Page 23 of Begin Again Again

“Good night?”

There was an accusing note to his voice and Byron wished he could chuck his music back on and ignore him forever. “Not bad. Want some coffee?”

“Nah, heading to boxing.”

“Right.” Byron grabbed a mug from the cupboard, hoping Derek would leave while his back was turned.

“You had someone over.”

Byron frowned. It wasn’t a question. Maybe Derek had the house bugged? “Yeah.”

“First since lockdown?”

“Pretty much.”

“Congrats.”

“Nothing much happened. Too drunk, y’know.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Out of spite? Just to talk? The memory of the two of them sitting on Artie Howard’s porch flashed through his mind. It felt like fucking decades ago.

“You were too drunk? Or her?”

Byron wondered if he was imagining the accusation in Derek’s voice. Either way, he resented the question. “Me.”

“Shit one.”

“Yeah.”

Byron dumped his mug under the machine and hit the double shot button. It had been less than a month since Derek had come back from the AFL’s COVID-secure hub in Queensland. He’d hoped the distance would make things better, but they could barely look at each other.

“You gonna see her again?”

Derek’s voice was strained. Byron wished he’d put them both out of their misery and go to boxing. “I dunno. I met her kind of randomly. She’s not what I expected.”

“’Cos you’re punching?”

Byron turned. “How d’you know I’m punching?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Derek’s face. “Common sense. And I caught her leaving.”

“You saw Beth?”

“Redhead? Nice rig?”

Anger, hot as the steam hissing from the espresso machine, filled Byron’s chest. He didn’t know why and he didn’t care. “Why were you up last night?”

Derek’s face hardened. “Heard her leaving. Thought I’d check it out. She’s not trouble, is she?”

“Why would she be trouble?”

“You know why.”

Byron stared. The ice that had grown between them was vibrating, begging to be split open so the anger could spill out. All he had to say was‘You were the one who fucked up in March, mate’and it would be on. The seconds quivered past. Derek didn’t blink, didn’t move a muscle. Then Byron’s anger collapsed, leaving nothing but nausea and bone-deep tiredness. He turned his back to collect his coffee. “She’s no one. A Kiwi. I don’t think she even knows who you are.”

Byron waited, half-expecting Derek to punch him in the back of the head. Instead, sneakered footsteps headed for the door.

“Fine,” Derek said. “See you later.”

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