‘Too right!’ he says. We are both laughing now, ‘Hang around babe! There is no end to my admirable qualities.’
Hey! I think to myself, I can do this. I’m getting good at it.
Nat and I are getting on so well that, amazingly enough, I more or less forget about the Alisha factor. When he tells me about his two older brothers and one younger sister – all of them intent on pleasing their father, a magistrate – I simply nod and listen to what he tells me, forgetting for a moment that this is a family that Zoe and I used to wonder about and ridicule. Oh sure, Alisha is there in the back of my head. I know who he is talking about when he says in passing that his parents actually encourage his little sister to get sucked into all the materialistic crap that he hates, but I conveniently push it to the side.
I can hear the party hotting up inside. In spite of the crappy music, I want to go back in there and dance, but he seems keen to keep talking.
‘So tell me about yourself Rose,’ he says. ‘What are you hoping to do?’
I can hardly believe this, but within a few minutes I’m, like, spilling all the beans. I’m appalled with myself – even while I’m doing it – but I can’t seem to stop! I’ve never had a nice guy pay me any attention before, so it’s the novelty factor, I guess. When we’re out together, Zoe is the one they all talk to. She knows how to tease and flirt and get them feeling good and . . . that’s okay. I honestly don’t mind.
So even though I’ve only had two drinks, I start telling him everything.
About Dad the barrister and how great he is. About wanting to be a barrister myself. About all those egotistical dreams of doing important work: walking the world stage as an ambassador for the UN, or working in the Third World with Amnesty. And I don’t stop there. I tell him my views on international politics. What’s happening in the Middle East. Asia. Africa. He doesn’t look at me while I’m talking, just sits there staring up at the sky, smoking while I rave on.
At last I stop and still he looks up and says nothing. God, this is excruciating! I’ve bored him into a stupor! I mentally kick myself. Forget about all those smart, wily tricks of Zoe’s, any halfway intelligent girl knows you shouldn’t blab on about yourself! I am about to apologise, to at least backtrack a bit and try to inject a bit of humour into the conversation, when he turns to me.
‘You’ll do it,’ he declares with one of his slow smiles.
‘I might not even get into university!’ I snort derisively. ‘I can’t believe I just . . . said all that stuff! It’s so embarrassing. I mean . . .’
‘One way or another, you’ll do it,’ he declares again, very seriously, ‘and so will I. We’ll both get to where we want to be.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do.’
This is my cue to ask him about his ambitions, his dreams. I’m about to do this when he leans over and kisses me on the mouth. Lightly, sweetly. Then he puts both his arms around me, draws me closer and does it again.
‘Hey Rose,’ he says into my ear, ‘you feel like a dance?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. We both get up and I’m glad that we’re in the dark because my legs feel incredibly wobbly. ‘I’d love to.’
I take a look at my watch when we hit the light of the kitchen and start to laugh. He turns around.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘It’s only half past ten!’
‘So?’
I just look back at him and he starts laughing too.
‘You’re not used to picking up before midnight, eh?’ He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into the middle of the throng. ‘Is that it?’
‘I’m not used to picking up at all,’ I shout back, but I don’t think he hears me and maybe that’s just as well. Some guy is screaming into his other ear about noise level complaints from next door.
Once inside and amongst the crowd I suddenly don’t give a damn about the crud music. I just want to dance. He’s the same. So we go for it, big time. Moving in and out around the others a bit, showing off, smiling and always ending up together. When the music stops, we hug each other, breathless and sweaty, laughing into each other’s faces.
Just after midnight she arrives, like a magical moment in a horror film, a black version of the Cinderella story. Instead of the fairy godmother the evil witch appears. Nat looks over my shoulder, frowns, his attention caught, so I turn around. Alisha is in the doorway with two friends from last year standing on either side of her like bodyguards. Alisha, Ingrid, and Sally Crawley, all of them staring at us.
‘My sister.’ Nat gives a wave, picks up my hand and, in spite of the fact that I pull back, insists on dragging me through the crowd over to where she is standing. Unfortunately just at that moment the music stops.
