Dare Truth Or Promise (16 page)

“No, Keith,” she said. “You’re the one who needs help. Get away from me, leave me alone.”

“I can help you, Willa,” he was crying, but to Louie’s relief Tony stepped forward and took Keith by the arm.

“That’s enough. Calm down, Keith.
Calm down.
”

Keith shook his head and grimaced at Tony. “She’s evil. Look what she did to Catherine. It’s disgusting. She’ll go to Hell for it, and she doesn’t even care!”

“Don’t be so stupid,” said Tony. Louie watched her father, so small in his black woollen coat she thought, but so wonderfully sane. She could tell by his steady, cold voice how angry he was.

“What those girls did was love each other. Love is never evil in the eyes of God. Hatred is.”

“The Bible says it’s wrong, it does!”

“The Bible says a lot of things, Keith. And the most important gospel is love. Do you understand? Because your sister is sitting over there wanting to take her own life, and if ever she needs your love, it’s now.”

He steered Keith away from Willa and towards Cathy, talking quietly all the way. Lome caught Willa’s eye but before she could say any of the million things racing through her head, Willa looked away and rushed out the door.
 


Louie had stared at her as if she was from another planet. Willa looked back in the small window and saw Keith and Tony huddled around Cathy Centre of attention again. Sick Willa syndrome again.

Louie came towards her, hesitant. “Willa …”

God, another needy voice.
“Go away, Lou.”

“Are you all right?”

Willa rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you can’t stand out here in the cold.”

“I’m not going anywhere near that creep.” She paused. “What are they doing?”

Louie looked through the window. “Coming outside. They’re taking her home.”

Willa snorted. “Till next time.”

“Come on.”

“I’m not going in the car with them.” Louie began to protest, but Willa cut in. “Just leave me, will you? Just leave me alone!”

Louie went away, and Willa slumped against the concrete wall. It was freezing, but she couldn’t get in the car with Keith—and she didn’t want to be near Cathy, either. She wished she could just shrivel up and disappear. Then she heard neat clipped steps, and Tony appeared.

“You okay?”

Willa sniffed. “Yep.”

“Listen, I’ve called you a taxi. It’ll be here in five minutes. Will you be all right until then?”

Willa raised her head and met his eyes. He was such a nice man, Mr. Angelo, she suddenly felt like collapsing on his shoulder and bawling. Instead she grunted and looked away again. She felt him tuck something in her jacket pocket.

“You did really well, Willa. Cathy will be all right. And don’t worry about Keith—I’ll have a good talk to him.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You take care,” he said, patting her shoulder, and then he was gone, the car doors clapped shut, just a drift of exhaust turning red as the taillights slid along the alley.

Willa gave them a few minutes, then began to run. She didn’t want a taxi, she didn’t want anybody. It felt like she’d been running for weeks. The sound of her boots’ flat dinging on the pavement rang in her head and built up into a clanging percussion that made her temples hurt. She slowed down and heard her lungs wheeze, saw her breath puff out in white clouds. She was almost at Burger Giant.

Judas whined and squeaked at her, his claws scraping the asphalt as he jumped about. She let him off his leash and headed through the back streets towards the university area.

Eventually she found herself outside the fencing hall. Willa stood there for a bit and then moved on. She thought about Marcus, and that last training session when she nearly beat him. She smiled to herself—the open event he’d wanted her to enter was tomorrow—no, today actually. Willa’s feet took her around the side of the Botanical Gardens to the house Marcus shared with some other fencers. There were no lights on there either.

She briefly thought about knocking anyway, and getting him up. Hadn’t he said he was a good listener? Maybe she should have gone out with him. Maybe she still should. It would certainly please everybody, and he was a nice enough guy. Willa stood facing the brick terrace house waiting for a sign.
Come on,
she thought.
If this is what you want, show me. Turn on a light, open a window, shoot a star, whatever.
She wasn’t sure who she was talking to—God, or fate, or Marcus? After a bit Judas started to sigh in his bored dog way, and Willa’s feet got cold. She shoved her hands back in her pockets and started walking again.

