by Bill Condon
I’m not usually bitchy but I think with more practice I could be really good at it.
‘All right, Caitlin. Point taken. I did it. I’m terribly, terribly sorry. I don’t know what else you want to hear. No matter what I say, it’s not going to change anything.’
‘But I need to understand what happened, Dad. If you don’t tell me I’m going to spend the rest of my life wondering, until I go crazy. You have to talk to me.’
‘Yes. I suppose I do.’ He takes a deep breath, almost as if he too is about to jump off the high board at the swimming pool. ‘She was a friend. Someone to confide in. That’s all it was at first. I never intended to hurt anyone.’
His voice cracks a little but he pulls himself together and comes straight back with a smile, as if to say, ‘That didn’t hurt a bit’. Not true. It hurts him a lot, telling me this, but he takes another breath, ready to go again. Before he does, I burst in with questions.
‘Are you still seeing her, Dad?’
‘No.’
‘Is it going to happen again?’
My gaze never leaves his eyes. I have my own personal polygraph. If he wavers once, I’ll know it.
‘No, we’ve ended it, Caitlin. It’s definitely over.’
More questions. The blowtorch turned up high.
He doesn’t waver.
When he finishes there are a few moments between us in which nothing is said. Head bowed, he waits for me to bring down the sentence. The jury isn’t out for long. He’s my dad. I hate what he did. But I love him.
‘I think Mum will take you back,’ I say. I have nothing to base that on, but I need to give myself hope. I also need to ask a really hard question … ‘But do you want her to take you back?’
Dad rubs the side of his face. It’s part of his thinking process. He does things slowly and that annoys Mum. Her mind works quickly. She knows what she wants and does it. In Dad’s mind every decision has to be passed by a committee.
‘I want us to be happy, Caitlin, but I don’t know if that’s possible anymore … I think sometimes you have to walk away.’
No, no, no!
‘You call it walking away – I call it running away.’
He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer.
‘I won’t let you, Dad. That’s all there is to it. You can’t break up. Mum’s just hurt right now. Don’t take any notice of what she says. In a few months it’s going to be different. You have to tough it out.’
His hands sweep through his hair. ‘Listen to me, Caitlin.’
‘No, because you don’t know anything – you think you do, but – ’
‘It’s over.’
‘Don’t say that, Dad.’
‘I have to. I don’t want it to be like that, but it is. It is.’
I could have cut him to pieces with words, if he hadn’t already been cut to pieces.
Back in my room, I watch TV with the sound muted. It’s only on because I don’t want to be alone right now with my thoughts. Outside I hear a car engine being revved, way too loudly. It’s like someone is announcing, I’m here. The squealing brakes say it too, and then the car speeds away.
I send a text.
‘Hey, Lanny can I call u?’
He answers by ringing me straight back. It’s good to listen to a happy voice.
I hear Dad’s shoes smacking hard against the concrete. He walks straight and purposeful, the way he’s drummed into me.
Shoulders back, David. Don’t slouch. Head up. Make me proud.
I follow him to the car park, not caring where my head or shoulders are.
‘Wait. Please. Talk to me.’
‘What is it that you want from me, David?’
He stops beside his car.
‘You. That’s all. Then I’ll go back to class. Just tell me you’re coming back. I can’t leave you until I know what you’re going to do. I won’t leave you.’
He fiddles with the car keys, tossing them from one hand to the other. Dad’s hair is white and thin but I’ve never thought of him as being old. Until now. Old and tired.
‘I expect you – ’ the voice is icy, so is the glare. But then he puts his hands in front of his face and shakes his head.
I go to say something but stop. Silence is better. I look away and wait until he’s ready.
‘You and me.’ He pauses to clear his throat. ‘There’s always been a special bond. You know that, don’t you, David?’
‘Yeah. Of course.’
‘Allie, well, she’s my princess. My little girl. It um … it kills me that I won’t see her.’ He pauses again, struggling to hold it together.
‘You’ll see her, Dad.’
