The House We Called Home

by Jenny Oliver

  ‘How did I not know?’

  Gus shrugged.

  ‘Oh God, Gus.’ Stella let her hand holding her great peach flop to the table, resigned. ‘I’m a dreadful person.’ Then completely letting go of the peach she put her head in her hands. ‘I think I’m turning into my dad.’

  Gus looked at her head bent forward. Felt a little out of his depth. ‘Er… Why?’

  ‘Because I’m just doing to Sonny what he did to me. I push him too hard. I clearly don’t know anything about him. I don’t listen to him. Shit.’ She sat back up, hair everywhere. Eyes pleading.

  Gus was way out of his comfort zone. He couldn’t really relax until Stella had sorted her hair out which thankfully she was doing right now. She smoothed it back and then rubbed her face with her hands, looking more normal, less desperate.

  ‘I don’t think it’s that bad,’ said Gus. ‘I think maybe it’s that you’re both really stubborn. My dad always said that he was the hardest on me because I reflected back the things he was least proud of in himself.’ He paused. ‘That sounds less good when repeated but at the time I kind of got it. I just frustrated him because he knew I was wasting my potential – which I was because I was in my room getting stoned all the time.’ Gus smirked. ‘But he hadn’t gone to uni for similar reasons – not because of the weed more because he wanted to make money and got a job on the farm straight out of school. I think it worked out OK for him in the end – he likes it – but he knew I wouldn’t like it and if, well, if I hadn’t got my act together he knew that’s what I would have been doing.’

  Stella looked up. ‘But I see Sonny loafing about on his phone and compare it to how hard I trained and worked and was pushed and it makes me mad that he’s just wasting his time.’

  Gus frowned. ‘Did you enjoy that pressure, Stella?’

  ‘No, I hated that pressure!’ Stella said, then she covered her face with her hands again and sighed like she’d just answered her own question.

  ‘I think what I was getting at with that whole my-dad-story thing,’ Gus said, ‘is that it’s good to push people, just make sure you’re doing it in the right direction.’

  Stella opened her eyes, peeking through the gaps in her fingers. ‘Yes,’ she said, tired and hesitant. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  Gus nodded, pleased with himself. Stella moved her hands from her face and sat more normally. He shook his head and added, ‘Your family, you’re all nuts.’

  ‘We’re not nuts,’ she said, defensive. Then taking a bite of her peach added, ‘You’re just the outsider so you can see it all more clearly.’

  Gus laughed. ‘Well, go on then. There’s Sonny…’ He nodded towards where Sonny sat outside at the long picnic table. ‘See him how I see him.’

  Stella glanced behind her, looked where Gus was looking. ‘How do you see him?’

  ‘I see a cool kid, a little too grown-up for his skin – he looks like the Hulk when he’s mid-change. I see shaggy hair that he thinks is great and you probably think needs a cut, but he should be left to grow it because he’s gotta have his long hair years—’

  ‘But it’ll look terrible!’ Stella covered her eyes for a second.

  ‘So, it looks terrible, who cares!’ Gus laughed. ‘Imagine him not as your son, get rid of the expectation and I think you might start to see it all as funny. Let him off the hook, Stella. Let him just be and like him for it.’

  CHAPTER 34

  Outside the clouds had torn into ribbon strips. Around the huts the eucalyptus blocked the glare of the emerging sun, occasional shafts of light breaking through the branches like magic in a Disney film. The crow was watching from his pine perch as Stella crossed from the front door to where Sonny was sitting at the picnic table. In the distance someone was chanting an ‘Om’.

  ‘So I’ve been hearing all about this brilliant game you’ve invented,’ Stella said, sliding onto the bench next to her son.

  Sonny looked up, surprised. Then he pushed his hair out his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, shifting along the bench to put some distance between them.

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘You don’t want to see it.’ He shoved his phone in his pocket.

  Sitting this close, Stella could smell him. She tried to feign normal breathing when really she was inhaling him. She wanted to put her arm around him.

