One True Thing

by Nicole Hayes

  I press my fingers against my temple, rubbing them like I’ve seen Dad do to Mum when she’s had a tough day.

  ‘So do it!’ Luke pleads. He leans back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankles. ‘She’d forgive you,’ he adds.

  I look away, pressure building inside me like a living thing. ‘I’ve tried,’ I say, moving along the bed to sit beside him. The memory of Mum’s face from moments ago etched into my brain like a scar. I stretch out my legs beside his.

  ‘Try again,’ he says, the small voice gone now. There’s an edge to his words that makes me look at him straight on for a moment. Behind those eyes there is the beginning of a man, someone who’s lived a life well beyond ten short years.

  We both stare at our feet, his ragged toenails that always need trimming, the sock line still etched into his skin around his ankles, that tiny small toe on his right foot that’s curled in tighter than the others, almost hidden under the toe beside it. My nails all neat and trimmed, painted creamy mauve, a slim, golden anklet around my ankle – a gift from Mum last Christmas. He presses his toe against my calf muscle, then gives me a little shove.

  ‘I will,’ I say solemnly. ‘I’ll try again.’

  ‘I just want everything to go back to normal.’

  That word ‘normal’ is so confusing and wrong and … disappointing. It’s never what you think it’s going to be, and it keeps changing. Besides, it’s been so long now that I can’t remember what normal looks like, and I’m not sure I was such a big fan of it anyway.

  CHAPTER 32

  DÉTENTE

  I give up trying to sleep and switch on my light. Luke is asleep in the next room, and Dad’s in bed. Mum and her staff have pulled another all-nighter, and they’ve all bunked down at her office.

  I turn my stereo on low and listen to the bootleg Harry gave me. It works for a while, but then it strikes me the way it always does – hearing music I love makes me want to make it too. I grab my Martin, but my fingers can’t move fast enough to keep up. I take deep breaths, slow the rhythm of my blood and my brain so I can hold on to the words that fill it. I spend a long time playing the new song, my headphones plugged into my ears so no one can hear it. I stop to scribble lyrics in my notebook, changing them, then changing them back. It’s coming together, finally, and I want to play it for the band.

  My gut twists at the idea of what might happen to No Politics. What if Tyler and Kessie argue? Will Kessie still write with me? Can we make it work? I just don’t know how this thing with Kessie will fit into our friendship, if there’s room in the space we have or if it’s gone forever.

  I change gears in my head. I set up my laptop and watch the guitar tutorial Harry sent me, practising the chorus of ‘Just Breathe’ over and over until my fingertips start to burn.

  In the morning, I drop Luke at Nathan’s house, then text Kessie to meet at Carfe Diem. I can’t do what I need to do without Kessie’s help. She surprises me, saying she’s already there, so I pick up my pace and head to the cafe.

  As soon as I enter, I see Kessie – and Tyler sitting beside her.

  I make a subtle adjustment, forcing a cool I’m not sure I can pull off, and fix the right kind of smile in place. Will it always hurt like this?

  Tyler is doing her best to keep her expression neutral, and I appreciate that. I imagine she’s told Kessie about the pictures. Whoever did it would have spread the word already. Otherwise, what would be the fun in doing it? Maximum reach, Harry would call it.

  I approach the table, drinks all lined up, including one for me – strong skinny latte, just how I like it. I widen my smile.

  Tyler looks up at me. ‘Hey, Frankie. Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Please don’t mention yesterday, I will her silently. Please.

  I take my seat, and we all consider the drinks in front of us. Then we look up as one and quickly look down again.

  ‘So,’ Kessie says, too brightly, ‘this is nice.’

  It’s so obviously not nice. So awkward and horrible and just plain wrong that I squeeze out a short laugh before I realise it, and Tyler’s whole face relaxes. I notice Kessie lean against Tyler, not even aware she’s doing it, while Tyler’s body seems to open to her in a gesture both graceful and easy. They look good together. It’s different and unexpected and totally natural. They fit, I realise. They totally fit.

