Tigerland by Sean Kennedy Read Free Book Online

against each other with Maggie between us.
    The shrieking of my mobile rudely woke us. I groaned and half crawled over to where it was about to vibrate itself off the kitchen table.
    “Bugger, it’s work,” I told Declan.
    “Don’t let them make you go in.”
    The rain and hail had subsided, so I took my phone out onto the balcony, as Declan was already watching the sports channel again and whooping excitedly over something. Possibly a baseballer getting a hole in one or something.
    “Why aren’t you answering your e-mail?” demanded Coby when I picked up. No greetings or salutations.
    “I haven’t been on my computer today.”
    “What are you, Amish?”
    “I wish, if it meant I didn’t have to take your call and could dance with Harrison Ford in a barn. Younger, spunkier Harrison Ford, of course. Not the one married to Ally McBeal.”
    “Like you could survive without television. Anyway, I sent you about four e-mails. Normally, a person can tell when they get one, because they hear a little dinging sound, and a cute envelope appears at the bottom of their desktop.”
    “Didn’t I tell you at your last performance review that you had to speak to your boss more respectfully?”
    “If I recall, my last performance review was held at the pub, and you told me I was no Nyssa, but I would do.” It was a bitter memory for him.
    “Huh. So I talked you up, basically.”
    “I guess, seeing you had also told me Coby was a bogan’s name and asked if I had a Southern Cross tattoo.”
    “Coby is a bogan’s name. But it’s not your fault, really. Have you ever thought of changing it by deed poll?”
    “And you wonder why… anyway, you should have heard the way I spoke to my last boss. I actually like you. For some strange reason.”
    The wind was picking up again, and although it wasn’t exactly a cold wind, the fact there was no sun meant I was feeling a little bit exposed on the balcony. “That’s sweet, Coby, but it’s Sunday. What’s so bloody urgent?”
    “Well, if you read your e-mail—”
    “Shut up about the e-mail, already!”
    “There’s some chatter from various sources—”
    “Coby, we’re not in ASIO.”
    “You never let me have any fun. Anyway, people are starting to say that there’s a big AFL star about to come out.”
    I turned to stare at Declan through the window, the wind hitting my back and going right through me to the bone. He was chucking a cushion at the telly in a pique. Somebody had stuffed up whatever they were meant to do.
    “What, as a debutante?”
    “Funny.”
    “How big?”
    “Aren’t you being risqué?”
    “Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant, in terms of knowability—”
    “Is that a word?”
    “—I live with the biggest AFL star who ever came out.”
    “It’s sweet that you’re so loyal.”
    The rain was beginning to fall again. “Shut up, Coby! How big? Current player, or somebody long retired? Or a rookie who isn’t going to play the game of pretending to be straight from the very beginning?”
    Dec and I had met quite a few gay footy players in the past few years. Most of them were either amateurs playing in the suburban teams, or rookies in the VFL who, inspired by Declan, had decided that they were going to be open from the very start of their careers. Unfortunately, none of them reached Dec’s heights. Then there were those who had retired and sadly seemed to prefer remaining closeted, thinking they had survived that long without the attention, so why start now? They were destined to remain gossiped about on footy forums but never confirmed in one way or the other.
    But this? It could be big news. The biggest since Dec and I had been caught kissing in the gardens of the St. Vincent Hospital, what now seemed like centuries ago.
    “Apparently he’s announcing his retirement at the same time.”
    I didn’t want to make any judgements, but part of me was already biased against whoever it was. After all, Declan had taken all the good and