“Yes. It’s all settled.”
“Good. A little distance will give us time for this to settle down. As soon as Alex is discharged, he’s on the next flight. And tell Charles I want this mess fixed out immediately.”
Wait a minute.
Charles….surely not Uncle Charles?
In Australia?!
What the…!
Until that moment, I didn’t believe it was possible the black hole inside me could grow any bigger.
It was all decided. They’re going to ship me off to the antipodeans and try and sweep the whole thing under the carpet. Make the problem go away. Make me go away. Out of sight, out of mind. The fact that Australia was geographically as far away from England as possible was not lost on me.
“Would you like some assistance?” The flight attendant asked, snapping me back to reality. The cabin was empty except for myself and the two cabin crew who were staring at me.
“No, thank you very much. I can manage.”
I eased myself to my feet and walked to the open aircraft door, my eyes adjusting to the light as the full force of the heat hit me. The first thing I would do tomorrow would be buy sunglasses. God, it was bright. Perspiration was quickly forming under the bulky brace around my leg as I shuffled and stumbled awkwardly down the stairs towards the tiny airport, my hand burning on the scalding hot handrail as I steadied myself.
A tractor towing a single trailer approached the plane to collect the luggage. The driver was wearing a dirty floppy hat, pair of shorts and a fluorescent safety vest but no shirt and only a pair of rubber Havaianas on his feet. I was still dressed in the same clothes I left London in and my jeans and long-sleeved shirt were stifling. I limped across the tarmac towards the shed that sufficed as a terminal and the soles of my trainers stuck to the tarmac as if I was walking on warm toffee. A faded, hand-painted sign was suspended from the roof of a covered walkway that led to the terminal. Under a logo of two intertwined palm trees with koalas clinging to the trunks was written, ‘Welcome to Proserpine. Gateway to the Whitsundays’.
I was a long way from home.
What the hell were my parents thinking?
I made one mistake and like a convict I was sent to the arse-end of the world to serve time.
Uncle Charles, my mother’s elder brother, and his Australian wife Maria were standing near the gate. I hadn’t seen them in years but I recognised them immediately. Charles had immigrated to Australia before I was born but he’d often visited when I was younger. I had fond memories of both of them from when I was growing up. Despite his aristocratic heritage, Charles was one of the few relatives who didn’t have a poker wedged up his arse, and Maria, well she was your typical exuberant Australian so enough said. It had been at least five years since I’d seen them both, since Matthew, their only child and my only cousin, committed suicide in a spectacular drug overdose. And I mean spectacular. This kid took everything he could get his hands on. Even if they’d rushed him to hospital immediately it would have been too late. He knew what he was doing. It made my little episode look like a dalliance. After Matthew’s death, Charles and Maria moved up here to ‘reflect’, as my mother had put it.
Looks like reflection was working out for them.
They welcomed me with matching ear-to-ear grins, like they were actually happy to see me not like I was some repeat retard they’d been dumped with for the next twelve months. I was only a few feet away when they both sprang forward simultaneously and I was engulfed in an enthusiastic group hug.
“It’s been too long Alex.”
“And you’ve shot up since we last saw you.”
“Now you’re tall just like your Dad.”
“But with your Mum’s good looks.”
“We’re so thrilled you’ve come to stay with us.”
“We know you’re going to love it here.”
I’d forgotten Charles and Maria were one of those annoying couples who were happily married. They did annoying happily married couple things like hold hands, look lovingly at each other and finish each other’s sentences. In my experience, it wasn’t natural for married people to act like that.
“Thank you” was all I could manage with a tight smile. I didn’t really feel like smiling.
“You’ve had a long journey. Let’s get your bags and go home.”
Home…is that what this is now?
