Hunter
The moment Pete mentioned he was getting a new ute, I asked what he was doing with the old one. It had low kilometres, and I knew he’d taken care of it. Pete named his price, which I later realised was too cheap after seeing similar utes for sale in the classifieds. Half of the amount I already had in savings, and the other half has been coming out of my pay each week. Yesterday I made the final payment, which means today I drive myself to Bridget’s birthday not owing a cent to anyone. I prefer the freedom that comes with having no financial ties.
I stop at a bakery in Ipswich to buy a birthday cake because I know Bridget won’t buy one for herself. She’s still figuring out how to do this stuff. The act of having guests at her house to celebrate her birth is already well out of her comfort zone.
‘Need some candles?’ the woman asks me.
‘Yes, please.’
Cake in hand, I jog back to the ute and head to Brisbane.
I’m already late thanks to a broken pump this morning, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Thankfully, traffic is kind. I’m parked outside Bridget’s apartment thirty-five minutes later and almost to the door when I remember the cake and have to run back and get it. This makes me officially an hour and twenty minutes late by the time I knock on her door.
Music drifts out from beneath the door—if you can call it that. It’s exactly the type of music I’d expect artsy people to listen to. I’ve prepared myself for the fact that this won’t be my usual crowd. There’s going to be people talking about brushstrokes and light.
The door swings open, and my lungs still. Standing before me is Annie. I blink, certain I’m hallucinating, but she doesn’t disappear. Her hair’s shorter, clothes better, but those flame-licked eyes are exactly the same. She’s wearing make-up too. I know, because her freckles aren’t visible.
The glass of champagne she’s holding slips from her hand, splashing up the door as it hits the carpet. She doesn’t react, just continues to stare at me. And I’m staring back, wondering why she’s here and what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I should probably clean up the mess if she’s not going to—assuming she lets me inside.
‘Wilson,’ I say.
She keeps a hold of the door. ‘What are you…’ She can’t even get the question out.
‘I’m here for the barbeque.’
She shakes her head, visibly confused. ‘What?’
Bridget appears beside her. ‘Hey, you came.’ Her toe hits the glass on the carpet, and she notices the mess at Annie’s feet. ‘Oh.’
That seems to bring Annie out of her trance. ‘Sorry.’ She bends and picks up the glass. ‘I’ll get something to clean it up.’ Then she retreats to the kitchen.
Bridget pulls the door wide open. ‘You coming in?’
I step inside, eyes still on Annie. She’s frantically opening and closing drawers and cupboards. ‘I think I surprised her.’
Bridget looks in the direction of the kitchen. ‘That’s my fault. I completely forgot to tell her you were coming.’ She leans in. ‘It’s been quite the weekend.’
‘I see that.’ My heart is pounding.
‘Come in.’
I follow her into the kitchen. ‘I got you a cake,’ I say, placing the box on the bench.
‘I told you no presents.’
‘Which is why I brought a cake.’ I’m trying not to look at Annie, because I can see she’s struggling to keep it together, and so am I.
Bridget opens the box and peers in. ‘I don’t want people singing.’
‘If there’s a cake, they’ll sing.’
Picking up on the tension in the room, Bridget looks between me and Annie. ‘What did I miss?’
Annie exits the kitchen to avoid answering, so Bridget looks to me instead.
‘I thought you said you guys were friends,’ she says.
‘No, I said we hung out.’