Head of the River

by Pip Harry

  But I hold up my oar as the coffin passes because it’s the right way to honour him, standing there straight and tall in my school blazer and polished shoes. The coffin is draped in the school’s rowing flag. I’m not sure that’s what Adam would have wanted, in the end, but it does the job of stopping us from looking too hard at the wooden box, and thinking of Adam lying inside it.

  ‘We go inside,’ Dad says, taking my oar and putting it back in the trailer.

  Inside the church it’s stuffy and everyone fans themselves with the picture of Adam’s smiling face. There’s a few prayers and hymns and his brothers speak at the pulpit, their voices cracking.

  ‘Easy oar, Adam,’ says Oliver, a traditional call to stop rowing. ‘Rest.’

  Adam’s mum sits bent over and shaking through the service. Mitch changes seats in the middle of the funeral and goes to sit beside her. Sharing their unbearable loss.

  A final song is played over the loudspeakers, filling up the cavernous, gothic cathedral, right up to the vaulted ceilings and down the long aisle. On a big screen are scrolling pictures of Adam. Adam as a cheeky little boy on a bike, Adam jumping on a trampoline with his brothers, Adam rowing in last year’s winning first eight, me behind him. Adam in black tie going to our Year Eleven formal with Leni. All our memories of him in one stupid montage.

  There isn’t a single person in the room who isn’t bawling. Leni cries from the moment the funeral begins, to the moment it ends. When it’s over, Mum takes her back to the car to fold her – crumpled and exhausted – in the back seat.

  I walk slowly down the aisle behind Dad, who is dressed in a dark suit and tie, his hands and fingernails clean, hair brushed. Outside, the light is so bright it hurts my eyes. Trams ching their horns, cars drive, people walk to their jobs, sipping takeaway coffees. The world keeps moving, even if I feel like it should be still and silent.

  I stop behind Dad as he claps Mitch on the shoulder and says loud enough for me to overhear.

  ‘If my son died, they must bury my heart with his body.’

  He hugs Mitch. Longer than I have ever seen two grown men hug, and Mitch lets out a high-pitched sob. Dad releases Mitch, grabs my hand and walks towards the car in a very straight line. The last time he held my hand, I was in kindergarten.

  I go to the wake at the Toorak mansion I was thrown out of last year. There’s no security guard at the door. No caterers or bar staff. Everyone’s brought a plate of food and Adam’s brothers and other relatives are fetching drinks. There’s no laughing. No smiling. No short skirts or flirting. The dress code is black. This isn’t a celebration of a life well lived. It’s a mourning of a life cut short. I drink a beer and sit with my former crew by the pool, peeling the label from the slippery bottle. I stare into the water and the shimmering blue tiles, feeling numb. An early autumn leaf the colour of a red delicious apple flutters down on its surface and there’s a chill in the air. Summer is winding down.

  Penny has been standing with the girls’ eight, but she opens the child-gate to the pool, walks over and sits down next to me.

  ‘Hey,’ she says.

  ‘Hey.’

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, and for once, I don’t try to fill it.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to say thanks, for the flowers,’ Penny says.

  I stare at her.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You’re a giant,’ she reminds me. ‘You can’t hide behind a tree.’

  ‘I was trying to say sorry.’

  She puts her arms around my waist and leans in, so I can smell the shampoo on her hair. That coconut scent I’ve longed for. I close my eyes, breathe it in. A tear drips from my nose. I feel released.

  ‘Why are you hugging me?’

  ‘Because you need it.’

  ‘And what about you?’ I ask.

  ‘I need it too. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay,’ she whispers.

  For some reason, I believe her.

  I gather my old crew outside the Langley mansion. We stand in a cold wind by the hedges I once tried to pull down in a rage.

  Nobody knows what I have to say and how hard it is for me to say it.

  ‘What’s up, Poppa?’ asks Julian. Everyone is tired. Emotional. We all want to go home to our families.

