The sheet is limp in my hand.
We’re not friends, even though we’re the only single women, and the only ones on holiday visas, in this office. The odd time, we small talk at the photocopier, or the vending machine. I open the bottom drawer of my desk and take out a pack of neon-coloured jellies shaped like wild animals. It’s fine. I don’t care. I’ll swim after work and hang out in the hostel. I probably wouldn’t have gone if she invited me anyway.
I wring the chlorine water out of my swim costume and rinse it under the taps in the changing-room. I wrap a towel around it and bundle it into my gear bag. I hover by the hairdryers and mirrors but it’ll wolf into my evening too much to try and blow-dry my hair so I leave it wet, dripping softly and swirling into ringlets on my shoulders. I put my bag on the wooden bench in the middle of the room and walk barefoot to the corner of the duck-egg coloured lockers, to the scales. This is probably the only reason why I come to this place with such frequency, though on the days I don’t swim I pine for it. I’d be itching to return to weigh myself.
The monotony of doing laps in breaststroke up and down the pool thirty times helps clear my head from the office talk too, I suppose.
There’s no need for me to be upset about earlier; I wouldn’t join anyway if she asked but it seems like she said it to everyone in the office except me. I shake my head as I realize I’m stood in front of the scales, holding my towel, vividly reliving the scene at work in my head.
Let it go, Natalie.
I dry my feet and step onto the metal plate of the scales, take a note of my weight in my phone. I’m down two hundred grammes since yesterday. Halle-fucking-lujah. But I’m up forty grammes since I went into the pool. I discount it for my clothes and my wet hair.
I figure out the calorific significance of this and look forward to stopping in the supermarket on my way home.
It was a warm evening when I left work and now it’s a cool night with a blustery wind. Wellington’s erratic weather reminds me of Ireland. The automatic doors beep, sensing me as I enter the supermarket. I yank a small green plastic basket from the stash and divert straight to the discounted section in the fridges. Poking through the knocked-down items, I stumble on a reduced-price noodle stir fry and Cajun potato wedges.
Next stop is the hot food section for a cooked chicken breast. I also buy a fizzy grapefruit drink and corn snacks for later on.
I zip my jacket up around my ears, and eat the chicken breast with my hands as I walk through the city. I pluck all the white meat from it and then peel the crispy skin off. I wipe my greasy hands on the foil packaging and wish I had a napkin.
A chicken breast would be about two hundred grammes.
It’s drizzling outside. I walk under the city’s awning and pass the superpub Darina works in on Courtenay Place. She’s been my roommate since I got here. We share a four-bed but have had no one else in the room since the Chinese guy left two weeks ago.
I peer through the glass to see where she is. She smiles brightly as she hands a plate of food to a customer eating alone at the bar.
I put my weight against the brass push handle of the heavy front door. The pub is dark, and smells of cider and beef burgers. A golf competition is muted on the big projector screen, as well as on the smaller HD screens over the seating areas; green rye grass being thwacked, a tiny ball soaring in the sky, and spectators politely clapping. This is soundtracked with New Zealand reggae music, coming from the speakers.
Darina rushes from behind the bar.
‘Hang on,’ I say, as she tries to hug me. I put my shopping and swim gear bag down.
‘How are you? How was work?’ she asks, releasing me from her hold.
‘Grand.’ I think of Kelly, jab myself with that sinking humiliated feeling again. ‘How are you?’
‘All good,’ she says and returns behind the bar. She leaves her hand on an ale tap. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, your face looks sad?’
‘Yeah. Or maybe—’ I start. ‘No, never mind.’
‘Fancy a drink? Take the edge off whatever’s bothering you?’
I shake my head no.
‘Go on, it’s on the house.’
‘Nah, thanks though. I’ve to put dinner on. Wanted to say hello.’
We chat for a few minutes while she rinses and stacks glasses into a tray.
I say bye and she winks. I see her sup from a pint of beer hidden under the bar.
I turn the hill to my hostel and spot a blue tour bus parked outside it. A New Zealand Quest coach. It’s a notorious party bus. The receptionist usually sleeps ‘blow-ins’ on the first and second floors and those of us here on working holidays live on the third and fourth floors. It’s a good dynamic. It’s not too loud at night in our area, and if you want to party, all you’ve to do is go downstairs. Even then, you’ve to leave the common areas by curfew, at midnight. The Tongan security guard takes no shit from anyone. No one would be stupid enough to give him hassle about drinking or playing music and hanging around after that. He’s six feet four and a hundred and twenty kilos.
I greet the receptionist. The randoms in the kitchen drink and jeer. I don’t recognize anyone. I go down the hall to check the common room for the regular stoners and the other workers.
A handful of people watch a horror movie. Screams fill the room as the characters on TV flee through desolate fields.
‘Hey Nat,’ Lawrence says with a smile that lets me know he’s high. ‘Sit here.’
He shuffles his broad torso and strong legs to the left to make room for me on his yellow beanbag.
‘Are they all Quest people in the hall?’ I squish in beside him.
‘Yup, a Big Blue Fuck Bus has landed and all the rich kids are gonna party.’
I hope we don’t have to share with anyone.
‘Have you been swimming?’ he asks.
‘Yes. When are you going to join me? I have free membership passes.’ I always invite him to swim even though I’d probably die a bit if he saw me in my costume. I find it disturbing how he smokes himself slow when he finishes his cleaning shift in the hostel.
‘Not ready yet but I like the way you smell of the pool. It gives me comfort.’
‘Oh, thanks, Lawrence,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Pool and shampoo and girl products. I’d probably get the sweet whiff of chlorine from across the street.’
He looks away wistfully. Sometimes my heart tingles for other people and the pain they’re in. I have that feeling looking at him now.
‘Any plans tonight?’ I ask.
‘Chilling. Get some beers in shortly. Fancy a smoke?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t need any assistance with the munchies.’
He laughs and rubs his belly. ‘But tomorrow is your day off, isn’t it?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, get some beers at least.’
‘We’ll see.’
I enjoy the occasional night out but more at the weekends than during the week. Sometimes I go with Darina to her bar on her nights off. I can’t understand fully why Darina spends the nights she’s off from the bar the other side of it. I would not hang out in my office on my days off.
The empty bunk has bags and cases on both beds. I put my swim gear away and watch some music videos on my phone. About half an hour later, two boys burst in. One waves and I take my earphones out.
‘Hey there.’ He wraps his warm hand over mine. ‘I’m Aaron.’
I introduce myself. The other guy unsteadily climbs to the top bunk and gestures from there. ‘Jake.’
‘Natalie, will you have a drink with us?’ Aaron asks.
‘No thanks.’