Page 5

Three

I slammed the diary shut, pushing it aside, pursing my lips together as if it had left a lingering sour taste in my mouth.

I really didn’t need a rundown of that moment in history; it was one I remembered well.

Adam’s first true love, the one that had taken him away from Tess and me.

Megsy Swanston, or as we commonly referred to her, Megsy Fucking Swanston.

She was the equivalent of Yoko Ono to the Beatles.

As soon as she entered the picture, our impenetrable trio was suddenly an awesome foursome, minus the ‘awesome’.

She was one of those ‘out of town’ girls who had to travel by bus to get to her parents’ property on the outskirts of Onslow.

She was a quirky, pretty girl with big moon-shaped eyes, a cutesy little nose, and cropped, bobbed hair with a jagged short fringe that only really cool people could get away with.

She was sweet and lovely and her parents were hippy-like, organic farmers who sold produce at the local markets.

There was no one like Megsy in school; she had been a blow-in in Year Ten, home-schooled before then, and now she had escaped, and Adam was completely enamoured by her. I hated her.

My bare feet padded their way along the tiled floor of the long narrow hall toward my bedroom.

I carried a glass of water to chase all the wine with the hope I would wake up with a less horrific hangover, however unlikely that seemed.

I held my mobile in my other hand, not knowing whether to feel annoyed or relieved that there had been no more text messages from Adam.

A part of me felt worried that perhaps the game was over, that this was it.

Adam had become bored, and instead of every hour of his life being filled with thinking of me, and therefore texting me, he was doing the thing I feared the most: living his life, without me.

To: Adam

Guess what Mum packed for me?

HILARIOUS if not a little bit scary.

SENT!

It was only just nearing 1 a.m., so I knew he would still most likely be at the Onslow playing pool.

I mentally allowed what I thought would be enough time for him to take his shot, have some trash talk with the boys, and return to the bar for a sip of beer and the usual check of his phone.

I smiled; he was nothing if very predictable.

But when the few minutes I had allotted passed with no reply, I found myself thinking maybe his phone had gone flat.

Maybe he had lost it. Or gone to bed early; but no matter how many scenarios I ran through my head none of them seemed realistic.

If Adam’s phone had been flat he would find a way to charge it.

Adam only ever lost his keys, never his phone, and as far as going to bed early, it was Friday night in Onslow, that would never happen.

Minutes dragged to the point where the likelihood of him replying was not very high.

Had I pushed him too far? Had he lost interest in playing the game?

I could feel my stomach drop with all the swirling scenarios in my head.

Now that the shoe was on the other foot, the silent treatment wasn’t so much fun.

It made me feel like such a bitch, having ignored all his messages.

I opted for drastic measures; I had to make contact if I had any chance of going to sleep.

I dialled Adam’s number.

Nothing.

No answer.

This seemed wrong, very wrong, and I suddenly wished I were back in Onslow.

Anything was only a short walk away from finding out the answer, or asking someone you knew a question to find it out.

That was one of the blessings and curses of living in a small town and knowing everyone’s business.

It was the one thing I thought I wouldn’t miss, but now, sitting in my city flat, alone in the early hours of Saturday, I had never felt more alone.

I would instinctively message Tess but she would be with Toby and I didn’t want to seem like I was stalking Adam, which is totally what I would be doing.

Calm down, Ellie, you’re being ridiculous.

I decided instead to put my phone on silent and set it aside. Pulling back the covers and settling into my bed, it didn’t take long for sleep to claim me. There was a welcome refuge in knowing that everything appeared different in the light of day.

But nothing was clearer, just the same. There were no messages or texts from Adam.

My message had been cryptic on purpose to coax a response from Adam and his ever-inquisitive personality, but there was nothing.

Heat crept up my neck as I stared down at my blank screen, feeling like an idiot.

I wished I hadn’t texted him back and worse, now he would have a bloody missed call from me.

Surely he knows me well enough to know I had offered him an olive branch.

He wouldn’t ignore that to be cruel to me. Would he?

Screw you, Adam Henderson . I refuse to play these games.

Instead, I leapt out of bed with a surprisingly not completely horrific hangover and selected my outfit for the day.

It was Saturday after all and what better way to enjoy it than to go for a Saturday stroll down to the main strip where cafés were dotted along the way, where hip city folk enjoyed brunch and sunshine.

Enough was enough; I was going to immerse myself into this new world, blend in with the locals, and enjoy the aspects of my new life.

As I walked down my street, ensuring not to snare my thongs on the uneven footpath lifted by the root system of hundred-year-old elm trees, the sun broke its way through sections of the canopy.

I felt happy and content. And it wasn’t just because I had—rather violently—chucked every single diary back in the box after I had showered.

I had taped the box up and shoved it into the deep recess of my cupboard, out of my sight, soon to be forgotten.

That was my old life. This was my new. I wouldn’t allow myself to recognise the emotion of being hurt by something as simple as an ignored text message.

No way, no how. This was the new me, I was embracing my new life now.

No more lonely weekends poring over old diary entries and drinking wine like a loser.

I was in the prime of my life, for God’s sake; I couldn’t turn into a spinster cat lady, not yet.

No, I would adopt an alter ego and become the independent person I had always wanted to be: then and only then would I return to Onslow and show them all.