The Impossible Story of Olive In Love

by Tonya Alexandra

  ‘I know you’re here.’

  I slide to the left, turning on my best ninja moves as I duck beneath her sweeping arms.

  ‘Everyone else might think I’m crazy—but I know you’re real.’

  My heart dances a little jig of joy in my chest. She knows I’m real! Should I come forward? Tell her she’s right?

  ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d have a brood of kids in India by now.’

  I want to tell her that I never left, that almost every night I’ve dreamed that I could crawl into her bed like we did when we were small; sharing the mattress with hard plastic Barbie dolls and saliva-soaked bears. I think about it as much as I think about climbing into Tom’s sweet man-scented bed. What can I say? She still has my heart.

  She laughs and walks to the mirror. ‘Maybe you are crazy,’ she says to her reflection. She spins back around. ‘Am I crazy, Olive?’

  I’m just about to step forward, touch her arm and tell her she’s not, when her mother appears at the door. Sandy Withadrew. Almost my second mother at one point. I adored her like one. This family gave me a few years of furious joy in my screwed-up life.

  Sandy is carrying a pile of folded laundry. ‘Olive?’ she says, looking nervous. ‘I thought you’d let that go.’

  ‘I didn’t let it go, she left,’ Jordan says, matter-of-fact.

  Sandy’s brain looks like it is squirming with Medusa snakes of worry. She steps into the room. ‘Do you think, maybe, we should talk about you seeing someone about Olive?’

  ‘Someone? Like who?’

  Sandy sighs. ‘Like a doctor, sweetheart.’

  Jordan laughs out loud. She glances around the room as if searching for me to laugh with her. I wish I could. ‘See what you’ve done, my mum thinks I’m a nut case,’ Jordan says.

  Sandy’s face contorts. ‘Olive … is here, now?’

  ‘She was.’ Jordan kicks at the floor. Of course my damp tracks have evaporated, the floor is dry again. ‘She was dripping just here.’

  I wish I could help her, I really do. But I can’t ‘come out’ to Jordan and Sandy. If too many people know about me I’m bound to be locked up, experimented on. Dad was petrified of that happening to my Ma and me.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Sandy reaches for Jordan with her spare hand.

  Jordan swipes her away. ‘Come on Mum, I’m just messing with you,’ she says, seeing how worried Sandy has become. She’s a good daughter.

  Sandy thrusts the pile of clothes at Jordan with an angry huffing sound. ‘Well I don’t appreciate it,’ she says and storms out.

  Jordan looks around the room, she puts her hands on her hips. ‘Happy now?’ She is accusing but not seriously, she has her familiar mischievous face on, waiting for me to reply.

  I want to. I do.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ Jordan asks. ‘You were always such a smart mouth.’

  I smile at that.

  She pushes back her shoulders, tosses her head. ‘I know you’ve been following me around—not recently—but before. And I’m not afraid of you, whatever you are. I mean I was …’ She bites her lip. ‘But I’m not anymore, even if you are a ghost or whatever.’

  A ghost. My heart slumps. I may as well be a ghost.

  Her forehead creases with impatience. ‘Well? Are you going to talk? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly grown a conscience and you’re going to leave me alone and spook someone else.’

  I slap my hands over my ears but it’s too late, the words are already inside me. I don’t think they’ll ever leave. Jordan doesn’t want me here. She never did.

  Tears flood my eyes as I fumble down the hall and out the back door, the rain a welcome relief on my face. I run home feeling close to collapsing. That friendship that Jordan and I had—that friendship I thought was so precious—I remembered it wrong. She never wanted me there. She thought I was haunting her.

  I don’t think the world could get worse but then I see it—an iridescent blue ute parked behind a yellow convertible.

  CHAPTER

  32

  The night breeze has a guardian, so Rose says. It’s one of the old country stories she has, from my Nan. Between midnight and one am—the witching hour—the guardian shows compassion for mortals looking for love, and throws her magic into the breeze. You simply stand below your beloved’s window on the night of a full moon, and whisper their name three times. Apparently, they fall hopelessly in love with you.

