by Lisa Heidke
I couldn’t begin to imagine Jesse’s reaction if she found out. She’d be devastated, her life in tatters.
I deleted Steve’s message and then wondered if I’d done the right thing.
n Sunday morning Carly was still feeling shaken by Steve’s threatening message. She’d spent yet another sleepless night tossing and turning, thinking about her behaviour with Toby, seeing Steve at the party, and what Jesse would do when she found out.
Over breakfast, Brett looked at her expectantly, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head. She tried to keep a poker face.
‘What are you up to today?’ he asked, not unpleasantly.
Carly shook her head, rattled. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Steve, but then she thought better of it. She’d have to explain about the party, why she was there and who she was with. She closed her eyes, imagining the scene.
‘You went to a party with three strangers?’ he’d say. ‘You allowed three men you didn’t know to take you to some party in a private house? You actually got into their car? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing? How much had you had to drink? How did you meet them?’
She could always blame Stella, say that she’d dragged Carly along, but Brett would never believe her. He’d quickly realise it was Carly who’d made Stella go. No, she really wasn’t up for that discussion. It was better Brett didn’t get involved. She and Stella would handle this alone.
‘The usual,’ she said in the offhanded tone she’d perfected when she didn’t feel like talking.
He shrugged. ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you after Will’s basketball game.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek and was gone.
Brett! The distance between them was widening into a chasm. She knew she was as much to blame for it as he was, but really, what did they share these days?
Sometimes, like now, Carly found herself staring into space, into nothingness. Just waiting the day out, for it to end, so she could go to sleep and not have to think anymore. It was like she was wishing her life away.
She sighed and decided to get on with the day. She was planning to tackle Nick’s room. She’d asked him to do a big clear-out before he’d flown to the United Kingdom, but after the HSC was over he’d got caught up partying with friends, then it was Christmas, and suddenly he was gone.
It was a big room with built-ins along one complete wall. That would be a major task. The rest of the room was straightforward: bookshelves, bedside drawers, desk. Carly opened the built-in and shook her head. The top shelves were packed with books, toys and God knows what else. She went to get a ladder from the garage and several garbage bags. This was going to take some time, but if she approached it methodically …
Most of the things on the top shelves were from Nick’s middle school years—school cap, tie, ribbons from sports carnivals, lots of photos stuffed into school diaries. She put them to one side and kept going. What she’d thought were keepers years ago (Year Eight maths books, exercise books crammed with French notes, English and history essays) she decided they could now live without. When on earth was Nick ever going to look at those notes again? She threw book after book down on his bed, pleased with herself to be making space in the cupboard.
Maths! The rows they’d had over that subject. Years Nine and Ten had been a struggle, with the distractions of hormones, first girlfriends and friendship dramas. Study had been well down Nick’s list of priorities. But he’d ended up taking the subject right through to Year Twelve and he’d done well. All that torment and heartache had been quickly forgotten. That was why Carly was easier on Will, not that she’d admit it. They’d just gone through the hideousness of Year Ten with him, and she was hoping he’d follow in his brother’s footsteps and settle down this year.
Stuffed away at the back of the cupboard, hidden from sight, were Nicholas’s two favourite cuddly toys from when he was a toddler: Wags the Dog and Barney, a dinosaur. Carly took them out, smelled them and started getting teary. She looked inside the cupboard again. The top shelf had been cleared, but she was only a third of the way through the total job. She checked her watch. She’d been going for close to two hours.
Climbing down from the ladder, she stared at the mess on Nick’s bed and sighed. She’d created far more destruction than she’d thought. Papers and books were strewn everywhere.
‘Hey.’ It was Will.
She jumped and turned around. ‘How’d you go?’
‘Smashed ’em. Sixty-four to twelve.’
‘Ouch.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Cleaning out Nick’s room.’
‘He’ll be pissed.’
‘Will.’
‘What? He will be. Don’t try to do this to my room.’
