32 #2
‘Paul? Seriously? I’m dancing on my own?
’ I thrust my beer into his hand and move through the throng of people, pushing when I need to until I reach the front of the stage.
I jump and bounce and sing and toss my hair and it’s hot, sweaty, loud and fun.
It’s so much fun that it feels almost impossible that I’m surrounded by strangers.
The band gets to the chorus and my fist is in the air; I’m singing along with the lead singer who is grinning at me, and I’m grinning at him, and despite my half a glug of beer I feel borderline drunk.
As the song ends, the lead singer leans out across his guitar, across his amp and over the stage and high fives me.
The drums crash, the bass thuds through the floor and a new song starts. A hand grips mine.
‘Can’t let you have all the fun, babe,’ Paul says.
We’re dancing, hands entwined in the air, he twirls me and spins me then as the song changes, he pulls me close. He sings, his voice low in my ear, and it’s all I can hear. ‘Never dare dreamed, ever me, ever you, ever more, your heart my core, my dream come true, my dream come true.’
‘You’re the dream.’ My stomach flutters. I grip the back of his head and find myself on the very tips of my toes kissing him. A hand taps my shoulder.
‘Okay, lovebirds, that’s enough,’ says a deep voice.
I turn, ready to slap the living shit out of whoever has dared rain on this ridiculously sexy parade and I’m staring into the black-shirted chest of a security bouncer. ‘ID?’
‘I left it at home,’ I say, ‘I’m a local, the owner knows me, I’m all good.’ I turn back to Paul, but the bouncer moves between us.
‘If you can’t show me ID you’ll have to leave,’ he says, his hands on his hips, the sheer width of him blocking out the band above us.
‘Come on, mate, she’s a local,’ says Paul.
‘I don’t care if she’s from Mars,’ says the bouncer. ‘Out you go. Don’t make me ask you again.’ His face repeats the sentiment in no uncertain terms.
‘This is bullshit, rent-a-cop,’ Paul says.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ I push my way through the crowd, trailed by my new burly best mate, face aflame. Standing right next to the door is Isabel Scuzzbucket Dillon.
‘Bye, Kitty Cat.’ She throws back a shot and whoops. ‘How embarrassing for you. I wonder how they knew you were underage?’
‘And you’re not?’ I hiss.
‘Not according to my ID,’ she giggles and turns her attention to Paul, her hand on his chest. ‘Paulie, let’s get smashed.’
‘Mate, not enough alcohol in the world.’ He follows me out the door. ‘Eff you very much, rent-a-cop.’
The bouncer crosses his arms and smirks.
‘You have a good night, kids.’ He stands sentry at the pub door as the Neanderthals come pouring out.
‘What’s happening?’ says Cavey.
‘We’re kicked out,’ says Paul.
‘Technically I was kicked out,’ I say, ‘not you. You can go back in.’
‘Not without you,’ he says.
‘What happened?’ says Ant.
‘Remember my friendship opportunity? She freakin’ told Mr Security here that I’m underage.’
‘Hey mate, come on, we’re locals,’ Ant says to the bouncer. ‘Give us a break, will you? Let her back in.’
The bouncer stares impassively back at Ant, then talks into his walkie talkie. Bouncers seem to materialise from the walls as four come to stand beside him.
‘Is there a problem here?’ one says.
‘Not if you let him back in,’ says Cavey, his shoulders back.
‘He can stay; she can’t.’
‘It’s not enough that you come here from wherever the fuck you came from and take all our jobs? You think you can tell us who can go to our own pub?’ Cavey passes his empty beer glass between his hands. ‘Just fucking let them in.’
‘That’s not going to happen, mate.’
‘I’m not your mate, mate.’
‘Come here, Cat.’ Paul takes my hand and pulls me behind him, his voice low. I shake him off and move between Cavey and the bouncer.
‘Enough! I’m leaving, don’t worry about it.’
