The Harper Effect

by Taryn Bashford

  He pulls away, balancing on his haunches. ‘What? Why not ever? Aria will move on.’ I put my palm over his mouth to hush him. He pushes it away. ‘Why not ever?’

  ‘Because –’ The words clump and stick together. I glance in the direction of the bathroom door.

  ‘Because why, Harper?’ His mouth distorts. ‘Don’t you love me? Or is it Colt you love now? I’ve seen the way –’

  ‘Because she gave up the Con for you.’

  Jacob’s eyes widen and fill with something despairing, haunted even. His body hunches. ‘You said –’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to blame yourself. But do you see – how it means we can never tell anyone about us? She gave up everything for you.’

  ‘I hate myself for all this already,’ he mutters, balling the sheet. ‘And now it’s even worse.’ Despair rolls off him in waves. ‘Remember when I said I would always protect you from dicks like that player’s dad who riled you at your match?’ I nod – of course – it was the moment I fell in love with Jacob. ‘Now I’m the dick you need protecting from. You and Aria.’

  ‘No you’re not. None of this is your fault. It’s no-one’s fault.’

  ‘It’s messed up. It has to be someone’s fault.’

  ‘Is it your fault we live next door to each other and became the Raggers?’ My pitch rises with certainty. ‘Is it your fault Aria fell in love with you? One thing I’ve learnt recently is we make choices and then we have to live with the consequences. Aria chose to give up the Con – it wasn’t your fault, and maybe it wasn’t the right choice, but it was her choice.’

  ‘What about my choice then? I choose you.’

  ‘Guess we can’t always have what we want.’ And with those words I wonder if that’s Jacob’s problem – he always gets what he wants. He asks for a music studio – it’s built in three months. He wants a Jeep to match mine and Aria’s, it arrives a day later. He wants a motorbike; it’s delivered to the door. He fancies six different guitars. No problem. His parents may think they’re making up for the time they never spend with him, but instead they’ve created someone who can’t cope with not getting what he wants. He might even want the things he can’t have more.

  We freeze with the sound of a thump and watch the bathroom door. The toilet flushes. A window slams shut.

  When it’s silent for a few minutes, Jacob exhales. ‘That was close.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night. Why would she slam the window?’ We frown at the closed bathroom door. ‘You should go. Not through the window. Go downstairs. Leave through the laundry. Aria might still be awake. She mustn’t hear us talking. Just go.’

  His smile warps. ‘This can’t be it. There has to be a way.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jacob. But there isn’t.’ My belly tangles and knots and I look away, knowing this is the moment his heart just got kicked across the room. By me.

  Christmas ends abruptly.

  When I come downstairs on Boxing Day morning, Colt’s bag is packed and waiting by the front door. I bolt into the kitchen. Colt’s alone at the table, hoovering down a plate of pancakes topped with fruit. Jacob is worryingly absent. Mum’s flipping pancakes to the sound of ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ on the radio. She spots me and explains that Dad’s caught the flu and Aria’s asleep.

  Mum pours batter into the frying pan. ‘I’ve never known Aria to miss choc-chip pancakes.’

  ‘You’re going today, Colt?’ I ask. Colt nods through a mouthful, his stare fixed on the plate. I hide my dismay in the fridge, searching for juice. ‘But Milo’s not back for two more days.’

  ‘Colt wants to get Milo’s place cleaned and stocked up. He doesn’t want to outstay his welcome here either, even though I’ve assured him he’s not. He’s my favourite kitchen helper. Pancakes?’

  Colt keeps chewing, meticulously loading his fork with sliced strawberries. My throat is fat with frustration. So we’re back to ‘us’ being a mistake. Or perhaps I was simply a distraction. With Christmas over Colt’s only focussing on the business of training and the final tournament before the Open. No girlfriend to distract him.

  ‘Harper, I said do you want pancakes?’ Mum waves a spatula in the air, balancing a pancake. I shake my head, my appetite blown up with my heart. To buy time to find all the pieces of me and put myself back together, I make coffee. Mum keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word.

  The moment I sit at the table, Colt pushes back his chair and stands, plate not quite empty. He always scrapes his plate clean. ‘Thanks, Mrs H. Please thank Mr H for me. It was probably the best Christmas I can remember.’

