One True Thing

by Nicole Hayes

  And then our coffees are done, and the silence is becoming something to overcome. ‘You hurt me,’ I say finally.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And my mum.’

  ‘I know.’

  I nod, unable to speak.

  ‘It was a mistake – a huge mistake – but I didn’t mean to. Or I did, I guess. But I was trying …’ His mouth twists, as though to find the words, but then he shakes his head. ‘I was wrong. I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that.’

  I arch an eyebrow. ‘That’s a long time.’

  He offers a half-smile. ‘That’s a lot of wrong.’

  ‘Your dad didn’t help.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘About Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have no idea.’ He reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I don’t really care about him right now.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  He lets go of my hand.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Whether I’m that Frankie anymore. The almost-girlfriend Frankie or the almost-friend Frankie.’

  He looks bemused but also vaguely hopeful.

  ‘A little time?’

  ‘Yep.’ He stands straight, and I know I’ve hurt him, but when he looks at me, he’s smiling more naturally. ‘Better face the music, I guess.’

  I feel a stab on Jake’s behalf at the memory of his dad’s anger. I wouldn’t want to deal with that. ‘Will you stay?’ I ask, realising that I hadn’t thought about this until that moment. ‘In Melbourne?’

  He tilts his head, grins that old-Jake grin. ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Just me.’

  He bends over and kisses me swiftly on the lips, so fast that it’s over before I know it. It’s almost chaste except it instantly prompts memories that send ripples through my whole body. ‘I’d move mountains.’

  CHAPTER 40

  ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH

  I spend a restless night considering everything that’s happened. Luke’s swimming carnival is on today, but his race isn’t until the afternoon. Dad’s staying for the whole day, which he announced with careful delight, but Mum had a couple of stops before lunch. I told her I’d meet her at the pool centre in time for Luke’s event.

  After breakfast I email Mr Campaspe to tell him that we’re definitely going ahead, that the band is as committed as ever and that nothing will stop us from playing our best at the audition. That we’ll be at rehearsal like we’d scheduled.

  I hope reality doesn’t prove me a liar.

  Tyler’s stepdad opens the front door and beams when he sees me. ‘Frankie! How are you?’

  ‘Good thanks, Mr Goldstein. Is Tyler around?’

  He smiles kindly but shakes his head. ‘She’s out. Like I told her –’ he searches the wall a moment for the right word – ‘friend.’

  ‘Kessie?’ I ask hopefully.

  I have no idea whether he knows about Tyler and Kessie’s relationship – whether he even knows that Tyler is gay. But the fact that Kessie hasn’t given up is good.

  He looks relieved. ‘Yes. Kessie. I’m not sure where Tyler is, but she said she’d be home for lunch.’

  Maybe Kessie found her and maybe they’re okay already. The idea that they might have made up, and that neither has called to tell me, stings in ways I can’t quite explain, but I’m determined to be a better person here. There’s no point worrying about what they don’t tell me. I haven’t earnt it yet. Not their secrets, or their trust.

  It’s the same with Jake. Both of us have let down someone we care about, or were supposed to care about, putting our own stuff ahead of the people who matter. I remember that kiss in our kitchen and feel the beginning of hope flower in my chest. Can I trust it? And if I can’t, do I deserve to be trusted again any more than he does?

  ‘Is she still …?’ It’s my turn to scan the wall for an end to my sentence. I look at him. ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Are you asking if she’s angry?’ he says gently.

  I nod and force myself to say it out loud. ‘I haven’t really, um, been there. Much.’

  He waits for me to continue.

  ‘But I want to be,’ I say, and mean it. For the first time, I really mean it.

  ‘You should find her then,’ he says, smiling. ‘I know someone called about a record she’d ordered.’

  I head up Grantham Street and weave through the pedestrian traffic, pausing at the entrance to Words&Music. I spy Tyler in the Nineties section and think about what I want to say, but she sees me and the only thing I can do is walk in.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, leaning against a table of albums.

  Tyler hangs back and watches me carefully.

  ‘Has Kessie been here?’ I ask.

  Tyler frowns. ‘Let it go, Frank.’

