by Bill Condon
XO
Waiting for me when I get off the bus is the tall and gorgeous Megan, she of the long silky black hair. Honestly, I could get an inferiority complex just being in the same suburb as her. I tell her all the time, put on weight, let yourself go, make cellulite your mission in life. She doesn’t listen. But what can I do? She’s my friend. Always has been.
‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Caitlin.’ She hugs me hello. Megan likes hello hugs and goodbye hugs. She doesn’t do it every time – probably to stop people thinking she’s part bear – but she does it a lot. Her whole family’s like that. When one of her cousins comes back from an overseas trip about fifty rellos turn up at the airport and hug them to death.
‘Come on,’ she says, ‘Glenna’s waiting for us at the coffiee shop.’
On the walk there she tells me the play is one of Miss Boyle’s efforts. I’d already guessed it. Until she retired Miss Boyle was our English teacher. Now amateur theatre is her hobby. She can be a bit of a dragon sometimes, but she’s a nice dragon.
We round a corner and see Glenna sitting outside the coffiee shop, head down and pen hard at work on another masterpiece. Glenna writes poetry. Her hair is dyed jet black with thick strands falling over one eye. She also has a blood-red tattoo of a heart on each arm. All part of the poet uniform. No one understands her writing except her, but her friends (grand total: two) are always full of encouragement.
She waits until we sit down and then she tells us what’s on her mind. ‘About this play. Is it too late to say no?’
Megan replies, ‘Yes.’
‘The thing is, I’m not comfortable with being up on stage, having people watch me.’
‘Don’t be silly, Glenna. No one will be watching you. Not if I’m there.’
‘You’re so up yourself,’ I tell her.
She feigns a look of shock. ‘Moi?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘moi!’
Megan takes this as a cue to do her supermodel routine. She pouts for invisible cameras, poses dramatically, mouth in an O, eyes staring.
I use the salt shaker as a microphone. We’ve played this game before.
‘Can I interview you, Miss World?’
‘One question only,’ Megan purrs. ‘My private jet is waiting.’
‘Okay. One question it is. How come you use a jet when a broom is so much cheaper?’
The two of us fall about laughing. And then Megan remembers Glenna.
‘So anyway, Glenny, you’re going to do the play, right?’
‘Can I think it over?’
‘There’s no time for that. Miss Boyle’s depending on you.’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘She is! I ran into her at the shops. She said there’s been no interest at all in the auditions. I told her she could rely on us. You’ll do it, won’t you, Glenny? It’s going to be so much fun. Say you will.’
‘Oh, I suppose so. If you really need me.’
‘Fantastic!’
Megan jumps up to hug her but Glenna suddenly looks alarmed. ‘Sit down,’ she hisses. ‘Sit down.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘Don’t turn around. It’s that weird boy.’
‘They’re all weird,’ I say. ‘Which one do you mean?’
‘Yesterday. He was on the bus waving like a lunatic.’
‘Oh. That one. He is a lunatic.’
‘I thought he was cute,’ says Megan.
‘They’re crossing the road. Two of them. Heading straight for us. Don’t look. Ignore them.’
Megan stands up, turns around, has a really good look.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Being friendly.’ She flicks on her dazzling smile.
Glenna groans.
I look too. They’re so different. One has black hair and is solidly built, not too hard on the eyes, either. The other is the lunatic waver. He has a thick tangle of orangy red hair and he’s skinny and gawky-looking. His smile is way out of control.
‘How’s it goin’?’
They’re here.
‘I’m Lanny – Lanny Pringle.’ Big cheesy smile. ‘And this is me mate, Richard Head.’
The good-looking one rolls his eyes. ‘Ignore him. I do. It’s David Curtis. Hi.’
‘You’re the Smith’s Hill Girls, right?’ The smiling crazy one says this.
‘That’s us,’ admits Megan.
‘I bet you don’t remember me. I’ll give you a clue.’ He waves frantically, just like he did on the bus.
