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With a sigh, I head to the office in search of the cleaning gear. My shoe hits a bottle. It clinks against another one. Looking down, I realise the floor’s littered with empty beer bottles—there are at least a dozen scattered around the small office.
Carefully moving the bottles out of the way, I grab a large rubbish bag and find the mop and bucket. Then, I start the tedious task of cleaning up.
Fun fact: baking soda is great at absorbing smells, especially in patches of vomit. Growing up, we always had a box on hand in the cupboard, wedged between the flour and sugar, even though my mother never baked. Occasionally, I’d walk over a spot in our carpet and feel fine powder between my toes.
It’s almost four in the afternoon when I’ve finally finished cleaning the vomit and tidying up. Nothing will save the velvet cushion on the booth, but it’s the best I can do. I close the door to Mark’s Place behind me, throwing the rubbish bag in a dumpster in the alley, and let out a long breath.
One way or another, I know that’s the end of that chapter of my life. I’m nervous to start the job at the Rosewood, but it’s gotta be better than giving your non-responsive boss CPR in a puddle of his own vomit.
Unsure what to do with myself, I walk for several blocks until I come across a park. I find a shady place under a gum tree, its thick trunk comfortingly solid behind me.
After a while, I pull the brochure the paramedic gave me out of my pocket.Our priority is to get the patient to hospital as quickly as possible, but here are some services that might help—
I’m sure Mark will be okay.
When Dad went to hospital the first time—and every time after—I hadn’t wanted him to come home. When I was about nine, I remember trying to pray after an influential school scripture lesson. Surely God just didn’t know what my dad was doing, or what he was like. If I told God, he’d know it was wrong and he’d make my dad go away. I was naïve, but I was also nine, and as time passed and my prayers went unanswered, my opinion of religion soured. Eventually I turned away. After all, I’ve always had daddy issues—why not just lump my beef with the heavenly father in with those?
I pull out my phone to check the time and, realising it’s close to five, pull up my chat with Gabriel.
You still keen to hang?
Gabriel responds after a few minutes.
Meet me at the hotel I’m staying at—Southern Apartments. As soon as you can?
I look down at my clothes. They’re dirty, and I probably reek of sweat and vomit. I reply,Will do. Give me 30 or so.
Quickly, I duck into a shop on Chapel Street and buy the cheapest clothes I can find: a pair of boxy tan shorts, a rust-coloured t-shirt, a pair of white canvas shoes and white socks. Then, I throw it all on the counter and ask the shop assistant if I can change in the store’s dressing-room. She agrees with a chuckle, and after stuffing my disgusting work clothes into a spare bag, I drop them back at Mark’s Place for him to do with what he sees fit. Finally, I pop into a pharmacy to spritz some free cologne before catching the tram to Gabriel’s hotel.
Gabriel’s in the lobby when I arrive at six. He’s leaning against a wall, eyes cast down as he taps out a message on his phone and I can’t help but wonder who he’s texting. He’s wearing a pair of ripped jean shorts, a grey Adidas t-shirt and a pair of chunky white sneakers. Today, he’s pulled his hair into a high messy bun, stray curls falling over his eyes and down the nape of his neck. He looks good.
More than good.
Gabriel glances up from his phone, sees me and smiles. Suddenly, I don’t care who he’s texting—because they’re not here with him. They’re not the reason why he’s smiling. It’s me. I’m the reason.
‘Nice outfit,’ he says, his dark eyes taking me in.
‘This old thing?’ I twirl for good measure. ‘You would not believe how gross I got at work today. I thought I should change before I came over, and this was the best I could do from the sale rack.’
Gabriel laughs. ‘You could have borrowed something from me.’ He looks at my body again, analyses it, and my face flushes at the attention. ‘You’re thinner than I am. You’d have fit.’
The thought of wearing Gabriel’s clothes feels intimate in a way I can’t explain.
‘So what’s the plan?’ I ask, desperate to change the conversation.
Gabriel shrugs off the wall and pulls his cap on. ‘I bought two tickets for the MCG tour and then I thought we could go to the tennis and watch a match.’
‘Two classic Melbourne experiences in one night? You’re really blowing through our list.’
Gabriel slides his phone into his shorts pocket. ‘Follow me.’
The request to ‘follow me’ consists of walking out of the hotel lobby to where a nondescript black car waits for us in the half-circle drive. Gabriel slips into the back seat, leaving the door open for me to join him.
‘We could have taken the tram,’ I say as I climb into the car, closing the door with a softthud. ‘It’s peak hour.’
‘It’s also still thirty degrees out,’ Gabriel reminds me, which is fair. While it’s cooler today, I’d much rather chill in an air-conditioned car than wait for a tram in the sun.
Harry Styles plays on the radio as we weave through traffic towards the MCG. The large stadium glows against the slowly setting sun; the blue sky smudged with streaks of yellow and pink. I’ve never been a sports guy but there is something about this ground that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
