One True Thing

by Nicole Hayes

He came forward and sat at the table beside me. ‘It’s going to get rough,’ he said. ‘Rougher than it is. I think you and your brother should disappear until things cool down.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ll call your gran. She’ll take you to the beach.’

  ‘What about you? Where will you go?’

  He frowned as though I’d asked the world’s dumbest question. ‘Why would I go anywhere?’

  ‘Because of what they’re saying – how it looks.’

  He blinked and wiped his glasses with a cloth. ‘When have I ever cared how something looks?’

  ‘She needs to tell them who he is. That he’s not … what they think.’

  ‘I agree. She does.’

  ‘Then tell her!’

  ‘That’s not the plan.’

  ‘You’re just going to ignore it? She’s ruining our family! Ruining everything!’

  Dad’s face flushed, fine lines edging his mouth. ‘We need to face this together. I understand this has been hard for you. It will be for some time, I imagine. And I’m very sorry. But we don’t quit in this family.’

  I choked back the knot in my throat. ‘I can’t believe you’re taking her side!’

  He stood up slowly, straightening with deliberate care. ‘There are no sides to this, Frankie. We’re all in this together. I don’t expect you to understand, but I hope you’ll find a way to accept that.’ He pushed his chair back into place. ‘Now go pack your stuff. I’ll take care of Luke’s.’

  When Gran came to get us, Dad kissed me on the forehead and told me it would all work out, told me he’d call every day. And he has.

  I haven’t answered once.

  Luke stands there, his teeth chattering, his lips blue.

  ‘Hungry?’ I say.

  We cross the road and I’m about to disappear into the cafe where Gran picks up her newspaper when Luke calls me further ahead. ‘This one,’ he says, stopping outside a dirty shopfront with PCs painted on the glass.

  I follow him inside. ‘They won’t sell smoothies in a place like this,’ I warn.

  He ignores me and sits at a computer.

  ‘Seriously? You know what’s out there, don’t you? It’s not good, the stuff they’re saying.’

  Despite Gran’s efforts, it’s impossible not to hear what’s going on. Every time I leave the house I’m bombarded with images and overheard updates in every bayside street. Newspapers with photos of Mum and Colin greet my morning walk. I didn’t even know his last name, I realised, until I saw it in the headlines in the window of the local milk bar. Leith. Colin Leith. And, to make it even more entertaining for everyone, apparently he’s a petty criminal, which, Seamus Hale is quick to tell us, makes the story one of ‘national interest’. That’s journalist-code meaning they can say what they like.

  Jake’s photos are the only ones of them together. There are still plenty of shots of Mum avoiding the media’s questions, telling them that she has nothing to hide, trying to ‘redirect the conversation to policy, not politics’. Getting back to the business of running Victoria. I could puke every time I hear her trot out that tired, old line. She sounds like a robot.

  There have been calls for her sacking by some of the more prominent bloggers – calls that even the most anti-Yummy Mummy media have largely rejected. The election is only a few weeks away. They’ll get their chance then. But people want answers – about Mum and Colin’s relationship, about Mum and Dad’s marriage, about me and Luke.

  It does seem to be slowly winding down, though. The debate continues, but without anything new to write it’s losing steam. Harry talks about the ‘two-week rule’ – that even big stories die within a fortnight because there’s always some new disaster or scandal to distract us. Today’s front page is all about the apology to the forced-adoption kids – Mum’s biggest win – with some of the reunions finally taking place. Her passion for this project suddenly makes a whole lot more sense to me.

  None of this has slowed Seamus Hale. He’s claiming he has hotel receipts proving Mum and Colin’s ‘sleazy affair’, which is ten kinds of gross and also, obviously, bullshit. But as Harry would say, why let the facts get in the way of a good story? And if I see another quote attributed to ‘sources close to the Premier’ I’ll scream. In fact, any reference to ‘Mummygate’ – as the press has cheerfully nicknamed the destruction of my mother’s career and my life – is likely to end in my head exploding. The irony of this nickname would be hilarious if I didn’t feel sick every time I consider Mum’s revelation.

