by Bill Condon
‘I don’t want any of your attitude.’
‘Then I’ll shut up. Fine. You can talk to yourself.’
Her eyes flash danger, danger, but she takes a deep breath – probably some yoga thing teachers learn to make them relax when they feel like murdering a kid – and when she speaks her voice is calm.
‘Look, you will see your father. Of course you will.’
‘I know I will. And you can’t stop me.’
‘God!’ She’s blown the calmness now. ‘We are not having this discussion here. Do you understand me? Do you?’
Two teachers walk past. Mum turns away from me to smile and say hello.
I grab the opportunity.
‘See ya.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
I’m out of there. Running.
‘David – David!’
I don’t look back.
I’m back home by one. No sign of Rory or Dad but there’s action in the kitchen. The radio is tuned to a gardening talkback show. Mum always listens to it, but her plants still keep on dying. As I draw closer I catch a whiff of cakes hot from the oven.
‘Hi, Caitlin.’ She turns off the radio.
‘Been baking, Mum?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘You want me to clean that bowl up for you? Seems a pity to waste it.’
‘If you like.’
I dip my head into the bowl and emerge with a face smeared with chocolate. I only do it to get Mum’s reaction.
‘You’re a grot,’ she says, passing me a paper towel.
I hand it back, then rub my face into her nose – chocolate transplant.
‘A grot and a nuisance.’ She wipes off the chocolate. ‘Have you had your lunch?’
I notice that the floor’s been cleaned. The sink is shiny. Mum’s iced one tray of cakes. She’s peeled the veggies for dinner.
‘Um, lunch – no. Not yet.’
‘Ham and cheese sandwich sound okay?’
‘Yep … looks like you’ve been working hard, Mum.’
As if they’re specks of dust, she brushes my words aside.
‘So tell me about the audition. Did you get a part?’
I launch into a monologue – busting to share my news.
‘We all got in, Mum! Me and Glenna and Megan. No one else turned up, except for some geeky boy and his friend. Miss Boyle was desperate. Did I tell you she’s putting the play on? Anyway, she even took this try-hard – Lenny, Lanny – something like that. He only auditioned to try to impress us. It didn’t work. I feel a bit sorry for him, actually. He’s such a loser.’
Mum is moving the whole time. Agitated. Checks the oven to see if the cakes are cooked. Searches through the fridge. Hardly looks at me.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
I only say it as a way of making contact – Earth to Mum.
‘No, no – go on. I’m listening.’
‘Okay. I liked the other boy we met, David – the loser’s friend. Nice blue eyes. He’s got straight teeth, too. I think he must have had braces when he was young, same as me. Can I have one of these cakes?’ Mum’s slicing cheese now. Turns around long enough to nod, then gets back to it. ‘Thanks.’ I polish off the cake in two bites. Yum. Then I remember what I was saying. ‘Yeah, this other guy, David, he’s going to do the sound and lighting.’
‘Is he? Do you want this grilled?’
‘That’d be good. The play is called Cyrano de Bergerac. Some French guy with a big nose. He writes poetry too, so Glenna will be happy, and he’s good at sword fights. Miss Boyle’s going to lend us the DVD. It was a movie, as well as a play. We’re doing four scenes and each of us will have a turn at playing Cyrano. Rehearsals are twice a week – for two months! And it’s only going to have a few performances so I think that’s an awful lot of effort for not very – ’
I glance at Mum and stop. She’s at the griller, clinging on to the edge of the stove with both hands as if it’s the only thing holding her up. When I see her eyes – squeezed so tightly shut – my first thought is that she’ll never be able to open them again.
‘I’ve heard of that play.’ One muffled sob escapes. Only one. ‘It’s supposed to be really good.’
‘Mum? What is it?’
‘Everything’s all right, Caitlin. Keep talking. Please.’
‘It’s about this morning, isn’t it? You and Dad. You’re still worked up about it.’
‘Let’s not talk about that now. Tell me about the play.’
