Always Home Ch. 05

5. Heartbreak park. If I fell. Is Marnie watching?

I didn't sleep well, and it wasn't just the couch's fault this time.

My emotions were all topsy-turvy, and had been for what seemed like days. Intense joy, followed shortly thereafter by periods of alienation and loneliness and fear. Was this what love was supposed to be about? Really?

I supposed that the more joy I allowed myself to feel -- with Elsie, wrapped in her arms, kissing her, loving her -- the more I opened myself up to hurt, and not just one variety of it. There was the hurt we both felt when out in public, having to pretend that we weren't in love with each other. There was the hurt that tore at us when Marnie was around and we had to play brother and sister again.

But we still were brother and sister...

That was the part that didn't make any sense. We'd been brother and sister all our lives. And now, suddenly, we were lovers. Did the new relationship replace the old one, supplant it in some way? Or was there now a dual reality to deal with -- siblings who were lovers? Lovers who were siblings? How could any of it make sense?

None of it did. At least, not at the moment. For a while I'd lain awake just outside Elsa's door, certain that I could hear her crying. Wishing, almost, that she'd unlock the door and come to me as she had that first night, and let me hold her. Let this fight wash over, let us be together again. I wasn't going to knock. I wasn't going to make the first move. But if she wanted to...

Somehow, despite the thoughts churning around in my head and the churlishness that refused to let me ask Elsa for forgiveness (but what had I done wrong?), I fell asleep on the couch. And when I woke in the morning light, my head was miraculously clear. Elsa hadn't known the whole story. She hadn't been thinking straight. No-one was in the wrong. We could talk it out, and things could go back to normal. (Well, they could go back to what they'd been, which admittedly was nothing even approximating 'normal'.)

I swung myself off the couch, looked briefly at the clock -- 8:37 -- and glanced towards Elsa's door.

Which was open.

She wasn't in her room. The bed was rumpled, as if she'd had a hard time sleeping. On Elsa's pillow was the note I'd left last night, with two words written in green ink under mine:

I'm sorry.

* * *

There was a decent-sized park near the house where we'd grown up, with a jogging track, a sports oval, a couple of playgrounds and lots of trees. All the usual things. The bus from the city would drop me off on the far side of the park, so I'd usually walk home along one of the paths, the branches swaying above me in the breeze, sunlight filtering down through the leaves.

It was a Saturday afternoon, four years before, when the bus dropped me off after soccer. After a rowdy parting with my mates, I slung my sports bag over my shoulder and started on my way through the park, planning to grab a quick shower before getting ready to go out that night.

It was the middle of autumn, and the trees were losing their foliage. Piles of yellow leaves had accumulated all over the place, blown here and there by the wind. The sunlight was warm, though the air was crisp.

Elsa was sitting there on a park bench; sitting there as if she had nowhere in particular to go, looking somewhat lost.

"Else?" I asked, after making sure it was her. "What're you doin' here?"

"G--Gerald?" She looked up at me, alarmed. "Home already?"

"Well, a bit later than I thought," I said. "The guys and I went to Mac's place and had a few be— um, burgers, after the game."

"Beer burgers, huh?" she asked, quietly, and it was only then that I noticed the red tinge in her eyes. She was sitting here alone in the middle of the park, wearing her long dark blue coat and a crimson scarf. Why was she here?

"Best kind," I said, dropping my bag and vaulting over the back of the bench to plop down beside her. "How about you?"

"No," she said, dully. "No beer burgers for me."

"So..." I essayed, bravely. "What are ya doing here?"

"Just sitting." She stared at her hands, pallid and cold in front of her.

"Else..." I said, half-pleadingly. Don't make me ask, Elsa, please. I'm a guy, for God's sake...

"David and I broke up," she said.

I blinked. "What? But... but I thought you were..."

"So did I," she said. "The long weekend just to ourselves. I'd gotten packed and everything."

She'd done more than just that. During the week, she'd gotten foils put in, streaking her chestnut hair with dark gold highlights. She'd painted her nails brilliant scarlet and lacquered them with a layer of glittery varnish. And she seemed to have paid more than the usual care to her makeup, though her cheeks were a bit pale under the blush, and her mascara had run a little.

"Our three-month anniversary," she said, after a short while, when I still hadn't said anything. "Next Tuesday."

