by J. C. Burke
We were best friends. I was the wind beneath her wings.
But the idea of telling her about Saul terrified me because I honestly didn’t know what she’d say. Scarier than that, I didn’t know how I’d react.
Mum didn’t know about the time I’d slapped Andrea across the face. I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to hate Andrea. It was the day before Billy and Saul arrived for Christmas last year, except at that time I didn’t know it was only going to be Billy because, yet again, no one had found the need to tell me.
We were sunbaking by the pool at Andrea’s place and sharing a mango. I was going through my black-and-white phase and was wearing a white bandeau bikini top and black boy-short bottoms. Andrea was attempting to copy my look but typically had it all wrong; she was wearing white bottoms and a black top with ugly yellow flowers.
I tried to explain to her that the colours didn’t balance that way and you were meant to wear it the other way around. She’d rolled her eyeballs at me and said, ‘Gemma, you are such a walking fashion think-you-know-everything.’
But that’s not why I slapped her.
About five minutes after that Andrea had finished licking the last of the mango juice off her fingers and was busy slathering coconut oil all over her legs. ‘You excited to see Billy and Saul tomorrow?’
‘Yeah,’ I’d answered.
‘I wonder what Saul’s bought you for Christmas? Do you reckon he’s ever going to buy you those Christian Lacross earrings you wanted?’
‘It’s Christian Lacroix,’ I corrected her in my best French accent, dragging the spit up from my throat. ‘One day he will. He promised.’
‘But all that posh French stuff is so expensive. Just say Saul bought you a pair of earrings from some cheap place and told you they were Lacock or whatever his name is. I bet you wouldn’t know the difference.’
‘I bet I would!’
‘You’ll never get them,’ Andrea said. ‘They’re too expensive. You shouldn’t have pulled that big, sad puppy dog face when you saw the gold hoops. Poor Saul.’
‘Thanks for the lecture.’
‘So Saul and Billy are staying at your place?’
‘Derr. Where else would they stay?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe they want some privacy? Like your room is right next door. Hello? You must hear noises.’
‘Why do you always ask that? You’ve got some weird fascination with Billy and Saul.’
‘I’m just curious.’
‘Well, for the billionth time, I’ve never heard a thing,’ I answered. ‘Chuck me the oil.’
‘Maybe they gag each other?’
‘Andrea!’ I’d almost missed catching the oil. ‘You’re off!’
‘My parents wouldn’t let my sisters or me sleep in the same bed as our boyfriend unless we were married.’
‘Your parents still think you’re a virgin.’
‘Well, my dad would kill me if he knew I wasn’t.’
‘Or maybe he’d just leave, like my dad.’
‘But if Billy wasn’t a, wasn’t a …’
‘Poofter? You can say it, Andrea.’
‘Yeah, one of them,’ she said. ‘If he wasn’t, then your dad wouldn’t have left and your parents would still be together.’
‘No they wouldn’t!’
‘My mum reckons they would. Because you must admit your mum had to choose between her son and her husband.’
‘No she didn’t!’
‘Mum says she did.’
‘How would your mother know?’
Andrea shrugged.
‘How?’
Her next words were muttered through the side of her mouth and that had me sitting up. ‘It’s pretty obvious.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What?’
‘What did you just say, Andrea?’
‘When?’
‘A second ago,’ I said. Inside, I could feel my chest starting to burn. ‘I heard you, Andrea. You said, “It’s pretty obvious.” ’
Now Andrea was sitting up too because I was on my feet and leaning over her. ‘Hello?’ I barked into her face. ‘Can’t you speak now?’
‘Well, it is,’ she replied.
‘Is what?’
‘Is obvious.’
‘What’s obvious? Hey?’
Andrea dealt me another pathetic shrug then looked the other way.
‘What’s obvious?’ I was shouting and I was so close to her I could smell the mango on her breath. ‘Hey? Tell me.’
‘It’s obvious … your dad couldn’t handle his only son being a bum bandit.’
