Miss Understood

by James Roy

  ‘Which I accepted,’ Dad retorted.

  ‘Yes, well Mr Finch says that things became physical,’ Derek went on.

  ‘Now, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ Mum interrupted. ‘It was hardly physical.’

  ‘He said that your husband put his hands on him and pushed him out the door.’

  Dad shook his head, but it was a sad kind of head shake, and he was looking at the ground at the time. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t as physical as you’re making out, but there’s a chance that things did become a little more heated than they should have. But you have to understand that this isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s not even the third or fourth time!’

  ‘It’s true,’ Mum added. ‘It happens all the time, and frankly, we’re sick of it. People just wander into our home when we least expect it.’ (I thought this was a slightly funny thing to say, since we’d come to totally expect that someone would try to wander through our house at least three times every weekend.)

  ‘Well–’ Derek said.

  But Mum hadn’t finished. ‘Think about it, Derek,’ she said. ‘Do people just wander into your home whenever they feel like it?’

  When I heard Mum say that, I couldn’t help but look at Derek. But then he couldn’t help glancing at me, just for a second, before looking away in a hurry.

  ‘Why don’t you just lock the front door?’ Derek asked.

  ‘Why don’t you tell people that this place isn’t part of HomeFest?’ Dad retorted, which seemed like a pretty good point.

  Derek didn’t seem to have an answer for this. Instead, he said, ‘Have you thought about putting a sign on the front of the house?’

  Dad chuckled, which seemed odd, considering he was so cross. ‘No, we’ve never thought of doing that,’ he said. ‘What do you think it could say? “No trick-or-treat”? “Home, sweet home, but not for you”? “Keep walking or meet the fury of my shotgun”?’

  ‘The sarcasm isn’t helping,’ Derek said. ‘Now, I asked Mr Finch if he’d be happy for me to give you his number so you can give him a call and apologise personally.’

  ‘Again?’ Dad said.

  ‘Well, yes, now that everyone has calmed down a bit.’ Derek held out a small card, which he nodded at, trying to get Dad to take it. ‘Would you do that?’

  Dad took the card out of Derek’s hand and glanced down at it. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll give him a call.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do it straight away,’ Dad answered. Then he held out his hand. ‘And I’m sorry for the embarrassment.’

  That seemed to calm Derek down a bit. He shook Dad’s hand. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Thank you. And I’m going to talk to my boss and see if we can do something to stop this happening again. A sign or something. You know, all official.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Dad replied. ‘And again, I’m sorry.’

  As Derek got back into his car and drove off, Mum took Dad’s hand, and they both turned and headed for the house. I think it was only then that Dad realised that I’d been standing there the whole time, because he took a bit of a funny, surprised little step and stopped, and blinked the way that people sometimes do when they get a fright, or see someone unexpected.

  ‘Betty,’ he said, as Mum took Richie and went inside. ‘Betty, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Why? Are you?’

  And then he was blinking a lot more, even though he shouldn’t have been surprised to see me there any more. ‘I’m mostly embarrassed that you had to see that. And the other thing, earlier, inside.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You were cross.’

  He gave me a little half-smile. ‘I was, wasn’t I? Still, that might have been a slight overreaction.’

  He did make the phone call, but I didn’t get to hear what he said, since I was helping Mum tidy the kitchen. But a little while after that he came downstairs, flicked on the kettle and sat at the bench.

  ‘Done?’ Mum asked.

  Dad nodded. ‘Done.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘He was fine.’

  ‘Good. And tomorrow you’ll make that other call, yeah?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 30

  Late on the following Tuesday morning, Mum and Dad went for an appointment somewhere. They took Richie over to Aunty Carol’s, but they let me stay home. It was my first time home alone, and I was a bit nervous, but mostly excited.

  ‘What sort of appointment is it?’ I asked my parents before they left, since I like to know what’s going on.