‘Nat!’ Her eyes sweep over me before going straight back to her brother’s face.
‘I thought you were in Sydney,’ he says, pecking her cheek in a perfunctory way.
‘Came back early.’
‘This is Rose,’ Nat introduces me with a smile, still holding my hand.
‘We know Rose,’ Alisha says, not even pretending to smile.
Nat hesitates, as though perplexed more than anything. He’s obviously forgotten! The tension is so taut for a couple of seconds that I almost blurt it out myself. Just to get it over with. But I manage to hold back.
‘Alisha,’ I say calmly. Although I am completely rattled, I know it would be suicide to let it show so I stare straight back into her eyes as though there is nothing even vaguely odd about the situation. She gives one of her breathy hollow laughs.
‘What . . . are you doing here?’
‘Your brother invited me,’ I say lightly.
‘When did you two meet?’ Ingrid pipes up, sounding seriously affronted. I almost laugh. Silly little Ingrid! God, I can see her standing outside the Year Twelve locker room, squealing appreciatively at some sick joke Alisha has just made at some other girl’s expense. The ultimate hanger-on. She can’t help herself. Brain dead. This will give her something to talk about for the next year.
‘Rose lives up the road.’ Nat has just picked up the vibe. He points to the kitchen. ‘Make yourselves at home,’ he tightens his grip on my hand, ‘then come and dance.’ With that he pulls me back into the throng of dancers.
‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ Nat pulls me closer, ‘I told you she wouldn’t be here.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say shortly. I keep telling myself, It’s okay. But the whole spark of being there has disappeared. And it must show on my face because he lifts my chin up with one hand.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing . . . really.’ I try to laugh.
‘There is.’
He looks so concerned that I do laugh, and it suddenly all seems so ridiculous that I want to get away. Why get into such a flap about someone you’ve only known for a couple of hours! I look at my watch but he beats me to it.
‘You’re not going?’
‘I have work tomorrow,’ I say. ‘I’ll be wrecked as it is.’
‘Is this like having to cook the dinner?’ he smiles.
‘No. Really,’ I laugh with embarrassment, ‘I have to get up at six.’
‘I’ll walk you home then.’
This surprises me. About to tell him that of course he shouldn’t and that he must stay to look after his guests, I stop myself. Walking out on his arm will look a lot better in front of his sister. I won’t have to feel like a cowering dog crawling away to lick my wounds. Yeah, this is a good idea. Let him walk me home.
‘Okay,’ I say.
Once we’re outside the mood shifts again. Upwards this time, amazingly. Within a few minutes of being out on the street, the little scene with Alisha fades away. Nat takes my hand and we walk up to my place, talking about nothing much, but laughing easily. It’s a beautiful night. Warm without being hot. The big, fat, yellow moon riding high in the darkness makes me lighthearted. I begin to sing softly under my breath. Some old Beatles thing. ‘Lucy in the Sky with
Diamonds’. He joins in and we laugh trying to remember the words.
‘What is it with you and my sister?’ he asks after a while.
‘You want the long version or the short one?’ I say lightly.
‘Any one you care to tell.’
It only takes me two seconds to decide not to tell him about my best friend Zoe getting picked on and me getting stuck into his sister in the locker room. But what will I say?
‘We had a falling out,’ I say at last.
‘About . . .?’
‘You’re persistent, aren’t you?’ I smile at him. He nods, waiting for me to go on, but I don’t. We’re almost home now. I can see my parents’ light upstairs. I wonder what’s keeping them up so late. At the gate he pulls me nearer.
‘You want to go out soon, Rose?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, thinking, What the hell. Of course it won’t happen because once he’s back at the party he’ll find some other, prettier girl. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t kiss him this once, did it? When he pulls me closer I put my arms around him, push my face into his neck and take a deep breath. ‘I’d love to, actually.’
‘Okay.’
