by Scot Gardner
He put his hand over his mouth. He closed his eyes and his body shook. He bowed his head and moaned into his hand. The sound made me hold my breath. My poor dad. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have pushed him.
‘Ohh god . . .’
My stomach bunched and I huffed with my own tears. I kissed his hand.
He stood up from the table and went to his room. I closed my eyes and expected to hear the door slam but it didn’t happen. He came back. He sat down again, honking into a blue hankie.
He took a huge breath and sighed.
‘When I woke up . . . the next morning . . . she was there beside me in bed. Cold as concrete. She’d taken all the pills the doctor had given her. She killed herself. She took her own life while I was sleeping next to her. I was in the same bed and I couldn’t do a thing!’
He thumped the table and one of Rosie’s glasses toppled and smashed on the floor.
‘So when you ask me . . . how do I know she’s dead?’ He stood up and his chair toppled. ‘I never want to think about her. I don’t want to remember but . . . I can tell you to your face. I set her ashes free off St Kilda pier.’
fifteen
I got up before Dad on the Saturday. 7.06 am. The earliest I’d been awake on a Saturday for more than a year. The thought that Mum had killed herself made me feel shaky. Like it was partly my fault that she’d died and that I might do the same thing to myself if things got bad. I came close to killing myself after Dartanian. I wondered how close. If I’d had the drugs beside my bed, would I have taken them or lived?
I wanted to do something for Dad. I wanted to apologise for making him remember. I wanted to let him – and me – know that we were still a family and that he deserved Rosie and any scrap of happiness he could find.
I cooked breakfast. When he smelled the eggs and bacon cooking, he dragged himself into the kitchen and slumped on my shoulder. His breath was sour and he looked as though he’d slept so heavily that part of him was still tucked in his bed. His eyes sagged and his hair – all ten strands – was reaching for the roof. Not a pretty sight.
We sat at the table. He croaked at me between mouthfuls. Croaked that he was sorry that I’d been the one to cop all his tears and blubbering. I thanked him and told him I was sorry. He scruffed my hair and some scrambled egg fell from his mouth and landed on his lap. The laugh that burst from his lips shot another piece of egg across the room. It stuck to the wall. We rumbled with intermittent laughter until I announced I was going to have a shower. Dad quickly handed me his plate and locked himself in the bathroom, cackling like a mad scientist. I made the shower water go cold by filling up the sink and he yelped.
I washed the dishes and looked at my hands. My hands were Mum’s hands. Like the colour of my hair and skin and eyes. They were things I got from Mum whether I wanted them or not. And she was dead. Whether I wanted her dead or not. Time to move on.
Dad pranced from the bathroom, singing. I sucked a breath. He was stark naked and his wrinkled old dick bounced around as he skipped into his bedroom and slammed the door.
‘You’re off!’ I shouted. I couldn’t believe how black his pubic hair was. And how much there was. He could get a transplant, I thought. He could get a transplant and become the only mock-Irishman in Brunswick with curly black hair.
I made sure I had my towel before I ducked into the shower. I could hear Dad singing in his bedroom and when I finally turned the water off, I could hear music. He had his accordion out. He was playing and singing at home for an audience of one. The first time in years.
And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me
I’ll sleep in peace until you come to me
I’d forgotten how strong and soulful his voice was. I wrapped myself in my towel and stood dripping like a five-year-old in total awe of my grungy old dad.
When he finished, I whooped and slapped my hand on my thigh. ‘That was beautiful, Dad.’
I held my towel and hugged his head with my free hand, dripping all over him and his accordion.
‘Get off me. You’re all wet. Gorn. Nick off!’
I was brushing my wet hair when he called to say he was leaving. Rosie yelled goodbye too and I stuck my head out to wish them well. ‘Be home by dark or you’ll be grounded for a month. Both of you. You hear?’
‘Yes, lov. We’ll be back before dark.’