  ‘Tom, Tom, Tom,’ I murmur as I walk around the side of the house. It’s not a full moon and it’s not the witching hour, but I can use all the help I can get. Crazy Irish magic—you owe me.

  Dad, Rose and Tom are in the living room, and they’re made aware I’ve arrived by the squall of wind and rain that enters through the back door with me. Tom’s eyes meet mine.

  ‘You weren’t going to tell me, were you?’

  My own eyes slide away. I shuck off Tom’s soaking wet coat.

  Dad sees it fall and he gets to his feet. He knows where I’m standing. ‘Duckie, you’re here.’ He opens his arms for a hug.

  ‘How could you, Dad?’ I say. My voice is heavy with betrayal.

  He lowers his arms. ‘He needed to know.’

  ‘This is my life Dad! My life! You have no right!’

  ‘It’s Tom’s life too, Olive,’ Rose says.

  I turn toward her. ‘Yes—but not yours! Not yours or Dad’s. It’s between Tom and me. Only Tom and me.’

  Rose clasps her lips tight, then gets up to put Tom’s coat in the laundry. How can she be worried about that right now?

  Dad sits back down heavily. ‘Tom says you’re already in love—and it hasn’t happened yet. That’s a good sign.’

  Tom told him we’re in love? The thought makes my heart flutter just a little, but my anger overwhelms it. I beat the heel of my palm against my forehead. ‘Yeah, right. It’ll just start to happen to him if we manage to have a baby—that’ll be so much better!’ I shout. ‘If either of us can even see the kid!’

  From the corner of my eye I see Tom stiffen. Why did I remind him of that? Another impossible situation.

  ‘Olive, none of it might happen,’ Dad says. ‘That’s what I’ve been telling Tom. I’m sure the curse is getting weaker.’

  ‘If it is a curse,’ I say, thinking of Felix.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Dad says.

  ‘Nothing.’ I heave a sigh. ‘And what if it isn’t getting weaker?’

  ‘Well, that’s for you two to discuss. As you said,’ he holds up his bottle of beer as if to cheers us, ‘it’s between you and Tom.’

  The sanctimonious manner of this action makes me furious. ‘Oh, so you burst in with the news and then you take off again, now the damage is done. Thanks Dad,’ I scowl. ‘You’re my hero.’

  Rose interrupts. She’s been standing by the wall looking bashful. ‘Of course we’ll help where we can Olive, you two are not in this alone.’

  Her words still my anger. I want to sob for her loyalty. ‘You’ve done enough already, Rose,’ I say quietly. ‘Too much. You need to start living your own life.’

  ‘You are my life Olive, well, part of it.’ She looks down at her hands, her fingers are twisted together. ‘I know I complain about it all, but,’ she looks up, ‘I love you and I’m not abandoning you.’

  I do sob then. I shuffle over to her and rest my head on her shoulder. If nothing else, I have Rose. It’s something. It’s a lot.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ she says, putting her arms around me.

  I don’t miss the fact that Tom hasn’t spoken. His silence is weighty in the room. I’m not sure I want him to speak. His opening words have told me enough—he’s devastated I didn’t tell him.

  ‘I’m sorry Tom,’ I say. ‘For my Dad, for me … I understand if you want to leave.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave, I want to understand.’ He sits forward on the couch, clutching his kneecaps. He looks angry, hurt, confused, a million other emotions. I wish I could hug him, but he wou
ldn’t want that. ‘And I’m grateful to your dad for coming all this way to make sure I knew what happened to him.’ His eyebrows furrow close together. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t just tell me, trust me …’

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  He holds up his hand. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you hide from someone, Olive. Your dad couldn’t see anyone for almost three years!’

  He’s freaked out, understandably, even with my verbal calisthenics there’s no reassuring him that this is a brilliant option for his future.

  ‘I didn’t think there was a point,’ I object. ‘Not yet anyway. I wanted to see if we had something. I knew this would scare you away. I wanted to give us a chance.’

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ he says. ‘You don’t trust me.’ He collapses back against the couch. ‘You won’t even tell me about your mother.’

  My mouth clamps shut.

