by A. J. Betts
Mum tears the bag open. ‘They’re not the same.’
‘What about you? What were you like?’
‘I was … normal.’
‘Normal, my arse,’ I laugh, as Shay’s words come back to me. ‘Did you like school?’
‘It beat working at the servo.’
‘Favourite subject?’
‘Biology.’
‘Weird. What did you wear to your formal?’ For some reason I imagine Mum in blue velvet, a huge flower in her hair.
‘I didn’t go, Mia. I left to have you.’
So there was no blue velvet dress, just a pregnant teenager in a car with her parents. The three of them headed to Perth, where no one would know Mum’s shame. The three of them would start again. The four of us.
‘What happened to the Magna man?’
‘Mia, I’ve told you this.’
‘No, you haven’t. Tell me now.’
She’s prodding the bee sting with a fork. She doesn’t take her eyes off it. ‘He said he’d take me away with him, but he didn’t. He never came back.’
I imagine a ghost of Mum still at the service station. Waiting. Growing fat with her secret. Heartbroken and helpless. Watching the road. Falling apart.
‘Where were Bonnie and Clare?’
‘They didn’t know. I didn’t tell them, even when I left.’
‘Why not?’
‘I was humiliated.’
‘Because of me?’
‘Because I’d talked up this fantasy life with this fantasy man, and it never happened.’
I see my mum as this: an accumulation of bee stings and Cokes, memorised song lyrics and dreams of a better life, somewhere far away. I see her as a teenager who just wants to be loved, who, like me, would rather hide than let people see who she really is: imperfect and ashamed. Not winning, losing. Afraid. Running.
Why do we run?
‘Don’t you miss your friends?’
‘It’s ancient history. I should’ve got a hedgehog.’
‘Do you regret having me?’
‘No, Mia. I told you that already.’
If she did, I wouldn’t know. From the time she forced me to get braces in primary school, I’ve blocked out most of what she told me. It’s so you don’t have crooked teeth like mine! Six months of arguing, and I lost. I’ve been fighting her instructions since. Iron your clothes. Do your homework. Pull your shoulders back. Stay in school. Don’t see that boy.
I blocked it all out. And then: Amputate the leg. Save my girl.
I didn’t know she was saying she loved me.
‘Tell me again.’
A paper bag with two hedgehogs vibrates on the dashboard. The town is long behind us when Mum swears suddenly.
‘Did I pay for the fuel?’
I think back to the servo: Mum leaning on the car; Mum talking to the bowser.
I laugh. ‘No.’
‘Shit.’
She bites her lip and looks at me, but doesn’t turn the car around. ‘We can always stop on the way home …’
We both know it won’t happen. Neither of us wants to go back.
A quick memory makes me suck in air.
‘What?’
‘The Chiko Roll,’ I say. ‘I was the one who dared Zac to eat it. That could’ve made him sick.’
‘No, Mia.’
‘He had a whole list of things he couldn’t eat. We didn’t know what was in it. He shouldn’t have …’
Mum puts a hand on my thigh. ‘Mia, the Chiko Roll didn’t made him sick.’
My tears splash the back of her hand. ‘But what if it did?’
‘It didn’t.’
‘What if it was me?’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘He’s my friend,’ I say. My best friend.
‘Then don’t let him go.’
38
Mia
Sheep glance in our direction, then bow their heads to nip again at grass. Dusk dilutes the sky. Mum turns off the engine.
THE GOOD OLIVE! OLIVE OIL AND PETTING FARM. An arrow points the way to the entrance. After that, another will point to the store, the sheep and the alpacas. Then there’ll be the sign that says No Entry—Residence. And beyond, a house. Inside, a bedroom with orange curtains.
But I’m not going anywhere. I’m dead-tired. My limbs wouldn’t move, even if I wanted them to.
‘Mia.’
‘Go without me.’
I wish I could be on a bus, leaving this behind. Or a plane, up and away, above all this, where life is simple.
