by Nova Weetman
He starts to walk away from me but I grab his arm and try to pull him back, feeling like this is the last chance, this is it. If he goes now, then no matter what, we’re split.
‘I just miss you. That’s all,’ I say, throwing it all out there.
He pulls his arm loose. ‘Sorry. I can’t.’
I watch him walk back into the party, his stride changing, becoming longer, as he gets closer to the gate. And as he slips into the shiny, glittery house, I spin round and slam a punch right into the glass poster box at the end of the tram shelter, desperate to shatter the glass into millions of tiny shards. Instead I shatter my hand and it explodes with pain. I scream for an audience, for Alex, but he’s long gone.
alex
The doorbell rings with three short buzzes, then three long, and then three short. It’s Morse code. S.O.S. Ellie’s idea of a joke, but she only does it when she knows my parents are out. I think she’s just a little scared of my dad, which is weird because she’s never scared of anyone.
I race down the stairs before Sass can get there first. Sass isn’t supposed to open the door when Mum and Dad aren’t home, but she always does if she knows Ellie’s coming over. She loves her almost as much as I do.
I look up at Ellie rolling back and forth on her unicycle. ‘You rode here?’
She laughs and lets the unicycle fall forward so she can slide off and into me.
‘No. I caught the train. I’m not that good.’
I hold her face and she reaches up to hold mine and then on tiptoes, she presses her nose to mine and we stay like that for a second or two, just breathing each other in. Before I can move onto her lips, Sass is behind me, bouncing around like a puppy.
‘Ellie, I have something to show you … come on,’ she says, reaching past me and grabbing Ellie’s t-shirt with her hand.
Ellie looks up, right into my eyes. ‘Apparently I’m needed. Back soon.’
I smile and take the unicycle from her while Sass drags her inside and up the stairs. Instead of following them, I take the unicycle out onto the grass and rest on the seat. I place one foot on a pedal and then pushing off, I leap up, so I’m in the air. My other foot finds the second pedal and I start moving my feet back and forth like Ellie showed me. I try to find a rhythm, but after three seconds or maybe four, I can feel myself tipping forward and no matter what I do, I keep falling until I hit the ground. At least the grass is soft.
I have to carry the unicycle upstairs because Mum will freak if I leave it in the dining room or in the lounge. I know she likes Ellie, but I also know she thinks the whole circus thing is a bit weird. She always makes these pathetic jokes about how Ellie’s running away to the circus. I’ve given up trying to explain it to her.
‘So what do you think, El?’ I hear my sister ask.
‘I like the red one better.’
‘Really? Me too,’ says Sass. It used to be me that she’d agree with about anything; now it’s all been transferred to my girlfriend. I lie on my bed and wait because I know there’s no point trying to drag Ellie away from the clutches of a twelve-year-old needing advice on which skirt to wear to the school disco. Sass is laughing and Ellie joins in and the sound makes me smile. Ellie’s laugh is so infectious you can’t help but react to it.
‘What are you smiling at?’
I look up at my girlfriend grinning from the door. Lucky? Much?
‘Nothing,’ I say.
She closes the door as quietly as she can, knowing that if Sass hears it shut, she’ll be knocking on the door in seconds.
‘How’d you escape?’
She climbs up onto my waist and lies down on top of me. ‘Just told her I needed to go to the toilet. Should buy us a few minutes.’
I find her mouth and nibble on her bottom lip. ‘Not sure that will be long enough.’
She slides her hand up under my t-shirt and I shiver. ‘Cold,’ I say.
‘Hardly,’ she says, sliding her hand down towards my shorts.
I reach up and kiss her mouth, feeling her tongue with mine. My heart’s racing and I don’t want to move in case she stops snaking her fingers down into my pants.
‘Ellie!’ Sass bursts into the room and Ellie is up and off me in seconds. Embarrassed, I grab my pillow and drop it over my lower half.
‘Sorry, Sass, just had to kiss your brother hello,’ she says.
