Mum’s crouching down at the oven when I go downstairs.
‘I’m going out,’ I say to the back of her head.
The oven thuds shut, Mum turns and her face falls. ‘But I’ve made a chicken casserole.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve already eaten.’
I watch her eyes travel down. Hair. Make-up. Skinny jeans. Heels. Go on, say something.
‘Scarlett, we need to talk.’ She places both hands on the back of a chair. ‘I know you’re upset, but you can’t keep avoiding me.’
‘What’s there to talk about?’
‘You need to understand what your father was going through.’ She leans over the chair, eyes searching mine. ‘It’s not easy for me to talk about, but now that you know some of what happened I think you should hear all of it.’
‘Oh, and you’re going to tell me now, are you?’ I’m nodding sarcastically, angrily. ‘You never understood him, so what makes you think you can explain it to me? I know where he was that night and I don’t blame him.’
Mum turns away and for a moment I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Why am I torturing her like this?
Because she’s here. And he isn’t.
I shake my head. ‘You lied to me, Mum. How could you do that?’
There’s a pause before she turns back to me. ‘Actually, the lying was easy. It’s telling the truth that’s hard.’
‘Yeah? Well, good luck with that.’ I’m out of the kitchen and into the hall.
‘Wait, Scarlett.’ Mum rushes after me. ‘At least tell me where you’re going.’
I spin around. ‘Out.’
It’s like she’s been slapped in the face, and I know why. She can’t do anything to stop me.
I catch a bus into Central, then a taxi. The driver is helpful, taking me to the road that Moss lives on, then slowing down while I peer up driveways for the right set of gates.
It feels strange driving up to that huge house. What must the taxi driver think?
Moss opens the door. ‘Heeeey.’ Even cuter than I remember, and barefoot again. He places a hand on my back and guides me inside.
It’s just the inner sanctum here tonight. I’m not sure how I know, maybe from how relaxed everyone is, lounging around the living room. The coffee table is full of bottles and ashtrays. I try to ignore the smoke. Bruno introduces me to Bryn, the pencil-thin guitarist, and his girlfriend Rachel, the keyboard player with short blonde hair. Six or seven more names are given to me and I only manage to hold on to one or two.
All the couches and armchairs are taken so Moss drags a dining chair over for me. I feel out of place sitting on it, too upright. Then he hands me a glass of something that’s bubbly and clear, and disappears again. The drink tastes bitter, but it grows on me as I sip.
‘Hey,’ says a guy with long hair on the couch beside my chair. He holds out a hand-rolled cigarette. A joint, I guess.
I scrunch up my nose. ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘It’s against my religion.’
The guy just blinks.
‘Here,’ says Bruno from my other side, reaching across to take the joint. He sucks it before passing it on.
There’s talk of music charts, and someone who’s had food poisoning. When the joint comes around again, the guy leans forwards in his seat, holding it out awkwardly for Bruno, so I take it and pass it on. It smells sweet and mild.
‘Sick dancing,’ says Bruno. He coughs and punches his chest with a balled fist.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The “Everywhere” video. Wicked dancing.’
‘Oh … thanks.’
Bruno leans forward. ‘No, really, I mean it. I don’t know much about that stuff, but I can tell what’s good, you know?’
This time I relax into a smile. ‘Well then, thanks.’
He grunts in response. ‘Did you know that Moss wrote that song about his sister?’
‘Really?’ This time it’s my turn to lean forwards as the lines of the song come back to me. There’s no-one there … where is she? She’s everywhere. ‘I thought it was about some girl who left him.’
‘Nah.’ Bruno swallows and places a beer stubby on the floor beside him. ‘Moss was eight when she died. Something to do with her heart.’
‘How old was she?’ I take the joint from the guy beside me and pass it to Bruno.
‘Not sure.’ He sucks on the end. ‘Older, though, like twelve.’
By now Moss is opposite me, listening to a guy and laughing at what he says. His eyes flicker my way. The guy says something else, making Moss nod. He walks over and takes the joint from Bruno, sucking slowly with his eyes fixed on mine.
