That's Why I Wrote This Song
Page 17
‘Irina and I are having a joint party. A slumber party. It’s girls only. No adults. No boys.’ Except Eddie, but he doesn’t count as a boy, since he’s my brother. Dad should get the message. No fathers. I look at my watch, making sure he sees. ‘We better go, Dad. I’ve got to do some work for the concert.’ I add quickly, ‘It goes to my end of year mark for Music.’
Dad goes into reflex mode. ‘That’s important, Pip.’ He gives Eddie a look. ‘Good results give you opportunities.’ Eddie shuffles in his seat as Dad continues the lecture.
We say nothing as we walk towards the car. At last we get home. As Eddie and I escape from the car, Dad threatens, ‘Let’s do this every week.’ He kisses my cheek and puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘I miss you kids.’
Guilt makes me shudder. I don’t want him to miss us. I don’t want to meet every week. I want him to be the postcard Dad.
Birthday weekend. Mum and I have been in a cooking frenzy. Spring rolls of course, quiche, sushi, and fruit platters. Irina’s mother made her famous cream-cheese pancakes. They are too delicious. She’s finished baking the birthday cake as well: a sixteen-layer Russian honey cake filled with sweet cream and honey and walnuts. There’s diet cola and other soft drinks in the fridge. Eddie is on a mission to buy contraband. Rum and coconut. That’s for after ten o’clock when Mum’s asleep. Karen wanted to bring vodka, but I begged her not to. Mum said no vodka. She didn’t say anything about other alcohol, so I’m keeping my promise. Sort of. There will be no vodka.
Irina comes over early to help decorate the basement. Her father drops her off.
‘Thank you so much for letting Irina have this party with me.’ It was hard work for Irina, persuading her father to let her have it. Mum spoke to him too. He thought it was too much time away from studying and family responsibilities, and didn’t understand why we were sleeping over. He also didn’t want to burden Mum.
He nods. ‘You have a good time for this party.’ He talks to Mum while we quickly head for the basement. It already looks like a party scene. There are balloons and streamers, and Eddie lent me his disco ball for the night. There are a few glass bits cracked, but once it’s twirling and the lights flash on it, it won’t matter.
Irina and I set up the food and drink table, carrying everything down from the kitchen in loads. We get the movies ready. There are three horror movies, two comedies and one romance. Should be enough. Then the most important thing: music. Everyone is bringing their favourite CDs. So it’ll be mix-and-match, from rock to dance music to love songs. Naturally Not Perfect is the main event.
Screaming. The girls are arriving. Hugs, presents, ‘You look great’ comments, sleeping bags and messages from different parents. Mum fields the phone calls. ‘Yes, I’ll be supervising.’ ‘It’s only girls.’ ‘No alcohol.’ ‘Collect her any time before noon tomorrow.’ Karen’s father rings to check that the party is on. Angie’s parents come in and have a coffee with Mum. They’re going out to the movies tonight. They still like being together.
Parent drop-offs are over. Parent phone calls are over. Mum talks to the girls for a while. She’ll bring down the birthday cake later, but then her job will be over. She’ll read, watch TV, think about Dad and cry herself to sleep.
Dad is coming over tomorrow for a birthday lunch. I argued with Mum about it last night. ‘No, Mum. It’ll ruin everything.’
‘It slipped out, Pip.’
‘Without asking me?’ When Dad’s not shouting, he’s manipulating. Nothing changes.
‘Sorry.’ Mum didn’t look that sorry. ‘We have to work at it as a family, Pip.’
I don’t want to. ‘It’s worked out now. Dad takes us out for milkshakes.’ I gave Mum a look. ‘But I don’t want him coming for my birthday.’
‘Pip, please. No scenes.’
Scenes? I’m not the scene maker. This is my birthday. Not his. Not doormat Mum’s.
Music is coming from the basement. I hear singing. Irina is waving at me from the top of the steps. There’s laughing and I forget about Dad. It’s Irina’s and my party today and we’re going to have a good time. I race downstairs.
Insomniac Road rocks through the basement and everyone is dancing. Eddie sticks his head through the door. ‘Guy coming through, guy coming through,’ he shouts.
