‘Well, you won’t have to come and see me. None of you will. Because I’m giving up running.’ My eyes are all blurry from tears but I blink them away. There’s no way I’m going to cry.
‘Leni,’ says Mum. ‘Sit down and …’
But I’m not waiting around to be told to apologise to Nana. I just can’t. I turn and run off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I lie on my bed, staring at the roof but not really seeing anything. What I feel like doing is putting on my runners and heading outside. But it’s dark now and I know I won’t be allowed. Plus I’ve just announced to everyone that I’m giving up running, so it would seem pretty hypocritical. So I just have to stay in my room, with the annoyed, frustrated feelings doing cartwheels inside me.
Then there’s a knock at the door and Mum comes in. She shuts the door and comes and sits on the edge of my bed. I scan her face, trying to work out if she’s mad at me or not. She stretches out her arms.
‘Hug?’ she says. I nod and wrap my arms around her. ‘I know you’re upset,’ Mum says, stroking my hair. ‘And I know that Nana is really cranky at the moment. But we have to be patient with her. Don’t forget, she’s just given up smoking after forty years — that’s a really hard thing to do.’
I pick at a loose thread on my quilt cover. I don’t say anything but I’m pretty sure that if I was cranky like that I’d get in big trouble.
‘Nana means well,’ Mum continues. ‘She really does. She wants to protect the people she loves from making bad decisions — or what she sees as bad decisions. You’ve probably noticed that she’s not exactly thrilled about your dad and me opening the pie shop.’
I nod. ‘Yeah, that’s kind of obvious,’ I say.
‘But you know what?’ Mum continues. ‘She actually invested some money in the shop to help us get started.’
I stare at Mum. ‘Really?’
Mum nods. ‘She did. Because she could see it was important to us, even if she didn’t like it herself.’
‘The thing about your running,’ Mum goes on, ‘is that she doesn’t understand how good you are.’ Then she smiles. ‘But soon she will. Marcus is out there right now showing her all your trophies and award albums.’
This is a surprisingly nice thing for my brother to do — even though I doubt it’ll make any difference. ‘Leni,’ says Mum, suddenly. ‘Why did you tell me training was cancelled today?’ she asks. ‘Miss Kearns told me you’d stormed off.’
‘Was she mad?’ I say, chewing my lip.
‘She sounded more concerned than mad,’ Mum says. ‘I’m concerned too — especially now you’re saying you want to give up running. It’d be such a shame if you did, Leni. It’s your thing. Has something happened?’
Part of me wants to let it all out to my mum right then. Tell her that Adam kissed me, and that I kissed Jo, and that I don’t know how I feel about it or what any of it means. But I hold back. I guess maybe I don’t want to shock her or something. I put my head on her shoulder.
‘Mum, you know how Tina and Sandy are gay?’ I say.
‘Yes,’ says Mum. She’s stroking my hair, gently untangling the knots with her fingers.
‘Well, how would you feel if Marcus or I turned out to be gay too?’
I feel her stiffen a little. She definitely wasn’t expecting me to say this. ‘Well, it wouldn’t make a difference to how I feel about you, of course,’ she says slowly. ‘You’re my kids. I love you no matter what. The thing your dad and I want most of all is for you both to be happy.’
This is good to hear. I mean, I guess I knew it, but it’s nice to hear Mum say it anyway.
‘And what if we weren’t sure if we were gay or not?’ I say. ‘What if one of us had kissed both a boy and a girl and both kisses were good, but different, and we weren’t sure what that meant?’
Mum thinks about this for a while. ‘In that situation,’ she says finally, ‘my advice to either you or Marcus would be to kiss people you like, and who like you back. Lots of people your age aren’t sure who they’re attracted to — figuring out that stuff is part of what being a teenager is about. I’d say don’t worry and don’t rush. But the other important thing is that you don’t forget that other people have feelings too. You have to try not to hurt other people while you’re figuring things out for yourself.’
I feel a little twang of guilt when she says that. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve hurt Adam’s feelings. And maybe Jo’s too by running out on her the other day.