Moss steps close and leans in. I feel the press of his hand on my thigh, his lips on mine as he kisses me in front of everyone.
Instead of the taste of his breath, I end up with a mouth full of smoke. The surprise makes me gasp and pull away, coughing.
Everyone laughs, even Moss. ‘Don’t worry, everyone does that at first.’
I just glare at him.
‘Hey mate, leave the kid alone,’ says Bruno softly.
Moss is still watching me as he sucks at the joint again. He breathes in deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs as he says, ‘More?’
I stand up. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ I sound like a child.
He drops his hand to one side. ‘Hey, come on, babe, I thought you’d like it.’
I try to suppress a twinge of excitement. I’m still annoyed but now everyone knows that we’re together.
For a moment I consider those grey-blue eyes. ‘Here.’ I reach over for the joint. ‘I can handle it on my own.’
On my own terms. This has to be on my terms.
Eyes on him, I suck on the end of the joint, trying not to cough. I end up hiccupping, eyes watering.
Everyone laughs again, but it’s with a sense of relief. Talking begins again.
Moss smiles and kisses me properly. ‘I’m sorry. Okay?’
Through the haze, I nod.
Someone calls out to Moss at the bar. ‘I’ll be back,’ he says.
I can feel Bruno watching me but I ignore him and sit back down. This chair is too tall, too upright, so I slip onto the floor, tuck my legs to one side and lean on a hand.
‘Hey kid, do you want to sit here?’ asks Bruno, offering his armchair.
‘Nah, thanks. I’m fine.’ Everything’s fine.
There’s a thick rug down here. I trace a finger over the pattern. Someone hands me a bowl with small balls of chocolate.
I take one, pop it in my mouth and suck until it melts. So sweet, with a peanut inside. I can’t remember the last time I had chocolate or peanuts, definitely not since starting at the Academy. I take a handful and pass the bowl on. My whole mouth fills with sweetness and I feel high on sugar. When the bowl comes around again, I scoop another handful.
Something inside me watches in horror. What the hell are you doing? But I push the thought back. I’ll have just a few more.
Time seems to pass in slow motion. Moss keeps appearing and disappearing again.
At one point, I find myself staring at a clock on the wall. Big hand on the nine. Little hand nearly at the one. That can’t be right. I check my phone to find two missed calls from Mum. Glad I switched it to silent.
I stand up and glide to Moss at the bar. ‘I’m going to go now,’ I manage. ‘Thanks for ah … having me.’
He shakes his head. ‘You don’t have to go.’
‘I … I have rehearsal tomorrow.’ Or is that today?
His hand slips into the small of my back. ‘Can’t you stay tonight?’
I could, really. I even packed my bag. But I can’t help thinking that I shouldn’t be here. I should be somewhere else.
‘Come on.’ Moss takes a drink to someone at the coffee table and says something to Bruno.
Then he’s back and smiling, leading me into the bedroom.
It’s that easy. Now that I’ve done it once, I know what to expect.
The shadows are d
eeper tonight. We’re on the bed in a moment and Moss has pulled on a condom. My mind focuses on small things. Skin, sweat, the smell of his sheets. At times it’s hard to tell where my body ends and where his begins.
Afterwards, Moss reaches for a cigarette like he did last time. I watch him flick the lighter, feeling as if I’m part of the ritual.
I rest my head on his shoulder and follow the drifting smoke. It reminds me of last time I was here. My first. I think about the morning after, seeing that champagne glass with lipstick on the rim.
Moss is halfway through the cigarette when I shift a little. ‘So, what about that model you were with at the afterparty? Kitty Hudson?’ I ask.
His chest moves as he looks at me. ‘What about her?’
‘What would she say if she saw us here, like this?’
Moss breathes out and a ring of smoke drifts past my head. ‘It’s all right. She’s cool.’
Cool? ‘So you’re still seeing her?’
‘Sure. Look …’ Moss shifts onto his elbows and sits up. ‘I thought you knew how this would work.’
I shuffle backwards onto a pillow. I don’t want to sound like a kid. I can be cool too.