  Kessie’s watching me now, and it feels like I’m being tested. I swallow the hard lump in my throat. I want to show them I’m okay. Even if I’m not.

  ‘Are we good for next week?’ Tyler asks gently.

  I take a minute to remind myself what she means. And then it hits me – Pearl Jam, Saturday week. ‘God. Yes. All good.’ Luke’s swimming is on the same day – State Championships, which he’s made for the first time. The whole family is going, even Mum. No cameras or media, though, which almost killed Harry when she told him.

  ‘Text you?’ Tyler’s words are clipped, but her expression hopeful.

  ‘Sure.’ I look at Kessie. ‘Are we still on for this morning?’ I wonder if I’m supposed to invite Tyler now, or if Kessie is free to come alone.

  But Kessie leans over to Tyler, kisses her softly on the corner of her mouth and whispers goodbye. Then she stands beside me and says, ‘I’m ready.’

  Kessie and I head down Grantham Street, towards the bay. I’m about to cross at the lights when Kessie stops beside me.

  ‘I figured we’d need some help,’ she says, and waves at the approaching shape – Jake.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  She doesn’t waver. ‘He wants to help.’

  ‘He caused this whole mess!’

  Kessie frowns. ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘He took the photos, Kess!’

  ‘Yeah, he took the photos,’ she says, blocking my path. ‘That’s what he does. You would too, right? If you found the perfect song? Or heard it? You couldn’t just walk past it. Could you? You’d have to at least listen.’

  ‘He betrayed me! Anyway, why would I want his help?’

  Kessie exhales noisily just as Jake reaches us. ‘Because, genius, he’s the only one here who’s met the bloke!’

  Jake touches my arm, but I brush it away. He runs a hand though his hair, his face a picture of contrition. ‘I’m going to apologise again. One more time. I’m really sorry. I wish I could undo this but I can’t. So let me try to make it better.’

  ‘How can I trust you?’ I hate that there are tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I want to hold on to my anger because it’s safe and secure. He can’t hurt me here. He can’t.

  ‘You have to,’ he says with a shrug. ‘What else can you do?’

  I think about this, hating that he’s right. ‘Tell me, then. How can you help?’

  ‘I followed him home.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Do you want me to take you there or not?’ Jake asks, unblinking. ‘I mean, we can stand here and yell if you’d prefer.’

  It takes a minute for me to realise what I must look like. I push my hair off my face and pull my hoodie up over my head; I steady the furious racing of my heart, glance around to make sure that no one’s paying us too much attention, or at least not ‘Isn’t that the Premier’s kid?’ kind of attention. I nod curtly, and Jake immediately turns the corner, taking us away from the intersection and towards the busy esplanade.

  After a couple of blocks, we stop outside a door leading up to a hostel. We climb the dark, carpeted stairs and head to the reception area, which is really just a counter with a dreadlocked girl sitting behind it.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks.

  Jake approaches the counter and smiles. I follow him while Kessie hangs back. ‘I met someone here a few weeks ago …’ His voice trails off with uncertainty, and I wonder if it’s real or just an act.

  The room is quiet and dimly lit, but there’s a corridor leading away from the counter and I can hear muffled laughter coming from it.

  ‘Do you have a name?
’ The woman has the face of a thirty-year-old, but her voice is light and girlish.

  Jake offers that twisted half-smile he uses to charm people. ‘Yeah. Colin …?’ He looks at me, as though to check he’s right, then turns that beaming smile on the receptionist again. ‘Leith. Colin Leith.’ He tries to say the name like it’s one no one’s heard of, innocent and empty, not loaded with megabytes of analysis and commentary.

  The woman blinks, unimpressed. ‘Yeah, you and everyone else.’

  Jake clears his throat. ‘So he’s not here?’

  She looks up at him, suspicious now. ‘Not anymore. I told everyone that. He moved out weeks ago.’

  ‘Can you check, please? Maybe he left a forwarding address.’ Jake’s smile could melt an iceberg, but it’s having exactly zero effect on the receptionist.

