‘Not for a bit. Getting there. Gotta be patient.’ Martin snapped the cupboard shut and put a padlock on the door, paranoid like most chronic stoners.
Martin put a bottle of wine on the table in front of the television and poured us two glasses.
‘Fancy,’ I joked, clinking my wine glass against his. ‘It’s usually goon straight from the cask with us.’
‘Lol,’ said Martin. He had this habit of saying ‘lol’ instead of actually laughing, probably caused by spending too much time on MSN and Facebook chat.
‘So, wanna play some PS3?’
We played Killzone on PS3 but I hadn’t played it before and Martin was just owning it, so that got pretty boring fast.
‘Hey, you still got Bongus Maximus?’
‘Bongus Maximus smashed.’ Martin actually looked a bit sad. ‘I’ve just got this ceramic one now. You know Pete Matthews? He had this insane party, we had, like, probably a half to smoke between four of us . . .’
‘Four people? Not much of a party.’
‘Naw, there were, like, over a hundred people there, I’m just telling you what we had between four of us.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘Yeah, so we had a half pound of chronic, three or four pills each and a ton of goon and beer. It was off tap.’ Martin shook his head, grinning. ‘Yeah, so we nicknamed this little beauty,’ he pointed to the ceramic bong on his coffee table, ‘Bongus Chronicus.’
I faked a little laugh. ‘Ha ha.’
Yeah. Humour wasn’t Martin’s best asset, but he was really good-looking. Bright golden brown eyes framed with dark lashes and nice skin. Even when he was baked he looked healthy and glowing. That was one of the worst things about having blue eyes like mine. When I got stoned or maggot my eyes went all glassy and bloodshot, like one of those droopy-eyed St Bernard dogs. Not pretty.
‘So, you got any weed?’ I prompted him.
‘Yeah. Chop up?’
‘Defs.’
While Martin mulled up I drained my glass of red wine and then topped it up. I was still restless and keen to get a buzz on.
Martin clocked me guzzling the wine. ‘Whoah, slow down, wino.’
I wiped my mouth. ‘Sorry.’
Martin grinned. ‘Kidding. Go for gold. My dad has so much wine, he won’t even notice shit is gone. Top me up, too.’
We punched a couple of cones each through Bongus Chronicus. My head felt light and my body went limp. Martin leaned into me on the couch and put his hand on my knee. I felt weak, but my heart started beating super fast.
Martin’s mobile rang.
‘Hello? Yeah. Nothing. Jez is over here. Yeah. Fuck yeah, that sounds awesome. Yep, yep . . . I will. Okay. Lol. See ya, bye.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Kid named Jimmy, you wouldn’t know him.’
‘Jim Eggles?’
‘Nah, Jim Newton. You wouldn’t know him.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I was so stoned I could feel my eyeballs losing moisture. I imagined them cracking if I blinked. I stared, eyes wide open.
‘He’s just bought a bunch of pills, we’ve gotta go over there.’
‘How much?’
‘Thirty each.’
‘I’ve got fifty, but I don’t know if I want a pill tonight.’
‘Why the fuck wouldn’t you want a pill tonight?’
I tried to move my tongue around in my mouth, but it, like my eyeballs, had dried right out.
‘I dunno. Maybe I do.’
Martin laughed, snorting. ‘Fuuuck, Jez. You’re fucked.’
I laughed helplessly. ‘So fucked.’
Martin put his face over mine and kissed me, pushing his tongue hard into my mouth. He didn’t taste like spearmint Extra this time, more like cigarettes and peanut butter. My mouth was so dry I could hardly move my lips. I pushed Martin away.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Dry mouth.’ I took a long sip of wine.
‘Top up?’ Martin drained the bottle of wine into my glass and I took another big gulp.
He started kissing me again.
‘I always wanted to hook up with you.’ Martin slid his hand under my shirt. ‘Remember the Year 10 formal?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I was so wasted.’
‘You spewed all over my new shoes.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘All good.’
When Martin leaned in to kiss me again he was like a lizard, feeling his way around with that big ropey tongue of his. Seriously, the worst kisser. I macked on with him for a bit longer, but then, all of a sudden, I just wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling anything. My fingers were cold and numb and my toes were curled inside my sneakers and I felt my throat go all tight. I had to get out of here.