  ‘Can’t do that.’

  ‘It’s too hard,’ she says. ‘You were right. Kessie and me – it can’t end well.’

  I stare at her, feeling the rapid increase of my heartbeat. I don’t know why. This was what I wanted. To go back to how it was. Except it isn’t what I want, and we can’t go back.

  ‘We need you.’

  ‘The band? Yeah, you do. That’s why it’s best.’

  I shake that off. ‘Not just the band. I mean, definitely the band. But Kessie needs you too.’

  Tyler raises an eyebrow. ‘Kessie doesn’t need anyone.’

  I hesitate because that’s kind of true. Or it used to be. I mean, Kessie needed me. Still does, I hope. But this is different. ‘Maybe once,’ I say slowly. ‘Not now.’

  Tyler can’t look at me. Her hand is resting on the ‘O’ in the L–Z section. Liam Gallagher’s face is peering out at us from the cover of Familiar to Millions. I would have made fun of Tyler for hanging around the Oasis section on any other day. Dude! It’s never that bad. I’d rather you roughed it with The Stone Temple Pilots than lose all dignity with Brit Rock.

  Not today. Will I ever feel that lightness and ease towards her again? I sigh. I don’t know. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say finally.

  Tyler studies me. ‘I don’t understand,’ she says. ‘You know she’s gay. You always knew. You didn’t care.’

  I feel the heat in my cheeks. It’s one thing to admit to yourself that you’re worried you’re losing your best friend. It’s something entirely different to admit it to someone else. ‘Yeah. I guess this is different, though.’

  Tyler’s steady, even gaze refuses to react, but her fingers squeeze the divider, and suddenly the ‘O’ sign is looking a little squished and broken.

  ‘She was always mine,’ I say quietly, focusing on the mangled ‘O’. ‘None of the girls before ever had a chance. None of them mattered.’ I force myself to look at Tyler, and feel the colour darken my cheeks. ‘They were silly – all fluff and giggles and sunshine, but Kessie would always come back to me and that would be that.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  I face her squarely. ‘You. You’re the difference.’

  ‘Not much I can do about that, Frankie. Or want to.’

  ‘I’m trying to explain.’ I search for the right words. ‘For a start, you’re my friend too. But also? No Politics is my band.’

  Tyler looks angry but she keeps her voice calm. ‘It’s our band.’

  I cringe. ‘I know.’ I stare at Liam Gallagher, wishing he would tell me what to say. ‘But that’s not how I felt before. Like the band, I thought Kessie belonged to me. That Kessie was … mine.’

  Tyler’s gaze narrows, realisation dawning.

  ‘No!’ I breathe in. ‘Not like that – not as my girlfriend. My best friend. My always friend. With the others, it didn’t matter. But you’re different. She loves you.’ It’s so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it all along.

  Tyler’s expression eases, just the smallest bit. ‘She’s all talk. She gets carried away.’

  I shake my head. ‘No. I mean, yes, she does. She has.’ I shove my hands in my pockets, then pull them out ag
ain. ‘But you’re different. You’re a keeper.’

  Tyler’s mouth trembles.

  ‘I mean it. This is the real thing. She was just mine once and now she’s not. And I can see that, and I don’t know what to do with it. Do you understand?’ Tears sting my eyes. ‘But that’s my problem. You two need to be together.’

  ‘It’s going to be different,’ she says. ‘The band.’

  ‘We’re better together. The new song is proof we can do it.’ I smile, feeling the truth of it. ‘It might be a little messy sometimes and it might come to us in pieces, but it will come. We’ll make it.’

  Tyler takes a deep breath. ‘I don’t need your permission. With Kessie? I don’t need it.’

  ‘No. You don’t. You don’t need anyone’s permission. But for what it’s worth, you’ve got my blessing.’

  Tyler blinks. Her expression softening.

  ‘And I’ve got your back.’

  Tyler shakes her head. ‘Dude, you need to write that down.’

  I laugh. ‘I can’t remember what I said.’

  She laughs too.

  Relief rushes out of me. ‘We’re okay, right?’

