“What about Mum?”
“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here, does she.”
Dad stands up and tugs at the hems of his shorts.
“She doesn’t want me home.” My voice trembles. Dad wraps his arms around me. I smell shaving cream and instant coffee. He ruffles my hair in that silly dad way that messes up my ponytail. I never want to move.
“I want you home, Abby,” he says shakily. “Don’t worry about your mum. You just come with me.”
I hesitate. Nick and Tim are hovering in the hallway doing the world’s lamest job of pretending they’re not eavesdropping. I give Dad a tiny smile.
“I’ll go get my things.”
The familiarity of the house is overpowering. The same muddy work boots on the doorstep. Same photos on the fridge. Even the calendar is out of date. It’s as though my parents are trying to forget this year ever happened. Sarah has her accounts books spread over the kitchen table.
“Hello, Mum.”
Her eyes don’t leave the page.
I sigh. “Are you really going to do this?”
“Come on, Sarah,” says Dad. “Hasn’t this gone on long enough?”
She stands wordlessly and drifts out of the room. I hear her trudging up to her bedroom. I sink into a kitchen chair. Dad perches opposite me and rubs his knees.
“Well,” he says finally. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”
“I’m sorry I lied about Nick,” I say.
Dad sighs. “We were too hard on you, Abby. The truth is, your mum and I… We felt so useless for not having done anything about Nick earlier. For letting it get to where it did. We…” He swallows heavily.
“You needed someone to blame.”
“It’s awful, I know. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t come with me tonight.”
I want to tell him how much I had needed to come home. Needed to feel the familiar dents of my childhood bed. Needed the familiar smell of the house; vanilla fridge-wipe and the sea. Needed to fall asleep listening to laughter in the park and the monotone dribble of some boring doco my parents are watching. Instead, I just say:
“Yeah, well Nick’s a terrible cook.”
FORTY
I sleep late the next morning. When I open my eyes, my clock radio is stuck at 5:15 but bright light is streaming through the blinds. I can hear Sarah bellowing instructions out the back door to Dad. For a second it’s hard to tell what year it is. I climb out of bed and look out the window. The view hasn’t changed. The park is busy, getting towards the Christmas rush. I watch a little girl in frilly bathers run across the grass with a bucket, slopping water down the sides. Between the palms that line our property I can see Justin’s house.
I bury myself under a wide straw hat and sunglasses then, feeling sufficiently disguised, wander to the beach. I pass Sarah in the park and she looks the other way. The late morning is overcast and dark behind my glasses, but the air is hot syrup.
I sit cross-legged on the sand. A few tourists are scattered across the beach. Some are stretched out on towels, others splashing in the shallows. A breeze ripples the sea. A couple of charter yachts sail slowly towards the islands. I lie on my back and cover my face with my hat. The straw glows red where the pale sun shines through. I close my eyes and listen to the noises surrounding me. Water sighs against the sand and gulls babble above my head. I let out a long breath. For the first time in months, the tension in my shoulders is gone. For the first time in months, I don’t feel guilty for not having practised enough. A shriek of laughter from the rock pool. I think of Justin.
‘I just want to be with you’.
We had spent so many years willing each other to say it. And now here it is, laid out in the open. Simple and honest. I feel an ache of desire that once followed me everywhere. The desire to finish what we so long ago started.
I let myself back into the house. The back door groans on rusty hinges. A dripping tap plops into the sink. And the sound of my violin floats down from the top storey.
I follow the music upstairs and stop at the door to my mother’s bedroom. The melody sways from the resonating low register to its soaring climax. Sarah turns with the motion of the music and notices me in the doorway. My violin falls from her shoulder. She throws it back in the case like it’s poison.
“It’s your violin, isn’t it,” I say. “It was you who put it in my bedroom that day.”
“Of course it was me. Did you really think I would have left you without an instrument?” She slams the lid.
“Don’t,” I say hurriedly.
She looks at me in surprise.
“I mean, keep playing.”
“I don’t play anymore,” she says.
“That’s not what it looks like to me.”
“Don’t be smart.”
“You’re very good,” I tell her, nibbling my thumbnail. “But you know that, don’t you.”
“Stop biting your nails,” she says sharply.
“Why did you stop playing?”
“It’s none of your business.” She hurries into the hall.
“Mum-” My hand darts out on impulse and grabs her wrist. I drop it quickly as her surprised eyes meet mine. We stand motionless in the doorway. There are deep folds in Sarah’s brow.
“It’s something I don’t talk about, Abigail. You should respect that.”
I follow her downstairs and into the kitchen. “Don’t you think I have a right to know? So I at least know why you tried to keep me from playing for all those years?”
She shoves the plug into the sink and throws the taps on. Water drums into the basin. She hurls the dishes into the water and they crash against each other. Finally, she turns off the taps. The single drip bounces into the soapsuds. Sarah shoves a sponge inside a glass and it gurgles noisily. After a moment, she puts it on the drying rack and sighs.
“My parents wanted me to play.” Her eyes don’t leave the frothy water. “They paid for me to leave Acacia Beach and study overseas.”
