to find the bathroom, leaving Conan in a bubble of semi-pissed silence. He’d reached that point of early intoxication where he felt fantastically light-hearted and full of goodwill towards his fellow man. And woman, irrespective of how she might feel about him.
‘Just kidding, Mel,’ said Conan, nudging Captain Roberts.
‘Did you say something?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t mean to upset your boyfriend. I suppose he does believe … in something.’
‘Do you have any idea how offensive you are?’ she asked, and then got even angrier as Conan laughed.
‘I’m just giving Ronny the drama he craves. That’s why he sat us together.’
Captain Roberts slammed her fork down on the table (only Conan, Ming and Ronny were using chop sticks).
‘Take this any way you like,’ said Captain Roberts, reaching for her glass, ‘but I don’t wish to talk with you any further. I will ignore anything you say from this moment onward.’
‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ said Conan, getting a wide-eyed, open-mouthed response.
‘Heh … didn’t ignore that,’ he smiled, as she turned away in fury.
‘Still making friends, Tools?’ called Ronny across the table. He had clearly followed the exchange and was grinning delightedly.
‘See what I mean?’ said Conan to Captain Roberts’ obstinate back.
• • •
Captain Roberts was true to her word and did not respond to any further comments. Ming however was full of interesting information – not least that the two AOG Majors were locked in a death struggle for a vacant colonelcy.
‘It’ll probably be Lammas … the AOG is as sexist as any other organisation. That’s part of the reason I don’t care if I’m sacked.’
The dinner finished and Conan felt both over-full and delightfully pissed as he sat in the balcony seats with Ming, Jen and Richie watching the game. The football didn’t much interest him but the stadium, the crowd and the huge holograms that flickered in and out were utterly spectacular. The crowd, in particular, was like some vast yellow organism pulsing with anger and ecstasy as the game unfolded below. And deafening. Whenever they weren’t loudly cheering or complaining they were endlessly choreographed in songs and dances led by bare-chested young men on platforms with megaphones. When number 9, Horace Feng, scored a goal just before the end to break the deadlock there was pandemonium. It was like a mediaeval painting of purgatory the way the Ord City fans leapt and writhed in terrifying unison, careless even of hellfire if only Feng could score. The goal was replayed in a massive slow-motion hologram in the air above the pitch and Conan was open-mouthed at the spectacle.
‘I love the chaos of crowds,’ said Ming, ‘… the way they move … the patterns they make.’
‘It’s certainly an education,’ said Conan. ‘The members at the SCG don’t carry on like this.’
There were only minutes to go and Conan realised the crowd were singing the song from Ronny Kwai’s ringtone.
‘What are you doing afterwards?’ asked Ming.
The question so surprised Conan he took some moments to answer.
‘Erm … nothing,’ he said. ‘Getting ready to go home I guess.’
‘You’re going home to Sydney?’
She actually looked disappointed and Conan felt rather odd. It was a while since any woman had taken an interest in him – except Lucia – and even she seemed to run away whenever he tried to talk about it.
‘They’re wrapping up the case, so I have to be back in the office by Monday morning.’
‘Well … that still leaves tonight,’ she said. ‘Shall we do something?’
Conan felt himself burning with a weird, sheepish embarrassment that somehow turned into excitement.
‘Sure … what would you like to do?’
‘Go dancing? Go to one of the rooftop bars in K-town?’
There was a sudden wave of anxiety that surged through the stadium and Conan looked back to the game where a player in sky blue was racing by himself towards the Ord City goal, rounded the keeper with a piece of athletic trickery, then tapped the ball into an empty net.
There was a full second of silence, and then a thunderous lamentation as the crowd perceived that victory had been snatched away.
‘Scorer for Sydney FC … Matthias Palmquist,’ announced the voice from the tannoys as the hologram showed again the intricate step movements the player had used to get around the goalkeeper and then score with such nonchalant ease.
‘I’m in your hands,’ said Conan, and she gave him a smile sweet enough for a toothpaste commercial.
• • •
It was a beautiful night, reflected Robbie. Cool after the heat of the day, with no moon just yet and the stars blazing above like icing sugar splashed over dark chocolate.
They were somewhere between Rabbit Flat and Halls Creek, in the middle of nowhere. They’d pulled over for the night and Tim and Lemon had put up their tent about ten metres from the car. Robbie and Chris always slept in the car with the seats laid down.
They’d brought a few take-aways and Chris didn’t bat an eyelid when Robbie offered Tim and Lemon a beer to share. Chris was in an excellent mood and kept asking Lemon whether it was dark enough yet to trigger the terms of their agreement.
‘It’ll be dark enough in the tent soon,’ she decided, snatching the beer from Tim. ‘But no touching.’
Robbie was mortified, on Tim’s behalf, not least as Lemon seemed so keen to go through with the HTHJ (as even she was calling it by this point). After a while Tim walked away so Robbie got another two beers and went after him.
Catching up with Tim he said, ‘I reckon you could do with one of these.’
Tim thanked him and sipped gratefully. ‘She’s not so bad.’
‘Really? I don’t know how you put up with it, mate.’
‘You just have to remember the basic tenets,’ said Tim. ‘All is nothing and nothing is all … sex doesn’t matter and we have no problem with it being used as a lever to get what we need.’
Robbie just stared at Tim in the moonlight.
‘Well, you did get a pack of Twisties I suppose.’
‘Half a pack,’ muttered Tim, and then despite himself managed to laugh. ‘I know how it looks,’ he said, ‘but I’ve always been crazy about her.’
‘Crazy?’ echoed Robbie. ‘More like insane, I would have said … but whatever floats your boat.’
There was a bit of a silence,
