I sighed and tried to let Nick go. Girl stuff. That’s definitely what I needed. Nice and safe, the greatest danger was getting a little polish on the bedspread. I could cope with that.
Days and then weeks passed, exams arrived and I forced myself to focus, committing myself to study groups with others so that I couldn’t get out of it. I saw him occasionally down at the beach which was quiet at this time of year, a fleeting greeting and nothing more. Sometimes I saw him with other girls. I recognised the way they looked at him, the unveiled attraction, the adoration no different to my own and it made me sick.
In the quiet darkness of night when distractions were few I continued to irritate myself by thinking about him. Tortured memories of one sweet kiss, imagining what might have been, agonising before casting out what was futile.
One night at the end of term I woke with a start. My room was still and dark, only shadows made moving monsters on the walls as the trees outside swayed in a light breeze. Moving to the window I let in some fresh air. Someone was out there. A dark shape on the road. Nick. His face turned to me in the dim light. He made no move to beckon to me, just remained locked on my face, his eyes slightly radiant. A tiny shock of ecstasy radiated through me as I rushed recklessly to open the window further, to climb out, to run to him. But as I did he leaped onto his motorbike and with a thunder which broke up the night he roared away.
I stumbled back, the hyperactive air intruding on my turmoil, ruffling my hair, flipping and flapping papers, upsetting ornaments as the curtain caught them. I flopped back onto my bed. Black and white phantoms capered in wild chaos across my ceiling. I reached under my pillow to the tiny box I now kept there.
‘Goodbye Nick,’ I whispered.
15
KATE
Mum and Dad helped me pack, supplementing my meagre possessions with a toaster and kettle for my room. ‘It’s a house-warming gift, Kit,’ Mum said, as I admired the matching pink set. She couldn’t buy me rompers and booties anymore, but she was meeting her needs in other ways. In less than an hour we had carted my furniture, digital piano, computer and clothes into my new room. Soon I was unpacked and organised, my groceries stored away in the kitchen on shelves labelled with my name. Someone was organised, I suspected Pierre.
Four of us lived in the house. Mads and I were studying music, Pierre was a French lecturer and Francois (who was not French, despite the name) was studying a Bachelor of Science.
Francois and Pierre quickly became the siblings I had never had. The feeling was mutual. Pierre missed his family, and I reminded him of his sister who had moved to Spain to be closer to her Spanish husband’s family. Francois was an only child like me.
‘Play that sad one,’ Francois said one night as he, Pierre and I sat sipping green tea from Pierre’s dainty china mugs in my room. It had become a ritual, one which required the right tea, the right mugs and the right time.
‘No, no, not sad tonight. Play Chopin, the waltz,’ Pierre argued. The two of them had propped my pillows against the wall and were leaning back as though in a Turkish lounge. I played both, first the waltz so that Pierre would have the fortitude to listen to Lost, the one Francois loved, the one about a child facing darkness.
They were silent when I finished and then Francois spoke.
‘You’re going to be a superstar Kate, with the right management of course.’ He wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed. ‘We’ve got to get you on YouTube.’
I shrugged noncommittally, a little dubious about his judgement, although it was a nice compliment. We sat in companionable silence, the house dark and quiet around us, sipping. The only other sound in the room was the loud ticking of Francois’ watch.
‘Doesn’t that irritate you?’ Pierre asked eventually.
‘It doesn’t,’ Francois replied unperturbed, and I giggled. They were lovers. Their names had started a conversation which had become increasingly guarded on the surface, increasingly tender and private underneath. They fit, like two pieces of the same jigsaw, and I saw that. But there were complications they did not speak of, and I didn’t pry. I saw the expectation in the eyes of Francois’ parents when they visited, understood the pressures placed on the shoulders of an only son.
‘M n M’ (which was how we referred to Mads and Mitchell) were out most evenings, often returning only as dawn slowly farewelled night. Sometimes they didn’t return at all, choosing to head straight to university. Although Mitchell wasn’t officially a member of our household and had an apartment of his own a few blocks away, he kept a toothbrush and clean underwear on the only neatish shelf in Mads’ room.