It’s as if I hadn’t spoken.
‘But I know she’s got her mother and she’ll be all right in time. But you …’ He puts an arm around me. ‘You know, when you were born, I went running all through the hospital telling anyone I could find about my son. “It’s a boy, it’s a boy”. And even now, right now when I say “my son”, well – ’ He shuts his eyes for a moment, then wills himself back into control. ‘David.’
‘Yes, Dad?’
He looks at me for the longest time. It’s hard to predict what’s coming but I’m expecting it to be bad. Finally he pushes some words out. Words I never would have guessed.
‘Why don’t we go fishing?’
I gape at him, confused – relieved.
‘I’ve always said I’d take you. Would you like that?’
‘Sure! Of course. It’d be great.’
It’s beyond great. That stuff he said before about having no reason for anything, that freaked me out. But fishing means hope to me. I love it.
‘Good, good. A man who makes decisions.’ He smiles and I start to relax. ‘All right. I’ll drop you home and you can pick up some gear. I need to change and get a few things together. Then we’re off. We’ll just go.’
‘You mean now? Today?’
‘No, I mean yesterday.’
He nods and grins. Maybe the happy face is only a mask, but it’s still so good to see.
‘Of course I mean today. Let’s not waste another minute.’
‘What about school?’
‘I’ll fix it. Write a letter. Make a phone call. Whatever it takes. I’m your father. How I do it is not your concern. It’s done. So, are you in?’
‘I’d really like to.’
‘Are you coming with me or not, David?’
‘You know I want to – but it’s Mum. She’s not going to be very happy.’
‘Leave that to me. I’ll handle your mother.’ He opens the passenger side door.
I still hesitate.
‘We’re only going fishing. I won’t ask you again.’
‘Okay … cool.’
I get into the car.
First thing I do is head for the backyard. Tail wagging, Cindy bounds over to me as if I’ve been missing for a year. I top up her water dish and give her some kibble.
‘David.’ Dad calls from inside the house. ‘Don’t be all day out there.’
Cindy ignores the food. She has a ball in her mouth and she drops it at my feet so I’ll play with her. ‘Sorry, girl. Haven’t got time now.’ I grab her under the tummy and as I lift she pushes herself up into my arms and I swing her high then low. And when I gently settle her back on the ground she looks at me with eyes that say, More, more. Play with me. I wish I could.
‘Do I need much stuff, Dad? We won’t be away long, will we?’
I’m calling out from my bedroom. He doesn’t answer.
It’s a strange feeling being in our empty house. We left in such a hurry it’s like we’re all still here. Clothes scattered about and plates on the kitchen table. Reminders of my family in every room. Only half trying I can hear everyone’s voices. I stop and listen for a few seconds, think back to so many good memories. Now, with Mum and Dad breaking up, I can’t be sure when I’ll be here again. That’s the thing that bothers me the most – nothing is sure anymore.
I chang
e out of my school clothes. My new uniform is a t-shirt and boardies, a pair of thongs. Cap and sunnies. Ready for anything now. Then, as if Mum was standing behind me, I throw in some suntan lotion. Happy now, Mum? I leave the bag in the hall and go back to my room for the fishing gear. Like soldiers waiting to be called up for battle, the rods have stood forever in a corner. They’ve never even been wet. Cobwebs on them now, more on the tackle box. One last look around and I find the camera. I’ll definitely need that to take photos of the monster fish we catch.
‘All set, Dad. You ready?’
There’s still no reply so I walk until I hear his voice. Stop and listen.
‘I am telling you that is what is going to happen. David is coming with me. End of story!’
It’s like last night all over again – the anger.
‘I am his father! Do you hear me? I have rights! You will not stop me seeing my son! I will not accept the scraps that you throw my way. I will not wait dutifully by to see my children every second weekend. You are so wrong if you think that!’
He bangs down the phone to cut Mum off. But he still keeps talking.
