‘Relax, you two, it’s my fault,’ Layla interrupts. ‘Tell him, Milo, tell him we could’ve died. I didn’t see a roo coming, but it was an accident. Just an accident.’
‘I love ya, Montgomery, but he flogged my car.’ Trent leans back on the grass so his shoulders and biceps pop.
I sit up straighter. ‘It’s technically mine too.’
Trent laughs. ‘You’re mucking. Well, the old man’s not gonna let you in a fifty-kilometre radius of it now anyway.’ He tugs at a blade of grass, swearing to himself. ‘So a roo, huh? Poor bugger — did it make it?’
I swallow. ‘I don’t know.’
‘There’s some big ones out this way. You alright? How ’bout you, Lay?’
He got there in the end.
‘We just need a mechanic,’ Layla says, and shoots me a reassuring smile.
‘Not sure why,’ Trent says. ‘It’s gotta be a write-off.’
‘Why are you even home?’ I ask, eager to get the attention off us. ‘What happened to camping?’
‘Raj’s missus showed up and it changed the whole vibe so we called it early.’ He shakes his head again as he looks at the car. ‘Unbelievable. The front half of that crapbox is a disaster.’
‘I’m getting it fixed before anyone else finds out.’
‘Better scram then, bro. Mum’s inside.’
‘What? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought she was at the races.’
‘Calm ya farm, her hair appointment went over or something.’
Freakin’ Trent. As insightful as a tick.
Mum’s voice pipes up behind us. ‘Thought I heard a commotion out here. Hi, you three!’
Perfect.
She teeters towards us in heels and a fancy dress, adjusting a ridiculous hat in the shape of a flower. Oblivious to what’s going on with us, she rattles on about her new hairdresser and Dad’s tickets to the VIP marquee.
‘It’s so gorgeous to see you all lined up like that,’ she gushes. ‘Just like old times. I swear I have a photo somewhere just like it.’
Layla hurries to her feet. ‘Ah, you look great, Jen … I was, ah, just leaving.’
‘So soon?’ Mum takes us all in before her gaze rests on the car. ‘Jesus Christ on a cracker! What happened?’
She totters over for a closer look, running her manicured hand over the dented bonnet, gasping when she sees the windscreen.
‘I can explain everything,’ I say. ‘We’re okay, but we hit a kangaroo and —’
‘You and Murph did this? You took the car?’ Mum’s voice is trembling.
‘No … not Murph. Just me.’
‘And me,’ Layla adds. Even her voice is shaking a little. ‘I was driving.’
‘I’m the only one to blame here,’ I add.
Mum clears her throat. ‘Inside the house now, Milo.’
‘But, Mum, let me explain what —’
‘I said now.’ Her tone is hard. ‘Trent? Are you also involved?’
He keeps his head down. Despite his flaws, he’s not into ratting anyone out.
‘Milo, I said inside.’
I haven’t moved ’cos I’m still processing if there’s a way to get out of this without dragging Layla through it too.
Mum grabs my arm, nails digging in, and pulls me towards the house. I don’t bother to resist this time; I just hurry to keep up with her.
She pauses for a second and turns to face Layla, who’s still standing on the lawn, one boot kneading the grass. ‘Is someone coming to pick you up, Layla?’
‘I don’t think so, but I can walk home,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry, Jen.’
Her voice is quiet, barely a murmur. She wouldn’t ever have seen Mum like this. I don’t think I have — not towards me anyway. I float under the radar most of the time. It was always Trent who got grounded or suspended. Never me.
Layla’s eyes widen as Mum barks at Trent to drive her home in her car. She insists she’s fine, but that doesn’t mean squat to Mum, who tells Trent to put on a shirt then do what she says.
I’m not even sure why Mum’s taking her frustration out on him right now. Maybe habit. Maybe disbelief that it’s me who’s stuffed up for once. As Trent heads up the driveway to grab a T-shirt, she turns around to drop her most cutting glare on me.
‘I am barely keeping it together right now,’ she says, disappointment oozing from every pore. ‘Taking the car without permission, worrying me sick at the thought of what could’ve happened … don’t even think about lying to me when we get inside, Milo. Don’t even consider it.’