  ‘The kind that we both have to be at,’ Mum said, which wasn’t all that helpful, to be honest.

  ‘Is it bad?’

  Dad shook his head. ‘No, Betty, it’s not bad.’

  ‘Then why can’t you tell me what it is? Is someone sick?’

  ‘No,’ said Dad, which would have been a fairly good answer, except for Mum going, ‘In a way, I suppose,’ at exactly the same time.

  ‘Wait – are you having another baby?’ I said, frowning at Mum. ‘Because I don’t remember you talking to me about that. I represent the kids in this family, since Richie can’t really say much yet, so I think you should’ve definitely talked to me before you made a big decision like that –’

  Mum and Dad were both laughing. ‘Calm down – no one’s having a baby,’ Mum said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘We’re sure,’ Dad answered. ‘At least . . .’

  ‘We’re sure,’ Mum said.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Because I wouldn’t really mind that much, if you decided that you wanted to.’ (Which was true – I honestly wouldn’t mind, so long as I didn’t have to share my room with anyone, especially some smelly, noisy baby. Or the new one, if there was one, which they’d said quite clearly there wasn’t.) ‘But you know, it would still be polite if you talked to me before you decided –’

  ‘Lizzie, we’re not having another baby,’ Mum said again.

  ‘Then what’s going on? No one’s dying, are they?’

  Dad shook his head. Then he put his arm around me. ‘I’ll talk to you about it when we get home, okay? We’ll go out and get an iced chocolate at The Green Gecko.’

  ‘Okay,’ I replied. This sounded like a good plan: not only would I find out what was going on, but I’d get to go out to the coolest cafe in the world with my dad.

  ‘Now, are you sure you’re going to be okay?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘I’m braver than you think. But seriously, no one is dying?’

  Dad gently cuffed the side of my head. ‘We’ll talk when we get back. Don’t burn anything down.’

  While they were gone, I tried to keep my mind busy. I really don’t like it when things are all secret-y, but it’s hard to make yourself not think of something. Like, if I tell you to not think about a penguin, what would you do? You’d think about a penguin. So I had to distract myself. I thought about doing homework, but who wants to do homework when they’ve got the house to themselves?

  I sat and talked to Muppet for a while, and went to the front door and looked up and down the street. Nothing much was happening out there.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Miss Huntley called from her front yard. I was a bit surprised to see her out in her garden, since it was overcast and chilly, and the sky looked as though it might start raining at any moment.

  ‘Sure, everything’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m right here if you need me.’

  ‘For what?’ I asked.

  ‘Just if you need me.’

  ‘Did Mum and Dad ask you to check on me?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Miss Huntley replied. But I didn’t believe her.

  ‘I’m going back inside,’ I said. ‘And I’m fine.’

  ‘I know you are,’ she said. ‘You’re fine, and everyone else is going to be fine too. You’ll see.’

  ‘I will?’ I asked, even though I didn’t have eve
n the tiniest idea of what she was talking about.

  ‘You will. It might take a little while, but you’ll see.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ I said, opening our front door. ‘Well, see you later, Miss Huntley.’

  After what felt like a fortnight, Mum and Dad got home. It was weird, watching them come into the house from the garage, because they were actually holding hands. And I hadn’t seen my parents hold hands for a really, really long time.

  ‘How was everything?’ Mum asked me.

  ‘Fine, except for Miss Huntley trying to burn her house down. Luckily I was watching her to make sure she was okay to be on her own,’ I said.

  Mum pulled an embarrassed face. ‘Sorry about that, Lizzie.’

  ‘Anyway, you promised to tell me why you guys went to the doctor together,’ I said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Dad replied. Then he took this huge breath and kind of sighed. ‘I did promise that, didn’t I?’ He glanced at Mum, and I saw her give him the tiniest little nod, and a flickery little smile. Then he picked up his car keys, jingled them twice, and said, ‘What are you waiting for, Betty? Let’s go!’