‘Here. This is for you,’ Sass says as she tosses an envelope. It flutters onto my bed. Ellie snatches it up before I can and turns it over, checking the back.
‘Nice handwriting. Who’s Sarah Waterman?’
‘No idea,’ I say, holding out my hand for the letter. Now I’m intrigued. Ellie holds it up high, grinning at me, like she’s not going to give it back.
‘Come on, Ellie,’ says Sass, trying to drag Ellie out of the room. As Ellie reaches the door, she throws the envelope down and blows me a kiss with a smile that will last me a little while.
‘You have ten minutes, Sass. Okay?’ I yell into the empty air, wishing we could have the house to ourselves for the whole day and not just stolen moments.
I read the front of the envelope. It’s addressed to my full name and, Ellie’s right, the handwriting is perfect. I slide my thumb under the stuck-down bit and rip it open. Inside is a card with a colour photograph of a man laughing next to a pool. I don’t recognise him at all, but there’s something odd about it and I realise my hand has started to shake as I open the card. Then I see the words on the page, the perfectly sloped black letters, but my eyes are still refusing to focus. I can hear Sass laughing in the next room as words start slamming into my head.
Funeral. Peter. Thanks.
Peter. It’s him. This smiling man is him.
My name is there. Alexander. They know it’s me. They know about me. How? How can they know anything about me?
My door shuts gently and I jump at the noise.
‘I think I’ve done my duty,’ says Ellie, walking to the bed and sliding her hand along my leg. Her touch makes me pull away and I try to slide the card back into the envelope before she sees. But my hand is shaking so wildly that she plucks it from my fingers before I can tuck it away.
‘Who’s he?’
‘Nobody.’ Even my voice sounds strange.
She starts to open the card and I snatch it away as fast as I can. And for that she gives me a strange look. ‘Whoa. What’s up with you?’
‘Nothing.’
I shove the card into the envelope so roughly the side splits open and I jam the whole lot in my bedside table. Ellie’s staring at me as I turn around. I need to get out of here but I can’t leave her in the room with the envelope. What if she reads it?
‘Alex? You okay? You’ve gone all red,’ she says.
I shrug and lean in for a kiss. I make it to her lips and the feel of them is enough to almost make me forget the card. She moves against me and we topple back onto the bed. And for a few seconds it seems all is forgotten.
Then, Ellie pushes against me and sits up. ‘You trying to distract me?’
‘No. I’m just kissing you.’
She grins and jumps up. ‘No secrets, Alex,’ she says.
Then, before I can stop her, she heads for the bedside table, and just as she’s about to reach it, I leap from the bed and slide my arms around her waist and spin her around so she’s facing me. My heart is racing. I don’t want Ellie reading that card but I have to play it cool or she’ll suspect there’s something going on and then she’ll push even harder.
She laughs as she leans against me. Her stomach growls like it’s giving me a way out.
‘Hungry? Let’s go downstairs and I’ll make us some pancakes.’
She pulls away and looks up. From her expression, I know I’m not going to get away with this.
‘You go downstairs and I’ll stay here,’ she grins.
‘Come on, Sass will be back in a minute, taking you away again.’
‘What are you hiding, Alex?’ Her voice is light and cheeky.
&n
bsp; I make myself laugh but the sound is false and hollow. Then I remember something my old drama teacher used to tell us. If you’re creating a story, keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible.
‘Seriously, it’s nothing. Just a letter from an old girlfriend,’ I say quickly.
Then I pull the drawer open, grab the envelope and hand it to her. ‘Here.’
She reads the card aloud.
Dear Alexander,
Thank you for coming to Peter’s funeral. It meant so much to us having so many friends and acquaintances present.
Sincerely,
Sarah Waterman
I’m standing. She’s standing. The card separates us. She looks up and I see her face soften, how changed the expression is.
‘You went to the funeral of your old girlfriend’s dad?’
I shrug, trying not to use words.
‘But why did you pretend not to know who Sarah Waterman was?’