That night, on the footpath outside my home, I find out the true meaning, purpose and importance of kissing. I’d kissed one or two guys before, of course, but this is something else. One minute I’m so revved up I feel as though I’m going to burst out of my skin, then I sink seamlessly into this dreamy blissful state of no thought at all. It’s like listening to music. All the highs and lows, and little riffs of melody, the low insistent drumbeat under it all. My neck and arms, mouth and face tingle with a million new sensations, hot one minute, chilly, raw and tender the next. This is enough, I think. Even if I die in an accident tomorrow, I have experienced something wonderful.
I pass my dad on my way upstairs. He’s on his way down but doesn’t stop.
‘Good party?’ he asks, with one of his tired, distracted smiles. I notice the hunched shoulders and dark shadows under his eyes. ‘There is a message from Zoe on the answering machine,’ he adds.
‘Really?’ She wasn’t due back from NSW until next week. ‘You look tired, Dad.’
But he only gives me a wave and disappears into the kitchen.
I walk back downstairs to the hall phone and press the message bank.
‘Rose! Couldn’t stand it. Came back early. I’m at Mum’s now, going out of my mind. I want to see you soon. Can I come over? Ring me back as soon as you get this. As soon as you can!’
I look at my watch. It’s after two a.m. I can’t ring now. So I decide to ring in the morning. Then I run upstairs to my bedroom, elated. Zoe is back. I’m dying to talk to her. Tell her all about . . . everything.
I wake at six to answer the phone. It’s work calling to say they don’t need me until mid afternoon. Thanks a lot, guys. I go back to bed and sleep happily through till ten. When I do get up and go down to the kitchen I get the weird feeling of being on a deserted ship. The back door is wide open, the radio is blaring talkback about some up-and-coming politician being loyal to the party, there are dirty dishes all over the table and the rubbish bin is overflowing in the corner. No sign of anyone. Strange, but it suits me just fine. The last thing I want is an interrogation session about the party.
I shut the back door, switch off the radio, switch on the kettle, throw a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and start slowly and happily packing the dishwasher. I’m a bit nervous, too. Did all that actually happen last night? I decide I need to talk about it to make it real somehow. Zoe. Yeah, I’ll ring her as soon as I’ve had something to eat.
‘Rose?’ Dorothy’s voice calling loudly from upstairs gives me a start.
‘Yeah.’
‘Come up here.’
‘Why?’ I yell back, irritated.
‘Just come! Now.’
Believe me, I don’t normally respond to commands like that from any of my sisters, but there is something about her tone that makes me think that this time I’d better. I bound up the stairs two at a time.
‘Where are you?’ I call when I see she isn’t in her room.
‘Mum’s study,’ she answers sharply.
‘What are you doing in here?’ I ask, pushing open the door.
I stop in the doorway. Mum is curled up in the corner, almost under the desk, hands over her face, sobbing uncontrollably. Dot is squatting nearby, arm around Mum’s shoulder, stroking her hair.
‘What the hell . . .?’ I kneel down next to them. But Dot shrugs and shakes her head. She takes a handful of soggy tissues out of Mum’s hands and gives her a pile of fresh ones from the box on top of the desk. Then she just sits there patting Mum’s hair.
‘Shall I get her a cup of tea?’ I whisper. Ridiculous, I know, but it’s the only useful thing I can think to do, apart from running a bath. Dot nods, so I run downstairs to the kitchen. The phone rings as I busy myself boiling the water and setting out cups, but I ignore it.
The tea goes cold. Dot and I sit next to Mum for more than ten minutes before she even looks up. I have never seen my mother like this. There are dramatics in our house every day but this is different. My mind is jumping from one thing to another and I latch onto the worst I can imagine. Her favourite brother has been killed in a car smash. Mum has three older brothers that she absolutely adores, but Kieran is the one closest to her in age, the one she loves best. Perhaps he’s had an accident? Or been diagnosed with some terrible disease?
‘We’ll help, Mum,’ Dot murmurs for the tenth time, as Mum pushes her face back into her hands. ‘Just tell us.’
‘No one can help!’ Mum sobs.
‘Yes we will!’
