I can’t believe this is real
The way you made me feel
You have your new wife
And your new life
My eyes are getting sore
So just walk out that door
’Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
Your life is so sad
You are a psycho dad
’Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
Your life is so sad
You are a psycho dad
I (I) really (really) don’t know how (don’t know how)
But I (But I) know I (know I)
Hate you so much now
I (I) really (really) don’t know how (don’t know how)
But I (But I) know I (know I)
Hate you so much now
You made me feel always scared
I knew you never cared
You left me all broken and scarred
And made our life so hard
I’ve got my family
And I hope you can see
That I don’t want you around
I’ve got my feet on the ground
’Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
You are so mad
You are no one’s psycho dad
’Cause I don’t want you
And I don’t need you
You are so mad
You are no one’s psycho dad
No one’s psycho dad
No one’s psycho dad
No one’s psycho dad
No one’s psycho dad…
Chapter Twenty
The aftermath of ‘Psycho Dad’.
Angie’s dad. He’s taking ‘the two girls in my life’ out for hamburgers and a celebration. The two girls are Angie and her mother, of course. He thinks Not Perfect is great rock and roll. ‘It’s not rock and roll, Dad.’ Angie gives him a you-don’t-know-anything look. ‘It’s rock.’ She flicks back her dark hair.
‘My talented girl.’ It doesn’t register that ‘Psycho Dad’ has anything to do with him. He’s right.
Irina’s dad. The drums are still not a proper instrument in his view, but he liked the music. Irina gets really annoyed but controls herself. ‘Dad, drums are not just noise. I already play the piano, but I’m not taking up the violin.’ Luckily he didn’t catch all the words when we played ‘Psycho Dad’. He approves when Mr Connelly tells him that Irina is talented and is doing very well in Music.
Karen’s dad. ‘Psycho Dad’ leads to psycho problems. Karen begs Josh not to wait around. He wants to stay and protect her. She knows that there’ll be trouble and that he can’t do anything about it. When she sees her father she gives him a defiant look. He grabs her arm so hard even I feel the bruises. That woman turns away and chats to Irina’s mother, who smiles but barely understands what she’s saying. I whisper to Mum, ‘What should we do?’ But Dad is there, looking angry. Mum gives no answer.
My dad. ‘Can we talk, Pip? Over there.’ Dad points to a back corner. His voice is barely controlled. I can tell he wants to scream at me. I hold on to Mum’s arm. I’m not going anywhere with him. Mum stands beside me. ‘Pip’s tired. What about talking tomorrow?’ He’ll say no. He’ll make a scene. He’ll humiliate me in front of everyone. Mum speaks quietly. ‘We made a contract. Remember? At counselling. Not to react straight away. Let things settle first.’ Dad stops. I can’t believe that he’s actually listening to Mum. ‘Tomorrow after school. Talk to Pip then. Okay?’
He swallows hard. It’s as if he’s physically forcing his anger back down his throat.
It might be okay with him, but it’s not with me. ‘Tomorrow, Dad.’ I hope he’s knocked over by a car tonight. Not badly hurt, but he can be hospitalised, just for observation. I shake my head. He’s not going to be in hospital tomorrow. He’ll shout at me and I don’t want to be there.
I load my trumpet and guitar into the boot. Eddie jumps into the front seat. ‘Got you.’ He still races to get to the front seat before me every time. But I need to sit in the front seat to talk to Mum, to be next to her. My stomach is a knot and Eddie is irritating me.
As Mum drives home, she tries to calm everything down. She chats about the concert. ‘The Insomniac Road choir was a credit to you and Karen.’
My head is full of Dad, not the concert. Why does he ruin everything?
‘You were better than KISS.’ Mum’s hands flap into the air.
‘Mum, the wheel,’ Eddie shouts.
‘Sorry. It’s just that Pip and Not Perfect were so good.’ Mum’s hands are on the wheel again.
I can’t speak. I’m so scared. I’m not Billy. Not Insomniac Road.
‘You were great, Pip,’ front-seat Eddie calls out. He’s pretending Dad didn’t hear our song. That’s how he deals with everything: pretends it didn’t happen. ‘Not Perfect is great. And guess who’s part of Not Perfect? Me.’
