Chapter Text
“Toby, I think you’re getting sick.”
“I’m fine. It’s hayfever." Toby scrunches his face up, sniffing. "Get your hand off my forehead.”
Graham sighs, “I come all the way out here, I buy you banh mi, on my day off. And this is how you treat me?”
Toby glares at him, backlit by the setting sun. It’s late enough in the evening that Toby let them sit on the swings, but he sees him look around himself every few minutes, as if waiting for someone to come and yell at them. But nobody in the park had complained yet, probably because the temperature was finally bearable, even though it was still, in fact, quite warm.
“Shut up. I don’t want people to think we’re dating.”
“Wow,” Graham says, absentmindedly swinging forward and back. “Because I’m white?”
“No,” Toby says, “Because you went to a private school. I cannot be seen dead dating a man who went to a private school.”
“Hey,” Graham swings himself further, “I was a scholarship kid, I don’t count. Which you would know, as you were also a scholarship kid."
"Don't remind me," Toby rolls his eyes, but joins him in swinging. He doesn't commit to it as much as Graham does, whose thighs are starting to burn, but Graham's just glad he's having fun.
“By the way, Dad wants you over,” Toby says, still swinging, “for Christmas.”
“Huh?”
“Dad wants you over for Christmas."
“Like, tonight?”
“What?"
"Tonight. Does he want me to come over tonight?"
"No. for Christmas. You’ve been back for who knows how long and you still haven’t come over.”
"Sorry?" Graham stops swinging. "Your dad wants me to come over for Christmas?"
“Yes. You've been back for nearly a year now and you hadn't even tried to get back in contact. You need to come."
"I'm sorry. Really."
"Yeah, you should be." Toby says, staring at his feet.
"I know. If it's any consolation, I did want to, I just didn't have your number anymore. And for all I knew, you could've left Sydney."
That was a lie. Graham had Toby's number memorised.
"Look, we've already had this conversation. No use doing this again," Toby wraps his hands around the chains of the swing, “Are you still good for Sunday?”
“Course. I wanna meet this mystery roommate. She pretty?"
Toby rolls his eyes, "Like you'd stand a chance. Though, actually, considering her, you just might. Anyway, please don't. And don't be late, either. It was impossible to find a time when we were all free."
"I won't," Graham says, "I promise. On both counts."
"Good," Toby replies, "And you're coming over to ours for Christmas. Seriously, after everything that Dad's done for you, it's the least you can do."
"Yeah, I know," Graham says, "Okay. I'll come."
Toby smiles, and suddenly he's thirteen again, and Graham hasn't done nothing but made his life worse, yet.
***
The tarp he'd taped to the kitchen window has fallen down. He swears it was up when he left in the morning. But, in the thirteen or so hours since, a huntsman spider has already decided that the corner of Graham's kitchen is a pretty solid spot to set up.
"Come on, mate. You can't stay here," Graham tells it, glass above its head (body?), but the spider decides, under the gaze of the endoskeletal monstrosity and its see-through prison, that it is declaring squatters' rights. It books it across Graham's ceiling.
"Oh, come on," an arachnid the size of Graham's palm has no business being that fast, but here they both are. Graham pauses, takes a breath, refocuses, and lunges. His preparation pays off. The spider is now under the glass. When did his reflexes get that good? Ballet made him flexible, but surely it didn't do that.
He lets the spider out onto his dilapidated backyard fence, it scurries into the darkness. There's a pang of regret in Graham's ribs. Maybe he should've let the spider stay. At least it actually wanted to be there, and it would've eaten up all the other creepy-crawlies that had come through as well. Sitting down on the back steps, he looks at the broken kitchen window with the fallen tarp. He's going to have to do something about that eventually. Graham sighs, and runs his hands over his face. Broken windows, stairs that nearly killed him, splintering fence, no furniture, changed locks. What did he do to this house? (What did he do to this house that it didn't deserve?)
He must've had enough of living in a mausoleum. Graham hopes that, wherever the furniture went, it was burnt. That there was no evidence left that they ever existed.
