The Astrid Notes

by Taryn Bashford

  ‘Shut up,’ I murmur, suppressing a smile. Jacob doesn’t miss it, and looks like the cat that got the cream.

  Strains of Pink fill the car. Jacob once told me he can’t stay away from Pink’s lyrics and the dark rich power in her voice.

  He play-punches my arm. ‘You’re a good person. One of the best. And if you need me to keep reminding you, then ask.’

  ‘I could say the same of you.’

  ‘Nah. I’m a lost cause.’

  I lean forward and slap his leg. It’s a reflex. I retract my hand. But the way he’s smiling, cajoling, like he really cares . . .

  ‘You. Are. Not,’ I say. ‘Ridicolo. One day, with your good looks and incredible voice, you’ll have the world at your feet.’

  My pulse booms in my throat. I study my lap. He leans in and hooks my chin with his fingertips. I try to make my expression say go away because I can’t say the words out loud, but he still touches his lips to mine. The tightness in me softens, so that I don’t pull back. But I don’t kiss back either. Jacob pushes his lips more firmly onto mine. He cups his hand behind my head, slides his tongue between my teeth.

  I let the tension drain from me, let my body lean into his. But it doesn’t last. Maestro. Mum. Harper. My voice. Savannah. Each word is a complication, a threat, a story with no end. A story I need to make sense of before I can move forward with Jacob.

  So I don’t hurt his feelings, I slowly shift away then lean my forehead on the steering wheel.

  ‘What if I told you I’m over Harper?’ he says, gravelly.

  ‘I wouldn’t believe you.’ My voice is a tragic whisper. ‘You’re too sad.’

  ‘I’m sad because of my mates. Not Harper.’

  ‘You can’t know that. She still texts you.’

  ‘Not very often. And we’re just friends.’

  ‘I don’t think I could take it if we – if she – I like you too much.’ Jacob falls silent. I hadn’t meant to say those words out loud and try to bury them with logic. ‘Everything’s upside down and inside out. Maestro deceived me. A part of me wonders if he’s still lying. I feel like he’s not telling me everything – he can barely look me in the eye. Something’s missing, but I can’t put my finger on it. I know she was a flake of a mother but to tell us she was dead? I don’t know. Maybe Mum didn’t abandon us, but left for some other reason he won’t ever tell me. He’s the one person I trusted. I can’t think about you – us – when all this is going on.’

  I turn over the engine, suddenly too churned up inside. I need to be alone. The windscreen is fogged up and I flick on the air. The wipers swipe side to side. ‘And people keep dying. Or leaving. Or lying. So no. We can’t. And you’re probably deceiving yourself about Harper. I can’t live with more lies.’

  I indicate and check my mirrors. The rain’s stopped and the wipers squeak while we drive back to Jacob’s house. It’s better than silence.

  When I pull into his driveway, he grips his jaw then bangs a flat palm on the dashboard, making me jump. ‘You can’t seal yourself away from everyone just to be safe. That’s like you’re already dead. Life is dicey. It’s just like letting your songs go out into the world. It’s scary and it’s a risk, but if you don’t do it then the songs can never live. They may as well not exist.’

  I probably shouldn’t exist. I get out of the car, walk around the front, and open his door.

  He pulls to his feet. ‘The solution’s obvious. I wanted to talk to you about this but didn’t know how. You should move in with me.’

  ‘Have you heard anything I’ve said?’

  ‘This is about getting you away from Maestro, not us. I’m getting my act together. I’m not drinking. I’ve tidied up the studio.’

  ‘So that I move in with you?’

  ‘Why not? I can set up a bed in the studio for you, bring you food, and you can shower up at the house. You’d have your own place away from him.’

  ‘But with you.’

  ‘I’d move back into my bedroom. We can sing together when we like. Find jobs. We could even move out together, because I need to leave home after the Con. Two wages are better than one.’

  ‘You’ve got this all planned out, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yep. Reckon it can work.’ He smiles, moves to place his hand on my arm.