I just didn't know what to say. I sat there next to her, and not even that close to her, as leaves gently fell around us, swirling in the cold wind.

"I feel smaller each year, you know?" she said, and I didn't know if she were talking to herself or to me. I wasn't even sure if she still knew I was there. "I'm twenty-five years old. And yes, I know, it's not as if we had anything; it was just a blind date, and those're like lotteries -- God knows if you'll even get a single number, never mind hit the jackpot. No-one ever wins all the time.

"But I... I get smaller every year. I don't have any reason to be anyone but me; there's no reason for me to change, no-one who wants to... No-one ever wants just to be..." She choked, sucking in a painful breath. "...around me," she said, in almost a whimper. "No-one... wants me. You know, that... It hurts..."

"Awww, Else..." I said, awkwardly, as she started sobbing into her hands. "That's not true. You know, I bet—"

"It is!" she snapped, muffled by her hands. "What do you know? What do you know about me, Ger? What do you know? Tell me!"

"I... I dunno, Else..." I stared at my hands for a while, trying to ignore the sound of her bitter sobs. But, as it turned out, I couldn't. Tentatively, I shifted across to sit beside her. I put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"He was a jerk anyway," I said. "You look at a guy like that and you know he's just after one thing. He doesn't deserve someone like you, Else. You... you're smart and you're beau— beautiful," I muttered, embarrassed, "and I never thought he was good enough for you. You deserve someone special, Else. Someone who'll... who'll... I dunno, who'll see you for who you are. Someone special like you..."

She didn't say anything, but her hand came up to clutch mine, still on her shoulder. Her head was bowed, the tears running freely now.

"I'll... I'll always be here, Elsie," I said, lamely. "I... I don't reckon you'd want any of my friends going after ya, but I can keep my eyes open..."

"It's all right," she murmured, still holding my hand tight. "I'm a lost cause, Ger. I'm too small. No-one can thread the needle. There's nothing about me worth loving..."

"Bullshit!" I retorted.

"Is it?" she asked, wearily. "What do I have to offer anyone? Really?"

"I... I already told you," I protested, helplessly. "You're gorgeous, Elsie... You're gorgeous and you're smart and you've read all those books... And you're nice; you care about people, Else. You... I... You know I lo— Else..." I trailed off, awkwardly.

She smiled, but it was bittersweet. "I love you too, Ger. But that's not the same. That's not earned love, it's obligatory love. Love by default. And, I guess... that's the only sort of love I'm ever going to have. Love by default..." She broke off, her shoulder trembling under my hand, and started sobbing brokenly again.

I looked at her desperately, feeling utterly powerless. I wanted to refute her, but what could I say? Even if I said I loved her, it wouldn't mean anything to her. How could I possibly convince her that she was all wrong?

"Some day..." I said. "Some day, Else, someone'll come along, and you'll see."

"Yeah," she said, her voice lifeless and strange. "Some day."

* * *

It wasn't that same bench, but I found her in the park again. She was sitting there in the afternoon sunlight, watching as two small children played on the swings under the watchful gaze of their mothers. There was a haunted look on her face.

"Hey," I said, without preamble, as I dropped down to sit next to her.

She jumped a little. "Ger? But... how...?"

"This is Elsa Flinders' Heartbreak Park, isn't it?" I looked around, as if unsure of my directions. "The place where Elsa always comes to brood over her failed relationships? It's on the tourist map..."

"I wasn't aware it was that popular an attraction." She snorted, sounding amused, if disgruntled.

I turned to her. She was sitting there with her hands in her lap, looking anywhere but at me. I reached out and cupped her cheek, turning her to face me. "I remembered it, Elsa. I love you. Of course I'd remember."

Her eyes flickered to mine, widening a little. "Really?"

"Well..." I shrugged. "That, and I tried four other places before this one."

She laughed, a winsome smile breaking onto her face. "That's the Ger I know."

I smiled back, stroking her cheek gently with my thumb. Then, lowering my hand, I gestured around the park. "So, figured anything out yet?"

"Just that my life is a confusing mess." Her eyes never left my face.

"You mean you didn't already know that?"

She sighed, leaning back beside me. "I missed you."

"Me too," I admitted. "I'd beg you to promise me that we'll never fight again, but I know that'll never happen."

"And why's that?"

"Because we love each other too much to let things slide. Even the little things."