It was 10.17 am. I read in a magazine once that men have a sexual thought every twenty seconds. At the time I read it I thought it was a disgusting load of crap but in the time I waited for Jiff to arrive every thought I had was sexual. I kissed at myself in the mirror, undid buttons and pushed my boobs together until I had a cleavage. A hot Madonna cleavage peeking from the front of my shirt, threatening to swallow the little tiki. I put my hair up and pulled the elastic out again. I tried to distract myself by cleaning up my room and I found knickers that I’d kicked off. I screwed up my nose but the smell was clean sexy me. I bounced on my bed and bit my pillow. I wondered if it would hold the weight of two and there was a knock at the door. I jumped and smoothed my clothes down, did up two buttons then undid one.
Jiff with the killer smile. All my sexy confidence vanished and I invited him inside awkwardly. He stepped beside me, surveyed the flat and continued to smile.
‘Nice colours,’ he said, and nodded at Rosie’s purple wall and the Celtic wall hanging.
‘Thanks. The walls were grey until a few weeks ago. I think my dad has fallen in love with the girl next door. She’s big into colours.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘What do you think about that? Them in love and all that . . .’
I shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
Jiff just smiled. Smiled and stared at me.
‘Umm, do you want a cuppa? Tea or coffee?’
He pointed at my chest. ‘You’re wearing it.’
I nodded and grabbed the tiki. ‘It’s beautiful, Jiff. Thank you.’
Jiff shrugged one shoulder and looked at the table. ‘Not as beautiful as you, ay?’
I held his little finger. He kissed my knuckle and we hugged. Tight. Jiff had his hand in the hair on the back of my head and I couldn’t get close enough to him. His stubble grazed my cheek, my lips, and we kissed. My eyes closed. I grabbed his neck and tasted his lips, his tongue, his breath. I felt that Madonna wildness in me, with the uninterrupted day yawning ahead of us and I wanted him. Jiff would be different from the others.
He turned his head away from the kiss and breathed in my ear. ‘We’d better stop now.’
‘Wha? No!’
His arms slid off my back and held my hands. ‘What about your dad and Rosie?’
‘What about them?’
He looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
‘They won’t be back until late this afternoon. We’ve got all day to do . . . whatever we want.’
He screwed up his face. ‘Yeah, that would be fantastic. Absolutely fantastic, Maddie. There’d be nothing I’d want more in the world but think about it for a minute. I’m leaving on Tuesday. Going back home and I don’t want us to be . . .’
He looked at our hands.
‘A quick fuck?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah! That. I couldn’t have said it quite as honestly as that, but yeah. You’re something else, Maddie. I’ve seen enough of the world to know that you’re one in a million. More. It would cut me if we made love now and it messed up how we felt about each other.’
I bit my lip. There was a moment of doubt in me and the heat vanished. Pop. Gone. Yeah, it’d cut you, I thought. Paper cut.
I knew they were hiding in me. They hid behind all the ugly secrets. Whatever I was feeling for Jiff had set them to flight. I could feel them moving around in my guts. If we had sex and it messed me up any more than I was already, I’d die. Chainsaw cut. I’d go the way of my mum, only I’d have to be more dramatic than pills. I’d throw myself off the b
alcony and taste concrete. Slap. I’d hit the ground, my body would crack open and the shadows would escape. We’d all be free. Maybe Mum had secrets? Maybe they swallowed her.
‘Sit down,’ I said, and dragged him to the couch. ‘I have to tell you stuff.’
‘What stuff? You’re not gay are you?’
I shook my head.
‘Bummer,’ he said with a half-smile.
I slapped his thigh. I laughed and dug my nails into his jeans. ‘Stop it. This is big scary stuff for me. I want to tell you who I really am. What I really am.’
And, I thought, if you don’t like what you see you can go home to New Zealand and we’ll both be free.
He pointed at my face. ‘You mean that’s only a mask?’
‘Shut up.’
‘No. You shut up,’ he said. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Ohhh, but you might when you find –’
‘I don’t care.’
‘How can you say that? What if I was going to tell you that I had herpes or AIDS?’
‘Have you?’
‘No . . .’
‘Then shut up.’
‘. . . But I could have.’
Jiff crossed his arms and sighed through his nose.