I frown. “Did you go?”
“The Julliard,” says Sarah. “New York.”
I stare at her. “You got into the Julliard? Are you serious? Why did you stop?”
“When I was twenty, I came home because my dad was dying of cancer. I took a year off studying to be with my mother after he died. Then, just before I was about to go back to school, I found out his disease could have been treated.”
“What does that have to do with your music?”
Sarah swallows heavily. “My dad refused treatment because they couldn’t have afforded to keep me in America.” She looks up at me. “He died because of me, Abigail. Because of my stupid need to play music.” Her voice becomes stifled. “When I found that out, I couldn’t play anymore. I had to give it away.” She runs the sponge around the rim of a plate. I stand in silence at her shoulder.
“But you giving up music,” I say finally. “That means your dad died for nothing.”
Sarah throws another plate into the sink. “You’re saying things you have no idea about,” she says coldly.
“That’s right,” I snap. “I have no idea what it’s like to have your parents support you.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but stops. She sits the plate on the drying rack and watches a trail of bubbles slither down the side.
“Why didn’t you let me go to the city? I would have been out of your way then.”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it, Abigail,” Sarah cries, a waver in her voice. “You are so damn self-centred!”
“But if you’d just let me go, you would never have had to listen to my playing again!”
Sarah’s grey hair falls over her face. “And lose you to music as well as my father?” She turns back to the sink. “I thought if you stayed here long enough you would forget about the Conservatorium eventually. I hated Andrew for putting the thought in your head.”
“I would have though
of it myself.”
Sarah washes in silence. After a moment, she mumbles: “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not! You’d do the same all over again! I know you would!”
She throws down the sponge and glares at me. “You don’t understand what it was like for me. To feel that guilt all over again every time I heard you play! And to feel twice as bad for stopping you from doing what you loved! Do you really think I enjoyed that? Don’t you think I wanted you to succeed just as much as I used to want to?”
I let out my breath in disbelief.
“It’s true!” she cries. “I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough to support you.” She dries her hands and sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. “Do you know what it’s like to hear music and have every note cut into you like a knife? To not be able to touch your instrument because of the memories it digs up?”
I don’t look at her. I do know. I know exactly what it’s like, but I don’t tell her.
She sighs. “And you play so beautifully, Abigail. All I wanted to do was listen to you, but I couldn’t. It was too hard.” She picks up a serviette and wrings it between her fingers. “You are the only person I’ve ever told this to. I’ve never even told your father. I suppose I thought you might understand.”
“Your dad wanted you to be a musician,” I say bitterly.
Sarah tears the serviette to shreds and lays them out on the table. “I couldn’t go back to playing, Abby. Surely you can understand that.”
“But you do play. I saw you.”
She sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to. But you know how it is; the passion never really leaves you. No matter how much you want it to.”
I sit opposite my mother at the table. In a strange sort of way, nothing she has told me surprises me.
“I’m not going back to the Con,” I say finally.
“I’m glad.” There is a slight gleam in her eyes. She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. My fingers tense. The touch of my mother’s hand is something I remember only from childhood. It had become more leathery. Colder. She squeezes my fingers. I can’t bring myself to squeeze back. She gives a tiny smile.
“I’m glad we can both put music behind us.”
FORTY-ONE
Tim and I disappear out of the house after dinner. We join the handful of Nick and Marina’s friends that have gathered on the beach for the wedding. The sun is sliding into the water. The sky is pink and white like a half-sucked lolly.
Nick is lying back on his elbows, his bare feet buried in the sand. He stands up and smiles as we arrive. “Hey.” He kisses my cheek and shakes Tim’s hand. I’ve never seen my brothers shake hands before.
Marina is paddling in the shallows and stumbles out to meet us. Her orange hair hangs in waves down her back. In one hand she clutches a bouquet of frangipanis and she has a small one poked behind her ear. Her short white dress is soaking wet, see-through and clinging to her butt. She is wearing undies with pink love hearts all over them. My sister-in-law, I think. She throws an arm around each of us. Her hair smells like cheap shampoo. She pulls a flower out of the bouquet and breaks off the stem.
“Here you go chick,” she says, sliding it behind my ear. “Have to get you into the party spirit.” She tries to stick one behind Tim’s ear too but he tells her to fuck off. She is wearing the long earrings again and they match the string of love beads around her neck. The colours stand out against her translucent skin. I look her in the eye. Her pupils are tiny dots, swamped in blue.
“Hey gorgeous,” I hear Nick say. I try to feel happy for him, but all I can manage is a kind of muted, flat jealousy. I want my brother’s carelessness, his ability to exist just for the sake of it, without the need for purpose.
I glance at my phone. It’s almost 6:30. Thousands of kilometres away, the concert hall at the Con will be filling with audience. I feel an uncomfortable churning in my stomach. My phone bleeps suddenly to life. Matt is calling me. In my fluster to hang up, I accidentally take the call.
“Oh fuck.”
