Page 70 of Power Moves
‘No,’ I muttered, staring at the floor.
‘Do you want to talk about political greenwashing?’
I lifted my eyes to his. Here in front of me was a walking riddle of a man: mute by day, Lothario by night, apparent reader ofQuarterly Essayin his spare time? I desperately needed a distraction and Archie Cohen definitely qualified.
I nodded. ‘I fucking hate self-serving hypocrites.’
?
We sat under the frangipani tree at a table in the corner of the pub’s courtyard. A wrap-around bench hugged the exposed brick wall, and we sat diagonally facing each other in the corner. Our knees almost met in the middle but didn’t quite touch. The festoon lights in the tree bathed everything in an amber glow and the perfume of the flowers mingled in the air with the fumes of cigarettes. The spire of the nearby hospital shone on the horizon like a scalpel in the sky.
He asked about my course and my plans for the summer. I asked about his rugby and he replied, ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I couldn’t care less,’ I admitted. ‘But I was trying to be polite.’
Archie smiled. ‘You don’t have to be polite to me.’
I smiled back. ‘Excellent. I am polite to everyone, so this will be a refreshing change.’
Our knees accidentally brushed and we both apologised and moved them away. At one point, our knees touched again and neither of us realised for a moment, until I suddenly looked down and jerked my leg away so violently that I jolted the table and my drink tipped over. The soda water dripped through the wooden slats of the table and onto the fabric of Archie’s jeans.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Don’t be,’ he replied.
He got up to buy more drinks but I insisted it was my shout. He said he had a contract in France, that he could afford the next round. I said no way, that I was a feminist. I chucked a $20 note at his head and it fluttered onto the table. He picked it up, grabbed my hand and folded the note into it. An unexpectedzingcareened up my funny bone. I quickly grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and stuffed the banknote underneath it, and as he laughed and scrambled to pull it out, I pressed my palms against his chest, pinning the note in place. His fingers wrapped around my wrists and his lips shifted playfully to the left. Thezingcame back but this time it skipped across my chest and travelled further down. What the hell was happening to me?
I tried to drop my hands.
‘Fine,’ Archie said, his fingers tightening around my wrists before he let them go. ‘You win. But when I come back, you talk me through what’s going on with your mum. You don’t deserve to deal with that by yourself. And I’m a good listener.’
I nodded, feeling thezingtransmute into something softer, as though a cashmere blanket had been slipped overmy shoulders. ‘Okay,’ I agreed easily. If someone had told me at the start of the night that I’d be willing to confess my innermost feelings to Archie Cohen I would have referred them to a frontal lobotomist. Now it seemed inevitable. Almost logical. Why wouldn’t I tell him everything? He never normally spoke, so hemustbe a good listener.
Archie wandered to the bar, scrunching and re-scrunching the banknote between his fingers. I closed my eyes and felt the pulse of the dancefloor in my temples. I tried not to think about my mum, or the sight of his butt in those jeans. My head was a mess. And he wasn’t interested in me.
I stretched my legs onto the bench where Archie had been sitting and texted Jessie.Life is fucked.
She texted back straight away.Dude, the saying is ‘life is short’. But that’s pretty hectic too, now that I think about it. But whatever. Mum will be fine. Hopefully this is nothing more than a reminder to seize the day. Carpe the diems and all that. I love you x
Archie returned and set our drinks on the table, plopped my change in front of me, then—noticing my feet resting on the bench where he’d been sitting—folded onto the seat next to me.
I told him about how I’d picked Mum up from the hospital after her appointment to drop her back at the train station. How she held the manila folder on her lap, her thumb tapping a rhythm that matched the ticking of the car blinkers. It sounded as torturous as echoing drops of water in an underground dungeon. I’d tried to stay calm, but I’d taken a corner too quickly and Mum’s folder of documents went flying offher lap. Mum spent the rest of the car trip gathering up those white sheets of paper, until I stopped in a five-minute parking bay and she clambered out. I’d offered to drive her home, but she knew I’d been planning to go out with my friends to celebrate the last day of semester. She wanted me to have fun and not worry about her. But Iwasworried. I always worried. I couldn’t help it.
Archie didn’t awkwardly hug me or offer a meaningless pat on the shoulder. He sat there and nodded, his eyes fixed on the table.
The air in the courtyard was the same temperature as my body. It felt as though I had blended into the scenery, evaporated into nothing and everything. I was the smooth bark of the frangipani tree, the flickering glow of the festoon lights, the sharp edge of the hospital spire, the beat of the drums that rattled the dancefloor. Inside the pub, my friends twirled and hugged and toasted the end of another semester of life in paradise.
After a long moment, Archie raised his drink to his lips and took a deep sip. ‘Well,’ he said, wiping a bead of moisture from his glass, ‘that is shit.’
The laugh skipped out of me, surprising even myself. ‘Itisshit,’ I agreed. ‘My whole family is trying to convince me it’s not that bad, but it’s shit. It’s so, so shitfullyfuckingshit.’
If there had been a spark before, it had settled into the calm hum of well-stoked embers. A frangipani petal fell into my hair and he carefully plucked it out. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he placed it on the pad of his fingertip and said, ‘Make a wish.’
I closed my eyes and as I blew it away, I knew he would know what I was wishing for. I hoped that wouldn’t stop it from coming true.
I stretched my legs and arched my back against the wall, pushing against the tension in my spine. My shoulder accidentally brushed Archie’s.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