"Yes," she said, wriggling surreptitiously closer so her hip bumped up against mine. "The ones we let into our hearts are the ones we allow to hurt us the most."

I slipped my left arm over her shoulder. "Promise me something else, though."

"What?"

I leaned my head on her shoulder, watching the two kids still playing. "Just... let's always try to be honest with each other, okay?"

Her hand came to rest on my knee, stroking my leg gently. Even out in public, her touch there sent an electric thrill up my thigh and into my groin.

"About what?" she asked.

"Anything. Everything. Like if you ever find someone else, I'd hope you would—"

"Someone else?" she echoed. Her hand paused momentarily, then continued its restless caresses. "Who else could there be? I've found my forever someone, Ger."

"Don't promise me forever, please," I begged, lifting my head up and turning to face her. "Just promise me now." I slipped my arms around her waist and moved in toward her. She blinked at me, startled, as I drew closer.

"Gerald?" Her voice was confused, almost panicked. "What if... what if someone sees...?"

"I don't care," I said, shortly. Then, leaning in, I tightened my arms around her and kissed her hard. She melted into me, kissing me back desperately, clinging to me so hard it seemed she'd never let me go. And I didn't want her to. Never mind what I might have said. I wanted to hold onto her forever.

* * *

Despite the fact that it was already late afternoon, Elsie and I were in no rush to head home. I'd left a note for Marnie telling her that I'd gone looking for Elsa and didn't know when I'd be back. That pretty much gave me and the Royal Baroness of Gouda the entire afternoon to ourselves. And maybe even the night, for that matter.

Still, we weren't in any hurry. We sat there in the park for a while, until the children and their parents left. We appropriated the swings and spent a further while just swinging back and forth next to each other, not saying anything. Just enjoying each other's company. Reassured by the other's presence.

Eventually, though, we hopped off the swings and headed to Elsa's car. She was parked in one of the side streets close by, on a different side of the park to our old house. I was somewhat thankful for that. It'd only been a few days, but that old place was already a part of the past. Elsa and I were heading somewhere new.

To my complete lack of surprise, Elsa had a jazz tape in the car stereo. She hummed along happily to the music as we wove through the light Sunday afternoon traffic. We were in a suburb I'd never been through before, which suddenly gave me an idea.

"Stop, stop here," I said, as we drove past a likely looking pub.

Obligingly, Elsa flicked on her indicator and pulled into a side street, braking to a halt and looking at me inquiringly.

"There's a pub back there." I gestured. "Do you wanna grab a coffee and a bite to eat? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Why here? her expression seemed to ask.

Unbuckling my seat belt, I leaned over and kissed her. "We can be ourselves here, Elsie."

"Ah," she said. Realisation seemed to dawn on her face. She killed the engine and undid her seat belt. "Let's go, then."

* * *

The hotel was called the Rutherford Arms. Its pub was typical of its breed -- dark and intimate inside, with a polished wooden bar, small tables scattered around the dining area, and bar stools for those who didn't want to get too far away from the alcohol. The carpet was worn and a bit tatty in places, and the 'artwork' scattered around the walls left something to be desired, but it was cosy enough. There was hardly anyone in there at that time of day: just a few punters watching cable sports on the TV in the corner, and a couple of small groups sitting at the far end of the room.

After the bright sunlight outside, the dim interior of the bar seemed far too dark. Elsa and I stood there just inside the door, taking in our surroundings, letting our eyes and our sensibilities adjust. We were under no obligation to be Elsa and Gerald Flinders here. Here, we could just be Elsie and Ger. A couple.

Fleetingly, I wondered what we looked like to the other patrons. I was wearing a polo shirt, jeans and sneakers. Elsa was in a white linen blouse and brown slacks. Elsa was still in that indeterminate age bracket where she could easily have been twenty-three or thirty-three -- she could still look extremely young and vulnerable when the worry lines weren't visible. And even then, she didn't look 'old'.

Was this plausible? Did we look like a couple?

"Nice day out there," the bartender offered, as we approached the bar.

"Yeah, it's a good day to be out and about," I said, smiling. "Seems pretty quiet in here right now."

"Oh, it'll pick up. Lunch crowd's just left, but pretty soon the nine to fivers'll be shufflin' in for one last drink before it's back to work tomorrow."

"Poor sods!"

"Yep, that's the truth, all right. What can I get ya?"

