by R. M. Corbet
Suddenly everyone in the audience is on their feet, applauding loudly. For the entire concert the only noise between movements has been old people coughing, babies crying or Dave asking me if he can clap yet.
‘Go for it, Dave!’ I say.
The two of us let rip, stomping and whistling until Ms Stanway walks back on stage. The audience sits down as the orchestra prepares to play an encore.
The encore they choose is ‘Spring’, so that the concert ends as it started and the seasons continue in an unbroken cycle. Just when you think things are all over, they’re starting up again.
I look up at Mia and she sees me. I give her a big thumbs up, to say that Harriet is fine, and she smiles and mouths the words ‘Thank you’, as if she can guess what we have been through.
It’s spring, all over again.
MIA
After the show there are coffee and biscuits out in the foyer. I talk to Mum and Dad, then I talk to someone else’s mum and dad, then someone else’s grandma and grandpa. Everyone says what a wonderful concert it was and how beautifully we played. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never seen these people before and will probably never see them again. It feels like one big happy family.
Will and his brother are there in the corner, and finally I get a chance to speak to them. But before Will can say anything, Dave is pumping my arm and raving loudly.
‘It was fantastic, but we almost didn’t make it! Poor Harriet! But she’s okay, don’t worry. I loved The Four Seasons, especially the bits when everyone played at the same time. It was so loud! Are you doing another concert, because if you are I want to come. Do you have a CD? Where can I buy it? Tell her that joke, Will – the one about the viola and the trampoline!’
I turn to Will. ‘What happened to Harriet?’
‘She’s back at our place,’ he says. ‘She was helping me find Dave.’
WILL
Mia wants to see Harriet. Her Mum says it’s okay, so she and Dave and I walk home together. Dave is lapping up Mia’s attention. He tells her in gory detail all about Harriet’s fight, and how he jumped out of a tree to save her.
‘I’ve decided I don’t want to run away from home,’ he says. ‘I want to play in an orchestra. I want to learn an instrument like that black one with all the knobs and the silver blower on the end. Will says it’s called a baboon!’
Harriet is in our laundry, curled up on an old blanket. She’s sedated and bandaged but happy to see us. Mia has tears in her eyes as she kneels down beside the little beagle to give her a loving hug.
‘You were so brave, girl. There are some nasty dogs out there.’
Harriet is not to be moved, so Mia promises to come back in the morning. When I offer to walk her home, Dave is already halfway out the door.
‘What about me, Will? Can I come, too? What do you think, Mia? Would that be okay?’
Mia takes Dave’s hand, which shuts him up better than a roll of masking tape.
‘Another time, Dave,’ she says. ‘Will and I need to talk.’
MIA
It’s a warm, misty night. Will and I walk slowly along the main road, looking in the shop windows, reading the price tags, feeling the tiny droplets on our skin and hearing the occasional swish of a passing car. We don’t really need to talk. We don’t need to talk about the concert. We don’t need to talk about music or sport. We don’t need to talk about Harriet or Dave. We don’t need to talk about our parents or our friends, about the past or the future. We don’t need to talk about feelings or facts, about being reliable or redecorating our bedrooms. It’s warm and misty with the feeling of invisible raindrops in the soft night air. Will and I are happy just walking. We don’t need to talk . . .
WILL
Talk? What is there to talk about? Don’t forget V! Is Mia still upset about Vanessa? Or has she fallen in love with the first violinist? (V for Virtuoso?) If Mia wants to talk, then why isn’t she talking? Does she expect me to launch into an apology when I didn’t even kiss Vanessa? Or is she waiting to break the news gently about her and the talented Mr V? Should I say something? Should I break the ice? Should I apologise one more time about Harriet? Should I tell her how beautiful she looked up on the stage?
Mia and I walk on in silence up the main road. Ahead of us, the hands on the clock tower are covering the twelve. Either it’s midnight or the clock is broken. Mia stops walking and turns to face me. This is it – the big V – the thing she wants to talk about.
‘Look up in the sky,’ she says.
Mia looks like Cinderella, but I think I’m about to get hit by a falling pumpkin.
MIA
I ask Will, ‘What do you see up there?’
He looks uncertain. ‘Clouds?’
‘Do you ever think about raindrops?’
‘Raindrops?’
‘Did you ever think about what happens when two raindrops fall on the top of a mountain? One raindrop rolls down one side of the mountain, then into a stream, then a river, before it gets swept away into the sea. But the other raindrop runs off in a different direction, down into a different river, then off into a different ocean, maybe. The two raindrops started off so close but then ended up so far away.’
‘Maybe one day,’ says Will, obviously choosing his words carefully, ‘they might meet again, in the clouds.’
‘Is that possible, do you think?’
‘I’m sure it is.’
WILL
There is no pumpkin! There is no V! Mia is a modern-day Cinderella who doesn’t care what time it is, a.m. or p.m. She doesn’t want to fight with me. She just wants to talk about the weather! We leave the main road and walk through empty suburban streets with their parked cars and leafy trees, their picket fences and immaculate gardens. It feels like just the two of us now, while the rest of the world is asleep.