Eventually she sits up. Takes her hands away from her face, leans across for a fistful of tissues, wipes her eyes and then, with shaking hands, takes the glass of water from me and has a sip. A deep breath and she blows out hard.
‘I can’t say anything yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Your father wants us all together!’
‘Please! Just tell us, Mum!’
‘Well,’ she manages to whisper, ‘your father is leaving me. He’s in love with another woman and he is leaving me. Us. He is leaving this family.’
Neither Dot nor I say a word. Shock, I suppose. The words just sort of hang there in the air between us. We look at each other without even breathing, then Dot turns back to Mum.
‘No,’ she whispers, quite firmly. ‘Not true,’ and I breathe a sigh of relief. Even Dot, who is so susceptible to crazy ideas, doesn’t believe it. Mum continues to cry and Dot and I stare at each other, hardly blinking. Mum slumps down again and curls into a foetal position, facing the wall. Then she begins to moan and rock herself like some traumatised kid on television.
‘What will we do?’ I mouth quietly.
‘I’ll ring Hilda,’ Dot whispers.
‘Okay. And I’ll make fresh tea?’ Dot nods. The cups I brought up before are stone cold. But neither of us move. We both stay sitting there, numbly, for another five minutes, trying to soothe Mum. We rub her back, and pat her hair and try to get her to sit up and talk more, but she won’t move and won’t talk. She lies there moaning and trembling like a sick animal.
It’s a bright afternoon by the time Cynthia finds us. We’ve drawn the curtains to keep the heat out, but shafts of sunlight sneak in and through the top of the window. It bounces off a glass vase on the desk, making fluttering blue and white patterns on the walls. I tell Cynthia quietly what Mum has told us and she frowns sceptically.
‘They’ve had a row,’ she pronounces matter-of-factly. Dot and I nod furiously, both of us, I think, hoping that for once Miss Know–it-all knows something worth knowing. But by this stage I’m seriously freaked out and . . . I’m not so sure any more that it isn’t true. Little glimmers of doubt seep through my earlier conviction that Mum is throwing a wobbly. That she has somehow got it fundamentally wrong. Could my father really be leaving her? But they’ve been married forever! My mind jams up
when I try to get my head around it.
Then the door is pushed open and Hilda is there, a frown clouding her face.
‘Dad needs to see us all, urgently,’ she blurts out straightaway. ‘I’ve got someone minding the twins for an hour. Have you got any idea where Mum is?’ Then she notices Mum’s prone body by the wall and goes still. ‘Mum?’ She looks at us accusingly, as though we are the cause.
‘What the hell is going on?’ she demands.
‘Dad says he’s leaving,’ Dot whispers.
‘Where’s he going?’ Hilda snaps.
‘He’s leaving Mum,’ I say brutally, ‘leaving us.’
Hilda’s whole body slumps. She lets out a low moan as her legs crumple beneath her. In the process she manages to hit her head on the edge of the heater. When she pulls her hand away there is blood on her fingers.
‘Get some ice,’ Cynthia orders. Hilda nods but doesn’t move. Just kneels there with her hand on her sore head, rocking backwards and forwards. So now it’s the four of us with our mother, and none of us has a clue what to do.
That’s where Dad finds us, up in Mum’s study. As soon as he walks in and turns on the light, I know that it is true. I do pray that it might be some other terrible thing making him look like he’s just been run over by a steamroller. But I know, even as the words are racing through my head, that things are just as Mum told us.
He stands in the doorway, his face drawn and his shirt and pants all rumpled, like he’s been sleeping in the car for a week.
‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ he says in a raw, desperate voice. ‘There is no easy way to tell you this. But . . . I am going to leave your mother.’
Mum hears him, rolls over, stops crying, sits up and takes another handful of Dot’s tissues. She is trembling all over as she stares at him.
‘I want you all to know that I’m not doing this lightly. I’ve thought long and hard about it. But I . . . love somebody else. And in case you’re thinking . . . it’s just an affair. No. I have found the woman I want to live with for the rest of my life.’
Mum gives a low, guttural moan but continues staring at him through her red, wet eyes.
Rose by Any Other Name Page 6