Free The Crush by Scott Monk Page A

out? How do you think I feel?’
    â€˜But she’s already got a boyfriend.’
    â€˜I know, and I wish she’d ditch him. He treats her something shocking. It’s wrong that she’s going out with a creep like him.’
    â€˜And not a creep like you?’
    â€˜You know what I mean.’
    Matt sat forward and ran his hands down his face. The mere mention of Kelly sent his hormones crazy again. He could hardly breathe!
    â€˜Do you think I’d have a chance with her?’
    â€˜Matt, stop.’
    â€˜You know, if she wasn’t dating Blackwell?’
    Chris sighed. ‘Mate, to be honest, you and I are scrubbers. That kind of girl is off limits to guys like us. Beautiful people go out with beautiful people. The rest of us fight for the scraps. Don’t go chasing after her, man. You’ll only get hurt.’
    That depressed Matt because it was the last thing he wanted to hear. But he kept it to himself as they finished up in the gym. The duo returned to his unit across the road. Just in time too. Chris hurled his guts into the toilet seconds after they got in the door. When he was finished, Matt attempted to take him home but Chris refused. Mr and Mrs Pearce would freak if they discovered he’d been drinking. He’d slipped in through his window the night beforewithout them finding out. So the Sundance Kid crawled into Matt’s bed to die for the afternoon. Matt shut the door behind him and cleaned up the toilet. His mate would cop it later.
    Finished, he opened the windows and went to the fridge for a drink of water. Stuck to the door was a note: Buy milk. Money on table.
    The inside of the fish and chip shop was long, salty and hot. Smokers used two palm trees by the drinks fridge as ashtrays. Matt grabbed a one litre carton of milk, plopped it on the counter and put down gold and silver coins. Mr Nassaris waved away the money and winked at him. ‘Win your match next Tuesday and we’re square,’ he said. ‘Lose, and I’ll double your rent!’
    They grinned at each other before Matt thanked him and started to leave. Mr Nassaris called him back, however. He had a letter for him. ‘It must have been mixed up with our mail by mistake.’
    Matt took the white envelope and immediately recognised the loopy handwriting. It was the same as that on his mysterious birthday card. But it was addressed to his mother. He flipped it over. Mort Street, Balmain . Finally, a clue.
    Grabbing the milk, he started walking up the steps to his unit. He stopped at the landing and glancedacross the car park beneath him. Good. His mum wasn’t about. He’d prise open the envelope then glue it back down before she returned home.
    Inside was a letter written on a small piece of glossy white paper sporting gumnuts and eucalyptus leaves. It read: You’ve had your chance, Heather. You’ve left me no choice. I’m taking you to court. You and your son can’t avoid me there.
    What? What had his mum done?
    He wanted answers. He barged into her bedroom.
    There was nothing on her lampstand or under her bed. Maybe the drawers. He pulled open the top one and jiggled his mum’s massive bras to life. Boy, he hated them come washday. They’d embarrassed him so much. His mates would ask where were all the parachutists who had landed on their washing line.
    The bottom drawer held the treasure. He found them under a framed, ripped picture of him at three months old wearing Mickey Mouse ears and sitting in a bucket of water—the only baby photo his mum had. Bunched together by a red rubber band were about twenty envelopes scrawled with the same loopy handwriting. Some dated back eight years.
    He sat on the edge of her bed and started reading them.

Nosing through the blue waters of Sydney Harbour, the mammoth orange container ship steered towards the White Bay docks. Behind it, ferries and yachts cut across its white wash. Crew members leaned over the