Finding Freia Lockhart

by Aimee Said

  I get into bed without even brushing my teeth. The clock says 8.17 pm. I promise myself I’ll force Daniel to tell me what’s wrong at rehearsal tomorrow, even if it means making a complete arse of myself in the process.

  28

  I’m not surprised to see Belinda in the locker room the next morning telling everyone about the rejuvenating day she and her mum spent at the health spa.

  “Thank God you’re back,” says Kate, as if divine intervention is responsible for ensuring that we don’t have to endure two Belinda-less days in a row.

  Bethanee nods. “We were worried you’d miss rehearsal.”

  “I’d never do that to you,” says Belinda, smiling past her at Brianna, who returns the grin.

  When we get to Parkville I have my speech to Daniel all prepared, having spent lunchtime in the library coming up with exactly the right words to convey friendly concern, rather than girly hysteria. I’ve carefully avoided any of Mum’s lines from The Book that make me want to smack her every time she trots them out: “I know how you feel”; “Everyone goes through it”; “You’ll look back on this time in your life and laugh”.

  The only problem with my plan is that Daniel’s not there.

  “You’re on your own,” says Darryl, with a nasty grin. “You’ll be surprised to hear your skinny little mate was a no-show again today. From what I hear, his dad’s furious.”

  I want to ask what he means, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “No worries,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “I can handle it.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Anyway, I can’t leave you to operate the Lightron 5000 by yourself. I’ll be supervising.”

  “But Mr Wilson said we were doing great by ourselves,” I protest, biting my tongue before I tell him I’ve operated the Lightron 5000 on my own plenty of times when Daniel’s been late or not turned up.

  He shakes his head. “Who knows what kind of bad habits that boy’s taught you.”

  True to his word, Darryl spends the afternoon breathing over my shoulder. He turns up the spotlights so that they practically blind the actors on stage and tuts under his breath every time he checks the lighting script to see what’s coming up next.

  By the time Mr Wilson calls it a day I’m ready to scream. I power walk home like one of those women who think that moving their arms like a demented boxer will magically transform their flabby arms. I can’t wait to get to my room, turn up the Ramones and kick Darryl’s imaginary face from here to Rockaway Beach.

  “Freia?” calls Mum from the living room before I’ve even finished turning my key in the lock. “Come here, please.”

  Great, what have I done now? I’m just about to ask Mum this very question, fists clenched by my sides in readiness for the inevitable argument about the state of my room/hair/Maths marks, when I notice a man sitting in the armchair across from her. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I know him from.

  “Freia, this is Dr Phillip Fairchild – the Dr Phillip Fairchild.”

  “Hello, Freia,” says the Dr Phillip Fairchild, standing up and extending his hand for me to shake. He can’t be one of her uni colleagues – he’s wearing an expensive-looking suit for starters, and he also appears to have either just come back from a holiday in the tropics or the Fake’n’Bake Tanning Salon in Parkville Metro.

  He covers my hand with both of his and shakes it so heartily that it doesn’t seem genuine. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Daniel’s told me all about you.”

  Daniel? Daniel! Of course, the Dr Phillip Fairchild is Daniel’s dad.

  “Freia, have you seen Daniel today?” asks Mum, in the pretending-to-be-patient voice she uses when she wants to blow a gasket but needs you to spill your guts first.

  “No. He wasn’t at rehearsal. I haven’t seen him since Monday.” I feel defensive, even though I’m telling the truth.

  “Freia, this is very important,” says Daniel’s dad. “If you know where Daniel is, you must tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr Fairchild, but I honestly don’t know. Why? What’s happened to him?”

  Mum glares at me. She’s always told us it’s rude to ask personal questions.

  “Daniel and I have been having some … interpersonal issues. He’s having trouble dealing with his mother remarrying and it seems to be affecting his judgement when it comes to acting and reacting appropriately to authority figures.”