‘Forget the play. Tell me what’s going on.’
I stand beside her and try to take her hand in mine. She pulls it away.
‘Nothing.’ She folds her arms. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Yeah, right. Are you sick?’
‘No. It’s not anything like that.’
‘Is it Rory?’
‘Oh, for God’s sakes – Rory’s fine. Everything is fine.’
‘Then it has to be Dad. He’s said something or done something. Why did you swear at him?’
‘I’ve had enough of this, Caitlin.’
‘But if it’s still bothering you after all this time, then it’s important. You have to tell me.’
Mum blocks her ears – as if that can shut me up.
‘It’s Saturday, Mum – I know you can hear me – on Saturdays we don’t have secrets. You’re the one who made the rule. Nothing is off limits, that’s what you said. I’ve told you all my stuff. Everything. And now the first chance I get to hear something of yours, you – ’
‘All right.’ She holds her hand up for me to stop. ‘I’ll tell you.’
I move closer.
‘One thing. This is between us. Only us, Caitlin. Do you understand me?’
Okay, okay. I bite a nail as I nod.
‘Not Megan or Glenna.’
‘I promise, Mum.’
‘You don’t talk to your father about it, either. All right?’
‘Got it.’
Just tell me.
‘Your dad. He, um … ’
She stops as though the words in her mouth have poisoned her.
This time she lets me take her hand.
You can do this, Mum.
‘Your father cheated on me.’
She pauses for my reaction. Apart from a look of confusion, there isn’t any. I’m waiting for her to explain. Dad? Cheated? Dad doesn’t cheat. Never. I don’t get it. What is she talking about? He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
‘He had an affair.’
Her eyes tell me it’s true. But I still shake my head.
‘I found out last night. He told me about it of his own accord.’ Mum tries to rein in her emotions but they keep spilling out. ‘He said it was over. Said he was sorry … I don’t know what to do now, Caitlin.’
In my head it’s like a washing machine full of thoughts and questions all tangled and spinning, spinning. I babble, ‘Oh my God’, before throwing myself at Mum and hugging her as if I’ve just learnt she has a deadly disease.
‘Dad loves you.’ I can’t think of anything else to say. ‘I don’t understand what he’s done or why, but he loves you – no one else.’
I don’t think Mum hears a word I say.
‘I want to get past it, forget it ever happened.’ She pushes tears away as fast as they appear. ‘But I don’t know if I can.’
‘Just hang on, Mum. Hang on to me.’
‘I can’t do that forever.’
‘You won’t have to. We’ll work this out. We will.’
The words are as empty as a hollow tree but Mum needs them and so do I.
‘You think so, Caitlin?’
‘I know it, Mum.’
I cradle her in my arms as she sways back and forth.
A key turns in the front door. I hear Rory’s chatter. Dad usually calls out to let us know he’s home. Not today. He slips in like a burglar. Mum has fled to the garden, probably digging a hole to bury herself right this minute. I walk out of my room, unsure of what to say or do. I don’t feel angry, though I k
now I should be. It’s confusing. I’ve got sixteen years of loving from Dad weighed up against a few sentences from Mum that tear down everything I knew about him.
‘Here you go.’ He hands me an ice-cream.
I feel tenseness shimmering off him, as though he’s braced himself for me to say something. He has to know Mum would tell me.
‘It’s hokey-pokey flavour.’ Rory has more ice-cream on his face than there is in the cone. ‘I’ve had two. And a packet of chips.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ is all I say. It’s too unreal yet. I need time to work it out. He’s still my dad.
‘No problem.’ He kneels down to help Rory with the ice-cream wrapping. I’m sure he’s breathing easier.
Everything has to stay normal. That’s my plan. If I can help Mum get past the early days, this thing will go away. It frightens me to think where it could lead if I can’t stop it. I know so many kids at school whose family life has been screwed up because of divorce or separation. I’m not going to let that happen to us.
Just as we arranged, Megan and Glenna come for lunch the next day. Dad’s cooking on the barbecue.