  ‘I didn’t hurt my back,’ I say to the group. ‘I was caught taking steroids and diet pills. I was kicked off the team.’

  ‘I knew it!’ says Damo. He’s angry. I don’t blame him.

  ‘I don’t want to get into a fight, not today, but I do want to apologise to all of you. I was told I didn’t have to admit my guilt, but I want to. It’s the right thing to do.’

  Nick looks at me, shaking his head. ‘We could’ve won with you in the boat.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘How are we ever going to know that now?’

  Mum picks me up from the wake. Dad’s in the car with her.

  ‘Still want to do this?’ she asks.

  ‘Yep. But drive quickly before I change my mind.’

  We park outside the police station and my parents come in with me for support. Their standing by me makes it easier to do this.

  We walk past the parked white cars and the blue-and-white checked sign outside. I push on the door and into the sterile reception area and straight up to the desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asks a receptionist.

  I can’t seem to find my voice and Mum leans into the counter.

  ‘My son would like to report the supply of anabolic steroids and performance-enhancing drugs to minors at the Fitness Now gym in Toorak.’

  She squeezes my arm and I feel no regrets. It’s too late to get Adam back, but I can tell the truth, all of it, even the bits that make me look bad.

  Leni

  I’m feeling pretty low in the days and weeks after Adam’s funeral. Stuck at home, only my books and study for company. The walls of my bedroom are starting to close in. I’m supposed to be resting but a knock on the front door is a welcome surprise. I put on my ugg boots and get out of bed. Through the glass I see Sam Cam standing on my doorstep. I open the door, even though I’m not sure I want to see him.

  ‘Hi Leni,’ he says, smiling.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Blah. What you got there?’ I ask.

  It’s hard to miss. He’s carrying an oar in bubble-wrap.

  ‘Shall I bring it in?’ he asks.

  I hold open the door and he brings the long oar into the house, puts it down on the living room floor.

  ‘Am I allowed to open it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s yours.’

  I rip off the bubble-wrap. The blade is painted with the names of our crew. Head of the River champions. It’s my very own trophy oar.

  Sam looks at the oars already hung up on our walls.

  He holds mine up underneath. ‘Should go nicely, right about here,’ he says.

  ‘Did you do this?’ I ask.

  ‘No. Everyone in your crew got one.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, feeling silly that I thought Sam had gone to any special trouble.

  ‘They had a ceremony at assembly. I volunteered to bring it over to you. Thought it might cheer you up. I’m also saying goodbye.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  I knew Sam wouldn’t stick around, but I thought he’d stay until the end of the year at least.

  ‘Dad’s relocating to California. I’m going to finish my last year of high school over there and then transfer to Berkley.’

  ‘Berkley college? Ivy league?’

  ‘Yeah. They offered me a sporting scholarship. I’ll be rowing crew for them for a few years.’

  ‘Oh. That’s really far away.’

  I feel deflated. Sam’s heading off on a big adventure, and I’m stuck spinning my wheels here.
Hoping to be able to get enough strength to walk around the block. I’m jealous.

  ‘I thought maybe you’d get an offer, too,’ says Sam.

  I’m still smarting from being snubbed by the US scouts. From not being able to trial for the AIS or win the gold medal at nationals with the rest of my crew. Not doing anything is more frustrating than anything I’ve ever done.

  ‘Not this year. They said I needed more time in the boat. Doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to go to the US anyway.’

  ‘Will you keep rowing?’ Sam asks.

  That’s a question even I can’t answer. ‘I dunno. Maybe.’

  Sam hugs me and I know I probably won’t see him again for a long time. Maybe not ever. He’s gone, like he said he would be. ‘I’ll miss you, Leni Popescu.’

  ‘Me too, Samuel Camero.’

  I watch him leave from the doorstep and realise, finally, who it was that Sam loved the most. Not me. Not Bee. Not some random American girl he was sure to fall into bed with. Sam’s one true love is rowing. It had been all along.