  Tyler gives me a lopsided smile. ‘I guess that depends on whether my girlfriend will ever talk to me again.’

  I remember the broken, desperate look on Kessie’s face. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’ I check my watch. ‘But right now we have rehearsal. I told the others we’d be there. Kessie was looking for you. Maybe to see if you’d show?’

  Tyler squints at me. ‘Maybe.’

  We both stand there a moment. Do we hug? We’ve never hugged before … But she laughs and gives me a shove, and we both head out of the shop.

  I follow Tyler into the studio. Kessie, Van and Mr Campaspe are already there. Van is his ever-watchful, moody self, his whole body turned towards the music like always. I wave at Mr Campaspe and smile at Kessie. She looks a little lost, but when she sees Tyler with me, her expression is caught between disbelief and confusion.

  Tyler walks right past Mr Campaspe and stands before Kessie, grinning. Then she leans in and kisses her on the lips, hovering there just long enough to make sure we all know she’d like to continue. Then Tyler takes her seat on the drum stool, looks back at Kessie, who’s still staring bug-eyed, and says, ‘Okay, doll?’

  Kessie half-laughs, half-sobs. ‘Yeah, Ty. Just great,’ she says, a slow, beautiful smile creeping across her face.

  Mr Campaspe clears his throat. ‘Guys? We only have an hour today or my wife will leave me. And I really like her,’ he says, ‘so that wouldn’t be cool.’

  I pick up my guitar and wait. Van takes his position, strums the first chords of ‘Love Song’, then bends down to adjust the amp.

  Kessie tilts her head. ‘What did you say?’ she asks quietly.

  I wink at her, cross my heart.

  She frowns, not ready to forgive yet.

  I reach out, squeeze her hand and say, ‘I’m a selfish cow. I am. But I’m a really, really sorry selfish cow.’

  Kessie looks at me, not convinced, but she half-nods. I’ve still got some work to do. Kessie’s always been there for me. Always. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work for it.

  On the tram ride to the pool, I flick through my emails on my phone and find the Ticketmaster receipt. I study the Pearl Jam tickets. Tonight, finally, I get to see Eddie Vedder live. Finally, I can hear him play in person, watch him command the stage, and feel every beat, every chord, every note in the pit of my belly, reverberating from the floor beneath my feet like only live music can.

  I take a deep breath, press ‘forward’ and start to type.

  Dear Kessie,

  A little something to congratulate you and Tyler for finding each other right where you should be. We’re meant to meet outside the arena at 6.30 pm. I reckon she’d much rather you showed up there than me. But I’d make it a surprise. It’s more romantic that way.

  With all my love,

  Your (best) friend Frankie xx

  I study those tickets one last time, fighting the disappointment I know I’ll feel tomorrow when it’s too late. The whole tour has sold out. There won’t be another one for ages. They could break up. They could retire. This might be the only chance. A weight presses against my chest and I almost delete the whole thing.

  I shake my head. Count two bars, 4:4 time. Twice.

  And press ‘send’.

  CHAPTER 41

  CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS

  I hurry across the pool centre, already late. Luke will have spent the past twenty minutes meticulously going through his warm-up. I try to be there for that – Mum and Dad will be. It gets him in the mood and he likes knowing where we are before he can turn his mind to the race ahead.

  The centre is crowded and hot, so it takes a moment to notice the cluster of people at the far end of the warm-up pool. There’s no reason to worry, no logical or likely reason, but I break into a sprint, ignoring years of being yelled at by lifeguards and parents not to run on a pool deck, my feet moving ahead of my brain so that I still haven’t really processed the scene when I find myself in the middle of it.

  Everything seems to shift to slow motion then and the crowd starts to blur. I can make out Luke’s coach, Mum by the stretcher, a couple of ambulance officers working on Luke – tiny, ghostly Luke, disappearing under the tangle of all the bits and pieces helping him to breathe. Travis Matthews is hovering nearby in his lifeguard uniform, dripping wet, fear etched into his frown.