‘Fuck!’ I pushed Martin off me and stood up. ‘Fuck. I’m fucked.’ I stepped over his legs and went for the door which led back up to the house.
Martin came after me. ‘Lie down for a bit, Jez. You can use my bed. You’ll feel better if you just lie down.’
I could hear the desperation in his voice as he followed me to the front door. I fumbled with the dead bolt.
‘Jez, wait.’ Martin tried to give me a hug, but my hands were up around my neck. ‘You’re just greening. That hydro is fucking mental. Just come lie down for a sec, you’ll be fine.’
I breathed and leaned against Martin’s shoulder. I was glad he was being nice to me, but I wanted to get the fuck out of there. I didn’t even know what I was doing there anymore, why I’d even called him up in the first place. All I could think about was closing myself into my bedroom and lying on my own single bed and riding out the high.
‘Thanks, Martin,’ I whispered, and kissed him close to his ear. ‘I’ll catch you another time, hey?’
‘You want me to walk you home?’
‘Nah, nah . . .’ I figured out the deadbolt and flung his front door open. ‘I’ll catch ya.’
‘See you, Jez.’
I looked over my shoulder to wave and saw Martin standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking as confused as I felt.
EIGHTEEN
Mum and I argued about me going to Dana and Joanie’s house for dinner right up until we rang their front doorbell. I’d been losing my rag all that arvo, like, really putting my foot down and saying, ‘I’m not going,’ but Mum was worried we’d look, like, homophobic if we didn’t go. I don’t know specifically who she was worried would think we were homophobic. She reckoned since Dana and Joanie were new in the hood and they’d gone to the trouble of inviting us we had to ‘embrace our new neighbours’. I didn’t really care about welcoming them, since their daughter had already muscled her way into my best mate’s boxers. Mum would have to drag me kicking and screaming to get me over there for a meal. In the end she bribed me. No dishes or laundry for a fortnight and replacement guitar strings ’cos I’d broken two that morning playing power chords and screaming, ‘I’M NOT GOING TO THE HOUSE OF LEZ!’ It was sort of ironic.
Laura’s house looked different from the last time I’d been over. Boxes had been unpacked, all the shelves were full of hardcover books and trinkets, the modular lounge was covered in beige-coloured faux fur throws and embroidered cushions and Asian art hung on the walls. Not tacky Asian art like the little Buddhas Mum had in her bedroom that she’d bought at the Dollar Shop, but Japanese-looking paintings of Koi fish and lotus flowers. Their house wasn’t much bigger than ours, and it was so crammed full of stuff it might have felt really small, but everything was so colourful it felt warm. It looked like the ‘after’ photo of one of those Oprah interior design shows. And whereas our house smelled like dust, ciggies and cheap washing powder, theirs smelled like some sort of spicy incense and freshly baked bread. Mum acted like she was in a museum, oohing and ahhing and fingering fabrics, her eyes having sex with the exotic souvenirs.
‘I travelled quite a bit in my earlier years,’ Joanie explained, apologetic. ‘I’ve hoarded a lot of junk.’
‘No, this i
s . . .’ Mum was stupidly impressed. ‘I love your home.’
Home. I’d never really used that word when talking about our house. It was a house.
‘Dana and Laura are in the kitchen, they’re the chefs around here. Good for me, since I work so much.’
‘Something smells amazing!’ Mum flung her bag onto the sofa and collapsed alongside it.
‘Are you hungry, Jez?’ Joan turned her eyes to me.
‘Not really.’ My stomach gurgled. All I’d eaten that day was a bowl of soggy cereal topped up with warm UHT milk from the cupboard.
‘Take a seat. Can I get you ladies something to drink?’
‘Oh, we brought some . . .’ Mum fished in her bag and pulled out two West Coast Coolers, still frosty from our fridge. ‘Sorry it’s not much . . .’
‘I’ll put it in a glass for you?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Mum held up her keys. ‘Always carry a bottle opener.’
I sank into the sofa next to Mum as she cracked a Cooler open and took a swig.
‘Do you want a Coke, Jez? Or a Sprite?’
‘Water?’
Joan smiled at me. She was pretty when she smiled. Deep, soft crow’s feet framed her eyes at her temples. ‘No problem. Just be one sec, then. I’ll grab Laura for you, Jez.’