Ant grabs Cavey’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, mate, let’s just go have a good time. Cat, you’re all good?’
‘I’m fine, go back inside.’ I take a few steps away from the entrance and grab my phone from my pocket to check the time. Ugh, it hasn’t even been an hour since my family left.
‘You’re not going too?’ Cavey’s got his hand on Paul’s chest, blocking him from following me. ‘We were gonna have a few.’
The bouncers haven’t shifted position. I walk towards the beach, flustered, my mind racing, my hands jittery.
I shake them, and startle as a car drives past, its wheels flicking up the stones on the side of the road.
I didn’t even hear its engine over the thumping of my pulse in my head.
Paul catches up to me and slings his arm around my shoulder.
‘You don’t want to go home?’ he says. ‘That was a bit shit, wasn’t it?’
‘No way,’ I say, ‘I need to calm down, I’m so angry. Isabel’s hated me forever, but I don’t know why she’d go out of her way to do that to me. Ugh. I was having the best time.’
‘Me too, never thought you’d get me dancing on half a beer.’
‘That was the best,’ I say. ‘I am so sorry. You sure you don’t want to go hang with your friends? Watch the band?’
‘No way times infinity. We can see them anytime.’
We walk along the foreshore, the music almost taunting us.
‘Have you ever been to San Francisco?’ Paul asks.
‘Um, that would be a no,’ I say. I’m already counting down the days to move to the city, so the thought of being anywhere other that Batter’s Cove entices. ‘I’ve always wanted to. Almost every movie I love is set there. There or New York. Have you?’
‘Yep. This reminds me of it.’
‘Yes, Batter’s Cove must take you straight back to the memories of those San Francisco streets.’
‘I did all this tourist stuff, you know, rode a bike over the Golden Gate Bridge, went to Alcatraz. It was such a cool place to see.’ He tells me about a tour led by an ex-prisoner, that on New Year’s Eve the sea breeze carried the sounds of music and laughter and celebration, and it was an extra layer of torment for the prisoners, being so aware of the joy they were missing.
‘I’m so sorry, you should be in the pub,’ I say.
‘That’s not what I’m saying, Cat. There’s nowhere I’d rather be,’ he says.
‘What about Cavey?’
‘What about him?’
‘About him telling you to stay? Telling the bouncers to let you back in? And what’s with him being such a racist?
’ The sky is almost mauve above us in the twilight, the path ahead dark.
I stop to kick off my sandals, my hand on Paul’s bicep for balance.
I scrunch my toes into the gravel of the path.
It’s almost soothing the way it scratches.
‘Yeah, that was weird, all of it. As if I’d rather hang out in the pub. Actually, I’d rather be back on the North Shore of Hawaii, but I’d want you there too.’
Two kids run along the path towards us, trailing sparklers and screaming, two women following them. One gives Paul a slow look up and down and smiles at me.
‘Enjoy,’ she says as they pass. They both barely conceal their smirks.
‘Thanks?’ I say haltingly.
‘You’re home early,’ says Mum as we open the sliding door.
‘We’re going to watch music videos. Is that okay?’
‘Of course, just keep it down.’ Mum kisses me goodnight. ‘Not too late, please Paul.’
Mum’s footsteps recede downstairs and her bedroom door closes.
I pull my doona and pillows off my bed. I turn off all the lights, and we lie on the floor in the television’s glow.
I’m a human blanket sprawled across Paul, my cheek on his chest, his chin resting on my head, my doona over us, his hand on the bare skin of my hip, my fingers tracing his biceps.
He smells so good, and I have it on good authority that tomorrow, and the next day and the next day I’ll be hugging my pillow to my face, breathing him in.
‘Find that song,’ I say, ‘the dream come true one, the one you sang to me when we were dancing.’
His chest and shoulder move against my face as he works the remote.
‘You like it? That’s now officially our song.’
‘I love it.’
The song floats over and around us, his fingers grip my hair, pulling my mouth up to his.