Don't Mention the Rock Star

by Bree Darcy

  “You may not have noticed, dear cuz, but we happen to be dressed up,” Caprice said haughtily. “And I’m not messing up my hair. It took me ages to do this morning.”

  Andy raised his eyebrow at Caprice’s bird’s nest, which had been teased to epic proportions. “Surely it only takes a second to stick your finger in an electric outlet.”

  Caprice stuck out her tongue.

  “Come on. Don’t be spoilsports. Kell, you must be up for it.” He grabbed my hand and we skated down the mat before coming a cropper halfway.

  “Talk about double standards in this family. If I did that with a boy, I’d be sent to a convent,” Caprice tutted as Andy rolled me over and over, ensuing I got as soaked as possible.

  * * *

  After a late lunch, the uncles loosened their belt buckles and set up a game of bocce while the women cleared the dishes. I pitched in and helped in the kitchen, before sneaking off to find Andy again. He was in the front room, patiently teaching Benny, one of Aunt Carmela’s grandsons, how to play Chopsticks on the piano.

  Later as the light faded, everyone doused themselves in mosquito repellent and gathered in a circle under the patio as the urn of fate was brought out. The ceramic bowl was passed from person to person, each taking turns to blindly pick out one of the small wrapped parcels. If it had your name on it you got to keep it, if not you put it back and tried your luck the next time around. And the catch was some of the presents might be empty. I had little Benny sitting on my lap, and he was ecstatic to find his parcel contained a Matchbox car. I was touched that the family included me – I received a pink heart trinket box while Andy got a silver key chain with a musical note hanging off it.

  As the adults grew more raucous by the minute drinking grappa, Andy sat down at the piano to lead everyone in a sing-a-long. Then the younger kids were ushered into the games room to be lulled to sleep by a Peter Pan video, while the older kids gathered outside.

  Andy and I slipped away though, squeezing through a gap in the fencing and collapsing on to the swinging seat next to the olive tree in his backyard.

  “Well I have to say this has been my best Christmas ever,” I said.

  “I agree. That spit roast was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “And …” I prompted.

  “And?”

  “Surely there’s other reason it’s been a good Christmas?” I poked him in the side.

  “Hmmm, let me think ….” He laughed. “Maybe because I got to spend it with my favourite girl in the world.”

  We rocked back and forth, with me pointing out the Southern Cross constellation of five stars and the brilliant light that was Venus.

  “You know, I think pops has been watching over me,” Andy said. “Him dying was the worst thing to ever happen but it led me to you. And you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  I leant my head against Andy, my hand resting on the warm skin under his T-shirt.

  “Don’t you wish we could stop the world and stay like this forever?” he said.

  “No way! I’d hate that!”

  Taken back by my vehemence, Andy turned to face me. “Really? You don’t want this.”

  “No, I mean, I don’t want to be stuck where I am now. I want to keep moving, achieving my goals: making it into uni, getting a good job, seeing more of the world. I wouldn’t want to be a teenager forever.”

  Andy laughed. “You worry about the future too much.”

  “One of us has to. It’s not like your visa will appear overnight courtesy of the immigration fairy.”

  His lack of a working visa had been keeping me awake at night. I didn’t really understand all the rules and regulations, but once he turned eighteen and was no longer considered a dependent, he had to apply separately to his mother to stay on in Australia.

  “We could always get married.” Andy shot me a hopeful glance. “Then they would have to let me stay.”

  “How romantic. Will you marry me, he begs, so I can stay in Australia.”

  “I would be marrying you because I love you and want to spend the rest-.”

  “Andy! Look!” I grabbed his arm as a shooting star blazed across the sky. “Quick, make a wish.”

  When I reopened my eyes, I asked what had he wished for.

  “I’m not telling,” he said. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

  Neither did I. I had wished that Andy became a famous singer.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Christmas at the Carmichaels was a highly co-ordinated affair as always. Delia had gone for the regal look of purple and silver this year. The Christofle silverware had been polished, the bone-china plates with the holly motif had been dusted off and the cloth napkins had been folded into an elaborate fan shape.