Because of her insecurity about Mitchell’s fidelity, Mads followed him to his performances, chewing her lower lip in frustration until it was almost shredded as she watched the exchanges between the girls who ogled him seductively and his reply, a suggestive grin, which made words unnecessary.
He performed five nights a week, surviving quite successfully on little sleep, but the impact on Mads was significant. She was slipping.
‘Morning Mads.’ I greeted her cheerfully, but she sat in a daze at the kitchen table, a pot of coffee in front of her. Her lips didn’t seem to move as she mumbled an indecipherable reply.
‘Have you even been to bed?’ She had a recital at lunch time and should have been well rested this morning. Instead she looked like one of the living dead.
She shook her head and then seemed to regret it, touching it tenderly with her hand. ‘No, but I’ll be okay, just need to get some caffeine into me.’
‘You need to eat and sleep. Here.’ I shoved my bowl of cornflakes at her. ‘Eat!’
Mads’ father had abandoned both her and her mother when she was young. He had avoided all contact with her while remarrying and fathering several other children. Mads seemed intent on punishing herself for his disinterest, his lack of heart and cruelty.
She picked up the spoon reluctantly and began to eat. ‘Will you have a chance to get a few hours’ sleep?’ I asked, serving myself more cornflakes.
‘Nah, but I’ve done it before,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a shower and I’ll be fine. Stop fussing, Kate.’ She was right. I was mothering her and she didn’t want to be mothered. It wasn’t my place to give her advice.
Mitchell was the centre of her universe, her sun. Sometimes he gave her life and sometimes he took it, but either way she revolved around him, continually abdicating her own interests for the sake of his. It was romantic, just not sensible.
He was talented and very ambitious, determined to pursue fame and fortune. I didn’t think that Mads would remain a fixture in his rise to glory, but that was only my opinion. She was fun to have around, a good laugh, and a distraction when he needed it, but his commitment was to his art and his career. He enjoyed women indiscriminately, even flirting with me on occasion. My disinterest only further inflamed his pursuit. I still thought that he was a creep.
‘Kit!’ Mum had arrived, her voice shrill from the front door. She didn’t bother to knock, just walked straight in.
‘You’re early, Mum,’ I cried, rushing out into the entrance hall. Giving her a smacking kiss I ensured that she ventured no closer to the kitchen by steering her in the direction of my room. My mother would not appreciate the sight of Mads right now and I would be the one, not Mads, to receive endless unwarranted advice from her as a result.
‘Here,’ she said, thrusting a scruffy old bear at me.
‘What’s this?’
‘Fritzy, of course,’ she replied, as though that explained it.
‘I know it’s Fritzy, Mum, but what is he doing here?’ He was my bear after all, left at home for good reason.
‘I thought he’d bring you good luck.’
‘Oh?’ I examined him, but he remained unchanged and without a horse-shoe necklace or anything added. I’d had him since I was tiny and he’d been through a series of misadventures. He had been chewed up by the dog, who swallowed his lederhosen and expelled them in an interesting assortment of red and bl
ue patchy poo, and he’d fallen into the toilet at Nanny’s, after which Mum had washed him in disinfectant and knitted him a little red and green jumper and shorts which made him look a lot more cheerful than he should have been. Nothing could be done about the fur and he remained mangy.
‘I don’t know about luck, Mum.’ Fritzy had really been rather unlucky.
‘Well he’s still around isn’t he?’
‘I guess so.’
‘That’s kind of a miracle isn’t it?’ We both looked at him with new-found respect.
‘Sure is.’
‘And you had him at the hospital when you were little and you pulled through pretty well.’ Anxiety crossed her face, like she was suddenly worried I wouldn’t realise his value, that he might be discarded on a Salvos pile or worse.