  It’s about halfway through this psychobabble that I remember where I’ve seen him before. Of course! His blond-highlighted, fake-tanned, expensively dressed photo is on the back of The Book! So, not only is Phillip Fairchild responsible for wrecking my life, but also his own kid’s.

  Meanwhile, Mum is nodding and mmming, as if she knows exactly what he’s talking about. I can see her mentally filing it all away to use on me in the future when she thinks I’m not “acting and reacting appropriately to authority figures”. My face grows hot with rage.

  “I don’t know where Daniel is,” I tell him again, aware that my voice is getting louder and increasingly aggressive, but I am unable to speak in the fake-calm tone he and Mum are using. “But if I was him, I’d also try to get as far away from you as possible. I’ve heard about how you–”

  “Freia!” Mum cuts me off before I can say any more. “I’m so sorry, Dr Fairchild. She’s just upset about Daniel.”

  “It’s quite okay,” says Daniel’s dad, smarmily. “In my line of work you get used to being on the receiving end of a lot of adolescent aggression.”

  They titter together as if this is some parent in-joke, then Mum glares at me. “Freia, you can go to your room and start your homework. We’ll talk about this later.”

  I turn and leave without making eye contact with either of them. No wonder Daniel spends all his time at Switch. Imagine being forced to talk about your “interpersonal issues” and “adolescent aggression” all the time.

  I’m staring blankly at the sheet of Maths problems in front of me when Mum knocks on my door.

  “That was quite a performance,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. “Luckily, Dr Fairchild is a very understanding man.”

  “Try telling that to his son,” I snap back. “If Daniel’s run away from home, Dr Fairchild only has himself to blame. Daniel’s probably just sick of having every word that comes out of his mouth analysed.”

  “Freia, Dr Fairchild is very, very worried about Daniel. If you know where your friend is, you’re not doing him any favours by keeping it to yourself.”

  “For the last time: I don’t know where Daniel is and we are not friends!”

  “Well, from what Dr Fairchild says, you’re the closest thing Daniel has to a friend right now. That boy’s been in all kinds of trouble lately and his poor father’s at the end of his tether.”

  “Oh, sure, his poor dad’s at the end of his tether. What about Daniel? You all go on about how worried you are about your kids, but you’re the ones causing most of the crap in our lives.” I’m kind of shrieking now and sobbing a bit, too. I steel myself for the inevitable motherly lecture about being rude, selfish and ungrateful, but Mum just sighs.

  After what seems like an age she says quietly, “You think it’s easy, Freia, but it’s not. Do you honestly think I enjoy fighting with you? That I spend my days thinking up cruel and unusual ways to make you hate me even more?”

  I’m shocked. I mean, I might not like her all the time, but I’ve never, ever hated her. “If anything, I feel like I’m killing myself trying to get you to like me again. Since I’ve stopped coming first in everything it’s like nothing I do is good enough for you. I’m sorry that I’m not the Successful Teen you dreamed of raising, but rubbing my nose in it constantly isn’t helping.”

  Now it’s Mum’s turn to sound a bit hysterical. “How can you say nothing you do is good enough for me? I’m so proud of you for turning your Pride and Prejudice presentation into something that allowed you to express how you felt about the book instead of pretending to lik
e it because everyone else did. I’m so proud of the way you’ve managed rehearsals for this play on top of all your schoolwork. If I push you, it’s only because I know how much you’re capable of and I want you to reach your full potential.”

  “But my potential’s in me, not in some book about how to have perfect children. If you’d stop reading what Dr Fairchild thinks about me long enough to actually get to know me …”

  “Okay, point taken. But you have to understand that it’s not so easy for me and Dad. We knew that having our kids later in life would make us the old fogey parents and I just didn’t want to bring you up the way I was, when young people were meant to be seen and not heard and my mother never even asked me how school was going because she expected me to get married at twenty-one and be a stay-at-home mum like she was.”

  “Is that why you waited so long to have kids?”