Carly shook her head. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘In the kitchen. We bought meat for a barbeque.’
Will wandered off and Carly looked again at the pile of junk on Nicholas’s bed. She couldn’t do any more right now; she’d lost her enthusiasm.
‘Mum,’ Will shouted from his room. ‘Is it okay if Ben comes over?’
Stella’s son, Ben, and Will had been best mates for years.
‘Sure,’ Carly called back. ‘But clean up your room first.’ And then let me know when pigs are flying overhead, she added to herself.
An hour later, after some lunch, she was back in Nick’s room. She had to practise what she preached. When you start something, see it through till the end.
She gathered up the books and bits of paper off the bed. If she threw it all in the recycling, Nick would never notice, so that was what she was going to do—all those old maths books and notebooks, gone. No point getting sentimental over geography and algebra. But she’d keep his school diaries. She flipped through the one from Year Eight. He’d crammed it with ticket stubs, photos, notes. So cute. Those from Years Nine and Ten were similar, bursting at the seams with paraphernalia.
His Year Eleven diary wasn’t as thick: obviously he’d got past the phase of pasting in every photo and note. When she opened it, a couple of pieces of paper fell out of a card. She picked them up and put them back inside, but then curiosity got the better of her and she started reading.
You’re a hottie, the card said. When I see you in class, smiling, wow! Please tell me we’ll be friends forever. It was written in large curly writing and signed ‘B’. Who on earth was B? Brenda, Bridget …? She couldn’t think of many names starting with B. There was no date, but given that she’d found it in his Year Eleven diary, she assumed it was a couple of years old.
Then she read the notes. Still the same curly, girly writing: Nicky, I hate it when we argue. Please forgive me. Forever, B xxx
The next was sad and pleading: Don’t tell me what we have isn’t special. This friendship means everything to me. I’ve seen into your soul. Please talk to me. Forever, B xxx
Carly sat on the bed. She noticed that on all the notes, just above the B, the girl had drawn a bumble bee. Cute. But who was this poor girl and why hadn’t she heard of her before? Nick had dated a Lauren, and an Ella. He’d taken Lucy to the semi-formal in Year Eleven and Maddie to the formal in Year Twelve. But a B? Bernadette? Becky? Carly couldn’t come up with a name she remotely recognised. Why hadn’t Nicholas told her about B?
She picked up his Year Twelve diary and scanned it. It was much the same as the others, full of scribbled notes, assessment dates, telephone numbers. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. She shook the diary to see if anything fell out. Success! Several notes—none of them relevant, except the last one. Nick, you are so cruel. You’re the same as all the others. I’m sorry we ever met. No, forget that, I’m not sorry we met. Maybe when you finally grow up you’ll realise what you’ve thrown away. Seeing you is a constant torment. Forever, B xx
Poor broken-hearted B. Was there anything more devastating than the angst of teenage love? Especially unrequited love. Heartbreak didn’t get any easier, but at least when you were older you were more capable of pu
tting things into perspective. B … B … Brooke? Bree? Bailey?
Carly couldn’t stop thinking about B all Sunday afternoon. She kept going over names in her head, trying to remember events, parties, gatherings, meetings of significance. Nicholas was a rugby head and sport took up most of his waking hours. He’d studied only when he had to, and spent most Saturday nights at the movies with his mates. He wasn’t into the party scene, going out every other night and getting drunk and cracking onto girls. But maybe that was all a facade, Carly thought. He could have been seeing lots of different girls and just not bringing them home.
The only B Carly could come up with was Bella Anderson, who lived a few streets away. She was around Nicholas’s age and they’d gone to the same primary school, but she’d attended a girls’ school in the city. It was time to ask a few casual questions …
Carly wandered into the kitchen where Will and Ben were scoffing chocolate cake and ice-cream.
‘So, I’ve been clearing out Nicholas’s room,’ she said.