  ‘I don’t know if they’ll have World of Minecraft online, Luke,’ I say, after reading the instructions for how to buy internet time.

  Luke takes control of the mouse, shaking me off. ‘I don’t want to play Minecraft.’

  I look at him and jokingly touch his forehead. ‘You’re not dying, are you?’

  He shakes his head grimly. ‘I want to see him. What he looks like.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Colin.’

  My stomach drops. Maybe Luke isn’t as oblivious as I thought. ‘You have seen him – on the telly.’

  ‘Not properly.’ I take a seat beside Luke, preparing to protest.

  ‘He’s my brother too,’ he says.

  And that’s all it takes, because in all the craziness, all my anger and hurt, this is the one thing I hadn’t registered. Colin is our half-brother, our blood. Family. ‘Fair enough.’ I get up and pay for an hour, ordering us both hot chocolates.

  I sit beside Luke. Even searching for ‘Colin Leith’ offers an onslaught of images I don’t want to see. Headlines and memes, spoofs and column inches dedicated to the destruction of the Mulvaney-Webb family. The election taking a back seat would have been a relief for me not long ago. And now? It’s proof of the disaster at home.

  ‘There!’ Luke says, stopping at a whole series of shots, my mother’s humiliation captured on screen in flip-book animation.

  That pained expression on Mum’s face, the passion and hurt clear in her features, the young man turned away, dismissing her. There is something real and powerful happening between them, reflected in Mum’s face, and love is the only word for it. I feel a rock forming hard in my chest.

  The waiter comes over with our drinks and we both sit back as though caught doing something we shouldn’t. When the waiter’s gone, Luke and I return our attention to the photos, but I take charge of the mouse this time.

  I pick one shot, opening the image to fill the screen. I study his profile, the shape of his jaw, the hard lines of his face. It’s not a great shot, but I’m looking for something else here too, I realise. This version of the photo is full and seemingly untouched compared to the published ones I’ve seen on TV, most of them cropped or altered. There’s more background, more black night behind them, and the lines of their faces are not as clear – the whites over-bright, and the edges a bit smudged. I take in the whole picture, the entrance of the Grand Marin, and the passing car in the background. The camel colour of Mum’s coat, the shifting darkness in the space behind her, the imperfection in the corner of the screen –

  I stop and zoom in. A heaviness in the pit of my belly.

  There.

  ‘Show me the other one,’ Luke says, ‘where he’s looking at the camera.’

  I keep staring. Is it possible that I’d convinced myself Jake was lying? I must have, because it’s like hearing his words all over again. The proof – the small, fine white line, a tiny imperfection that any normal person wouldn’t even see if they weren’t looking for it.

  ‘Frankie!’

  I click through the series, one after another, after another. Each time I spy the same faint line, jagged and broken.

  Unique, like a fingerprint.

  ‘You keep skipping it!’ Luke cries.

  I go back to the clearest shot of Colin, trying not to see the mark, willing it to disappear. But faint as it is, it’s still there. A lightning bolt. Jake’s lightning bolt.

  ‘He doesn’t look like Mum,’ Luke says sceptically.
/>   I block out Jake’s betrayal and focus on Colin. I blink back the tears that I refuse to shed. The blur fades, the picture sharpens.

  ‘It’s hard to see,’ I say slowly, ‘but it’s there. The chin. The nose.’ I stop, feel a skip of my heart. My nose. The one that looks different on Mum looks different on Colin too.

  Luke grunts agreement. ‘Kind of reminds me of you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I let that idea sit a bit, feeling the weight of it. I scan the rest of his face. I wonder what his eyes look like. If they’re the warm brown Mum has or Gran’s hazel-green.

  ‘I wonder what he’s like,’ Luke whispers. ‘Do you think he likes swimming?’

  ‘I don’t know, Luke. I mean, we don’t know anything about him or if he knows about us. Or if he even wants to.’

  I wait to see if that registers, but Luke seems too engrossed in the idea itself. He sits up, riveted to the picture of this big brother he never knew he had. I hadn’t given this the thought I should have. Colin didn’t cause this or ask for it. He’s innocent and stuck with this rancid mess as much as Luke and I are.