Night is never quiet. A plane flies overhead. The birds chatter and chirp and argue about something or other. Sometimes the bats join in. Graham should go inside, the mosquitoes are trying to eat him alive. He closes the back door behind him, and turns the backyard lights off. If he skips out on Christmas, Toby will never forgive him. He'll need to show his face, but he needs a plan. It's not that he wants to lie to Charlie, he really doesn't. But it was, absolutely, better than the alternative.
Toby's right. He should've gone see Charlie by now. But Charlie would ask about the house, and Toby definitely would've told his dad that the stairs had caved in. And if Charlie found out that the only furniture in this house was a sleeping bag on the floor? Hell, if he found out about the sleeping bag on the floor point blank? Graham would be dragged back to Penrith before he could say 'doing renos,' and Graham had already imposed on Toby's family enough.
***
When Toby calls him on Friday morning, Graham knows exactly what he's about to say.
"You're sick, aren't you."
"Shut up," Toby says, sick.
"Yeah, yeah. Are you okay? Do you need anything?-"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. But, look, we can't cancel tonight, Matt doesn't have another free day for... look, I hate to ask this, but would you be okay to go without me?"
"Sure, but won't she be getting sick too, if she's your roommate?"
"Matt hasn't been home for the past... I don't know. While."
"Hey, look, if she's okay with it, I'm fine with it."
"Okay," Toby says, sounding like he was fighting Death itself, "I'll let her know."
"Is there anything I can get yo-"
Toby hangs up.
***
"Graham?"
Graham looks up, and the girl is already sitting across from him. The restaurant's trying to be an American diner meets cocktail bar, but as long as they have a booth, Graham doesn't mind. It served both alcohol and thickshakes. God, Graham would kill for a thickshake. He could even get sprinkles in it, but Matt was here, and she might judge him. "Are you Matt?"
"That's me." Matt says. And she sizes him up. He sizes her up. How would she want him to greet her? How should he speak? What would she prefer, what would she prefer for him? She matched up pretty well to how Graham had imagined her from Toby's description, blonde wavy hair, freckles, loose cotton t-shirt, but how had she imagined him? How had Toby described him to her? How should he stack up?
"Can you turn your head?" Matt asks. She has a gap in her two front teeth.
"Sorry?"
"To the side, could you turn your head?" Graham turns his head, "Oh, okay, yeah. Toby was just being mean, your nose isn't that weird. I mean, it is quite straight, but it's fine."
"Did he say that I looked like a malformed thumb in a wig?" Graham asked, "One time he called me that when he got really pissed at me in high school. Only, he was way short back then, so it was kinda like being yelled at by an wet kitten.
"Toby was short?" Matt tilts her head, "I always imagine he just popped out being 6'3"."
"No, yeah, he was like, your height, when I met him. Puberty didn't hit him until late, and now he's taller than I am. It's embarrassing."
Matt looks down at the menu, "Man, I need a drink- I did not realise they did cocktails here. Sweet."
"They do milkshakes, as well," Graham says, testing the waters. If she responded positively, then that sweet, sweet, sprinkly vanilla malt was coming his way.
"Hm, no. A milkshake might upset my stomach." This is the worst day of Graham's life. "We're getting cocktails. It'll be fun. You strike me as an... aperol spritz kinda guy?"
Not even a little bit, it was never sweet enough for him. But if that's what Matt wants, it's what he'll get.
"And what about food?" He asks. "We should eat if we're getting alcohol."
"Oh, I'm not really hungry."
"You sure?" Graham knows way better than to push this, but he's hungry, and if she won't eat, Graham can't.
"Why don't we just get some chips for the table?" He suggests.
"Maybe- oh, scratch that," Matt's eyes go wide "Can we get potato gems? Fuck me, I haven't had potato gems since... I was a kid."
And before he can stop her, or even pay, Matt's already ordered.