  “You’re looking very drawn, my dear,” Delia said to me as we arrived, faux concern all over her face. “Been having a few late nights?”

  I smoothed down the front of my royal blue and white wrap dress. I actually thought I looked perfectly fine when I glanced in the mirror earlier.

  “She was up late, wrapping all these presents,” Curtis said, dumping our bag of gifts under the pine tree at the foot of the stairs.

  “Oh dear,” Delia sighed. “If you leave these things to the last minute … I do find it exasperating that so many people spend the entire festive season complaining about how much they have to do. When all it takes is a little organisation. Ah Beryl, there you are,” she continued, spying her housekeeper bringing through a punch bowl of eggnog. “If you could find Thomas and tell him our guests have arrived.”

  “Here you go, this will perk you up,” Ewan said, ladling me a cup of the traditional beverage.

  I sipped it, trying not to let my distaste for brandy show on my face as I admired the exquisite lavender wreath taking pride of place above the fireplace.

  “Felicity whipped it up for me, isn’t she a marvel?” Delia said as the woman in question wafted down the stairs, wearing a short navy jumpsuit that showed off her slim, toned legs. When her kitten heels slipped on the last step, Curtis instinctively threw out his arm to steady her.

  Before she could thank him, he withdrew his hand quickly, and disappeared to round up the kids for the gift-giving.

  “Careful when you open it,” Delia said moments later, handing over my present. “It’s fragile.”

  I didn’t need to peel back the wrapping paper to know exactly what was inside the box. Years ago I had remarked to Delia how I liked the porcelain figurine of a couple dancing in her glass display cabinet. Tragic mistake. Now every Christmas I got a Lladro figurine to add to my own collection. I had a bride and groom, a mother and a child, an angel, a spring maiden, a mermaid. And this year … how wonderful … a clown.

  “Thanks, Delia. I love it.” I really should be more appreciative – my collection was worth thousands. Meanwhile, Felicity got a gift voucher to spend at Harrods when she returned home and I bet there was no caveat saying she had to use it in the porcelain figurine section either.

  Curtis bounced on to the cushion next to me, dropping a small box in my lap. “This one’s from me,” he said, an eager look on his face. I was puzzled because we had already exchanged gifts at home.

  “Oh my goodness,” I gasped slipping off the ribbon and popping open the box. “This is too much.” I held the chunky diamond band up to the light. “I love it. It’s absolutely gorgeous. Thank you, darling.”

  “It’s white gold, ninety-six diamonds, 5.2 carats – only the best for you. I’ve already insured it.” Curtis smiled smugly at his brother before slipping the band on to my right ring finger.

  I’m no jewellery expert but I would hazard a guess that this ring would cost in the vicinity of five figures. No wonder he’d been antsy last month about spending too much money. I did churlishly wonder, though, whether the money would have been better spent on Mum’s shoulder operation.

  Felicity glided over. “Simply stunning,” she cooed. “Ewan hasn’t bought me an eternity ring ye
t, and we’ve been married longer. I’m going to have to put my foot down.” She tittered to show she was joking but her husband’s face was like thunder.

  “It is certainly lovely, Curtis,” Delia chimed in. “You’ll have to make sure she doesn’t lose it. Remember that time her engagement ring went missing, and everyone had to turn the house upside down looking for it. Then it showed up five days later snagged on a pair of Ryan’s socks. I mean, who else would take five days to sort their laundry?”

  After getting in that little jab, Delia clapped her hands together, rising to her feet. “Right! Time for photos.”

  The kids groaned. While Thomas was sent to fetch the camera from the library, the cousins were lined up in descending size order – Harrison, Julian, Ryan, Ciara and Nathaniel.

  “I want a nice picture to send with my thank-you notes,” Delia said, fiddling with the camera settings. “Harry, stop poking your brother. Nate, look at the camera. Ryan, it wouldn’t hurt to smile.”