  “Partly. But partly because I wasn’t sure I was up to the job of parenting. I’ve taken being your mum very seriously – maybe too seriously. But it’s only because I think you’re an amazing person, Freia, and I want you to have the best possible chance of realising your dreams.”

  It’s like some soppy scene in a TV family drama, but we’re both crying and we hug each other for a long time.

  “Are you very worried about Daniel?” asks Mum, passing me a tissue. I nod, bracing myself for some motherly platitude about how he’s bound to turn up, but she just nods back and squeezes my hand, and for once I think she really does know how I feel.

  29

  “I hear your boyfriend’s done a runner,” says Ziggy through a mouthful of half-chewed vegie burger.

  “Ziggy!” snaps Mum. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” And then she launches into a long and involved story about how one of her second-year students tried to get an extension on an assignment by claiming that his mum had died, having forgotten that he’d used that excuse last year. I stop paying attention somewhere around the point where he threatened to report her to Student Services for being callous, but am grateful she’s changed the subject.

  After dinner I sit at my desk, surrounded by open textbooks. There’s a knock on my door.

  “I thought you might like a hot chocolate,” Dad says when I tell him to come in, setting a steaming mug in front of me. “Mum told me about your friend. You okay?”

  I nod, taking a sip to avoid having to say anything because I know that if I utter a single word, I’ll start crying again. Dad seems to understand. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and closes the door behind him.

  At about nine the phone rings. Mum knocks on my door. “Fray, Kate’s on the phone. Do you want to speak to her?”

  I think about it for a moment. On the one hand, there’s nothing I want more than to download some of the worry that’s built up inside me over the past few hours, and on the other if I tell Kate, her first reaction is bound to be all “Why would you care about Skeletor?”, and I don’t feel up to defending myself in that conversation.

  I open the door. Mum’s waiting there expectantly. “I think I’d rather not.”

  “Okay, I’ll say you’re already asleep.”

  I go to bed half an hour later, homework still untouched. I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop thinking about Daniel. What if he’s in trouble or he’s been kidnapped or something? I mean, I know it’s far more likely that he’s run away – especially after meeting his dad – but it’s possible, isn’t it? Or what if he’s done something stupid, like tried to hitch a ride somewhere and he’s been picked up by a psychopath? Or what if he’s really, really depressed and he’s done something to hurt himself – you know, on purpose? I can’t even let myself think about that possibility. At around one it starts to rain, heavy rain that buckets down for at least half an hour. I hope that Daniel’s somewhere dry. Somewhere safe.

  I wake up feeling as though I haven’t slept at all and walk to school on autopilot, trying not to think about Daniel and what may have happened to him.

  Belinda and Bethanee pounce as soon as I walk into the locker room.

  “Freia Lockhart, this is your lucky day,” says Belinda, thrusting an envelope into my hands. It takes me a few seconds to realise that they’re waiting for me to open it. It’s an invitation to Belinda’s party after the final performance.

  Great, that’s all I need today, I think, staring at the bedazzled piece of card.

  “You could at least say thank you,” says Bethanee.

  “Yeah, this is for your benefit, you know, Freia. A lot of people would have given up on you by now, but I thought you deserved one last chance to meet a non-freak. If this is how you’re going to be about it though, I won’t bother.” They look at me with something close to contempt.

  “Thanks, Belinda,” I say, not even trying to make it sound genuine.

  “That’s all right. Just make sure you don’t bring that skeletal friend of yours with you this time.”

  I nod. That won’t be an issue if Daniel doesn’t come back.

  “You look really tired for someone who went to bed when it was barely dark outside,” says Kate. I look at her blankly. “I called to see what you did your English essay on and your mum said you were already asleep.”

  Bugger! One of the pieces of homework I’d managed not to do the night before was an essay for I-Do.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  Kate’s eyes go wide with shock. “You didn’t do the homework?”

  I nod.

  “Freia Lockhart hasn’t done her homework,” says Bethanee, sarcastically. “I think I’m going to faint.”

