Chapter Three
Elliot Simpson. Hearing that name is enough to tear open a deep wound in my heart.
It might have been three years since I’d last seen him, but Elliot goddamn Simpson still had that effect on me. Because he didn’t just break my heart, he also robbed me of my hope.
He’d taken away that spark in my soul that made me believe in true love.
Which is why, the second I get off work, I race through the back gate of The Henson Hotel with one thought on my mind: I need wine. Or a margarita. Or a cosmopolitan. Or someone to punch me in the face.
Anything to forget about Elliot.
The Henson is my safe place. It’s your classic neighbourhood pub, located on the corner of a residential street in Marrickville – a suburb that has seen industrial estates turn into trendy breweries, cafes and restaurants over recent years.
My favourite thing about this pub is the courtyard out the back.
Something about it reminds me of my childhood backyard.
When the evening light hits the right spot, the overflowing plants and red-brick exterior are lit by a golden glow, which makes the place perfect for after work drinks.
I climb the steps that lead to the courtyard and catch a glimpse of my friends sitting in our regular spot in the corner.
At first, there were four of us: Jones, Sal, Laney and me.
We’d met working at the nearby Dusk Studios, a small but popular shoot location for photographers, magazines and marketing agencies.
Laney’s boyfriend, Patrick, came with her as a package deal, and then Elliot had made it six. Until he left.
‘Mate! About time you showed your face!’ Jones lifts his pint of beer in my direction, waving his other hand high in the air.
His buzzcut looks extra sharp today – he must have had a recent haircut.
That was Jones Radden Smith after all. He might have looked tough on the outside, but on the inside he was a big teddy bear.
‘Sorry I’m late. Work was crazy today,’ I reply.
Jones didn’t have to know that ‘crazy’ meant I’d spent the afternoon at my desk, weighing up the pros and cons of agreeing to interview Claudia Leighton. Well, that and thinking about Elliot.
Oh god, Elliot… Where was that wine?
‘Considering you’re chronically online, a message now and then to remind us that you’re still alive wouldn’t go astray,’ Sal says, getting up from the table to give me a hug.
Saltaj Kapoor gives the best hugs. He’s the brother I never had.
The Meredith Grey to my Christina Yang. The Seth Cohen to my Ryan Atwood.
‘Says the guy who can barely be bothered to do more than thumbs up the memes I send him!’ I reply, feeling the tension leave my body as I rest my head up against his chest.
‘I am reclaiming the thumbs up emoji from its passive aggressive past,’ Sal says as he brushes the fringe out of his eyes.
Unlike Jones, Sal let his hair grow so long that it covered at least a quarter of his face.
That, along with his love for wearing band merchandise, made him look like he’d been plucked right out of a Blink-182 music video.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Jones offers. ‘White wine?’
I smile. ‘Absolutely.’
At the far end of the table, Laney sits with her back against a wooden fence and Patrick’s arm around her.
From a distance, you wouldn’t think they were a personality match.
Laney O’Reilly is a primary school teacher, and her soothing voice and luminous ginger hair makes her feel like summer, if it were a person.
Tonight, she’s wearing denim overalls with one strap loose to reveal her pink tie-dye shirt underneath.
Patrick Matherson, on the other hand, is winter.
He has a permanent stone-cold stare and always wears a button up shirt that’s tucked into his pants.
‘Carlos,’ Patrick greets me.
‘Pat, hey.’ I acknowledge him with a nod. I’m always a little unsure of what to say to him.
It’s not that I don’t like Patrick. In fact, out of all the guys that Laney has dated, he’s the one who feels like the most natural fit for our group.
But there’s a certain limit to how many conversations I want to have about things like the history of cathedrals in France or how the British stealing mummies from Egypt was the inspiration for the party game ‘Pass the Parcel’.
‘So good to see you, Carlos!’ Laney jumps in, getting up from her side of the table to give me a hug. ‘I can’t believe it’s been three months since we last saw each other.’
‘Has it really been that long since Jones’s housewarming?’ Sal asks.
Of course it has, I think to myself.
‘What are we discussing?’ Jones asks, sliding smoothly back onto the bench and placing my wine in front of me.
‘Your housewarming,’ Laney tells him with a smile.