Mum turns on the radio. Shhh, it says, as it searches for a frequency. Shhh. The song it settles on is quiet and acoustic, the kind Bec would hum to as she painted. The kind that makes me cry, regardless of the words.
I’m not brave enough. What good am I to Zac if I lose it over a stupid song?
Mum rubs my back again. She cries too. She’s not brave enough either.
The last of the daylight dissipates. In the grainy shadows, I see a guy letting himself into a pen. He drops feed at his feet where goats crowd him.
He’s older than Zac, I think, with fairer hair. Evan? I’d only met him once.
He pushes away a goat and wipes at tears with the back of his sleeve. Oh god, I think, he’s not brave enough either.
Bec’s the one who greets us, her blonde hair longer than before. Some of it’s clutched in a baby’s fist. She kisses me on a cheek and tells me I look good.
‘This is Stu,’ she says, waving one of the baby’s chubby arms. I shake his hand. He has Zac’s eyes, though they’re more blue than grey.
‘He’s cute.’
‘I did make a cute one, hey?’
She takes Mum through to the spare room, where they put the suitcase.
‘Do you want to hold him?’
I hear Mum fuss over the baby, the way she’s supposed to. She asks how old he is, how long he is, how he sleeps, what he does with his hands. She jigs him as they walk to Stu’s room.
I stay in the lounge room: it’s the wood fire that mesmerises me. It whips and licks, devouring everything in its reach. It pushes against the glass, angry at being contained.
From the baby’s room, Bec lowers her voice, but not enough. ‘The first time, he was strong … the second time, even stronger …’ Bec’s whispers aren’t meant for me. ‘But this time … he’s given up.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mum doesn’t know the way sickness wraps around you. How it’ll crush you if you let it.
‘He’s broken.’
If they could, these flames would smash the glass and lash across the floorboards, eating up the furniture and the walls and me.
‘You must be Mia.’
The voice startles me. I stand up but can’t see the man. Flares are bright in my eyes.
‘So you’re the one who caused all that pain—’
‘What?’ I shake my head, trying to clear my vision.
‘Bec still complains about that leg wax. She says it was worse than childbirth. You did a good job on her eyes, though.’
I see the shape of Anton, but can’t make out his face.
‘Did I go overboard with the fire?’
‘Maybe.’
‘They’re putting the bub to sleep. You want a Soda Stream?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Tea?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘How long are you staying?’
I blink, willing the flares to shrink behind my eyelids.
‘I don’t know … I don’t think I am.’
‘It’s good you’ve come,’ he says, but I shake my head again, not believing him. ‘Bec’s glad you’re here. And Wendy.’ He leans against the wall. His hair is blonde, I notice. His skin is tanned. He has a kind face. ‘You are Mia, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘The real Mia? The one Zac named the baby alpaca after?’
I check him for sincerity and he nods—there’s no reason for him to lie.
I close my eyes again, wood cr
acking in my skull, stars detonating in my eyes.
In the main house, Zac’s mum hugs me quickly and ushers us through the hallway where family photos smile down at us from angles. She admires my hair and introduces herself to Mum. ‘I’m Wendy.’
We stand awkwardly near the table that’s been set for five. I add up numbers in my head and Wendy catches me. ‘He won’t be joining us.’
She takes us through to the kitchen, saying that the men will be back soon. The benchtop is a mess of boards and knives.
‘You haven’t eaten, have you?’ She looks at the clock.
‘No.’
‘I know it’s late but … I got caught up packing boxes. Evan’s feeding and Greg’s been at the dam, I think. They’ll be back soon.’ She checks the time again. ‘Do you like lamb?’
The kettle screams and Wendy lunges for it.
Mum helps Wendy with the tea. English Breakfast or Earl Grey? Milk? I don’t care. Wendy digs through cupboards for matching saucers.
Outside the kitchen window, Bec’s standing in the dark, hanging nappies on the clothesline. I can see Evan by the hayshed, with a torch and a bucket. Further out, I notice headlights dipping beside a fence-line, heading this way. They’re not a family, they’re fragments. Wendy rattles a teacup beside me.