  I push through the chaos. Dad is beside Mum, his hand on her shoulder, partly holding her out of the way, partly holding her up, as though if he let go she might just fall over. Her face is white and her lips are a tight, thin line. Stripped back and exposed, there is no pretence, no performance. Premier Mulvaney has well and truly left the building and it’s about the most terrifying thing I’ve seen.

  I blank out all those worried faces crowding Luke, hating the fear I see in their eyes. It’s the worst feeling you can imagine – being desperate to help but knowing there’s nothing you can do.

  ‘Luke?’ My voice barely cuts through the pool din. The other lifeguards and attendants have blocked off the space with some of those oversized witch’s hats they use when the wave pool is shut, so that at least now most of the people in the immediate space around Luke are actually there to help him. There’s still a large crowd at the other end, gawping like they’re fans at a footy match. But this doesn’t surprise me. Not anymore.

  Mum looks up, relief cut into her features. ‘We’ve been calling …’

  ‘My phone was off,’ I say weakly. ‘We had rehearsal.’ I broke one of our family rules and can’t help but feel that this could have been avoided if I’d done the right thing. ‘What’s happening?’

  Gran appears beside me, her hand grips my elbow. ‘Hold on, darlin’. He’s a toughie.’

  The ambulance officers are working either side of him. Luke is hunched over, his shoulders high, his chest caved in. I can see him struggling for air, even as the ambulance officers attach the mask and start filtering medicine through it. I’ve seen him attack too many times to recall now, but this one is different. I can feel it, see it. He’s barely getting any air through those ruined lungs. Mum is clutching his hand. Dad is talking to him, a steady, reassuring babble of words largely comprised of ‘you’llbeallrightyou’llbeallright’. Every now and then Luke gasps some variation of ‘I can’t breathe!’ even though we’re all trying to tell him to calm down, to stop talking and let the medicine work.

  ‘Stop it, Luke!’ I say, my voice is shaky. ‘Stop talking. You have to breathe. Just … breathe!’ And for a tiny second he smiles a half-smile – the words, the title to that favourite of songs – and I take such enormous strength from this acknowledgement, this split second of normality, that I almost cry.

  It’s only when they’ve got Luke on the stretcher, attaching all the bits that need to be attached, that I see Colin, standing by the exit, his face as ghostly as Mum’s. He�
��s leaning against the wall, his hands pressed against it like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t see me and I doubt Mum or Dad have noticed him.

  Mum is rubbing Luke’s back, trying to get the air flowing while also trying to stay out of the ambulance officers’ way. She’s moving now, responding to the ambos, taking control, and I find enormous reassurance in that.

  I glance over at Colin, who’s moved closer. His jacket collar is up high and straight, his head bowed. I want to say something – to Mum and Dad, to Colin – but he looks so frightened and so in awe, whether of the moment or the scene, of Mum and Dad or even of Luke’s horrible gasping breaths.

  ‘Gran,’ I say, and nod over at Colin. ‘He came.’

  She scans the crowd and finds Colin looking back. There’s the faintest tilt of his head, his shoulders hunching further forward. ‘Right you are,’ she says quietly, without a trace of surprise.

  I look at her. ‘Did you bring him?’

  She offers a tight smile. ‘He wanted to come. He just needed a little push.’

  I only briefly consider what ‘a little push’ means in Gran Mulvaney-speak before I return my focus to Luke.

  One of the ambulance officers straightens while the other checks the connections and Luke’s breathing. They’ve injected some medicine now and are working at clearing the mucus that’s thickening his air passages. I push forward again, close enough so he can hear me. ‘You’ll be okay, Luke,’ I say, smiling at him, but when he looks up at me, fear is so stark on those sharp, old-man features that I do the only thing I can think of – I start to sing.

  Quietly and unevenly, the first lyrics of ‘Just Breathe’ come rasping out of my mouth. Hardly anyone else can hear me in this chaotic noise, but Luke can – I can see it in his eyes. Recognition, then a softening. And when I glance over to where Colin was standing, I see he’s come closer. He’s still hanging back, behind Mum and Dad, out of their view, but he’s a part of it now, when a moment ago he wasn’t. Colin is watching me carefully, and my voice catches under the weight of that gaze. I stop singing.