Will turned to Ben. ‘Mum’s in a cleaning frenzy.’
‘Yes, and I’m starting on yours next.’
Will went to object but Carly got in first. ‘Joking. Look, do either of you know a girl whose name begins with B?’
‘Totally random, but okay,’ said Will.
‘We’ve got a hot chick in our tech class called Bridie,’ said Ben, smiling.
‘And there’s Billie in my English class,’ said Will. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Just curious.’ She probed further. ‘Anyone from Nick’s year?’
Will laughed. ‘How would we know?’
‘I just thought there might have been someone he was close to, whose name started with B.’
‘Nup,’ said Will, stuffing his face with ice-cream.
Carly busied herself cutting more cake for them and dishing up the rest of the ice-cream. ‘Or a girl whose nickname had something to do with a bumble bee?’
The boys started laughing so much that they spat ice-cream and cake over the bench.
‘Buzzy bee,’ giggled Ben.
‘Buzzing around the locker room …’
‘And the showers …’
‘Okay, let me in on the joke, boys,’ Carly said, pointing her very sharp Global knife at them.
‘It’s nothing,’ Will said, and he and Ben glanced at each other and giggled some more.
‘Waiting …’ she persisted.
Long beat.
‘Buzzy Bee was one of the assistant sports coaches at school last year,’ Will said.
Carly’s mind was racing. Nick had been going out with an older woman? It made sense that she was into sports, but a teacher? That couldn’t be good. And she’d been pursuing him? No wonder he hadn’t told her about it. Had they done anything illegal? Nick had turned eighteen last June, but if she was … Oh. My. God. A teacher!
‘Yeah, always hanging around the senior boys’ locker room, checking them out,’ Ben added.
‘That’s not very professional,’ Carly said, raising her eyebrows, keeping her voice calm.
‘No, Mum. Not professional at all.’
Both boys laughed some more.
‘We all knew he was gay,’ Will said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Mr Busby—he was always trying to crack onto the senior guys,’ explained Will.
Carly put the knife down. ‘What?’
‘Relax. He only lasted a couple of terms before they shipped him off to Tasmania or Siberia … somewhere.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Well, you shouldn’t say things like that about the teachers. I’m sure he was just being friendly.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Will. ‘With guys he wanted to pork.’
‘Thanks for the cake,’ Ben said, licking his fingers. ‘It was great.’
‘Yeah, Mum, great cake. Ben, you playing COD?’
‘Nah, I better get home.’
‘Say hi to your mum,’ Carly said as Ben scooted out the back door.
‘Sure.’ He gave her the thumbs up before disappearing into the garden.
In a daze, Carly cleaned up their mess. B was male? B was … a man? Nicholas’s B was a sports coach called Mr Busby? That made no sense at all. She couldn’t believe Nicholas would get involved in something like this. Who was this Mr Busby? Where had he come from? What did he look like? Had he coached Nick? She’d have to take action. Make a formal complaint to the school. Nicholas was obviously being harassed, stalked by a lunatic. There was no way this would have been a mutual attraction.
She raced back up to Nick’s room and read the letters again. They made her feel sick. B made his feelings very clear, but clearly Nick didn’t feel the same way and had tried to distance himself. The poor child. Why hadn’t he told them he was being harassed by a teacher? They could have helped him. Maybe he had tried to talk, but she and Brett had been so caught up with their own problems, they hadn’t listened to him. They’d shut him out because they were too busy arguing.
No wonder the kid had been excited about going to Wales—he was escaping B and leaving his parents as well, who’d done nothing whatsoever to protect him from this vile predator. While Carly had been conjuring up imaginary fuck buddies, her son had been pursued by a lunatic and scared out of his mind. It would have been too much for him to handle: a young kid being sexually harassed by a man. Why hadn’t he spoken to her about it? Carly had let him down. She had failed him.