  I pull away. ‘In case you’ve forgotten. I can’t even sing anymore. And I need a friend, not a boyfriend. And I definitely don’t need to go from being controlled by Maestro to being controlled by you.’

  ‘I’m trying to help. Not control you.’

  ‘I’m not your ticket out of home or your puppet.’ I slam his door shut and walk around to the driver’s side. ‘I’m not ready to be pushed into anything. I need some solid ground to stand on before I make decisions about the future.’

  ‘Well then I’ll get you enough money so you can move out by yourself. Jeez. I want to help.’

  ‘Then I’d owe you. I’m sick of owing people. My whole life I thought I owed Mum because my birth caused her death. I thought I owed Savannah for taking away her mother. And Maestro for taking his wife and because he never blamed me for it. Now, none of that’s true and I never want to owe anyone anything. Except I’m fighting the feeling that I owe Maestro – he stayed when she didn’t. And he’s not even . . .’ Unable to say the dad word, I get into the car and yank off the hand break.

  Jacob knocks on the window. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy,’ he shouts, as Pink sings about learning to love again. But the song’s wrong. I can never learn to love Maestro again.

  25

  Jacob

  I usually shower after 8 am to be sure Mum and Dad have left for work. Today, when I head for the kitchen, the clattering of dishes makes me wonder how Maria’s back so soon. Dex had called to say the hospital was keeping her in overnight and that she was stable, but she’s only been home one full day now. But it’s not Maria in the kitchen.

  ‘Jacob. How are you?’ Mum air kisses me on both cheeks, hands waving on either side of me because they’re sticky from the peach she’s slicing. ‘I’m running late, so I can’t stop,’ she continues. ‘Maria’s just delivered some bad news though.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She sounded fine on the phone. But she’s leaving us just before Christmas.’

  I first think of Dex, and how we’ll have to find another way to fit in his vocal training, and then I wonder how it’ll feel without Maria in the house, eight till seven, six days a week. We may not talk much, but she’s been a presence in this house more consistently than my parents have, since I was five.

  An off-key note repeats inside my skull while I let that sink in.

  It was Maria who made me chicken noodle soup when I was sick and home from school. Maria who cleaned up the sand I traipsed into the house after surfing so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Maria who helped me search for Coda when he got lost. Maria who called my school to excuse me after finding me with a hangover – my first bender. She cleaned up the vomit next to my bed too. She never complained to the parentals. And even though she’s been sick lately, in thirteen years she’s always turned up, bar a handful of days. I suddenly wonder who babysat Dex when he was a little kid. While Maria taught me how to tie my shoelaces, who was feeding her toddler?

  ‘She’s not well enough to work,’ adds Mum. ‘I had no idea but she’s had diabetes for years and it’s taken a turn for the worse. She’s going back to Italy.’

  The glass I’m reaching for in the cupboard slips from my fingers. I save it from falling. It’s hard to know if the stomach plunging to the floor feeling is because I’m sad for Dex, or for myself; I can’t imagine my afternoons without him.

  ‘It’s a real pain. I don’t have time for this.’ Mum waves a piece of paper at me. ‘But she’s recommended some other people to replace her.’

  ‘Don’t s’pose being too sick
to work is much fun for Maria and Dex either.’

  ‘Who’s Dex?’

  I snort. Just the kid who cleans your house after school without pay to help his sick mum keep her job. But then why would she know who he is, and that Maria even has a son, when she barely knows what her own son is up to?

  ‘I remember. Dexter her son? Anyway, we’ll have someone in her shoes soon enough. Don’t worry.’

  Mum talks like she’s replacing a lightbulb in one of her crystal chandeliers – inconvenient, a waste of her time, but easily done.

  My appetite takes a hike. ‘I’m not worried, Mum. It’s not like I need the housekeeper to parent me anymore.’

  Mum tuts and slips a slice of peach into her mouth. I slam the cupboard door and make for the garden. ‘Going surfing.’

  For the second time today.

  I get as far as the back stairs before I stop and have to sit down. I push my face into my hands.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Dex is at the gate. Instead of bounding across the lawn, he slopes, dragging his feet.