It was a pretty dumb idea, but it was the only one she could think of. She turned left at the comer and trudged along a deserted campus street towards the Duke. It stuck out of the corner dark and silent like a big black tooth, a molar, Willa thought. Around the back Jolene had left the small outside light on for Willa, but her mother’s bedroom was dark.

Willa slipped inside and down the hall. She lifted some spare keys from the drawer in the back room where Sid kept them. The alcoholic smell hit her as she turned the corner into the downstairs foyer. Willa didn’t flinch. With a brief glance up the stairs, she unlocked the double glass doors into the lounge bar and felt her way around the tables and chairs. Behind the bar she took a bottle of whisky, slipped it into her big coat pocket and retraced her steps, locking the bar and replacing the keys in the drawer. She turned off the outside light as she left and led a puzzled Judas back out the gate.

The road that led to Signal Hill was long and steep and it was nearly an hour before the houses disappeared, leaving her alone on the narrow dark road she and Louie had driven up that first night.

Below her Willa could see the lights of the valley strung out in a lonely line. To her right Signal Hill rose up and shouldered her along the road, protecting her from the worst of the wind. It was bitterly cold though, and periodically Willa pulled the whisky bottle from her pocket and took short sips of the fiery liquid. It made her gasp in cold air and her mouth went numb. Judas weaved in and out of sight, the plume of his tail faintly visible in the gloom.

At one point Willa heard a car engine, and just stepped out of sight amongst the broom and gorse in time. The headlights rose above her and the car ploughed down the gravel road, skidding on the corner and enveloping the bush in a choking cloud of dust. It was a while before she located Judas and they continued on their way.

At the top the wind buffeted Willa almost off balance. She collapsed against the wall of the monument to catch her breath. She was alone, all about her the lights of the city, the roar of the wind, the sharp flicking of the long grass. Her eyes traced the streetlights below until she found the corner the Duke was on, and across the city to Cathy’s house.

What was Cathy thinking now? Poor, sad, mixed up Cathy, who’d loved Willa, she knew that, but who couldn’t love her too. Who saw a way out of it, a clean, easy, good way out. But being Cathy, she’d panicked and rung Willa. What if she hadn’t? Would it have been better if she had died?

Willa used to know the answers to those questions. She was sure. Now, she wasn’t. She thought of Keith, fantasising about her, writing those notes on blue paper, sending them to the Duke, leaving them in the letterbox, under the door, once even in her bag at Burger Giant. Creeping around watching her. Willa wrapped her arms around her head. It was too hard. Too horrible, too tiring.

And then there was Louie. It was here, what seemed like an age ago, that Willa had leaned over to feel Louie’s cold ear, and couldn’t move. The touch of Louie’s skin had been an electric shock and Willa had frozen, feeling her heart skate across black ice. She’d always remembered that moment. Now for the first time, Willa wished that she’d never done it, never leaned over and touched Louie Angelo.

She wished instead that she’d got some of those pills of Cathy’s along with the whisky and could sit here, in the whirring grass and go to sleep, cold and numb, and never have to wake up.

Willa undid the whisky bottle and threw away the cap, as she’d seen Sid do when celebrating. She swigged a mouthful and choked, then recovered and drank some more. The lights below were blurry and distant, the earth she lay on seemed to move under her back, the grass clicked and whispered. At some stage she felt Judas lie down next to her and she dreamed her mother was beside her, wrapping Willa in a huge fur coat.
 


Should she ring Willa? Dare she ring Willa? Louie brooded all Saturday morning, then decided to go for a bike ride to get away from her mother’s prying eyes. Louie had heard her parents’ voices talking long into the night, and knew Susi had been told all about Cathy, but so far that morning she’d kept her opinions to herself.

Louie rode her bike slowly, the thick tyres strumming the pavement as she freewheeled towards the Duke. She paused by the back gate, but there was no sign of Willa. With a woof Judas appeared at the gate, tail whipping the air in welcome. A minute later a human sounding sniff made her look up. Jolene.

“Hello Louie.”