‘Nana would hate it if one of us was gay,’ I say.
‘Well, maybe to start with,’ admits Mum. ‘But you might be surprised. People can be more accepting than you think, especially when it involves someone they love.’
‘She still hates the pie shop,’ I point out. ‘And that’s been open for six months now.’
Mum laughs. ‘True. But I’m still confident she’ll like it in the end.’ She reaches over and smooths a strand of hair away from my eyes. ‘You’re not really going to give up running, are you?’
I shake my head and grin sheepishly. ‘I don’t think I could.’
Mum stands up. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she says. ‘Now. Why don’t you come back out? We have to try out your dad’s new dessert pie or he’ll probably burst.’
I tell her I’ll be there in a moment. There’s something I have to do first.
I check the credit on my phone. I have two calls to make and there’s no way I can use the landline in the lounge room for either of them. I need privacy. Then I try to decide who to call first — Adam or Jo. In the end I decide to call Jo first. It’s not going to be the easiest call in the world to make, but it’ll be easier than calling Adam.
‘Hey, Leni!’ Jo sounds happy to hear from me and straight away I feel way less nervous.
‘I just saw the flyer,’ I say. ‘Thanks for finishing it off. It looks really good.’
‘No problem,’ says Jo. ‘It did turn out pretty well, didn’t it?’ In the background I can faintly hear Sandy and Tina talking and laughing. ‘Hang on,’ says Jo. ‘I’ll just go to my room.’
There’s the sound of footsteps on wooden floorboards, followed by the click of a door closing. I picture Jo flopping back onto her bed. During the pause I get all nervous again, so when Jo finally puts the phone back up to her ear a whole lot of words rush out of me at once.
‘I’m sorry for leaving kind of suddenly the other day. I was feeling pretty spun out.’
‘I wondered about that,’ says Jo. ‘Because of the kiss?’
‘Well, yeah,’ I admit. ‘I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to feel like that. So good, I mean.’ There’s a silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Jo. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have under-estimated my awesome kissing powers!’
That makes me laugh. And suddenly I feel brave enough to ask a question that’s been stuck in my head ever since the kiss thing happened. ‘So, what did you think about it?’ I say. My mouth goes a little dry as I say it. ‘Did it feel like an experiment to you, or was it more than an experiment?’
There’s another silence — a longer one this time. When she finally does speak her voice has gone all quiet and serious. ‘Leni,’ she says. ‘I have a boyfriend.’
I want to say, Sure, at the moment you do. But you probably won’t go out with him forever. But I know this isn’t the point. What she really means is that she likes kissing boys, not girls. And she always will.
‘I’m sorry if I made things weird,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to. I was trying to help you.’
‘I know,’ I say. Then we both fall quiet.
‘Leni?’ says Jo after a moment or two. ‘What are you thinking about?’
What am I thinking about? Mostly I’m thinking about how stupid I feel. Stupid for what I realise I’d been secretly hoping Jo would say. That she had also been thinking non-stop about me and the kiss and that she’d like to do it again. That the kiss wasn’t just an experiment to her. But if she had said this stuff, how would I have fel
t about it? I’m not sure. Maybe it would’ve freaked me out completely — I don’t know.
But I also realise that I’m glad I got the chance to kiss Jo, even if I never do it again.
‘I guess I’m wondering what happens next,’ I say.
‘What happens next is we go on being friends,’ says Jo. ‘Don’t we? I mean, that’s what I’d like.’ She sounds a little worried now.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’d like that too.’
We chat for a bit more — or at least, Jo chats and I listen. She tells me that she and her mums will be at the carnival on Saturday and that her boyfriend Ben might come along too because he and his family are coming to town for the weekend.
‘You’ll really like him, Leni,’ she says. ‘He reminds me of you.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him!’ I say, putting on my most cheerful, happy voice. ‘See you at school. Say hi to your mums for me!’
It’s not until I’ve put the phone back in my bag that I let myself have a little cry. Just a short one. Because most of me is glad that Jo and I are friends. But I also can’t help feeling a bit disappointed she doesn’t want to kiss me again. You know. Just a tiny bit.
