I'll Tell You Mine

by Pip Harry

  ‘Goth.’

  She smiles at me cheekily. ‘Same thing, isn’t it?’

  Maddy and I cram into the cab of the ute with her dad and Lachy vaults athletically onto the tray. He looks cute in jeans, a denim jacket and a pair of boots that look suspiciously polished. His rumpled navy shirt makes his eyes look even bluer. I fantasise for a moment that it’s just him and me going out to dinner. I imagine Lachy driving me down the dark road to a dimly lit restaurant . . . .

  But I’m squashed up next to Maddy, and not Lachy. She’s my best friend and this is her older brother.

  Get a grip, I tell myself. He’s off limits. Isn’t he?

  We eat at Lucky’s Chinese on the main street. Inside there’s a cluster of round tables with plastic tablecloths and red paper lanterns with tassels hanging from the ceiling.

  A waitress pours hot tea into small teacups.

  Lachy spins the lazy Susan around to me and I take a cup, breathing in the fragrant jasmine scent.

  Our family often goes out to yum cha in Chinatown so I’m familiar with chopsticks and dumplings.

  ‘Hi Bob,’ the waitress says to Mr Minogue. ‘Can I get you guys a drink?’

  She’s got a soft, crinkled face. Her shiny black hair is flecked with grey and beaded earrings dangle halfway down her neck.

  The restaurant is empty and she looks glad of the company.

  ‘Hi Lily,’ says Mr Minogue. ‘A beer for me. Lachy? Girls, what would you like?’

  ‘I’ll have a beer too,’ says Maddy.

  Mr Minogue rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart.’

  Maddy drops out her bottom lip. ‘I’m old enough to have one beer, Dad.’

  ‘No, Maddy. Drop it,’ says Mr Minogue.

  ‘Fine. Coke.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say, embarrassed to recognise myself in Maddy’s stroppy behaviour.

  ‘I think we’ll get the food order into the kitchen too before they start chewing on the napkins,’ says Mr Minogue.

  Plastic plates fly out of the kitchen. Sweet and sour pork, fried wontons, spring rolls, special fried rice and lemon chicken. Maddy fights Lachy for the food. They’re like a pack of wild dogs. Mr Minogue encourages me to eat more.

  ‘You’ll miss out, luv,’ he says. ‘Careful you don’t lose a hand.’

  Lachy likes to use a fork. ‘Get more food in that way,’ he says, but he lets me give him a chopstick lesson, showing him how to pinch the top stick with his thumb and forefinger to grasp a cube of sticky pink pork. By the end of the meal he’s picking up single peas from the greasy fried rice, looking pleased with himself.

  To finish, Lily brings out a free deep-fried ice-cream ball, drizzled with melted chocolate sauce and everyone dives in with spoons, even though Mr Minogue insists we are all too full to eat a another bite.

  Lily stands back and looks at him fondly as Mr Minogue makes an appreciative ‘mmmm’ noise.

  Maddy pinches Lachy’s arm and whispers something in his ear.

  When Lily leaves with an expertly balanced armful of dishes, Mr Minogue reprimands them like they are little kids.

  ‘It’s so obvious she likes you, Dad,’ says Maddy. ‘Why don’t you just go out on a date or something? You’re lonely. She’s lonely. Mum wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Madeline. I’m warning you, I will send you outside if you say another word.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Out. Now,’ says Mr Minogue and you can tell he’s not joking. ‘Before Lily hears you carrying on. Go on.’

  We’re outside Lucky’s waiting for Mr Minogue when a couple approaches us. The guy is tall and skinny, a trucker cap pulled over his eyes, his arm slung over the shoulder of a girl with lots of cleavage, an upturned nose and long, frizzy auburn hair. He’s swigging a Bundy mixer and the girl looks tipsy.

  Maddy groans.

  ‘It’s Steve,’ she says.

  I squint at the guy and recognise him from Maddy’s photo. Steve glances up, looking both pleased with himself and sheepish. His hand slips around the girl’s waist and he bends down to talk to her. She squawks with laughter. As they pass by, the girl glares at Maddy and Steve looks down at his feet, his pants so low we can see the waistband of his undies. He reeks of rum and is unsteady on his feet.

