Page 64 of Power Moves
Archie glances over. ‘But you run his whole office.’
‘I know, but I also wear pencil skirts. People read into that.’ I snuggle my knees closer into my chest. ‘Did youlikeplaying rugby?’
Archie gives a wooden laugh and goes back to staring at the ceiling. ‘I guess Mum expected me to play,’ he says. It’s a flat tone, devoid of emotion, that some people would consider matter-of-fact, but I know Archie. His matter-of-fact voice sparkles, as though facts delight and inspire him. This voice sounds nothing like that.
I’m surprised. ‘Did you not want to play rugby?’ I ask.
Archie doesn’t respond.
‘Did you ever try to quit?’
Archie sighs. ‘By the time I realised not everyone went to footy training four nights a week, I’d started hearing that stuff about Dad. I figured if Mum had put up with a shit husband, then the least I could do was make her some money so something good came out of the relationship. I think she knew I wasn’t that keen, but she never asked about it. And if she didn’t ask whether I wanted to play, it meant I’dkeepplaying, which meant the bills got paid, and our lights stayed on.’
I worm my hands into the crease behind my knees and something that feels like barbed wire squeezes my heart. If that is true, that is so messed up. No kid deserves to be treated like a cash cow.
‘When the surgeon told me my career was over, I wasn’t sad,’ Archie continues. ‘I love Mum—she’s sacrificed so much for me—and without the money stuff being an issue, our relationship is much less complicated now.’
My stomach somersaults as I recognise the ache in Archie’s voice. ‘I think people’s relationships with their mums are always complicated,’ I say quietly.
I see Archie’s eyebrows pinch. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Take my mum, for example. She was the best. The funniest, kindest mum you’d ever meet. And Iknowshe loved me. It’s just … I was too scatterbrained. And she had high expectations. Mum and Dad would tell me to clean my room and an hour later they’d find me lying on my bed staring at my posters, daydreaming about what I’d do if One Direction asked me to be their back-up dancer.
‘And, it’sfine. I just always wished I could impress my family—especially Mum—but it felt like I was the butt of every joke. I was the space cadet, the cry-baby, the drama queen. I always had a messy room and then a messy car. They thought it was funny. I tried so hard to be better and it was never enough. Even when I started doing okay at tennis, Mum still would find things to criticise.’ I pause, sighing. ‘That’s why I love my job. I’m working for a better education system. She’d have to be proud of me for that, right? I mean, Boss is always so thankful for me; I must be doing a good job. Though I guess that’s because I went into the job vowing to try harder and be more organised than I’d been before.’
A familiar thought pops up:If I’d managed to sort my shit out sooner, would Mum still be alive?
Behind my eyes, I see the swirling A4 pages, the car overrun with the detritus of a first-year uni student—textbooks, rumpled Macca’s takeaway bags, a tennis racquet, a random towel. I see Mum on the passenger seat next to me, her legs long and tanned, like an Amazonian warrior princess. I scrunch my eyes to ward off the moisture.
‘Anyway, whatever,’ I mutter. ‘How’s Chappo?’
Archie’s eyes are hooked on mine. ‘Subtle deflection,’ he says, without a trace of a smile.
‘I’m genuinely interested,’ I insist. ‘In the same way some people have a heartfelt fascination withPlanet of the Apes.’
Archie’s eyes are still pinned on me.
‘Chappo’s fine,’ he says eventually. ‘Not that I see him that much.’
‘So you’re still friends?’
‘Why do you care who I’m friends with?’
‘Because …’ It’sChappo. He’s the kind of guy who’ll teach his sons not to throw like a girl and tell his daughters to marry rich before insisting it was all a joke. Archie may be the bane of my life but he’s better than that.
Archie lays back and crosses his arms, shoving his palms into his armpits. ‘Look, I know he was a dick at uni and I’m sorry I didn’t call it out. I can’t apologise for him but I told him the other day that he should. Apologise to you, I mean.’
I’m startled. ‘Oh. Thank you. I appreciate that. Since when do you talk to Chappo about me?’
‘Since our pizza date in Wagga. It got me thinking about things.’
My brow creases. ‘It wasn’t a date.’
‘Was to me.’
There’s that note in his voice again. The one that makes me feel like a cat being rubbed the wrong way. My eyes contract to unimpressed slits. Healwaysdoes this: makes his sentences sound like bad pick-up lines as if to emphasise that the thought of going out with me is so utterly ridiculous to him. It always stings more than I want it to.
My toes are starting to lose feeling so I flex them back and forth. It makes a swishing sound against the nylon sleeping bag. Archie makes an exaggerated shiver and the motion shifts him ever so slightly towards me.
