Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER
16
James, sitting at the table in my living room, snaps shut the lid of his iPad. ‘That’s the third lousy script I’ve been sent this week.’
‘Look at these instead.’ I put a cup of tea in front of him and slide my laptop across the table. ‘Dad’s photos.’
He adjusts the screen and scrolls. ‘They’re amazing.’
‘I agree.’
Unusually serious, he meets my gaze. ‘ Better than amazing.’
Four species of penguins. King. Adélie. Gentoo. Macaroni. In pairs. On their own. In their thousands. Southern elephant seal. Weddell seal. Fur seal. Leopard seal. There are mountains, crevasses, glaciers, floes, bergs. Snowmobiles, research stations, huts. And there are people. Scientists in labs, tradies in workshops, a man with shards of ice in his beard, a woman with snow piled high on her boots.
When I was young, Dad read me books about Antarctica. He’d put the book down and waddle like a penguin then flip like a seal. He told me he’d been there, but so far as I knew Antarctica could have been like the Snowy Mountains, Whistler or Phillip Island, places where my school friends would go. I had no idea how special it was. I didn’t appreciate how much it must have meant. Which might have been why, as I matured, he rarely mentioned it.
He saved me from the pain and regret of all that he’d lost.
What he did talk about was the adventures we’d shared together. Photographs of these, the hundreds of photos I haven’t been brave enough to look at yet, are also on the memory stick.
‘What did Kit say?’ James asks.
I wrap my hands around my mug as I sit. ‘He said the film would be useful.’
He scoffs. ‘More than that. I’d bet on it.’
‘These are just some of the stills. Kit will give me others, and copies of Dad’s videos of Antarctica.’
‘How is our noble Norwegian?’
‘He doesn’t think I’m right for the project. He wants me to withdraw.’
‘Doesn’t that mean it has no chance?’ He taps his fingers on the table. ‘What’re you going to do?’
‘There’s still a chance if I do well in the trial.’
‘Chloe isn’t happy with Kit either but …’ He shrugs. ‘She tells me she’s not only more attractive but more tenacious than others he’s dated.’
I don’t want to know, but … ‘Other actresses?’
‘In addition to an Olympic hurdler and a top-notch London lawyer.’
Where would I fit in that mix? Nowhere. I lean over James and scroll through photos of a dining hall with long narrow tables and red plastic chairs. Some expeditioners smile for the camera, most carry on as if Dad isn’t there.
James taps my hand. ‘Did your father teach you about photography?’
‘When I sketched, he encouraged me to frame my subject and to accurately portray what was in front of me. A plant tilts to the sun or away from it. It might bow in the rain, have a kink in the stem. Things like that.’
‘That flower you drew for Chloe blew me away. You’ve got a good eye.’
‘If you ever get to the Oscars, I want you to wear my waistcoat.’
He laughs as he pulls out his phone and looks at me through that. ‘Sketching won’t be enough to get you through the trial.’
‘I can hike and—’
James taps my nose. ‘If you don’t learn to speak up, Mac, they’re not going to take you.’
‘I’ve already answered a lot of their questions.’
‘It’s more than knowing your stuff or even your looks—when you’re on camera, you have to draw an audience in.’ He hits me with his thousand-watt smile. ‘Lucky for you, I’m just the man to show you how to do that.’
***
‘For pity’s sake …’ James leans over the kitchen table at the saddlery, takes my toasted sandwich, rips off a corner and throws it in his mouth. ‘The green dot at the top of the computer screen. It’ll be the red dot on their camera. That’s what you look at!’
I link my fingers. ‘I feel stupid talking to a green dot.’ ‘You have to know where the camera is when you’re being filmed. You talk into the camera.’
‘I’ll practise, I promise.’
‘You’ve only got a couple of days. Where are you going, anyway?’
‘A disused rail tunnel, bushland and an open-cut mine.’
He grimaces. ‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Why do I have to talk to the dot?’ I grab my sandwich back. ‘What’s wrong with my profile? Astrid said I was uncommon. Erik said I was unusual.’
‘You’re also likeable and two hundred per cent fuckable, but that isn’t enough.’
‘James!’
‘You’ve gotta communicate, Mac.’
‘For Grandpa’s sake, I’ll try.’
‘If you do look into the camera, I guarantee you’ll blow them away.’ He’s smiling as he grasps my chin. ‘You’ve got everything, Mac. You know who you are and what you want.’
‘I’m learning a lot about the rehabilitation of mining sites.’
‘You’re the whole package.’ He grins then kisses my neck. ‘We could have fun before you get famous.’
‘Wouldn’t going out with me upset your legions of fans? I wouldn’t want to break their hearts.’
He drops the smile. ‘I’d take that risk.’
