“Oh.”
He turns and makes another marking beside it.
QK
loves
SS
“Who the hell is SS?” I bark out, not impressed.
Quade kneels at my feet, pushes my knees apart, and grips my hips until our upper bodies meet. “SS is short for my little Sexy Sopressa.”
I yank at his earlobe. He winces. “Not funny,” I say with a pout.
“How ’bout my Beautiful Bresaola?” he says, jiggling his brows.
“Okay, that’s enough lover-boy. Let’s get the packing sorted.” Then the sooner we’ll be back at his place.
Quade rises and takes the pen once more. He writes “Quade & Lacey” and sketches a love heart around it.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes. Better.”
When we get back inside the house, the same prickly feeling takes over me. Acid gurgles in my stomach. “They took down the photos.” My soft voice cracks. “Why?”
“Be buggered if I know. I don’t get how they can pretend like she never existed.” Quade shakes his head and places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me towards the staircase. We take the familiar walk up the steps, hand in hand. I’ve run up and down these stairs a million times, but this time it’s different, eerie, as if I’m treading on sacred ground.
When we reach the top of the stairs we turn right, in the opposite direction to the wing where the master bedroom is.
With each shuffle of my feet on the long Persian rug, my heart works harder, knowing that we have to pass her room before we get to Quade’s.
My feet glue to the ground in front of the closed door. I immediately notice the silver plaque with her name is no longer on it.
“Lace,” Quade growls. “Come on.” He tugs my hand, but I don’t budge.
“I can’t,” I choke out. “I need to see it.” I may not get another chance.
The door creaks as I creep inside. Quade closes the door softly behind him.
When my brain comprehends where I am and how long it’s been, tears prick my eyes. I cover my mouth to stop myself from crying out. It looks exactly as it was the night of graduation—bed unmade, several different coloured pairs of heels kicked off in front of her wardrobe and dirty washing overflowing in the basket in the corner. Photos of Faith, Mack and me are plastered across her corkboard which is fixed to the wall above her desk. My all-time favourite pic, taken by Byron, is the three of us lying on beach towels with one leg crossed on another raised knee. When things were perfect. When things weren’t so complicated.
Textbooks are still piled high on her desk. Faith was going to read them over the summer. She wanted to be prepared. She was going to excel.
The room is stale, like opening an old dusty book. There’s no hint of the familiar fruity scent that Faith used to spray and then dance through. I pick up the familiar purple bottle and remove the cap, drinking in the memories of my lost friend.
“It’s been so long since I’ve been in this room. It feels like a lifetime—like every moment we shared was a dream.” I put the perfume back in place and try to picture Faith’s perfect smile. I close my eyes and try to remember her laugh, her voice. It’s getting harder. “I hate that the memories are fading. I hate it so much.”
Quade pulls me into a hug, and we hold each other for the longest time. His body stiffens and he squeezes me until silent tears fall from my cheeks onto his shirt.
Over his shoulder I scan her proud display of trophies that now look more like the memorial cabinet of a sporting great. I know that they haven’t been moved since that day. I unhook myself from Quade’s warm embrace and step over to the shelf. I run my finger along the edge, and in no time the pad of it is coated in a thick layer of dust.
I pick up her iPod, which has a white pair of earphones wrapped around it.
“When she was thirteen she could finally afford to buy that,” Quade says with a soft chuckle. “She even begged me to let her do my chores so she could earn pocket money quicker. I wouldn’t let her, but gave her the cash anyway because I saw how much she wanted it.”
“For brother and sister, you made a good team. I was never that close with Ricky.”
“Ricky isn’t all bad. You two are both too headstrong. I know he’d still do anything for you, no matter how close you were growing up.”
We both perch on the edge of the bed, side by side. I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Thank you for letting me come in here. As hard as it is for both of us, I really needed to see this.”
“I don’t wanna forget her, Lace. I need to talk about her. It’s like an infestation inside eating away at me. She was such a big part of my life, and I can’t let her go. You’re the only one I have left to keep that connection.”
How sad is that?
“Faith believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and I would have done anything for her. Anything. That was the kind of friendship we had. She was selfless. As long as I live, I’ll never forget her. I’ll always be here for you, Quade.”
“I just wish my parents could deal like you. It’s been so hard since I’ve been back. My parents don’t want to talk about the investigation. They say talking about it won’t bring her back, it’ll only continue to break them. I’ve seen people in denial before, but this is denial to the extreme. It seems like Dad is coping better, but Mum? I think she definitely needs help.”
“I know talking about her won’t bring her back, but we can’t give up. I won’t let it go until we know what happened.”
He nudges his shoulder against mine, and gives me a knowing smile. “Were you always this determined?”
I raise my brows. “Seriously? Did you ever see me play soccer?”
“Yeah, Lace. I saw you. I used to get in trouble for watching you instead of my sister.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Back then it was all about Faith. I was invisible to my parents.”
It breaks my heart to hear him say that. How can parents cast aside their own child, especially someone as honest, good, and hardworking as Quade?
“What about now? Surely they see you now?”