The road zigzagged to the top of a steep hill, the view across the bay to the islands becoming more spectacular the higher up the hill we drove. The water in the bay was clear turquoise. A long white yacht was anchored close to the white sandy beach, its sail down and the couple on board sunning themselves on the deck. Several small metal boats, or dingies, bobbed gently on the waves further from the shore, fishing lines cast over the side. Further out to sea were three verdant islands in a row like skipping stones, each of them surrounded by rocky shores and too small to be habitable. The famous Whitsunday Islands were too far out to see from the mainland, nearer to one of the seven natural wonders of the world – the Great Barrier Reef.
Hell had never been so picturesque.
Charles’ four-wheel drive stopped at a large, modern timber and glass house. When I got out of the car, the silence was frightening. I hadn’t seen another house or building since we turned off the main road. After the buzz of Knightsbridge it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere.
It was just as I suspected – solitary confinement.
Charles and Maria’s ultra-modern house was both embedded in the hillside, and perched over the side of it. It seemed like it would be more comfortable in a glossy architectural magazine then the Australian bush. Seven wooden hexagonal structures were arranged on top of each other – two on top, three in the middle and two below – like a cross-section of a beehive. Each hexagon was an open plan space with the exterior walls made entirely of glass. The surrounding bushland grew close to, and in a few places through, the many decks which jutted out from the building; the native trees shading the house from the unyielding sun. The interior was thankfully air-conditioned and blissfully cool.
Inside the entrance, I stood nose to the glass and looked out to the ocean, and it was as if I was standing on a precipice. I wondered what it would be like to leap from this height, suspended ever-so-briefly before plummeting back to earth. When I looked down, I saw a pool shimmering amongst the landscaped gardens below. Knowing my luck the water would probably cushion my fall and there was no concrete or stone to do the job properly. I abandoned the idea and turned away from the glass.
The entrance and Charles’ study were on the top floor and the main living areas – kitchen, dining room, living room – were on the floor below in two interconnecting, open-plan rooms. From the living room deck I could better see the gardens and irregular shaped pool, as well as several outdoor entertaining areas and a huge circular gazebo next to an oversized barbecue.
“We’ve set you up downstairs in the guest rooms. You’ll have the whole floor to yourself,” Maria smiled as she led the way downstairs, her arm linked in mine as I shuffled next to her. My personal space felt a little crowded. I’d forgotten my aunt and uncle were so affectionate.
The guest rooms, my rooms now, were on their own floor of the house. There were two bedrooms with ensuites and dressing rooms leading off a small sitting room.
“Wait till you see the entertainment room,” Charles said, a twinkle in his eye as he slid open the glass door that separated the two lower buildings and walked through, motioning for me to follow.
Inside the last enormous hexagonal room was an entertainment area bursting with audio and video equipment including plasma screen, games consoles and stereo. It was as if they’d visited the entertainment section of a department store and ordered one of everything. A floor to ceiling bookcase lined most of the back wall, nearly overflowing with CDs and DVDs. A bar area and small kitchen took up the rest of the far wall.
“This is very nice, thank you.” The words were a courtesy but I knew that
it generous of my uncle and aunt to go out of their way to make me feel so welcome. It might be solitary, but at least it had wireless and a mini bar. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“We’re pleased you’re here.” Maria squeezed my arm and smiled. All this touching and affection was going to take a little getting used to.
Against my best intentions, I felt a lightness in my mood. I had my own space and even a new car. I had plenty of cash. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so unbearable after all.
Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?
Twelve months exile to the opposite side of the world. Cast out by my parents and cut off from my friends. It was going to be torture.
Good thing I was used to torture.
CHAPTER 3
HAYLEY
“Oh my Buddha! It’s sooo hot already,” Pete gasped dramatically, flinging himself down on the concrete bench and fanning his hand in front of his face as glistening beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, his cheeks, his neck.
I looked at my best friend in the horrible green and gold polo shirt that was our school uniform and which was now clinging to his ample torso with large wet patches spreading out from under his arms. Poor Pete. It wasn’t yet 8.30am but it was probably thirty degrees already. And as usual Pete was suffering. Besides the perspiration, his normally whiter than white face was flushed hot pink and he was short of breath. He’d only walked three blocks to school.
