Raw Blue by Kirsty Eagar Page A

live down …’ She points in the direction of the wharf.
    ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you guys later.’ I smile, holding up my hand in a wave, and leave Marty to Georgina, who wants him for sure, even if she’s not completely certain what she’ll do with him.
    I don’t even care. My head is full, my back is aching from an eight-hour shift, and I just want to be home. I’ve drunk so much and I feel so sober. I walk down to Pittwater Road and then cross at the lights. On Kangaroo Lane, sound stops. Things become quiet like all other life has been sucked away. I hear footsteps behind me, off in the distance. I look back over my shoulder and see Marty, hands in his pockets, swaying slightly as he walks. He gives no sign of having seen me. But even so, I walk faster.
    I see his car parked there at the end of the lane, a cream Holden Kingswood, and I realise that he wasn’t following me anyway.
    ‘Cookie? But what are you doing, Cookie, lying out here?’
    I come to, realising a shadow is standing over me, and I jolt like I’m being electrocuted and try to scream. All that comes out is a strangled noise.
    ‘But Cookie, it’s me.’
    I look around, confused. I must have fallen asleep. The last thing I remember is lying back on the deck with my hands under my head, looking up at the moon, listening to the noise of the surf pounding away in the distance like a construction site.
    ‘What are you doing here? What time is it?’ I ask in a hoarse voice, craning my neck to look at Hannah. She’s wearing hotpants and boots. ‘Have you been out?’
    She nods. Her hair looks nice, feathered around her face like she’s had it blow-dried or something. She’s not wearing her glasses and her green eyes are sparkling.
    ‘I met a man tonight, Cookie.’
    ‘Another one? Where? At your club?’
    Hannah nods and sits down, her legs stretched out in front of her.
    I sit up, stretch, then shimmy backwards so I’ve got my back up against the brick wall of the house. As I’m doing this, I collect the glass jar with three butts in it and the packet of matches that were on the deck beside me. I push them in behind me. I don’t think Hannah notices.
    ‘What time is it?’
    Hannah looks at her thin gold watch, holding her wrist up high to catch the light shining out from my lounge room. ‘It is three fifty-three.’ She squints. ‘No, three fifty-four. His name is Victor. He’s from England, but his ancestry is Jamaican so he has a dark skin colour. He can dance very well.’ She says ‘ancestry’ like ‘ansheshtry’. In the same way that she can be ‘enshooshiashtic’ about things.
    ‘He salsas?’
    ‘Yes. He is one of the best dancers at the club. Tonight he danced with me.’ She gives me a smile. ‘I’ll tell you something, Cookie, you should come dancing with me.’
    ‘I’m not really into that stuff.’
    ‘Ah come on , Cookie. It is something different. Otherwise all you do is surf. Come next weekend, after you finish work.’
    ‘We’ll see. I’ll think about it.’
    She thrusts out her chin, looking pugnacious. ‘Yes or no. I would like you to be specific. It’ll be fun. I want you to come with me.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I like you, Cookie.’
    I sigh. God she’s relentless. ‘Okay.’
    And straight away I’m resentful. I’ll have to get out of it somehow.
    ‘Then you can meet Victor. He is so graceful, you know? And he was so attentive to me. He asked me to go home with him, but I said, “If you want to see me again, I’ll be here next Friday.” ’
    ‘You didn’t want to go home with him?’
    Hannah purses her lips. ‘Well …’ And then she smiles. ‘Maybe next time.’
    I swear, sometimes Hannah makes me feel like an absolute virgin.
    We’re silent for a while. I yawn. I’m feeling really grainy, my mouth’s dried out from the beers and my head’s aching from the cigarettes. I want to go to bed, but if I do I should shower first because I stink, and that seems like a mountain too high