Page 76 of Barre Fight
“Everything’s fine,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes. “I gotta go, but yeah, everything’s fine.”
“You’re sure? You look off,” Shane was scrutinizing him from across the coffee table, and Justin felt his cheeks burn hotter.
“You heard Missy, I look like shit from all the travel,” he said weakly, attempting a lighthearted shrug and only managing a jerky twitch of his shoulders.
“You should get some rest.” His mother’s voice was gentle,concerned, and it only made Justin feel worse. After the idea he’d just entertained, and after what she’d just been through, he didn’t deserve that. “Do you want to go lie down here for a bit? We won’t need the bed until this evening, and you look dead on your feet.”
“I’m sure Chopper wouldn’t mind sharing,” Shane put in wryly.
“No, I’m going to head over to, um, Ricky and Matty’s,” Justin said hastily. Another lie. He had to get out of here. “Hug Steen for me, and get some good sleep, okay?”
He stepped forward and gave his mother a kiss on the top of her head, and directed a nod at Shane.
“Please, you know she’ll be up baking half the night.” Shane grinned at his wife. “Come back tomorrow and dig us out from under a pile of scones.”
Justin attempted a chuckle that came out as more of a cough, grabbed his overnight bag, and fled out his own front door.
When Ivy woke on Sunday morning, it was barely light outside, and the sky smoky and grey, just as it had been the previous day. Summer was like this in Sydney sometimes, when fires around the state burned out of control and the wind carried the smoke all the way to the coast to choke the cities. She rolled over in bed and found the other side of the bed empty.
“Justin?” she called in the direction of the open bedroom door. There was no reply. Frowning, she pulled her phone from the charger and squinted at the screen in the semi-darkness. Barely 6 am and she was wide awake. Thanks, jetlag.
There was a text from Justin, who had apparently had a harder time staying asleep than she had.
Justin, 5:39am: Going out for a walk, see you later.
Ivy almost texted him back requesting answers to some basic journalism questions—where are you walking? When will you be back?—but instead she gave the text a thumbs-up and swiped it away. Justin had come home from seeing his family yesterday afternoon and gone straight to sleep, ignoring his own advice about beating jetlag. As he’d changed out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts and an old ANB T-shirt, she’d asked after his family. He’d muttered something about a dog and scones, then given her a too-brief kiss on the lips and climbed into bed. When she’d joined him a few hours later, he’d barely stirred, only shifted against his pillow, his forehead creased in a frown even in his sleep. And now he was gone. She wondered if he’d headed to his favourite bushwalking track in search of comfort and quiet and distraction, and a part of her wished he’d asked her to join him.
By the time she needed to leave for her parents’ place, Justin still wasn’t back.
Ivy, 1:45pm: I’m going to my mum and dad’s for a barbeque. I’ll be back in a few hours.
See? An informative, not-vague text that contained basic but useful information about where she was going and how long she’d be gone. She looked down at the text window for a moment, hoping to see bouncing reply dots, but none appeared. She felt disappointment rise in her chest and pressed it down. It was too early to invite Justin over to Sunday barbeque. Too early to ask Justin to deal with her brothers or to watch her parents canoodle over steak and grilled veggies. Way too early, she repeated to herself as she put her phone in her bag and locked the door behind her.
“We’re eating inside today,” her mother called over her shoulder when Ivy arrived in the kitchen. “The smoke’s awful and George’s asthma is acting up.”
“We shan’t venture outside lest we irritate Georgie’s delicate lungs,” Luke said in a posh English accent. He was sprawled on a chair at the kitchen table, where five places had been set. George sat across from him, scowling. Through the back window, Ivy could see her dad tending to the barbeque.
“Oh shut up,” George said in a slightly raspy voice.
“Are you sure it’s the smoke, young Master George?” Luke continued in his Alfred the Butler voice. “And not the dust from all those library books?”
“Oh my god, you know what a library is?”
“Yeah, it’s where the nerds live,” Luke retorted.
“Boys, stop bickering and make yourselves useful, please,” their mother said as she drizzled dressing into a salad bowl. “Luke, go outside and help your father. George, come chop these veggies and toss them in olive oil.” She set the bowl aside and turned around, wiping her hands on her apron, then pulled Ivy into a hug. “Welcome back, darling. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Ivy yawned as the boys pushed their chairs back and did as instructed. “But it’s good to be home.”
“I’ll bet. Your father found a paper copy of theNew York Timesat the newsstand at Circular Quay,” her mum said, releasing her from the hug. “It’s in the lounge room in case you didn’t get a copy over there.”
“I think every member of the company and the artistic staff brought a copy home.” Ivy smiled. “So you can keep it. But thanks.”
“Of course! What a smashing success you’ve made of this. We’re so proud of you.”
George looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Any other smashing successes we should know about?”
Ivy rolled her eyes at her brother, willing her face not toreveal anything. Yeah, she could not subject Justin to this nonsense any time soon. But one day, maybe?