  ‘I heard. You’re going back to Italy.’

  ‘Yep. As soon as Mamma has enough money.’ Dex drops to the grass and pulls off his trainers, laces still untied. He chucks them. One. Two. ‘I’ve tried to talk her out of it, I said I’d get a job and take care of her because she can’t work here much longer. Her angina is becoming unstable, and she shouldn’t exert herself. She might need an operation or she could have a heart attack. But she wants me to finish school plus her brother will help her in Italy. Except my singing –’ He breaks off and blinks, then stands. ‘My dreams –’

  ‘You can carry on singing in Italy, right?’ Even saying ‘Italy’ feels like a part of me got wrenched through the space between each bone of my rib cage.

  Dex is leaving. Forever.

  ‘Never happen.’ Dex shakes his head. ‘My uncles will turn me into an up-myself bishop or have me working in the bakery forever. I want to get a recording contract. I don’t want flour in my hair, flour up my butt. My uncles already think I’m anormale and that prayer and hard work will chase the bad out of me.’

  ‘What bad?’

  He turns in a small circle, mouth pursed. ‘I mean you might’ve guessed, and it’s cool. I’m not ashamed of who I am. I just wonder if it’ll stop me being a pop singer. That’s why I don’t talk about it.’

  ‘If what will stop you?’

  ‘Me being gay.’ He casually lays his words between us like he’s simply shaking off a beach towel; we both stare at the sand that’s left behind on the floor. I meet him head on when I feel his glare on me.

  ‘Right.’ I don’t feel surprised somehow, more like something had been tickling at me for a while and I’d vaguely wondered what it was, but now it suddenly stops tickling.

  Hands on hips, Dex draws himself taller. ‘Say something.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I mean, of course being gay won’t stop you being a pop star.’

  I assess Dex. The reality that he’s gay, the reality of what hard work really looks like and what an uphill battle he has ahead of him is as in my face as someone spoiling for a fight. No wonder Dex looks at me like I’m an idiot when I complain about my life. He’s fifteen and yet it’s like he’s lived two lifetimes, juggling school and work, caring for his mum and worrying about money, having to come out and deal with all that. He’s not running from any of it. I’m blown away by how brave he is. Compared to him, I’m a complete coward.

  ‘I came out like eight months ago. That’s all behind me. It was a relief. I hated the pretending. The lying. Now I hang out with other gay kids. I have a boyfriend, even if he hasn’t come out yet. I go to PROUD community meetings and hang out in gaybourhoods. I’m being me for the first time.’

  ‘When did you realise you were gay?’

  ‘About the time I sat on Santa’s knee and asked for Barbie’s Ultimate Kitchen for Christmas.’ We roar with laughter so hard I have to stand too.

  ‘You really don’t want to go to Italy?’ I ask.

  Dex wipes away tears – of laughter, I hope. ‘No way. My life will be a living death. My dreams of being a pop star will be over. But what choice do I have? Mamma has to come first. Time to put on my big-boy pants and get on with it.’

  The urge to punch something rushes through me. ‘What can I do? Is there a way to stay?’

  Dex toes the grass. ‘The demos we’ve been recording. Can we submit them to some labels? Like now?’ His expression shouts with hope, as if I can magically make wishes come true. But will Astrid agree? I’ll have to convince her. This is life or death for Dex.

  ‘Sure.’ I put my hand up for a high-five. ‘And you’ll be famous and then Maria can be a lady who lunches and you can buy all the insulin your mamma needs and take her to the best doctors. No need for your uncle’s help.’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Mamma wants to be “home” for Christmas. Can we make that happen before then?’ Our high-five is more of a brush than a slap because Christmas is only about ten weeks away. We turn toward the studio.

  I beeline for the fridge, craving a beer, then divert myself to the piano instead. Suddenly, compared to Dex’s problems, keeping my promise not to drink anymore isn’t exactly hard.

  ‘And tomorrow,’ I say, ‘I’m gonna come help you clean up at the main house, so we have more time to practise and record stuff. No arguments.’