Pete claimed to have a medical condition called hypothyroidism. He’d self-diagnosed this himself after Googling symptoms and finding an answer on Wikipedia, which is never a reliable source for information especially for self-diagnosis.
“I have all the symptoms,” he’d exclaimed in his soft, gentle voice. “I’m overweight, fatigued, I have pale skin. Look Hayley – it’s a real disease. It’s not my fault I’m a freak.”
Maybe he had Hypothyroidism. Maybe not. Whatever. All I knew was that Pete wasn’t a freak. Sure he was overweight – I couldn’t remember a time when Pete wasn’t at least a couple of stone overweight – and he had pale skin like mine that did not react favourably to the sizzling sun. But Pete’s superior personality more than made up for his physical shortcomings.
Pete was a huge bear of a guy. He was enormous in every way (or so he bragged but despite knowing him since practically conception, I was lucky to never visually confirm the intimate details). He was six foot six inches tall, at least 180+ kilos and he had a number one buzz-cut that reflected so much sunlight off his huge white dome you needed sunglasses just to glance at him in the midday sun. He reminded me of a huge cuddly albino teddy bear.
As if to make up for nature’s oversight, Pete was gifted with the sweetest, loving, kindest and loyal personality possible. He was the nicest person in the world with a heart of gold.
If he wasn’t gay, I have no doubt we would have hooked up long ago.
He was my best friend and I loved him dearly.
While Pete was fishing in his bag for the small hand towel he brought everyday to mop up the excess moisture (gross, I know, but trust me it was sooo essential) I checked out the other kids arriving at school. It was same old, same old. Every person I knew and they knew me. There was no anonymity and very few secrets in the Whitsundays. Everyone knew what everyone else was doing because more than likely, they were there when the others were doing it. You knew people inside out in this neck of the woods and I found this exceedingly dull and boring. I couldn’t wait to escape, to get out, to live a different life.
“You look like you need an adventure.”
Pete’s superpower was the ability to know exactly what I was thinking before I did.
“How do you do that?” I cried, for the first, but probably not last, time that day.
“Sweet pea,” he sighed excessively dramatic for the second time that day but it wouldn’t be the last because everything about Pete was excessive and dramatic. “You and I are practically conjoined twins. I know what you’re thinking because it’s what I’m thinking.”
“Uh huh,” I murmured, and rolled my eyes as usual.
“Anyway…speaking of adventure…Anger Management is playing in Mackay next Saturday night. And…” he paused, eyebrows dancing extravagantly. “…I thought we could maybe cruise Rainbow Reef after.”
Anger Management was a Brisbane-based rock band my cousin played in and we’d often go to their gigs when they toured. There wasn’t much of a local music scene so when a band we liked was playing nearby we usually jumped at the chance to see them. Rainbow Reef was a gay bar in Mackay, about an hour’s drive south of Proserpine. We liked our extremes, Pete and I – hardcore rock n roll closely followed by dance and disco. We’d only managed to get into Rainbow Reef once before without being hit up for ID and Pete had been angling to try again ever since. All because some guy felt him up on the way to the bathroom. Poor Pete, sweet seventeen and never been kissed. Not that I could boast any differently.
Pete was giving me those big puppy dog eyes that pleaded, begged, willed me to say ‘yes’, the same eyes he knew I could never say ‘no’ to. I wanted to see my cousin’s band, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the rest of the night alone while Pete cruised the local gay scene.
I sighed in resignation. “Let me check and see if I’m working.”
Pete was my best friend and I’d do anything for him. Even watch him make out with random guys at a bar. At least gay guys were fun. And gay guys kept their hands to themselves. I’d be safe there.