‘He is a very precious bear Mum.’ I squeezed her arm and then tucked Fritzy into my bag which was thankfully large. Still his head refused to stay inside and kept popping up as though insisting on a seat with a view.
‘You ready?’
‘I guess so.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’
‘You drive,’ Mum said, ‘it’ll help you relax.’ But looking at Mum I could not relax.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to get your licence Kit.’ Her eyes were an intense ball of emotion. Pride, nerves and sadness, the inevitable loss.
‘Only if I pass, Mum,’ I reminded her.
‘Kit, Kit, don’t have a fit!’ Mum cheered as we arrived at the squat licensing office. It was just the two of us in the car, but I blushed all the same and my anxiety sky-rocketed.
As the examiner, a big, stern-looking man with small eyes behind rectangular glasses, and a mouth set in an unyielding line, beckoned to me, Mum grasped my hand and gave it a crushing squeeze between her cold ones.
‘You’ll be fine Kit-Kat, just remember the brake is the middle pedal.’
‘I’ll try Mum.’ I smiled nervously, nursing my hand.
The examiner’s severe demeanour and clipped instructions ensured that my grip on the wheel remained white-knuckled and stiff throughout the test. Sam nudged me to the point where I actually considered planting the car in a tree, but somehow I managed to force my attention back to the road and pass.
‘Well done!’ Mum exclaimed, rushing to clasp me in a tight hug.
‘Thanks Mum,’ I gasped.
‘Ooh, you’re so sweaty!’ she said indelicately, releasing me quickly. I avoided a quick sniff under my arms.
‘Well. It’s all yours,’ she sighed, handing me the keys to the little yellow hatchback, my belated eighteenth birthday present. She was getting a new car.
Contained excitement. I tried not to show too much of it outwardly, in case she feared it would result in carelessness. My smile only stretched halfway across my face, but I couldn’t help my eyes. She was suddenly tentative, obvious reluctance marring her earlier exuberance.
For a moment she too struggled to assemble an appropriate expression, failing to hide the truth. Relief and pride crossed her face, a tiny unavoidable tear lurking at the corner of one eye. She tried not to blink. Mum was really trying. I felt like crying now.
‘Drop me off at Dad’s and you’re on your own.’ She had been preparing that statement for a while and she pulled it off well.
‘Just be careful Kit,’ she added nervously, as she opened the door to get out.
‘Of course Mum,’ I replied, somewhat impatiently.
‘I have to tell you that, I’m your mother.’ She was suddenly terse. ‘It’s my job to worry.’
I felt bad. No-one worried about you like your mother. To see me driving off into the unknown inside a little tin can with wheels was tough for her. Her baby, racing off to join thousands of others on the roads, hurtling around at impossible speeds, all in different states of distraction.
I planted a big kiss on her lips and returned her earlier hug. ‘I will be careful, Mum. You know that.’
‘I know Kit. We’re so proud of you.’
But as I carefully backed away my confidence evaporated. I looked around. Where did it go? I’d only just passed my driving test, first time! But suddenly I didn’t know where to look or which levers were for the windscreen wipers or which for indicators. Anxiety churned bitterly and I forgot to check my blind-spot, nearly colliding with a truck. The driver flashed his lights and hooted at me angrily before finally thundering past. I crawled along timidly in the left lane, sitting as low as possible in my seat, hands so sweaty I feared they might slip from the wheel. Heads turned. No, it’s not the Queen everyone, it’s Kate Richardson. I avoided a royal wave to the curious. Even Sam was silent for a while.
16
DEB AND NICK
It was July and I had just turned eighteen when I saw him again. The timing wasn’t great. I’d put a lot of hard work into my final year, redirected my energy. I still wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do, but I wanted options. Now the final culmination of my effort was nearing.
Other things had changed. Mum was working long hours, but openly dating Mario, her boss. He was friendly and laid-back and didn’t interfere with us, which earned him bonus points from me. Sometimes Mum invited him home for dinner and we’d eat well and drink a little wine. Happiness made her younger, more care-free. Her eyes sparkled in a way I had never seen and there were flowers in the house now, music sometimes and bottles of wine in the pantry cupboard for special occasions. She was having fun and being spoilt and adored and we loved Mario for that.