  26

  Astrid

  ‘This sucks,’ growls Jacob down the phone. He’s FaceTimed me from his studio and I hear him slam a chord on the piano. Even though his cast’s been off awhile, he’s annoyed he can’t play accurately yet. ‘Listen to this,’ he continues.

  I discard the La Bohème script and lie back in the cushions on my bed as he balances the phone on the piano’s music rack. I’m surprised to discover he’s a perfectionist.

  The last couple of times we met up to work with Dex were a little awkward. But with Dex clowning around, from practising his walk down the red carpet in Hollywood to setting teabags on fire, and our joint goal of putting together something good enough to record, Jacob and I have slipped back into our friendship. Without Dex, there’d be no way I could hang out with Jacob. There’d also be no chance of getting a recording contract and being a songwriter. Even if it feels a little stilted, Jacob and Dex are all I’ve got. The only real family I have are thousands of miles away in London.

  Today, Maestro isn’t teaching at the Con so he wants to do some careful voice training with me. And Dex is late to the studio. At least Jacob called me and not Harper to pass the time. The other day when his phone rang, I went to answer the call for him. It was Harper-with-a-love-heart-next-to-her-name. I showed him the screen, but he’d shaken his head no. I rejected the call, forcing myself to accept the reality – although Jacob’s taken down the photos of Harper, she’s still a part of his life.

  Like Maestro is still part of my life, even though he’s not my dad.

  I’m angry with him for the lies and right now that’s throttling my love for him. If I were a little older, I’d give more serious thought to leaving home. But even then, it’s been just the two of us for so long. I have no family or friends to live with. I’ve never had a job. How would I support myself? But it’s hard to stay, treating each other as father and daughter when we know that’s not true anymore.

  Jacob gives up on the piano, picks up the phone again. ‘See?’ He strides over to the fridge. I hear it open, then slam shut. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ adds Jacob, his voice now small.

  Anxiety pricks at my skin like I ran through a rose bush.

  ‘Dex –’ Jacob paces around the Lego sofa. ‘Something happened. I should fill you in.’

  He explains about Dex leaving for Italy and about him being gay and how his family thinks he’s abnormal and the bishop uncle in Italy will ‘fix’ him.
I want to find Dex and hug him and hug him.

  ‘The way I see it, we have ten weeks to get you and him signed with a label,’ says Jacob. ‘Then he would earn some money and he could convince Maria to stay.’ He groans. ‘There has to be a way.’

  ‘But we’re not ready. The songs aren’t right yet.’

  ‘Astrid, they are. I promise you. You have to let them go and just take that risk. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  Fear swarms through me. But if I don’t do this, it’s going to affect Dex too. ‘How likely is it that he’ll get signed up so fast?’

  Jacob’s teeth bite down on his bottom lip. ‘If he doesn’t, Dex goes back to Italy and never sings again – unless it’s “Here I am, Lord”, which is awesome, I’m sure, but it’s a song for Dexter De Brun, not Dex Brown.’

  ‘Dex Brown?’

  Jacob shrugs. ‘He once told me Dexter De Brun isn’t his idea of a name for a pop star and his surname means Brown. His true self is Dex Brown, don’t you think?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘I can’t improve on Astrid Bell.’ His smile, though hesitant, cradles me. A ribbon of heat curls through my body and an Instapic of our two kisses rushes at me. Jacob adds, ‘This is for you as much as for Dex.’

  I put aside the phone, giving him a view of my bedroom ceiling, and curl into a ball, clutching at my shins. ‘It sounds as if you’re going to miss Dex.’

  ‘It’s stupid, but he’s become like a brother to me. He used to be this snotty little kid on the sofa who I avoided. But he’s brave and talented and even though he’s had to fight for everything he has, he’s still cheerful and hopeful. I don’t know how he does it. I totally respect him. I won’t let Dex lose his dreams. Dex needs this.’ Jacob’s voice cracks. ‘He hasn’t got anyone else watching out for him. No-one in his corner. You and I have become his family and I can’t let him down.’ He flexes his jaw side to side. ‘It’s a question of honour.’