Sal tugs at his All-American Rejects shirt to give himself relief from the heat. ‘Oh yeah. That was a great party.’
‘Not as great as some of the parties we used to throw at our old place,’ I add, resorting to one of my favourite things to do: reminiscing about the good old days.
I wouldn’t have to worry about missing my dad, or the fact that I’m about to see Elliot again, if I could get them to recall the memories of the time we’ve spent together.
‘Those parties were infamous,’ Jones says.
‘Remember the one where someone’s cousin turned up with a snake?’ Laney recalls with a laugh.
‘Was that the same night your mate John dressed up as Colonel Sanders and came to the party with a bucket of KFC?’ Jones asks Laney.
‘It was!’ Sal declares. ‘By the way, did we ever find out why that guy had a snake?’
‘I think it’s destined to forever be an Inner West mystery,’ I say.
Jones leans forward on the table and asks, ‘Do you know what my favourite thing about that house was?’
‘What?’ Laney asks.
‘The rooftop,’ Jones says.
‘Best view in Sydney, I reckon,’ Sal adds.
And he’s not wrong. We’d lived together in the terrace house in Sydenham for two years before we’d discovered that we could get onto the rooftop.
After a drunken night out at a local brewery, Jones had climbed up there to profess his love for our local barista, who lived just down the road from us.
And while attempting to get him safely down, we’d realised how easy it was to get onto the iron roof, which offered a spectacular view of the city skyline.
It became our spot to watch the sunset and talk.
If I closed my eyes and thought back to those nights on the roof, it wasn’t the brilliant sunset that came back to me the clearest, it was all the little pockets of time that had built up my friendship with this group.
I can still remember holding Jones in my arms the night that same barista ended things with him.
I told him that he was more than enough as he tearfully asked me whether any of his relationships would go right.
And when Sal unexpectedly quit university to pursue music full time, we were all there to support him and go to his gigs – even when his family was giving him a hard time.
I even remember Laney sitting up on the roof, sketching the skyline into her notebook.
We framed the illustration when it was done and placed it in the living room.
As if the view, like our memories, was just for us.
‘So, Carlos, what’s new?’ Jones asks, snapping me out of my reverie.
Terrific. The dreaded question. What was I meant to tell him?
There was nothing new going on for me. Jones, Sal and Laney seemed to have found the magic formula to progressing in life.
But I was just so stuck! I’d been crashing in Addie’s spare room for a year now.
And there was nothing to say about my love life, unless they wanted to hear about my failed dates and how I dreaded letting someone in again.
I couldn’t tell them about the Claudia Leighton opportunity yet because I wasn’t sure I was even up to the job.
‘Give up, Jones. Carlos is a man of mystery – I can’t even get him to tell me where he’s living at the moment,’ Laney teases. But her comment cuts deep.
‘Hardy-ha. What about you, Sal? You moved out of Petersham, right?’ I ask, trying to shift the attention away from me.
‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘I’m done with living in a share house.’
‘Where’s your new place?’ Patrick asks.
‘Rouse Hill,’ Sal reveals.
‘You’re renting all the way out there?’ I ask, shocked that Sal would be willing to commute that far.
‘Yes! I swear I mentioned it in the group chat,’ Sal says.
Well, that explains it. I’d been ignoring the group chat because I couldn’t handle how much the group dynamic had changed.
Rather than being a part of each other’s lives and making memories together, our messages were updates of lives lived separately.
Lately, it felt as if my closest friends were strangers.
‘That’s amazing, I’m so excited for you,’ I tell him, forcing myself to sound positive.
‘I’ve got something to update you all on too,’ Jones announces. ‘I start as a script coordinator on a new Australian drama series in two weeks. Shooting takes place in Queensland in a few months.’
‘Dude, that’s incredible!’ Sal congratulates Jones, then waves his hand in the middle of the table to get everyone’s attention. ‘Wait a minute, does that mean you’ll need to move up to Queensland?’
‘Not straight away,’ Jones answers. ‘I’m subletting my place here while we shoot the first season. All things going well, I’ll relocate permanently if it gets picked up for a second season.’
I feel my heart break in two at the thought of Jones leaving. I don’t know if our friendship will be able to survive the distance. Things have already changed so much between us, and being separated by state lines wasn’t going to bring us any closer.