“As for my career, still to this day they can’t understand why I wanted to be a teacher. I could never tell them the truth.”
“The truth?”
“In high school, my Phys Ed teacher was my hero.”
“Mr Whicker?”
“Yeah,” he says with a heavy sigh.
“He was a great teacher.” He managed the girls’ soccer team for my final two years, taking us higher up the leader board than the team had ever been before.
“Whicker was the best. He encouraged me. For years he was there when I fell down, literally, and was always there pushing me to do better. The year after I finished high school and was still playing rugby, I still saw him at the playing fields. I dunno whether he was there to watch anyone else, but I swear it was as if he was there for me. He attended more games than my own dad. My parents were too busy with their professional lives to give my sport, or me, any of their precious time. If they weren’t at some social event, they were doing something with Faith.”
I know it was hard for Mum and Dad to be at my games, but they always tried. Mum moved around shifts, and Dad sometimes got my uncle to cover, even if it was so Dad could catch the last half hour. I know I always played better when they were there supporting me. Now I appreciate them so much more for it, knowing that Quade never had that.
“I’m sorry, Quade. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it did, but I guess I got used to it. I still had a kick-arse role model to look up to, but moving forward I want my parents to be a part of my life.”
“So that’s the main reason why you’re back?”
“I’ve been the invisible son for too long. I’m tired of it, and if I’m honest, I want my family back … as dysfunctional as it is.”
“Just keep trying, Q. One day they’ll realise how amazing you are and how inspiring you are to oth
ers … like me.”
A door slams in the distance, echoing from the stairwell. My stomach drops. Acid reaches up my throat. A heavy set of shoes barrels up the steps followed by a pair of heels that click on the floor, echoing throughout the entry.
“Shit,” I whisper, moving close to the door. “I can’t be here. In here of all places, Quade.”
“I’ll handle this,” he whispers loudly. “They probably won’t even come in. Once they go downstairs we can sneak out.”
Footsteps continue down the hallway, past our hiding place and towards Quade’s old bedroom. “Quade?” Mrs Kelly calls.
Quade closes his eyes and lets out a tortured breath through his parted lips.
The feet double back down the hall.
Oh God.
The door opens with a whoosh, shielding me from his parents as I somehow end up hiding behind the timber door.
“What the hell are you doing in here, Son?” Mr Kelly barks.
“Ah, we just … I came for the boxes. What are you doing home early?”
“We haven’t left for the fundraiser yet,” Mrs Kelly scolds, as if he should know all her social movements.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mr Kelly yells. “How dare you come in here and desecrate her memory?”
“I’ve told you before. No one comes in here,” Mrs Kelly screeches, walking farther into the room.
“You!” she growls, pointing a manicured finger at me. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
I take a step to the side, not knowing whether I should just run for the door or actually try and have a conversation with her. When I open my mouth to speak nothing comes out. I have no idea what to say.
“Mum, it’s fine. Calm down,” Quade says, standing from the bed and holding his hands in front of his chest in a protective move, as if he was approaching a wild animal that had escaped from the zoo.
“Calm down?” she shrieks.
“Mum,” Quade says, louder now.
“Quade, you brought the one person into our house who has done nothing but hurt us. How am I supposed to react? I can tell you one thing, young man—I am so far from calm right now. I am livid.”
“Mum,” Quade growls. “You don’t understand.”
She stares me down, daggers in her penetrating gaze. “Just let it go, Lacey. She’s gone. The only thing you’ve done the last few years is create a constant reminder for this town.”
I’ve been fighting for truth, but clearly Mrs Kelly doesn’t see that. “Yeah, well at least I don’t hide my grief; pretend Faith never existed to my family and then sneak roses on her grave when you think no one’s watching.”
Her brows bunch together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The genuine look of confusion over her face leaves me in no doubt. If it isn’t Mrs Kelly leaving the flowers, then who is?
“First it was flyers, now it’s flowers. This family is broken, Lacey. It’ll never be the same without our Faith. What are you trying to prove?”
“I want the truth,” I say, choking on the lump in my throat.
“I want you to stop,” she screams. “And I want you away from my son, you whore.”
I don’t know whether I imagine it, but I swear my heart just ripped in my chest at hearing such spiteful words directed at me from a woman I once looked up to. “What?” I whisper, blinking as I try and imagine why she would say such a horrible thing.
“Carol,” Mr Kelly growls.
“Mum,” Quade yells.
“You want to know who you’re getting mixed up with, Quade? The girl who couldn’t look out for your sister because she was too busy getting intimate with the Fairfield boy.”
What the hell?
“That’s not true,” I bark out. Heat rises to my face with a vengeance.
“Just get out. Get out of my house now,” Mrs Kelly seethes.
My head swings in Quade’s direction. I search his face. Is he going to back me up here? Defend me? Or is he just going to stand there and watch his mother attack me like this?
I move to the side of them and look back at Quade once more. His face is flushed and his chest expands with each deep breath as he drills me with his glistening eyes.
“Quade,” I tremble. Please.
