by Nicole Hayes
Nothing I can do about that right now. I have to refocus, to make at least this part right. ‘Okay,’ I say to Luke.
We take the stairs to Colin’s room. When he opens the door, there’s a flicker of shock as he takes in Luke beside me, but then the flat, unyielding expression returns. Impossible to read.
‘I’m leaving,’ he says before I can speak.
‘Um. This is … Luke,’ I say.
Luke holds out his hand to him. Colin blinks, then reaches across and shakes his hand firmly.
‘When are you leaving?’ I ask.
He opens the door wider and I can see a backpack open on the bed. A tangle of clothes sorted in rough piles, some in the backpack, some next to it. A clutter of toiletries and other things form another mess in the middle. All of which I take to mean soon.
‘Can we come in?’ I ask.
‘I don’t see why.’ He steps back, leaving the door open.
Luke immediately follows, and as it’s as close to an invitation as we’re likely to get, I go inside too. Colin moves some clothes from the pile on his bed and tucks them into a gap in his backpack.
‘I was really hoping we’d have more time,’ I say quietly.
With effort, he faces us. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, faded jeans and socks. I can just make out the tail end of the smiling moons peeking out from under his sleeve. Without being asked, Luke plonks himself on the bed and stares expectantly at Colin.
Colin frowns at him but doesn’t object.
‘You look like her,’ my brother says matter-of-factly.
Something happens to Colin’s face then. It contorts, just briefly, then there’s that same impassive cold. ‘Nothing I can do about that.’
Luke shakes his head. ‘No, that’s good – she’s pretty.’
‘Not pretty,’ I say, because I can’t imagine anyone calling Colin Leith pretty, or him wanting anyone to. ‘Handsome.’
Luke frowns at me. ‘Not Mum. You.’
So now we’re all blushing, even Luke, because he’s just realised he’s given his sister a compliment.
Colin laughs, short and sharp. ‘You’re odd.’
Luke nods. ‘I know.’ He tilts his head. ‘Do you swim?’
Colin shoots me a quick accusatory look, and I realise our beach swim was meant to be a secret. The fact is, I haven’t told anyone. Not about that.
‘Luke, that’s not polite.’
‘What? To ask if he likes swimming?’
‘No. I mean, just asking questions like that.’
‘But how else will I find out the answers?’
Colin laughs again. ‘Yeah, I swim. Not very well, though.’
Luke smiles. ‘I could teach you. I’m really good.’
Colin’s expression is softening with every new Luke-shaped embarrassment, and so I decide to just let him go for it. Luke being Luke is pretty irresistible. ‘Are you?’ he asks my little brother.
Luke bristles with pride. ‘Yep. I’m swimming in the State Trials this Saturday – at the university pool. You should come.’
Colin shoots me an ‘Is he for real?’ look.
I smile. ‘Yeah. You should.’
Colin shakes his head, but before he can say no, Luke says, ‘Mum and Dad will be there.’
Colin flinches. ‘Yeah. No.’
‘But you have to say goodbye to Mum,’ Luke says, frowning.
Colin’s mouth twists into a humourless smile. ‘I don’t owe your mum anything.’
‘Our mum,’ Luke replies.
The words clatter loudly as they fall. Colin looks like he’s just been slapped.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say. ‘Luke –’
‘But she is!’ Luke is almost in tears.
‘We’d better go,’ I say to Colin. I feel so completely out of my depth. Why did I think I could fix this enormous thing when it’s older and bigger and just more than I could ever be?
I turn Luke around by the shoulders, but he stops as I open the door. ‘What about Gran?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Just stop, Luke.’
Colin moves past us so fast, I step back, helpless, as he slams the door before we can leave. His hand grips the doorknob and he has one arm pressed against the jamb, blocking our exit. Luke looks genuinely frightened but, somehow, despite the aggression in Colin’s expression, I’m not afraid.
‘It’s okay, Luke,’ I say.