Whack! It happened so fast. I still remember watching my hand reach out of nowhere, as though it had a mind of its own, and slap her across the face, one cheek to the next.
I know I hit her hard. It wasn’t just because I heard her yelp and my palm was red and stung like crazy, it was because I had hit her for her crime – plus my father’s too.
I didn’t go back to school for the rest of the week and I didn’t call Andrea, Justin or Louise Lovejoy. I mooched around the house, watched television and made the odd visit to see the Carpinettas.
The first time I went upstairs, Mrs C stood up from the kitchen table and walked towards me with outstretched arms. ‘Cara, cara, cara, cara,’ is all she kept saying.
We had a little cry together. It was nice. Not over the top. Just enough.
‘You know this is your home, Gemma,’ Mrs C told me. ‘Whenever it get too much you come up here to Mr C and me.’
I wanted to ask her what ‘too much’ meant. Too much crying? Too much of Mum being sad? Too much of what exactly? But it was too hard to dissect the real meaning of words from someone whose first language wasn’t English. So I left it at that.
Mum finally had to deal with Andrea after she called for the eighth time because I still wasn’t up to telling her about Saul. Mum spun some story about me having suspected glandular fever that was possibly infectious so it was best not to visit. I told Mum that she’d missed her calling and she should’ve been an actress, or a professional liar if there was such a job.
Mum didn’t laugh at my joke. She stopped ironing the hem of the flower girl’s dress she was working on. ‘I don’t like what I’m doing, Gemma,’ she said. ‘One day when you’re a parent you’ll understand that you’d do anything to protect your children. If you can give them one less day of pain, then you do it. Even if it’s wrong. But you won’t understand that until you’re a mother. Maybe then you’ll forgive me.’
‘Chill. I wasn’t saying it was a bad thing,’ I told her.
Mum came over and wrapped her arms around me. She didn’t say anything, she just held me. I loved being cuddled by Mum, but this felt different.
I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I was sure of one thing. There was more ‘bad’ coming our way.
8
23 weeks to formal
ON MONDAY MORNING MUM WAS UP EARLY, sorting through the bathroom. The cleaning freak had returned, bigger and scarier than ever. Mum was swiping jars and half-empty tubes off the shelves and into a garbage bag.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Cleaning the clutter and junk out of the bathroom.’ Mum was puffing. She’d worked up a sweat too. ‘There were six half-used bottles of shampoo and conditioner in this cupboard and none of them had lids.’
‘Hey, that’s my hair wax!’ I said, watching it fly into the bag along with a comb, a frilly shower cap and two faded cakes of soap. ‘It’s still half full!’
‘It doesn’t have a lid either.’
‘But it’s still fine to use.’
‘I’ll buy you another one,’ she told me, then went over to the shower and started unclipping our map of the world shower curtain. ‘This is so disgusting. Disgusting!’ she was muttering. ‘I’ve bought a nice blue-and-white striped one.’
‘I love that shower curtain,’ I whined. ‘It’s how I learnt where all the countries are and—’
‘I don’t k
now how,’ Mum said. ‘The Northern Hemisphere is covered with mould!’
‘That’s one of the first things Billy brought back from New York.’
‘Exactly! So it’s had a good run but now it’s time for the garbage.’ Mum yanked the shower curtain off the last hook.
‘That’s sad.’
‘You’ll like the new one.’
‘Bet I won’t.’
‘From now on, Gemma, I want you to do your hair and all that stuff in your room,’ she said, tying up the rubbish bag. ‘I don’t want this mess in the bathroom anymore. You can keep your toiletries in a bag and just bring them in when you’re using them. We need to have a system.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m serious!’ Mum snapped, but straight away she apologised.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘It’s been a tough week.’
Mum didn’t answer. She threw the garbage bag over her shoulder and I followed her into the kitchen. ‘When’s Billy back from Martha’s Garden or whatever it’s called? Because I still haven’t spoken to him.’
‘I promise you will talk to Billy tonight,’ Mum said and just like that she started crying.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t go to school today?’