‘No guys, no guys,’ comes from all corners as we attack him, forcing him onto a huge cushion. We’re all laughing uncontrollably, falling over him until he’s smothered. ‘Give up,’ he yells. ‘I give up.’ He lies on the cushion like a squashed cabbage. ‘I was just going to plug in the DVD, and that’s the thanks I get.’
‘So plug it in.’ I start dancing again.
Eddie joins in. He loves being the centre of attention. He seems to have recovered from Dad. Eddie always recovers. On the outside anyway. Inside is different. Old show-off Eddie is back. When Passages of Living and Dying comes on Karen starts singing. She and Billy sound incredible together.
Suddenly ABBA takes over. I point to Angie. ‘Yes, it was me.’ She laughs. But we all end up singing ‘Mamma Mia,’ ‘Waterloo,’ ‘Fernando,’ ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme.’ When we break into ‘Dancing Queen’ everyone goes crazy, dancing, jumping around, yelling out the words. As if on queue Mum brings in Irina’s sixteen-layer Russian honey cake. She places it on the table, then joins us dancing. The dancing gets frenzied.
I hip-hop up to her. ‘Your dark side, Mum?’
‘KISS. KISS. KISS.’ Mum stomps with me, until Eddie grabs her and swirls her around and around. ‘Happy Birthday’ rings out between the disco lights until Eddie stops the flashing.
There’s panting and ‘Hey, don’t do that’, but Eddie’s in control now. It’s the big moment.
‘Cake, cake,’ he yells. Everyone gathers round. The honey cake sits on the table, looking like a crown. The sixteen candles are lit.
‘Happy birthday, darling.’ Mum hugs me for a long time, then hugs Irina. ‘Happy birthday, Irina.’ We both blow out the candles. Close our eyes. Make our wishes.
Just before Mum leaves, she gives me another hug. ‘Have a wonderful party.’
‘I am, Mum.’ I watch her disappear up the stairs.
Yes, it’s the time. I take a deep breath. Not Perfect time.
Eddie gives me the sign. ‘Now?’
I nod to Irina, Karen and Angie. Eddie dims the lights. Irina sits down behind the drums. Angie gets our guitars. I do a test strum. Nervousness. More deep breaths. We’re going public.
The girls stop talking and wait for us.
Irina raises her drumsticks. We watch her. She nods. The sticks hit the bass and Not Perfect is on.
Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
You were so bad
You were my psycho dad
‘Psycho Dad’ vibrates under our feet, over our heads, through the air.
We’re all singing the chorus and jumping around, and it’s unplugged and total.
Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
Your life is so sad
You are a psycho dad
The girls cheer. Karen and I belt out the chorus again. It feels good. Really good.
Then it’s rum and cake and more singing and Not Perfect and Eddie not going. We’re crashing by the time we drag the mattresses over the floor and collapse. As Eddie leaves he calls out, ‘Scary girl films.’ Cushions are thrown at him, but he ducks just in time and runs laughing up the stairs.
Bodies are everywhere, getting comfortable, complaining, eating, getting ready. Lights are turned off. Quiet. Giggling. Quiet. Laughing. ‘Is the DVD plugged in?’ Angie scrambles over mattresses. She holds up a plug. ‘It’s in now.’ The DVD starts. Scream. Scream? We do scream as murders drip blood over the screen. That’s the beginning of the all-night movie session. Scary Movie next. Plastic glasses are sloshed around. Rum and coconut rule. The smokers are lighting up cigarettes. I don’t want to know about anything else, but Karen looks like she’s smoking it. T
he movies play.
It’s three in the morning and Angie is asleep. Karen has crashed. Never Been Kissed flickers on the screen. It’s not scary, except for the boyfriends. Irina and I huddle closer. ‘Is this party crazy?’
Irina smiles. ‘Yes, crazy. Good crazy.’
‘Are you really having a good time, Irina?’
‘Yes.’ Irina tugs at the T-shirt she’s wearing with ‘Not Perfect’ scrawled across it. ‘This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.’ Irina closes her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It’s better sharing it.’ I smile at Irina.
‘When I was back in Russia I never imagined I’d have a birthday like this.’
‘I don’t really understand what it was like in Russia.’
‘Very different, Pip.’
‘How was it different?’
‘You don’t want to know. Let’s have fun at our party.’