  I’m vaguely aware of Mum hugging Colt, but when he refuses to meet my questioning gaze even though I’m standing right in front of him, I freefall into a well of misery.

  ‘Harper. Where are your manners? See Colt out, please.’ Mum lobs a dishcloth at me.

  Colt walks out of the kitchen without glancing in my direction. I follow. He picks up his bag and opens the front door.

  And I know I’m right. It’s done. We’re done.

  I trail down the steps to where Colt’s parked his motorbike, willing him to get this over with, to get on the bike and ride away. Tomorrow we can start training and get back to normal. If that’s possible. He doesn’t get on the bike, though, and because my gaze is glued to the ground, I see his trainers circle toward me.

  ‘Meant what I said to your mom,’ he says, colourless. ‘I had a great Christmas. Hope you know how lucky you are.’

  I gather the courage to look up, to find a clue, then wish I hadn’t; there’s a hurricane happening behind his eyes.

  The edges of my mouth quiver. ‘Why are you going? Do you regret –?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he barks, then reaches for a helmet and straddles the bike. He jams the helmet on. ‘I saw Jacob coming out of your bedroom.’

  A mountain falls on top of me.

  It’s as if a gust of wind fills my throat because I can’t get the words out before he fires up the engine.

  And he’s gone.

  Clouds collide above the house as I fall back against the brick wall, scraping my knuckles. Trembling, I push off the wall and run to Jacob’s studio, bursting through the door. He’s playing something maudlin on the piano, his back to me, and I have to yell to get his attention. ‘Did you talk to Colt last night – when you snuck out the house?’ My body is rigid.

  Jacob stands and comes to me, reaching out to touch me. I flinch and his eyes widen.

  ‘No. What are you talking about?’ His hand hangs in the space between us. ‘Did he bust us?’

  I crush my face into my hands and slump onto the LEGO sofa.

  Jacob slides next to me. ‘Did he friggin’ tell your parents?’

  I shift my head from side to side.

  ‘Then we’re good.’ He rubs my hunched back.

  What must Colt think of me? He’d finally let me behind his game face. He thought he could trust me and now I’ve hurt him with my own secrets. And he’ll be angry with himself for breaking his vow about girlfriends. If Colt dumps me as his tennis partner – what about Milo? Dad? I’ve messed it all up.

  Jacob inspects my bleeding knuckles. ‘What happened, Harps?’

  I swat at the tears, losing the battle not to cry. ‘Got a fright,’ I squeak. ‘Scraped them.’

  ‘Want a drink? For the shock?’ I shake my head. ‘Have you seen Aria?’ he adds. But all of me is gaping wide open and I can’t speak. ‘I took the motorbike for a spin to get McMuffins at about five this morning – couldn’t sleep. Aria was walking up the road wearing pyjamas. She’d obviously been crying.’

  I straighten. ‘Wearing pyjamas? Why crying?’

  ‘When she saw me she ran away.’ He gazes out the window and his face welts with sadness. ‘Guess she’s still upset about the Con – and our break-up.’ He snatches a handball from between ou
r feet, bounces it over and over. ‘I followed her, but she screamed for me to leave her alone and then ran down to the woods.’

  I rise out of the sofa, legs like stringy elastic, hands fluttering, mind collapsing. ‘She slammed the bathroom window.’ My body tears with the truth.

  Jacob frowns. ‘So?’

  ‘She knows,’ I choke out. A sob bulges in my chest.

  Jacob drops the ball, whooshes to his feet. Hands on his head, he rotates on the spot. I dart to the door and he snatches my elbow. ‘I’ll come too.’

  A word balloons inside my throat until it explodes right through me. ‘No!’ All the guilt and shame is rammed into that one word; it echoes across Jacob’s bewildered, mashed-up face.

  I fling open the door and run.

  My bare feet batter the last of the jacaranda petals, now dark and shrivelled, like tiny fallen angels. I charge down the path, trying to hold myself together. But there are too many torn parts. I seem to fly wide open. Bits of me hurtle through the air, never to be part of me again.

