‘Mum?’ I tried again.
‘I was reading about getting closure, you know, so I started sorting through a few of your father’s belongings to throw out, and … well … things got out of hand,’ she murmured, glancing at the frozen chicken.
The phone rang, causing us all to jump in fright.
‘Ignore it,’ urged Mum.
Kat answered it and rattled through the usual polite replies to the person on the other end, then held up the phone. ‘Josie, it’s for you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s uni.’
I took the phone from her. ‘Hello?’
Filly’s friendly voice came down the line and somehow I pushed everything — Mum, Billy, James, Sash and Rae — into a tiny, locked compartment in my brain for a moment so I could listen to what he was saying.
‘Yep, I’ll come in tomorrow,’ I told him when he’d finished. ‘Yep. See you then. Thanks, Filly.’
I hung up. Filly’s news would have to wait. Mum’s tear-stained face snapped me back to the present, which, unfortunately, hadn’t turned out to be a nightmare.
Kat, her cheeks flushed a deep red, waved a torn photo in front of Mum’s face. ‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’ she asked. ‘You’re punishing yourself. I’m sick of it, I’m so sick of it.’
‘Put that down,’ Mum said. ‘Just … just … put it away, Katherine.’
‘Don’t call me that — it’s Kat. And you’re the one who got the photos out and ripped them up. Dad’s not coming home. Yes, he’s an idiot and he’s ruined everything, but aren’t you supposed to be the grown-up around here?’
‘Kat, cool it,’ I said, shocked at the way she was speaking to Mum.
‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she snapped at me, eyes blazing. ‘You’re off in your world of magazines and rock stars in the city. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here dealing with this!’
‘I’ve been here every chance possible!’ I retorted.
It was true. And when I wasn’t busy at Sash, it was because I was at uni. So why did I feel smothered by guilt?
‘Katherine Browning,’ Mum said, her voice shaking. ‘I told you —’
‘Can’t we have one day without drama?’ yelled Kat, before storming off and slamming her bedroom door.
Mum plonked the frozen chook on the kitchen bench then fled into the backyard. I knew I’d find her later sitting among the roses and mint.
I considered calling Aunt Julie to find out more, but decided against it in case she packed her mothball-smelling overnight bag and came to visit. I’d let things cool off and then I’d see. For now, I wandered around the house putting everything back in its place. The anniversary vase was too shattered to fix, so I wrapped the pieces in newspaper and threw them in the bin. Just like Dad had done to us.
Filly had hinted at what he had to tell me on the phone. But hearing it in person was even better.
‘The Weekly Mail wants an eight-hundred-word opinion piece from you,’ he said, passing me the typed brief. ‘There’s no money in it, but you’ll get a by-line and, if you’re lucky, a head shot. I know it’s for free and it’s not a national paper, but regional is a great place to build your portfolio. The topic’s up to you — just choose something you’re passionate about. They want the story to feel “real”.’
I scanned the brief. ‘They want me? Um … why?’
Filly raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’
Why not? I thought. I didn’t dare list all the reasons in case he changed his mind. Off the top of my head, I could have rustled up at least seven: one of them being if he’d somehow discovered I was at the centre of the Billy media scandal.
‘Um,’ I said, ‘why not? Well, my late essay for one, I was refused a newspaper internship placement and —’
‘Josie, you’re a great writer. I know it, the Mail knows it — yes, I’ve shown them some of your work. When are you going to start believing that you’ve got what it takes?’
I wanted to believe it, more than anything. But a niggling voice in the back of my mind had almost convinced me this was some sort of prank. That any moment now a cheesy TV host would jump out from beneath the desk, shout ‘Just kidding!’ and slime me with green goo. I took a quick peek around the desk just in case, but all I could see were Filly’s thick, hairy legs in khaki shorts.
‘Josie, it’s time to stop questioning every good thing that comes your way,’ he continued. ‘Be honest, be daring — and meet their deadline, yeah? Email the piece to me when you’re done and I’ll forward it on.’