I shrug lightly. ‘Just didn’t want to get into it, I guess.’
‘Why didn’t you just say?’
‘I don’t know. It was a sudden death and he was a good man. I guess I was sad about it,’ I say, realising how true it is.
‘Was that the same funeral Jake went to?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, suddenly understanding he’s the reason this card arrived. He must’ve put my name in the guestbook.
‘No wonder you’ve been a bit weird. You should have just told me.’
‘Yeah. Sorry.’
And then she’s there. Her arms around me. Her lips on mine. Her hands grabbing my back, my skin, my arse. And Peter Waterman is dead and buried. And there’s nothing anybody can do.
jake
It’s not hard to find something black to wear because it’s pretty much all I own. But I have at least put on jeans without holes in them because I thought I should try to make an effort. I begged Alex to come with me but he refused. And it’s not like I can make him come.
‘You’re running late, aren’t you?’ It’s Mum. She’s just got up after working late last night. Her hair’s all crazy and she’s shuffling around in her oversized pyjamas.
‘I’m not going to school today. I’m going to a funeral,’ I say, surprising myself that I’ve just blurted it out.
Even when tired, she’s sharper than most people and she fixes me with a look. ‘Really? Whose?’
‘A friend’s dad. It’s no big deal. Just wanted to show my support. I never met him.’
She nods. Then smiles. ‘That’s nice of you. It’s never fun going to funerals. Do you want me to drive you?’
‘No. It’s okay. There’s a bunch of us,’ I say, pretending to concentrate on retying my shoelaces.
‘How did he die?’ She walks into the kitchen and starts making a pot of coffee. It’s the first thing Mum always does in the morning, and then after it percolates, she sits down and finishes off the pot before she can even think about eating anything.
‘Car accident,’ I say, sticking as close to the truth as I can.
‘Oh, that’s awful. Do I know your friend?’
I shake my head. ‘Nah. It’s someone I met through Alex.’
‘So Alex’s going too?’
‘Yeah. Course,’ I say, hoping today isn’t the day she runs into Alex or his mum and learns the truth.
‘Where’s the funeral?’
‘Camberwell somewhere. Not sure.’
‘Honey, I’ll drive you,’ she says again.
But I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. Really. I should go.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll be home tonight. Not working, thank god, so I’ll cook something nice,’ she says.
I kiss Mum goodbye and get out of there before she asks any questions I can’t easily lie my way out of.
I’ve only ever been to one funeral and that was my grandfather Jack’s. He was Catholic so it was in this very austere church he used to go to. The priest had known him for years so it was really personal, and I learned things about my grandfather’s life that I’d never known. Like he’d grown up in foster homes and joined the navy when he was seventeen to escape. I remember Mum cried for the whole service and I just sat next to her and squeezed her hand. Jack had been a big part of my life, especially after Dad had left, and he’d pretty much raised my mum on his own because my grandmother died when Mum was a kid. He taught me how to kick a footy. And we used to go to AFL games sometimes because he lived just near the MCG in this dingy little flat in the back blocks of Richmond. Only Sydney Swans games, though, because he was an old South Melbourne supporter and still barracked for the red and whites.
It’s strange thinking back to that funeral. Alex was there too and his dad came, which really struck me as weird at the time, because it wasn’t like we were family friends or anything. But I think he thought he was doing the right thing by bringing Alex. I had to do a public reading of some poem about death that my grandfather apparently liked. My voice sounded really odd in the church, all shaky and soft like I was terrified of saying the words aloud.
Mum never talks about her dad, but I know she misses him. I miss him too even though I hated how yellow the skin on his fingers were from years of smoking tobacco.
I wonder what this funeral will be like. Alex tried to talk me out of going, but I have to go. I don’t know why. I just want to see the man’s family, hear about him, and learn what he was like. Alex thinks its part of some ongoing self-punishment. Maybe he’s right and this is my way of making myself suffer without actually having to go to prison. Truth is, I’m still in shock that we killed this man and going to the funeral is my fact-finding mission to see what people know. And I’m secretly hoping that today I will hear the real reason the man died, and that it will have nothing to do with us.
