Belinda Missen - An Impossible Thing Called Love

I tried to email from another address, but that one bounced back, too. Good to know it wasn’t just me, then. I went so far as to check the local phone directory. The results page was blank. Facebook offered me a whole heap of blonds and brunettes, but no flame-haired Londoners. I was shit out of luck.

Thinking about it constantly only turned sadness to anger, and when I finally got past that point, I wanted to be done with the reminders of that holiday and the months afterward that were tacked to walls of my bedroom. I removed the photos, postcards, and notes, and placed them in a box along with all the trinkets, toys, mugs, and books he’d sent. William had been relegated to a box underneath my bed.

New Year’s Eve 2012

The post office smelt of sunscreen and agitation. A fly buzzed about my head, and I could feel sweat making a beeline from my neck right down to, well, where the sun didn’t shine. My backpack was laden with books, photos postcards, dog-eared envelopes, and a tea set. They were all memories I needed to give back.

I stepped forward, said all the right things, signed the customs declaration, and forced the last few years of my life into the nondescript brown cardboard box. Behind the counter, a woman with a weathered face tapped her artificial nails and suggested maybe I needed a bigger box.

Forcing a smile, I bent the lid over the contents and taped it shut. ‘My box is perfectly big enough, thanks.’

Behind me, someone sniggered.

I tossed the roll of packing tape back at her, along with my parcel, and hoped for the best.

‘I really don’t care if it breaks.’

As far as I knew, William hadn’t moved, he’d simply vanished. I’d never found a ‘Return to Sender’ in the letterbox, and his emails or letters never indicated that I’d done or said something untoward. He’d obviously lost interest, moved on to a girl closer to home, maybe. Probably. I couldn’t imagine he’d be single for long, as much as that thought irked me, irrationally, a little.

Stepping outside, away from the confines of a barely-there air-conditioner, I slipped my sunglasses on and, feeling a little lighter, made my way out into the street. The sunny glint of an old steel bumper and front wheel caught my eye.

‘Hey, you.’ I smiled.

‘Hey yourself.’ Craig waved an arm at his car in a flourish. ‘You like?’

The same Craig who’d saved my skin in class – when I’d been caught more than once laughing at a letter – was slumped against the pillar of a car that was probably older than both of us combined. After that very first class, we began searching for each other before lectures. Our buddy system soon extended to study blocks in the school library and coordinating subjects, because what’s better than having someone to pinch notes from? It was especially helpful when one of us didn’t feel up to going to class or needed an extra shift at work. It helped that we were both considered mature-aged students; two old souls looking out for each other. He became one of my closest friends.

Now, he stood in the street looking like a retiree floating the wave of a mid-life crisis. All he needed was a set of golf clubs to go with his wide-brimmed hat, popped-collar polo, and salmon-pink shorts.

‘I’m not diametrically opposed,’ I said through a chuckle. ‘Not sure about the outfit though.’

‘Funny.’ Craig threw his head back in a mocking laugh. ‘Picked her up this morning. Want to go for a ride?’

‘Got air-con?’

‘It’s got windows.’

‘No!’ I gawped, bending down to peer through the window. ‘And eye-bleedingly beige seats.’

‘I know. It’s great, isn’t it?’ Craig’s hand hung limp over the top of the steering wheel. ‘Used to belong to my cousin’s mate.’

A reliable purchase, if ever there’d been one. I peeled the tin can door open and took my place on the blistering hot, third-degree burns vinyl that we all know and love in the Australian summer. ‘I’m surprised by the lack of pink, going by your very fancy shorts.’

‘They’re for the party tonight.’ He pouted. ‘There’ll be a pool, right?’

‘Definitely a pool,’ I said.

‘Good.’ Gears crunched underneath us. ‘All I need now are my lambswool seat covers and I’ll be set.’

‘Oh, please don’t.’ I laughed. ‘Please.’

‘What? You don’t like a little wool in winter?’

‘Only if my clothes are made of it.’

Craig grinned to himself as he pulled the car into the street. I reached across and turned the radio dial on and up. While the road shimmered and my hair stuck to the back of my neck, at least the windows blew a bit of air around, even if it did feel like being caught in a low speed hair dryer.

‘What’s happening in the post office? Anything exciting?’ he asked, throwing a quick glance my way.

I shook my head. ‘Just bills. Nothing fancy.’

‘Are you okay?’ His voice was almost drowned out by the rhythmic thwap of air coming from both windows.

I nodded and looked at him. ‘I am.’

‘Really? Because you’re doing that thing.’

‘What thing?’ I looked at him curiously.

He reached across and pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched me, but it was the first time I’d noticed the wobble of energy – one I’d perhaps been keeping at arm’s length.

‘Dimpled chin. It’s your go-to when you’re worried or upset.’

‘Really? You noticed that?’ I angled myself towards him a little more. What the hell else had he noticed? I suddenly found myself recounting things, non-specific things, but still wondering what they said about me.

‘It tends to come out.’ He unwound the sunroof by hand. ‘The night before essays are due, and about an hour before exams. Afterwards, of course, you bound out of the room like you’ve had the weight of the world removed.’

‘I’ll be okay.’ I thrust my hands through the sunroof and felt the wind wrapping itself around my fingers and tugging on my hair. ‘How about you? Are you ready to party?’

When Heather first told me she and Josh were packing up and moving to London, I was like a spinning top of emotions. I rode the wave of their success, celebrating Josh’s internal and international promotion at the marketing company he worked for. I popped streamers for Heather who, after winning Young Real Estate Agent of the Year had been poached to head up the new London branch for Coglin Real Estate.

Then, I cried. A lot.

As excited as I was that my two best friends were in love and starting a new life together, because how absolutely thrilling for them, I was also a teensy bit devastated that I would be without them. It was fitting that their farewell party was a New Year’s celebration, too. New year, new life, new beginnings.

Heather’s parents still lived in the same beachfront property they’d bought when they married. A pebble-mix footpath reflected nightlights, and candles glinted and threw tall reflections across tables. A catering team dithered about in the far corner, and the vibration of late sixties music filled the air.

I looked out across their tightly manicured backyard, the scene of countless afternoons during high school. Part of me wondered how often I’d see it in the future, if at all. The palm trees that waved wildly during storms, the tennis court we used despite having no idea what we were doing, or the pool we’d throw ourselves into at the first breath of summer each year. Would Heather be back often, or would it mean I’d finally get off my backside and get back to London, albeit to visit her? I hoped so, on both counts.

‘Do I look okay?’ Craig leant in.

Hand on front door, I turned to look at him. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’