‘Won’t be long now.’
Rory is the assistant chef.
‘How come you’re burning everything, Dad?’
Mum’s given me instructions, which I repeat to the letter.
‘Mum can’t make it. She woke up this morning with a really bad headache, so she’s taken some painkillers and gone to bed. Sorry, guys.’
Megan and Glenna sit outside around the table on the back veranda, babbling away intently. Today it’s about Megan’s new boyfriend, Jimmy. He’s a singer in a rock band.
‘It’s getting really serious.’ Megan delivers this in hushed tones as though it’s a national secret. I don’t care.
Instead of listening I put on my worried sick face, hoping they’ll ask what’s wrong, which will allow me to burst out crying while insisting, ‘Nothing’s wrong’. And then they can prise the truth out of me and it won’t be like I deliberately broke my promise to Mum. They both ignore me.
I sit there trying to think of subtle ways to blab about the dreaded secret, ripping words apart as soon as they come into my head.
No, that won’t work – try this – try that – aaarrrgghh!
I wish I could just hold up a sign saying HELP! But I can’t.
‘Jimmy has asked me to go on the road with him.’
This catches Glenna’s attention. Mine too.
‘You’re not going, right?’ Glenna shakes her head as she says it.
‘I might.’
‘You mean you’d drop out of school?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Probably.’
‘And you’d live with him?’
‘I’d love to. But Mum and Dad aren’t real keen about it.’
‘I wonder why?’
That dash of sarcasm is all mine. Megan chooses to ignore it. ‘I think I can talk them around,’ she says. ‘Jimmy said he’d teach me guitar. It would be a career. I’ll be able to play in his band.’
Glenna looks at me. ‘Can you believe this?’ Then back to Megan. ‘You’ve only known him for a few weeks.’
‘That doesn’t matter. You can find out a lot about someone in that time. I understand who Jimmy is and what he stands for. That’s enough for me.’
‘I just don’t get you, Megan.’
‘What don’t you get?’
‘I mean, what about me and Caitlin? I thought we were your friends.’
‘Oh, Glenny.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go with him.’ Glenna stands. ‘I’m going to see if they need some help with the barbecue.’
‘Wait.’ Megan holds her arm. ‘Don’t be angry with me. This is the way life is. Nothing stays the same forever. Explain it to her, Caitlin. She listens to you.’
I always get this job. I’m the practical one with all the answers – except to my own questions. This time though, I hesitate. I feel the same as Glenna. Why does everything have to change? I want to be sixteen forever, with the same friends and the same family. I don’t want my life to be a reality show. I want it to be a feel-good sitcom. Reliable. Safe. Happy.
‘Caitlin. Did you hear me? I need help here.’
I can’t deal with the future right now. What might become of our friendship. What might happen with Mum and Dad. It’s too much.
My only solution is to hug Glenna. Megan joins in to make it a scrum. ‘Hold on tight.’ I say it to myself as much as to them.
A week goes by. It holds our first play rehearsals and the endless procession called school. No one would guess I have any problems. I’ve almost convinced myself, too, though with each new day at home the atmosphere gets a little worse, a little colder. But we’re still together, that’s all that matters. And if there is trouble ahead, I say bring it on. We’ll get through it. For sure and certain. We’re a family.
It’s a ten minute walk down Chapel Road to Parish College, but with some careful dawdling you can spin it out to twenty. I need some thinking time so I slip into dawdle mode.
My lip throbs and I think about Dad. We’ve had our fights. Nearly always my fault. Once I was mad about something – forget what now – and I took it out on the first thing I laid my hands on: Allie’s netball trophy. Threw it against the wall and broke it. Allie was shattered even worse than the trophy. I expected to cop it that time. Dad came into my room, closed the door, and sat on the side of my bed.
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ He looked very stern.
‘Yeah, I know, Dad. Sorry.’
‘You won’t do it again, will you?’
‘No. I won’t.’