Camberwell seems so far away. I can’t believe this is where Alex lives now. It’s so different to the borough. It’s all wide streets with big trees and brand new cars. Even the houses look impressive and old, not brown brick and from the seventies. The church is supposed to be along here somewhere, but I can never quite work out how to read the GPS on my phone so every time I turn it in the direction I think the phone should face, the screen changes. That’s the problem with spending your entire life in one small square like I usually do. I’m not normally inclined to navigate the wider world, because aside from going to school, the skate park and the shopping centre, I don’t actually have anywhere else to go.
I turn the corner onto Burke Road. The church is St something and I keep walking in the direction I hope I’m supposed to go in, and wishing I’d worn something less casual. I imagine that people around here are probably quite a bit posher than I am, and now I’m terrified someone will take one look at me and know instinctively that I shouldn’t be here and ask questions I can’t answer. I consider turning back but then I see the huge crowd spilling out the front of a big pale stone church. They don’t look like what I imagined. For a start, there are hardly any people wearing black and I feel really conspicuous, like I didn’t get the email about the dress code. The hearse is parked right out the front and I avoid looking because I don’t want to see the coffin. I had to ride in a hearse with Mum when we followed my grandfather’s body to the crematorium. Cars kept stopping for us and it made me feel a little bit famous.
Everyone is standing in clusters and chatting like it’s the perfect place to catch up on things. I stand back, as far back as possible, so I can scan faces to try and find his daughter. I figure once we get inside I’ll be able to spot her. Then the doors to the church open and people start filing in. It’s a huge church. Anglican, I think. So much more impressive than the one my grandfather was farewelled in. Because I just want to hang near the back, I let people go in front of me, and wait until almost everyone else is inside before I start edging my way in.
As I head into the foyer, I hear music playing. Not the traditional organ music that played at my grandfather’s funeral but a guitar being strummed. Two women in dark-coloured suits are handing out programs and
gesturing for people to sign the visitor’s book. I try and get past without signing because, really, how can I sign a visitor’s book? But the man in front of me turns and hands me the pen and I know it would just seem strange if I passed it further down the line without writing anything. I don’t want to draw attention to myself so I scribble a name. Alexander Cormack. And then I add his address like all the others in the lines before. It’s his fault he wouldn’t come with me so at least this way he’s here in spirit.
Then one of the women hands me a program and without thinking I look at the front. And there it is. His face. Grinning at the camera as he holds up a giant snapper in his hands. He looks so happy. I quickly fold it over so I don’t have to see him and squeeze into a spot right in the back corner. The church is crammed with people. The wooden pews are all full so guests stand three-rows thick at the back, which means I can’t see down the front to where the family sits. As the minister starts talking and welcoming everyone to the funeral, I realise just what a bad idea this was. I’m starting to sweat. My jeans feel all tight and uncomfortable and I can’t breathe properly.
Light pours in from the arched windows. The words coming from the front are about the man’s amazing life and the legacy he’s left behind and I know those words are for me. And then a baby screams, and I have to get out of here. But there must be about forty people between me and the door. I hear the minister mention the tragic event that cut the man’s life short and I worry I’m going to faint.
I start pushing.
I wriggle past one man and then a couple of older women and keep going like that until I can nearly see my way out. I know people are giving me dirty looks but I focus on my hand that has started to shake and keep pushing through. Behind me, the gap closes like I was never there.
Somewhere at the front of the church a woman starts sobbing and I force myself out through the last pocket of people and into the day. The sun is way too bright. It’s like someone is shining lights into my eyes to check my level of guilt.
‘Are you okay?’ says a voice behind me and I spin around ready to run. But it’s not someone come to arrest me. It’s just one of the women in the dark-coloured suits. She’s probably from the funeral home or maybe she’s the driver of the hearse. Her face looks sincerely concerned for me.