‘I’ve got it,’ I say. ‘We saw you at the beach. You were drowning.’
‘Nooo – I was wavin’ – from the bus.’
‘Ohh, really?’
Megan hides her face behind a menu. She’s battling not to laugh out loud.
‘I was with him,’ David says, ‘but I didn’t wave.’
‘No, that’s right. He wanted to moon yers. I had to stop him.’
‘Lanny, don’t make me kill you.’
Everyone’s smiling. Except Glenna. She’s always been shy around boys.
‘I think we should go now. I don’t want to be late.’ She pushes her chair away from the table and stands. ‘We’re auditioning for a play.’
She gets a shock then, and so do I. David steps forward and shakes her hand.
‘Good to meet you,’ he says. ‘I didn’t catch your name?’
‘It’s Glenna. Hi.’
I watch her neck turning bright pink as though it’s been injected with a dye.
‘I’m Caitlin Stewart.’
‘I’m Megan.’
We each get a warm handshake.
His weird friend isn’t into handshakes. He slouches against a wall, rubbing his chin as if he’s locked deep in serious thought.
‘A play,’ he mutters. ‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an actor.’
No one takes much notice.
‘Catch you later,’ says Megan as we start to file out.
I say goodbye with a smile, but I only look at David.
Glenna whispers, ‘See you.’
We’re almost out of there when we hear, ‘Hang on a sec – can anyone audition for this play?’
‘I think so.’
‘Cool. You mind if we go with you?’
‘What are we going to do, David?’
Allie sprawls on the floor in Gran’s spare bedroom. This used to be Mum’s room. There are twin single beds in here now, and the mattresses are hard. On the bookshelf there’s a doll – pink dress and bonnet – which cries when Allie tilts it forward. Mum flat out denies it was hers when she was a kid, as if owning up to it might make her seem weak somehow. She’s a deputy principal now: they’re not allowed to be weak.
‘David – did you hear me?’
‘Yeah, I heard you.’
‘Well?’
‘How do I know?’
She reaches up to the bed, grabs a pillow and pegs it at me.
‘What was that for?’
‘Shut up, David!’
Allie’s not quite twelve yet, but she forgets I’m just sixteen. It’s not like I’ve got all of life’s answers written on the back of my hand. Normally I’d tell her to shut up right back, or toss an insult at her that she can’t understand – that really annoys her. But now isn’t normal.
‘It’s not gunna stay like this,’ I say. ‘This is only for tonight.’
‘Then we’ll go home?’
‘Definitely.’
‘You promise, David?’
How could anyone promise that?
‘Yes, I promise, Allie. Nothing surer.’
We sit around the breakfast table. Gran’s having the best time, fussing over us. She smiles like we’re enjoying a picnic, but for me and Allie it feels more like our own funeral.
‘There – I think we’re all set.’ Gran looks the table up and down. ‘If there’s anything you can’t see, tell me and I’ll get it for you. Bog in.’
Mum has that steely look she gets in her eyes – focused, dete
rmined. No one dares mention last night. She pats Gran lightly on the back. ‘Thanks for going to all this trouble, Mum.’
‘No trouble, Lorraine. You can stay as long as you like. You know I love having you here.’ She turns to me and Allie, all smiles. ‘We’re family. We don’t need anyone else.’
Allie is so predictable. A piece of toast she’s eating shoots out of her mouth at the same time as she spits out the words I knew she’d say.
‘Dad is our family! We should be with him!’
Then she’s off, with Mum after her.
‘Allie Curtis, you come back here this minute and apologise. Allie – ’
A door slams and then it’s just me and Gran.
She is old and round and full of chatter, which is all good grandmother stuff. But when Allie and I are at Gran’s place we have to be quiet. Almost invisible. She goes mental if we make a mess. And she’s never liked Dad. The thing that really gets me, though, is that sometimes, even when she’s smiling, she says words that don’t belong with smiles.