He stands, staring at me. It’s as if he doesn’t see me, his eyes locked in a heavy trance. He takes a step forward. His father stands in his path, meeting him eye to eye, blocking him from going any farther.
“You’re not going anywhere, young man. We need to talk.”
I sprint down the hall. My feet can barely keep up. I stumble down the staircase, scuttling my fingers down the railing and the wall to stay upright.
When the muggy spring air washes over my face, I run as fast as my legs will carry me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A cruel, breathtaking burn sizzles up my throat. Lactic acid pools in my thighs which each pump of my legs. Only a few hundred metres to go.
A car revs ahead in the distance. The whir of the engine grows louder. A shiny red Ford Falcon zooms into view, swerving as it takes the bend. Wheels squeal on the tar as the driver dodges a giant pothole. I squint to see who’s behind the wheel. I’m not surprised when I see that dickhead Travis in control.
When he’s out of sight, my knee gives way. I have no choice but to force myself to stop. I bend over and pant heavily, drawing air deep into my lungs to try and find some sense of calm.
Calm down? She’d yelled. That look in her eyes was lethal enough to peel paint off the wall.
My throat begins to close up. I can’t get air.
No! I will not have a panic attack now. I won’t.
Breathe, I tell myself and swallow down.
In. Out. In. Out.
My hair whips around my head as I run through to the cemetery grounds. As I climb the path, I brush away my tears with both hands.
My shoulder hits something solid and I trip. My upper body swings around as an old man stumbles. Oh no. I reach out and grip at the elbow of his grey coat, trying to stop him from falling. One of his legs buckles. His knee collapses onto the short grass.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you,” I say, as I help him back onto his feet.
“You young folk need to watch where you’re going,” he says, and brushes his hand over the grass stains on his grey pants.
He clutches at his chest, which wheezes with each quick breath.
“Again, I’m so sorry. Here, come and sit down.” I guide him to a park bench a few metres away. He grasps the arm on the side of the metal chair and clutches at my wrist as he lowers himself to sit.
“It’s Mr Whittaker, right?” I ask, hoping I’m correct.
He nods and pulls a powder blue handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to dust off his pants.
“Can I help you to your car?”
“No, I just need a minute. What’re you doing running around in here anyways?”
“I came to see my friend,” I whisper, looking up the hill in the direction of her resting place.
He shakes his head and makes a tut-tut noise. “You young folk meet up in cemeteries these days? Young lady,” he scolds. “This is a place to respect the dead. It is not a place to hang out.”
“No, it’s not like that. My best friend, Faith. She died.”
The muscles in his jaw tick. He turns away from me and stands, running his wrinkled hands down his jacket. In small steps, he makes his way down the path towards the entry gate.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I call out.
He keeps on walking. “I need to get home to my wife,” he says in a croaky voice.
He doesn’t turn back.
Well, don’t I feel horrible. The poor man is going to go home all shaken up. I guess I should be grateful that he didn’t break a hip with that fall. I’d never forgive myself for that.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Quade’s number. It rings out. Three times in a row.
Well that’s just great.
I gather my thoughts as I sit on the bench, looking out to the sea of headstones.
What would Faith think about all this? Would she be on my side or would she tell me to walk away?
Today, I can’t do it. I can’t sit at her grave, so I go home.
--
When I walk inside my place, it’s like a giant slap in the face.
The coroner’s report on my desk mocks me. Open finding. That’s what it boiled down to. All their enquiries, all the man hours, for nothing.
I snatch the report and screw up it in my hands. “Nothing!” I scream and hurl it across the room.
What was the point in all of this? Did I really think I was going to work it out? There are professionals that do this for a living. I’m barely an adult, and I thought I could do it? Thought I’d have the brains to work out something that the coroner and investigators couldn’t? I’m just a stupid girl who got fixated on something I had no business getting involved in.
I wanna tear down the walls and erase all of it. With each second I stare at the corkboards, the fire in my belly grows until it reaches boiling point. How can no one know what happened? I’ve wasted years, I’ve lost Quade, and I have nothing to go on? Was it all worth it?
With a roar, I lunge at the corkboard. Screams rip from my throat as I grate my nails down the paperwork, clawing at the Post-Its and articles and all the shit I wasted more time on that I should have.
Books tumble. A board falls, the frame busting on impact with the ground. I swing at the cup teetering on the edge. Just like me.
Smash!
Shards of glass kick out at my feet and cool water drips down my bare shins.
I slump to the floor, leaning against the edge of my bed. Sobs wrack my weary body. The tears flood down my cheeks. I’ve lost Quade. Pain sinks into my soul like black tar, heavy in my lungs. It feels just as it did the day he left Runaway.
The screen door slides open with a whoosh. Through bleary eyes, I see the pale face of my mother.
“What on earth, Lacey? Are you okay?” Mum says, her voice rising in octave as she approaches. “Are you hurt?” She takes in the chaos I’ve created.
“Only on the inside,” I choke on a sob and cover my mouth to silence myself.
Losing Faith (Surfers Way) Page 21