‘What do you throw away when you need it,’ she says, ‘and pick up when you don’t need it?’
‘I give up. What?’
‘It’s a riddle,’ she says. ‘I’m not telling you. You have to work it out.’
‘What do you throw away when you need it . . . ’ ‘ . . . and pick up when you don’t need it?’
‘A light switch?’
‘Wrong!’
‘Chewing gum?’
‘No.’
‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’
‘Sorry.’
‘But I might never guess. I might go to my grave without knowing the answer.’
‘That would be sad.’
‘Secrets?’
‘Incorrect.’
‘Time?’
‘Hmm . . . no.’
‘A friend?’
‘I hope not.’
‘A boomerang? A yoyo?’
‘No . . . and no.’
‘Underpants, astronauts, Eskimos?’
‘You’re not really trying anymore, are you?’
MIA
Will and I have come to a crossroads. All the streets look the same – north, south, east and west. There is a roundabout like a grassy green island with a big leafy tree in the centre. We sit down like castaways, feeling stranded and invisible behind a curtain of mist. It is after midnight but instead of feeling tired, I am almost dizzy with excitement. It doesn’t feel late anymore, it feels early.
‘Can you give me a clue?’ he says.
‘I feel as if we’re floating,’ I say.
‘Floating?’ Will thinks for a while. ‘A lifebuoy?’
‘A lifebuoy gets thrown at you, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ve got it!’ he says suddenly.
‘What is it?’ I say. ‘What do you throw away when you need it and pick up when you don’t need it?’
‘An anchor!’
‘Yes!’ I say, holding out my hand.
Will takes it and squeezes gently.
‘You’re my anchor,’ he says, softly.
WILL
Love is an anchor – it stops you from drifting away. Love is sticking up for your friends and family,
or even your pets. Love is being brave and saying what you feel. Love is making music or playing tennis, it’s doing what you want to do. Love is holding on and not letting go.
MIA
Will’s hand feels soft and warm in mine, but also strong and determined. I feel his grip tighten as I gently pull towards him . . .
WILL
. . . and we . . .
MIA
. . . kiss!
Seven
WILL
One month later, my elbow is still pretty stuffed. Playing tennis is out – along with directing traffic and cooking with a wok – so Ken has given up trying to make me into a star. Instead, he and I are training Dave to be the star. Go, Dave!
Dave loves the attention, of course, but his favourite thing is walking Harriet. Dave is crazy about Harriet, and Harriet is crazy about Dave – probably because he takes her on such epic walks.
‘She’s a good dog, Will. A very good dog. You need to be patient, that’s all.’
‘Sounds like you’re the right man for the job, Dave.’
‘Except that I’m not a man, Will.’
‘You will be one day, Dave.’
‘Are you a man yet, Will?’
‘Almost, Dave.’
‘When you’re a man, you should ask Mia to marry you.’
‘It’s not out of the question, Dave.’
‘If you and Mia got married, then Harriet would be our dog, too!’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you.’
‘If you married her, would you have babies, Will?’
‘Well I don’t know, Dave.’
‘Are you going to have sex, Will?’
‘If we’re going to have babies, Dave, it might be necessary.’
MIA
So now I have the perfect bedroom, with the perfect boyfriend to go in it. Will comes over to my place and lies on my new bed while I practise my viola. I make him close his eyes, because otherwise he goes all gooey and it’s too hard to concentrate. Will talks about how good things are between us. He wants to get an anchor tattooed on his arm, but I say to him, ‘Who do you think you are, a sailor?’
Things have quietened down at home. Dad comes around to visit, and Mum even lets him in. Dad and Tina aren’t together anymore, as far as I know. But Mum has a new male friend, so that sounds interesting.
Renata is still in Europe. Her family has decided to live there for good. Renata wrote a long, sad letter, addressed to my two best friends. Vanessa and I cried when we read it. If we could still be best friends with Renata, how hard could it be being friends with each other? Vanessa is okay. You just can’t leave her alone with your boyfriend for too long.
Vanessa has had plenty of flings with boys, but she’s never actually had a relationship.
‘What’s your secret?’ she asked me the other day.
(That was funny. Vanessa asking me about boys.)
I could have said all that stuff about trust and commitment, about not letting go, but giving the guy a bit of slack to let him find things out for himself. I could have talked about respect and compromise. After all, that stuff is important.
Instead, I told Vanessa, ‘The main thing is, we’re not in a hurry. And Will is such a good kisser!’
About
the
Author
As a teenager, Robert Corbet constantly fell in love with blonde girls called Michelle. At university, he always fell for clever girls with long velvet dresses and short, dark hair.
Finally he met a girl in pink overalls who rode a motorbike.
After a long, agonising courtship, they bought a station wagon, had three children and were happy ever after.
His other books with Allen & Unwin are The Passenger Seat and Shelf Life.