  Maddy gives Steve the finger.

  Steve catches it and steps towards Maddy.

  ‘You little . . .’

  Lachy blocks his path, shoving him backwards.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Lachy says.

  Steve falls hard on his bum; the push seems harder than Lachy intended. Steve rises to his feet and lifts up his knuckles, the smirk gone from his face.

  ‘Look, I don’t want to get into anything with you, Steve. Just piss off,’ says Lachy.

  The girl pulls on Steve’s arm, tries to get him to keep moving.

  ‘Your sister’s a little slut, doncha know? She’s opened her legs for half the town.’

  It happens so fast it’s hard to see who takes the first swing but suddenly the two boys are scuffling. There’s a sickening sound of flesh thudding against flesh. It’s loose and scrappy. Nothing like the choreographed fights you see in movies.

  The girl squeals from the sidelines like it’s a WWE match.

  Steve lands a solid punch on Lachy’s nose and he moans, bending over with his face in his palms. He’s bleeding all over the place. My hands are shaking and I want to rush in and stop the fight. Stop it from going too far.

  ‘Steve! Look what you’ve done now!’ shouts Maddy. ‘Is it broken?’ she asks Lachy. ‘Is it? Lachy!’

  Lachy stands up, blood gushing from one nostril.

  The commotion draws Mr Minogue out of the restaurant in a panic.

  ‘Oi! Enough of that! Oh for the love of—’ he says, seeing Lachy’s busted nose.

  Steve takes the chance to get away, grabbing the girl’s hand and running down the street. ‘She’s not worth the effort!’ he shouts back. ‘She’s a cheating ho-bag!’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ I ask Maddy.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘He’s off his face.’

  We stop by the local doctor’s house – a friend of Mr Minogue’s. The doctor leaves a row of chops burning on a barbecue to gently feel Lachy’s nose. Lachy squirms and screws up his face. His eye is puffy and there are scratches on his neck.

  ‘Not broken. Just bruised,’ declares the doctor. He puts a hand on Lachy’s shoulder. ‘Ice it when you get home and try to stay out of Steve Harley’s way. He’s no good that kid.’

  ‘Thanks, Nev,’ says Mr Minogue. ‘We won’t keep you. Your dinner needs tending to.’

  ‘Sure you won’t stay? There’s plenty,’ says the doctor.

  ‘That’s a kind offer but we just had a feed at Lucky’s. Sorry again for the disturbance.’

  Mr Minogue herds us back to the ute like wayward sheep. He makes us all ride in the back because we’re making him crazy.

  ‘Kids,’ he mutters to himself. ‘A lifelong affliction.’

  Lachy sits cross-legged with a tissue over his nose, anger rising off him like steam. His hands are skinned and bleeding. I bet this isn’t the first time Lachy has defended Maddy from the guys in town. Maddy sits next to him, quiet and worried. She puts a hand on his arm, which he shakes off.

  ‘Don’t,’ he says.

  They’re silent for few minutes, looking in opposite directions as we bump down the road.

  ‘Why are you still doing it?’ Lachy says, balling up the sodden tissue and throwing it over the side of the ute. ‘Do they give you enough attention? Enough to make you forget Mum?’

  Maddy pulls her legs up around her chest and drops her head into her knees.

  ‘I’m serious. Why do you do it?’ Lachy asks.

 
Maddy ignores him.

  ‘Does it really make you feel better?’

  Maddy keeps her head down but I think she’s crying. And Lachy’s right. She isn’t that tough after all.

  I’m tucked up in bed when I hear a knock on the door of our room.

  The door opens a crack and there’s a whisper. ‘Kate? It’s Lachy.’

  ‘I’m awake,’ I rasp. I look over at Maddy but she’s in deep REM. The last thing I want is for her to wake up and find her best friend and her brother sneaking off.

  I quietly get out of bed, conscious that I’m not wearing a bra and Lachy can probably see my nipples through my threadbare top, which embarrassingly says ‘Good in Bed’ in glittery purple writing.

  Lachy holds out his hand, guiding me along the corridor, through the kitchen and out the swinging screen door, closing it carefully behind me so it doesn’t bang. He keeps going, down the steps and into the garden, putting a finger to his lips.