I mop up Allie’s toast.
‘David.’
I look at her. ‘Allie didn’t mean that, Gran. It’s just …’
‘I know.’ Her tight-skinned hands fold into mine. ‘It’s not going to be easy for quite a while.’ She leans in closer, her eyes peering out over the top of her glasses. ‘It’s understandable for Allie to be like that. But you’re older, David. You have to be realistic.’
I nod, hoping that will be enough to make her stop. It’s not.
‘Your father refuses to go to a counsellor.’
I take my hand away.
‘He won’t try at all. He’s getting worse every day. You tell me if I say anything you don’t think is right.’
The floor looks very interesting.
‘And now he’s hit you.’
She lets that hang in the air. The longer it dangles there undefended, the worse it sounds.
‘He didn’t mean it.’
She’s smiling now. ‘David, he hit you.’
I mop up some more crumbs.
‘Didn’t he?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You have to face the truth. Your parents have been having trouble for a long time. Last night was the final straw. I hate to say this, I really do, but you need to accept that it might be over.’
‘No. It’s not over.’
I put up my words as a roadblock and she crashes straight through them.
‘Your mother can’t go on accepting this behaviour. She’s only stayed so long because of you and Allie. But now this has happened … whatever she decides to do, I expect you to support her.’
She pauses for me to say something but all I manage is another stupid nod. I’m not really agreeing with her, it’s just that I’ve temporarily forgotten how to speak.
The legs of my chair scrape on the tiles as I push back from the table and stand.
‘Where are you off to?’
I mutter and shrug.
‘You haven’t touched your breakfast. Come on, now.’ She slaps her hands together as if I’m a dog in a circus act. ‘Sit down and eat something.’
I fall back into the chair, jab a fork at a slice of bacon, press some scrambled egg on top of it, a chunk of tomato …
‘David, eat your food, please – don’t play with it.’
A memory jumps up and hooks me. It’s there in every detail. We’re running through a park on a freezing day, firing soggy chips at each other. Mum and Allie, me and Dad. There were so many moments like that. I always thought they would never stop.
Gran taps a knife on the table. Jolts me back to her.
‘Oh, I know you have concerns about your father, but I assure you he will manage quite nicely. Your mother and sister are your chief responsibility. You’re the man of the house now. You and you alone. It’s a tall order. What do you say? Can your mother depend on you? Can Allie?’
I say ‘yes’ quickly, as if it is so simple I don’t even have to think about it.
‘That’s the way, David. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.’
A door creaks open in another room and soon Mum and Allie come back, hand in hand.
‘Allie has something to say to you, Mum. Go ahead, Al.’
She stands in front of Gran and I hear her hiss, ‘I’m never going to apologise to you, you stupid old cow. And you’ve got spiky hairs on your chin that stick into me when I have to kiss you, which I hate doing.’
But of course, that’s only in my head. Some of the best things happen in my head.
‘Sorry, Gran,’ says Allie.
And then they hug and kiss and I see Allie grimace as Gran’s spiky chin attacks her.
Mum’s hair is still wet from the shower. All the rest is a perfect straight line; neatly ironed clothes and shiny shoes, dainty earrings so small they hardly count, and a trace of her favourite musk perfume. She’s in her armour and I have no chance of getting through.
‘I’m too busy.’ She easily bats my questions away. ‘I have to get ready for work. Can’t you see that?’
‘Then when you’re ready. Can we talk then, Mum?’ I follow her from room to room. ‘You have to tell us something. You can’t – ’
‘David.’
She’s looking into a mirror and I’m behind her as she combs her hair.
‘Get your schoolbag. Have you cleaned your teeth yet? We’re leaving in ten minutes and I can’t be late. Please move yourself.’
This can’t be an ordinary school day. Our lives just got turned upside down. Maybe if I smash the mirror …
‘Mummm.’ Allie steps into the bathroom. ‘I don’t feel good.’