I pushed my hair behind my ears. I sniffed and looked at the carpet.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ he said.
‘Bullshit. I have to tell you.’
He took my fingers and kissed them.
‘I had sex for the first time when I was twelve. There was a boy who lived on the eighth floor. His name was Dartanian. He was thirteen. We did it on an empty train.’
I pulled my fingers from his and sat on my hand.
‘Dartanian wanted to do it again the next day but I didn’t. I was sore and it wasn’t right. I knew that. He said he’d tell my dad if I didn’t do what he said. I wouldn’t give him what he wanted so he tried to take it. Just slapped me around and ripped my clothes. I flipped out. I went troppo. I kicked him and scratched his face. I ran off. I was so scared that he would tell my dad. Afterwards, he kept coming to the door and my dad would answer it. I hid in my room.’
Jiff moved closer on the couch. He took my wrist, pulled my hand free and held it. I stared at the carpet.
‘Dad eventually told him to piss off. He didn’t come around after that but I had to go out . . . to school and that. For months I was so scared. I was looking over my shoulder all the time and the dark . . . cried all night when I turned thirteen. I felt all used up and broken. Evie would hug me and shush me to sleep. I never told her. I started praying to the bastard god who took my mum before I knew her. I prayed and prayed and there was a miracle. There was a fight . . . here, in the stairwell. Dartanian had the top of his finger cut off. The next week he stabbed some guy at school. Killed him. The cops took him away. I read in the paper he got seventeen years. I was free. Sort of.’
Jiff squeezed my hand.
‘And that’s it,’ I said. ‘Told without a single . . .’
I was going to say ‘teardrop’ but I looked up and Jiff’s cheeks were wet.
‘I’m sorry, Maddie,’ he whispered, and I lost it.
I got up from the couch. Part of me wanted to hide. Jiff held on to my thumb and pulled me to him. I crumpled on his shoulder. Something in me ruptured. We hugged and I cried until my stomach ached. I howled and the shadows fluttered for cover. The rain of tears washed something inside me. My guts. My heart even. It wasn’t shining like new in there but somehow putting it into words had loosened all the scum. I felt lighter.
When the heaviest of the clouds had passed, I looked at Jiff. He had a snail-trail of my snot and tears on his rugby top. I rubbed at it with my fingers.
Jiff craned his head to look at his shoulder. ‘Bah,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
I grabbed some tissues. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘Disgusting!’
‘Crap. I feel privileged.’
‘Yeah, right.’ I dabbed at his shoulder. ‘Great privilege to have my snot all over you.’
He shrugged. ‘I can handle it.’
‘Whoohoo. Big tough Kiwi.’
He flexed his arm and poked his tongue out, Maori style.
I cooed like a Barbie and squeezed his bicep.
‘Oww,’ he said, and pushed my hand off. ‘Be gentle. That hurt!’
Jiff took me to Igor’s. He ordered cappuccinos and we sat under a tall gas heater on the footpath. The heater wasn’t on and I hugged myself and wished I’d grabbed my jacket.
‘Do you want to sit inside?’ Jiff asked.
I shook my head. He rubbed my back.
I poked my bottom lip out. ‘Sorry.’
Jiff growled. ‘Get off. Sorry? Don’t apologise, I feel honoured.’
‘Yeah, but you’re weird.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’d completely understand if you . . . you know . . . hated my guts and that.’
‘What?’ He frowned at me and the coffees arrived. He shook his head. ‘You’re the weird one.’
‘I know. That’s why I’d understand if . . .’
‘Weird and wonderful. Telling me about . . . what was his name? Dicktwanger. What a fucking dumb name.’
I laughed. ‘He was named after one of the Three Musketeers.’
‘Mmm, parents can be cruel, can’t they? Telling me that stuff . . . took heaps of guts. I wish I was as brave as you.’
‘Brave? Ha! It was brave of me to let him all over me. Things would be different if he hit on me now. I’d be brave now.’
Jiff shook his head and smiled again. ‘I’d hate to be the one.’
I sipped my coffee. ‘I bit Paolo on the dick.’
