Something More (Girlfriend Fiction 11)

by Mo Johnson

  She grabbed my arm. ‘I know about Jack’s dad.’

  I braced myself for the abuse. ‘Shall I just save you the trouble and kick my own ankle this time?’ I challenged.

  She blushed. ‘Sorry about that. I was just totally freaking out then.’

  I supposed I could relate to that.

  ‘Jack really likes you, but he’s cut about his dad. I tried to get him to see your side.’

  ‘He’s so mad at me.’

  ‘Just give him some time. He’s worth the wait.’

  It felt weird to be talking about my love life with Molly. I changed the subject. ‘Make sure Sean tells your parents about the baby tonight, okay?’

  A cloud descended on her perfect features. ‘I will, I promise.’

  ‘Good luck,’ I said, and I made the move to leave.

  Later, I caught the train home with Terry. Just before we reached Coledale station, she took her earphones out and said, ‘This is going to be so bad tonight, Isla.’

  I struggled to offer some words of comfort and failed.

  ‘Let’s just definitely do it at nine. You’ll probably feel much better once they know and it’s over and done with.’

  She nodded, her mouth a grim line of determination.

  Our parents were at the kitchen table when we got home, but they were so engrossed in recounts of each other’s day that they didn’t pay us much attention. Mum did insist on dishing us both some leftover lasagne while she listened to Dad, though. Terry and I pottered around trying to act normal until we could escape.

  ‘I’ll come and get you when it’s time,’ she said from her doorway.

  ‘Are you going to eat that?’ I asked, nodding at her food. I added it to my plate when she said no.

  ‘You’ve got to eat,’ I said, secretly hoping she wouldn’t change her mind. I was starving. Some people, like Terry, go to pieces under stress; they lose weight and can’t sleep for nights on end. I, however, eat like a pig and still drop off instantly. Gran says I could sleep on the edge of a pin.

  Who’d want to do that? My bed was much more comfortable, and after I’d eaten I curled up on top of it with a book. When my eyes got heavy, I closed them for a second. They sprang open two hours later. It was eight-thirty.

  At the thought of going down to Mum and Dad, an octopus of dread squeezed all the breath from me. The harder I struggled to free myself, the tighter it took hold.

  My family was about to weather a massive storm, which could leave us all totally drenched. Right now I needed something safe and familiar, and it panicked me to realise that, for the first time ever, I wouldn’t necessarily find it with the people I’d always relied on.

  The urge to talk to Brian was suddenly overwhelming. I needed him here, listening intently the way he used to: never interrupting; offering his opinion with a wry smile; and taking no offence when I didn’t like what he had to say.

  I was astonished to discover something I had never quite grasped before: being his girlfriend had been a bonus. His friendship was more important, and I’d rejected it because I could no longer have it on my terms.

  Accepting reality takes courage. I hadn’t been brave enough. Terry had been, though, and I prayed my parents would be, too.

  I began to consider what would happen if I swallowed my pride and contacted Brian. It might be too late, but I wouldn’t find out if I didn’t try.

  I booted up my computer and opened my email program.

  Dear Brian.

  No, too formal.

  Hi Brian.

  No, too casual.

  Brian, I was wrong. (Yeah, yeah, I can admit it sometimes.)

  He’d laugh at that for sure.

  I miss your good advice and your sense of humour and your laugh. I miss you, actually.

  Fi told me you’ve met someone else, and I’m happy for you. I think I might have met someone, too, but I could have blown it already.

  Anyway, just wanted to say hi, and sorry, and can we please rewind and start again?

  I’ll understand if you don’t reply.

  Your pathetic friend…

  I wiped that and replaced it with the Aussie version.

  Your pathetic mate, Isla. x I was deleting the kiss when I heard a phone ring. Footsteps sounded outside my room, and Terry threw the door open.

  ‘It’s for you.’ She tossed me my own mobile phone. I was dumbfounded. Man, she was good; I’d thought it was still in my school bag.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Ja-ack.’ She hovered around my doorway.

  ‘Leave!’ I mouthed. My heart was thumping under my tongue. My whole head felt light.

  ‘I’m going,’ she whispered. ‘But be nice to him. Don’t stuff it up this time.’ I waved her off.

  ‘Jack?’ I tried to sound confident. ‘I suppose you’re calling to dump me?’

  Pause.

  ‘I guess—’

  ‘Well that’s fine, but just let me say a few things before you do. It’s my fault your dad got caught, but no one was forcing him to do the wrong thing in the first place.’

  ‘Finished?’

  I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t get time to elaborate.

  ‘I’m calling because I’ve had a chance to think about last night. I spoke to Sam today. I wanted to kick his head in for telling you about Dad, but I didn’t in the end.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He pointed out that Dad’s problems always wreck things for me; I suppose he’s right. But it’s not all Dad’s fault: Mum had an affair when Danny and I were in primary school. She claims she saw someone else because Dad gambled and they were unhappy. He told us he gambled because Mum had an affair and they were unhappy. At least they kind of agree on something. But he still loves her, you see.’

  I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.

  ‘He is my dad, but Sam’s right, I can’t protect him forever.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same question.’

  I went for a diversion to give me time to gather my thoughts. ‘What’s going to happen to your dad?’

  ‘He’s going to jail.’

  I was horrified. ‘Jack! I’m…I didn’t think…’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m joking.’

  ‘You idiot!’

  ‘Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. They are going to fine him. No jail, but he will have to go to court.’

  ‘That’s not too bad.’

  He agreed.