  We didn’t say much on the drive to the shops. It was awkward – I think that’s the word – because no one said anything, even though at least one of us wanted to go, ‘Tell me what’s happened! Tell me now! I have to know.’ (Yes, that person was me.)

  As we pulled up out the front of The Green Gecko, a song came on the radio. It’s a song that Dad used to sing all the time, and he used to get the words wrong all the time as well. There was one line in particular that he’d always mess up. But then me and Mum told him what we thought the real line was, and after that (just to annoy Mum, I think) he always made sure he sang it wrong: ‘There’s nothing that a hundred men on Mars could ever do.’ Every time, and loudly.

  This day the song came on, and I glanced across at Dad, expecting him to be getting that cheeky smile that he thinks he can hide but that he actually can’t. But there was no smile; not a cheeky one or a little, weak one or any at all. His face was completely blank.

  ‘Dad?’ I said. ‘It’s your favourite song.’

  ‘Huh? Oh, yeah.’

  ‘You going to sing it?’

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  ‘You usually do,’ I said, because he does.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. And you get the words wrong. Like, every time.’

  ‘I do? That must be annoying.’

  ‘No, it’s funny.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that’s good,’ he said. ‘But I’m not really in the mood to sing right now, Betty.’

  ‘Not even if I sing it with you?’ I asked him. The chorus was coming up, which is the part of the song with the ‘hundred men on Mars’ line. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s sing it together!’

  ‘No, Lizzie,’ he said, and I knew that something was on his mind, because he never uses that name for me unless I’ve done something bad, and I couldn’t think of anything bad that I might have done this time.

  He turned off the engine. ‘Let’s get something to eat as well – I’m starving.’

  For a long time after we sat down in our booth, Dad didn’t say anything. He just looked at the menu, which he doesn’t usually do. I didn’t know what I should say, since it’s rude to talk to someone when they’re reading. And also, he was acting a bit weird, I thought.

  Luckily Lou came over then, so I didn’t have to go on feeling self-conscious about the not-talking we were doing. (Or is it the talking we weren’t doing? I’m not sure which one it is, but you know what I mean.)

  ‘Hey, guys,’ Lou said. ‘What can I get you? The usual?’

  Dad nodded. ‘Thanks, mate, the usual would be great.’

  ‘You right, buddy?’ Lou asked, looking at Dad in this really intense way.

  ‘Sure,’ Dad said. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Lou replied. Then he turned to go back to the counter. ‘I’ll get your drinks.’

  But he was only a couple of steps away when Dad said, ‘I did it, Lou. What we were talking about – Denise convinced me.’

  Lou stopped and came back to the table. He put his hand on Dad’s shoulder. ‘You did the right thing, buddy,’ he said. ‘What’s he got you on?’

  ‘Same as you,’ Dad said. ‘Plus he had a few other ideas.’

  ‘Well, I wish you all the best,’ Lou said. ‘Trust me, you did the right thing. No looking back, yeah?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Dad said. ‘Thanks, Lou.’

  When Lou had gone, I planted my elbows on the edge of the table and gave Dad the sternest, most responsible frown I could muster.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You promised to tell me what’s going on. But you’ve already told Lou! He’s not even your daughter!’

  ‘That’s true, he’s not,’ Dad replied. ‘You are, and that’s why I’m going to tell you what the deal is. I went to see the doctor today. With your mum.’

  When he said that, I might have rolled my eyes a bit. ‘Are you going to tell me anything I don’t already know?’

  He ignored that. ‘Betty, first I want you to know that everything’s going to be okay.’

  When he said those words, I felt my tummy go all churny. Usually when people say that kind of thing it’s because they’re about to tell you bad news. They’re trying to make you relax and go, ‘Oh, well, that’s okay then’, but then they tell you the bad news and you feel even worse.

  ‘Are you going to die?’ I said. ‘You can tell me. Just tell me.’