"So," Graham says, figuring now was a good time for questions, "Toby told me you're not from here. Where are you from?"
"Northern New South Wales. Town called Lennox Head," Matt watches him, and apparently his lack of recognition registers, "It's near Byron Bay."
"Oh, that must've been really nice."
"It was," Matt looks down, "Lennox was, I mean. Byron Bay fucking sucks. Anyway, what about you? Always live here?"
"Born in Sydney. Raised in Sydney, have spent most of my known life in Sydney."
Their drinks arrive. Matt takes hers and takes a massive swig.
"Known?" Matt asks, "Because of the amnesia?"
Graham pauses, "Toby told you?"
"Yup."
"Did he warn you about anything else?" Graham doesn't really need to ask. He already knows.
"Yeah, that your parents were dead and I shouldn't bring it up."
Graham blinks, "You really don't like dancing around topics, do you?"
"I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I shouldn't have said it like that, I shouldn't have brought it up."
"No, no, not at all." Graham hadn't meant to upset her. "I just meant, honesty seems really important to you. You don't like secrets." Good save.
For a split second, Matt makes an uncomfortable expression, so, scratch that; bad save. But then she smiles, wryly. Middling save?
"Yeah, no, you're right. I don't dance. But I think it sucks- I imagine it would suck, to have to constantly treat your past like it's a really dirty secret. Like, if it was me in that situation, I'd want to just be open about it."
"Yeah. Yeah, it does suck," is all Graham can say. What he would give to have never had parents in the first place. What he would give to live in a world where the concept of family did not exist. "Anyway, what brings you to Sydney? Are you studying?"
"Um..." Matt pauses for a little bit too long. Their food arrives. "No. Work, I guess. Being an adult. I don't know, I guess where I grew up you either went to Sydney or Brisbane when you graduated."
"So, what do you work as?"
Matt sighs. "I'm an usher. At the Capitol. And when I'm not, I work at a bar. And when I'm not, I'm a waitress."
"Three jobs?"
"Gotta pay rent, I guess. And it keeps me busy, I like being on my feet. I mean, what do you do?"
"Lighting tech. At the Opera House, but I've done a few touring contracts."
"Oh, sick!" Matt perks up, "That type of thing always looked really fun, do you enjoy it?"
"I do, I really do. Though," Graham's gauging Matt's reaction, "Sometimes I wish I could do something a little more, I don't know, thrilling?"
"Yeah. I know the feeling," Matt looks down at her food, and she looks a little sick. "Particularly when you're working in a theatre. It's hard not to get a little jealous."
***
"If you don't mind me asking," Matt says, with tentativeness that Graham has not witnessed once from her this entire night, "Is it scary? Losing your memory?"
Graham doesn't reply instantly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to make it weird."
"No, no, it's just... yeah. It was strange. It was like... being transported into an parallel universe. Everything was just the same, but so different at the same time. And, when the years pass, you don't really see how much you've changed because it's gradual. But when the last thing you remember is being nineteen years old and then you're twenty-three..."
"It's terrifying," Matt says.
"It's not, really," Graham lies. If he entertains that thought for too long, it'll consume him again, and he can't do that in front of Matt, "Being twenty-three is a perfectly fine age to be. Some of my best friends are twenty-three."
"You think you're funnier than you are, Graham."
"Not true. You just don't get it because you're nineteen. Your humour hasn't developed yet."
"But what if you were like, a sex slave, or something?" Matt asks. "If I couldn't remember any amount of time, I'd assume the worst."
"If I was a sex slave, I think there would've been signs, to be honest," Graham says. Though, there were unexplained scars. And the skull fracture. And the coma. "Anyway, why enslave me? Knowing me, I'd probably do it willingly."
Matt snorts, then pauses, "Wait, is that one of merry-go-round things?" she says, looking at the playground. "I didn't think they existed outside of storybooks. Or England."
Graham turns to her, "Do you wanna go on it?"
Matt grins, "Fuck yeah I do, can I?"
"Would you like me to push you?"