  I heard Terry pacing in the corridor and glanced at the clock. ‘Jack, I’m going to have to hang up in a minute. We’re breaking the news at nine. I’ll tell you about it when I see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Can you sneak out tonight after it’s over instead, or will you still be mopping up the blood?’

  Laughter bubbled up inside me. This was terrible. I had no right to feel this happy when my sister was dying outside my door.

  ‘Meet me on our hill at the beach, okay? Just text me when you’re free,’ he said.

  Our hill.

  A gentle tap on my door signalled that our time was up.

  ‘See you soon,’ I retorted, thankful he couldn’t see the grin glued to my face.

  ‘Good luck, babe.’

  Babe?

  Jack Ferris had just called me babe. I should be squirming, but honestly? I loved it.

  I put the phone down and sailed across the floor to my door. I was floating, but Terry’s white face brought me back to earth.

  We thumped downstairs, each step becoming heavier and harder to take. It was like trudging down a broken escalator.

  When we reached Mum and Dad’s lounge, Terry looked back at me. Her eyes were wide and frantic.

  ‘Deep breaths. I’m right here,’ I urged.

  She’d frozen on the spot, though, so I went ahead, pulling her with me as I entered the lounge.

  The room was dim, lit only by the American cop show flickering on the TV screen. My parents were sprawled out on
the oversized sofa Dad had insisted we didn’t need when he’d initially heard the price. He’d sure got his money’s worth by now; his bum was never off it.

  Terry and I sat as casually as we could on the opposite sofa. ‘Hello you two, are you off to bed?’ Dad asked as an ad break kicked in.

  ‘Yes,’ Terry answered, and I frowned at her. There was no way she was backing out now.

  ‘How was your day?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Good,’ Terry replied. She sounded like a robot.

  ‘Are you feeling okay, love?’ Mum had picked up on something.

  ‘Yes,’ Terry assured her.

  Pressure ballooned in my stomach, giving the butterflies more space to lurch and flutter.

  The show came back on.

  ‘Well, goodnight,’ said Mum, watching us closely.

  We didn’t move.

  Dad glanced over, slightly distracted. ‘We’ll see you in the morning.’

  When we still didn’t leave, he added, ‘Is there something else?’ He was watching a cop wrestle a suspect to the ground.

  Terry had fallen statue-still. In the darkened room, I felt for her hand, located her pinkie and squeezed it tight.

  ‘Do it,’ I murmured.

  She leant forward, and at the same time the TV cops walked into a brightly lit office. We could all see her face clearly.

  ‘Actually, Mum? Dad? There is something…’

  A vein throbbed behind my left eye. She definitely had their attention now.

  Dad killed the volume.

  Mum shifted in her seat.

  Terry bit her lip.

  ‘Well, go on, pet,’ Dad urged.

  I had her whole hand in mine now.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Red-and-blue lights flashed and spun in another smoky evening in Copland. Someone had just been shot. The victim’s face was much less shocked than Dad’s looked now.

  He didn’t ask for specifics. Neither of them could. They were simply speechless.

  Terry gave them the details anyway.

  Without warning, a phrase popped into my head. It was something Gran McGonnigle had told me years ago.

  Isla, not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed till it’s faced. It was a lesson in courage, I guess.

  I got it now.

  My parents had courage. They’d embraced change when they’d uprooted their family and immigrated to Australia.

  Jack was gutsy, too. He’d struggled with his family’s problems for years and still managed to be optimistic and happy.

  My own sister was much braver than me. She was facing up to her responsibilities right now.

  I had to do the same. No more living half a life, paralysed by self-doubt. It was time to grow up.

  I would ask fi for Brian’s email address and try to fix the mess I’d made of our friendship.

  I would commit to a new life in this country of swimming pools, and I’d start by getting my Ls.

  A whoosh of warmth rushed from my knees to my chest when I thought of Jack. I would be with him soon. Who cared if he sucked up all my air when we kissed? This time I was holding on, suffocation or not.

  Terry had finished speaking, and my parents were now looking at each other, the TV well and truly forgotten.

  Dad mumbled his first response. ‘Talk about history repeating itself.’

  ‘Jim!’ Mum gasped.

  Dad zapped the TV with the remote. My parents and Terry were frozen in a tableau of understanding.

  ‘Is it true?’ Terry asked.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.

  Terry settled back into the cushions, but Mum’s whole body was taut as she perched on the edge of her sofa. Their eyes locked.

  Dad sprang to his feet.

  ‘Tell me,’ I insisted.

  He stopped in the middle of the room. ‘Well, let’s just start by saying that Terry has come to the right people for advice.’

  From the hallway, the urgent ringing of the phone made us all jump.

  And in the dim light, my sister turned to me and released the biggest breath I’ve ever heard.

  About the author

  Mo Johnson was born in Glasgow, Scotland. She met her Australian husband while teaching in Japan and moved to Sydney with him in 1991. She is lucky to live by the beach in spectacular Illawarra (NSW) with her husband Pete and son Paddy and their two dogs, Merlin and Scruffy. She couldn’t live without her Apple computers, her iPod, her crime-fiction collection, and her friendship with fellow children’s authors Di Bates, Sandy Fussell and Bill Condon, who give her great advice about her writing.

  Mo loves staying in touch with her best friend, Auds, in Scotland, making short films, taking photographs, elephants, and people who throw back their heads to belly laugh, especially at themselves. Her phobias are flying, swimming pools, cockroaches and people dressed in animal costumes. When she doodles, Mo draws snails and triangles and people on bicycles. Something More is her second novel for teenagers.

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