by Ben Karwan
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It’s not like it’s money I worked for and saved up. It’s basically a free trip.’
Sophie sips her drink. I watch her mind tick over. ‘I’d love to come, I really would. But I can’t just let you pay for everything. It doesn’t seem right.’
I open my mouth to argue but she keeps talking.
‘Besides, who’s going to look after Luke?’
‘Bring him along,’ I say immediately. ‘I’m not kidding,’ I add after her laughter.
‘Seriously? You don’t think a screaming toddler would kill the atmosphere?’
‘It’s possible,’ I say, ‘but he’s cute. It would totally be worth it.’
‘He’s adorable. Confession time: I was just watching him nap before you got here.’
‘I’d probably have done the same, I’m not going to lie.’
‘He had this little drool train …’ she gestures down her chin to indicate the drool’s path. ‘Anyway, we’re getting off topic. I guess I could ask Mum to look after him.’
‘What about your dad? Could he help, too?’
‘He’s in Singapore.’ Sophie’s dad is always travelling all over the world. I’m not really sure what he does but he’s some important person in some important business. He spends more time out of the country than he does in it.
We figure we should wait for Mrs Anderson to finish her gardening before we ask her. It’d feel less like we were putting her on the spot.
‘Do you want to clean my room with me?’ asks Sophie while we wait. ‘I should be doing it now but I can’t be bothered.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Well, you can tidy up and I’ll sort out your DVDs.’
‘Oh my God.’ Sophie rests her elbows on the bench and her chin on her hands. ‘You’re so OCD about that!’
Putting things in order is the best. I can’t stand it when people have collections that don’t follow a system. Sophie’s DVD collection is the worst offender.
‘I am not,’ I say indignantly. ‘I just like things in alphabetical order. You know, the way they should be. And you took one psych class in year ten. I don’t think you’re exactly qualified to start diagnosing me with anything.’ I don’t point out that you can’t be ‘so OCD’ any more than you can be ‘so diabetes’. Wanting to correct things like that is a habit I picked up from Mother Dearest, so I try to suppress the urge.
Sophie laughs and shakes her head. ‘Okay, you can order them if you want. Then at least I’ll have someone to talk to while I tidy.’
Her room is ridiculous. The door doesn’t open completely as the build-up of clothes has created an extended doorstop. Only a small section of floor remains bare.
‘Sophie! How long has it been since you cleaned up in here?’
‘I don’t know. A month? Maybe two?’
Paper, receipts, clothes, bags, pencils, a sketchpad – there’s more stuff on her floor than I’ve owned in my entire life.
‘Why do you have a receipt for petrol from August?’ I ask, holding it up. ‘What possible need could you have for that?’
‘August? Seriously?’ says Sophie, snatching it out of my hands to read it. ‘Oh this is from when I filled up Mum’s car. I needed to keep it because … actually, I forget why.’
‘So naturally you keep the receipt for five months when you don’t even remember why you needed it in the first place. There is so much crap in here.’
Sophie goes to collect two large garbage bags and begins shoving all the stuff she no longer needs into them. I clear a section of floor for myself by tossing things across the room towards her.
‘I thought you were helping me!’ she says as a dress hits her in the shoulder.
‘I am. I’m moving things closer so you don’t have to move as far. Besides, I need somewhere to sit so I can organise your stuff.’
To alphabetise the DVDs, I go through and pluck out all the titles beginning with ‘A’, put them in order, then shove them at the start of the shelf. Then I move on to the ‘B’s and so on. It’s easier than doing each movie one at a time.
‘What’s this?’ I ask halfway through the ‘S’s. A disk has been shoved in between two covers. It looks as though it’s a burnt copy of a film but nobody has bothered to write on it what it is.
Sophie glances up from trying to squeeze as much stuff as possible into the already overflowing first garbage bag. ‘No idea. Put it on and see?’
‘Where’s your laptop?’
‘Under my bed.’
The laptop is underneath a pair of tracksuit pants under Sophie’s bed. I fish it out and slide the disk into the drive. Muffled sounds and a shaky camera immediately tell me it’s a home movie. The screen is blurry and it’s difficult to make out what’s happening.