  The morning passes in a blur. I almost feel like I’m standing outside my body, watching myself go through the motions. If Kate and the Bs notice that something’s up with me, they don’t say anything, although they’re all so distracted by the prospect of another party they wouldn’t notice if I sat down in the middle of the playground and set myself on fire. Even though I don’t really want to talk about Daniel with Kate, I kind of wish she’d at least ask if I’m upset about something.

  Maybe it’s just because I’m tired or maybe I’ve reached a whole new stage of worry, but I’m not actually thinking about Daniel any more. I just have this overwhelming feeling of helplessness, as if nothing I can do will make any difference. To anything. Ever. I don’t even notice Siouxsie sitting next to me in Media Studies until she slides an article from the Parkville Post about Belinda being made a Youth Ambassador in front of me, accompanied by a gagging noise. When I don’t respond she passes me a note.

  U OK?

  I shake my head.

  Want to talk about it?

  With Siouxsie? Someone I hardly know and really want to like me? I’m not sure, but I find myself nodding in reply.

  The next thing I know Siouxsie’s telling Mr Tynan that I’m sick and she’s taking me to see the nurse. When he asks what’s wrong she tells him that it’s “women’s business”. He blushes and waves us out. Siouxsie picks up both our bags and leads me to a bench behind the canteen.

  “So what’s up?”

  “I don’t know … I feel stupid even saying it …”

  “Okay, I’ll try to guess. Let’s see … your mum’s finally lost the plot and is sending you to a nunnery to ensure you’ll never be tainted by teenage boys and their lustful thoughts. No? Um … Ziggy’s footy team’s short a player for the grand final and you’re the only one who can fit into the injured kid’s uniform? I know! Belinda’s decided you’re her new best friend and you have to lose two million brain cells by the weekend?”

  I’m smirking even though I still feel like crap. I shake my head. “It’s Daniel. He’s disappeared and I’m … well, I guess I’m really worried about him.” I start crying again.

  Siouxsie puts her arm around my shoulder. “That’s not stupid, dummy, that’s just being a good friend.”

  I tell her about Daniel not being at rehearsal yesterday and the scene with Dr Fairchild and Mum and how I can’t stop thinking about Daniel and how helpless and out of contr
ol I feel about the whole thing.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asks when I finish blowing my nose for the umpteenth time.

  I shrug. “Got any bright ideas?”

  “Well, we could put up missing boy posters, but the only photo we have is the one Steph took, and frankly that could be any disenfranchised youth in Parkville. Do you know what he does outside of school? Does he have any hobbies?”

  “Not unless you count lasagna as a hob–” If we were in a cartoon, a light bulb would appear over my head right now. I hug Siouxsie. “Thanks, you’ve given me an idea where I might find him.”

  “I have?” She sounds surprised. “Well, what are friends for?”

  The bell goes for lunch and Year Eights start swarming around us.

  “I reckon that’s our cue to go,” says Siouxsie. “I promised Steph I’d meet her at the art rooms. Want to come?”

  “Nah, I’ve got an essay to write,” I say. “But thanks – for everything.”

  She smiles. “No probs. See you later.”

  Vicky’s helping a Year Seven use the catalogue when I get to the library, but we give each other a little wave. I sit at one of the desks in the quiet study area and open my English folder. I’ve only got forty-five minutes to write a one-thousand-word essay about a literary figure who’s inspired me. I write the first thing that pops into my head, even though I promised myself I’d never mention Charlotte’s Web in an academic context again. So what if I-Do thinks I’m emotionally retarded for admiring a character in a kids’ book. At least for once I believe the stuff I’m writing, which makes it a whole lot easier.

  I bump into Vicky on my way out and we walk to English together. When I ask about her Ramones collection it’s like meeting a different person to the quiet, shy Vicky on the returns desk.

  She raves about the limited edition album she just won on eBay. “One of the perks of doing library duty is lunchtime internet access to outbid people at the last minute,” she says with a cheeky smile that takes me by surprise.