‘Listen, Scarlett.’ Moss stubs out the cigarette and looks at me. ‘Think about it. You don’t want to be tied down any more than I do. People like us … we need our freedom.’
There’s a pause as he watches me consider. People like us. So I nod and smile. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ All that matters is that I’m here with Moss, in this moment, with nothing between us.
He picks up my hand, kissing the palm and pulling me close. ‘Want another drink?’
I rest my head back on his shoulder and settle in. ‘Nah, thanks. I’m fine.’ Everything’s fine.
ELEVEN
Somehow I make it to rehearsal on time, a takeaway coffee downed on the way and nothing to eat. Those stupid chocolate peanuts sit at the back of my mind. I won’t make that mistake again.
At first everyone’s slow, still waking up. For some reason I feel more limber than usual, as if I’m already warm. Jack starts marking out the finale, a cabaret number that uses the whole class. There’s a lot of formation work and two places where I’ll be doing lifts with Grant and Lachlan.
The section is full of complicated turns and high kicks.
I hit each kick as if I’m already performing, giving my all before I even know what step comes next. The harder I sweat, the better I feel. It’s purging my impurities.
As we work I see Jack watching me, rubbing the back of his neck. At one point he calls, ‘Easy, Scarlett. You don’t have to hit it so hard.’
I don’t take any notice. This is how I have to do it. After last night, I’m reclaiming my body. Now I’m back in control.
After another hour, Jack calls a break. I head down to the cafeteria for another coffee, carrying a cup back up to find everyone sitting against a wall, listening to Tadpole talk about his cousin’s wedding.
I settle in beside Paige and manoeuvre the lid off my coffee. It’s hot, but I sip anyway.
Paige nudges me and I turn, thinking she’s about to say something. But she’s holding a clump of my hair, sniffing. Her nose scrunches and I feel the jab of bony elbow.
‘Where were you last night?’
I shrug. ‘Moss had a few friends over. Just a quiet one.’
Her eyebrows go up. ‘And you were smoking?’
‘No!’ I frown into my coffee. ‘Other people were. I didn’t have time to wash my hair.’
Tadpole and the others are looking at me. ‘You’ve been hanging out with Moss Young?’
I give her another shrug. ‘Sort of.’
Izzy pulls out of a stretch. ‘Ooh! Does that mean we can meet him?’
‘Sure. Next time he’s playing a gig, you should come,’ I smile. ‘We’ll hit the dance floor.’
‘Okay.’ She leans forward, pushing her toes and working on her arches. ‘Though, maybe, like, after we graduate? My legs ache just thinking about it.’
Grant’s been quiet, frowning my way. When he sees me look over, he turns away.
Whatever he’s thinking, he has it wrong.
Then Jack calls us back, and I’m first up and ready to work.
I come to the end of a section and turn to see Paige watching from the back of the room. She has her head tilted and lips pushed together. We’ve hardly had time to talk lately, so I raise my eyebrows, just between us. All okay?
She gives me a tight smile, not offering anything else. Then she moves to the side and starts marking through the steps, eyebrows pinched in determination.
I turn away and mark the section out from the start again.
Let’s see what I really can handle. Let’s push to the edge.
When I get home I’m too tired to do homework. I take a shower, hoping to wash the tension away. It only works skin deep. I think about calling Moss but decide against it. I can be cool too.
Mum’s not home. Not sure where she is and I don’t really care.
For a while I just lie on my bed, too tired to sleep. I’ve been pushing myself so hard I’m not sure how to switch off. My eyes wander to the photo of Dad on the wall. His hair is the same dark red as mine. His mouth is open, about to react. I sit up and peer close into his eyes. What was it like for him then? What was it like trying to work through the pain?
Soon the front door bangs and shopping bags rustle in the kitchen. The sounds draw me down, and I stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame. ‘I’m home.’
Mum stops, a strand of hair flopped over one eye. ‘I can see. How did rehearsal go?’
‘Okay.’
She’s still watching me, holding a tomato punnet, waiting for me to say more.
She’ll be waiting a while. Once I start talking, it will be a sign that I’ve forgiven her and I’m not doing that anytime soon.