I can’t help smiling. Eddie’s excitement about the band is catching. He talks about the music and Mum joins in. Slowly, slowly, my stomach settles. I make a few comments. Eddie does too and suddenly we’re joking about the off-key soloists, Mr Connelly with his hair in a frizz, embarrassments and disasters.
‘Some of the acts were really terrific,’ Mum says. She starts singing a very bad rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’. Eddie and I sing the chorus, until I can’t stand Eddie’s croaking. ‘You’re awful, Eddie.’ I tickle the back of his neck. That makes him croak even louder. By the time we’re in the driveway, I’m feeling better.
Mum takes me aside. ‘You can write music, Pip. I heard that tonight.’
‘Did you really like it?’
‘Yes, Pip.’
‘Dad didn’t.’
Mum makes a face. ‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he?’
‘No, I guess not.’ I half smile.
‘Is that really how you feel about your father?’
‘Sometimes. A lot of that song is Karen, but I’ve been there when Dad’s been psycho.’
Mum puts her arm around me. ‘Sometimes I feel that way too.’
‘Singing it was incredible. Shouting it was even more incredible. It was like being totally free.’
‘I was proud of you tonight, Pip. Do you want me to go with you tomorrow? When you go out with Dad?’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘I’ll call your father and make the arrangements. I’ll be there, Pip.’
I can’t sleep. Dad, Mum, music, Karen, Not Perfect. I put on Passages of Living and Dying. Angie rings. Irina rings. No call from Karen. I leave three messages for her to phone me. Still no call. Eddie arrives with his guitar and we play for a while. Mum checks to see if I’m all right. ‘It’ll be all right tomorrow, Pip.’
‘Goodnight, Mum.’ I don’t know if everything will be all right. I pick up my guitar and start playing.
Sometimes things get blurred
Between the truth and lies
Sometimes things get heard
Between my head and bed
Sometimes…
I can’t sleep. I wrap my white bandanna around Fluffy Rabbit’s head. ‘Do you like that? I played in a band tonight, Rabbit. A real band with my friends, and everyone screamed as we sang. They loved Not Perfect. They loved us.’ I lie on my bed hugging Rabbit, listening to Insomniac Road. ‘I’m going to see Billy again at Breakers.’ I smile, until I remember tomorrow.
I’ve got to meet Dad after school. He’s not as psycho as Karen’s dad, but I don’t want to see him. Is he going to scream at me? Hate my music? Make me sob in my bed, like he did to Eddie? I think of Karen and start to cry. I want her to be happy. I want to be happy. I want all of us to be happy. Not Perfect wore a white bandanna, for hope.
I pad to the kitchen. Herbal tea might get me to sleep. Mum’s bedroom door is open like when we were little, when we’d snuggle into her bed if bogeymen frightened us in our dreams. Since Dad’s not been here, Mum’s door has always been open. It feels safer.
>
Today is the beginning of the school holidays, except for the Music students. We’re debriefing, clearing up, getting the school order back into order. Mum drops me off at school with a pot plant for Mr Connolly, a green leafy palm. ‘I’ll be home on time. We’re meeting your father at six tonight at the club. Try not to worry, Pip.’ I nod. ‘Put it out of your mind.’ I nod again. ‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
Irina sees me with the plant, and helps me carry it into our Music Home Room. She’s smiling so much that I smile too. ‘So you loved last night, Irina?’
‘Yes, I did.’ We sit the plant behind the door to hide it from Mr Connelly. ‘Not Perfect, Pip. Last night. It was special. Important.’ Irina puts both her hands on her chest. ‘I played in front of everyone. Even my father. I wasn’t afraid. Do you understand what that means?’
‘Yes, Irina. You’re not in Russia now.’
‘You’re right, Pip. No one could stop me last night. I didn’t hide. My grandfather would’ve been proud.’
‘Yes, he would have.’
Karen wanders in. She looks tired, with dark rings under her eyes. ‘What happened?’ I say. I don’t ask why she didn’t phone. Karen is Karen. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Stayed at Josh’s place.’