  Rose moves from my side to sit next to Tom. She puts her hand on his knee. Dad is in my big brown armchair running both his hands back and forth over his skull, as if he’s trying to keep it together.

  ‘It’s a delicate subject, Tom,’ Rose begins. ‘Ma was run over in New York. Olive was only three.’

  Tom looks up at me. ‘You said you killed her.’

  ‘I did,’ I say. ‘I ran away from her. She was following me out onto the road.’ A whimper—high pitched and agonising—releases itself from my chest. ‘She was trying to save me,’ I squeak.

  ‘You did not kill her!’ Dad yells suddenly. ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘How was it your fault?’ I say with annoyance. He can’t put this on himself. What is he trying to do—go for father of the year? I ran across the street. It was me who put her on that road.

  ‘I was there,’ Dad says, much quieter now. ‘It was a chance thing. Your mother had been trying to stay away from me, so that I would fall out of love, so I could see everyone again …’

  Rose was right. ‘That’s why we were staying with Nan.’

  ‘Yes. It’s why she did a lot of hurtful things to me after you were born.’ Dad looks creepy when he’s sad. I didn’t think I could feel worse, but I do. I wonder at the lengths my mother took to get him to stop loving her. ‘It didn’t work,’ he says. ‘I never stopped loving her.’ Suddenly, out of nowhere, a smile. It’s the last thing I expect.

  But it disappears as quickly as it came. ‘That day, Olive, you saw me. I heard you call out to me. You were with your Ma and I was on the opposite side of the road. I hadn’t seen you for over a month and I was so excited to hear your little voice, I called out your name … and, I don’t know, but you must have slipped away from your Ma and started running toward me, because I saw that ridiculous lead your Ma kept you tied to, skimming along the pavement and out onto the road. Then your Ma was running, and I was running and the driver, they saw me, and swerved so they wouldn’t hit me …’

  And ran into my mother.

  ‘Dad!’ Rose exhales. It is soft and sad but it has an accusatory edge. Rose has never heard this.

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself, Rosie,’ he says to her, on the verge of tears.

  Neither Rose nor I know what to say, it explains so much. It’s why he’s still cut up and unable to settle, he still feels guilty.

  There is an awkward silence until Tom manages, ‘You’ve got nothing to forgive yourself for, Mr—’

  ‘Bruce,’ Dad says, giving him a little smile. ‘And I’ve got plenty to feel sorry for if Olive has been thinking it was her fault all this time.’

  I have to admit, it does feel like a small weight has been lifted. ‘Still,’ I say. ‘If I hadn’t been born, none of this would have happened.’

  Dad rolls his eyes. ‘Or if I hadn’t been born, or your Ma, or your Nan …’ He waggles his finger in the direction he knows I’m standing. ‘There’s a great deal of sense outside your head, duckie.’

  Rose laughs and I make a face at him that I wish he could see.

  ‘Have you heard that old Irish expression, Tom? I think it’s very applicable to our Olive here.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Tom says.

  ‘Can we have two more beers, Rose?’ Dad asks, wiping his cheeks even though he’s managed to keep his tears at bay.

  Tom holds up his bottle. ‘Thanks Bruce, but I should head home.’

  Tom is leaving? Suddenly I’m desperate. Will I ever see him again?

  ‘Are you sure, Tom?’ Rose asks him, looking concerned. ‘Why don’t you stay a while, let yourself adjust to all this?’

  Tom gets to his feet. ‘No, I think I need to go. Driving will do me good.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more certain about what’s to come, mate,’ Dad says, getting to his feet. ‘For what it’s worth, I haven’t once regretted falling for my darling Aibhlinn. She was worth every spark of trouble, that girl.’ He leans forward and stage-whispers, ‘I have an inkling you’d feel the same about Olive.’ He winks and extends his hand.

  Tom takes it. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Bruce.’

  ‘You too.’

  Tom kisses Rose goodbye and I follow him to the door. ‘Can I speak to you outside?’

  ‘Sure.’

  It’s still raining so we shelter under the tiny porch.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I say, reaching for his hands. He lets me take them.

  ‘Barely.’ He laughs.

  The sound makes me feel lighter, as if Dad was right to tell him.

