by Dave Hackett
‘We could pretend that we were total strangers right up until this actual second.’
‘Really?’ Could it be as simple as just hitting the refresh button?
‘Yup. I think it could work,’ and she smiles, and both of her hands are on my leg now.
‘If we call everything up to this point obsolete, that way there’s nothing to forgive, right? Nothing to feel guilty about,’ she says. Just like that. And although there’s no wrapping paper to fumble with or sticky tape to fingernail-scratch at, I can’t imagine that there’s anything under the tree or hiding at the bottom of Santa’s big sack of crap that will have more impact on me this year than the gift Ellie has just given me.
‘Ho, ho, ho – Merry Christmas, Joneses.’ It’s Dad, reaching an arm over to unlatch the side gate.
‘Ah, your father,’ says Mum. ‘That’s everyone, then.’
‘Wait, what about the Tool?’ As it turns out, Warren’s not coming. He made some lame excuse and bailed. Rushing out for a pre-Christmas lobotomy, maybe? It suits me fine.
Mum meets Dad at the gate, and as he makes his way through, he gives her a long hug. Longer than usual and I guess this one’s for Nanna.
‘Now, Sheila, you remember my life-companion, Desiree,’ he says. Desiree leans in for a kiss that Mum manages to duck, leaving Desiree hanging. Not awkward at all. And here’s the undesirable Desiree, stepping forward. Clearing her throat, like she’s about to give a speech.
‘Thank you all so much for inviting us,’ she says. Are they macarons under her wing? I’m guessing they’re not the Macca’s variety. She’s wearing an apricot-coloured skirt and jacket combo with matching super high heels and a tray of make-up. She looks ridiculous, but she usually does. ‘Now I know that most of us here are old friends, but there’s someone that Donald and I would like you to meet. Will you please make her welcome – my charming daughter, Cee-Cee.’
Desiree’s daughter steps forward in head-to-toe full-display mode. But this girl’s not twelve. Or thirteen. Or even fourteen. And she’s sure as hell not Cee-Cee.
Holy crap.
It’s Candace.
Mum, Rue, Ellie, Dad and Desiree are all sitting in their assigned seats and Candace is the last to take her place, but like a game of musical chairs that’s been tweaked by some torturous, sadistic party planner, it’s not hard to see where the last remaining empty seat is. Of course it’s directly opposite me. And every drop of blood in my body has found its way to my head and begun swirling, whirlpooling about, and if I was 1960s TV Batman, right now I’d flip open a compartment in my utility belt and gobble down a few bat anti-nausea pills, but all I have is the table for stability and my own staying power to keep me from passing out.
‘Oh my God,’ Candace says. ‘It’s you.’ And this is no doubt the part where the proverbial fan becomes inundated with shit.
I look directly at her. ‘Is it?’
And here I am with Candace McAllister opposite me, Ellie beside me, and I’m stuck smack-bang in the middle. Candace smiles a big perfect-teeth smile right at me.
‘You’re that “Do Rude Things to Me” guy from YouTube, right?’
Say what?
‘What’s your name again?’ Candace asks.
‘It’s, um … Starrphyre,’ I say, but is she kidding? How does she not recognise me? Have I grown a beard since the weekend? Am I wearing a wig? I get that I’m out of context, but we shared more than just a drink and some idle chit-chat the other night.
‘That YouTube video is hilarious. Have you seen it?’ she asks Ellie. ‘I swear, it’s so funny,’ Candace says, and she’s covering her mouth with her as she laughs. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ She extends a hand out for me to shake; the last time I touched her, things between us weren’t quite so formal.
Ellie reaches across the table to shake Candace’s hand and they both smile like they’re going to be super-besties, but if they had any idea where they fit into the jumbled mess that’s my life right now, they might not be smiling at each other. At least not in the same innocent way.
‘Hey, you OK?’ Ellie asks.
‘I need, um …’ I need to get out of here, that’s what I need. But getting up, singling myself out, will only draw more attention to me. ‘I just need some water,’ I say, reaching for my glass but accidentally knocking it. The contents gush across the vinyl tablecloth and onto Candace’s lap.