"Flat white for me," I said. Then, turning to Elsie, "Honey?"

She blinked, having been examining the bottles behind the bar. "Oh. I'll have a latte, thank you."

"Gotcha. Flat white and a latte. Take a seat and I'll bring them to your table."

"Do you want us to pay now, or...?"

He winked at us. "Well, normally I'd ask ya to pay up front, but you two aren't gonna ditch on me, are ya?"

"I dunno." I grinned, turning to Elsa. "We could save a few bucks if we sneaked out the back door, hmm?"

"Of course not!" she said, sounding scandalised. "Whatever would— Oh." She paused, realising that I was just kidding. "But no, we'll be sure to pay you before we leave..."

"Geoff," the bartender said, with a friendly nod at Elsa. "Don't worry, darl. I'll keep an eye on him for ya."

Elsa blushed, just slightly. "I'm Elsa. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Geoff said. "I'll get those coffees for ya."

"Thanks, Geoff," I said, as Elsa grabbed my elbow and ushered me away.

"'Honey'?" she whispered, as we took our seats at a table by the window. I reached out across the table and put my hands on hers.

"Yes," I said, firmly. "You're my honey. My darling. My beautiful one. My Elsa." And I was rewarded as the faint stain of her blush spread further over her cheeks. She fidgeted, looking away in embarrassment. "It's true," I insisted.

"I... I know," she murmured, shyly. "I just... I wish I could be so..."

"Here ya go, Miss Elsa and friend," Geoff said cheerfully, bustling up to our table with two coffees balanced precariously in his hands. "Flat white for you, sir, and a latte for Elsa. Anything else I can get ya, just sing out."

"Well, actually," I said, still holding Elsa's hands, though she was subtly trying to pull them away, looking somewhat mortified, "we thought we'd have a snack while we're here. What's good?"

"Well, now, that depends what takes ya fancy," Geoff declared. "Snack-wise, we've got chips, wedges, nachos, bread and dips, antipasto, chicken wings..."

Dips sounded like Elsa's sort of thing, though the thought of nachos had my mouth watering. "That's a good selection," I said, pausing to think. "I guess we'll have—"

"Nachos," Elsa said, looking up at Geoff and smiling beatifically. "He's Gerald, by the way."

"Gerald," Geoff said, looking at me and nodding. "Right you are. Well, then, nachos it is. Won't be long."

"Ta!" Elsa smiled as Geoff withdrew, then turned the full force of that smile on me. I started to melt.

"I didn't know you were a nacho sort of person, Elsie," I said, a bit hazily.

"Oh, I'm not," she said. "But I figured I'd make things up to you in advance."

"In advance?" I looked at her quizzically as I ripped open a packet of sugar. "In advance for what?"

"For whatever embarrassing piece of crap I'm about to play on the jukebox." She grinned, fishing for her purse.

"Oh God." I groaned, in mock dread. "I shouldn't have put the sugar in already. Whatever you pick is bound to be sickly sweet enough as it is."

"Now, now," she admonished, getting up. "Don't be like that, darling."

Darling. I couldn't help but smile.

She looked gorgeous as she bent over to study the track listings on the jukebox, her face illuminated by the bright fluorescent tube, her expression intent as she studied the options. Finally, though, she made her choice and dropped a couple of coins into the slot.

"Surprise, surprise," I muttered to myself as her selection started to play. It was jazz. Louis Armstrong, it sounded like.

Heaven... I'm in heaven... And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...

I took a cautious sip of my coffee. It was good stuff, though I hardly considered myself a connoisseur. There was just a thin layer of froth on the top, enough to provide an interesting texture contrast with the smoothness of the milky coffee itself. And the bitterness was just balanced by the sugar. All in all, a—

"Ger?"

"Huh?" I looked up. Elsa was standing there next to my chair, holding her hand out to me. What the...?

"One song," she said. "One song is all I ask."

"But..." Dancing, here? In front of all these people? What was she thinking?

But then, what was I thinking? Calling her 'honey' in front of everyone, holding her hand: almost as if to prove my bravado to the world. This, I supposed, was her acid test. Her trial by fire.

I got up out of my chair. We drifted to an open area of the floor, just in front of the jukebox, and put our arms around each other. Once again, even under the circumstances, it was completely natural to dance with her. My hand felt as if it belonged there, on her hip; the other one clasping hers, and held between us.