After I’ve finished I look at my phone. I know I should call Adam too, but I don’t feel like it right now. I need time to get myself together — and I also want to work out what I’m going to say to him. I guess talking with Jo has made me understand how Adam might be feeling.
I put my phone away and go back out to the dining room. On the way I stop off at the bathroom and splash some water on my face. The last thing I need is Nana commenting about my red eyes and blotchy skin. But Nana isn’t in the dining room anyway.
‘She’s gone to her room for a lie down,’ Dad explains. ‘She took all your award albums with her.’
She’s probably going to use them as a door stop, I think to myself. But I don’t say it.
Everyone is really sweet to me while I eat my dinner. Even Marcus goes on about the race on Saturday and how he’ll be there cheering for me. I know they’re doing it because of what Nana said, but it feels nice anyway. For dessert we try Dad’s new pie creation. Cherry and chocolate chip is good. Really good.
In the middle of the night I wake up again with cramps — the ones that I sometimes get when my period is on its way. They’re not too bad — just a little achey and I lie there for a while, wishing a hot water bottle would just magically appear so I could hold it against my belly. But it doesn’t, of course, so eventually I drag myself out of bed, tie on my dressing-gown and head for the kitchen.
The house is in total darkness and really quiet. I walk carefully and slowly, not wanting to wake anyone up. I’m halfway down the hall when I smell the smoke.
Fear spikes inside me. The house is on fire!
For a moment I’m frozen. Should I start shouting or go and dial triple 0? Then I notice that’s there’s light coming from under Nana’s door and I suddenly realise what’s going on.
I don’t even knock on her door. I just fling it open and barge right in. The bedroom window is open and Nana is leaning against the sill wrapped in her green dressing-gown. In her hand is a cigarette.
Nana starts. ‘Helena!’ She looks like a kid who’s been caught doing something naughty. The glowing end of her cigarette breaks off and falls onto the rug below the window. My rug. Nana quickly brushes the ash away with her foot. But it’s too late. There’s a little black circle where the ash fell and I can already tell that it’s never going to come off.
We both kind of stand there staring at the mark for a moment. Then, with a sigh, Nana bends and pulls out a little jar from under her bed, crushes her cigarette into it and does up the lid. There are a lot of other butts in there too. We both keep looking at each other, like neither of us is really sure what to do next. I’m on the verge of just walking off and pretending it didn’t happen when Nana speaks.
‘You know what I was thinking about just now?’ she says. ‘I was remembering how I used to mind you when you were little. Do you remember?’
I shake my head. I don’t remember much at all about our old place. I was only four when we moved.
Nana shuts the window and sits on the edge of the bed, next to where my award album is lying open. ‘When your mother went back to work I used to mind you two days a week,’ she says. ‘We used to have so much fun!’
I don’t say anything.
‘Your favourite game was for us to dress up like grand ladies,’ Nana goes on. ‘You’d always insist on choosing my outfits for me — I always had to have a feather boa and an old plastic sun hat. Oh, and gardening gloves. They were very important.’ Nana looks different while she’s telling me all this. Gentler. Less grumpy.
‘What did I wear?’ I ask.
Nana smiles. ‘Ah, well now. You always wore the same thing too. A red velvet skirt of mine that you used to hitch up under your arms like a dress.’ Nana reaches across to the bedside table and takes her purse from her handbag. She holds it out towards me and there’s a photo tucked into one of the compartments. It’s of a little kid — me — probably only three but already way too tall. And sure enough, I’m wearing a long red velvet skirt. Beside me is a tall lady wearing a bright yellow boa, an ugly hat. And gardening gloves. We’re both grinning like crazy.
And then from nowhere this memory races up and catches me. I’m walking and that red skirt is tripping me up. I’m howling and I’m scooped up by a pair of gardening-gloved hands and there’s a voice saying, ‘Don’t cry, darling. Don’t cry. Let’s go and have a juice in this cafe.’
