Page 3 of After the Siren
Theo had watched the skit innumerable times, like pressing down on a bruise to see which angle hurt the most. They hadn’t put the host who played him in brownface – nice to know that there were some limits – but they’d also turned the fact they couldn’t do that into a joke. He’d thought the ache of it would fade with time, but it hadn’t, not really. The feeling had just become familiar.
The other feature of that episode ofFull Forwardhad been an interview with none other than Jake Cunningham, sprawled on a couch in the studio with a baseball cap on backwards, drinking a vibrant purple bubble tea through a straw so large it looked a bit obscene.
The host had asked him about kicking goals under high stress and he’d said, looking into the camera with those shockingly blue eyes, ‘It’s a lot of pressure. Some people just aren’t cut out for it.’ Then they’d showed a compilation of all the times Cunningham had managed to handle the pressure: quick snaps, game-changing set shots. Celebrations before the ball had even gone through.
Theo was not a violent person, but he had occasionally contemplated what it would feel like to ‘accidentally’ elbow Jake Cunningham in his stupid fucking face.
Theo knew exactly when Priya hit the bewildering array of content that emerged if you googled Jake Cunningham and scrolled a bit, because she whistled softly between her teeth. Not that he’d ever indulged in an orgy of rage-fuelled internet stalking.
‘Okay, Instagram first,’ she said. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘His overall aesthetic is very ...Home and Away, but if it was directed by Lil Nas X.’
That took a moment to parse. ‘You’re not wrong.’
Priya, now wholly consumed by Jake’s Insta, turned the phone to show Theo a post. ‘I find this very confusing. Sexually.’
Priya’s taste ran to butch women with sleeve tattoos but, as she often reminded him, you could appreciate art without wanting to touch it.
The caption on the post announced:Thx @nakedmelbourne this was fun.
The first photo was of a mud-splattered and dishevelled Jake sitting on a bench wearing nothing but socks and a pair of sneakers in a melange of pastel colours. The football in his right hand was preserving what remained of his modesty. He was looking straight at the camera, his tousled hair falling into his eyes. Just to remove any shred of doubt that this was a sexy product for sexy people, he was biting his left thumb, his lips quirked in a half smile.
Theo hoped he’d gotten dirt in his mouth.
‘He’s ... very attractive.’ Priya’s eyes were still glued to the screen. ‘What is Naked Melbourne? Is it an exhibition? Can we go and see it?’
‘It’s a brand of sneakers. You’ll see the creative team took the flying leap from “naked” to “naked”.’
Priya swiped through the photos. ‘I do see.’ She flipped the phone towards him again. ‘I think this violates community standards.’
Jake was sprawled in the mud in only socks and footy boots. A sneaker adorning a toned leg was planted in the middle of his chest. The camera angle ensured that the image didn’t break any rules. The text emblazoned across the photo read:for every play.
‘It has certainly violated my eyes,’ Theo agreed.
Priya gave him a look. And okay, yes, he had to concede that Jake Cunningham was hot. There were definitely circumstances – the sort of circumstances where Theo wasn’t a footballer andJake Cunningham wasn’t an arrogant little toerag – where Theo wouldn’t have minded seeing those abs. And those thighs. And that look.
‘Are the sneakers any good?’ Priya asked.
‘Oh, they’re great, I have several pairs. Wear them daily.’
Priya stuck her tongue out at him.
Theo held out his hand for the phone. ‘If you’re going to look at his TikTok as well, we won’t have time for any Miyazaki.’
‘I’ll save that for later.’
Priya unfolded herself from the couch and occupied herself with the HDMI cord. She handed the phone to Theo and he flicked through Jake’s Instagram, only half concentrating. It wasn’t the type of content that required many active brain cells.
But the chat had shaken something loose in his chest.
‘Do you think I’ve made a mistake?’
The words were out before he could stop them.
Asking Priya that sort of question was always a risk. She knew him too well and was much too honest. He’d signed the contract with the Falcons before he’d talked to her about it. Well, before he’d talked to anyone about it. Eva – his older sister, current housemate and unofficial legal advisor – had given him an absolute shellacking for signing a contract she hadn’t subjected to meticulous review. But he hadn’t wanted pragmatism or common sense from either of them.
It had been Priya, though, who’d answered the phone at 11 pm and driven him to the ER six weeks after his last match with the Sharks. It had been Priya who, when he’d croaked out, ‘I did something stupid,’ had immediately said, ‘Where are you?’ Priya who’d had the spare key to his parents’ house and had come in to get him when he hadn’t come out. Priya who’d sat with him all night under the fluorescent lights, breathing in antiseptic and listening to podcasts with one AirPod each, even though she’d hated hospitals since she was twelve. Who’d only left him twice:once to go and scour the vending machines for a Twix and once to find a 7-Eleven to get them terrible, scalding coffee and a handful of sachets of brown sugar. Priya who, when he’d been discharged at 5 am, had driven him to Bronte Beach and walked beside him in the freezing surf under the rose-gold spring sky while the salt water soaked her rolled-up pyjama bottoms.
She looked up.