‘I don’t want you coming back,’ Colin says through gritted teeth. ‘Do you understand? You’ve had a look. Here I am. The long-lost unwanted bastard brother. But now I’m going home and you’re going home. You and your brother and your gran – and your goddamned mum – are going to leave me the feck alone. Got it?’
I blink. Tears sting my eyes. I nod.
Colin is breathing heavily as he steps back and lets us pass, but before I can stop him, Luke has launched himself at Colin, clutching him in a vice-like hug that seems to knock the very wind out of them both.
Colin holds his arms wide, like he’s afraid to touch Luke. Time stands still. No one moves. Then Luke lets go and angrily runs out the door.
I look back at Colin as I leave. He’s standing perfectly still, staring at the space where Luke had been, his arms spread wide in shock.
That’s the last thing I see when I shut the door. That, and a brief glimpse of the tiny smiling moons peeking out from Colin’s sleeve.
When we enter the foyer, Gran is sitting in the same lounge chair, perched forward as though preparing to escape. She looks surprised when Luke and I appear. We’ve been gone barely fifteen minutes.
We stand before her, not really sure how to explain what has just happened. But Gran works it out fast enough. Luke’s face is flushed and pale all at once, and his eyes are damp with unshed tears. ‘He’s going back to Ireland,’ he blurts, in the split second before his tears begin to fall.
Gran considers us both, glancing at the staircase as though she has a mind to go after him.
I put a hand on her arm. ‘Let it go, Gran,’ I say. I can’t face another fight. I don’t have it in me.
CHAPTER 38
HOLLOW MEN
I slide my fingers across the fret board, ignoring the sting of newly formed calluses as I roll my wrist and manage the walk-down chord change without missing a beat. Got it! I do it again to be sure. Then again and again.
I reach for my phone, send Harry a text saying simply: I did it! I’m surprised to hear it ding right back, Harry’s name appearing on my screen for the first time in ages: Never doubted it.
A slow smile creeps across my face. I shake my hands, stretch each finger out, shake my hands again, then set my fingers to position and start from the top. Soon enough I’m making my hand slide and roll without effort, and I start to sing. My words don’t even catch at the bridge. ‘Just Breathe’ sounds exactly how I imagined it would all those weeks ago when I first decided to learn to play it. Except something is missing. Before Mummygate, before Kessie and Tyler and even Jake, I would have been squealing and dancing around the room, texting Kessie and posting her pics and maybe even sending her a clip before rehearsal.
My heart sinks at the thought. Right now, Kessie probably wouldn’t even read my text, let alone celebrate with me. The thought is so profoundly depressing that I can barely force myself to start again. Everything has changed. It’s not enough, I realise, to reproduce this thing I love so much. No matter how I sing it or how I play it, it’s not mine.
It’s not mine.
The knock on my door takes a second to register and my half-hearted ‘Come in’ is supposed to sound discouraging.
And then I’m staring up at Jake D’Angelo from the end of my bed.
He stands at the threshold to my room uncertainly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey?’ My voice lifts in question, though I don’t really know what I’m asking.
‘You need to come with me,’ he says.
‘Um, what?’
‘I’
d like you to come with me.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m not going to tell you where.’
‘This again?’
A thin smile. ‘I want to fix this.’ He pulls his hands out of his pockets and shows me his palms as though to explain what ‘this’ means.
I sigh. ‘It’s fine. I’m not angry anymore. Or I am angry but I’m trying not to be.’
He shakes his head. ‘I need more than that.’
I set my guitar aside and study him. ‘Do you.’
He nods.
‘I don’t know what you want –’
‘You. Us. To try again.’
I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished.
‘Give me a chance.’
‘Jake …’
‘Come with me.’
‘It won’t matter.’
‘This is important.’
I have no idea what he could possibly want from me, but I have to admit I’m curious. ‘You have to tell me where.’
‘I really can’t. But you’ll be happy. Or … pleased.’
‘I can’t leave Luke alone.’
‘He can come.’
Now he’s really got my attention, though it’s possible I’m a little disappointed that my ten-year-old brother is welcome to tag along.