Matt looks delighted, and clambers onto the carousel and sits down, her legs out in front of her. She wears red sneakers, and ties the laces around her ankles. Graham pushes the carousel as hard as he can. Matt shrieks with laughter as she spins.
When she finally comes to stop, Matt's panting, and pushing her hair out of her face. Graham sits down beside her. The carousel shifts underneath him as he does. Immediately, Matt leans against him.
"You okay?" He asks.
"Yeah, yeah, no." Matt shrugs. "Just tired."
"Oh, do you want me to take you home?"
"Please don't. I have work tomorrow."
She looks pale, and she feels a little clammy. Graham entwines his arms with hers.
"Figured I should tell you," he says, "But Toby's worried about you. That's why he planned this whole thing."
"He is?" Matt asks, "I didn't think he cared that much."
"Don't hold it against him. I'm only telling you because I don't want you to feel like we're going behind your back. So - and you don't have to answer this - is everything okay?"
He feels more weight press against him. Graham doesn't look at her. It's easier to answer questions like this with no eye contact.
"It's complicated," Matt says, "I just... I wish that I was somebody else? And I know that everyone probably does, some time or another, but I'm... I think I'm gonna feel this way forever. And I know that it's stupid, and time will probably fix it, but time hasn't fixed it yet. I'm sorry," she laughs, "This probably sounds really stupid to you."
"No. Not at all," What else can Graham he say? He can't remember a point in his life where being himself was the more desirable option. "It's like if you get a wound, sometimes you can't just leave it to heal on its own, or it'll get infected and fester, you know? Is there somebody that you can talk to?"
"What, like a therapist?" Matt snorts, "In this economy? Fuck, man. What therapist would even treat me, anyway?"
She sounds so despairing that Graham's immediately ashamed for even asking in the first place
"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't know what I'm saying." He puts a hand on Matt's shoulder. And Matt kisses him.
It takes Graham a moment to understand what's happening. Why is it happening? To him, of all people? Surely she has better taste than this. No, she's gotta have better taste than this, Graham's gotta do something.
"I'm sorry," he pushes her away. "But don't."
He can sense Matt's humiliation before he can see it.
"I'm sorry, it's not you," he says, before she gets any more upset, "I'm already with someone. I'm sorry, I should've told you earlier-"
There's a split second before he connects the pain to the impact, and the impact to Matt's open palm. And in the other split of that same second, before that pain truly sets in, he's impressed that she could hit him that hard.
"Fuck you." Matt hisses, and she storms off. He sees her shoulders shake, and then she vanishes completely into the darkness.
"Honestly," he mutters to himself, touching his cheek, "Fair."
***
Stage and film crews have never, in Graham's opinion, been properly acknowledged for the absolute freaks they all are. Just take him, for example. His only saving grace was that he figured out early that the world would be better off if nobody ever looked at him again. Why didn't he just go with it, when she kissed him? Now it's too late to fix it.
Instead, Graham takes extra shifts. He does whatever he can to stay out of the house. The only things in there were a window that he couldn't bring himself to fix, a potential spider infestation (on top of the huntsman, he'd had to extricate three red backs from the sink with only an old takeout container), his own head, and a phone, that won't stop ringing.
A phone, that won't stop ringing. Who is calling him, when he's trying to sleep? What time even is it?
"Hello?"
"Graham?" Toby tries to maintain a calm voice. Graham's heart starts to pound in his chest. "Graham, I need you to come over. I need you to tell me if I'm being paranoid or not."
Graham holds the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he sits up from the floor. The sleeping bag falls around him. "Yeah, of course. Why?"
"It's- look, I'm sorry, I'm probably- it's probably nothing, she's probably fine-"
"Who's she?" Graham answers his own question the moment he asks it, "Is it Matt, is she okay?"
Toby takes a sharp breath.
"I don't- I don't know. I don't know, and I'm probably overthinking it- but I think she might be missing."
Graham stops moving for moment. He looks around him.
This house. It all starts and ends in this house.