  Even though I’d asked him the same question earlier that afternoon, and he’d given me an answer, I felt like I needed to hear him tell me again. So it was really good to see him give me a big smile (it wasn’t quite a grin, but it was still pretty big) and to hear him say, ‘No, Betty, I’m not going to die. But I do have a few things that I need to sort out in my head.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know how I get cranky some of the time? Like, with you when you forget to do the bins, or when Richie makes too much noise, or when someone does something stupid in traffic, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Or when someone doesn’t like one of your reviews?’

  ‘Yeah, exactly. Well, there’s a reason for that.’

  ‘Is it because you’re surrounded by idiots?’ I asked.

  That made him laugh. ‘Sometimes, but mostly it’s not the fault of those people.’

  ‘So why do you get cranky at them?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, that’s just the thing, Betty. It’s not really my fault either. We’ve got chemicals in our brains –’

  ‘Who does?’ I interrupted.

  ‘We all do. These chemicals make everything work properly. But if you don’t have enough, you sometimes need help to not feel cranky and miserable.’

  This was confusing. In fact, it wasn’t really making any sense at all. ‘So you’re saying that you’re cranky and miserable all the time? But you’re, like, really happy. You know, making jokes and being silly, and getting the words of songs wrong.’

  ‘I know. I’m good at that, aren’t I? But I don’t feel that way all the time. A lot of the time I feel very down. Of course, you’re allowed to feel sad when sad things happen, and you can get angry about things when they deserve it. But not all the time, even when things are good.’

  ‘But I remember Ms Richardson getting us to write down all the good things and all the bad things we had in our life, and to then think about how many more good things there were than bad things. Why don’t you just do that to make yourself feel better?’

  ‘That’s the point, Betty,’ he said. ‘Exactly that. I know how good my life is. But then I get so angry or down about things that really shouldn’t make me react that way. And that’s why I went to see the doctor.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He agreed that those things shouldn’t make me react that way. So he’s given me a few things t
o try, like some medicine, and the name of a lady he’d like me to talk to. He also gave it a name.’

  ‘A name? What did he call it?’

  ‘He called it the Black Dog, because these feelings are just sniffing around at your feet and getting in the way.’

  ‘The Black Dog,’ I repeated. ‘At least Muppet is mostly white.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Dad said. ‘Here, I got something for you to look at.’ He placed a brochure on the table. It was red and white, with a cartoony black dog on the front, and these words: Keeping Depression on a Leash. ‘You can read it later if you like. And Betty, I’m really sorry.’

  I gave him my confused-but-also-a-bit-cranky face. ‘You just said it’s not your fault.’

  ‘It’s not. Not really.’

  ‘Then stop saying sorry.’

  CHAPTER 31

  When we’d finished our drinks, Dad handed me the car keys. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ he said. ‘I just want to have a quick chat with Lou.’

  I read the Black Dog brochure while I waited. I didn’t understand every single bit of it, but lots of it did make sense. And on the second page was a checklist. I read it carefully. Mood swings, having no energy, feeling like everything was hopeless, finding it hard to keep relationships, feeling like everyone else was doing better. Yes, I thought that a lot of them sounded like my dad.

  Later, after we’d got home, I took Muppet for a walk. It had been a while since I’d done that, and when he heard me get the lead, he went kind of crazy, running around my legs and almost tripping me over.

  We walked to the end of our street and over three more streets until we reached the little HomeFest office that was built into the front of one of the display houses. There, rearranging the brochures along the top of the black marbly bench, was Derek. No one else was in the room, and in the corner was a big TV playing a DVD of the insides of huge houses.

  Derek looked up when I walked in. ‘Sorry, no dogs, if you don’t mind . . . Oh, it’s you,’ he said. ‘Betty.’

  ‘Hi, Derek,’ I said. ‘Thanks for not saying you knew me the other day. Mum and Dad don’t know that I’ve been coming over to the house to talk to you through the window.’