  When I’m finally able to take a shower without having to rest afterwards and my throat doesn’t hurt to swallow and my face stops looking like a glob of marshmallow, I decide to go for a walk.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ asks Mum, thrilled I’m leaving the house. My bum has left a permanent imprint on the couch and I’ve watched more TV than I have in my whole life. She’s been fussing, too, worrying how I’m coping.

  ‘When Dad gets home I thought I’d put a barbie on. Maybe some steaks? Get some iron into you. You look so pale.’

  Dad’s at land training at the Victorian Institute of Sport with his new crew. After the school season he was asked to coach the state under-22 crew for a trans-Tasman regatta in New Zealand. Westie says he’ll move him up to coach the second boat next season. I’m proud of him. He’s worked hard on his English and there’s no one on the river who knows more about the technical side of rowing.

  ‘Just a walk, I’ll be back for dinner,’ I say. ‘Thanks for looking after me, Mum.’

  ‘Take it easy,’ Mum says. ‘You’re still getting your strength back remember.’

  ‘It’s a walk, Mum.’

  I leave the house and look right, then left. It’s one of those walks where you set off, not sure where you’re going. As well as getting out of the house I need to get out of my head. It’s been a few weeks since the funeral, but I think about Adam every day. I miss him.

  ‘How ya going, luv?’ a homeless man says, sitting in a pile of his belongings outside the TAB.

  ‘You look happy,’ he says.

  ‘I am happy. I’m walking. I’m out of the house,’ I say.

  ‘God bless you, gorgeous. You keep on walking.’

  ‘I will.’

  I take a tram to the city and wander around the uneven pink stones of Federation Square, past Cristian’s bells that mended my broken heart, past the tram stop that once took me to Sam’s lonely apartment; down to the boatsheds that welcomed my dad to Australia; past the river that made me stronger; the ergos that broke my spirit and the photos and plaques that tell the history of who I am.

  There’s been so much going on since Adam’s funeral. The news that he died as a result of performance-enhancing drug abuse shocked everyone, but not our family. The huge training and steroids use combined caused his heart muscle to overgrow and shut down.

  The school swung into action, putting into place random drug testing across all senior sports. A new anti-doping education program funded by the Langley family trust will be rolled out next year. Charges were laid on the trainer at Fitness Now gym, thanks to Cristian’s testimony. I was proud of him standing up to the label of being a cheat. It helped that he had Penny to back him up. They turned out to be the perfect couple after all. At least one of us got a Disney ending.

  I end up facing a crammed noticeboard at the Mercantile Club.

  SIGN UP!

  VICTORIAN YOUTH 8 SQUAD

  I run my hand over the paper and look at all the names that have already signed up. There are forty at least. Girls from all over the river. All schools. All abilities. All sizes and shapes. All of them throwing their hat in the ring. Wanting to be part of it, still.

  I step out to the balcony, looking at a crew of masters women getting ready for a late row. They’re wrinkled and weathered, bellies stretched from babies and living. They gossip and laugh as they set up oars on the bank, fill up their water bottles and lightly carry the boat out to the staging. One of them looks up at me, smiles and waves.

  ‘Leni!’

  I look closer. It’s a friend of Mum’s. A former crewmate she sometimes had round for coffee. I don’t remember her name. My parents have so many rowing friends it’s hard to keep track. For some reason, they all know my name.

  ‘See you out there?’ she calls.

  ‘Maybe!’

  She laughs. ‘You can’t fight it. It’s in your genes.’

  I laugh, too. Because she’s right. This sport runs through my veins like river water.

  The four women roll up together and take off with a set of beautiful, precise strokes. The light is fading and all that’s left are the dark outlines of their bodies. For a moment, they look like a schoolgirl crew.

  I turn to head down the stairs, back home for dinner before my parents begin to worry. But I can’t shake the feeling I’ve forgotten something. I backtrack to the noticeboard and the sign-up sheet. I stare at it for a few minutes, listening to the sound of my heart beating in my wrist and neck. I take the pen and write my name down in capital letters.