‘Have you eaten?’ says Mum. ‘I can heat up some chicken casserole.’
‘No.’ It’s the only word that I want to say to her right now, but she sets about warming the casserole on the stove anyway.
‘I’m fine, really. Too tired to eat.’
‘Okay,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll just leave it simmering.’ She heads into the living room and switches on the TV.
The saucepan beckons to me. I lift the lid and watch the casserole bubbling gently. I give it a stir, then taste a tiny bit from the wooden spoon. It’s warm and full of flavour.
I scoop at the casserole, standing as I eat. I wipe sauce from my cheeks and lick it from off the back of my hand before scooping again. Before I realise what I’m doing, the saucepan’s empty. Tiredness sinks into me.
I head back upstairs, at last able to sleep.
I keep thinking about Moss, wanting to call him and stopping myself. Don’t call him. Don’t call …
People like us, we need our freedom.
I consider heading back to the Dixie Bar, but if I do that on my own again I know how it will look. Besides, I don’t have any money left for drinks and taxi fares. And there’s no way I’m asking Mum.
The only time I’m not tempted to call him is when I’m dancing, so I’m at rehearsal before the others and into a studio when everyone is leaving. My life becomes a series of extremes, doing more than I have to do, working harder than ever. Pointe shoes, street shoes. Tights on, tights off. Dance, sleep and wake up to dance again. The twinges and aches are comforting, they tell me my body is working as hard as I need it to.
Five weeks out from opening night, I come home to find my mail on the hall table. Dancer magazine, and a letter that makes my heart thud. My name is printed on the front with MPG Studios’ address in the corner. This could be the reference from Natasha. Maybe she gave up waiting for me or Mum to call back.
I pick up the letter and slide my finger in, tearing it carefully at first then ripping the envelope open. Inside is a single page headed ‘Remittance Advice’, with lines and figures. I flip it over, then flip back, disappointed. It’s not a reference.
>
Then I reconsider. In some ways it’s even better; proof that I can make it in the real world.
My first-ever payment for dancing.
Slowly I head upstairs, reading the numbers and coming to understand what they mean. Money means freedom. I don’t need Mum for cash. And even though my mantra of not calling Moss is still going around in my head, it morphs into an idea. I have money for the Dixie Bar now, and a reason to call him. It won’t seem desperate if there’s a reason.
I sit on the bed with my phone in my hands. Who knows what he’ll be doing at this time of day. I select the number.
‘Y-ello,’ says Moss.
‘Oh, hey, Moss. It’s Scarlett here.’
‘Baaaaabe.’ Then there’s an awkward pause as I wait for him to say more. Nothing comes.
‘So, what’re you up to?’ I say, and cringe.
‘Trying to write a song, as it turns out.’ His tone goes flat and makes me wish I could backtrack.
I launch straight in. ‘Some of my friends were hoping to catch you at the Dixie Bar, and I was wondering if you could put my name on the door again for Saturday night?’ I bite my lip. ‘It would help get them in since a couple are underage.’ I won’t say which ones.
‘Sure. Tell you what. I’ll keep it there ongoing. VIP for my girl, eh?’
‘Brilliant!’ I’m on my feet and bouncing. How could a dumb phrase like that make me feel so alive? The last time I felt like this was the last time I saw him. It’s not just the idea of seeing Moss again; I want Paige to meet him too. Once she meets Moss she’ll see how great he is and I’ll be able to talk properly to her again. ‘Thanks!’ I say to Moss. ‘That’s … fantastic.’
‘No problem.’
Again there’s a pause and I decide to get out while the going’s good. ‘Great! Well … I’ll see you then?’
‘Okay, bye.’
That didn’t go too badly.
The next day at school, I pick my moment.
Tadpole’s in maths when Paige and I have human development. She’s already set up when I get there, so I slip in next to her.
‘So, Moss is playing at the Dixie Bar again on Saturday night.’ Her head hardly moves, but her eyes slide my way, so I keep going. ‘I thought we could have a bit of a dance, say hello before he goes on. It doesn’t have to be a late night.’
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