Josh. ‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty.’ Karen puts her arm around me. ‘Don’t worry. He plays great saxophone.’
‘So you’re fine?’
‘Sure.’
‘What about your father? Was he all right about everything?’
‘Is he ever all right? It’s always the same, the same…’
Mr Connelly sticks his head into our Music Home Room. ‘Debriefing now in the Staff Common Room.’ Carrying the pot plant, we follow the stream of girls. Teachers are leaning on walls, sitting on desks, chatting to their students. There’s a table piled with drinks and cakes. More girls wander in, sit on the floor.
Mr Connelly claps to get people’s attention. Everyone quietens down. He announces that he’s very proud of us. There are congratulations. ‘Music is the core of the school community. You girls are the core.’ The other Music teachers speak enthusiastically too. There are comments on excellence in performances and areas where there’s been improvement. Then work rosters are handed out for the clean-up.
‘There’s party food on the table.’ Mr Connelly looks at his watch. ‘You’ve got your rosters. So around eleven, it’d be great if you could start clearing and getting things into order. If you don’t know what to do, speak to me. I’ll be in the Staff Room.’ His face breaks into a smile. ‘You were all terrific.’
‘Three cheers for Mr Connelly,’ I call out. Then Irina and I give him the pot plant and a card that all the Music students have signed.
Karen and I have been rostered to do the sheet-music cupboard. It’s a mess. We slump onto the floor, sorting out music. ‘Sorry I was so crazy last night,’ Karen begins. I don’t argue. She was. ‘Things get so confused sometimes.’
‘You were great onstage, Karen. You had the audience with you all the way.’
‘I love music. I know that.’ She’s silent for a few moments. ‘Josh and I talked all night. I want to work things out. I have to. Mum can’t do anything. Dad…’ She stops mid-sentence. ‘I can’t wait to go to the Breakers Festival.’
‘Only two days to go till Friday. You’re sleeping over on Thursday night, aren’t you?’ Everyone is.
‘Of course I am.’ Karen pushes up the long sleeves of her jumper. Her arms are patched with purple and black. I instinctively put my hands over my mouth.
‘Pip, it’s fine. Fine.’ She doesn’t want to talk about last night with her father. ‘It’s nothing.’ The bruises—what happened? I gulp back my emotions. I already know what happened.
‘Finished.’ Karen smiles, pretending the bruises don’t exist. The music sheets are stacked in the right pigeonholes now.
We lock arms as we look for Irina and Angie. They’re working in the courtyard. They wave at us. ‘We’re the Not Perfect cleaners,’ Angie declares.
I smile. ‘I thought we were rock stars.’ I cross my hands over my head.
Karen laughs. ‘The stardom didn’t last long.’
Karen and I help them finish cleaning the courtyard.
We drop into the Staff Room to say goodbye to Mr Connelly. ‘I’m looking forward to what you girls will do next term.’ His little boys are drawing pictures with crayons at a table. He’s looking after them this afternoon. As we leave, I turn around and see him tickling their stomachs.
Dad’s waiting for us at the entrance to the Sailing Club. We follow him into the lounge. Rectangular leather chairs face each other in small private clusters with views of the harbour. I can just see the apartment block that Karen’s father lives in. Red splashes across the horizon as the sun sets. The water is darkening and I shiver. White sparkles dot the shores as lights are turned on.
Dad brings three cappuccinos. Mum and he say a few empty words. I’m not speaking. I look down into the cappuccino froth and spoon out the chocolate sprinkles.
‘Pip, I need to ask you about last night.’
I refuse to look at him. There’s an awkward silence, until Mum challenges him. ‘Pip and the girls have been working for a long time on the concert. I’m very proud of her.’ Mum slips her hand over mine.
‘I didn’t mean to be angry after the concert.’ Dad’s voice wavers. ‘That song. “Psycho Dad”. I thought about it all night.’ So did I, Dad. ‘Is that how you really feel about me, Pip?’
‘No. It’s just a song.’ It isn’t just a song.
‘But the words?’