“Charming. Where are you, Abby? I’m backstage trying to find you. I’m here to watch you kick Clara’s arse!”
I lift the phone to my ear. “You’ve got a nerve mentioning Clara to me.”
Matt’s voice flattens. “So you heard about that then. Shit, I’m sorry. It was just a stupid mistake. I was drunk and lonely. She was there, that’s all. It meant nothing. You gotta know that.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Who you fuck is no business of mine anymore. You’ve moved on, so I need to as well.”
“I haven’t moved on,” says Matt. “I haven’t moved on at all. I slept with Clara because I was totally miserable and missing you. Christ Abby, yesterday I was even listening to that stupid Dvorak concerto.” He pauses. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Queensland.”
“What? No, seriously.”
I don’t answer.
“What about the comp final? I thought this was everything to you.” He pauses. “I thought this was why we broke up.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
His tone darkens. “This has everything to do with me.”
Tim catches my eye and motions at me to hang up.
“I have to go,” I tell Matt.
“Wait. Abby, what’s going on? When you coming home?”
“I am home.” I hang up before he can speak again.
“Everything okay?” asks Tim.
I nod.
“Turn that off okay. Don’t be the tool whose phone goes off in the middle of the ceremony.”
I smile half-heartedly. “Like anyone here would notice.”
The guests sprawl on the sand as Nick and Marina stumble through their vows. We have all kicked off our shoes and some people are drinking stubbies. I feel more like I am at a picnic than a wedding. Throughout the ceremony, I hear my phone vibrating noisily in my bag. Tim leans over and whispers in my ear.
“So how long you give it?”
I flash him a short smile. “Don’t be an arse.”
Tim chuckles. “Reckon they’ll have kids?”
“I hope not.”
“Don’t be an arse.”
I dig my hands into the sand and feel it turn cold beneath the surface. I let the soft white grains slide through my fingers. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again after this trip?”
Tim smiles. “Sure. They’ll be back when they run out of money. In like, a week…”
“I love you,” Nick says and it catches me unaware. I’ve never known him to express so much affection. I watch him closely, his eyes glued to Marina’s.
“Soft cock,” says Tim.
Marina leans against the bonnet of the car, one hand linked through Nick’s arm. She holds her bouquet out to me.
“You want it?”
I laugh a little. “You’re supposed to throw it.”
“Yeah… Maybe I’ll keep it. It smells so good.” She flashes me a grin. “I’m glad I got to meet you. It was real nice of you to come all this way.”
I force a smile as she throws her arms around me. “Look after my brother,” I say.
“Yeah chick, I will. I promise.”
We lock eyes again and this time I see a firm sincerity. I brush Marina’s arm.
“Thanks.”
Nick jangles his keys on the end of his finger. “Time to hit the road.” He grabs me in a bear hug. “Catch ya,” he says. “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and all that. Have fun down in Melbourne.”
“I’m not going back to Melbourne,” I say quickly.
Nick raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?” He chuckles and slaps me on the back. “Well haven’t the tables turned now, hey? So what’s with that? You missing Sarah or something?”
“Long story.” I push past it. “Have a great time, okay? Be careful.”
He laughs. “Yes Mum.”
I push my chin into the hollow of his neck and feel his stubble against my cheek. I try to swallow the lump in my throat
. Nick will never let me live it down if I cry.
“So tell me where you end up, okay?” I force a brightness into my voice to cover its tremor.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll let you know.”
I watch him climb into the car and disappear down the highway. I know he won’t.
I meet Rachel in the pub after the wedding. The bar is bustling with Christmas tourists and music blares from a TV in the corner. Straggly tinsel dangles from the light fixtures. Andrew and his friends are drinking around the pool table and he waves as I walk inside. Rachel rushes up to me.
“Oh my God!” she cries, with a frenzied air-kiss. “I can’t believe you’re back! I can’t believe you wore that dress to a wedding!” She teeters above me in high-heeled sandals and a strapless sundress. I smooth my ponytail self-consciously and pull the squashed frangipani out from behind my ear. Rachel takes my arm and sits me at one of the tables.
“So Justin’s going to meet us here,” she says. “I thought you’d probably like that.”
I catch a smell of Tommy Girl and it reminds me of Clara. Rachel totters to the bar and returns with a jug of beer and a pre-mixed vodka.
“So I’m studying nursing in Cairns,” she tells me. “That’s pretty cool, isn’t it. Only problem is there are no cute guys in my course- it’s all girls. But I figure once I start working I’ll meet all sorts of hot doctors.” She looks up. “Hey, there’s Justin.” She leans towards me hurriedly. “So, quickly. Tell me what’s happening between you two. Cos he wouldn’t say.”
“He wants us to get together,” I say.
“About bloody time! And?”
“And. I’m thinking about it.”
“What is there to think about? This is Justin, Abby. You two are made for each other. You’re like freakin Romeo and Juliet.”
“That didn’t end so well.”
“Whatever. My point is; you and Justin have wanted each other for as long as I’ve known you. Why are you so determined to make things difficult?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” I tell her.
Music From Standing Waves Page 24