‘Oh God, I just figured out what it is,’ says Sophie.
‘What?’
‘You’ll see.’ Her non-answer annoys me – I’m really struggling to figure it out.
The camera settles down after about thirty seconds and I realise somebody is singing. Five girls and four boys are on a stage – one singer and eight dancers. I feel a wave of anxiety as I recognise the stage. It’s the one in our high-school hall. And two of the girls are Sophie and me.
‘Is this our year nine variety night?’ I ask.
Sophie nods.
Variety nights were these concert things our high school held every year. Kids from all year levels were invited to go and show off whatever talents they may have in a performance. Quite often, the talent isn’t actually apparent. There were a lot of singers and musicians, a few dancers, sometimes stand-up comics, a few actors …
In year nine, our music teacher was desperate to put on a preview of a musical theatre performance. She wanted to convince the principal to allocate funding to school productions. She recruited a bunch of her students from all different year levels, and our performance of ‘Anything Goes’ was supposed to showcase the school’s talent. At the time I thought we’d done brilliantly, but watching the video (courtesy of Mrs Anderson) I realise just how terrible we were.
We girls are all dressed like guests on a cruise ship and the guys are dressed as sailors. While one of the girls – I think her name might have been Erica? – sings, we do some basic tap dancing in the background.
My feet tap a little on Sophie’s floor as the choreography comes flooding back to me. I barely have to think about it.
The video reaches the dance break and the tap routine gets a little more complicated. The singer taps her way towards the back of the stage and the rest of us move forward. Individually our dancing is passable, but we aren’t in time with each other and that makes the performance look really awkward.
‘How did they let us do this?’ asks Sophie. ‘And why did Mum film it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘but let’s just put this away and pretend it didn’t happen.’
‘We all thought we were so good …’
It’s such an embarrassing video. I like to think my dancing has improved heaps since then, but at the same time, I still remember the rush of performing on that stage. It was the first time I had ever performed at school and the excitement and anticipation building up to it were amazing. The hours we spent in rehearsals were some of my favourite hours of year nine. So yeah. We sucked and the video is painful to watch, but I’m glad I did it.
We hear Mrs Anderson come back inside and we head back into the kitchen.
‘Hey Mum,’ says Sophie. ‘How’d you go?’
Mrs Anderson takes a long drink from a glass of iced water. ‘All good.’
‘How have you not melted?’ I ask. My entire back is coated in a thin layer of sweat and I feel gross.
‘A bit of heat won’t kill you,’ says Mrs Anderson with a wink. She takes a seat at the kitchen table.
‘Can I run something by you?’ Sophie says.
‘Sure.’
‘Jen, Elliot and Teddy are driving up to Queensland. How would you feel if I went with them?’
&n
bsp; ‘Queensland? That’s a fair hike.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Elliot’s girlfriend is up there, so we want to go and surprise her.’
A smile creeps across Mrs Anderson’s lips. ‘That’s cute. How long would you be gone for?’
Sophie shrugs and looks at me. ‘A week?’
‘Something like that.’
We both look back at Mrs Anderson.
‘I guess that’d be okay,’ she says.
My stomach does a few backflips. I honestly wasn’t sure that she’d say yes.
Sophie’s face lights up. ‘Really? You don’t mind looking after Luke?’
‘Of course not. A week alone with the cherub? Sounds like a dream to me.’
She beams. Sophie races forward and kisses her mum on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘When will you be leaving?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Sophie says.
‘Then you’d best go and pack!’ says Mrs Anderson. ‘In the meantime, I should have a shower.’ She drains the rest of her water and disappears.
‘I’m so excited,’ says Sophie. ‘Help me pack?’
I laugh. ‘I should go and pack my own stuff.’
‘Maybe don’t pack your entire bookshelf, though.’
I scowl at her. ‘I’ll text you and let you know what time we’ll be here tomorrow morning.’