A moment after Joan disappeared into the kitchen, Dana stuck her head into the lounge room and grinned.
‘Hey! I heard somebody mention drinks,’ Dana boomed and held up a half-drunken beer. ‘Seems like we’ve been a little too ambitious in the kitchen. Laura’s elbow deep in bread dough. Come on through.’
Mum and I obediently raised ourselves from the couch and went through to the kitchen. Laura stood at the kitchen bench, rolling out a sticky dough, flour dusted on her cheeks and fringe.
‘Hey, Jez, Helen.’ She smiled shyly at my mum.
I hung back in the doorway while Mum squeezed her way into the small kitchen space, stopping close to Laura and surveying the platters of food spread across the benchtop.
‘What a feast!’ Mum’s eyes widened, looking from Joan to Dana.
I craned my neck to see. It was all fancy stuff. Vegetables cut into strips, dips, cheeses and olives all arranged in coloured ceramic bowls.
‘You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble! We’re sausage roll girls, aren’t we, Jezza?’
‘I’m vegetarian,’ I said quickly.
‘We remembered,’ Joan’s voice was smooth and soft. ‘No meat in this dinner, Jez. We kind of went for a Greek theme.’
I felt embarrassed. ‘Well, thanks. I’m really not that hungry —’
‘Except none of us are Greek,’ Dana continued. ‘So we’re kind of winging it.’
‘I’m attempting flat bread.’ Laura met my eyes. ‘It might be an epic fail.’
‘Well, you’ve tried your best, and that’s what counts,’ Mum said loudly, patting Laura on the shoulder. I think she was trying to be all ‘Mother-wisdom’ but she sounded like a complete dick. ‘We can’t cook for squids, can we, Jez?’
I shrugged. ‘Never tried. Mum doesn’t cook, so I never learned.’
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
Joan broke the awkwardness. ‘Dana and Laura have a bit of fun with it.’
‘Have you tried the Kambah Village Chinese?’ Mum asked. ‘It’s one of our favourites.’
‘Actually we did,’ Dana replied. ‘I didn’t mind it. Joan is a bit of a food snob.’
‘Oh, so is Jez!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘For years she’d only eat the bloody Mongolian lamb. Such a fussy eater.’
‘It was good,’ I defended myself.
‘Joan’s actually been to China,’ Dana continued. ‘I think that’s where she got her pickiness about Chinese restaurants.’
‘Ugh. Those sugary orange sauces.’ Joan screwed up her face. ‘Reminds me of the sweet-and-sour my mum used to make when I was growing up. Height of sophistication back then, of course.’
‘Right.’ My mum nodded even though I could tell she didn’t know her arse from her head at that point in the conversation.
We sat outside on the patio to eat. The outdoor table was set with a colourful tablecloth and matching place settings, each with a white square dinner-plate, side-plate, a serviette made out of material rolled in a plastic holder, wine glass and cutlery. A shallow glass bowl of pink camellias sat in the centre of the table, next to a frosty pitcher of yellow drink with ice and lemons and herb leaves floating in it. The heaped platters of food looked like enough to feed a football team. It was totally OTT, I reckoned. I’d never been to a dinner like this in my whole life.
‘Dig in,’ Dana said, sitting at the head of the table, waving her arms across the spread.
I couldn’t hold back. I was suddenly mega-hungry. My diet of oven-baked tofu nuggets, Mi-goreng noodles, microwave meals and hot chips from Maccas hadn’t prepared me for this moment—proper food, like I’d seen people eat on the telly. I piled my plate with colourful things and cheese I didn’t even know the name of.
‘Thishispregood,’ I mumbled to Dana, chewing on a kind of salty-rubbery-cheese stuff.
‘Haloumi,’ Dana said. ‘We just put it under the grill for a couple of minutes.’
‘Try some of the bread,’ Laura said, showing off. ‘I hope it’s okay.’
I took some. It was moist and chewy and delicious.
‘It’s okay, yeah,’ I said, not wanting to be too generous.