I laugh. ‘We’re the only ones awake. Come on.’ I move closer to her. We lie huddled in our soft warm blankets. ‘Tell me about Russia. I’d really love to understand.’
‘Are you sure?’ I squeeze Irina’s arm. ‘All right, Pip. If you ask. ‘My city…’ Irina rubs her arms as if she’s trying to get warm. ‘There was no sun, Pip. Can you imagine that?’ I shake my head. ‘It was built around a chemical plant. A factory town. There was always dust and acid in the air.’ She speaks quietly, closing her eyes at times, as if it’s too hard to remember. ‘We lived in an old compound, with dozens of three-storey flat buildings around a courtyard. We had one room on the third floor. There was a coal stove for cooking.’ She pretends to smile. ‘We had running water. Cold water. The government provided central heating but it broke down all the time. Always in winter. It was freezing in winter, Pip. The temperatures got down to minus fifteen degrees. Our toilet was outside. It was icy cold when you squatted over the hole in the ground. The sewerage truck only cleared it once a week.’
Never Been Kissed throws images across the screen of girls and boys in their sprawling houses with green lawns. So differnt to Irina’s Russia. I need to get up. I whisper to Irina that I’ll be back soon.
I go to the bathroom and splash hot water over my face, grateful to live here. The bathroom is heated with white ceramic tiles that sparkle. I shudder as the thought of an icy hole in the ground.
I step back over sleeping girls who’ve had too much rum and coconut, who don’t know about a Russian winter. I slide back next to Irina.
‘Did you like the birthday cake, Pip?’
‘It’s the best birthday cake I’ve ever had.’
‘My mother loves to cook because there’s food here.’ She hesitates. ‘Sometimes we were so hungry. My mother used to make potato soup, and when there weren’t enough potatoes she’d add water.’
‘How did you get out of Russia?’
She rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. ‘It was hard. My parents saved everything they had for years. They knew what would happen when they applied to leave Russia. They lost their jobs straight away. They had to pay, bribe, pay again and again. My father…’ She catches her breath. ‘My father was put in prison for a while, but my mother paid more money, which she borrowed from relatives. It took two years of waiting and we nearly starved at the end. But they let us go. Others are still there. My friends. One day I’m going to go back and save them.’
I know Irina will go back one day. Maybe she’ll save the world, but I’m glad she’s not starving in a room in Russia now. I press her hand. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Irina.’
‘I am too.’
Chapter Sixteen
The sun’s rays stray past the edges of the blinds. Morning eases into lunchtime as parents drizzle in, collecting girls who are still half asleep. Angie and Irina are helping clean up the mess. Karen is just waking up. I pick up cigarette butts and empty ashtrays destroying evidence. Eddie takes down his precious disco ball and dumps the empty coconut rum bottles before Mum sees them.
By noon everything is clean. Irina’s and Angie’s parents are coming over for lunch. Dad’ll be coming. I wince. Karen is staying, but Karen asked Mum not to invite her parents. As if Mum would.
We spread out the birthday presents on the lounge-room floor. Perfume, CDs, clothes, stationery, jewellery. Eddie thinks he’s so clever as he comments on everything.
‘Can you go?’ ‘Leave.’ ‘Get lost, Eddie.’ ‘Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?’
‘No.’ He laughs, pointing to some woolly cream slippers. Irina and I have both been given a pair ‘So what’s that? A stuffed dead sheep?’
No one can take it any more. Four woolly slippers hit him. He ducks just in time so they miss his head. Annoying has reached new proportions with Eddie.
Mum comes in from the kitchen, laughing. She can’t stop Eddie—or doesn’t want to. ‘I love that woven hat.’ Mum puts it on and makes a ridiculous face.
I grab it from her head. ‘No, Mum. It’s not you.’ I put it on my head instead.
‘But it’s definitely you, Pip.’ Angie tweaks the silvery pom-poms dotting it. That’s great praise from the fashion expert. I tweak the pom-poms at Mum.
‘If I’m not wanted, I’m going.’ Mum quickly kisses me, before exiting into the kitchen. I glance at her as she lays the table with party leftovers. It feels happy. Family and friends.
