Upside Down(52)

My heart did that squeezing thing that made my brain unable to brain and my lungs unable to lung. “My friends will think you’re great because I do.”

“You do?”

I could barely even whisper. “Jesus, motherfucker, you are too close, I can’t think straight.”

“Well, I would move, but…,” he said, looking down between us, and there was my traitorous hand, fisting his shirt and pulling him closer.

“Oh.”

“It’s my stop,” he said. “I have to go.”

“That’s generally what happens when it’s your stop, yeah.”

“So, um…” he chuckled. “Did you wanna let go of my shirt, or no?”

“Oh!” I said, having to consciously unpeel my fingers from the fabric. I patted it down. “Sorry about that.”

He glanced up the back, nodding to Mrs Petrovski before kissing my cheek, then he hopped off the bus, grinning with a bounce to his step.

Which was great. He had bouncy legs and I had jelly legs. I had to hang onto the railing, and a pregnant woman offered me her seat. I didn’t take it, of course. But I seriously considered it, not gonna lie.





I held my nerves together pretty well, considering. But as five o’clock drew near on Thursday, I was starting to get that giddy, filterless brain-mouth thing and having trouble standing still.

Then my phone beeped with a message.

I fumbled with my phone when I saw Hennessy’s name. Jesus. He was going to cancel.

I won’t be on the bus.

“Oh God, he’s going to cancel,” I mumbled.

I’m not cancelling.

“Oh.”

Work is crazy and I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Is that okay?

“Yeah, of course,” I said stupidly before I realised I actually needed to text my reply not say it.

Sure. I’m sure I’ll survive the bus ride home, alone. All by myself. By my lonesome. Without you.

LOL The Soup Crew will assist, I’m sure. No taking seats from pregnant ladies.

I won’t need to if you’re not there, I replied. Then mumbled, “Cheeky motherfucker,” only to realise there was a lady at the counter, watching me, hearing me swear. And not just any woman, but the one with the feline buttholitis. “Oh, sweet mother of God,” I said, horrified at the way her lips pursed together like that… and that damn coral-coloured lipstick. What was she thinking? I was fairly certain that hadn’t been on the open market since Avon sold it in 1985.

Merry appeared from nowhere, springing up like the Hobbit she was. She shoved me out of the way. “Hello, Mrs Peterson,” Merry said brightly.

God, Mrs Cat Bum Face had an actual name that wasn’t directly related to feline buttholitis?

“Jordan’s been called out the back and I’ll be helping you today,” Merry said. “Did you find what you were after?”

I didn’t hear any more than that. I took my cue and got the hell out of there. I grabbed my coat and my scarf, and I grabbed Merry’s too. I even washed up her lunch container as thanks for dealing with Mrs Peterson and her dreadful choice of lipstick and lack of lip filler. I mean seriously, would a little Botox have hurt?

Merry met me at the front door, shoving me out it. “Oh my God, Jordan, you owe me big time.”

“I’m sorry you had to look at her face. I’m buying you dinner and drinks tonight. Double shots if you want. God, her mouth looks like she’s been sucking lemons for twenty years. Do you think if she wore a hat with a tall feather in it, it’d look like a cat’s tail to complete her cat’s-arse look?”

“Jordan O’Neill,” Merry said, “you are a terrible human being.” It didn’t help that she laughed as she tried to push me in front of the bus. I took her arm and dragged her on the bus, which was surprisingly empty.

Mrs Petrovski had a terrible frown on her face. “He not on the bus today. I asked the driver to wait but he no-show.”

I took a seat and Merry sat next to me. “Uh, no. He has to work a little later tonight.”

“He still meeting you for dinner?” She really was quite concerned.

“Yes, he is meeting us there. Mrs Petrovski, this is my friend Merry.”

“Are you meeting Hennessy for the first time tonight?” she asked.

“No, I’ve met him before. Only briefly though.” Merry gave me a what-the-hell? kind of look.

So I explained. “Mrs Petrovski is the leader of the Soup Crew.”

“Oh.” Recognition dawned on Merry’s face. “Riiiight.”

“We help the boys fall in love,” Mrs Petrovski said. She looked to Becky, Charles, Ian, and Sandra, who all nodded earnestly. “It’s better than Home and Away or Neighbours.”

Merry gave me a wide-eyed, you-weren’t-exaggerating stare, but before I could speak, Mrs Petrovski took some slips of paper from her handbag. “Oh, before I forget, I wrote these out for you. We all swap recipes now,” she said, and literally fifteen people at the back of the bus nodded.

I read the first. Mayal’s green chicken curry. The next was Richard’s homemade lentil dal. Then Ian’s pork mince dumplings, and there were several more.

Oh my God. They were all swapping recipes. And they were no longer weird, no longer invasive, no longer over-invested in mine and Hennessy’s relationship. Because this was really cool, and sure it was still crazy and a little bit weird, but these people started out as strangers.