All I Ever Wanted

by Vikki Wakefield

  After I leave Tahnee, I walk to Kate Mullen’s house. It takes me nearly an hour when it should take half that, but I’m still too early. The sun burns the backs of my knees and the part in my hair. Mum will lecture me on the dangers of melanoma while she sucks on a cigarette.

  At least there’s shade here. Homeowners have thoughtfully planted fast-growing evergreens with plastic rain-catchers at the bottom. The council mows the verge. I’ll bet the trucks don’t forget to pick up the rubbish and their recycle bins aren’t raided for cans or bottles. They have fences that keep people out and dogs in. Perfect little lives.

  My heart doesn’t even twitch when I see Jordan’s car in the driveway. A phantom pain throbs in my little finger. Suddenly, it’s urgent that he answers the door, that he sees me standing there. That he feels something besides disdain or disgust. It’s simple, really—he has something that belongs to me. He wants me to stay away from Kate and I want the package back. Until I get it, his sister is fair game.

  Tahnee actually said something that made sense. I have been nothing. Passive.

  I jab the doorbell with a steady finger.

  Ding dong.

  ‘Door,’ someone yells, far away.

  Ding dong.

  ‘Door!’

  The scrape of legs in denim. A silence. The realisation that I can’t see in. Then, ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  It’s hard, but I say evenly, ‘I think you have something that belongs to me.’

  I hear him suck in his breath.

  ‘Who is it?’ Another voice, an older man.

  The security door opens and they stand there, alike but not, Jordan’s jeans crumpled and low on his hips, his dad’s perfectly ironed and belted at the waist.

  ‘Hi,’ says Mr Mullen. ‘Who are you after?’

  ‘Hi. Jordan has something of mine and I just dropped by to pick it up.’ I look at Jordan’s face, but it’s blank. The kind of blank I put on for the dentist when he’s poking around my nerves with an instrument that looks like Hook’s hook. Long-suffering. Please, just let this be over.

  ‘And Kate’s expecting me at eleven.’ Another jab for Jordan.

  ‘Well, come in. Kate’s in the shower. Jordan, do you have something to return?’ Mr Mullen looks at his watch. ‘I have to run. I’m late. Have fun, kids.’

  Jordan watches the car reverse out and lifts his fingers in a wave-salute, then drops the mask.

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ he says in a low voice. ‘If you want it back you’ll have to get it yourself. Leave my sister out of this. She’s got nothing to do with it.’

  I feel his warm breath in my ear and it makes me shiver.

  ‘You took it. What do you mean you haven’t got it?’

  ‘I had no choice. I’m done,’ he says. ‘If you want to take them on, be my guest. But stay away from Kate.’

  ‘Take who on? What are you talking about? You took it.’

  He stares at me. ‘You know. Welles. And he’s hell pissed about being ripped off, so if I were you I’d watch my back. He knows your brothers aren’t around to protect you.’

  ‘You took it,’ I say stubbornly. ‘You have to help me get it back.’

  Pipes rattle in the wall and he looks over his shoulder. ‘She’s finished her shower. Now piss off and leave us out of it.’

  I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest. The last shreds of the numbness keep me brave. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I want it back.’

  He folds down onto the stoop, boneless, knees around his ears. ‘God, I wish I never got mixed up with you people.’

  That stings. You people. Like I’m one of the servants downstairs. He’s responsible for everything. He started it. In my stupid dreams I worshipped him and now, like a sonic boom, the vibrations are bouncing off everything else in my life. Screw you, Jordan Mullen.

  ‘You don’t know anything about me. But I’ll tell you this. When my brothers do get out, Brant Welles will be the least of your problems. If you want me to stay away from Kate, you find out from him what I have to do to get back that package. Until then, Kate and I are going to hang out. Did she tell you? I’m taking her to get a tattoo. Then we might smoke a joint in the park, maybe roll a couple of grannies. Our Kate’s a closet rebel, did you know that? She’s got the potential to become a very bad girl.’ I smile at him. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you. Kate has my number.’

  ‘You’re evil,’ he says, defeated.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Now, are you going to invite me in?’