  He sat arms braced either side of him on the bench.

  Stella pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. Through the open door she could see Gus pretending not to watch them, but then she caught his eye and he gave her an encouraging thumbs up. She tried again. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d built a game?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  The light from the trees flickered over the table.

  Sonny sat forward, started to scratch with his fingernail into the lichen-dotted surface of the table. ‘I didn’t want to. You’d say it was a waste of time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Stella said, knowing that she would have done.

  ‘You would.’

  They sat there, side by side.

  ‘I would have done,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘The whole world knows you think it’s a waste of time. How annoying you think I am.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Stella asked, sliding across to close the gap he’d put between them.

  ‘It’s always in your column,’ he said, head hung, still scratching lines in the table top.

  ‘You read my column?’ While horrified that he’d read everything she wrote, there was part of her surprised and proud that he took an interest.

  ‘When it’s lying around. Gran had a copy.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Sonny, the Potty-Mouth column’s just venting. It’s not what I think, it’s just meant to be funny.’ She tapped the table with her fingers. ‘You are quite annoying sometimes,’ she tried for a joke, he glared at her.

  She sighed. ‘Sonny, it’s just how you are about me in the playground.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You are.’

  He managed a smirk in his sulk.

  She smiled. She rested her forearms on the table, hands clasped, the sun criss-crossing her skin. ‘When you have kids, Sonny, it’s pretty full-on.’

  ‘I’m not having kids.’

  ‘Well, if one day you change your mind, what you’ll realise is that while you love that you have those kids, sometimes you just need to share some of the shit bits with people—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’

  Stella ignored him and carried on, ‘Well, most people do that with their friends. But sometimes it’s easier to hear it from someone else. And to laugh about it. So some people, like me, share it with the world. Or the 800,000 circulation. If only it was the world.’

  Sonny flicked his hair. ‘I sound like a real disappointment in them.’

  Stella inhaled, brain furiously trying to work out how best to play this. ‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘But that’s because the bad bits are the funniest.’

  Sonny shrugged.

  Stella watched him, thinking how she’d always made those bad bits a little bit worse for better ratings, a little bit naughtier and perhaps in her head Sonny had morphed into the kid that she wrote about. She wondered if maybe occasionally she’d written about the bits she was proud of, they might have magnified in equal proportion.

  A butterfly landed on the edge of the table, she nudged him to look at it. He glanced. It flew away. Stella ran her hands through her hair and sighed, ‘The thing is Sonny, Potty-Mouth Me is much funnier than Me Me. Much more laissez-faire and sardonic.’

  ‘I don’t know what laissez-faire means.’

  ‘Well, you should do your French homework, shouldn’t you?’

  Sonny rolled his eyes.

  ‘It means relaxed, letting life take its course.’ Stella sat back against the bench. ‘Sonny, I’m just hiding behind Potty-Mouth, really. In real life I’m not quite as relaxed.’

  Sonny d
id a snort of agreement.

  Stella went on regardless, ‘I’ve discovered that I have much more set ideas about who I want you and Rosie to be and what I want you to achieve. But I’m beginning to realise that my expectations aren’t necessarily your expectations.’

  ‘Mum, this isn’t like therapy or something.’

  ‘Just shut up and listen,’ Stella bashed him on the arm. ‘This is important stuff. I think that I have projected my dreams for your future on you. And I apologise for that.’

  Sonny glanced up at her, big young eyes.

  ‘In some ways it’s natural for a parent to do it,’ Stella carried on, ‘and I really don’t want you to settle too early. I don’t want you to miss out on football camp or taking up Spanish or something because you want to play video games. I just really want you to have options.’ She was going to say how she’d narrowed her own options at his age but stopped herself, it was just another example of the pressure of her dreams. Instead she said, ‘But I realise that maybe you have to find your own options.’