  He takes me into the toolshed and turns on a light bulb that is hanging from the ceiling. Around us are rusty, greasy tools, a lawn mower, and bags of feed.

  I blink rapidly in the hard light, my eyeballs hurting.

  He looks awkward and I don’t know what to say. I fold my arms over my nipples, feeling underdressed and cold.

  ‘Sorry to wake you up,’ he says. ‘I wanted to apologise for tonight. It was meant to be a nice family dinner and I ruined it. I should have walked away from Steve. It’s just, Maddy’s been throwing herself at anything with a heartbeat since Mum got sick. The blokes in town treat her like she’s a piece of meat. It makes me so mad.’

  He reaches down for my hand and I squeeze it.

  ‘It’s okay. Steve was asking for it.’

  He’s fully dressed and I wish I wasn’t in my dorky pyjamas.

  ‘It’s too bright in here, isn’t it?’ He flicks off the light and we burst out laughing in the blackness.

  ‘I can’t see you now,’ says Lachy.

  I move towards him in the dark, putting my hands on his hips. I step on something squidgy and it squelches through my bare toes. ‘Aw, yuck. I just stepped in something disgusting.’

  ‘It’s probably poo,’ teases Lachy. ‘There’s a lot of poo on farms.’

  We both start laughing again. Nervous, almost hysterical laughing.

  ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks finally. ‘I know the toolshed isn’t the most romantic spot but it’s all I could come up with at short notice.’

  I lift my face to his, our lips touching. I’m careful not to bump his swollen nose.

  He seems stunned.

  ‘You can kiss me back,’ I say. For someone a few years older than me he seems unsure of what to do next.

  He reaches behind my head and pulls me towards him so quickly our foreheads bang. ‘Oh, sorry, are you okay?’ Lachy asks.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.’

  We get it together at last – a mesh of lips and tongues. He tastes cool and minty, like he’s just brushed his teeth.

  I wonder what we’re supposed to do next. Having sex with Lachy in a toolshed seems like a pretty bad idea, even though I’m the queen of bad ideas.

  He ends up pulling out an old blanket and we spread it out on the grass, looking up at the sky, his arms tight around me.

  ‘Should we tell Maddy?’ I ask, listening to the muffled thud of his heart underneath his shirt. It’s beating really fast.

  My head starts to do a whirly-bird panic. Is this just a pash and dash? Maybe he’s just lonely and horny, living out in the country with his dad. Maybe he doesn’t really like me. Maybe he’s just bored.

  ‘Do you want to?’ Lachy asks, pulling my hair back from my face very gently as if he’s patting a kitten.

  ‘Maybe not yet. It might be just a one night thing and then I don’t want to hurt her feelings.’

  ‘One night thing? I hope not,’ says Lachy.

  ‘How would that work?’ I ask. ‘You live here. I live in Melbourne.’

  Lachy thinks for a while, the silence so long that I think he’s forgotten the question. ‘I could visit you in the city,’ he says. ‘Would that be okay?’

  ‘Yeah. That would be good,’ I say.

  We kiss again and he has it more together. Or maybe we just know each other’s mouths better now.

  Eventually we break apart and Lachy looks at his watch.

  ‘We should probably go inside. I have to be up soon to start work.’

  I wish I could go to his room and lie down in bed with him but I know that’s not possible.

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘It’s pretty late. I mean, early.’

  For a second when I wake up I forget what happened but then it comes back to me in a rush – the blanket, the kissing, Lachy. I can’t think of the last time I was naturally this delirious.

  I look over to the window. It’s light and I’ve slept in again.

  Maddy is awake, thumbing through a magazine. ‘Morning, sleeping bee-atch,’ she says. ‘I’ve been up for three hours already.’

  I sit up and stretch in a yoga pose with my legs crossed. My back is sore from lying on the hard ground and there’s a stick in the back of my pyjama bottoms. I’ll save it and put it in my journal as evidence it really happened. I did kiss Lachlan Minogue. I didn’t dream it all up. I want to tell Maddy but I stay quiet.