  ‘I’m not going to give out that information.’ The receptionist sighs deeply and shuts the laptop. ‘Unless you’re the police and have a warrant.’

  Jake is about to protest but I cut in and push back my hoodie, revealing my face. ‘My name is Francesca Mulvaney-Webb, the Premier’s daughter,’ I say, a sheepish smile on my face. I hate saying my name to strangers because I never know whether they’ll recognise it or not. Assuming they will makes me look like a tool. Assuming they won’t has virtually the same effect. ‘I just want to meet him.’

  She considers me for a long minute, something shifting in her expression. ‘I thought I recognised you.’ She smiles gently. ‘Can’t be much fun for you right now,’ she says, and, ridiculously, tears sting my eyes.

  ‘I’ve had better months.’ I slip the hood back on.

  ‘He’s not here. He was, but he moved, like I said.’ The woman hesitates, then lifts one shoulder. ‘There’ve been a lot of people looking for him – your mum included.’ She looks apologetic. She believes she’s telling me about my cheating mother, about her illicit affair with this man.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

  We’re about to head down the stairs when I hear the receptionist calling to me.

  I stop, turn around.

  ‘It sucks, the way they’re treating your mum.’

  I nod, those ever-ready tears making an unwelcome return.

  She glances up the corridor, then back at me. ‘He hangs out at The Prince a lot.’

  I blink, not really registering what she means.

  ‘The Prince Hotel, on Leeward. He’s been spotted there a few times lately.’

  ‘Really? When?’

  Her smile spreads. ‘Yesterday. The day before. I’d head down there now, if I were looking for him.’ She stands taller then, flattens the expression on her face. ‘But we don’t reveal information about our guests,’ she adds evenly.

  And although I want to throw my arms around her to thank her, I tighten the smile that threatens to split my face. ‘Right. Sorry to bother you.’

  She smiles politely. ‘No bother at all.’

  As we round the corner near the pub, I tell Kessie and Jake I need to do this alone.

  ‘Seriously?’ Kessie asks.

  ‘You don’t know this guy,’ Jake adds.

  I don’t try to argue or reason with them. They don’t know the truth yet. They can’t know. ‘Please?’ I ask, hoping this will be enough.

  Jake glances around like he’s scoping out the place. Kessie is just watching me, making up her mind.

  ‘I don’t know what this bloke is going to say,’ I tell them, ‘but it’s about my family, my mum …’ Even the idea of what they think Colin’s done is enough to bring the colour to my cheeks.

  ‘I don’t believe what they’re saying,’ Kessie says, shaking her head. ‘I mean, I know it’s bullshit.’ She faces Jake, offering that last bit for him. ‘It is.’

  He nods, but it’s more an acknowledgement that he knows he’s not meant to be here.

  ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘We’ll wait.’

  They arrange to meet later – after I call – then head back the way we came. I wait for them to disappear into the thickening stream of pedestrians all considering their mid-morning coffee options, then I remove my hoodie, flick my hair off my face and hope I look at least reasonably normal.

  I walk in. The pub is open but virtually empty. There’s a small beer garden out front which is still damp from last night’s rain. In the corner, near the front door, is one isolated patron, and by the slope of his back, the shape of his head and that long aquiline nose I’m so used to seeing on my own face, now sharply in profile, I know that this is Colin Leith.

  My brother.

  I stand there, paralysed, watching him. He’s going to see me any second and be totally creeped out, but I can’t stop staring at him. Short hair. Tattoos covering every bit of skin I can see. But in profile, I see Mum and me – even a bit of Luke. It takes my breath away.

  I glance behind me to make sure Kessie and Jake are still outside, and then a voice startles me – an Irish voice, dry and brittle and as cold as ice.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the Premier’s daughter. The child our mother didn’t give away.’

  CHAPTER 33

  HUNG PARLIAMENT

  I stare at Colin, mute. I thought I was ready for this. But here he is and here I am, and for the life of me I can’t manage a single word.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got some catching up to do,’ he says, the Irish accent as familiar to me as my gran’s. Thicker, though. Coarser, too.