  He leaves me in the white kitchen. The numbness has faded and I feel acutely aware of everything.

  ‘Hi!’ Kate bursts in.

  She’s wearing a Boot Boys T-shirt and cut-off shorts that look freshly hacked. Her blonde hair is down, scrunched into waves. She looks like me except her goodness still shines through. It’s going to be hard to grubby her up, but if that’s what pushes Jordan’s buttons, well... needs must.

  ‘I found it in an op-shop,’ she says, looking down at herself. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should probably put something else on.’

  ‘Why? Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Boot Boys, Kate. Doctor Martins. Skinheads. You know, white supremacists.’

  ‘Oh. That’s not good.’

  ‘Not where we’re going.’

  She peels off the T-shirt, leaving a white tank underneath. ‘Okay, I’ll change. Do you think I look too young? Don’t you have to be eighteen to get a tattoo?’

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘Jordy’s here. He might hear. He’ll freak.’

  ‘Are you kidding? He’ll love it.’ I throw my arm around her shoulder and give it a squeeze. ‘All serious musicians have tatts. You want him to take you seriously, don’t you?’ I give her a gentle shove.

  She nods. ‘Back in a minute.’

  A few seconds later I hear a light knock from the direction of Kate’s room.

  ‘Kate,’ Jordan barks. ‘Where are you going?’

  I press my back to the wall and slink around a corner so I can hear but still keep out of sight. The bedroom door clicks open.

  ‘Just out,’ Kate says.

  ‘Out where? With her?’ He mumbles something in a low voice but I can’t make it out.

  ‘You’re one to talk,’ Kate snaps.

  Jordan’s voice takes on a wheedling tone. All I catch is, ‘…but trouble.’

  ‘You don’t even know her. What’s she ever done to you, anyway?’ Kate says, her volume rising. ‘Stop acting like you’re my father, Jordan. You’re no saint!’

  ‘…get back at me!’

  ‘For what?’

  Silence. A stand-off.

  ‘Stay out of my life, Jordan. Oh my God, I’m sixteen, not eleven!’

  She sounds just like Tahnee and the thought makes me smile, but there’s a bitter taste in my mouth.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ Jordan says flatly.

  I sidle back into the kitchen.

  Kate comes in wearing a cotton shirt with embroidered yellow flowers. Her eyes and her voice are over-bright. ‘I’m ready!’ She picks up her purse from the counter and grabs me by the hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Kate can’t walk a straight line; she veers and skips and spins like an exuberant puppy. I guess she’s not having second thoughts.

  ‘Do you have your design?’ I ask.

  ‘Look!’ she says. ‘I found something else. You were right. Look!’ She opens her purse and pulls out a fresh photocopy that’s bleeding toner around the edges. ‘What do you think? Is it better? I want something that represents my dreams. So I can remember this time. It just feels like everything’s changing, doesn’t it? Like finally I’m going in the right direction.’ Her earnest eyes.

  I want to slap her.

  You can’t put on a T-shirt and get a tattoo and be something you’re not. Same as I can’t live by a bunch of stupid rules and be something I’m not. True nature will float to the top like a turd in the bath. Truth wil
l out.

  I stare at the black and white picture. She’s chosen an artfully drawn, wispy wraith with hollow eyes and wings that look too small to fly. It reaches up into nothing; either it’s trying to fly or it’s trying to catch something that’s out of reach. It’s spooky and unsettling; I’m drawn to it but at the same time repelled. It would probably suit me far more than Kate.

  ‘Very cool,’ I lie.

  ‘I know. It’s like, reach for your dreams. Something like that,’ she says.

  I shudder.

  We hop on the bus. Kate automatically goes to sit at the front. I head for the back. We settle somewhere in between, in the part that looks like a concertina.

  So far these holidays, I haven’t run into anyone from school apart from Tahnee, Jordan and Kate. Now Todd Pearson and one of his mates get on and sit behind us. The guy who tormented Kate with the poem about band camp. I feel nasty, so I turn and eyeball him. Kate nudges me in the ribs and turns red.