She quickly stands up and the front of her dress is soaked. She’s looking down at herself, the wet cotton clinging to her body, and with the skirt in her hands she flip-flaps it forwards and backwards to shake off the water, and as she does, I can see almost to the tops of her thighs, smooth and tanned, dotted with droplets of water, the sunlight touching them, kissing at them … holy crap, this is really no place to start thinking about Candace’s legs, her bare skin and the way it felt to kiss her. But there are parts of me that have already started thinking and bolted way ahead, without having asked permission.
Under the table, Ellie’s hand finds my knee, slides up to my thigh, but I intercept it quickly, maybe too aggressively, because I don’t want her to know what the rest of me is thinking – subconsciously or not. I gently squeeze her hand, keep it right where it is before it has a chance to explore any further. ‘She has nice legs,’ Ellie whispers to me. Is that just an observation, the way that girls sometimes admire other girls, or is it some kind of test to see if I’m looking? I’m here with Ellie, so I shouldn’t be looking at someone else’s legs. Should I? Oh, good God, why is this crap so difficult?
‘Oh, darling, this is a terrible start to the day,’ says Desiree. ‘You’ll need to change out of that. Sheila, would you have a change of clothes for Cee-Cee? Something that maybe a young person would wear?’ She looks at Mum, assesses her. ‘What are the chances you’d have something fashionable?’
‘It’s just water, Desiree,’ Mum says. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she says, looking at Candace. ‘Won’t you, honey?’
But Desiree’s pushing out her chair and standing up. ‘Come inside, darling,’ she says to Candace or Cee-Cee or whoever the hell she is today. ‘We need to dry you off at least. Get you decent again.’
Desiree and Candace are up and about to scurry off into the house, when Ellie throws something out there.
‘Are you sure you two don’t already know each other?’ she asks.
‘What?’ I say. ‘No, we’ve never … I mean, I’ve met her mum loads, but – why would you say that?’
‘Your shoes,’ Ellie says.
And I know that I’m not wearing shoes today, but I look down at my feet, just to be sure. It turns out it’s not me that Ellie’s talking to.
‘Oh,’ says Candace. She looks down to her own feet. ‘They’re cool, yeah?’ And yes, they are cool shoes. Original shoes. The shoes on Candace’s feet are one-of-a-kind-no-other-pair-like-them-on-the-planet shoes. Faded rust Converse with my artwork all over them.
‘They’re awesome, Cee-Cee,’ Ellie says.
And they’re on display now. My shoes. On Candace McAllister’s feet.
‘Hey,’ says Ellie, checking out the band logos. ‘AC/DC, Van Halen, KISS. Is the other one the same?’ Candace switches legs, lifting her right foot into view. ‘Oh hey, indie on the right; this is more like it,’ Ellie says, glancing my way. ‘Arctic Monkeys, The National, Foals. So where did you get them?’
She knows they’re mine, but up until this point it’s feasible that Ellie could assume that there’s some kind of innocent explanation. That maybe I left them at Dad’s and Candace picked them up and wore them home. Sure. That’s believable.
If only that’s what happened.
‘I had a party and these were left behind,’ Candace tells her. ‘Some guy, maybe. His loss, I guess. They sort of fit so I figured I’d take them for a test run.’
And I know that to Ellie they could seem like two isolated incid
ents – me getting it on with some unknown girl at a party on Saturday night and Desiree’s daughter, Cee-Cee, turning up here wearing my shoes today – but between the two truths lies a small rickety bridge and it won’t take much for Ellie to notice that bridge and see that one incident leads directly to the other.
Candace is now barely three metres away, whisked back towards the house by Desiree, when Ellie sends me a look. Although there’s possibly an infinite number of indecipherable looks that a female can send your way, this one isn’t that hard to decode.
‘So, are you going to tell me about the shoes?’ Ellie says. ‘Because I’m a little confused.’
And it’s time. Time to spill my guts. Time to tell her that the person she’s been happily chatting with is the same person I was sucking faces with at the party. But I can’t do that here, can I?
‘You want to come for a walk?’ I say, standing up. ‘There’s some stuff I think we need to talk about.’ And she agrees and I take her hand, help her up, so that I can lead her somewhere quiet to disappoint her further.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ says Rue and she’s looking straight at us. ‘Mum, do you know anything about this?’ She holds her phone in front of Mum’s face.