‘No, Gemma. The world can’t stop just because …’
‘Just because Saul died?’
‘Just because,’ Mum answered.
School was a better option. At least it was predictable, which wasn’t what home felt like at the moment. Number one prediction was that Andrea would be waiting by my locker and, of course, she was.
‘At last!’ she announced, throwing her arms around me. ‘I was starting to think you’d died.’
Lucky for me, my face was pressed into her shoulder because I needed a second to pull my expression together. Maybe it was the word ‘died’ or maybe I just wasn’t as ready as I thought I was.
‘Thanks for returning my calls – not,’ she said, cutting off the embrace and getting straight down to business. ‘I have a Marty situation on my hands and I’ve needed you!’
‘I’ve been sick.’
‘I know. The Infection Gestapo told me.’
‘The who?’
‘Your mother,’ Andrea answered. ‘She told me not to come over! Did you know? I couldn’t believe it. What a cow!’
‘She—’ I began.
‘I’m not lying, Gemma. Your mother said I wasn’t allowed to visit. I felt like saying, “Derr, Maryanne, Gemma would want me there.” ’
I opened my mouth to say something in my mother’s defence, because if anyone could be accused of being in the Infection Gestapo it was Andrea’s mother.
But the effort of trying to think of a comeback was too hard.
Yesterday I’d almost felt like I was ready to tell Andrea about Saul. But today the door had slammed on the idea. I couldn’t tell Andrea now. I didn’t know when I would be able to but it wasn’t today and it probably wouldn’t be tomorrow either. It’s hard to describe but it felt a bit like my armour didn’t fit properly and I had to wait until it did.
So I held on to it like it was my dirty little secret.
We walked to English. Andrea couldn’t get the words out quick enough. They were toppling over one another in a cascade of what Marty did next. ‘… he was hanging around Miss Prissy Sonia Darue and she was lapping it up and I couldn’t stand it any longer so when I saw Marty in the hall after assembly I said, “Why haven’t you spoken to me?” and Simon Finkler started laughing, like pissing his pants laughing, and then he said to me, the Fink, not Marty, “Piss off, you slag,” and I was standing there and they just walked off and I know Sonia Darue heard the whole thing.’
‘That sounds horrible,’ I said to Andrea.
‘It was.’ Andrea’s bottom lip had turned south. ‘It was really horrible …’ she spluttered. ‘I needed you, Gemma, and you weren’t here. I know you’ve been sick but you, you still could’ve called me. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of your best friend.’
I did feel sorry for her. I wasn’t thinking, Boo hoo, Andrea, worse things have happened. It was strange yet comforting that our stupid little world with Andrea at the very epicentre was still here and still exactly the same. I knew this world. I knew how to deal with it.
So much had changed in the last week and now I wasn’t sure how the big world worked anymore. Saul had died. Mum had ripped posters off church billboards and become a cleaning freak. Our map of the world shower curtain had gone, the fridge was spotless and all the old jars of gherkins had disappeared.
But what was shaking my world the most, what had the ground shifting under my feet, was how could Billy possibly be okay?
In the last week I had spent so much time thinking about it. How was Billy not HIV-positive? Was he sure he was negative? Had he had another test? In Billy’s fag mag there were stories about guys being told their results were negative when it was wrong. I wanted to ask Aunty Penny how he could be negative when his boyfriend of five years had just died of AIDS.
But I couldn’t reduce Saul to some medical mystery.
Saul was a wound in all our hearts. He had carved his way in not just because he was Billy’s boyfriend but because he was kind and real and generous. From day one, Saul had fitted into our somewhat strange little family. He had found a gap that none of us had filled and he’d simply slipped in and made it his own. My world would never be the same without Saul, and if I felt like this then I couldn’t imagine how my brother must feel.
