Page 63 of Power Moves
‘I miss the idea of him,’ he says eventually. ‘I was so young when he was around that I can’t remember him. That bums me out.’
I rest my chin on my knees as I crouch into myself for warmth. ‘I guess you can still read about him?’
‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing.’
‘What do you mean?’ Archie’s dad was a living legend. A three-time NRL grand final winner.
‘It’s just …’ he trails off and his eyes drift upwards. ‘I don’t care about how many tackles he made or how quickly he could scull a beer in the change room. I want to knowabouthim. What he liked and disliked, what made him smile, what made him proud.’
‘Can’t you ask your mum?’
‘She doesn’t like to talk about him, so … I dunno. It’s easy to leap to conclusions.’ He starts pulling at his knuckles and sighs. ‘When I was around fifteen, I started noticing all this wink-wink-nudge-nudge chat around me, about how soon I’d have a girl in every town, just like my old man. I mean, it could all have just been gossip, but …’
I feel a compulsion to say something like ‘I’m sure your dad was great’, but Archie’s too smart to be reassured by platitudes, and we’ve both been in the media long enough to know that where there’s smoke, there’s often fire.
My mind drifts to Chappo. Giant, lumbering Chappo who famously couldn’t keep it in his pants but still got invited to every party by virtue of being a six-foot-six guy who could run through grown men while holding a ball. A guy whose favourite joke was the one about wedding dresses needing to match the kitchen whitegoods. A guy who landed a plum banking job straight after graduation despite resitting almost every exam, and who still gets invited to weddings and thirtieths because he’s part of the furniture and people are so used to saying, ‘Oh, don’t mind him.’ In Archie’s dad’s era, Chappo would have been even more popular than he is now.
‘That must be hard, not having any memories of your dad,’ I say finally.
Archie shrugs, still pulling at the knuckles he’s already cracked. ‘I’ve got Mum,’ he says. ‘Sorry,’ he adds quickly, eyes darting to mine.
I wave away his concern. This isn’t about me.
After a moment, Archie continues. ‘I spent most of my childhood wishing I could be just like my dad. That’s why I always trained so hard. And then when I started hearing all that stuff it was so confusing. If I wanted to live up to the memory of my dad, did I have to have a girl in every town too?’ He releases a long, tired breath, as though the words are too heavy to get out. ‘Eventually I worked out I had to do my own thing. I stopped doing what everyone expected and started focusing on what I wanted. Though it took me a while to get to that point.’
‘What changed?’ I ask, scrunching my fingers for warmth.
There’s a pause for a few seconds as Archie stares at the roof. At long last, he says, ‘I met someone.’
His change in tone sends a warning alert through my core. He’s preparing for take-off before he lands his one-liner.
‘Who?’ I ask dryly.
‘A chick who could eat hotdogs faster than any man on earth.’
I throw a jumper at his head. ‘Shut your face, Archibald.’
Archie lobs the jumper back to me and I catch it easily. ‘I’m serious,’ he says, rolling back onto his side, his eyes earnest and dark. ‘It crystallised something I’d been thinking for a while. It proved to me that expectations don’t matter. Everyone thought you wouldn’t be able to win and you won anyway. It was … cool.’
I smile, warmth spreading through me as though I’ve just gulped a flagon of mulled wine. ‘Archie Cohen thought I was cool,’ I crow. ‘I might get that tattooed on my forehead.’
‘Past tense,’ says Archie. ‘Thoughtyou were cool.’
We both chuckle, and I nuzzle deeper into Archie’s hoodie.
‘Why didn’t you speak to me until you were about to leave for France?’ I ask.
Archie shrugs as something impenetrable passes across his face. ‘I went to an all-boys school and trained four nights a week. I didn’t know how to be friends with girls. It was intimidating.’
‘Is that why you were always so quiet?’ I ask.
‘Partly,’ he says. ‘But I was also labelled as a jock pretty quickly. Everyone assumed I didn’t have much to say.’
‘Ah,’ I nod, my smile falling as the guilt lands like a spray of gravel across my chest.
Archie shifts back to face the roof of the tent and I lay down on the sleeping bag, curling up in a ball opposite him.
‘If it makes you feel better, people judge me every day,’ I say. ‘They judge my clothes, my hair, my relationship with Boss. They think I’m a trophy hire.’