‘Tell Sheila it’s time?’ Mum says, reading the screen. ‘Oh. Oh, right. Now everyone needs to be here for this. I’ll just go inside and give Desiree and Cee-Cee the hurry-up.’ In less than a minute, Mum is back outside and taking her place at the table, along with Desiree, Candace and Candace’s damp, clingy dress. ‘Now, people, this is all Warren’s idea, so I don’t know exactly what it’s about, but he wants us all to reach under the table to see if we can find anything interesting. That includes you two,’ she says, pointing at Ellie and me. ‘You need to sit down and play along, too.’
I sit back down and I reach under my portion of the table, half hoping to find a ‘get out of jail free’ card that I can play right now, but I come up empty-handed. Ellie and Candace do, too. Dad’s smiling as he fumbles both hands under the table, one of them obviously straying into Desiree’s territory, and she offers him the slightest embarrassed giggle and pushes his hand back to within his own designated space.
‘Well, I couldn’t find anything,’ says Mum. ‘I don’t see what all the hullabaloo is about. Don? Anything your end?’ Dad pulls both hands out and into view to show that he’s drawn a blank as well. Everyone, it seems, finds nothing. Except for Rue.
In her hand she’s holding a small wrapped box, flapping with loose ends of sticky tape from where it had been stuck under the table. She tears the paper off.
‘Dear God,’ says Dad. ‘That’s not what I think it is, is it?’
‘Mum!’ Rue says, barely able to contain her excitement in. ‘Mum – look!’ And it’s not just an ordinary ring she’s holding, now sliding onto her finger. It’s the kind of ring you get down on one knee for. The kind that typically symbolises commitment and trust and monogamy. The kind that I knew was coming. And I don’t know rings, but the way the girls are close-up squinting at it, I’d say it’s as cheap an item as anyone would expect from Warren. Rue doesn’t see it straightaway – she’s too focused on the ring itself, or maybe the idea of it – but inside the box, on the back of a small card, are the handwritten words What do you say?
‘Good God, Rue,’ Dad says. ‘Is that his idea of a bloody proposal?’
‘Will you just chill, Dad?’ says Rue.
‘The kid’s a dickhead,’ Dad says. ‘Plain and simple.’
‘And thank you, spandex bandit, for your input,’ says Mum, glaring, but not too harshly, at Dad.
‘What the hell kind of proposal is that? It’s hardly traditional.’
‘Honestly, Dad, you of all people should understand the notion of not following tradition.’
‘At least I asked your mother in person,’ he says. ‘At least I was present.’
‘You were stoned,’ says Mum. ‘That’s hardly present.’
‘But I was there, wasn’t I? The Tool’s not even here.’
‘Will you stop calling him that!’ Rue says. ‘I don’t know why you have to always make such a big deal about things.’
‘Isn’t getting married to an idiot kind of a big deal?’
‘Rue can make her own decisions,’ Mum says. ‘She’s equipped well enough to make a sound, educated choice about finding a kindred spirit – a person who’s her intellectual equal, somebody she’d be happy to spend all eternity with. Aren’t you, darling?’
Mum’s knack for disguising threats as questions comes out to play. ‘Mrs Laroux Thetoulle,’ Mum throws into the air. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy.’
‘Happy my ass,’ Dad says. ‘The only happiness that boy’s concerned about is his own.’
‘It’s not like I’ve said yes,’ Rue snaps, ‘but just for the record, Mum’s right. It’s my decision. No one else’s.’ And with her new ring firmly on her finger, she wordlessly excuses herself from the table and heads for the house.
‘I’m going to go talk to Rue,’ I say to Ellie. ‘You can come if you want to. Or not. I don’t know if you want to, or … you know.’
‘Fresh start, remember?’ she says. ‘Starting … now.’ And she’s more forgiving than I deserve. More than I imagined people could be.
Chapter 31
Spill the wine B/W confessions
Rue’s at the sink, two hands gripping both taps. Breathing deeply. Trying to calm down. Or trying to not throw up. The thought of being stuck with Warren for a lifetime? I know I’d feel like vomiting.
