All the Invisible Things

by Orlagh Collins

  My heart tugs. I don’t want the ordinariness of her morning to end and I’ve got a wild, illogical urge to read her a story, to lock us in this moment. I reach for the dog-eared copy of Anne of Green Gables on her bedside table but I’m afraid she’ll say no, so I pick up Wow, I’m Amazing! from underneath and flick through it idly while I work out what to do. It opens on a chapter called ‘Body Talk’ and I shuffle up on the pillow, almost sitting, and scan the page of positive vibes and scribbly diagrams listing the waxing, shaving, plucking, epilating and hair-removal-cream options, along with pros and cons for each. I clear my throat. Arial stops singing to watch me.

  ‘Because something is written in a book doesn’t automatically mean that it’s right,’ I say. She pulls her headphones fully off so that they sit around her neck and she peers into my lap. ‘I mean, these are suggestions, not rules,’ I say, waving my hand down the page.

  She cocks one eyebrow. ‘OK … ?’ she says, dragging the word out long.

  ‘So, when I’m Amazing! or whatever talks about ways to shave your legs, it doesn’t mean you have to do it.’ I close the book. ‘Because there will be lots of books … and TV shows and films and Instagram and friends and they’ll all say different stuff. But none of them can tell you how to be you. Whatever way you want to girl is up to you.’

  Her head shrinks back. ‘You’re being a bit weird, Vee.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Well, it’s important I tell you this stuff.’

  She rubs her eyes and looks at her bedside clock. ‘Now?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Um … why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t tell you before and …’ I lower my voice. ‘… and I think Mum would have.’

  She rolls on to her left, resting her head on the heel of her hand, but she watches me and says nothing so I lie back, staring at a patch of damp on the ceiling, thinking about my conversation with Luna in the hospital. Finally, I roll my head to hers. ‘Arial, you know I’m here for you?’ Her head dips down. I was hoping for something more convincing and I prop myself up on to my elbows. ‘And if you ever want to talk about stuff, just tell me. Yeah?’

  ‘Cool,’ she says, scrolling through songs on the screen.

  ‘And I’m sorry for being shitty before.’

  She lifts her chin, cautiously. ‘You weren’t that shitty.’

  ‘Yeah, I was, but … thanks for saying I wasn’t.’

  ‘S’OK,’ she says, picking up her iPad. ‘And not being rude, but … is that it?’ She’s about to put her headphones back on when I hold up a hand.

  ‘There is one more thing.’

  She pretends to scroll through her music library again but she’s listening. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘It’s just … well, I’ve been working some stuff out lately, for myself, and it’s—’ Her eyebrows rise. ‘Your book talked about gay people, which is cool and everything, but some girls and some boys are attracted to boys and to girls.’

  She looks up. ‘Both?’

  ‘Yeah, like they don’t differentiate – well they might, a bit. How exactly that works varies I’m sure, but I guess some people can simply be attracted to people.’ The words flow from my mouth and I take a minute to let them soak in.

  ‘So … ?’ she says, not unkind or impatient, more like she might be vaguely interested as to where I’m going with this.

  ‘So, some people fall for who they fall for.’

  ‘And what’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Just saying whoever you choose to love is OK.’

  She looks up. ‘Would Mum have said that?’

  I let my head drop back and reach out to place my hand on her lovely face. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think so.’

  Later …

  His is the only bed in the small room and he lies unmoving, chest exposed with a big tube sticking out from his side that’s still connected to some kind of plastic box with water bubbling in it. I lean over him, trying to take it all in. There’s a long white bandage with spots of dried blood down his stomach and a different coloured tube on the other side, hooked up to another bag of something I don’t understand. A huge mask covers his mouth and inside his lips have lost their volume. I can still see his eyes but they’re closed and sunken. It’s another version of Pez entirely.

  ‘He’s sleeping but you can sit with him.’ I spin my face to the door, where the kind nurse stands, stretching plastic gloves over her hands. ‘I’ve come to change the bandage on his chest,’ she says, ‘but you chat away.’

  ‘Can he hear me?’

  ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘He’s on strong painkillers, that’s all.’ I can tell by how quickly her smile comes that it’s one she has to use a lot. She lines up shiny tools on the silver trolley beside the bed and expertly unfurls a bright white bandage against Pez’s tight brown skin. When she’s finished she fills a jug with water and leaves it by Pez’s bed. ‘Drink some,’ she says. ‘When you come back tomorrow he’ll be on the ward and you might even get a cup of tea there.’ Then the door closes behind her.

  I find Pez’s hand in the sheets and lean over to see his face better. ‘Nice gown,’ I say. ‘Off-the-shoulder. You’ve got your own room too, which just means you were in a right state when you got here last night. It’s not that you’re special or anything. OK, that was a joke.’ I sit down. ‘Mum was in a place like this. Not this hospital, but a similar intensive care unit, and I don’t like being here much, so you’re going to have to do something about getting better … really quick.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘That nice nurse said you can hear me, so I hope you’re listening.’

  I think I see his nose twitch inside his mask and I stand up again and it definitely creases, just tiny crinkles, but I’m sure of it and I rest my head on his lap. ‘No more shame, Pez. You hear me? So much stuff has become clearer while you slept and I’m not going to live hiding half my heart any more. It’s all of me and all of you. No more secrets, for either of us. No more.’

  I find his hand again and that’s when his warm, rough fingers squeeze mine.

  35

  On my way out from the bathroom I lean into the living room to read the kitchen clock, and that’s when I see Wendy’s unmistakeable curls springing up over the back of the sofa. She’s sitting there, staring at the TV that’s not on.

  ‘Wend?’

  She stands and turns back. ‘Hey!’ she says. ‘Arial said you were in the shower so I just …’ She trails off.

  I tuck my towel in and make my way towards her. Usually we’d hug but I’m sort of dripping wet so we lower down on to seat cushions opposite each other. Her face is tanned, and she smells like sun lotion or a new perfume I don’t recognise. I’d be lying if I said things weren’t a bit awkward. ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Last night,’ she says. ‘Late.’

  I look around. ‘Did you stay here?’

  She shakes her head. ‘An Airbnb on the square. It’s really a shed in someone’s garden …’ She does a forced eye roll. ‘But a really nice shed,’ she adds.

  ‘Where’s Fran?’

  ‘Doing a course in town. Social media marketing, for the business.’

  ‘Arial could give her a tutorial for free,’ I say, trying to smile. ‘Actually, where is she? Where’s Dad? He did take the day off, right?’

  ‘They’re at the trampoline park,’ Wendy says, placing her hands on her knees. ‘Listen, I just wanted to say … well, a few things really, but first.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I’m so sorry about Pez.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I know you’re going to the hospital but maybe we could grab some breakfast first?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. Visiting hours are from eleven. ‘I just need to drop by the cafe to ask Viv if I can come in late today, after seeing Pez.’

  Wendy shrugs. ‘Great. Let’s eat there then.’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Makes sense, no?’

  ‘I guess …’ I check the clock again: 8:54. If we leave quickly then we could be finished by the time March gets in a
t ten.

  We talk about Pez for most of the way there but the silence that follows feels awkward. ‘So, Venice?’ I say. ‘Did you do the whole gelato on a gondola thing?’

  ‘Of course,’ she says.

  ‘And Fran made it to that exhibition at the Guggenheim?’ I’m talking too fast. Wendy starts an involved take on Modernist kinetic art, which I’m sure is fascinating but we’ve reached the cafe and I’m too busy squinting in the window, making sure March hasn’t decided to arrive early to take any of it in. Wendy’s head tilts in a concerned manner so I stand straight and look her right in the eye. ‘Hope you took lots of photos,’ I say. ‘In fact, any sign of your wedding pictures yet?’

  She makes a face that’s hard to read. ‘Um … yeah. We got the files yesterday.’

  ‘Wow! That’s so great. Are they amazing?’ I’m blabbering.

  ‘Actually,’ she says, ‘we were disappointed.’

  My eyes ping back to hers. ‘Disappointed?’

  She shakes her head. ‘A bit. Only because there were no photos of just the two of us together. At least none that we really liked.’