‘I’d never know whether you were acting or not.’
‘You’re one of the few people who see past my charm.’ Another grin. ‘I’m serious, I mean it.’
‘Thanks but …’ I aim for a shrug. ‘I don’t do relationships. Short or long term.’
‘Because your parents hated each other? You need a better reason than that.’
I brush crumbs from my lap. ‘That’s an important part of it.’
‘Another part is you being stuck in Summerfield, but you must have had opportunities elsewhere. Where did you do your saddlery studies?’
‘I did my theory at a college in Mudgee, but I never lived there.’
‘You lived with Clementine in Sydney. That must’ve been an experience.’
‘Private girls’ schools. Concerts, parties. Opening nights with actors who snorted cocaine. I don’t have happy memories.’
‘Don’t girls’ schools have boys’ schools in their orbit?’
‘I had friends who were boys. Nothing else.’
‘Until you came back to the country? Who was the lucky man?’
‘I told you I don’t—’
‘Give, Mac. How many got past the friendship post?’
‘None.’
He chokes a laugh. ‘You don’t expect me to believe you’re a virgin?’
‘What if I am?’
He sits back with such force that the chair scrapes the floor-boards. ‘I was joking!’
‘Oh.’
‘Christ, Mac.’ He whistles. ‘ Really ?’
‘It’s not that I don’t feel desire or …’ I shrug. ‘You know.’
‘After what you’ve just told me, I don’t know that I do know.’ He sits forward. ‘Desire and what else?’
‘Attraction, I guess. But it’s never been strong enough for me to want the hassle of hooking up.’
He swipes crumbs from the table onto the floor. ‘Far be it from me to give advice in this realm, but how about a relationship?’
‘As if I’d want a relationship if I don’t even want to hook up.’
James blinks. ‘I knew you were different, but …’
‘Now you know the facts, maybe you’ll stop propositioning me,’ I say primly.
‘A virgin …’ He stares at my breasts as he undoes his top button and flaps his shirt around. ‘I find that surprisingly arousing.’
‘James!’ I poke him in the chest. ‘As if I’d have sex with you? You’re like a kid brother.’
‘Because I’m younger than you? That’s ageist.’
‘My father was your age when I was born.’
‘Yikes.’ He grimaces again. ‘Your mother?’
‘Thirty-nine.’
He counts on his fingers. ‘Not insignificant.’
Suddenly jittery, I pick up the plates and go to the sink. ‘Rory will be here soon.’
‘Emotional expression, Mac.’ With a grumble, James stands too. ‘You suck at it.’
‘I’ve seen enough psychologists to last me a lifetime.’
James’s look is disbelieving. ‘Really?’
‘Do you think only actors have therapy?’
‘I’m always on the couch and I bet your mother is too. But you?’ He leans forward in his chair, puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes gently. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it.’
‘At first I was forced to do it, but I saw it as a plus in the end. Custody, access. If I told the therapists what I wanted, they’d include it in their reports.’
‘You preferred a mining town over a mansion in the city. They’d need a lot of convincing.’
‘A town in the country with a bridge, painted shops and a saddlery.’
‘Your father didn’t want to live in Sydney?’
‘If he’d stayed in the film industry, work would have been less certain and he would have had to travel. It wouldn’t have been “a suitable home environment”.’
‘How did your mother pass that test?’
‘She could afford the mansion, a nanny, boarding school when she was away, and lawyers. Dad had to be living with Grandpa and working for the mine to have any chance of keeping me, and I had to convince the court that I knew what I wanted and wasn’t coerced.’
James pulls me into a hug. ‘You turned out all right, Mac.’
I smile. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
‘And just so you know …’ he grins, ‘this is a brotherly embrace not an “I want to fuck you” embrace.’
I laugh as I draw back. ‘I’ll miss your company, Young Orlando Bloom.’
‘I’ll miss your extraordinary lack of appreciation for not only my talent but my looks.’ He kisses one cheek then the other. ‘I find it peculiarly charming.’
‘You’ll be in Sydney for a while, won’t you?’
‘If you happen to revisit your mother and fucked-up childhood, call me. If not, I’ll come back to bid you farewell.’
‘I always visit Mum in June.’
‘For her birthday?’
‘She hasn’t had a birthday in decades.’
He laughs. ‘What gives in June?’
‘Once a year since Dad’s death, she’s held a cocktail party to raise funds for emergency responders. It’s a backhanded tribute to Dad, but as it’s for a good cause Grandpa and I go along.’ I grab a tea towel, meticulously wipe a plate. ‘On Saturday, we go to the party. On Sunday, we go to the botanical gardens. Then we come home.’
‘As he can’t make it this year …’ James takes the plate away and hugs me again. ‘You got yourself a date.’