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Interesting. When his crew had taken their seats again they’d sat in a different order. Now there were obvious couples on either side of G-man. He was blocked in by his own pack, the only one not scoring. In real life Anthony was a jammer, good at assessing the scene, seeing opportunities develop and being quick to take them. He wasn’t jamming now, and there was no pivot to throw him a hand and whip him forward. Maybe it was possible to feel sorry for him.
·
“Scott, explain it again,” said Alex, leaning across Dan to prod Scott in the leg. “I think I like this.”
Ant had Alex on his right with Dan then Scott at the end of the row, and Mitch on his left with Belinda, then Carlie and Fluke. He could hear Belinda and Carlie squeal every time a skater went down which was a regular thing. This was almost like attending the dance championship heats to watch Dan and Alex, except with porn names, loud speaker commentary, 80’s hits, hip checking and limb crunching aggression. And the fans came in dress up. Toni’s team’s fans were easily distinguishable by their hot pink t-shirts and top hats. Supporters of the team they were playing, the Roaming Scandals, wore togas. He guessed the pun, a bad one, was on Roman sandal.
“Two teams of five on the track at the same time. Everything moves counter- clockwise.” Scott winced in time with Carlie’s squeal as a player on Toni’s team face-planted the track. “Each team has one person who can score. That’s the jammer. They’re the ones with the stars on their helmets. They score by getting past all the others in the pack. The ones on their team help them and the ones on the other team try to stop them.”
Dan said, “It’s amazing. Both teams play offence and defence at the same time. They have to block the other team’s jammer, ooh!” He winced as a single skater took down four others. “And stop the other team blocking theirs, while they help their own jammer through.”
“What do the ones with the stripe on their helmets do? It looks like they can score too?” said Alex.
“They’re called pivots,” said Scott. “They act like pace setters for the pack. They can score if they take the jammer’s star helmet cover.”
Dan put one hand to his chest and the other mid thigh, but his eyes never left the track. “They can only make contact on the body between here and here and they can’t deliberately elbow, push, ram or trip.”
Alex tapped Ant’s arm. “Which one is Toni?”
“That’s her in the penalty box. Detonator, number 696. She did something the ref didn’t like.”
“How do you know her?”
“Old family friend.” And incredibly gracious reacquainted friend he hoped. He watched Toni skate out of the penalty box and join her pack. He’d had to steel himself to call her and apologise for being such a dickhead. Waiting in the office till it was deserted and there was no chance of being over heard making the call. He’d almost turned her invitation down, but now they were all here, he was glad she’d insisted. He felt a little less puce.
All week he’d been having flashbacks of Toni. She’d been the best maker of mud pies, always game to be branded with a tennis ball, the never fail inventor of excuses to his Dad about the trampled tomato plant, the daring sharer of nicked cigarettes. She’d been a feature in his life until suddenly she wasn’t and he’d all but forgotten about her, until he’d all but totally lost his head over her. How could he not have paid enough attention to know something so critical about the girl he’d practised kissing with when they were ten? All week he’d been re-examining his life in the light of it. Wondering what else, who else, he hadn’t noticed, and paid proper attention to, given due respect to.
Arabella was wrong. Right now Dad would not be proud.
He watched Big Swinging Tricks’ feisty little jammer feint left, then right, then sail through two Roman Scandal blockers to score again with her arms raised in victory. On his left, Mitch was taking the time to thoroughly examine Belinda’s tonsils with his tongue. On his right, Dan’s thumb traced small circles on Alex’s thigh.
Ant jumped when she spoke. “We’re all making you sick aren’t we?”
“Nah, Teach. It’s good to see my boys happy.”
Dan said, “Then we’re not trying hard enough.” He took Alex’s chin, turned her face to him and kissed her with such hunger and possessiveness, Ant couldn’t help watching. Maybe he could convince Scott to hit Son of a Beach Bar with him after this. He knew the others would beg off and he felt the need to cruise. Some random female action would remind him he liked being unattached, liked flying solo, and wasn’t still mortified about hitting on Toni as though he was God’s great
est gift to women.
A resounding groan from the audience pulled his attention back to the bout. Three Tricks player were down and not getting up, including Toni. If this had been nearly any other sport there’d be a big screen action replay, but not here. “What happened?” There was a medic on the track now. A bunch of players in a heap, arms and legs, skates and helmets tangled like a handful of toy soldiers.
“Spectacular stack,” said Fluke. “They were all skating backwards a second ago to block a jammer trying to get back on the track from the penalty box. The announcer called it a soul crush. If nothing’s broken it’ll be a miracle.”
Spectacular stack. Soul crush. That’s exactly what Ant felt his life was like at the moment. He’d been travelling along just fine, he was happy for God’s sake, then suddenly his expectations got reset and both times by women. Bree bitch Robinson took his career expectation and dumped it on its head and Toni Detonator Pagano took his love life fantasy and made him see he didn’t have a clue about what was important about the people around him. Shit.
Out on the track, Toni and the other girls knocked flying were getting to their feet to wild cheers from the audience and Selena Gomez singing Falling Down on the loud speaker. The tiny Tricks’ jammer, one of the only members of the team left standing played it up, bowing as she skated backwards, and within seconds the whistle went and a new bout started.
They were tough these roller derby girls. They were strategists and risk takers and they knew how to take a knock and get back in the game. He admired that. He was glad he’d accepted Toni’s invitation. Glad she’d given him the chance to fix what he broke with her. Tonight he’d drag Scott out and find someone to help him bury the remainder of his humiliation over her and Monday he’d see what he could do about taking the bitch out of his feelings for Bree Robinson, because maybe, just maybe she was brave and righteous like a roller derby girl and deserved her place as the leader of the team.
5: Warmer
God, it was hot. One of those days where the air had the weight of oceans and whales in it, and soaked its way into your very bones. Glorious. If only she was on the beach, feet in the sea, instead of standing on a patch of cream marble off the entryway of the office, in her second favourite shoes: royal purple, slight platform, six inch dusty silver heels. Perfect with her gray pinstripe pants suit and the purple silk of her camisole top that showed above the top button of her jacket.
Bree tipped her face to the warmth and sipped her mango smoothy. She had ten minutes of her lunch break left and she intended to spend them soaking up the vitamin D. She took the jacket off and slung it over a railing. She let the sun work its magic on the bruised skin of her arms and her sore shoulder muscles as she watched people come out of the building foyer, recoiling in surprise as the heat hit them, or go in and look instantly grateful for the crisp air-conditioning. She’d be one of those soon, but not yet she needed to stand, sip, think. And maybe the sun would burn away the strangeness of the phone call she’d just had.
Tom. Two years of Tom. Then ten months of no Tom. Followed by twelve minutes of Tom on the phone. Bree didn’t know what to make of it. She wasn’t sure what she felt more of: surprise, exasperation or the rising edge of something that felt weirdly like satisfaction.
Two years of Tom had been good. There’d been common friends, shared interests and Vietnamese restaurants in Ho Chi Minh city. There’d been the hot air balloon ride birthday surprise—hers. The V8 race car drive around the Bathurst track—his. There’d been breakfasts in bed and Sunday coast walks. There’d been kindness and friendship. And then the ultimatum, and the no Tom period began.