‘Tea? You must be tired, after the drive.’
Soon the dining room will be crowded with food and small talk and noise, and everyone will avoid the Zac-sized hole that’s opened up between them.
‘Here you are, Mia. Sugar?’
But I’m sick of pretending. A Zac-sized hole can’t be filled with anything but Zac.
The hallway is long and quiet. It leads to four bedrooms. The doors are closed. I pass one, two. I tread the soft carpet. I feel the pull of him. Three. The world drops away behind me.
I press my palm against the end door. A door is all that’s between us. Zac? I can’t summon a single word.
Knock.
It’s all I can do. I tilt into his door, where sadness is a spell sealing him inside.
Knock.
I think he knows it’s me. I lean an ear closer, in case there’s a tap.
I don’t know how it must feel for your body to turn against you again and again. To spend months fighting death, to win then lose, win then lose, then have to put the armour back on. To calculate the odds. Recalculate. Forget the maths, I want to tell him.
‘Zac,’ I say.
‘Shhh.’
His voice is closer than I expected.
‘Zac?’
‘I’m writing you a postcard.’
‘From where?’
‘Boston.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s snowing.’
‘Yeah?’ I slide to a crouch so I’m closer to the voice. ‘What else?’
‘Did you know the Old Hancock Tower flashes red when a Red Sox game has been rained out?’
‘I didn’t know that.’ I don’t care if he’s plagiarising Wikipedia. Is his make-believe such a bad thing? ‘Seen any celebrities?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Can I read it?’
‘When it’s done.’
‘I’ll wait,’ I say. And I do, leaning into the door that separates his world from this one. I picture him in Boston, getting lost in the city with his family. Tracking down warm restaurants. He’s making snow angels with Bec. He’s running away from Evan’s snow missiles, laughing and dodging like a half-forward flank is supposed to.
Then I’m being lifted in a man’s arms and carried down the hallway, through a doorway and outside to Bec’s house. When did it get so cold?
Then I’m in Bec’s spare room again, being eased onto the soft bed. Mum’s above me. So are Wendy, Bec and Anton.
‘Are you hungry?’ Mum asks.
‘No.’
Mum rolls up my jeans and unclips the prosthetic from me. Her fingers worry at the clasp. Evan lingers near the door, watching.
Mum tells me it’s okay. That I should go back to sleep.
‘Sorry,’ I say to Wendy. ‘He’s in Boston.’
I’m not the answer they were hoping for.
39
Mia
Outside the window, there are too many stars in the sky.
It takes a while to remember where I am: at Zac’s farm, in Bec’s spare bed, my fibreglass leg by the wall. For the first time, I’m actually glad to see it. I can reach over, pull it on, climb out of the window and hit the ground smoothly.
Three a.m.
Wet grass scrunches beneath me. I creep toward the main house and step up to Zac’s window. It’s half open, orange curtains gesturing me inside. I want to crawl through and slip into his bed where he’ll shuffle across to make room. Moonlight will polish his pale skin, gentle on the purple scar below his collarbone. He’ll share his pillow and pull the blanket across us. He’ll tell me I’ve gone up to a ten, that I’m too good for a six like him. Maybe I’ll tell him what he really is. Maybe I won’t.
‘Zac?’
But his room is empty, and a breeze tickles the hair at my neck.
I find him where I first found him, that day I’d followed Bec and the tour group. He’d had his back to us then, sitting on the far gate. I remember how my wound throbbed with pain and how I’d wanted to blame him for this, for lying to me. He’d promised I was going to be okay, and I wasn’t.
Even then he was somewhere else. I saw he was vulnerable. That’s when I knew I could trust him.
Now, he’s a flannelette ghost in the moonlight. He sits on the fence, his bare feet hooked into the wire rungs below.
‘Stop.’ Zac straightens an arm and I freeze.
‘What?’
‘You’ll scare her.’