I hug her goodbye and head home, mentally forming a checklist as I walk. I race upstairs and pack a couple of books (perhaps slightly insulting to the others, but whatever); bathers; a towel; enough clothes, allowing myself costume choices; and toiletries. I spot my unopened GPS sitting on my desk. I tear the plastic off the box and skim through the instructions. It all seems pretty self-explanatory. I double-check that it has a charger and slip it into my bag. Nice one, Katie.
But I run into a hurdle I had not considered and really should have seen coming: Mother Dearest.
After dinner she asks me what I’m wearing to church tomorrow.
‘Oh uh … I’m not sure I’ll be able to go.’ I bite the inside of my cheek.
Dad lowers the file he’s reading.
‘Is that so?’ Mum says. ‘What plans do you have?’
I’m not sure if I should just say it bluntly or try to soften it into a question. What happens if she says no? ‘I was hoping I could go away for a week with some friends.’
‘And how long have you been planning this for?’
‘We just decided today,’ I say. Hopefully it being spur-of-the-moment will ease her temper; I don’t want her thinking I kept this hidden.
‘Which friends?’
‘Elliot, Teddy and Sophie. We’re all going up to Queensland to surprise Nessie.’
‘Sophie? That … girl … is a terrible influence.’
‘You know you have no idea what you’re talking about, right?’
I’ll put up with her badmouthing me but I can’t listen to her badmouth Sophie anymore. Mum doesn’t know her at all and I’m sick of her throwing about her opinions, which are based entirely on hearsay. The worst part is that Sophie can’t even defend herself. I’m sick of it.
I’m not sure if Mum has answered my question or not because I’m already halfway through my next sentence. ‘Sophie thought she was in a steady and committed relationship and got pregnant. Yeah, she messed up, but after it happened all she tried to do was the right thing. Then, when the shitbag ran off because he didn’t want any responsibility, he told everyone she’d cheated on him. And now, because she feels stupid about how Luke’s dad treated her and doesn’t stick up for herself, people like you assume that she’s the one in the wrong. She’s a fantastic mother and doesn’t need people like you judging her. She’s been through enough.’
All traces of smiles are gone by this point. Dad’s eyes are incredibly wide and Mum has shrunk by at least fifteen per cent. I expect a hiding for swearing but it never comes.
‘I heard the boyfriend wasn’t the father.’
‘I know.’ I keep my eyes locked firmly on Mum’s. ‘That’s what lots of people think because Sophie never said anything.’
‘He left her when she fell pregnant?’
I nod. I feel a horrible rush of guilt for betraying Sophie’s confidence. She specifically told me never to correct anybody. But how can I just let her get destroyed like this?
‘I didn’t know that,’ Mum says.
‘Of course you didn’t know. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? You never bother finding these things out. Sure, they weren’t married, which is somehow relevant to you, but they were together for a long time. You make your assumptions and then treat them as fact. The same thing happened with Dylan. He convinced you he was a super-good Christian – all three words are incorrect, for the record – and so he was the most amazing guy in the world. You couldn’t see that he might not be.’
Mum looks slightly taken aback. She hates being told she’s wrong.
‘So,’ I say, ‘my friends are going away tomorrow and I’d really like to go with them. Is that okay?’ My fingers tingle and my entire body is tight with tension. Shallow and uneven breaths fall out of my lungs.
Mum doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, ‘I’ll discuss it with your father.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. My heartbeat rings in my ears as I head up the stairs. I can’t really believe I did that. It feels weird. I’m honestly not sure if I got through to her at all or if she’s furious at me. I expected a lot more yelling from her but maybe I just took her off guard.
While I wait for Mum and Dad to have their discussion, I check that I’ve got everything packed. I don’t want to think about how it’ll feel to unpack if they say I can’t go.
Eventually there’s a knock at my door. I take a few deep breaths. ‘Come in.’
Dad opens my door, Mum standing just behind him. ‘So we had a chat about all of this …’ He looks back at Mum. ‘… And we decided …’
‘We decided,’ says Mum, ‘that you can go.’