  ‘Slumming it, are you, Kate?’ he says loudly.

  Kate tenses and folds her hands so her knuckles turn white.

  ‘Tell him,’ I whisper.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell him. What’s he going to do? Tell him.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Come on. You said it. Everything’s changing. What’s the worst that can happen? Tell him.’

  She puts her head down and studies her feet. ‘It’s okay. Sticks and stones and all that. It’s not like it upsets me or anything.’

  ‘How was band camp?’ Pearson tries again. ‘Find any new instruments to blow?’ They snort like their noses are in a trough.

  ‘What a wanker,’ she says under her breath.

  ‘Tell him.’

  ‘You’re a wanker,’ she says, louder, without turning around.

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘You’re a wanker!’

  ‘Yay!’ I give her a high-five, which she accepts limply. ‘Go, girl.’

  Pearson hasn’t had enough yet, though. He heckles some more.

  ‘Piss off, you gormless prat,’ I say. I don’t care about him and he doesn’t care about me, so it’s a waste of air.

  ‘Are you ready?’ I ask her. ‘One stop.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  We stand.

  Pearson has one more go.

  I flip him the finger and I’m almost off the bus when I realise Kate isn’t with me. I jam my foot in the door.

  Kate’s in front of Pearson, her bony shoulders thrown back, fists clenched. Her voice wavers. ‘Remember when you waited for me after school one day? By the alley? There was no one else around, you gutless sack of crap, and you pulled out your dick and showed it to me and asked me if I wanted some.’

  Pearson’s gone white, but his mate snickers.

  ‘Well, I’ve had nightmares about it ever since. Because if that’s what I’ve got to look forward to, needledick, then I’m afraid I’m going to be a virgin for the rest of my life.’ She walks away, serene as a nun.

  The bus driver claps. We run off the bus giggling, duck through an underground car park and surface in the mall. I keep jogging until we reach the public toilets because I’m going to wet myself, I’m laughing so hard.

  ‘Brilliant. Beautiful. Breathtaking.’ I say, as I wash my hands.

  Kate smiles. ‘You know how I did it?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I pretended I was you.’

  She’s got it all round the wrong way. I’d be her in a heartbeat, with her sweet life and her luminous future and her awesome talent. And she wants to be me.

  ‘You don’t want to be like me,’ I say.

  ‘I do. You’re brave. You’re honest. You affect people,’ she says shyly. ‘You’ve changed me already.’

  I was right. Muck won’t stick to this one. Being brave isn’t the same as being unafraid. Admitting that something scares you and facing it anyway, that’s being brave. I don’t think I qualify.

  ‘Okay, let’s get you inked. You’re sure?’

  She nods and follows me into a tattoo parlour tucked down a crooked side street. Inside, everything is clean and white and the sterile odour stings my nose. The artist, a girl with cropped black hair and multiple piercings, tells us she’ll be a few minutes.

  The walls are covered with colourful designs. I came here once with Tahnee; I held her hand as a needle mapped out a four-leaf clover on her back. I tried to talk Tahnee out of it, yet here I am again, and I won’t be talking Kate out of it. I check my phone. No messages. Is Tahnee thinking of me, or is she hanging out with her new friends? The thought makes the backs of my eyes ache.

  Kate sits next to me on a low leather couch, chewing her lip. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know. Not personally,’ I say. I flick through a folder of designs. My conscience is giving me sharp little jabs and the smell of disinfectant is making me feel ill.

  ‘You don’t have a tattoo?’ she asks, like she doesn’t believe me.

  ‘No.’ Rule number eight. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looks doubtful.

  I turn to a page of bird sketches. The pen work is delicate and precise, the shading more like the pictures you’d find in a field guide. My eye is drawn to a hummingbird, so brilliantly sketched its wings look like they’re in motion. I trace my finger around the image.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ Kate says. ‘A hummingbird’s wings can beat over a hundred thousand times a minute. They’re the only bird that can fly backwards.’

  ‘They’re my designs,’ the artist says, leaning over the counter. ‘So, who’s up?’