‘Did you expect me to stand by and do nothing, Lorraine? You lived with me all those years and you didn’t know me. You didn’t know me!’
Coldness, that’s what I feel. It’s in my face and racing down my body. It shakes me. As if I’m walking with robot’s legs, stiff and unsure, I go into the room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Ready to go, Dad.’ I hold up the rods. ‘You want me to put these in the car?’
‘Yes. As soon as I get out of this suit we’ll leave.’
The phone rings. I watch as he picks it up and thumps it down, before back-handing it onto the floor.
‘Your mother. The reason we are having difficulties, you see, is that she wants everything her way and I will not be dictated to. I am still a man. I have still got my pride.’
‘She’s worried, that’s all. Maybe we can do this in a couple of days. Give me time to talk her into it.’
‘Christ!’ He shoots it at me. ‘Not one more word like that. Are we clear? If we go away it’s about you and me. No one else. Either you come with me or you don’t. No one is forcing you. But if it’s not today, then you can forget about it. There won’t be any tomorrows. Not with me. Life is about making decisions. Now you make up your mind right this minute, David. Right this minute. Make a decision and stick with it!’
‘Okay, Dad. Take it easy. We’re going. We’re going.’
He stares at me. After the yelling the silence is magnified. It makes me aware of other sounds; a car whooshing past outside, the fridge humming in the kitchen, my heart thudding.
‘You have made up your mind?’
‘Sure. I want to go fishing. I do.’
‘All right.’ He sighs. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
‘That’s okay, Dad. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I want to make this a special time. Years from now I want you to remember this trip.’
‘For sure. I’ll always remember this. I know it’s going to be good.’
He pushes the anger away and his fist lightly nudges my chin.
‘Only good? No, I promise you, David, it will be great! Let’s go fishing.’
The things you do for friends. This afternoon Glenna and I watch Megan play in the netball semi-final. I didn’t try out for netball because I saved myself for hockey. I wasn’t picked for hockey and now I hate sport. Glenna doesn’t care for it much either. If someone threw a ball at her she’d scream. In between great netball moments she scribbles in her notebook. It’s a poem about sex, she says. Glenna has a rich fantasy life.
Soon the game is over and Megan’s team has been thrashed. ‘But hey,’ she says, ‘it’s not about winning or losing. It’s about who looks best in their uniform.’ She throws up her hand. ‘I vote for me!’
Afterwards we go back to Glenna’s place because it’s her turn to feed us. She scrounges up cold sausages and lemonade.
‘Lemonade?’ Megan scowls. ‘Come on. Look harder.’
‘Beer?’
We reply with eager nods.
‘You got it.’
Glenna burrows into the fridge and comes up with three stubbies.
‘Here,’ she says, handing them out, ‘but if my mum and dad come home, hide them. They’ve got this big thing against me drinking.’
‘Typical,’ Megan comments. ‘Parents are such hypocrites.’
How right she is. Hypocrites. Like a father who tells his daughter all her life to be honest and then, first chance he gets …
‘We should drink to something,’ Glenna suggests. ‘Clink our bottles together – make a toast. You want to do that?’
‘Okay.’ Megan goes first. ‘My toast is to good times.’
‘To good times,’ we chorus and tap our bottles against each other’s.
Glenna is next. ‘I propose a toast to love.’
Megan’s eyes bulge. ‘Love? Have you suddenly got a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘You have so – you can’t lie to me – who is it?’
‘It’s too early to talk about.’
I recall her sex poem and blurt out, ‘Have you done it with him?’
‘No!’
There’s that telltale redness again. It’s like a neon sign flashing GUILTY GUILTY.
‘And if I have it’s no one’s business! Okay? Far out! You two are unreal! You’re even worse than my parents!’
‘But who is he?’
‘Mister Nobody!’
‘Come on, Glenna. You can’t tease us like that. We won’t be able to sleep tonight.’
‘Tough.’