CHAPTER 4
ALEX
8.25am Monday morning. My first day at the local high school (student population 632). There were just 118 seniors; all drawn from the surrounding towns and most of them had known each other since infancy. To say that I was not in Chelsea anymore was the understatement of the century.
I wasn’t worried about fitting in or finding people to sit with at lunch. I knew how to make friends, even with people I didn’t like. My parents had taught me everything they knew and I could fake it with the best of them. It was as simple as eye contact, a friendly smile, a little flattery. Easy peasy. I was more concerned about finding the strength to maintain the façade. What was the point anymore? Nothing was going to change.
I took a deep breath….
I would smile. I would put on a good show. I would grit my teeth and perform my penance. Maybe, just maybe, then things would be different when the let me return home.
Yeah, right. Who are you kidding Alex?
I slowly exhaled.
There was only one way out of this, and that was through. I ran a hand through my hair and my fingers brushed the scar on my neck. It was still a little terrifying to realise the scars were now on the outside where anyone could see them. Someone didn’t even have to look closely. When I first saw them in the hospital it seemed like the pressure inside had been forced out, ripping open my skin….
I’d faked sleep the entire time my parents were there and waited until they’d left the hospital before I opened my eyes to inspect the damage. I already knew it was bad. While my parents had been planning my exile, I’d been gritting my teeth for hours against the agony that had been beating against the cotton-wool comfort of painkillers.
I blinked until the room came into focus. Must be time for a top-up soon, I’d thought. The doctors probably didn’t realise my resistance to painkillers. I made a note to mention it to the nurse so they could increase my dose.
I found the remote control for the bed and pressed the button until I was sitting up and I could survey my broken body.
Bloody hell.
It was bad. But by some stroke of good fortune, or sick joke by a higher power, I was still alive.
My entire body was covered in bruises and bandages – my entire right thigh was swathed in thick gauze and my leg was set in plaster below the knee. I’d broken some ribs too, I thought, feeling the tightness in my chest with each breath. In my left arm there was an IV at the inside crease of my elbow and another in near my wrist, a
nd a little pulse-monitor clipped to the tip of my middle finger.
I reached up with my other hand and winced as my fingers found the reason for the pain in the back of my neck. A large dressing covered the tender stitches and around that a patch of hair which was prickly under my fingers from where it had been shaved. The dressing continued down my neck to my shoulder. I must have sliced open half of my right upper back. That would explain why there was so much blood in the car.
I’d overheard the doctors telling my parents it was a miracle there was no internal organ damage. They talked about the scaring and weeks on crutches and physiotherapy and in the same breath said I’d had a lucky escape.
Yeah right, define ‘lucky’.
Some things just don’t go to plan.
I sucked in a deep, painful breath…
Get it together, Alex. Don’t lose it.
….and exhaled until the pain passed.
Perspiration sliding down my neck snapped me back to reality. My car was already like an oven. I steeled my expression in the rear-view mirror and lifted the collar of my school uniform to cover the ugly mess of my neck. Calling it a uniform was a misnomer; it was more of a sports kit – a nasty dark green and bright yellow polo shirt not unlike a football jersey, and any pair of black shorts you happened to have in your closet. Compared to the shirt, tie and blazer ensemble I’d worn at school in England, this was beyond horrible. Even David Beckham couldn’t make this look good. I looked like a loser. I felt like a loser.
I grabbed my bag and stepped onto the dusty verge, pulling down the hem of my almost knee-length shorts so that they wouldn’t ride up and expose the bigger scar on the top of my thigh. My leg was healing but it would be months before I could play sports again. I wanted to wear trousers but it was too hot for anything other than shorts.
“Sweet ride.”
I turned to find an olive-skinned boy with dark hair gelled into a spiky mess standing on the footpath behind me. He was stocky and what my mother would politely call “rough around the edges” when she was really thinking uncouth and common. He had a fierce yet cocky look about him that immediately identified him as the kind of guy no-one in their right mind would want to get on the wrong side of.
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