  She leads us behind a curtain and takes the photocopy away. Kate lies face down on the table. Her fingers leave dents in the vinyl.

  ‘You can change your mind,’ I say. ‘This is forever.’

  She stays there, stubborn.

  The artist returns and presses a transfer to the small of Kate’s back. She winces as if the needle is going in already. The wraith is ugly against the white of her skin; the perfect fuck you, just for Jordan Mullen.

  I can’t let her do it. ‘Stop.’

  Kate twists up onto her elbows. ‘I want it.’

  ‘It doesn’t look right. Give me your purse.’ I fish out the worn copy of her treble clef and hand it to the artist. ‘This one.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She holds my hand when the needle starts.

  TWELVE

  Kate and I eat hotdogs in the park, discuss the merits of nipple cream versus haemorrhoid cream for fresh tattoos and then catch the bus back to her house. It’s nearly three.

  Jordan’s car isn’t in the driveway. I’m disappointed, Kate’s relieved. She’s got a dressing the size of a toddler’s nappy stuck to her back and her shirt doesn’t cover it. She keeps touching it as if it can’t be true.

  Kate Mullen, band nerd, has a tattoo.

  I remember doing the same thing when I was seven and I had my ears pierced—I kept looking in the mirror, twiddling and turning the studs, until my ears got swollen and infected.

  It’s way too early for me to go home. Mum definitely said to be out all day. Kate asks me in, but I can tell she wants to be alone with her wonder. She’ll go over her shining moments and, for a while, she’ll be happy. She’s right. Everything is changing—only I want to erase the last few days, not replay them.

  ‘See you later, then,’ I say, one foot already on the curb.

  ‘Wait. I have something for you,’ she says and goes into the house.

  I look up. An alien cloud hovers overhead, bloated and grey. Fat drops hit the pavement and disappear. I stick out my tongue to catch one, but they’re not real rain, just a promise. It’s still hot, but the afternoon is damp around the edges. It would be perfect to walk home in the rain after everything that’s happened today.

  Kate comes back out, walking carefully, moving her legs but not her hips. She hands me a CD in a plastic case.

  ‘I made this for you,’
she says. ‘Some of it needs work, but mostly I’m happy with it. Let me know what you think.’

  She shrugs, but I believe, for her, this will be another moment. She’s putting herself out there.

  ‘I’ll be able to say, “I knew you when.”’

  She laughs. ‘I wish. Hey, are you busy tomorrow?’

  Yeah, I’ll be busy. Confessing my sins. Reclaiming my life. ‘Yeah, I am.’

  ‘Oh, it’s okay. I mean, you’re…’

  We’re back at the awkward beginning. I look down at the CD to avoid her eyes. She must have spent hours putting it together. The tracks are listed on the back and on the front cover her treble clef is printed in pink. Her name doesn’t appear anywhere, but there’s a dedication on the back. For Mim, the brave one.

  It shouldn’t be this hard to shut her down. Hurting Kate will be too easy, and I hate him, but not enough. I have to do this quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  ‘Well, I’ll see you back at school.’

  I walk away without looking back. I have the weirdest feeling that I can’t name, but it fits somewhere between nostalgia, homesickness and guilt.

  The alien cloud follows me home like a balloon on a string. For all its fat promise, it doesn’t drop any more rain. At the top end of our street a few houses still have Christmas lights up and kids have tied tampons to little plastic parachute men and lobbed them over the power lines. A pair of shoes with knotted laces swings next to them. Plumes of red dust rise off the plains and the sky is rose-tinted.

  I watch two kids cross the road a few houses up from the Tarrant place. Later, when it’s safe, they cross back to their side. Step for step, I take the same detour, for what must be the three thousandth time since I was old enough to walk by myself, old enough to understand that all kinds of evil exist in the world and some of it is in that house.

  On the other side, I stop. I sit on the curb facing the house with my chin between my knees. My heart bangs so hard I think anyone could hear. I can smell my own fear. Tahnee and I used to dare each other to run past the house when we were younger, but we could never do it. I could do it now, if she was here. She always did make me feel like the brave one.