‘Thanks, Filly. I appreciate it.’ I folded the brief in half and tucked it into my handbag. ‘So, ah, have Sash magazine called lately?’
‘Yep, Liani rang the other day and told me she’s pleased with your work.’
‘Great … She didn’t mention anything else?’ Such as my clumsy coffee-carrying skills, celebrity-kissing abilities or internet-troll magnetism.
Filly shrugged. ‘Nope, that was it. Now, get out of here and put your writer’s cap on.’
I was smiling as I left his office, as I got the bus home and as I walked to our front door. But when I got inside, there was no one to hear my big announcement.
The lounge room didn’t provide any clues — it was still spotless from my clean-up after Mum’s meltdown. I walked down the hallway. As usual, Kat’s door was shut. Loud music blared from inside and I heard her singing along with the lyrics, drifting in and out of tune. When I peeked in the master bedroom, Mum was asleep on the bed, fully clothed, apparently deaf to the bad karaoke pulsating through the house. I sighed, feeling guilty that I’d had such a good morning while things at home were still shaky.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled out a chopping board, knife, some cheese and crackers. A food coma seemed a good idea right about now, even though I knew that overdoing it on cheese would end with me wailing ‘Why?!’ while clutching my stomach. Let Future Me deal with the tummy-ache, I thought as I unwrapped the cheese block. Now Me needed to blot out the twisted, all-consuming pangs of guilt about what was happening to my family.
‘Step away from the camembert,’ Kat said, appearing in front of me. ‘I bet those fancy magazine girls don’t OD on cheese. Go and have a celery stick or a glass of air.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Are you and Mum talking yet?’ I asked, smearing a creamy chunk of cheese onto a biscuit.
Kat shrugged and reached for a cracker.
‘So that’s a no, then?’ I said. ‘Maybe you should chat to her when she wakes up.’
‘Whatever. So what did your teacher want? Did you forget another assignment deadline?’
I told Kat about the Weekly Mail piece, leaving out the part about not getting paid. I knew she’d bag me for that. ‘Hey,’ I continued, ‘look, I’m sorry I haven’t been here and stuff’s got … hard, you know, with Mum and everything.’
My awkwardness was evident. We’d never been good at talking about serious things. We were great at arguing about TV and music, or teasing each other’s haircuts and crushes, but when it came to saying what we really felt, we sucked.
Kat’s jaw hardened. ‘Ah, okay.’
‘I’m serious. You’ve done an awesome job with everything and Mum’s going to be fine. I think she’s just exhausted and needs to sleep it off.’
I didn’t know if that was true, or whether I was being naive, but it was what I’d chosen to believe.
‘Thanks, Jose. Pretty cool about the article, by the way,’ she added, changing the subject. ‘Hey, are you okay after what happened at the cafe yesterday? Stacey’s a real bitch.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ If fine meant wanting to go all Jackie Chan on Pete Jordan’s girlfriend.
‘Good. I’m going to chill for a bit. Save some cheese for the rest of us, yeah?’ Kat disappeared back down the hallway. It took me a few seconds to realise she’d taken the biscuits.
I was bursting to tell Mum that I was going to be a writer — a real writer published in a newspaper that people actually read — but I restra
ined myself from barging into the bedroom and waking her up to my news and a cup of Earl Grey. Her recent mood didn’t give the impression she’d be ecstatic about … well, anything much. So, instead, I settled for diving deep into my imagination, a technique that had helped me survive many of life’s tragic, dull and frustrating moments. If Mum wasn’t going to jump for joy in real life, then I would concoct a fantasy universe where she did. In my mind, she cheered, then pulled me into a hug — one of those bone-crunchers that left you simultaneously blissful and out of breath. She’d say, ‘I’m so proud of you, love,’ and I’d sink even deeper into her hug. She’d smell of coriander, Turkish delight and fabric softener. She’d smell like home.
Hours later, Kat was still tucked away in her room, Mum was awake, drinking tea and playing Solitaire on the dining table, and I was enjoying a moment’s peace in my bedroom without: (a) someone publishing a photo of me that almost ruined my life; (b) my mum or sister throwing a hissy fit; or (c) having a nasty encounter with a sleazy guy from my past.