  “Spot the odd one out,” Ewan muttered. “You sure there wasn’t a mix-up at the hospital?”

  Ryan’s sullen, dark looks certainly did set him apart from the rest of his beaming fair-haired relatives.

  * * *

  Ewan’s chair groaned as he sank into it, setting down his heaped plate of roast turkey and beef with a mountain of potatoes in thick gravy.

  “You watching your weight, Kellie?” he remarked, noticing my own sparse selection. With even the pumpkin cooked in animal fat, I was forced to survive on the vegetable medley of beans and carrots, and a single dinner roll.

  “Far from it,” I said lightly. “I’ll make up for it with dessert.”

  “A new year diet never goes amiss,” Delia said. “I thought you were looking heavier at Curtis’ birthday. But it could have been your dress – I always believe an empire line is far more flattering for those with a thick midsection. And of course you were standing next to Felicity, who shames us all with the way she’s kept her figure so trim after three children.”

  I defiantly slathered extra butter on my bread roll.

  Curtis had been totally strung out by the time his fortieth birthday party rolled around. His latest product launch had experienced major hiccups. So amid all the endless end-of-year functions, he had to spend long hours with his marketing team nutting out a new promotional strategy as the research lab back in the States scrambled to iron out the drug’s bugs. Was I the only one to see the irony in them all being so damn anxious about a new drug for anxiety disorder?

  But to his credit Curtis kept a smile on his face throughout his party – when he shook hands with people he hardly knew, invited along by his mother; when Ciara and Jenna accidentally broke a pedal off the cyclist ice sculpture; when the lavish floral arrangements sent his boss into a sneezing fit that forced him to leave early. Even when the brother he never got along with unexpectedly arrived in a flurry of confetti and fanfare.

  Now as Felicity and Delia kept up a steady stream of light conversation through lunch, the two brothers went out of their way to pick a quarrel with one another. First they disagreed about who would make the best president after Obama, then they argued over the most useful iPhone feature before nearly coming to blows over whether England or Australia had the best opening batsmen. Even when I changed the topic to new movies, a simple remark about the latest Lord of the Rings film deteriorated into a row over who once tore the cover of Ewan’s favourite book.

  Sick and tired of all their bickering, I headed into the kitchen to see if Beryl needed a hand with the dishes. And to sneak another slice of her mouth-watering apple pie.

  When I returned, my midsection thicker than ever, the brothers were engaged in a game of chess like it was a matter of life or death.

  “Ha-ha, got you now,” crowed Ewan, knocking the white queen off the board.

  Curtis stood up and grabbing me by the hand claimed we needed to get home to water the garden. Even though our reticulation was on automatic timer.

  “Too chicken to stay around and finish the game, are you?” Ewan taunted. “You always have been a sore loser.”

  With a clenched jaw, Curtis pulled out his chair again and sat down.

  Two hours and four games of chess later, we finally managed to escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A sharp rapping at the front door disrupted us. “Who’s that?” I froze.

  “Just ignore it, whoever it is will go away,” Andy muttered. “They’ll think no one’s home.”

  The knocking got louder and more persistent.

  “Your car’s out front.” I pushed Andy off me, rolling over to lift the bottom of my blind to peek out. There was a white Commodore coated in red dust parked behind Andy’s car.

  “Coo-eeee!” A woman’s shrill voice rang out from the veranda.

  “Oh shit, it’s my aunt.” I slid on a sundress. “Quick, get dressed while I let her in.” I smoothed down my hair, and plastering a smile on my face, swung open the front door.

  “Aunt Beth. What a surprise!”

  Beth was my mother’s only sibling – older by eight years. We didn’t see her much anymore because she’d moved to a hobby farm on the south coast.

  Mum had always said she seemed more like an aunt to her as well. And a strict, disapproving one at that. Beth was not at all impressed when Mum fell pregnant with me, to that “good-for-nothing, worthless no-hoper”. But while my mother’s parents had essentially disowned her, Beth took us in to live with her and her new husband Al. They never had any children of their own.