‘It’s just a song,’ I repeat. If you realised all those time you made me cry, feel like nothing. And yes, sometimes I’ve wanted you dead. Suddenly pain runs through me. I look up at Dad and see tears in his eyes. Guilt stabs me. But he was the one who screamed in the house, made us all cry, made us scared. It’s his fault.
‘If the song is…me.’ He closes his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Pip.’
‘It’s not you, Dad.’ It is you, Dad, and you know it.
‘I want everything to be better.’ Slowly, he starts telling me things he’s never said before. About his father who never spoke to him, who was always angry and made the family afraid. About expectations he tried to meet. About how he wished his father would disappear. ‘I’ve always promised myself I’d never be like him. Never.’ He falters. ‘The song…’
‘It’s not you, Dad.’ I wish he wasn’t talking to me. I just want to hate him. I want him to be a postcard dad, and Mum, Eddie and me to live together without him. It’s easier. Much easier.
‘You know, I love you and Eddie.’
I don’t know that.
‘Are you all right, Pip? Mum asks in the car.
I shrug. I don’t want to talk now. Mum understands. It’s a relief reaching home. It’s so good to see Eddie’s car in the driveway. Mum takes the mail out of the letterbox. There’s an unstamped postcard with a picture of Insomniac Road on it.
Dear Pip,
Enjoy the Breakers Festival.
I’ll love you and Eddie always.
Dad.
Thursday has finally arrived. Sleeping bags, bedrolls and backpacks are stacked in the hallway, ready for loading into Eddie’s car. Everyone is here, ready for an early takeoff tomorrow morning, driving north. Departure time is 4 a.m. Enthusiastic Eddie has decided that. I argued and argued, but he said he’s the driver. I hate getting up early, but 4 a.m. isn’t early, it’s insane. It’s an eight-hour drive without stops, nine hours with stops. There’s pressure to be at the Festival gates before they open at 2 p.m. That way we’ll get a good camping spot with a view of the main stage, where Insomniac Road will be performing. ‘We’ll be the Insomniacs on the Road,’ I joke with Irina. She laughs. For basic car survival, Eddie has installed a CD player. I’ve burnt a few compilation CDs of my favourite songs.
‘Come on,’ Eddie complains. ‘Can you br
ing out your gear? Now.’ Eddie’s a packing machine as he arranges luggage in his Falcon. He’s obsessed. This bag has to go there and that bag has to go here. He wedges two large containers of water between two rugs. He ties the tents onto the roof of the car. Lucky that Mum bought him roof racks.
The car is already overloaded when Angie arrives with her make-up bag. Make-up and the Breakers Festival. Make-up and camping in the field. Make-up and cows munching over the barbed-wire fence. We have great fun sending her up.
‘Angie, the camping queen. Or is that camp queen?’ Karen dances around the car, wiggling her hips.
‘I don’t think so.’ I wink. ‘It’ll be Angie the boy-slayer, conquering the world. I hear she’s even won Russian hearts.’
Angie sticks her nose up as she puts her make-up and accessories bag into the boot. ‘Well, I’ll look good. So there.’
Karen and I put in our guitars. I make sure I’ve put my camera in too. Irina is carrying a box. ‘Food from my mother. A lot of it.’
‘I hope there’s no pickled watermelon in there.’ She grins as I help her carry it to the car. ‘It can go next to the food my mother gave us. And the food Angie’s mother packed.’ We’re laughing. Even Karen’s mother’s sent us a carton of canned drinks and three packets of biscuits. ‘We definitely won’t starve.’
Dinner tonight is Eddie’s favourite: roast lamb and baked potatoes, sweet potatoes and pumpkin. Eddie piles mint sauce onto his lamb. ‘What about other people?’ I snatch the bottle.
‘Hey, that’s mine.’ We tussle for the mint sauce, with Mum telling us to stop and Karen singing ‘The mint sauce king is winning’ and Irina and Angie laughing. Dinner is all about shouting over each other, until Mum announces her news.
‘I’ve finally done it.’
‘Done it? So what is “it”?’ I elbow Eddie. ‘Can you be quiet?’ That takes a lot of self-control, but Eddie finally shuts up.
That's Why I Wrote This Song Page 21