‘You what?’
I nodded. ‘He was pissed. He wanted me to give him head. He was lucky I didn’t bite his dick off.’
‘Paolo DiFresco? Pizza boy?’
‘Same.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last week.’
‘The little prick.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah. Exactly! My boss at my old job hit on me, too. I kicked him.’
Jiff sucked air through his teeth. ‘Doesn’t sound like you need any help. Major tough chick, our Madonna.’
I remembered Paolo saying the same sort of thing and I felt weak. My friends said it, too. I slumped forward and rested my elbows on the table. Why do I have to be the tough chick all the time? I didn’t want to be tough anymore. It was too hard.
I shivered and goose bumps prickled on my arms and neck.
‘I’m scared,’ I said.
Jiff put his arm over my back. He rubbed big circles and I rocked in my chair.
‘Of what?’
‘Of what has happened to me.’
‘Yeah, but that was ages ago. You’re a different person now. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care what happened . . .’
‘It matters to me.’
His arm stopped moving on my back.
‘Feels like part of me is broken. Like if we were together and we got . . . I don’t know . . . intimate, I’d lose it and try to rip you to pieces.’
Jiff shrugged. ‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take.’
I scoffed.
He took his hand from my back and sighed. ‘Do you know about Madonna?’
‘What, her and Michael Jackson?’
‘Not that Madonna, the other one. From the Bible.’
I groaned and sat up. ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Must have been asleep in that RE lesson. Was she a slut?’
I picked up my coffee. Jiff looked up the road. The coffee was bitter and I didn’t want sugar. I didn’t want sugar and I didn’t want Jiff. I knew it, I thought. No one can be that perfect. He must be a religious nutter.
‘A slut? Not exactly. You know at Christmas they have those scenes with the mother and the father and the little baby Jesus . . . a few farm animals, bit of straw?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah.’
‘The mother.’
‘Mar
y?’
He nodded. ‘Otherwise known as Madonna. Our Lady. The Blessed Virgin Mary.’
‘Ha! Yeah, that’s me all right.’
‘They called her the Ever Virgin. Her spirit was as pure as.’
Holy Mother of Jesus. ‘Is there a point to all this?’
‘I reckon there’s a bit of that Madonna in you. I reckon that’s how you could heal my finger. There’s a part of you that’s totally pure. No one has polluted that. I could see it in your eyes when we first met at Pepe’s. Your name suits you.’
‘Do you pray and stuff too?’
Jiff blew air from his nose. ‘Okay. Time for me to reveal my deep dark secret from the past.’
‘Whoohoo. Deep and dark.’
‘I went to a Catholic school.’
‘So you’re Catholic then?’
He shook his head. ‘I had to do quite a bit of RE. Part of the deal. Surprising how much you remember.’
‘Does that mean you’re not allowed to use condoms?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Have you got one on you?’
Jiff smiled and put his hands behind his head. ‘I might have.’
‘Show me.’
He dug into his pocket. He lifted his bum off the chair to do it. It was then that the dream of Jiff being different was totally shattered.
There was a lump in the front of his pants.
‘Oh . . . my . . . god,’ I said. I shivered and dropped my cup into the saucer.
‘What?’
‘You sick bastard,’ I growled.
He blushed and tried to cover himself up. ‘What?’
‘This is turning you on. You’ve got a . . . you’re the same. You’re all the fucking same.’
My chair clattered to the ground as I bolted. I knew I was tripping out and getting all dramatic but I had to get away. I bumped a woman and her coffee slopped.
‘Maddie? Maddie, wait!’
I heard his chair scrape on the pavement and I didn’t look back. I ran along Sydney Road and down Fitzgerald Street, away from the flat, away from all the emotion and out of sight. I sprinted and the air rasped in my throat. I felt like I could run forever. My side ached and my teeth clanked when I stepped off the gutter to avoid people on the footpath. Strange people in a strange suburb. I ran until my hair stuck to my forehead and my clothes were clammy with perspiration. I ran until my body begged me to stop and I had chased away the slimy feeling.