As we ate the conversation flowed easily, mostly because me and Mum ate like starving orphans while Dana and Joan chatted away. Dana and Joan, both in their late forties, despite looking around Mum’s age, had travelled the whole world before they had Laura. Joan had a university degree in Law and Dana had once managed a lowrider bicycle store in the mid-nineties. Mum was wide-eyed and obviously impressed. I would have been more impressed if I didn’t feel so annoyed. Annoyed that my mum shopped at Kmart instead of Myers, that we’d never been out of NSW, that our fridge contained a six-pack of Bundy rum and Cokes instead of hummus and freaking haloumi.
‘Have you travelled, Helen?’ Dana asked Mum.
‘Oh, no.’ Mum laughed. ‘Busy raising a kid on my own.’
‘It’s a tough business. We’ve struggled at times with Laura.’
Mum continued, nodding her head, ‘Yeah, her father split when she was five or six —’
‘I was six,’ I interjected, but nobody looked at me. ‘And you left him.’
‘So it’s been really hard. Cash has been tight. But I’ve managed.’
‘We’ve managed,’ I said between gritted teeth. Laura blinked at me across the table.
‘Single mothers are the unsung heroes,’ Joan said in her sincere, lilting voice.
Mum nodded, her eyes downcast, all modest. You’d think she was Mother fucking Theresa the way Dana and Joan were carrying on.
‘Extra tough when the single mum has a drinking problem.’
Everyone turned and looked at me. Mum forced a laugh and waved her hand in the air.
‘If you really had a parent with a drinking problem, you’d know all about it!’
‘I do know all about it,’ I said.
She shot me a look that said ‘shut the fuck up’.
‘Oh, Jez,’ Dana squeezed my forearm, which was resting on the table next to her. ‘Cut your mum a bit of slack, hey?’
‘Sure, whatever,’ I muttered.
‘It’s tough, alright,’ Mum continued, oblivious to my ultra-hairy eyeball deathrays that were sending telepathic stab wounds into her face. ‘I dreamed of travelling. I was right into music, too, just like Jez is. I played guitar and smoked dope and listened to all that grunge. Ha!’ Mum shook her head. ‘I was so naïve.’
‘We all were at their age!’
‘True, but I never had a mum either. I wish I had.’
Here we go. I twisted the cloth serviette in clenched fists in my lap.
‘I was fostered from an early age. My real mother didn’t want anything to do with me after
that.’
‘Oh, gosh,’ Joan murmured, rubbing my mum’s back. ‘Helen . . .’
‘Maybe if I’d had a mum, a proper mum, I wouldn’t have made the mistake of getting pregnant so young.’
Mum took a deep sip from her wine glass, and Dana and Joan followed suit, as though all three were contemplating the terrible mistake—me—that my mother had made. My face burned.
‘So what brings you to the proverbial backwaters of Canberra?’ Mum was trying to sound all clever. I had never heard her say ‘proverbial’ before.
‘We thought it would be better for Laura,’ Dana said at the same time Joanie said, ‘My job, mostly.’
They looked at each other and laughed.
‘We needed a change,’ Joan said.
‘I wasn’t keen, I have to admit,’ Dana said.
‘How are you settling in, Laura?’ Mum asked.
‘Okay.’ Laura hesitated, glancing at me. I looked down at my plate. ‘It’s quiet. Real quiet.’
I shoved back my chair. ‘I’m going to the dunny.’
‘Toilet, Jez,’ Mum corrected me, smiling at Dana and Joan apologetically as if to say, I didn’t raise her that way.
I was so tense and angry at Mum, I couldn’t piss. I just sat on the toilet for ages, wringing my hands together and cursing under my breath.
When I came out of the bathroom, wiping my wet hands on my jeans, Laura was on the couch in the lounge room, the television flickering, reflected in her black-rimmed hipster glasses.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Telly?’
I shrugged. ‘Better than being out there.’ I jerked my thumb towards the backyard as I threw myself onto the other end of the couch.
‘Totally.’ Laura gave a curt nod. ‘I hate it when they get all, Look how much I’ve sacrificed for you.’
‘You’ve got nothing to whinge about. Your parents are okay.’
‘Ha!’
‘What’re you going on about?’
‘I didn’t want to move here, did I? This place is bullshit,’ Laura hissed. ‘It’s like a fucking hick country town. Except worse! A hick town might have some character, this is just . . . suburb upon suburb. It’s just . . . nothing.’
‘Oh, not as good as Melbourne.’ I found myself getting defensive. ‘You’re just too up yourself, that’s your problem.’
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