  A strange heat flows through me – something that feels a lot like fear. And a little like hope too.

  CHAPTER 25

  ON MESSAGE

  By the sixth day at Gran’s I was climbing the walls. By day seven, I’m certifiable. The only thing stopping me from hitchhiking back to the city is the idea of facing everyone at home. I just wish I could find a way to forget about it.

  ‘I need my band,’ I tell Gran, when we’re washing the dishes in her tiny sink that night. I haven’t told anyone about Kessie and Tyler – not even Luke – so I can easily use them as an excuse to get back. School holidays start soon, so it would just be a few days of hell before I can escape again.

  I pass Gran a newly washed glass, but she hands it back to me. ‘Smudges.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a dishwasher?’ I complain for the hundredth time.

  ‘I do,’ she says, grinning. ‘We call her Francesca.’

  I shoot her a fake smile and slide the glass in the water again, wiping it so carefully and deliberately with the sponge that Gran raises an eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘I’m just being thorough.’ I keep washing it, even though it’s possible I’ve removed a layer of glass in the process.

  ‘I think that’s done now,’ Gran says.

  I run cold water over the glass, turning it slowly under the stream to make sure not a single bubble remains. Then I hand it to her.

  ‘Excellent work. At this rate, we’ll be done by Easter 2020,’ she says cheerfully.

  I smile brightly. ‘I wouldn’t want them not to be perfect.’

  Gran chuckles under her breath. ‘The apple never falls far from the tree.’

  I’m almost relieved when the phone rings, even though I know it will be Mum. She calls the same time every night and every morning – bang on eight o’clock.

  Gran quickly dries her hands and answers the landline. Mum’s given up calling my mobile. My voicemail is almost full – Kessie, Jake and Tyler have all had turns trying to get in touch. Tyler’s heartfelt apology sounded so broken and sad that I almost called her back. No Politics is on unofficial hiatus and, according to the haranguing messages from Kessie, Mr Campaspe is getting seriously worried.

  And so am I.

  Even Van messaged with a simple ‘WTF???????’.

  WTF indeed, I want to say.

  ‘She’s washing the dishes,’ Gran says into the phone.

  I press the sponge against a plate, scrubbing in tight circles, making that annoying squeaking sound in the hope it will drown out my thoughts. I press harder, enjoying a delicious thrill that I don’t fully understand.

  ‘I’ll see what she says.’ Gran holds out the phone to me. ‘It’s your mum.’

  I shake my head and return to the dishes.

  Gran hesitates, then sighs. ‘She needs more time.’ I can feel Gran’s disapproval clear across the room. ‘That’s not a good idea. You have your campaign, and she needs some space.’

  Gran moves away, probably taking the phone to Luke.

  My phone starts ringing on the table beside me. Jake’s name comes up on the screen and my fingers itch to pick up. Apart from Kessie and the band, I continue to be bombarded by dodgy text messages from different kids at school faking concern when what they really want is gossip. I’ve blocked half of College Park High’s Year 10, and a good number of anonymous callers who have somehow found my number. As soon as I go home, I’m going to change my SIM and start again.

  I stare at Jake’s name flashing on the screen. I press my hands deeper into the soapy water, scrubbing the knives and forks, one by one, over and over, finding some peace in the ritual. I try to focus my mind, going over some new lyrics that seem to fit the riff Kessie and I started but never developed, the one Tyler turned into something bigger and richer.

  Everything is so royally screwed up right now. Everyone who matters has let me down, and I’ve never felt so alone. I close my eyes, find a melody to focus on and scrub harder. Suddenly, dull pain shoots through my palm, and I realise I’m gripping a butter-knife so tightly that if it had any kind of edge it would have sliced through my skin. I let the knife fall into the sink, remove my hands from the water and stare at the phone, incensed. It rings again.

  I empty the sink and refill it with fresh, hot water. Almost immediately Dad’s name pops up on the caller ID. I count three rings, then wipe my hands dry and pick up the phone. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Frankie? Hey.’ He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

  ‘Hi,’ I say again.