  ‘Not one?’

  She clicks her tongue. ‘There was lots of fun … reportage, but—’ Wendy breaks off and turns to watch me watching Viv, who is setting a pot of tea down on the other side of the glass. ‘Everything OK, Vetty?’ she asks at the exact moment that Viv looks up.

  I step towards the door. ‘So, this is it,’ I say, pushing inside.

  Wendy follows me and lifts a menu from the counter. ‘How about over there?’ She says, pointing to a spot right by the window.

  My heart sinks but I follow behind, praying she can eat quick. I’ve only just sat down when Viv grabs me in a strange half-hug, where she’s standing but I’m still sitting.

  ‘Vetty!’ she says, letting go. ‘I didn’t expect to see you today. How’s Pez doing?’

  ‘He came out of ICU last night and—’ I stop and start nodding up at her. I want to say more but I’m afraid I’ll cry. Talking to Viv like this in front of Wendy makes everything feel so … real.

  She gives my shoulder a small squeeze and then her hand extends to Wendy. ‘I’m Viv. Technically, I’m the boss,’ she says, before giving a little snort.

  Wendy laughs. ‘Wendy,’ she says. ‘Vetty’s aunt.’

  Viv smiles warmly. ‘Well, what can I get you, girls?’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I wanted to ask first whether it would be OK to start at one o’clock today. I could stay until six.’

  Her hand lands on my shoulder again. ‘Vetty, love,’ she says, ‘you’re not working today.’

  ‘I’m not?’

  Her hand pats my jumper. ‘March told me you were at the hospital half the night on Saturday and I’m sure you’ll be back in there today. We’ve got it covered here.’

  I swallow, then sneak a quick look at Wendy to see whether the name March has registered with her. If it has, she’s not showing it. ‘Thanks, Viv.’

  ‘Pop in tomorrow and let us know how you both are. Won’t you?’

  I nod. ‘Course.’

  ‘So,’ Viv says, handing each of us a menu. ‘What’ll it be?’

  Wendy flips the laminated card around several times, scanning each side, and it’s a torturous minute before she speaks. ‘Poached eggs and avocado on rye with a … side of bacon,’ she says, finally. ‘Oh, and a mint tea, please.’

  I steal a glimpse at my phone: 9.24. ‘Just a hot chocolate for me. Thanks.’

  Viv slots our menus back and walks off with a smile. Wendy gives me a look. ‘What?’ I say. ‘I’m not hungry.’ Wendy scoots her chair in closer, eyes wide and waiting. ‘OK, March works here too. She starts at ten. I’m kind of hoping we don’t have to see her.’

  Wendy sighs. ‘I’m sorry, you should have said – we can go somewhere else?’

  I shrug. ‘We’ve ordered now. And it’s not that I don’t want you to meet her. Just not yet.’

  Then she looks at me knowingly. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, since the wedding,’ she says.

  I scratch a piece of dried egg yolk off the tabletop, which is kind of gross, but I keep at it until it’s gone. ‘Not sure that’s what you’re supposed to do on honeymoon in Venice, but whatever.’ My voice flatlines but she looks wistfully out the window like she doesn’t notice.

  ‘We sat on the veranda at the Gritti Palace on our first night, reliving the fun, drinking stupidly expensive Bellinis with the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute in the background.’

  ‘Sounds more like it.’

  She turns to me. ‘It was all pinch-me beautiful, until I told Fran about the chat you tried to have with me.’ Her hand reaches across the table. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I shared that with her?’

  I consider being pissed off, but it’s hardly a shocker that Wendy tells Fran everything. Besides, that chat has been like an elephant sitting between us and I’m as eager as she is to clear the air. I’d just prefer it wasn’t right here, in the cafe, now. I shake my head.

  ‘Good,’ she says. ‘Because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d got my approach all wrong and when I was telling her about what you were trying to say, about being interested in both girls and boys, all I could picture was me NOT hearing you.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, softly.

  Her forehead creases. ‘You were right to be upset, Vetty.’