Then the doorbell rings and my stomach sinks. It’s him. Dad. Mum is standing at the front door wiping her hands repeatedly on a tea towel like Lady Macbeth—except Mum isn’t a murderer. She’s more like the murdered. Dad gives her red roses. Those thorns are poisoned for sure. Anger pricks at me.
Irina’s parents are behind him.
‘Thank you, for what you do for my daughter,’ Irina’s mum says in broken English. She hands Mum a plate of sugar-dusted biscuits. Angie’s parents follow with a potted palm.
As expected, Dad gives me a birthday voucher for clothes. Imagination isn’t his strong point. The sixteen-layered birthday cake is the star, even though half of it was eaten last night. Irina’s mother beams. The parents talk about us, of course, and the concert. Eventually they defocus from us, plunging into world economics and the exciting issue of soccer versus rugby. Dad is intelligent and charming. He wasn’t when he was shouting at Eddie. The fathers share a joke about girls becoming women. ‘Boys won’t know what’s happening when these girls arrive.’ Angie’s father winks.
‘They are beautiful,’ Irina’s father adds in his thick accent.
‘Yes, they are.’ Dad looks at me. Does he mean it? I don’t know. Mum smiles, slipping under Dad’s spell. I want to shout at her, ‘Can’t you remember Eddie sobbing on his bed?’
When Angie whispers, ‘Your father is nice’, I pinch her.
‘Hey, that hurt.’ She rubs her arm.
I turn away before I dig a hole in her arm. I slump next to Karen. She rolls her eyes at me. She gets it. The parents talk, talk, talk. The birthday lunch seems neverending. Talk, talk, talk.
Eddie escapes under the pretence of helping Mum. She’s run out of dishwashing detergent. ‘I’ll drive out and get some now.’ He sticks his thumb up at me, because he knows he’s abandoning me.
I’m not staying here either. ‘Sorry, we need to practise for the concert.’ I pull Karen up from the couch.
‘Practice.’ The parents approve. I want to laugh. They have no idea about our music. The good news is that it’s the sign for the parents to go. They stand up, say the obligatory thank yous and at last they leave. But not Dad. He hangs around like a disturbing smell. Mum acts like she’s got a cold. She sniffs nothing. ‘Another cup of coffee?’ she asks Dad. What’s wrong with her? He’s supposed to leave with the other parents. ‘Do you want some more of the cake?’
He’s making himself comfortable—but he doesn’t live here. No scenes any more. Go, go. I grit my teeth. I give Mum the eye. She raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t know what I mean. I start clearing the table. I refuse to speak.
‘So did you enjoy yo
ur birthday, Pip?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ If he expects to get more than monosyllabic answers, he’s dreaming.
He’s completely insensitive, and keeps sitting there drinking coffee and eating cake. I’m not leaving the scene until he goes. I want him out of our house. But he stays seated like a lump. I keep clearing dishes, dragging Irina along with me. She wants to help, since it’s our joint party. Karen and Angie are already in the basement. Get the message, Dad. Leave. Leave.
Mum chats to him and I hate her. Dad is trying to crawl back to us and she’s weakening. She sees my look. I mouth to her, ‘It’s my birthday.’ Mum can’t pretend that she doesn’t know what I mean. Eventually she makes the right moves, edging Dad towards the door.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Pip.’ I feel his body tremble. I tremble too. I don’t want to love him.
Then he’s gone.
‘We’re working things out, Pip…’ Mum begins. She’s at it again. ‘Right, Mum. Got to go. Not Perfect’s rehearsing.’ I point towards the basement. Karen and Angie must be sick of waiting for us.
‘You had a good birthday, didn’t you, Pip?’ Her eyes are watery. She’s desperate for the game of Happy Families to be real. I’m desperate for Dad to stop tearing us apart. I’m desperate for Mum to stand up for us. Do I love Dad? I know I can’t trust him. I haven’t forgotten all those yelling scenes. Mum pretends she can’t remember.
‘It was a great birthday, Mum.’
Irina is standing uncomfortably next to the table. I signal to her that we’re going.
She understands.
‘Are you okay?’ she whispers as we walk towards the basement.
‘Sure.’ I nod. I’m not okay. ‘Come on, let’s get started.’ I grab my guitar. ‘It’s music time. Not Perfect time.’
‘Come on, then.’ Karen’s jumping around. She is really sick of waiting for us to come down.