I can remember us holding hands as we crossed the road, little girls together. Glenna had her hair in plaits then. Megan was gangly and shapeless. I was the solid, bossy one, who told them when it was okay to cross. We were the kids who hugged each other in celebration because we all had nits at the same time. If you can hug for nits, you can hug for sex.
‘Come here.’ I hold out my arms and they are as good as magnets, snaring first Glenna, then Megan.
‘This is nice.’ Glenna’s head rests on my shoulder. ‘But we really haven’t had sex. We’ve only kissed. Once.’
Megan steps back, looking disappointed. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes – I told you but you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Of course we wouldn’t believe you.’ I say, breaking off from the hug. ‘You’re making a toast to love and writing sex poems. What else would we think?’
‘Sex poems?’ Megan has the tone of an outraged school principal. ‘No one told me about that.’
‘Oh, give me a break.’ Glenna shakes her head. ‘I write all kinds of poems. And as for a toast to love, I just want it to happen. For all of us. Is there something wrong with hoping for that?’
Megan clenches her eyes shut. ‘I’m not very happy with you, Glenna.’ She pauses to blow her nose. ‘You’re deliberately trying to make me cry. But it won’t work.’
It works.
I flop into an armchair, swig my beer, and hunker down into the cool leather as low as I can. Megan and Glenna copy me. It goes unspoken but I think each of us has pretty much the same feeling. In this crack in time nothing can touch us; not school or boyfriends or even families. For now the world stops and the only thing we want is what we already have-friendship.
‘Hey.’ Megan crashes into the reverie. ‘You didn’t give us your toast, Caitlin.’
My mind flies straight to Mum and Dad. I want to make a toast to forgiveness, to giving someone another chance, but they’d be straight onto me with questions and I’d tell them everything. Can’t take a chance on that.
‘Here’s to us.’ Smiling, I clink my bottle against theirs. ‘To us, forever.’
Late-night phone calls to Lanny become a regular thing. Finally I get past seeing only the flaming red hair and the cornball jokes. That was an outline. Now he’s coloured in, he’s real. But sti
ll he’s not my boyfriend, no matter how much Megan and Glenna go on about it. As I keep insisting to them, I only like him. Full stop. He’s thoughtful, and, in his own rough-headed knockabout way, he’s sweet. I feel I can tell him anything.
Tonight we’re rambling at top speed over topics ranging from animal cruelty to the existence of God, to the colour of Lanny’s socks and my underwear, to the HSC, to jobs, and finally, to the meaning of life.
In summary – Lanny thinks that some cricket player is God. He wears green socks. (Lanny, not God or the cricket guy.) I wear plain knickers, white and blue, but because he’ll never find out the truth, I tell him they’re lacy and red. I’m going on to do the HSC. He isn’t much into school. I’m thinking of being a pharmacist. He’s going to work in his cousin’s door factory. And he hates cruelty to animals, same as me. ‘But,’ he adds, ‘I’d kills animals in the wild and eat them if I was starving. Not koalas, though.’
‘Too cute and cuddly?’ I say.
‘Nah. Too much fur.’ His voice crackles down the phone. ‘You’d be pullin’ it out of your teeth all night.’
I tell him he’s weird. He says he already knows.
As for the meaning of life, Lanny is still trying to figure it out, but he suspects it has something to do with cars and cricket. I’m one jump ahead of him. I know that the meaning of life is happiness: finding it, sharing it, losing it, finding it all over again.
‘You happy?’
‘Most of the time. You?’
‘Same.’
‘What would you give it – life – out of ten?’
‘I dunno. Depends.’
‘On?’
‘On when. Like, school days would be a five or six. Weekends, holidays, they’d be a twelve. What would you give it?’
‘Same … except sometimes at my place even weekends and holidays are bad.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Aw, you know, family stuff.’
‘You want to talk about it?’
‘Yes I do, but …’
‘What’s holdin’ you back? I’m the only one that’s gunna hear.’
I hide under the blankets of my bed, the room as dark as a cave. It feels safe here, safe enough to let the words stumble out to find him.