Now the question was: what to do with the information? Tell Brett? She didn’t want to say anything to him, not yet. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t know how to start. Maybe she could talk to Stella about it? Although just what evidence did she have? Maybe those letters hadn’t been written by this Mr Busby at all. Maybe they’d been written by a girl Will didn’t know about. It was possible. Perhaps the best course of action was to send Nicholas an email.
She went into the study and turned on the computer. She stared at the screen a very long time before starting to type.
Hi Nick, how are things in Wales? We miss you. The house is empty and quiet without you. Hope you are doing fine and the weather’s not getting you down. Please write soon. Love you, Mum xx (She added one of those ridiculous smiley faces.)
It was impossible to ask the question she desperately wanted to ask. What was she supposed to say?
Hi Nick, I found a bunch of letters from your admirer, Mr Busby. Was this guy harassing you? Or did you have a friendship together? Just wondering if there was anything going on, because at the moment when I put two and two together, I keep coming up with four. Please tell me what’s going on.
If she started down that road, she’d never stop. Besides, it really wasn’t a conversation they could have via email. The most sensible thing was to let the matter drop, at least until she could talk to Nick.
Sunday had been a disaster. Steve was being a complete misery. Jesse was trying to be supportive—she understood he had a demanding job; he told her often enough—but it was the weekend. Time to let up. But no, nothing Jesse said or did was right. Not only that, he wanted to know what she was doing, where she was going and who she was seeing—even when she’d popped to the local shops to buy a loaf of bread and the morning papers. It was weird. And he was jumpy, as if he was nervous about something. Normally, Jesse was the one who was anxious.
That afternoon, when Emily had been helping Jesse in the garden, planting petunias into clay pots, Steve had come outside just as Emmy had accidentally spilled some potting mix.
‘Emily! Would you be more careful?’ he’d shouted. ‘You’re making a huge mess.’
‘Settle down,’ Jesse had said, seeing that Emmy was about to burst into tears. ‘It’s just a driveway.’
‘She has no respect for other people’s property,’ he yelled back. ‘It’s a filthy mess now.’
‘It’s okay, Steve. We’ll wash it down.’
It had been a totally bizarre outburst. He’d calmed down eventually, but his foul mood had lingered.
W
hen Jesse had cooked the kids’ favourite, spaghetti bolognaise, for dinner, he’d barked, ‘Couldn’t you cook a decent meal once in a while?’
Straight after eating, the kids had scurried to their room to play a game of Monopoly by themselves, clearly not wanting to deal with their bickering parents. Jesse was tired and completely fed up. After yet another outburst—this time about his business shirts not being ironed correctly—she lost it.
‘Our marriage is hanging by a thread,’ she shouted, itching for a scene. Not only had Steve been behaving like a spoilt brat all day, but he’d ruined the kids’ day yesterday by reneging on his offer to take Oliver to the movies.
Steve just looked at her like she was insane. ‘One minute you want another baby, the next minute you’re telling me our marriage is crumbling. You’re all over the place, Jesse.’
She shook her head. Maybe she was. She couldn’t control herself. She was clenching her fists so she wouldn’t start switching lights on and off. Or closing doors, or checking the oven.
Instead, she walked out the front door and got in her car.
‘You’re not leaving me,’ Steve shouted after her as she revved the engine. ‘I’ll never allow it.’
How could she have let things get out of hand like that, she asked herself as she drove to her mum and dad’s. She was the one who needed to keep things running smoothly. Her role was to support Steve and look after the kids, not to storm out of the house. That was definitely not managing the situation.
Arriving at her parents’ home, she composed herself to face a barrage of questions.
‘Where are Steve and the twins?’ her mother asked the minute Jesse walked in. ‘Why aren’t they with you? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, Mum,’ Jesse said wearily. She nodded to her dad, who was watching MasterChef Unplugged.
‘Have you heard from your sister?’ Dot continued, barely stopping for air.
Jesse had needed to go somewhere quiet. Big mistake coming here. She should have gone to the movies.