And then my phone rang. Steph’s name flashed on the screen. I answered it.
‘Hey lady, what’s up?’
‘It’s happened,’ Steph said breathlessly. ‘This is not a drill. They’ve broken up. It’s over.’
My mind raced. ‘Who? Billy and Kara?’
‘Even better,’ said Steph without skipping a beat. ‘James and Summer.’
My heart fluttered and anxious tremors shot through my body. Every fibre of my being wanted to organise a flash mob to celebrate this news, film it and put it on YouTube.
‘Oh?’ I said in my best whatever-like-I-care voice.
Steph saw straight through my attempt at nonchalance. ‘Oh indeed, Miss Playing It Cool. It’s over. Did you hear what I said? James is single.’
‘Righto, detective. What happened?’
‘Oh, it was brutal.’
‘Wait, how do you know? Did you bump into James in the city or something?’
‘Um … wait a second.’
I heard fumbling, followed by a guy clearing his throat.
‘Hey, cuz. How are you?’
‘Tim? Hey! What are you doing with Steph?’
‘So, ah, Steph wants me to tell you something. She’s too scared — right — well, she thinks it’s better coming from me.’ There was more fumbling and I heard Steph whispering in the background but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Tim cleared his throat again. ‘Cuz, so, ah, we’re kinda together.’
‘Who’s together? You and … you and Steph?’
‘Well, we’re not getting married or anything, but yeah, we’re hanging.’
I experienced a slight WTF moment and forgot how to string a sentence together.
Tim murmured, ‘Um … I’ll just put Steph back on.’
‘I’m back,’ announced Steph, sounding sheepish. ‘Oh J, you hate me, don’t you?’
‘No, of course not. I just …’ I fumbled around for the right words. ‘No, I definitely don’t hate you. Or Tim. I’m taking it in … Um … so does this mean we’re kind of related now?’
‘Yeah, for sure.’
‘Well, you better tell me everything when he’s out of earshot. Well, not everything-everything, but you know what I mean.’
She laughed. ‘I will. But how nuts is that about James and Summer? Tim told me and I had to call. Huge news, right?’
‘I guess.’
Massive news, my mind shouted. The biggest news I’d heard in ages. I couldn’t think of any other news that was bigger.
A horrible thought dawned on me. James was hot, smart and nice — the trifecta, and a total catch. He was classic boyfriend material, the type of guy any girl would love to take home to her folks — and I didn’t want some gorgeous, leggy specimen swooping in to do just that. As far as I was concerned, if anyone was swooping, it was going to be me.
18.
My hair shone, eyes sparkled and I smelled incredible (perhaps a little too incredible, as I’d doused myself in perfume instead of spritzing as Sia had encouraged). Steph had shown me how to re-create the gorgeous, wavy hairstyle from my birthday night and she was right, it had been easy to do. I pinned the last strand of hair and secured the fishtail braid. Perfect. My dress was new: I’d braved the shops with Kat again and she’d helped me pick out a dusty blue cap-sleeved number that was on sale. A touch of cherry lip gloss finished my outfit. I’d never felt better — and it was only fifty per cent to do with making James fall desperately in love with me.
‘Josie, are you here?’ I heard him call out from the hallway.
‘Yep, in the bathroom,’ I said, before realising that sounded a little wrong. ‘Like, I’m in the bathroom, but not innnn the bathroom, if you need to come in. I mean, I’m not on anything or using anything or doing anything, if you know what I mean?’
Of course he knew what I meant. The dead ants on the balcony knew what I meant. Moments like this certainly encouraged the idea of sewing my lips together.
When James popped his head in, I was coating on an extra layer of bronzer.
‘Jose …’ he started, then, when he saw my face, ‘Whoa! What’s with the tandoori tan?’
‘Oh, you know, just adding a healthy glow.’ I paused. ‘I look like a lobster, don’t I?’
He grinned. ‘Little bit. Just wipe some of it off and you’ll look great.’
My cheeks flushed. Or maybe that was still the bronzer. ‘Thanks.’