‘Rue?’ I say, and she turns to me.
‘You know I’m still not a hundred per cent talking to you,’ she says, and manages a slight smile that fades just as quickly as it came. I step across to her and put a hand on her shoulder and everything is good between us again. ‘Why can’t they just trust me to do what’s right?’ she says. ‘I’m nineteen years old; I’m not a kid anymore.’ And I feel as if I know what she means.
‘I know it’s your decision, I get that,’ I say. ‘It’s just … none of us wants you to make a mistake.’ And she doesn’t respond. ‘Don’t do it, Rue,’ I say. ‘Please?’ She’s looking right into my eyes and it’s hard to be this direct, but I think that maybe she’ll listen to me. ‘You can’t marry him.’
‘I know you’re concerned, little brother,’ she says, ‘but it’s my call. No one else’s but mine,’ and for someone who’s just been proposed to, she looks anything but happy. ‘I have to bring the drinks out,’ she says. ‘Carry these.’
And we’re walking back outside to the group.
‘It’s just that the guy’s a total ass,’ I say. ‘You know that, everybody does. Do you really want to come home to that every night of your life?’
‘I can do whatever the hell I want to,’ she says.
‘Rue, you can’t do it. You seriously can’t marry him.’
‘I can and maybe I will,’ she says, and thuds the bottles of soft drink down onto the table.
‘But you can’t do this.’
‘And why not?’ she says. ‘Because he’s a little embarrassing sometimes? Because he doesn’t meet any of your impossible intellectual standards? He loves me,’ she says. ‘Warren loves me and he wants to marry me.’
‘Rue, he cheated on you.’ There’s a new silence now. A long silence, and without looking around, I know that all eyes are on us. ‘Rue, he told me,’ I say. ‘Two nights ago. He was with someone two nights ago.’ I can’t help but look across at Candace.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Rue says. Tears are forming in her eyes because no matter what she genuinely feels for Warren, maybe this news doesn’t come as such a shock.
‘He woke me up – it was like four in the morning. He’d had loads to drink and he was just going on about this … girl. A waitress or something and how all his mates were really into her, but he was the one who …
’
As the words come out of my mouth, into the open, I realise that in a way this is my story, too. I look towards Ellie and as she brings a hand to her mouth, it seems irrational, but she looks more shocked than the rest of us.
I want to tell Rue more, to tell her that Warren only asked her to marry him to win a bet, but one swift jab to the heart is more than enough for her to deal with right now. ‘I’m sorry, Rue,’ I say. ‘The guy’s a total asshole.’
‘Well,’ Desiree says. ‘This has turned into quite a colourful conversation, hasn’t it? Now could somebody please pass me that salad over there? Oh, I do hope it’s not shop-bought. I had quite an unpleasant experience with a grocery-bought pre-made one once.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Desiree, do shut up,’ Mum says, and Desiree prepares to stand up, to exit in a cloud of smoke.
‘Donald?’ she says. ‘I think it’s time we were leaving.’
But the response from Dad isn’t the one she’s hoping for. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Audi.
‘Take the car, take yourself off,’ Dad says, giving her the keys. ‘I can get a lift back later.’
‘But Donald?’
‘It’s family, Desiree,’ he says, placing a hand on Rue’s. ‘I’ll see you at home.’
Desiree takes Candace by the hand and they both head towards the side gate to make their exit. I’m preparing for Candace to turn around, maybe give me a ‘nice to meet you’ wave, but she doesn’t and I’m glad.
Mum and Rue head back inside. Mum’s arm is around Rue’s waist; Rue’s head is on Mum’s shoulder. And it’s just me, Dad and Ellie.
‘Well,’ Dad says, forking a pile of coleslaw into his mouth, ‘that was eventful.’
‘It was something,’ I say. I look down at my plate and in all the fuss it’s remained empty. Dad knocks back his slaw and continues.
‘I know it’s hard on Rue, but no joke, Blind Freddy could have seen that coming. Now, it’s Ellie, isn’t it?’ Dad says, and she nods. ‘Well, Ellie, I don’t know much about your story,’ and he’s pointing his fork towards me, ‘but this one here – he’s a good kid.’