  He heads back to his table and I hesitate, not entirely sure he expects me to follow. He takes his seat, the same as before, then frowns back at me. ‘Stop gawping and sit.’

  Stiffly, I follow and take a seat across from him.

  ‘Drink?’

  I laugh a little awkwardly. ‘I’m sixteen.’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘I meant a Coke.’

  Embarrassed, I mutter a thanks, and he heads into the bar, returning soon after with a tall glass of Coke and a packet of chips. I could barely stomach breakfast this morning, so Coke and salt-and-vinegar crinkle-cuts are probably not a good idea, but I smile and sip my drink.

  My head is cloudy with questions I can’t quite grasp, and everything I thought I knew and understood no longer make sense. Seeing this strange man, this brother, so plainly a Mulvaney that I can’t believe everyone hasn’t picked it up from the photos. Though, they were dark and in profile. But still. There it is, in the way he holds his head, the shape of his fingers, even Gran’s square jaw. He’s tall and thickly built. Arms muscled and covered in ink, red and green and black, hair close-shaven and fair.

  It’s a strange thing to meet a brother for the first time. Obviously I’ve been here before – when Luke came squirming and squalling into the world. I held him when he was barely two hours old. I was six and sceptical, asking Dad if we could be sure he was ours since he looked just like all the other babies in the nursery: wet-eyed, red-faced, wrinkled. Dad had laughed and made a show of checking the band on Luke’s tiny wrist.

  ‘He’s a Mulvaney-Webb, Francesca,’ he’d said. ‘See, it’s written right here.’

  I’d squinted at that tag, reading my surname and the ‘Luke Brantley’ in front of it, the blue colour indicating he was a boy. ‘Okay,’ I said then, trusting this very official-looking thing.

  By the time Mum had brought him home, he’d changed enough for me to see that his lips looked like mine in my baby photos, that his eyes looked like Mum’s, and those skinny legs were all Webb. He was one of us – anyone could see that. And then it was like he’d always been here. Had always been my brother. Even now I struggle to remember life before Luke, as if our family really began that day in the hospital. But this is different. This brother has arrived here fully formed. Nothing has prepared me for this.

  Colin takes a long, thirsty drink of his beer, and it occurs to me that it’s early to be drinking. I sip my Coke and then we’re staring at each other, a million unanswerable questions forming a wall between us.

  I clear my throat, but when I finally speak it’s barely above a whisper
. ‘When did you arrive in Australia?’

  He blinks. I imagine a battle going on inside him too, though a different one to mine. Did he know about me before he came? Did Mum mention us?

  I guess it doesn’t matter – how much he knows, or for how long. He already resents us. Or me, at least. He made that clear the second he saw me.

  ‘A couple of months ago.’

  I do a quick calculation. All Mum’s unexplained absences that I kept assuming were about the campaign. The late calls and Gran’s unexpected, hurried return from Ireland – even her trip was weird, given how close the election was. Their stand-off at the launch party. Did Mum know he was here then?

  It’s funny how obvious some things seem when you put it all together. On their own, they don’t mean much, but when you step back to look at them, they take on a whole new meaning. Like the Alice photo Jake loves so much – when you let the right light catch it, and take in its full effect from a distance, it suddenly looks like something quite different.

  ‘Too long, if you ask me,’ he adds. His stare is intimidating, yet a part of me wants to hold his hand. He is – or looks – so alone, though I have no idea if that’s true at all. He could have a whole other family in Ireland, people who have known him his whole life, or most of it. I want to ask – god, a million things – but I don’t know where to start.

  ‘Yeah. Right. The media’s been pretty grim.’

  He cocks his head. ‘Arseholes.’

  ‘They’ve said some stuff about you. About –’

  He snorts. ‘They can’t hurt me.’

  ‘How do they know all that stuff? Your name. Your …’ I stop to search for the right words. ‘Background.’