I shrug, then go next door to Luke’s room and tell him to grab a jumper for the cold.
The office building is nothing special, and I don’t recognise it at all, but when we arrive on the third floor, I see Jake’s dad hovering over a receptionist. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, and I realise it must be his dad’s work.
I stop at the glass doors, tasting acid in my mouth just seeing this man. I reach for Luke, but he’s beside Jake, Jake’s hand resting on his shoulder.
Jake’s dad looks up and sees us standing there. He frowns, clearly not expecting us. He steps forward, then stops and glances back when Seamus Hale appears in the corridor behind him.
Jake opens the door. ‘Mr Hale!’
Jake’s dad moves to stand between them but Jake is too quick or maybe his dad is too slow. It doesn’t matter because Seamus is smiling at Jake in welcome. ‘You must be Tony’s boy,’ he says.
‘I’ll deal with you later, Jake. Seamus – let’s go,’ Tony says, just as Seamus’s gaze finds Luke. And then me.
Seamus’s eyes widen in surprise. He considers Jake again, confused but also curious.
I’m so stunned to see this man up close – not on a TV, not as a photo on a website, or a voice on the airwaves – that I stand there, mute. Somehow, in the process of hating his words, I’d forgotten he was a real, live human being.
‘Jake!’ Tony says, almost growling his son’s name. ‘This is highly inappropriate.’
Jake laughs. ‘You don’t get to decide what’s appropriate. Not anymore.’
Seamus glances from one face to the next, as baffled by this exchange as I am. ‘Let’s go into my office.’
Jake’s dad heads towards us. ‘Sorry about this, Seamus. I’ll send them on their way.’
‘No, no,’ Seamus says magnanimously. ‘Let’s all go.’ He offers Luke and me a wide smile. ‘Lovely to finally meet in person. Francesca, isn’t it? And Luke?’
We both nod. Even Luke has nothing embarrassing to say for once.
‘I assume you know Jake’s father, Tony Hatcher. My producer.’
Hatcher. The Hatchet. The bloke who kept bugging Harry and Mum. ‘Yes.’
‘Come through,’ Seamus Hale says.
When the door is shut behind us, I’m drawn to the TV screens propped high in the corner of the office. Each one is programmed to a different news channel. I turn back to find Seamus Hale studying me carefully.
‘What can I do for you two? Sorry – three,’ he asks, sweeping his arm to include Jake.
I have my chance to say whatever I want to Seamus Hale, to force him to explain all that toxic waste he’s been spewing into the airwaves and the blogosphere, and I’m lost for words. I open my mouth, hoping something will come out, but Jake steps between us and says, ‘This is all off the record, Seamus. All of it.’
Seamus lets a wry smile curl his lips. ‘You’ve taught him well, Tony.’
‘This is a bad idea,’ Jake’s dad says, his cold eyes trained on his son. I’m tempted to wedge myself between them, like Jake just did with Seamus a moment ago, to fend him off.
There’s a flicker of uncertainty in Jake’s expression but he doesn’t bend. He’s standing up to his dad and he’s doing it for me. I reach for Jake’s hand, wrap my fingers around it and squeeze.
Jake glances at our hands, joined there for the moment. Then he pulls himself taller and faces Seamus Hale again. ‘Do I have your word? All of it. Off the record.’
‘You don’t even need to ask.’ Seamus flashes that same oily smile seeming to undermine everything he says.
‘Yes, we do,’ I say.
The smile vanishes and it feels like we’ve got his full attention. ‘Fair enough. Off the record.’ He points to the chairs in the room, indicating we should sit, as he does. ‘What can I do for you?’
I don’t sit. I can barely hold my thoughts together or find a place to start. I scramble for the right words and then I hear my brother’s squeaky voice pipe up and say them for me.
‘Why?’ Luke asks. ‘Why do you say mean things about my mum?’
I blink at my brother and fight the urge to cry. Should he be here? Neither of us probably should be. It’s not fair or right, but I’m learning that fair and right have a very little role in these kinds of things.