‘Let me look at you.’ Mum presses a hand against her forehead. ‘You haven’t got a temperature. Do you hurt anywhere?’
Allie shrugs vaguely. ‘I don’t know. I just feel sick.’
‘Too sick to go to school, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
Gran happens to walk past. A warder checking her prisoners.
‘Everything all right, Lorraine?’
Mum sighs. I know she wants to tell Gran to mind her own business, but politeness gets in the way.
‘The usual dramas, Mum. It’s all under control.’
‘Well, if you need me, I’m here.’
‘Thanks for that.’
Mum closes the bathroom door.
‘And I suppose you’re sick too, are you, David – because you don’t want to go to school either, right?’
‘I’m not sick. But you’re right, I don’t want to go to school – not today.’
She checks out my lip. It’s puffed-up and red but I’ve had worse from footy.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not a bit.’
‘Listen, you two,’ Mum draws in a deep breath as she sits on the edge of the bath. ‘This is tough for me, too. Your dad and I have been married seventeen years. You think I wanted to leave last night? No, I didn’t. I never wanted this.’ Her hand rests on my shoulder. She pulls Allie close to her. ‘We’ll be okay. It’s awful now but it’ll get better. We have to stay positive.’
‘What about Dad?’ I say. ‘When are we going back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will you try, Mum?’ says Allie.
‘Oh, honey. Yes, of course I’ll try.’
Allie hugs her tightly. She’ll believe anything. A hug isn’t going to work with me.
‘I want to see him today.’
I say it as hard and as strong as I can.
Mum stands, brushes herself off, takes a last look at the mirror and strides away, leaving me with one word trailing behind her.
‘No.’
I haven’t got the guts to smash the mirror.
Later, in the car, Allie raves on about netball. As if it matters.
‘There’s a big game today.’
Blah, blah, blah.
But then she turns around and I see from her face that she’s just filling up the silence so that everything seems normal. It�
��s her way of looking after me and Mum. And she probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
Mum’s car noses into the deputy principal’s parking space at St Brendan’s Primary. I hang back and wait as Allie gets some last-minute survival tips.
‘Remember, I’ll be teaching down the hall from you all morning.’ Mum straightens Allie’s shirt collar. ‘So you tell your class teacher if you want to see me. Will you do that, Al?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Good girl. And I’ll have you after lunch for Art – which is going to be so much fun. Don’t you think?’
‘I guess so.’
She kneels in front of her. ‘We’ll get through today, Allie. We’ll be fine.’
‘Okay.’
‘You run along now. I’ll see you soon.’
Allie skips away to catch up with some of her friends. Then it’s me and Mum.
She shoots a glance at me. ‘Now look here, Mister Tough Guy. You know I love you. Right?’
I manage to find a hurtful answer. ‘If you say so.’ And I wrap it up with a shrug.
‘Yes, I do say so.’ On a different day she might snap at me for being a smart arse, but this time she lets it go. ‘Of course I love you. I want to strangle you sometimes, but I love you.’ She smiles at me. I look away. ‘If you feel like talking, you know where I am. Any time, David.’
Sure, like I’m going to go running to you to talk, Mum. How old do you think I am?
I slouch off down the hill towards my own personal prison – Parish College.
‘Don’t I get a proper goodbye?’
If I have to.
I go back and push my face towards hers, quickly.
‘Come straight to the car when school ends,’ Mum calls after me. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘I’m catching the bus.’
‘Back here, David. Now.’
She switches to her deputy-principal voice.
I trudge over slow as I can, to tick her off.
‘I said, come straight to the car after school. Did you hear me?’
‘Not really.’
I like living dangerously.
‘Don’t be smart. I’ve had enough of it from you.’
‘What’s wrong with me catching the bus? I always do it.’
‘This is not a debate.’
‘You think I’ll go and see Dad, don’t you? Well, why shouldn’t I? He’s still my father – isn’t he?’