  “Happy New Year. Let me take a good look at you.” My aunt stepped across the threshold, holding me at arms’ length while she studied me over the top of her glasses. “My, my. You’re looking more like your mother every day. Quite the grown-up.”

  Aunt Beth looked the same as usual in a beige cotton dress, with a thin brown belt around her expansive midriff. Her white hair was pulled into a bun and her weather-beaten face was bare. She looked about twenty years older than my mum.

  Not that she had had an easy life. Al was diagnosed with cancer around the time I started school and not long after he died, Beth packed up and moved to the country to get away from it all. She ran a little farm, with chickens, a goat and a fruit orchard. The last thing I’d heard she’d branched out into beehives too.

  “I’m in town for the sales,” Aunt Beth said, bustling into the lounge room and dumping her handbag on the coffee table. “Always buy my linens every January. It’s a habit every woman should get into. New year, new linens. And I thought I’d drop off your presents. It’s a shame your mother was too busy working over Christmas to come down to stay. Don’t tell me she’s working today too?”

  I nodded. “New Year’s Day is pretty hectic at the restaurant.”

  “That place is working her too hard. I’ve always told her … ” Aunt Beth broke off as she sensed someone hovering in the hallway.

  “Oh! I noticed the car outside, I should have realised you had a girlfriend over.” She strode towards Andy, with an outstretched hand. “I’m Kellie’s aunt.” She faltered as she took in Andy’s appearance. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were a boy … the … uh … hair…”

  I avoided Andy’s eye, instead busying myself picking up the empty wine bottle lying next to the couch.

  “Nice to meet you, Aunt Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Andy stepped forward to shake her hand.

  “Oh, and you’re American too. Have - you - been - in - Australia - long?”

  “This is Andy,” I said. “And you don’t need to speak slowly. They do speak English in America you know.”

  “Arguably,” Beth sniffed.

  “So can I get you a drink? You must be parched after your long drive.”

  “That would be lovely, my dear. I’ll go bring in the parcels first.”

  Andy came over as the screen door banged shut behind Beth. “Are you sure she’s related to your ma? She’s a bit …”

  My mouth gaped as I took
in Andy’s appearance. “Go to the bathroom or something,” I hissed. “You’ve got your shirt on back to front and inside out.”

  By the time Andy came back, with his T-shirt seams and label no longer showing, Aunt Beth was making herself a cup of tea. No one else made it quite right.

  “So are you staying with us? Mum didn’t say anything…”

  “No, no. Wouldn’t dream of imposing. I’m staying with my old friend Daphne. You remember her, with the grand piano in her front room. You used to love playing that when you were little. Remember Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques,” she sang. “You had a real ear for music.”

  “Andy’s a musician.”

  “Oh really.” She looked about as impressed as if I’d announced he collected toenail clippings.

  “Rock music,” I added.

  “That explains all the earrings then,” she harrumphed, gesturing at her own eyebrow and earlobes.

  “I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a bad time,” I said, sensing a tactical retreat was our best option. “We have to head off. Andy’s family always puts on a new year feast. They’re expecting us.” I nudged Andy.

  “Pig on the spit and all that,” he said. “You’re most welcome to join us....”

  I pinched his side, hard.

  “Thank you for the offer but Daphne will be expecting me. I hope that means you’ve given up that ridiculous vegetarianism, young lady.”

  “Alas no,” Andy said. “I’m always trying to tempt her with my meat and two veg-” This time I thumped him hard, before seeing Aunt Beth off to her car.

  * * *

  “What on earth?” I opened the front door to find Andy on the veranda – but not the Andy I knew. His long hair was gone, and in its place was a short, very uneven, spiky cut. And it was jet black.

  “Thought it was time for a change. For some reason I decided to let Caprice loose on my head. At least your aunt won’t mistake me for a girl next time.”

  “I guess it doesn’t look too bad.” I turned his head from side to side, rubbing my hand against the stubble on his chin. “I’ve just got to get used to it.”