  She’s not at the Mother Tree. I spin in circles, and then race toward the Purple Cave.

  Aria’s sitting on the cooler box, her bare feet kicking at the mattress we’d once played with. When she sees me, her face falls open. She leaps to her feet, bends to retrieve her sandals, throws them at me. They miss. I step closer. Her short hair makes her pink cheeks appear puffier, her bloodshot eyes bigger, her lack of oversized earrings starker.

  ‘Go away! I never want to see you again.’ Her crimson face is stamped with horror, as if I’m a monster about to attack. I brace against her anger, but can’t stop sobbing.

  ‘I’m sorry. Aria, please listen to me.’ I step closer. ‘We didn’t –’

  She slams a fist on either side of my shoulders and shoves me. ‘I heard everything.’ She stumbles backwards. ‘You’re in love. There’s nothing you can say to make it better. You knew how I felt about him. I gave up the Con –’ She throws the words at me, her usual smile pulled back into a snarl. ‘We swore a blood oath. You’re my sister.’

  A squall stirs the dead leaves and petals into a whirling soup of debris around us. My hair billows. ‘Please listen to me.’ But the air is fat with hate.

  Aria opens the cooler box and throws a pot at me. Then another and another. They hit my crossed forearms. She wants to claw my face off. ‘I suspected. I asked you straight up. I believed you because I didn’t think you could do that to me –’

  It’s too late. There’s nothing I can say. Although I stopped things getting serious with Jacob, there’s no undoing what we have done.

  ‘I hate you,’ she screams, crouching and clasping her hands behind her neck. ‘Never come here again. You’ve taken everything from me. My memories. Jacob. The Con. My future. The woods are mine.’

  For three days the beginning and end of the world has been the edge of my bed. I stop training. I stop playing tennis. I am no longer me.

  Every hope and dream I’d sewn into my heart unstitches itself.

  I stamped out Dad’s sparkle. Jacob is banned from the house. Aria never comes home. She stays at a friend’s house before she goes to visit Mum’s sister interstate. After I’ve listened to Mum crying on the phone to Aria for the second time, I climb out of bed and tear at the tennis posters on the walls. Thunder rumbles closer. I want to crack every cloud in half, seize a thunderbolt and stab it into my own chest. I slump to the floor, clutching my knees and rocking, surrounded by the ripped smiles of my heroes. With every flicker of lightning, they haunt me.

  A week after the world imploded, my giant teddy Sharapova cuddled to me, I pull out of my first singles tournament of the year in Brisbane, refusing to hear the counterargument from Dad. He’d predicted this would happen, but to his credit he never says, ‘I told you so.’ I’m fined for a late withdrawal and Dad informs me the press have camped outside. They want to know what’s happened to the girl they’d hung their hopes on.

  One day bleeds into the next.

  Before he leaves for the Brisbane tournament with Colt, Milo comes to visit. He settles next to me on the bed. His presence feels excessively big for my simple bedroom, like having the Prime Minister come to your home. He removes the aviators and I expect to see sympathy. I expect him to rub my back and tell me everything will work out.

  ‘Your dad’s explained,’ he says, his expression impenetrable and his voice too loud. ‘I’m sure it’s painful, but why does throwing away everything you’ve worked for help? Will it solve anything?’

  I don’t deserve my dreams if Aria can’t have hers.

  ‘You did the wrong thing. You made a mistake. But are you going to pay for it for the rest of your life by giving up on yourself?’

  It’s all I deserve.

  ‘Or are you going to grow up and tackle the consequences?’ Tears pool under my closed eyelids. ‘I suppose you could lie there and give up. What will you do with your life instead?’ He shoves over the stack of books next to the bed. ‘Lie here and read about other people’s successes, instead of having any of your own?’ He stares at the mess on the floor. ‘We all approach crossroads in our lives and here’s yours. Time to make a choice.’

  I glare at the ceiling.

  ‘And Colt. I don’t know what happened between you, but he refused to come here today.’ A rusty nail drives into my heart. ‘He’s especially low about his dad and needs your friendship. It’s going to affect his game.’

  Another person’s dreams going down the toilet because of me.

  I roll over to hide the tears from Milo.