George wasn’t around much. He was now a Commerce student, commuting over an hour each way to Uni, hoping to move into shared accommodation when he could afford it. He worried too much about Mum and me, about leaving us on our own. Reassurance that we would be fine meant nothing to him. He’d taken on Dad’s role a long time ago.
I had dated a couple of guys, but nothing serious. They were nice enough, but seemed insubstantial, immature. Their main focus was on getting drunk, or getting lucky, and I wasn’t putting out, so they lost interest. To be honest I didn’t really care. School was my priority.
Weekends I worked a shift on the checkout at our tiny local supermarket. It was tedious, but the money was okay and I was trying to save for a car. At the rate I was going I wasn’t going to be buying it any time soon.
It was a busy Saturday morning when I looked up and saw him waiting one back in the queue, tanned and healthy. He looked more rugged than I remembered and his hair was lighter and longer than when I’d last seen him, but it was still unruly.
For a moment I froze, before letting my hair fall like a shroud around my face. It provided a convenient screen to hide behind. I wasn’t sure what to say, given the awkwardness of our last exchange. Did I pretend he was forgotten? He moved a step closer as the customer in front of him moved forward to pay and I struggled to look up, to smile knowing that he could see my face. My neck felt rigor-mortis stiff as I tried to twist it in his direction. The dreaded flush of heat arrived, radiating through my body like steam was escaping from my pores. ‘Piss off and die,’ I screamed angrily to myself, cursing the blush which made my emotions so easily readable by others as I fumbled with the groceries, my fingers like sausages as I scattered change.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I apologised, humiliated. At last the transaction was complete and the customer departed. My relief was short-lived.
Now I had to look up at the man I had ineffectively tried to banish from my dreams, the one who had continued to haunt my imagination.
He stood before me like some sort of apparition, like I’d stepped back into yesterday. For just a moment everything stopped. ‘Hello,’ seemed obvious, but didn’t come to me. We took a moment to appraise each other, detecting changes, noticing the march of time. There were little lines at the sides of his mouth, like he’d grimaced once too often, and the stubble on his jaw looked darker and coarse. He was grown. A man. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Whether he noticed that my hair was longer, that my skin was paler, whether I was
still athletic or rounder in places? I wondered what he was doing at my till.
Then we were back in the moment, the murmur and noises of the shop around us.
‘What are you smiling at?’ I asked.
‘You,’ he answered directly. ‘I think you just made the supermarket a bit of extra profit!’ I blushed at my incompetence.
‘Sorry.’ A troubled expression crossed his face. He placed the last of his items on the conveyer belt. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s good to see you. You look great.’
‘Yeah right, love the uniform!’ Navy trousers and a turquoise top with three rocks on the pocket. Very original. I guess it could have been worse.
‘Blue suits you!’ Annoyingly I blushed again.
‘You’re looking good,’ I said.
‘Just need a haircut and I might start feeling semi-civilised again!’ He ruffled his hair self-consciously and took another step closer. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. Of course I didn’t, just breathed and focussed on the formation of something intelligible.
‘It looks nice,’ I managed.
‘You think so?’ I returned my gaze to the items he was purchasing. I could feel his eyes on me. Chocolate, one large bar of dairy-milk, two litre cola and multivitamins.
‘You’ve got all of life’s necessities here,’ I said, packing them into a bag and trying not to drop anything.
‘Yeah, well I’ve got to stock up on the basics.’ His smile was casual, but his eyes weren’t. I didn’t know what they were, what the deepest shades of green hid, I was afraid to go there to the swirl and flickers within.
‘Glad that you’ve got your priorities right,’ I said, trying to keep things light, like I’d seen him yesterday and we were the friends we’d never been. ‘How was your trip?’ I faced the register.
Awakening: Book 1 The Last Anakim Trilogy Page 12