The True Colour of a Little White Lie

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  Back at the Gal, I walked past the ongoing post-Whitt party and on to the games room. I knew I might run into Adele or Juliet or both there, but I couldn’t muster any real fear. Maybe I was hoping Juliet would be waiting for me; that she might have cooled down and forgiven me.

  Of course, she wasn’t there. Nor was Adele.

  I dared a quick glance into the Governor’s Lounge, but it was empty too.

  I hadn’t really expected anything else, or planned what to do or say if one of them had been there. At a certain point I’d just be repeating apologies, and just because I meant them didn’t mean they were what anyone wanted to hear.

  So I took my usual spot in the games room, but I didn’t even try to read. I just sat and let everything that had happened turn over in my head along with the tiny, flickering idea that Juliet or Adele might come in wanting to talk. I only glanced up when Robbie sat across from me.

  We looked at each other for a long time. I went through a list of things to say, but none felt right, so I left them all alone and waited.

  ‘Sorry, Nelson,’ she said.

  The wave of churning guilt threatened to rise again. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,’ I said. It sounded small and pathetic. Like something nobody would believe.

  ‘You’re smart, Nelson.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  She leaned forward. ‘You’re a lot smarter than most kids your age. But that doesn’t mean you’re not your age. No teenager in history has ever thought an adult knows best.’ Her smile was gentle. ‘I tried to warn you for a couple of reasons. One of them was because you obviously really liked Juliet, and the way you were going there weren’t many scenarios in which things were going to work out. But, well …’ She shrugged. ‘There’s this thing about the lessons we learn: almost none of them come from another person. Sometimes I wonder why parents bother giving their kids advice. Because until you know why you shouldn’t do something – until you’ve done it and seen the outcome – advice is pretty much there to be ignored.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t ignored you,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, well. You did. But will you make this same mistake again?’

  ‘No. But that doesn’t feel worth it.’

  ‘Give it a few years.’

  That seemed like it was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t.

  ‘I thought …’ I tried to work out a way to explain myself without sounding stupid. But it’s hard not to sound stupid when you’ve been stupid. ‘I kept thinking “What would Hannibal do?” as like, I dunno, a guide.’

  Robbie raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay. Well, that was dumb.’

  ‘It wasn’t …’ I was struggling to find the words. ‘It wasn’t about anything other than the fact that he’s always in control, you know? Like, he knows what he’s doing. I’ve never felt that way.’

  ‘No-one does,’ Robbie said. ‘But that doesn’t mean trying to be someone else will help. Another thing you’ll figure out eventually – it’s very hard to be anybody who isn’t you.’

  ‘I was though,’ I said. ‘With Juliet. I was different. Confident.’

  ‘Like you are with me,’ Robbie said. ‘Nelson, Juliet and Adele liked you for you.’

  She didn’t get it. I shook my head. ‘I’m a loser.’

  Robbie watched me for a moment. ‘You think you’re a loser because the real losers say you are. Pretty flawed logic, if you ask me.’

  ‘You say I have to be who I am. But what if I don’t like who I am?’

  Robbie grinned. ‘Well, that’s the exciting secret, Nelson. Who you are often turns out to be a lot more complicated than you think. And because it’s complicated, and because you’re only one person, you only see part of it. Other people see things you can’t. And sometimes the right person lets you see part of yourself you didn’t know was there.’

  I thought back to the first time I met Juliet, to the way she had made me feel confident and funny and able to talk without putting my foot in my mouth. I wasn’t sure I agreed with Robbie, but maybe she did have a point. Maybe.

  ‘What was the second reason?’ I asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said there were a couple of reasons you warned me. What was the second one?’

  ‘The second reason,’ she said slowly, ‘is one of those things that people struggle to learn by themselves. It’s that every person you meet has their own story. Every person is as much a person as you are: complicated and never quite what they seem. If you remember that, even when you don’t feel it can be true, it becomes a lot harder to hurt people.’

  I thought about Juliet and Adele. I thought about Madison, and Hayley. I thought, weirdly enough, about Dale Dickson; about all the times I’d ignored or not even imagined they might have their own fears and problems that I would never understand.

  I looked at Robbie and wondered how she could know so much.

  She seemed to sense the question I wasn’t asking. ‘Life, Nelson. It happens to the best of us. You’ll be okay.’

  23

  I didn’t see Juliet or Adele at all for the rest of the weekend. Sunday came and went, and I kept to myself. Occasionally I checked my phone, half hoping for a message, but none ever arrived.

  That didn’t change as we drove down the mountain on Sunday evening, Dad still raving about the race and me mostly silent.

  I felt weirdly split. On the one hand, despite all the grinning and congratulating I’d tried to avoid in the halls, I’d screwed up all the great things that had happened at the Gallagher, which made the lodge not much more appealing now than school had been between my visits.

  On the other hand, I couldn’t get what Robbie had said out of my mind. Nothing had really changed or been fixed, but the more I thought about her words, the more it seemed possible that things might get better – even if right now that happening was still about as far as you could get from a sure thing.