Layla catches my eye. Her look is apologetic, watery. I’m sorry.
Layla
‘Here’s fine,’ I say, pointing at the rundown park around the corner from my house.
Trent slows the car to a stop. ‘Which joint is yours, Monty Burns?’
I hop out, bag slung over my shoulder, and slam the door shut. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I say, smirking at the nickname but ignoring the question. The fewer people who see the shabby old house I’m stuck in, the better. It’s bad enough Milo saw it yesterday.
‘Hey, wait a sec.’ Trent leans out the window. I stand on the footpath, body heavy on my feet. ‘So I acted like a massive tosser before.’
‘You think?’
‘Well, yeah. That’s why I said it.’ He clears his throat. ‘Let me make it up to you.’
‘Just make it up to Milo, dude. He’s the one you attacked.’
‘Says the ninja who put me in a chokehold.’ I try not to laugh. ‘Look, I was goofing around, just trying to scare him. That little muppet nicked my car, remember? And he wasn’t the only one.’
‘I know, I’m sorry … but go easy on him at least. He misses his girlfriend. You get that, right?’
He nods. ‘But I don’t get you two.’
‘There’s nothing to get. I have a boyfriend, Trenticles.’
‘Oh, really? Didn’t you used to scribble our initials all over your school books? LM and TD forever? Stuff like that?’
A laugh slips out.
‘You did though, right?’
‘I’m not admitting anything, no matter how much embarrassing stuff you bring up. And be nice to your brother.’
‘Okay, but I know you used to like me.’ He grins again. ‘I know it.’
‘Past tense, dude. Doesn’t count any more.’
Jay and Mel are spooned on the couch watching Netflix when I walk in. It’s their favourite position from the afternoon onwards.
‘Hey, guys, what’s doing?’ I ask, dumping my bag in the hallway. ‘Good day?’
‘Kurt’s not here, doll,’ Mel mumbles.
‘Oh?’ Nice to see you too.
‘Yeah,’ she continues. ‘Him and Ryan went out.’
‘Where?’
Jay turns up the volume, captivated by the screen.
‘Dunno,’ Mel says. ‘Out.’ She notices my bag heaped on the floor. ‘You going somewhere?’
‘I literally walked through the door, like just then. I’ve been gone all night.’ Deep breath. ‘Has Kurt been home? I texted him heaps yesterday but haven’t heard from him.’
Mel shrugs. ‘No idea.’
‘Okay … well, do you guys wanna grab a late lunch? I’m starving. And you wouldn’t believe the past twenty-four hours. I was driving to Canberra and this car behind us kept swerving and —’
‘Hang on.’ Jay sighs, making a big show out of pressing pause. ‘Alright, go.’
I stare at the frozen screen. ‘You know what, it’s a pretty boring story really.’
‘Sorry, doll,’ Mel chimes in. ‘It’s the season finale. Chat after this eppie?’
They don’t even notice when I don’t bother replying.
* * *
Nothing has changed on the whiteboard. There are no new messages or drawings, no additions to my scribbles. Looking at our unmade bed, I can’t even tell if Kurt has been home since I was last here.
The clutter on top of his bedside table catches my eye. There are now two join
ts, thin and tapered, among the rest of his junk. My throat tightens as I remember the pot sprinkled across Mum’s photo yesterday afternoon. It’s like it’s multiplying around the room.
I suck in a loud breath, trying to calm myself.
Creeeak. The bedroom door is opening.
Startled, I hurl myself onto the bed. Not suss at all, Lay, way to play it cool. I’m still flushed with surprise when Kurt walks in.
‘Babe?’
I sit up, trying to be casual. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ he says, in between smacking gum around his mouth. His hair is thick with oil and he’s wearing the same rumpled T-shirt from earlier this week. He throws me my bag. ‘You left it out there. So, how was your … you had a thing, right?’
So he got my messages.
‘I had a thing.’
‘How was it?’
He bends down to kiss me on the cheek, but I pull away. I’m not in the mood for another fight, but there’s only so long that frustration can bubble below surface level before it explodes anyway.