  I’m sure nothing will happen with Lachy anyway. Nothing ever does with guys I like. But then a hopeful thought pops up like a cork.

  Maybe he’ll call me.

  Last night, in the dark, I managed to program my mobile number into his phone. He put it very carefully in his shirt pocket and patted it

  ‘I’ll call you. Once you get back to school.’

  We get up and eat homemade muesli on the verandah. Bone comes to my hand and gives me a tentative lick. Maybe he can still smell Lachy on me.

  ‘He must like you,’ comments Maddy. ‘Usually he tries to bite new people.’

  ‘Where’s Lachy today?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  Maddy gives me a funny look. ‘Who cares?’

  She’s still angry with him but I can tell she wants to say goodbye to him. That she looks up to him.

  Maddy and I pack up for school. I could stay in this creaky, dusty house forever with its flat, brown fields and its quiet mornings. Maddy, on the other hand, is desperate to get back to the city. ‘The first thing I’m doing is getting chips and a milkshake from Maccas. Then I’m buying something from a shop. A real shop, like Supré. This place is so boring.’

  Maddy kisses goodbye to her favourite animals – a piglet called Zelda and an old cockatoo called Oscar.

  I hang around outside, kicking my feet in the dust, hoping to see Lachy one last time. I’m straining to see his motorbike out in the fields, when my brain floods with toxic thoughts again. He’s embarrassed to admit he snogged a fattish Goth chick with a stupid pyjama top and that’s why he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s done a runner.

  ‘Lachy not saying goodbye?’ Maddy asks her dad.

  ‘He’s flat out today,’ says Mr Minogue, putting our bags in the boot of his car. ‘Told me to say tarrah to you lot.’

  As we settle in the back, Mr Minogue slips in an ancient cassette tape and turns up the volume. The car fills up with the sound of twangy guitars and an old crooner. ‘Time for me to educate you on the history of Australian country music.’

  Maddy rolls her eyes and slips on her headphones. I do the same.

  As we drive down to the main gate I see Lachy riding towards us on a dirt bike, bouncing across the grass. He can’t cross the wire fence but he takes off his helmet and smiles at us, waving. It makes everything perfect, seeing him before we go.

  Mr Minogue slows down the car and Maddy leans over me. ‘Sorry about your nose, La
ch!’ she shouts out the window.

  He feels it with a finger and shrugs. ‘It’s still there!’

  Lachy holds up both his arms as we drive by and Maddy’s dad toots the horn. I twist around and look at him out the back window and I can see he’s looking right at me. Maybe he will call.

  I hold onto that thought, like a loved kid’s toy, all the way to Melbourne.

  14

  Mr Minogue drives into the boarding house. ‘Rise and shine, girls. We’re here,’ he says. Maddy and I wake up, sleepy and stiff from the long journey. That’s when I see Mum. She’s sitting outside on the steps. I’m scared to see her and panicked about what she might do to me. I wrack my brain for excuses, ways to somehow talk myself into the clear.

  But as she stands up and waves at the car I realise I don’t want to take her on. I feel different. The farm’s empty stillness has washed over me like a powerful wave on a summer scorcher. I’m ready to face the music – whatever that might be.

  ‘See you inside? You cool?’ Maddy asks as I take my bag out of the car and Mum talks to Mr Minogue.

  ‘Yeah. I think it’s going to be okay.’

  Even before she starts talking I sense Mum isn’t on the warpath. She has a calmness about her too. Her shoulders are relaxed, face smoothed of the frazzled tiredness I bring out in her.

  We sit in the rose garden where all the spring flowers are popping out of their hard winter buds, letting off a faint perfume.

  I look down at my hands – my fingernails are starting to get long and oval shaped. I resist the urge to put a finger in my mouth and chomp down.

  ‘I’m sorry I ran away,’ I say.

  ‘I should be furious with you,’ Mum says. ‘I was furious with you. We were very worried.’

  ‘It was stupid.’

  ‘It just shouldn’t have gotten to that point. We need to be able to talk things through and sort out our differences.’

  ‘I know. I just get so angry.’

  ‘This isn’t working, is it?’ she asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The way Dad and I are with you? The way I am with you . . .’