Then he grinned. ‘This is just between me and you, David … it was a damn ugly trophy, wasn’t it? I’ve wanted to smash it a few times myself. So don’t do it again – but well done.’
That was one of the great moments of my life up to that point. As much as the relief I felt, it was sharing those secret words with Dad, feeling so close to him.
‘First thing you do is say sorry,’ he said. ‘To Allie and your mum.’
‘Sure.’
‘Then we’ll hit the shops – just you and me – and we’ll come home with a decent bloody trophy!’
There were lots of times when my temper got the best of me. The worst one was when I was ten or twelve. We had an old pool table out in the shed and Dad and I used to play a fair bit. He would never let me win. Said I had to earn it or winning didn’t mean anything. Losing every time was frustrating. So this day – after I’d lost about five games in a row – I chucked a pool cue at him. Really full-on pitched it. Just missed his eye. If he’d hit me that time I would have understood it, but I only got sent to bed. Lay there howling for hours. Made it super-loud so someone would have to come and rescue me. No one came. Deep into the night and finally asleep, I felt a hand touch my hair. I didn’t open my eyes, just lay there pretending to sleep. And Dad sat with me in the dark.
That’s how he is. Or was. Played it hard on the outside but underneath he wasn’t tough at all. That’s why I know that last night was a one-off. He didn’t know what he was doing. One mistake doesn’t rub out all the good things.
I have to talk to him. Tell him it’s okay between us.
A 176 bus is way down the bottom of the hill. I could hop on it and be home in half an hour. Sort out school later. Dad will be thinking about what he did, thinking I’m angry with him, when I’m not. And Mum taking off like that with me and Allie – how’s he handling that?
I run to the bus stop.
Mum’ll go off her brain, but too bad. Someone in this family has got to –
Honk!
‘David.’
Mum’s car glides along on the other side of the road.
‘Come over here and get in.’
Here’s a test. One thing to run away when she’s not looking. But to ignore her now when she’s breathing fire? That’s a death sentence, for sure.
‘Don’t make me come and get you.’
> I keep walking though every step takes me deeper into quicksand.
Honk! Honk!
‘Get … in … the … car!’
‘Oi, Dave!’
Behind me.
‘You heard yer mum.’
Lanny.
And Paul Myers.
‘Go on, get in the car – Daaavid.’
Ha, ha, ha.
‘Why don’t you two go and get – ’
‘David!’
Mum bangs on the brakes. Throws the passenger door open.
She’s halfway out of the car.
I manage to hesitate for about two seconds to try to salvage some pride, but then my impersonation of bravery crashes and burns. I cross the road and get in the car.
Doors.
Seatbelts.
Gone.
I look back and see Lanny and Myers having the best laugh of their lives. My hand jerks out the window, the middle finger saluting them.
But they still laugh.
Mum’s too angry to yell at me.
Too angry to even look at me.
So I fire the first shot.
‘Did you have to do that? In front of everyone? I’m not a little kid, you know. You embarrassed me.’
‘Embarrassed you?’ She looks at me for the first time – eyes wide and blazing. ‘I embarrassed you?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. You didn’t have to honk the horn. I was just about to get into the car. Now it’s gunna be all over school – thanks a lot!’
Mum swerves the steering wheel hard and we lurch off the road, down a side street and barge wildly into the first parking spot.
‘You selfish little bastard.’
‘All I was doing was – ’
‘Don’t say anything. All right? Just listen for once in your life. Can you do that?’
‘If I have to.’
‘Yes, you have to. And don’t talk to me in that tone. I am sick to death of it!’
‘What tone?’
If she goes insane, I win.
‘THE TONE THAT SAYS YOU CAN SAY ANYTHING YOU LIKE TO ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT – WHEN YOU CAN’T!’
I’m hanging on to the sides of the seat as if a giant wind has blown through. If loudest wins, Mum just scored gold. But now she’s red in the face and looks exhausted. She leans back against the headrest and covers her eyes with both hands.