  Gran comes back in and watches me carefully. I turn my back and head for my bedroom. I shut the door and wait.

  ‘How’s everything?’ Dad says finally.

  How’s everything? Seriously? I suck air, bite my lip. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Just fine.’ My voice is meant to be flat and dismissive, but it rockets up the scales to a horrible squeak, and I know he can hear my hurt.

  ‘Frankie …?’ And I can hear his.

  A part of me crumbles in the face of his pain. But the part of me that’s had years of training for difficult moments? That part runs cold. ‘How’s the united front?’ I ask, my voice trembling. ‘Still unshakeable?’

  There’s a long silence. ‘This has been hard on everyone, Francesca, and your anger isn’t helping.’

  ‘Sorry I haven’t drunk from the Kool Aid,’ I say, the sneer sharp even to my ears.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ he says quietly. ‘I really am.’

  I pick at the worn salmon-pink bedspread Gran’s had on this bed for as long as I can remember, finding a bleach stain that Gran told me goes back to Mum’s childhood.

  ‘Luke’s inside if you want to talk to him,’ I say coolly.

  The aching silence on the other end should feel like a reward. I’m trying to shut him off and it’s working. But deep, deep down a tiny voice is saying, ‘Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll call back later.’

  I hang up without saying goodbye. I will not feel guilty.

  I will not.

  It isn’t long before Gran knocks on my door.

  ‘Come in,’ I say, sitting up.

  Gran stops at the threshold, places her hands on her hips and considers me.

  ‘What?’

  She frowns. ‘I’ve had about enough of the attitude, missy.’

  ‘What attitude?’

  ‘Your mother needs you.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ I snort. ‘She doesn’t need anyone.’

  Gran blinks, taken aback. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Just that … she’s fine. She’s always fine. She makes a decision and we have to run to catch up, hoping she doesn’t leave us behind. Dad always gives in.’

  Even as I say this, I know it’s only partly true. But truth, I’m quickly learning, is a slippery thing. What’s true one second isn’t even close to true the next. So
metimes it feels like there is no one true thing.

  Gran crosses the room swiftly to stand over me. ‘That’s not fair and you know it,’ she says.

  I stare at my hands. ‘Whatever, Gran.’

  ‘You’re going to have to face her eventually.’

  ‘And she’s going to have to tell the truth eventually.’

  ‘Yes. I agree,’ Gran says, surprising me. She sets her hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry this is hurting you.’

  I shake my head and pull away from her.

  Gran sighs heavily, and heads towards the door. ‘Time to go home, Francesca. I’ll call your dad to come and get you.’

  ‘I just want to know.’

  Gran’s jaw twitches. ‘What?’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  She frowns. Slowly, she shakes her head, no, but it takes such effort. And I realise that the intimidating, unshakeable Gran Mulvaney is hurting too.

  I do something then that I haven’t done for a very long time. I rush into my grandmother’s arms, letting it all go.

  And, incredibly, she lets me.

  CHAPTER 26

  NO COMMENT

  Dad takes the dark roads slowly, as if he’s reluctant to get home. I shove my earphones in, flick through to my ‘Girl Interrupted’ playlist and lose myself in some Megan Washington while Luke falls asleep on the back seat.

  When we arrive home, Luke gets a second wind and starts complaining about having to take a shower. His moody, sullen complaints noisier and more pointed, it seems, because of everything that’s happening. Dad carries our bags inside, and we sit down to a late meal of toasted focaccia. Mum is at a charity event – some organisation raising money for deaf children.

  ‘I’ll take you to school tomorrow,’ Dad says, after Luke has gone to bed.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ll catch the tram.’

  He opens his mouth to object, but then wearily waves his assent.

  I start to clear away my dishes when I sense Dad behind me.

  ‘I know you believe this is all about you,’ he says quietly. ‘And, yes, some of it is.’ He leans against the kitchen sink, runs a hand through his thinning hair, and says, ‘It’s hard for all of us.’ He rubs his forehead, then opens his arms wide. ‘We’re all just doing the best we can.’