  The butterfly came back. Sonny stretched his hand out to try and get it to walk up his finger. It flew away again. Sonny turned to look at Stella. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  She nodded, twisting round so she could face him, resting her arm along the back of the bench. ‘I also have really high expectations, Sonny, I can’t help that. And I actually think it’s not a bad thing, but I do concede that a lot of them are placed on you. And perhaps not so much on Rosie, just probably because you’re the first – paving the way. I know, before you say it, it’s really unfair. But’ —she paused and thought about what Gus had said— ‘it might also be because you’re the most like me.’

  ‘I’m not like you.’

  ‘You are like me.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m like you.’

  ‘Well, just take it that you are like me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘See – that’s being like me. Your dad would have agreed by now just for the peace and quiet.’

  Sonny shifted in his seat.

  ‘Well anyway,’ Stella said, ‘I will always have high expectations because I know inside myself how much potential you have, but I will try really hard to make them your expectations rather than mine.’

  Sonny stared straight ahead.

  The wind swirled the dust track. A lizard darted through the wisps of dry grass. Stella let her arm slip down from the back of the bench and around his shoulders. ‘I am proud of you, Sonny.’

  Sonny shook his head. ‘That’s just because you know I built the game.’

  ‘No,’ Stella said. ‘But yes, I’ll admit I am quite amazed by the whole game-building stuff. Gus says you’re very good – and I know it shouldn’t be Gus telling me, I should know for myself.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Sonny shrugged. It clearly really did.

  Stella squeezed his shoulder. ‘I love you very much, Sonny. You’re very frustrating at times but I know I am as well. So—’ she paused. ‘I don’t have an answer for that, we’ll just have to muddle through. I’ll try very hard to let you find your own way in life. And you can do it however you like – as long as it doesn’t involve not doing your homework or any form of substance abuse.’

  Sonny sniggered.

  ‘Or calling me a bitch,’ Stella added.

  He did a little nod down at his hands. ‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Unless,’ Stella said, ‘it’s in some kind of cool down-with-the-homies fashion – like, “My mum’s da bomb. That bitch is killer.”’

  Sonny squirmed.

  Stella frowned. ‘No. Actually, having said that, even then no.’

  He looked despairing of her.

  She swept his shaggy fringe to the side and kissed his forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand. She squeezed him into a hug. He let it happen for a second then pulled away, but not too far away, enough that he was still sitting right close up next to her.

  ‘OK then,’ she said, ‘are you going to teach me how to play this bloody game or not?’

  CHAPTER 35

  It was pitch black, the middle of the night. The air was filled with the steady sound of distant waves and the wind at the windows. Amy felt it as soon as she woke up. A weight on her hand as heavy as a mouse but with furry great scuttling legs. ‘Shit!’ she shouted, smacking her hand onto the sheet as she jumped from the bed. ‘Gus!’ she yelled. ‘Gus, help me!’

  In an instant, Gus was in the room, hair all on end, boxer shorts on, no top, narrow skinny chest. ‘What? Are you OK? Is it your leg? Is it the baby?’ He was right next to her, holding her by the shoulders, eyes imploring. ‘Are you hurt? What’s wrong?’

  Amy pointed to the bed and said, slightly sheepish, ‘I think there was a massive spider on my hand.’

  ‘What?’

  Amy felt like a fool. She expected him to push her away with a laugh. But when he said, ‘A spider?’ quite softly, taking a step back, she thought actually he was really annoyed with her for waking him up over something so petty.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Sorry! It was massive though!’ She tried to justify the commotion, pushing her hands self-consciously through her bed-hair. ‘I could feel it, like a mouse or a rat walking over my hand.’

  ‘A rat?’ Gus gasped. ‘Serious?’ He looked pale in the sliver of moonlight.

  Amy realised suddenly that he wasn’t annoyed with her at all. ‘Gus, do you not like spiders?’ she asked, trying not to giggle as he backed further against the wall.

  ‘I hate spiders,’ he said. ‘I really f-ing hate them.’ He shuddered, brushing at his arms quick and jerky. ‘Shit, I can feel it on me. Where did it go?’

  Amy laughed. ‘I don’t know.’