There was no way Andrea was going to let me go straight home after school, because Andrea was, in her words, ‘going mental’ and ‘men in little white coats were about to cart her off to hospital’. Marty was ignoring her; Sonia Darue was having an ‘S party’ on the weekend, which Andrea wasn’t invited to but Marty was, and she knew Sonia would try and conquer him that night; and worst of all was that Andrea didn’t know if he was still her date for the formal.
But Andrea had a plan and she wanted to discuss it over coffee at Cafe Francais.
The red-and-white checked tablecloths that I thought were a total cliché, Andrea thought were exotic. She had zero money, which was typical. But the idea that we couldn’t afford Cafe Francais never occurred to her, which was even more typical.
I was counting all my coins, which came to five dollars and sixty-five cents, while she was whining, ‘Are you sure that’s all you have, Gemma?’
We calculated that we could afford to share a cappuccino and an almond croissant, even though at the milk bar around the corner we could both have had a vanilla thick-shake with enough money left for a giant bag of mixed lollies each.
‘What the hell am I going to do?’ Andrea collapsed into a chair. ‘I’m so humiliated. Sonia’s stupid party is not the problem. When I asked Marty if he was still coming to the formal with me he said he didn’t know what I was talking about Now can you understand why I think I’m going mental?’
The waitress brought over our food. ‘Merci, Madame,’ Andrea said, helping herself to the croissant and taking an enormous bite. ‘I mean, you’re my witness, Gemma. You were there when Marty said yes to me. You remember, don’t you?’ she asked through lips covered in flakes of pastry. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Hmm,’ I answered, grateful to be mid-sip of cappuccino, because I wasn’t sure Martin Searles had agreed to anything.
‘So there’s only one thing to do, and this is our plan,’ Andrea announced, taking the cup from my hand and putting it back on the saucer. ‘Billy has to work all his magic on me! Forget Louise Lovejoy – she’s beyond help. Forget you too, Gemma, because you’ll look good anyway. Billy needs to concentrate on me so I look totally, totally amaaaaaazing,’ she neighed. ‘When I walk into the school hall I want Marty to regret that Miss Prissy Darue is his date instead of me.’ She sat back in the chair, smiling and nodding. ‘Mum and I have discussed this over and over and I have decided to definitely do the Elizabeth Taylor look. I had my doubts for a bit because you and Louise Lovejoy are going short.
But Mum said elegant and classic always wins, because boys want their dates to look classy. And don’t say it shouldn’t matter what the boys think, because I do. Mum also said – no offence, Gemma – short dresses are a little bit slutty for a formal. I’m not surprised Louise is going short.’
‘There’s lots to organise,’ she continued. ‘I’d like to have a big chat with Billy at least two days before. I’ll show him the photos in my Elizabeth Taylor book that Grandma gave me. He can do buns and French rolls, can’t he?’ she quizzed. ‘Billy is my magic bullet. That’s what Mum said. Now, when’s Billy actually getting here?’ I wouldn’t have been surprised if Andrea got out her diary and started marking the dates. ‘Hopefully not the day of the formal?’
‘Um, no. I’d say probably a few days before,’ I answered, realising it was another question that I didn’t know the answer to anymore.
Andrea was standing up. ‘I have to go. Mum’s waiting for me so we can try out her new Jane Fonda exercise video, Abs, Buns & Thighs.’
I followed her, pretending to listen, because really I was thinking, You, Justin and Louise Lovejoy have no idea what’s happening in my life.
Andrea and I always said goodbye at a pole that randomly stood smack bang in the middle of a sunless, grassless nature strip. We called this halfway mark ‘Nigel’, because the name was engraved on the pole.
Andrea and I had had many discussions about who Nigel was. Had he carved his name there himself or was it someone else who’d had a crush on him?
‘Bye,’ I said.
‘Your brother is my magic bullet. Thank you for being related to him.’
She disappeared down her fork of the road, singing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ at the top of her lungs.
I watched her go. I watched her till she was so tiny she could’ve been anyone and not Andrea. Andrea, who had the knack of sucking the life out of you. The problem was, today I didn’t have as much life in me to give as I usually did.