  ‘I thought you’d … understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I assumed that you were coming to terms with being a lesbian, I guess because that’s my experience. But that was wrong of me. You were trying to tell me something else and I didn’t mean to stifle you. I’d never—’

  ‘I didn’t explain it properly. I couldn’t … then.’

  Wendy’s about to say something when Viv arrives with our order on a tray. She places Wendy’s tea down in front of her, then gently lands my hot chocolate before setting the plate of breakfast in front of Wend. Then she’s gone.

  ‘When I told your grandmother,’ Wendy says, lifting the lid off her teapot and giving it a stir, ‘I was older than you. I’d already finished college and to be honest, I was sure she knew I wasn’t going to be bringing home a husband anytime soon.’

  I lift my mug to my mouth and take a quick sip. ‘Did she know?’

  ‘If she did, she pretended not to. She cried a lot.’

  ‘Because she was … upset?’

  ‘Just … worried, I think.’ Wendy lifts the pepper and grinds it over her eggs. ‘It was twenty-five years ago,’ she says, lifting her cutlery. ‘She’d been led to believe that gay people were … promiscuous, that they struggled with commitment. She was afraid my life would be harder.’ She places her knife and fork back down and lifts her head to the ceiling. ‘But there I was, twenty-five years later, being just like her, unable to hear what you were telling me.’ She reaches out and gently touches my hair. ‘I’m ready to listen now. If you still want me to?’

  I watch her split an egg and I swallow hard. ‘That day, when you asked me whether there was anyone special, it was hard to answer this because there wasn’t one person, there were two.’

  Her fork stops in front of her mouth. ‘And one of those was … March?’

  I nod. ‘The other turned out to be a mouth-breather, but that’s another story.’She chews for a while. ‘I’m sorry, if I’d known I really wouldn’t have made you come here … which would have been a shame because these eggs –’ she raises her arm and presses her forefinger against the thumb on her right hand. Perfect! I can’t help but smile. ‘So, what makes March so special?’ she whispers, leaning in.

  I take a bite of her bacon while I consider. Even thinking about March makes the tips of my ears feel hot but I huddle in too. ‘Her energy,’ I say. ‘The way she lives with her whole heart and the way … I can be me around her. She could be in magazines she’s that pretty, but it’s all the stuff you can’t see that draws me in.’ I sit back; my head is spinning.r />
  Wendy’s eyes glisten. She’s watching me carefully. ‘And does March know how you feel?’

  I shake my head. ‘She’s my friend.’

  Wendy breathes out for a long time before nudging her plate forward. ‘Real friendship is not for the faint-hearted.’

  I snort. ‘Dad says stuff like that. But neither of you ever played Truth or Dare at Freya’s house.’ Wendy cowers down, face cringing like she can tell something bad is coming next. ‘It was ages ago,’ I say. ‘Year Eight. Me and Liv were sleeping over and Freya dared us to pick someone in our class that we’d kiss. Jess said Tom Whitehead and I knew this was a huge secret and so I figured we were going for it, and I …’ I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘… I said I’d kiss the face off Matilda Lessing.’ For a moment Wendy is silent. She says literally nothing, and I open my eyes.

  ‘You really said kiss the face off?’

  ‘Actual words.’

  She scrunches up her eyes like she gets it. ‘Oh, Vetty,’ she says.

  ‘I pretended I was joking, of course, and they sort of laughed but something changed. When we were going to sleep, I didn’t feel like I was welcome in the huge double bed any more. I don’t want to lose another friend.’

  Wendy knits her fingers in mine. ‘But you didn’t lose Jess and Freya.’

  ‘No, but I didn’t tell them the truth either.’

  She looks out at a couple chatting as they pass. ‘It’s not easy,’ she says. ‘It takes a lot of bravery just to be ourselves.’ She squeezes our hands together, then lets go to drink a mouthful of her tea. ‘Ooh, that was a good line. Think about it while I nip to the loo. How are we doing for time?’

  I quickly check my phone: 9.51 and hold it out for her to read.

  She stands, then looks around for the bathroom. ‘Two minutes,’ she says. I pick up my bag and race to the till to pay.