  Gus looked horrified. ‘You mean it could be on the floor?’

  ‘Turn the light on.’

  ‘You turn the light on.’

  ‘You’re closer.’

  Gus wouldn’t move, back against the wall.

  Amy rolled her eyes, stomping round him to get to the light switch. ‘Some protector you are,’ she said, flicking the overhead on full beam.

  ‘This is the age of equality,’ Gus muttered, lips taut, eyes darting around the room. ‘We should protect each other. Can you see it?’ he whispered.

  She shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s still on the bed?’

  ‘Pull back the sheet,’ he said.

  ‘I turned on the light. You pull it back.’

  Gus closed his eyes, took a breath, then stared at the crumpled white sheet. ‘Like a rat, you say?’

  Amy nodded, lips twitching in nervous amusement.

  Gus reached forward and yanked back the sheet.

  Amy screamed.

  Gus’s eyes widened. ‘No!’

  In the middle of the bed was a spider as big as a pint glass, legs crumpled, head squashed.

  ‘Is it dead?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Decidedly,’ Gus replied, both of them peering over the giant black body.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ said Amy.

  Gus agreed.

  ‘I can’t sleep in here.’

  Gus shook his head. ‘I can’t sleep in this whole damn camp site.’

  Amy laughed.

  Gus looked up. ‘I know you find the idea abhorrent, but you are welcome to sleep in my room.’

  ‘I don’t find it abhorrent—’ she started, meeting his eyes then having to look away, awkwardly aware again like she had been earlier on the balcony. ‘I just— I just wanted my own space.’

  Gus shrugged. ‘Well, the offer’s open.’

  Amy nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Should we just leave that there?’ She pointed to the spider.

  ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Rosie can get rid of it in the morning.’

  Amy laughed.

  As she followed him through the eerie stillness of the kitchen she wondered if she’d ever been made to unexpectedly laugh so frequently before. Like almost as if she steeled he
rself not to he’d still somehow get through.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Cold?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head.

  Gus pulled back the curtain door of his room, ushering her inside then jogging round the bed to flick on the side light. ‘Welcome.’

  She had to hold in a smile.

  His bed was chaos. Sheet all in a bundle, pillow haphazard. Clothes chucked over the chair. Glasses on the tiny side table, a book, a bottle of water, his passport, a watch.

  ‘You like to keep that with you,’ she said, pointing to the passport.

  ‘Always ready,’ he quipped while making a futile attempt to tidy up.

  Amy perched on the side of the unslept-in twin, the white sheets still taut, the pillow plumped.

  ‘So, have you been on many spontaneous adventures?’

  Gus sat down opposite her. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘This is actually the first time I’ve ever needed it with me.’

  She laughed. Then she tried not to laugh but her mouth disobeyed.

  Gus smiled. He leant back over the bed to look at his watch. ‘It’s three o’clock. We should probably go to sleep.’

  ‘Only an hour till sunrise yoga,’ she said. ‘Didn’t Vasco invite you?’

  Gus lay back on his bed, hands behind his head. ‘I think it’s safe to say I will not be getting up for sunrise yoga any time in the near future.’

  Amy lay back on her bed, curled to face him, hands tucked under her cheek. ‘You’ll be getting up at four soon. When we have the baby.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We’re gonna have one of those textbook babies that doesn’t make a sound and sleeps all the time.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Without a doubt. My mum says I was perfect.’

  ‘That’s just what mums say.’

  ‘No way?’ His expression was mock horror. ‘You’re saying I’m not perfect?’

  She laughed again, turning her face into the pillow embarrassed that she kept laughing.

  He rolled to face her. ‘I think perfect is pretty overrated anyway.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Nothing perfect is ever interesting.’

  Amy thought of her previously perfect life. It had been wonderful. It had been loving and adoring, generous and perfect. But she couldn’t honestly claim it to have been interesting. Probably because there had been so few surprises – no moments beyond her comfort zone. Bobby would have got rid of the spider.