cool for another five minutes. Doesn’t he know I would have waited five hours?

  The power makes me cocky. I open the door and peek through. The bathroom is easy enough to spot. Steam is seeping out from under the door. I creep down the hallway, open it and sneak in.

  He is standing in front of the fogged-up mirror. His smile is wide beneath the shaving foam. ‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

  I ignore him. ‘How can you see anything in that?’ I wipe the mirror with my sleeve, and his reflection smears. It’s gone all splodgy—if anything I’ve made it worse.

  ‘I don’t really need it,’ he says.

  I stand behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and poke my head around to watch him in the mirror finishing the j
ob.

  ‘You look tired,’ I observe.

  He draws on the mirror with his finger, it’s the outline of a head and shoulders—exactly opposite me. It is me. I gape in wonder at my shape.

  ‘And you look beautiful,’ he says.

  ‘Do you always have to make me sound like the villain?’ I complain.

  ‘What? I am tired.’ He kisses my hair and gets shaving cream in it. ‘It’s nice that you noticed.’

  I reach my finger to the mirror and add his outline. Then I put a heart between us. His eyes flick away. It’s too much, too soon. I add a funny moustache to his face on the mirror. He laughs. Phew.

  Tom swivels in the circle of my arms and reaches for a fancy moisturiser on the shelf. A present. Nobody would buy that for everyday use.

  ‘Tamara?’ I ask, unimpressed. Where has this girl not touched his life?

  ‘Jacqueline.’ He slaps it around on his cheeks, his neck. Good, I think, because I wouldn’t want to hate that smell. I recognise it as part of his scent.

  ‘You smell like a rainforest,’ I say.

  His reflection appraises me in that liquefying way that makes me weak. I’m sure I must be blushing. ‘But maybe it’s just the humidity in here,’ I say, ducking back behind him to hide my awkwardness.

  He doesn’t say anything, just starts returning everything to its place. I wait with my ear pressed between his bare shoulder blades, my fingers intertwined over his warm belly.

  I’m happy here. I’m not sure I ever want him to finish. I don’t know what he’ll say. He told his mother we had ‘issues’. I can’t deny that. And he doesn’t even know the worst of it.

  Tom turns around so that we’re facing each other. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’ I say, looking at the floor. Dread is hammering my boots to the bathroom tiles.

  He lifts my chin. ‘I’ve always wanted to kiss in a rainforest.’

  CHAPTER