  LENI POPESCU.

  I add my mobile number, knowing that when my phone rings for the first training session, I’ll be ready.

  Acknowledgements

  This book would still be half-finished without the generosity of the Australia Council Arts Literature board.

  Thank you to my family, Dale and Sophie, I’m so lucky to have you. To Mary Harry, world’s best Mum and my inspiring sisters, Sarah and Nicola. To my sensitive and wise ‘first readers’ Michael Harry and Sarah Minns – you were the perfect choice to entrust with a book that was still taking shape.

  The subject matter of this book is very close to my heart. Many thanks to my father, John Harry, for introducing me to the sport of rowing and sharing a love of competition. Melbourne’s Yarra River will always be ‘Dad’s River’ to me. Thanks to Donna Harry for babysitting Soph so I could sneak away to the Surry Hills Library to write.

  A section of this novel was written in the cottage at Ten Ten farm. Thanks to my hosts, Ann and Michael Keaney, for the beautiful setting and sustenance.

  Thanks to those who took a special interest: Ian and Heather Saynor, Margaret McKenzie, Ken McKenzie, Mike and Penny Clarey, Rachel Smith, April and Maz Huxley, Eddie and Monica Buck and Susan Kelly. To my mother’s group for being there (with coffee) and Sharlene Miller-Brown for steadying my nerves on the tricky business of writing a second book.

  To all the rowers I sat in a boat with, but especially Kate Barnett, Ingrid Just, Lucinda Johnson and Yvette Keating.

  To my agent Sophie Hamley and the lovely UQP team – Kristina Schulz, Michele Perry and Meredene Hill. And to my editor Jody Lee who was there for long chats about the intentions of heart-stoppingly gorgeous boys.

  To Olympic oarsman Ion Popa, for talking to me about Romania and adjusting to life in Australia, and Simone Bird for giving me an insight into school rowing. To Annabelle Eaton and the MGGS rowers who let me ride along with my notepad while they were training. And to my cousin, Dr Jamie Clarey, who provided medical advice. Any mistake is the fault of the arts graduate.

  To the book bloggers – you know who you are. Thank you for loving Australian YA.

  I’LL TELL YOU MINE

  Pip Harry

  Kate Elliot isn’t trying to fit in.

  E
verything about her – especially her goth make-up and clothes – screams different and the girls at her school keep their distance. Besides, how can Kate be herself, really herself, when she’s ­hiding her big secret? The one that landed her in boarding school in the first place. She’s buried it down deep but it always seems to surface.

  But then sometimes new friends, and even love, can find you when you least expect it.

  So how do you take that first step and reveal yourself when you’re not sure that people want to know the real you?

  ‘I loved it. It has three of my favourite ingredients: boarding school, great characters, and a lot of heart.’ Melina Marchetta

  ‘What an angst-ridden, passionate and funny story!’ Good Reading

  ‘A beautiful debut told in a crisp, clear voice by an author who has expertly captured the struggle to find your identity, fall in love, and survive high school.’ Viewpoint

  ISBN 978 0 7022 3938 0

  THE HAUNTING OF LILY FROST

  Nova Weetman

  This room holds secrets, and even if they are of the dark-frightening type, I love secrets more than anything else.

  When Lily Frost’s parents move her from the only home and best friend she’s ever known to a country town called Gideon, things are dire. Lily knows no one – but someone seems to know her. And that someone isn’t exactly the welcoming type.

  Upon entering her new attic bedroom, Lily faints. Coming to, she’s overcome by the whispers of secrets. Determined to find out why, Lily is thrown into the path of cute local boy Danny. He’s not giving anything away, so it’s up to Lily to make sense of the watery footprints on her floor and the cold air that constantly seeps into her bones.

  For Lily, life in this small town is about to get very interesting as she find herself seeing things she thought belonged to the dead.