  When I walked into school on Monday, Jackson Riley met me with a loud laugh and an actual hug. For a few seconds I was confused, then I remembered the race. Word had spread fast and it turned out that school was also part of this weird parallel world where what I’d done was somehow cool. Which, by direct association, made me somehow cool. Or at least no longer someone idiots yelled ‘thinking’ at.

  I was stopped a few times by people who had either seen the race or heard about it. They wanted to know everything: why, how and whether it had really been me. I tried to smile along, or at least feel glad about the shift in my status, but the truth was, I just didn’t think what I’d done was in any way impressive.

  I’d wanted things to change at school for so long, and now that they had I almost missed being a loser. At least as a loser I’d known the kind of person I was.

  At lunchtime on Tuesday, I strode into the library with a thudding heart, sweaty palms and nothing close to a plan or a script in my head.

  I sat across from Madison, who was poring over what looked like a massive textbook, and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  She stared at me in obvious shock.

  ‘For the things I said and for being a jerk,’ I pushed on. ‘When you turned me down it hurt, and I didn’t know how to deal with it so I acted like a dickhead. I shouldn’t have done that. I’d really like to be friends if you don’t hate me.’

  For a few seconds she just carried on staring at me and I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘I saw Escape,’ she said.

  That wasn’t the response I’d been expecting. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The film you and Pat made. It’s on the school intranet. I stumbled on it when I was looking for those worksheets for English. It wasn’t bad, but I think you need to be more ambitious. I mean, I get that it was just a fun joke about the school, but I see the books you read. Surely you want to make more interesting stuff?’

  I had thought Escape was pretty interesting, but I nodded anyway.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because I’ve got some ideas.’ She lifted her book and showed me
the cover. Film Art: An Introduction.

  ‘That looks like more than an introduction,’ I said.

  ‘It’s really interesting. There’s some great theory in here. Lots about how to get the best shots, how to tell a story visually. I was thinking, if they do the film thing for activities week again, we should do it together. But this time let’s plan it. Write a proper script. Hold auditions, cast it, all of that. Do you have any ideas?’

  I tried to work out if this was a pity thing. I hadn’t known Madison liked film.

  Every person is as much a person as you are: complicated and never quite what they seem.

  ‘Yeah, I have one or two,’ I said.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s start brainstorming once I’m done with this book. I want to be sure we know what we’re doing. And apology accepted, by the way.’

  Feeling something between confused and glad, I got up to go. I took two steps, then turned back to Madison, who was engrossed in the book again.

  ‘Why a letter?’ I asked.

  She looked up. A slight redness touched her cheeks. ‘Why an email?’

  ‘I was too scared to call you.’

  ‘For future reference, it sucked.’

  ‘Is that why you wrote me a letter?’

  ‘Well, actually it … it seemed like the nicest way.’

  ‘For future reference,’ I said with a grin, ‘it sucked.’

  We looked at each other for a moment, then Madison burst out laughing. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I really didn’t know what I was doing.’

  I left the library feeling better than I had in a long time.

  Neither Adele nor Juliet were around the next weekend at the Gallagher. With Adele’s family’s pattern of skipping every second weekend pushed back, I guessed that from now on they’d be coming up at the same time. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But for now, having some time in the lodge without them was probably more than I could have asked for. Or deserved.

  My parents didn’t often use the staff room, and if they did turn up there it was usually only to tell somebody off or because they were moving between the kitchen and the sleeping area. So I was surprised to walk in on Saturday afternoon and find Mum there, alone, sitting on one of the couches, staring into space.

  My first instinct was to head out to the games room, but she looked drawn and haggard, so instead I walked over and sat across from her. She barely seemed to notice me.

  ‘Mum?’

  She shook her head slightly, as if coming out of a trance. ‘Hi Nelson.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  She rubbed her eyes. ‘Just tired. Trying to muster the motivation for another night of it.’

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘You hadn’t noticed?’

  I wanted to point out that I’d had my own stuff going on, but I knew she wouldn’t care, so I just shrugged.

  ‘I think your dad and I bit off a lot more than we can chew, trying to run the lodge and the restaurant at the same time,’ she said. ‘The money seemed great, but everything up here is about five times more expensive than Snow Point. And the staff are ten times more unreliable.’

  Matt’s sudden departure seemed even more selfish now.

  ‘I know we haven’t been around much,’ she said. ‘But it’s been hard. Much harder than we expected. I’ll be glad when the season’s done. It’ll be nice to breathe again.’

  Something was tightening in my chest.

  ‘Will you … will you run it differently next year?’ I asked.

  She looked steadily at me. The tightening increased.

  ‘We’re not coming back,’ she said.

  ‘But … next year is a long time away.’ The words sounded rushed and desperate even to me. ‘After a rest —’

  Mum was shaking her head. ‘It’s not viable, Nelson. We’re only two people, and making the trip up and down all the time has been a nightmare. And besides, I’m not convinced any of this has been great for you.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with our staff. And I don’t know that they’ve been a good influence.’