Unless.
Unless.
‘Yes, Mr Hale,’ I say, drawing myself to my full height, grateful I’m still standing. I let go of Jake’s hand and step forward. ‘Why do you attack us? My mum, my family – we’re people. She’s a real person, with real feelings, and …’ My voice catches and I look away angrily. Clear my throat.
He waits.
I face him again. ‘It hurts,’ I say firmly. ‘All of us.’
‘That’s not my intention.’
‘But it’s what happens.’
He shrugs and shows us his palms in a gesture that seems to say there’s nothing he can do about it, but also that he’s had this conversation many times before. ‘Public interest sometimes trumps private needs.’
‘How?’
‘It’s news,’ Hale says. ‘The Premier’s character,’ he drawls, making the word ‘character’ sound like something slippery and questionable, ‘is as much on trial as her policies are.’
‘Says who?’
He smiles. ‘The voters.’
‘You can change that,’ I say.
He shifts in his chair, watching me carefully. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘For who?’ He leans forward and waves a hand around his office, which is both luxurious and comfortable and surprisingly tasteful. ‘Not for me.’
‘You hurt people.’
‘Your mother knew what she was getting into.’
‘It’s not just my mother, though, is it?’
He nods, almost sadly. He glances at Luke, who is fuming silently, a little overawed. ‘That is, I’m afraid, the downside to all this.’
I stand there, wondering what I can say, wondering how I can make this man change, knowing at the same time that I can’t. I’m not even sure why he let me in.
I shake my head. ‘There’s no point.’
Seamus gets to his feet. ‘It’s just a job,’ he says flatly. ‘It’s nothing personal.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Jake asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.
‘When you’re older, you’ll see. It’s how things work in the world – in politics.’ He glances at the three of us, taking each one in with that patronising smile.
And suddenly I don’t care whether I change his mind or not. I just have to be heard. ‘People keep saying it’s just a job!’ I say, my voice rising. ‘How
does being paid for it make it all right? So, if you’re doing it for free, that would be worse? Money means you don’t have to care?’
‘It means you have no choice.’
‘You always have a choice.’ I step back, needing distance between us to continue. ‘The job, politics, the world – it’s made up of people. It doesn’t happen without us. We let it happen. You let it happen. Hell – you make it happen!’
‘That’s enough,’ Jake’s dad says, getting permission from Seamus to start shepherding us out of the room.
Seamus comes with us, though, and I turn to face him in the doorway. Behind him, the TV is showing the photos of Mum and Colin, and old happy-family pics interspersed with more recent ones – us rushing out of the house, Dad crossing the street outside the university, looking distracted and so terribly alone. The fallout from Mummygate is playing out on every screen like some awful funeral package you see at people’s wakes, running on loop while the dead person’s favourite song plays in the background. So much for Harry’s two-week rule.
We’re all staring at these images of my family, our lives ripped apart in front of us, piece by piece, and even Seamus looks uncomfortable.
Luke lets loose a stifled sob, humiliation and shame darkening his face. There’s nowhere to look except there, at my brother, that scrawny body wracked with a deeply private hurt.
‘It’s not personal?’ I say to Seamus Hale, slipping an arm around Luke’s shoulders. ‘How much more personal can you get?’
CHAPTER 39
ALLIED FORCES
Jake, Luke and I are quiet on the tram home. Luke’s tears have dried now but his colour isn’t good, and I worry again that I’ve done the wrong thing. I need to get him home. I don’t ask Jake where he’s going or what he’ll do now. He looks as worn down as Luke and I feel. So I reach across the seat and take Jake’s hand again, like I did in Seamus Hale’s office, but this time I don’t let go for the whole tram ride home.
In the family room, I give Luke his Milo and turn the telly to Horrible Histories – ‘Ruthless Rulers’ this time, which seems appropriate given the afternoon. Jake follows me back into the kitchen and I make us both a coffee. We sit opposite each other, words and questions building in the silence between us, but neither seemingly in a hurry to ask them.