‘Babe?’ Alarm registers on his face as he looks at my messages on the whiteboard. ‘Are you pissed ’cos I didn’t write back to your texts? I just forgot.’
I wriggle across the mattress, lean over to his bedside table and pin one of the joints between my fingers. I gesture for him to join me on the bed, then bring the joint up to my nose, sniff it and cringe.
‘I’ve been thinking and … and I think I want you to stop.’
‘Huh?’
I hold the joint up in front of his face. ‘This. Stop selling it. Please.’
He scoffs. ‘You’re crazy.’ He snatches the joint from me and tosses it back on the pile on his bedside table. ‘Easy money, remember?’
‘Stop saying that. Besides, I’ve got a job now. We’ll get by somehow. You don’t need to do this.’
‘Why? I’m low profile, don’t let customers come to the house, my stash is secure … all the stuff I promised ya.’
‘Yeah, you’re a regular employee of the month. Don’t you want more?’
‘Customers? Babe, I’m working on it.’
‘Oh God, no. More than this.’ I gesture with both hands to the room. ‘You don’t want more?’
‘Sounds like you do.’ There’s a fracture in his voice. ‘Ya really want me to give it up?’
My jaw hardens. ‘It was all over Mum’s photo, Kurt, and you didn’t even care. Mum’s photo.’
‘You know I’ve been there for ya every step of the way, from the cemetery to anniversaries to … okay, you know what — I hear ya. I stuffed up. I’ll stop. I’ll make some more calls about sparkie stuff.’
I mumble, ‘Thanks,’ but he looks away, so I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, my eyes following a deep crack running from one side to the other.
‘We have an alright life, babe. I don’t know why it’s stopped being good enough for ya.’
I keep staring at the ceiling until my eyes lose focus. I’ve got what I wanted — he’s said he’ll stop — but this doesn’t feel like how it’s supposed to go. Because I can’t figure out why it’s stopped being good enough for me either.
***
Layla: Hi. So are you grounded for life?
Layla: I’ll take that silence as a yes
Milo: Close enough
Layla: He’s alive! Hooray! Sorry about the grounding tho
Milo: All good. Nothing to do in Durnan anyway
Layla: Well, I’m sorry. Let me know if I can do anything
Layla: OMG. I put my hand up a roast chicken’s bum this week
Layla: Cluck my life
Layla: When did you get so crap at replying to texts?
Layla: I know you’re grounded so I MIGHT forgive you
Milo
One hundred and twenty hours and seven family meetings later, Mum and Dad finally have my punishments sorted for, in their words, ‘lying, stealing, joyriding and abusing their trust’.
Grounded. That’s a first.
Taking on extra shifts at the bookshop. At least I’ll get paid.
Covering the cost of getting the work car fixed. There goes the extra money.
Then there’s the lucky-last punishment: working through my goals for the year with Dad, who’s made the whole me-taking-the-car situation about him. He thinks he’s not ‘present’ enough in my life, so he wants to bond. Not only that, but he wants answers. What am I doing with my life? Where? When? Apparently he’s done waiting for me to sort it, so he’s going to figure out my ‘life plan’ for me. Bloody self-development books.
This is it. I’ve found it. The purest form of torture: my life planned out by Dad.
And I thought Trent’s BO was bad.
Triple zero? Hi, Milo Dark here, I have an emergency. Please send help immediately.
Quickly losing the will to live through another Durnan day, I lie on the couch in front of one of those generic breakfast shows where everyone looks like a clone of each other. All white teeth and boofy hair. I hate myself for watching it, but I’m too lazy to reach for the remote.
While I stare mindlessly at the telly, Mum’s in the armchair across from me, mulling over a sudoku. After a few minutes she gets up in a huff and snatches the remote.
‘It’s drivel, Milo, rots brains,’ she says, turning it off.
‘Mum, it’s just telly.’
This is what my life has come to: fighting to watch a show I don’t even like. Maybe my brain has already rotted to the core.
‘Your father and I meant what we said: something’s got to change around here.’
Mum likes talking, not listening, so I don’t say anything else. If I do, I’ll just be getting in the way.