‘Did we once go to a cafe dressed like that?’ I asks.
‘Oh yes!’ says Nana. ‘All the time! We used to get some funny looks but we’d ignore them.’ It’s really hard to imagine Nana doing anything like that. Something silly. But the memory is becoming firmer by the second.
And now I remember being inside the cafe, at a table, and there’s someone else there with us. A man, dressed in a pin-striped suit but with a daisy-patterned shower cap on his head. He’s sitting across from me, sneaking me a bit of cake from his plate. There’s a dob of cream on his chin and he’s laughing as he dabs some on my nose.
‘Did Grandpa come too?’ I ask.
Nana’s smile fades a little. ‘Sometimes,’ she says. ‘Before he became too ill.’ And then Nana says something completely unexpected. ‘I’m sorry, Leni.’
She doesn’t say what she’s sorry for exactly — and I guess it could be a number of things. Sorry about making a black mark on my rug. Sorry about smoking in her room and freaking me out. Sorry about being so whatever about my running stuff. But I kind of get that she’s not really saying sorry about any of these things. She’s saying she’s sorry things are different from how they used to be.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I say. And the thing is, all of a sudden, I really mean it.
I hope she understands that I don’t just mean for giving her a fright for busting into her room just now or for yelling at her at dinner. I hope she knows that I’m also sorry things are different. That we haven’t been getting along very well.
I stand there awkwardly after that, not sure what to do next. I mean, with anyone else I’d probably go and hug them. But I’m not sure if that’d be okay with Nana. I curl one leg around the other and stand there, flamingo-style. ‘Well, I’d better go back to bed,’ I say.
Nana pats the space beside her on the bed. ‘Come and sit with me,’ she says. ‘Just for a moment.’ Her dressing-gown smells of smoke, but it’s not too strong. ‘I want you to explain it to me,’ she says. ‘About why you like running so much.’
So I tell her. About that feeling running gives me. How I forget everything else when I’m doing it and I’m just focused on the way my legs move and my breath moves through me. I tell her how good it feels to have this special thing, this thing that I’m good at — the only one in our family. Like Mum said — it’s my thing.
When I’ve finished, Nana nods. I’m not sure how good a job I’ve
done at explaining it but she seems satisfied at least.
‘Thanks, Leni,’ she says. A huge yawn escapes from me and Nana smiles. ‘You should go back to bed,’ she says. ‘I should too.’ I’m almost at the door when Nana calls to me. ‘Can I come and watch you run?’ she asks. She sounds a little shy about asking.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’ll inspire you to give up the smoking.’
Nana’s expression changes a little then and I wonder for a minute if she’s going to tick me off for being cheeky. But she doesn’t.
‘Maybe it will,’ she says.
Back in bed, with a hot water bottle pressed against my belly, I fall asleep instantly.
The rest of the week is a mixture of good stuff, not-so-good stuff and bad stuff. On Wednesday morning I get to school super early, take a deep breath and go in search of Miss Kearns. She looks pretty pissed off when I find her but she lets me make the speech I’ve prepared. The speech is mostly me apologising for storming off the other day. I tell her that I take athletics really seriously and I promise — cross my heart, hope to die promise — that I’ll never do it again.
She’s completely silent for a minute when I’ve finished — probably to make me squirm (which I do) and then she says, ‘Well, if you’re serious, Leni, I want you to do extra training before and after school every day for the rest of the week. If you turn up even a minute late to any of these sessions then I’ll take it to mean you’ve quit the team.’
I nod, even though this seems pretty harsh. After all, I’m the only one in the aths team who’d never missed a single training session before this one. Miss Kearns must guess from my face how I’m feeling. ‘I know you think I’m being tough on you,’ she says. ‘And you’re right. But it’s because I think you’ve got a chance to be really good, Leni, and I don’t want you to mess it up. So yes, I expect more from you. More effort and more commitment. Can you give me that? Because if you can’t, you should just tell me now and not waste my time.’ Then she fixes those scary blue eyes on me and, of course, I say yes.
Things I Don't Know Page 7