  ‘I’m not a kid.’

  ‘You’re not an adult either. That stunt with the race … You might have impressed your dad, but it was beyond embarrassing. Nelson, I get it, okay? I was your age once. I had a life before you. I get how exciting this all would have seemed. But other people aren’t as understanding.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mum sighed and looked away. ‘I mean I had to deal with one of the board members coming and yelling at me about the fact that you made his daughter cry.’

  I closed my eyes. A burning, terrible shame was filling my stomach. ‘You didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Because I know you’re a teenager and I know these things happen. I get it. But it’s hardly helped our position up here.’

  I looked at her. I could feel my eyes prickling and I hated it. ‘I could apologise,’ I said. ‘To him. If it means we can come back next year.’

  ‘It’s not him you need to apologise to,’ she said, a little gentler. ‘Nelson, that isn’t the reason we’re not coming back. There’s a lot that’s gone on you haven’t seen. Partly because we just haven’t had the time to be there for you.’

  ‘You’re never there for me.’

  Her eyes widened slightly. I braced for the attack.

  ‘All the more reason for us to stay down from the mountain next year,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Nelson.’

  She’d gone before I could say another word.

  Late that night, as the restaurant closed and most of the guests headed off to their rooms, I walked through the main hall, running a hand along the walls of the old building. I paused at a window and looked out into the night; it was illuminated by the golden lights of the lifts reflecting off the snow in the misty darkness. Eerie and otherworldly and beautiful. A different planet.

  I rested my head against the glass and tried not to think about a world where I didn’t have the Gal to look forward to; not only not every weekend, but never again.

  I made a quiet promise to myself. When I turned eighteen – four years away – and when I finished school, I would come and work up here. Maybe some of the old staff would still be around. Maybe Robbie would keep working here for a while. And maybe, if I couldn’t have this same experience next year, there was a chance I could again, one day.

  Maybe.

  Near the window was a door that opened onto the snowy balcony. I stepped out into the cold, shivering slightly, walked over to the icy railing and placed my hands on it, ignoring the freezing bite. I took a breath of the cold mountain air, looked into the night and thought about Juliet.

  I’d realised something in the last couple of days. I might have apologised, but Juliet had been right: she had no reason to believe I meant it. And in truth, nor did I. Apologising when you do the wrong thing is important, but it doesn’t count for much if you don’t understand how the other person feels.

  Standing there in the snow, I imagined a scenario where the roles were reversed. Where I’d met just Juliet up here and fallen for her. Then, maybe I’d gone to Melbourne to visit her and found out she had a boyfriend down there. I tried to imagine what that would be like and my hands tightened around the railing. The idea made my stomach lurch and my teeth clench. Would I be angry? Humiliated? Betrayed? Confused? Hurt?

  All of the above. Which was an awful cocktail of emotions to force one person to swallow, let alone two.

  I stayed there in the cold and the wind until the last lights of the lodge went out.

  24

  I caught Adele outside the restaurant the next weekend. She was trailing in after her parents, eyes determinedly ahead.

  I promised her annoyed-looking mum and dad that I’d only be a moment, and waited until I was sure they were out of earshot before continuing. Adele’s arms were folded, her eyes focused on the ground.

  ‘Look, I just … I really wanted to apologise. Agai
n. For all of it. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but that doesn’t count for much, considering I did.’

  She glanced up at me briefly.

  ‘Adele, I don’t expect you to forgive me,’ I said. ‘But I do think you’re great and I want to be friends. But if you don’t … that’s okay too.’

  ‘Why should I believe you?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I mean, I’m telling the truth but … but I can see why that would be hard to believe.’

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said. ‘You’re a selfish idiot.’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t really know who I am. But I know who I don’t want to be.’

  She looked at me for a long time. Then she smiled. It was tiny, barely a twitch, but it was there.

  ‘I’ll see you around, Nelson,’ she said, before heading into the restaurant.

  I didn’t see Juliet until Sunday evening.

  Some function had kept Dad working late in the kitchen, so I’d taken the chance to stay out on the slopes for as long as possible. When the first hints of sunset crept into the pale blue sky, I walked back to the Gal, skis over my shoulder, and I saw her leaning against the wooden fence that fronted the lodge, looking out to the distant mountains.

  I froze in the middle of the road, before a loud beep reminded me I was in the middle of the road, making me scurry the rest of the way. Juliet looked over at the sound of the commotion. I wasn’t close enough to see, but I was sure she rolled her eyes as I hurried up the driveway towards her. She returned her gaze to the view and said nothing as I leaned my skis against the fence and stood beside her.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  Her face remained impassive.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’ve said that.’

  ‘I’m saying it again.’

  ‘I heard you the first time.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean it’s stopped being true.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I believe you. Did you say the same thing to Adele?’