Crossing the Line Read Free Page B

attending to and transforming me.
    ‘You look gorgeous.’ She angles the mirror on all sides so I can check out what she’s done.
    ‘Not true . . . But thanks, Amy. Thank you.’
    A strange chick, this Amy. Generous. Impulsive. Shoplifter. Snoop. But friend, too, I hope.
    Later that afternoon I duck down to the shops and buy a posy of roses as a thank you for her kindness.

4

    I love my new place. True, it’s often messy, but it’s my first real home since Arlene and Dutch. Living with Amy and Matt is great. We’re equals.
    Today Matt invites Amy and me to a soccer match.
    ‘It’s our team’s grand final,’ he explains.
    ‘So why should that interest me?’ asks Amy.
    ‘I’m playing.’ Matt glares. ‘It’s us Rebels versus the Eagles, didn’t you know?’
    Amy snorts into her coffee. ‘So you’re inviting us to sit in rain, hail and snow and watch you he-men run around for hours and hours playing with a ball, and we’re supposed to cheer our guts out?’
    Matt’s face colours. ‘Well, if you’re not up to it . . . ’
    ‘I’d love to go,’ I volunteer, sneaking a sideways look at Amy. I’m as keen about soccer as she is – watching grass grow is more entertaining but I figure some time alone with Matt is worth a little sacrifice. She shakes her head and casts her eyes upward as if I’ve put the feminist cause back a few hundred years.
    ‘Have fun. I’m going away for the weekend anyway.’ Amy shrugs. ‘Not that I’d go if I were here. Boring, stupid game.’
    Matt returns fire. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is boring – if you’re too dumb to understand the rules.’
    ‘What’s to understand? You kick the ball and if you can’t get to it you punch whoever’s closest. Isn’t that how it works?’
    ‘Wow.’ Matt grins. ‘You sound just like my coach.’
    ‘Hey.’ Amy points a finger at him. ‘If I were your coach I’d tell you to try holding your breath – for an hour or so.’
    Matt pauses to think of a snappy reply. But Amy blocks her ears.
    ‘For once,’ she says, ‘I’m having the last word.’
    He nods, admitting defeat.
    ‘I’ll be in my room when you’re ready, Matt,’ I say, trying to look eager, but of course not too eager.
    ‘Sucked in,’ Amy mutters.

    With time to puddle around, I gaze out through the window onto the busy street. At last the Department has given me an allowance to buy some curtains. Now I wonder what colour and pattern to choose. Something soft and pretty. Yeah. There’s money in the budget too for bed linen and a new doona . . . I could make this room really special.
    As I move about, pulling up my bedcovers and picking up clothes, I make a mental note of what I need: a bedside lamp, maybe some posters. Desiderata, which I love. Or a photo of a beach on a sunny day. So this is what ‘home’ feels like . . .
    Snuggled up on the bed, I think about writing a poem in my journal. Out the window I watch leaves swishing around on a tree. For so long I was like those leaves, blown about and bossed. Finally I have some control of my life.
    All too soon Matt taps on the door. ‘You ready?’
    ‘Sure am.’
    I grab my jacket, hide my journal, and we’re off.
    ‘Thanks for coming, Soph.’
    He opens the door of his van for me. I act as though I’m accustomed to this gallantry.
    ‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘Good day for a drive.’
    ‘Perfect.’ He turns on his bright smile. And the day looks even better.
    There are only the two front seats in the van. The back is crammed with boxes and masses of tools. Matt notices me giving it the once over, and I get the naughty schoolboy grin.
    ‘Sorry about the mess.’ He shrugs. ‘What can I do? It just keeps following me around . . . I’ll clean it up one of these days . . . Maybe.’
    I’d like to ask him what’s in the boxes, but he might be a mad bomber and that knowledge would very likely ruin the day, so I don’t ask. But as the engine roars to life, he volunteers the answer anyway. ‘Got all