  ‘I’m sorry I come with so much baggage.’

  ‘Your own Mount Everest.’

  Wow. That’s extreme, but I guess it’s true. ‘Well, yeah …’

  ‘I better go,’ he says, squeezing my fingers.

  But I don’t want him to. I need to know how he’s feeling. ‘You understand why I didn’t tell you about Ma?’

  Tom shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t. You must think I’m a real cac if you thought I’d blame a three-year-old for running onto a road.’

  I totally love the way the Irish has become part of his vocabulary now. It makes it even harder to think of him leaving. He’s part of me; I’m part of him.

  ‘It wasn’t about you,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t deal with it … the guilt …’

  ‘Do you feel better after hearing what your dad said?’ he asks.

  I do but any relief is swamped by my fear of losing Tom. ‘A little.’

  He squeezes my hands. ‘You can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.’

  I force a small smile. We stand there in silence, the rain batters the iron roof. I love this boy so much that every part of me aches. I can’t believe I’ve let Felix question my feelings. The thought of life without him makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of an abyss.

  I feel a tear run down my cheek. ‘Please don’t leave me.’

  ‘Olive.’ He sighs. He is lost for words. ‘It’s a lot.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What happened to your dad …’

  ‘I know.’

  He lets go of my hands to rub his neck. He looks super stressed. ‘He started bumping into people on the street because he couldn’t see them, then more and more people disappeared, until he could only see your mother?’ His hand pushes back through his hair. ‘It sounds kind of terrifying.’

  My head drops to my chest. It does sound terrifying. I can’t do this to him. ‘It’s too much. I understand.’

  ‘Olive,’ he says again, his voice heartbreak sad.

  ‘People have broken up over less,’ I tell him.

  He takes a breath. ‘I just—’

  I wait, hoping he’ll finish his sentence with something like ‘want to be with you’ but he doesn’t. The words just hang there, and I’ll never know.

  Our eyes linger on each other’s. I can see his love for me there, burning away in the porch light. It makes it so much harder.

  ‘Will you tell me soon?’ I ask.

  He nods.

  ‘Can you kiss me goodbye?’

  His mouth twitches into that little smile I’ve come to ado
re. He pulls me to him, his mouth on mine, his arms around me. He loves me, I can feel it. But I also feel like I’m drowning in sadness. Like it’s goodbye forever.

  Tom releases me and walks off into the rain. I watch him swipe his eyes. He’s crying, like me. The front door opens and Rose comes out to comfort me. ‘He’s your true love, he’ll be back,’ she says as we watch him drive away.

  But I’m not so sure.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Tom is a dictator, he’s taken over my world. He has all the power.

  I wait for him to call and I wait for him to call. I even make an old Irish charm to sit by my phone. The charm is supposed to get someone to call you in five minutes, five hours or five days, depending on how well the spell was cast. My spell was obviously not cast well.

  He calls me on day six, it feels like day 666.

  As I look at my phone, the screen flashes with a photo I took of Tom laughing, his fingers extended as he tries to push the camera away. Adonis is written underneath. Already it feels like another life.

  I watch the phone vibrate on the table in front of me. After days of waiting for this call, suddenly I can’t pick it up. The phone travels across the wood with each shudder, but I don’t touch it. Eventually it stops.

  I curse myself for my stupidity. What was I thinking?

  A few minutes later he tries again. I lurch for the phone but again I stop; my finger hovers over the screen. What if he tells me it’s over?

  He leaves a message.

  ‘Olive, it’s me. Can you call me back?’

  Just the tone of his voice tells me it’s over. I’m a slab of concrete misery.

  I want to laugh at his rejection. Be strong, be cool. ‘There are plenty more fish in the sea!’ I want to declare. ‘I have bigger fish to fry!’ But the wretched fact is I’m wiped clean without Tom, a dismal husk of confused, lost, nothing.

  I leave a note for Rose—not Dad, since of course he’s already gone back to the desert—explaining I’m doing ‘thirty-three days of solitude’. It’s something I do to calm down, get a grip on life. Things get overwhelming for me, ‘thirty-three days’ is the best way I know to re-focus and remember life could be worse.