I searched his face for any sign of distress after the breakup, but there were no visible tear stains or puffed eyes.
‘So, ah, Steph told me things have been pretty hectic for you at home and at Sash,’ said James.
‘Yeah.’ Hectic was one way to put it. Jaw-droppingly nuts was another.
‘I’m here if you need to, you know, talk about anything.’
I shrugged. ‘Thanks, but there’s nothing to tell, really.’
As much as I wanted to spend time with James, I didn’t want my roller-coaster life to be the sole focus of our friendship. Instead, I would’ve rather talked about how much he wanted to rip my bra off, or something equally X-rated.
‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. ‘So what else is happening? Keeping busy?’
‘Does trying to stop Mum from tearing her hair out count?’
‘You bet.’ James tilted his head to one side. It was a seemingly innocent movement, but his eyes staring into mine pushed every logical thought from my brain.
‘I, ah, I actually heard a little something about you,’ I started.
The words hung in the air. There was no going back.
‘Yeah? What’s that? Oh, did Tim tell you I’m scoring the music for a mate’s short film?’
‘No! That’s huge.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘After our chat I started thinking, so I put some feelers out and one thing led to another … Anyway! What’s the thing you heard about me?’
‘Um. Never mind,’ I said, rubbing away some more bronzer to avoid eye contact. ‘Awesome news for you. Very impressive and well-deserved —’
‘Jose, what did you hear?’
I stopped, unsure how to continue. This was my chance, my moment — I just never pictured it would take place in a bathroom at eight in the morning. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a niggly voice reminded me that this probably wasn’t the best idea. But then I remembered the hot, smart, nice girls lurking in my imagination, waiting to swoop.
‘I heard you and Summer broke up,’ I said. ‘Steph told me.’
‘Oh, that. Well —’
‘James,’ I butted in. The words were flooding out whether I wanted them to or not. ‘You probably already know this, but I’m going to tell you anyway.’
‘Okay …’
‘Well, you know how some people meet each other and it’s like … like peanut butter and honey? It just works.’
‘I never really liked peanut butter,’ said James, wrinkling his nose. ‘It’s so sludgy.’
/> ‘You don’t like peanut butter? Okay, not the point. You know how some people fit together perfectly? Like Minnie and Mickey.’
James grinned. ‘You mean the talking mice?’
‘Bad example. Okay, okay … like Batman and Robin? Those dudes can’t stay away from each other.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Argh! Forget the rodents, forget the superhero bromance! Think of two things that work together … like noughts and crosses, or peas and corn —’
‘You know, I’m more of a peas and carrots kinda guy.’
‘Just … shut up for a sec!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I like you,’ I blurted out. ‘I’ve liked you for ages.’
My breathy sentiment rang out loud and clear, almost echoing off the tiles as I waited for James’s response. You know those movie scenes where two people profess their undying love and it ends with them tearing each other’s clothes off? Well, that didn’t happen.
‘Jose,’ James said, ‘the thing is —’
His phone rang, loud, shrill and dominating. He looked at the number.
‘Look, I hate to do this right now, but I’d better take it. I’m so sorry. We’ll talk soon, okay? I promise.’ He patted me on the shoulder and left the bathroom. Even though he’d shut the door behind him, I heard him say, ‘Hey, Summer’.
I glared in the mirror at my made-up face, now ruined by a stream of hot tears. Some were fuelled by embarrassment, others by the fact that the hottest, smartest, nicest guy I’d ever met was walking away to chat with another girl. The girl he was meant to have broken up with.
What had he been about to say before he was interrupted? I couldn’t believe he’d walked out, leaving me to drive myself batty attempting to decode the rest of the sentence. Was it: (a) ‘Jose, the thing is … I’m about to start the physically and emotionally draining process of becoming a woman; (b) ‘Jose, the thing is … I’m in love with you. I want to get your name tattooed on my left bicep; or (c) ‘Jose, the thing is … Summer and I are back together. She’s the one for me, we have amazing sex four times a day and I want to be the father of her children.’
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