  The mattress lifts as he rises. ‘First Colt’s father gives up on himself, then you do the same. Think for a moment instead of wallowing in self-pity. It’s time to grow up. You made adult mistakes, which had adult consequences. But you need to deal with them and go out into the world again to make better choices. If you don’t, you’re no better than Jamie Jagger. And I’m happy to tell the press that – and your sponsors, and your agent.’ Milo stomps out of the room and slams the door.

  His sudden departure yanks a new series of sobs from me. I curl into myself, squishing my face in a pillow. When the door opens again I wriggle closer to the wall, pulling the sheet over my head. ‘Please leave me alone, Dad,’ I hiccup.

  ‘I want to tell you something I’ve never told a soul – not even Colt,’ Milo says, slow and precise.

  I grit my teeth against the next sob. When Milo says nothing more I sit up, pressing a hot cheek against the cool wall. The breath shudders in my chest.

  He’s over at the window, but the face staring out is no longer Milo’s chilled, bemused one.

  ‘Twelve years ago I didn’t try to stop Jagger going on that court, totally betrunken. He’d knocked me out of the Open and I was taking a day off, having a couple of drinks in a bar. He was too – only he had more than a couple. I even bought him one on my way out, despite him having a game to play that day. He was a cocky son of a bitch, always mouthing off. I thought he needed to learn a lesson. Later, I spied him staggering into the locker rooms. I could’ve tried to stop him, but instead I wished him good luck. I was young. I got it badly wrong.’

  I recoil at the sight of his trampled face.

  ‘Big mistake, Harper. With big consequences. I played a big part in helping Jagger destroy himself. Christ, his wife had just died.’ He smacks the heel of his hand into his forehead. ‘I didn’t know at the time, but it has eaten away at me every day of my life since. The guilt made me want to punish myself.’ His timbre becomes even softer, lower. ‘It’s why my fiancée left me. I drove her away because I thought that I didn’t deserve to be happy. Could be why I never made it into the top 10, as well. I believed I wasn’t worthy.’ He swings to me, hooking his lips into a warped grin.

  Fiancée? ‘Is that why you took on Colt for free?’ I ask.

  ‘No. Maybe. I followed Colt’s progress.’ Milo move
s closer. ‘Colt inherited all of Jamie’s talent and drive – and then some. Except he’s humbler than Jamie – and less intense, if you can believe that. He’s a safe gamble.’ His eyes are glossy. ‘Don’t do what I did.’ The corners of Milo’s lips arc downwards. ‘Don’t make yourself pay for your mistakes forever. A lifetime is a long time, Dampfnudel.’

  He opens his arms. I bowl into them and he holds me, whispering, ‘This too shall pass,’ over and over, until I stop crying.

  When he shuts the door behind him I starfish on the bed, staring at the bright squares of wall left by the posters. Milo, who has a handle on this world, also made mistakes. Who am I going to choose to be? A quitter like Jagger, a winner like Colt, or perhaps I’ll live with regret my whole life like Milo.

  I put on shorts and a T-shirt and lace my trainers. Then I run until my lungs split open, until the tear tracks dry, until the world stops being black and becomes a more normal shade of real.

  I call Kim to ask her to train with me, but she reminds me she’s at the Brisbane tournament with Colt, adding, ‘One less person with their claws out for my trophy.’

  After building the courage to call Natalie, she agrees to come over. If I can’t fix Aria or Jacob or Mum and Dad, perhaps I can be the friend Colt needs and help him reach his goals – he’ll be lucky to get past the first round in the singles event at the Aussie Open. Mixed doubles is his ticket to higher prize money so he can help his dad get well. Jeez, he’d been staying in hostels and saving his money rather than eat so he could afford his dad’s rehab. I’ll concentrate on doubles and withdraw from the singles event. This is a short-term choice – for Colt.

  Natalie is strong and no-nonsense, and makes me work hard. She asks me why I pulled out of Brisbane. I say I don’t want to talk about it. But we become friends by the end of the week and I let on that it’s family stuff.

  ‘You need to learn to compartmentalise,’ she says, sipping on iced water in our kitchen. ‘Colt’s good at it.’