She straightens a picture frame by the window that reads Follow your dreams, then stops to peer through the glass. ‘Darling, have you seen the Robinsons’ place across the road?’
‘Course I’ve seen it.’
‘Tone, Milo. Well, it’s been on the market for seven months now. Can’t budge it. Such a shame for them.’ She pauses. ‘Have you … have you thought about what you might do with the money you’re saving?’
She looks out the window again, then back to me. And then I get where she’s going with this. Oh.
‘Er … not yet,’ I say, sitting up straighter. ‘That’s kind of the point though. Probably uni once I know what I want to do, or —’
‘Uni?’ Mum claps her hands together, beyond thrilled to hear that word come out of my mouth. ‘Yes, wonderful. I was thinking, you’re good with technology and computers, aren’t you? You could study that.’
She says it like I’m the next Bill Gates, when I’ve only ever helped her to update her laptop software and introduced her to YouTube.
‘Er, maybe, Mum. But one of Sal’s friends went on an exchange to Scotland and —’
‘Or there’s always property.’ She waves me over with a manicured hand.
I heave myself off the couch, hating myself for not sleeping in longer and avoiding this conversation.
‘It’s one of the benefits of staying here in the country … and if you ended up studying via distance education then you could move in across the road,’ she adds. ‘That way I’ll always know you’re looking after yourself. We could still have dinner together every night. Can you imagine?’
I stare at the house with its double garage and overgrown tree in the front and shabby brick finish. It’s one of the few unrestored homes on the block.
Oh, I can imagine.
Mum rushing over unannounced to make sure I have enough clean boxers for the week. Dad berating me for not mowing the lawn often enough. Trent scabbing the keys to throw a piss-up for every dropkick in town.
But mainly I can imagine my whole future mapped out for me in an instant. Durnan forever. No surprises. Just an endless life of same-same: work, sleep, lectures from Mum and Dad, repeat. It’s enough to make me want to hurl myself through the window.
Suddenly the only thing that seems worse than having no plan i
s having a plan I don’t want.
‘Something to think about anyway,’ Mum says, wrapping an arm around me.
I swallow. ‘Ah, maybe.’
She roughs up my hair and says, ‘Good boy,’ like I’m a toddler nailing potty time.
My head aches. It’s too much to think about at seven forty-eight in the morning. I collapse back on the couch and pull out my phone to reply to Layla.
‘Who are you texting?’ Mum asks, sitting next to me.
‘No-one really.’
Her lips tighten into a straight line.
‘Mum, whatever you’re thinking, stop. I begged her to drive me. Anyway, the car’s getting fixed and I’m paying for it.’ Trust me, I’m paying for it in every way. ‘She’s telling me about her job, okay? That’s all.’
‘I thought she was going out with someone.’
‘So? Guys and girls can be friends, Mum. We’re not all sex maniacs.’
Shouldn’t have said ‘sex maniacs’. Should not have said that.
‘Sometimes they can be friends,’ she says, side-stepping my last sentence with the skilfulness of an acrobat walking the high-wire. ‘I have a good memory though. Even as kids, you followed Layla around like a puppy dog, back when she was all about your brother.’
I snort.
‘You did. And she was.’
‘Good pep talk, Mum. We done?’ I stare at the blank telly screen, scared of what she might see etched across my face.
‘I don’t want you to get hurt, my darling,’ she adds, her voice softening. ‘Or Sal. You two have been through a lot together. Two years of dating, that fancy couples award at the formal —’
‘It was just a stupid award, Mum. Relax. Trust me, Sal is fine. I mean, we’re fine.’
Trent stumbles into the living room scratching at his left armpit. I’ve never been so relieved to see him. Anything to get Mum off my case.
She cringes as he grabs the remote, turns on the television and collapses into a chair, almost in a single non-stop motion. Releasing a yawn, he plonks his feet on the coffee table with a thud. Mum gestures for him to move them and he releases a deep grunt as he readjusts himself.
Once Mum’s headed into the kitchen to make breakfast, Trent rolls around to face me. ‘So you do have the horn for little Montgomery. Although I guess she’s not that little now, huh? Pretty crazy-hot these days.’
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