Her? There’s nothing here but us, a fence and a dark forest. Zac was always the rational one, but who knows what cancer can do to a person? What it could be doing to him now?
I try to keep my voice steady. ‘Zac. There’s no one—’
‘Shhh.’
My chest hurts. I can’t cry now.
Then two amber eyes glint from the darkness.
Zac warns, ‘Be still.’
‘Is it a fox?’
‘Shh.’
She’s beautiful and she knows it. I sense her confidence and poise. I think she’s judging me.
The eyeballs shift, skimming behind branches, and I catch glimpses of her—a pointed ear, fur, a foot—as she slinks fluidly through trees. I envy her grace. I resent the pull she has over Zac—enough to draw him from a warm bed to sit on a fence in the night-time.
The creature pads to a stop, licks at her leg and returns her gaze to Zac. I see they know each other. I sense I’m intruding.
But I’ve come all this way for a reason.
I take two steps forward, even when Zac shakes his hand at me. I take three more to reach him, even though he tells me not to. The oval eyes watch me as I put one hand on his leg and wrap the other around his arm, holding on.
‘It’s cold, Zac. Come back inside.’
His arm jerks but I tighten my grip. Somewhere beneath his flannelette pyjamas, beneath skin and muscle and bone, too many abnormal white blood cells are reproducing. They’re multiplying, trying to outnumber the healthy ones. I can’t blame him for this.
‘Tell me again about falling into a vat of Emma Watsons when you’re a hundred.’
He tries to elbow me away but I draw closer.
‘At least a vat of beer when you’re ninety.’
Zac twists free so I pull myself up to the fence to join him. I grip my hands around the wooden railing to keep steady, not trusting my balance. He doesn’t move across for me.
When I look up to the sky my breath comes out as milky puffs. They sail a bit and dissolve.
‘Did you see that?’ I point. ‘A burning meteorite.’ It’s a lie, but the best one I can think of. ‘We should make a wish.’
‘I already did.’
‘I don’t mean Disneyland. Go on, make a real wish.’
>
‘I wish you’d get off my fence.’
I laugh. Even when he’s mean he can be funny. ‘I like your fence. I like your farm.’
‘They asked you to come?’
‘I wanted to.’
‘I didn’t want you to.’
‘You’re my friend, Zac.’
He flinches and I don’t blame him. He doesn’t want a friend. He wants me to disappear, to fall off one edge of the world so he can fall off the other.
‘Go home, Mia.’
‘But I just got here.’
‘Walk away.’
‘Sorry, I can’t.’
‘You can, you’ve told me. Just stand up—’
‘You haven’t seen it yet, have you?’ I roll my jeans up to my knee. ‘The socket’s porous-laminate. It’s not the full spec, but it’s better than the temp one, and yeah, as you say, I can walk. I could probably run, if I really had to. If something was chasing me.’
I hold myself steady then pull my knee closer.
‘Admittedly it’d have to be something slow chasing me. The Paralympians have special blades for speed. But it’s light. Check it out.’
He ignores me so I roll down the liner, unclip it, and pull the prosthetic free.
‘Feel it, go on. How often does a girl tell you to feel her leg?’
He inhales, saying my name on the outward breath. ‘Mia …’
‘Sorry, that was lame. Actually, can I even say that now?’
His body tenses, preparing to slip off the fence and walk away. Desperate, I use the only weapon I have: I bend my arm back and pitch the prosthetic as high and hard as it will go. The thing flies end over end, skimming unseen leaves before thumping a tree in the bushland. Somewhere, the fox flees.
Zac gapes at me. ‘That was the dumbest thing.’
The dumbest thing? It makes me laugh out loud. What I do next—sliding over the fence and hopping forward in the dark—is dumber by far. My jeans leg hangs low, snagging on prickly bushes. There would be snakes in this grass. Tree roots to stumble over and all kinds of holes to fall into. It’s a minefield for a girl with one leg.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for my leg.’
‘You won’t find it.’
‘Did it go this way? I didn’t see—’
‘Stop! For fuck’s sake, just stop.’