It’s all I can do not to holler and whoop and jump around on my bed. I can’t keep the grin off my face. I fly towards them and embrace them both. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you …’
‘But,’ Mum says, ‘I’m not happy with the way you spoke to me before.’
I pull back from the hug and breathe. ‘I know. I was out of line. Sorry.’
‘Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid,’ says Dad. ‘No drinks from strangers, no flirting with cute boys …’
I roll my eyes. ‘Dad, please.’
Mum tightens her lips. ‘Just make sure you stay safe.’
Chapter Ten
At precisely ten twenty-four the next morning, I knock on Elliot’s front door. I’m six minutes ahead of schedule. The rotund Mrs Call-Me-Jo Carter opens the door to greet me.
‘He’s still packing. He started about ten minutes ago.’
‘Of course he did,’ I say. Organisation isn’t a strong suit for Elliot Carter. He’s shoving a couple of shirts into a bag when I enter his room.
‘Glad to see you’re on top of things,’ I say. ‘You didn’t think to pack yesterday?’
He throws some underwear at me. ‘It’s not ten-thirty yet. I’ve got plenty of time.’
Mrs Carter enters with a pile of Tupperware containers, each filled with a different baked snack. There are cookies, brownies, muffins – it’s brilliant.
‘Thought you might need something to keep you going on the road,’ she says, handing me the pile of containers. ‘What’s the point in being young and skinny if you can’t eat your weight in sugar? God only knows I used to be built like you.’ Her eyes go unfocused as she reminisces. Then she snaps back to the present. ‘This is a really good idea. You’re going to have so much fun, and Annabelle will be absolutely thrilled to see you,’ she adds to Elliot.
It takes me a moment to remember that Annabelle and Nessie are the same person.
‘Two minutes, Elliot,’ I warn. Not that I care about the timetable – I just like to pressure him.
‘Plenty of time,’ he says. And, true to his word, he finishes packing with three seconds to spare.
Mrs Carter walks out the front with us. ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything? Pyjamas? Toothbrush? Fresh underwear?’
‘Yes, Mum, I’m sure,’ says Elliot.
We load our bags into the back of Vincent. I pull out my GPS so we can use it later.
‘Come on, give me a hug,’ says Mrs Carter, pulling Elliot in for a tight embrace. Her head sits just under his chin. ‘You too, love,’ she says, opening her arms. I return her hug and then we climb into Vincent, Elliot in the driver’s seat, me riding shotgun.
Vincent is a blue Honda CR-V. Elliot has owned him for nearly two years. He doesn’t have too many fancy features but he’s got air conditioning, a clutch and an engine. What more do you need?
‘Drive safely,’ calls Mrs Carter as Elliot slots Vincent into reverse and backs out of the driveway. He pops the clutch to take off down our street. I can hear Mrs Carter’s full-bellied guffaw even through the windows and over the air con. I send Sophie a quick text: ‘Leaving Elliot’s now.’
We haven’t left our suburb yet but it already feels like an adventure. Never dropping below the speed limit, we reach Sophie’s house within minutes, where she’s waiting out the front, her loaded suitcase by her side. Luke sits on her hip.
Elliot pulls the car up to the curb and I climb out to greet Luke. Well, Luke and Sophie. But mainly Luke.
‘Hah-yee.’
God, that kid is cute.
‘Make sure you behave for Nanna, okay? Mummy misses you already.’ She kisses his cheek and hands him to her mother.
Elliot hoists Sophie’s suitcase into the back of Vincent and we say goodbye to Luke and Sophie’s mum – after blowing several raspberries on Luke’s face, of course.
‘Have fun,’ says Mrs Anderson, and Luke waves as we pull away.
The final stop before our journey truly begins is Teddy’s place. We pull into his driveway and blare the horn continuously until the front door opens. He emerges with a bag in one hand and Christina’s hand in the other.
They share a passionate kiss that lasts an eternity, entirely nonchalant about our jeering through the window and about us telling him to hurry the Schindler’s List up. It would perhaps have been fitting if Teddy were off to fight in a war or something, but we’re only off to Queensland.