‘Fuck,’ Ash said. ‘Trust Rosie to go all out.’
‘I didn’t think you could build a fire on Willy beach,’ Jo said.
‘Rosie’s father has connections, remember?’ Laura whispered.
‘And plenty of money,’ Jo said.
‘There are millions of people in the world worse off than you,’ Mandy told Jo when she wanted the things that Ash or Rosie had — the iPhones, the Apple laptops, the concert tickets.
Over the last year, there had been several eighteenth birthdays. Some parties were backyards bashes catered by parents and grandparents; some were held in small church halls or at the local bowling club with take-away pizzas and bring-your-own alcohol. Jo had opted for a small family dinner and a night out with friends. Rosie’s party was the first to be held in a fancy restaurant and fully catered.
On the deck, the waiters tentatively balanced trays of drinks as they moved between the guests, some already drunk and unsteady. Jo and Ash grabbed a drink each, while Laura and Mani disappeared onto the dance floor. Jo and Ash talked to friends and gravitated to the fire, where they took a couple of puffs of a joint that Ben, a classmate, was passing around as if there were no adults at the party, and no chance that anyone would object. Assuming they were stoned, Ben inched closer to Ash and Jo, blew smoke in their faces, and tried to grab Jo around the waist.
‘Get off me,’ she said and pushed him away.
‘You’re a dickhead,’ Ash said, and they both made their way back up to the deck.
As the band started to sing ‘SOS’, Rosie’s mother called out, ‘ABBA was my first ever concert.’
Rosie, who was dancing in the middle of their circle, waved her arms in the air and screamed in response, ‘I wish I’d been there.’
After the disco set, Rosie’s grandfather called out, ‘Greek music!’ and when the music changed, he threw off his jacket, grabbed Rosie’s hand, started to dance. Soon a large circle formed and arms linked. The dancers sprang and leaped and kicked. Jo and Ash and Mani joined the circle, laughing as a couple of older Greek women taught them the steps.
After the third song, Jo, head spinning, broke away from the circle and made her way back down to the fire on the beach. She watched Ash and Mani dancing. She wanted to believe in her friendship with Ash. She wanted to believe she mattered to Ash as much as Ash mattered to her, as much as they had mattered to each other when they were younger. During their first months of friendship, she’d been cautious, but not Ash — Ash had organised sleepovers and outings, had insisted they spend their weekends together. Ash had declared the intimacy of the friendship immediately, introducing Jo to her parents as ‘my best friend’ when they’d only known each other for a week. Ash had inched herself into all aspects of Jo’s life in a way Jo hadn’t known was possible, had never experienced.
Jo gazed up at the stars and tried to think about something else. Anything. She wished she had someone who loved her, loved her best of all — someone like Ian. She imagined him arriving at the party, catching sight of her across the room; she imagined them walking off together for a moonlight stroll along the beach… but then she remembered the night, several months after he’d left the school, when she took the tram to Fitzroy and made her way to his house. Once she arrived, she didn’t know what to do: all the bravado that had driven her there had come crashing down. Ash would’ve knocked on the door. Jo aspired to that level of confidence. Instead she hid behind a tree, dreading that he might see her, might report her. Her head whirled with scenarios that involved the school, the police, and her mother. The anxiety had lodged itself in her throat until breathing became difficult. It lodged itself in her legs, so that standing and moving seemed impossible feats. It was a fog over her eyes, a clatter of voices in her head. Her hands trembled. Shivering and cold, and then hot and flushed. It was a cast spell; she knew it would dissipate, but there was no predicting how long it might take.
At seven that night when her mother called her for dinner, she was back in her room, but she had no memory of the trip home. Later, when she opened the photo app on her phone, she found the photographs. Four of the Victorian terrace: one of three pushbikes on the front verandah and the stained and ripped couch on the balcony upstairs; a close-up of the green door; another of the front window with the blinds halfway down; and a more distant shot of three birds in a row on the telephone wires, the house in the background. Sometimes when she flicked through those photos, she became nostalgic for that other life, the life with Ian, as if she’d lived it.
She only stirred when Rosie’s father called the guests back onto the deck. They gathered around the two-tier cake to sing happy birthday to Rosie and listen to her parents make speeches about pride and beauty and a bright future and to Rosie’s slurred response; everyone, even Rosie’s parents, laughed good naturedly.
After the toast, Jo and Ash headed back across the deck to the fire with the cake and their drinks. They found a couple of chairs, grabbed a blanket each, and settled in.
‘Do you ever wonder,’ Jo said before she’d even thought about what she was going to say, ‘if we’ll all be friends once school is over?’
‘I guess some of us’ll lose touch,’ Ash said, champagne in one hand and a forkful of cake in the other. ‘We’ll be at different universities and we’ll meet new people.’
‘That’s sad, don’t you think?’ Jo’s cake was on a plate on her lap. She’d taken one bite, but now it was stuck in her throat and she couldn’t swallow. She took another swig of her champagne. It helped a little; she drank the rest. In the glow from the fire and the moonlight, Ash’s long hair, with its red hue, shone against her pale skin.
‘Does it have to be sad?’ Ash said, letting out a long sigh. ‘It could be exciting meeting new people. Don’t you think?’
There was a cool breeze and small frothy waves rolled onto the beach. The white caps formed bubbles that burst before they hit the sand. Along the debris line, cracked shells caught the light and twinkled like stars. A group of girls took off their shoes, hitched up their dresses, and screamed as they raced in and out of the water. The fire was dying down; a young waiter came over to stoke it and add logs from a crate he’d carried across the sand.
‘Will we lose touch, you and I?’ Jo asked.
‘Not if we don’t want to,’ Ash said.
She wished Ash would laugh and say she was teasing and that of course they’d be friends forever. In the silence that followed, Jo watched Ash eat her cake. Next to her, a couple were kissing — under the blanket, the boy was reaching for the girl’s breasts, the girl pushing his hand away, until finally she tossed the blanket aside. ‘You’re an arsehole.’
The boy whimpered after her, ‘Come on, babe.’
‘I’m getting another drink. Want one?’ Jo said as she scanned the area for one of the waiters who’d been circling all night with trays. The band was on a break, and on the dance floor the few remaining children chased coloured balloons and tied one another up in loose streamers. At the tables, the women wrapped shawls around their shoulders and leaned into their partners.
‘No. I thought we might go soon. It’s almost midnight, and if you’re going to drive…’
‘I’m fine,’ Jo said.
‘Okay, but can we go soon?’
‘What’s the rush?’
‘I promised to walk a couple of stressed-out hounds in the morning, and there’s the English essay,’ Ash said.