No more beatnik, Louie noticed. And Jolene looked … sad. There were lines around her eyes that made Louie think of old tragic movie stars.

“I was wondering if Willa was around,” she said, patting Judas.

“She’s not very well.” Jolene looked at Louie carefully. “She only came in early this morning, a bit worse for wear. I thought she’d been with you.”

“No. I mean, last night yeah, but … what do you mean, worse for wear?”

Jolene sighed and looked up at Willa’s window, where the blind was down. “She’s very unhappy, Louie, you know that. And Cathy, of course.”

Louie nodded, wishing she was anywhere but here.

“Well, she can’t carry everyone’s problems. She thinks she can though, like I do, and like Bliss does. It’s a weakness in the women of this family,” she said and laughed. Then she waved a hand at Louie, “Don’t worry, I’m her mother, that’s my job. But hey, Beatnik,” she fixed Louie with her light blue eyes, “you sort yourself out, I don’t want no more Cathys, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell her you came by. And thank your father for ringing, too.”

Louie pushed off on her bike and headed up the valley towards home.

It was a beautiful day, that sort of fragile sunny day you get after a week of wind and ram. The bush was bathed in white sunshine except for the few patches of permafrost which Louie pedalled through tentatively. Native birds called in the stillness across the valley and it felt great to have the warm sun on her face again.

Through the dazzle of sunshine flared the spire of the All Saints Church. Louie found herself wondering what Father Campion did in between Sunday masses, and whether he wore his Reeboks or the shiny black shoes. She heard Jolene’s parting words in her head and turned left into the church drive.

Round the back of the church was a small brick house where the priest lived. It had a stream running behind it. Louie leaned her bike against the front porch and rang the bell. When no one answered she walked around the back where she found Father Campion crouched over a clump of dead-looking plants. He was wearing faded jeans, a fisherman’s knit black jersey and, yes, the shabby Reeboks.

Louie cleared her throat and thought how phoney it sounded. But it worked. Father Campion swung round and stood up, shading his eyes to see her better.

“Oh, Lome?”

She was pleased he didn’t call her Louise, even though her mother always did so in front of the priest. “Hi.”

There wasn’t anything else she could think of to say suddenly, and Louie felt the familiar confusion choke her up. Father Campion crouched back down on his haunches. “I’m just cutting back these dahlias. They should have been lifted, I’m told, a couple of months ago, but I’m afraid I’m a bit of a garden-free zone, as they say. Father O’Leary was so proud of it, too.”

Louie stood awkwardly. She knew even less about plants, and wondered if Father Campion was just going to ignore her. Her hands felt big hanging at her sides.

“There,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Louie, would you be so kind as to wheel this lot round the corner to the heap for me?” He indicated a wheelbarrow filled with what looked like straw. “Just follow me.” And he scooped up a pile of weeds and dead leaves in his arms and led her to an old wooden crate full of potato peelings and other muck where they dumped all the garden rubbish.

“Well then, I think we’ve earned a cup of coffee, don’t you?”

Louie smiled at his kindness and went through the door Father Campion had opened for her. Inside there was a big old dining table with six chairs and a couple of armchairs. The priest waved at them and told her to make herself comfortable while he made the coffee. Louie chose one of the armchairs from which she could watch Father Campion working in the kitchen. He was a small man, neat in his movements, and he gave the impression of being quite athletic. He twisted from one bench to the other, crouched down to get something from the back of a cupboard and bounced back up. Louie imagined him in shorts on a soccer field and found the image quite possible. He’d look good in shorts she decided, and he had an attractive, if not downright handsome, face.

Yet this man was celibate. A vow of no sex, ever.

The celibate man came through to the dining room and placed a tray on the table. As he poured her coffee he asked her the usual bunch of questions about school and family and the holiday in Bah. Then he settled in the other armchair and sipped from his mug.

“So, is there something that’s worrying you Louie?” he asked softly, easy.

Louie tried to start at least three times before she got anything out.

“I wondered what you thought of, ah … well, what the Church’s stance is on, urn…” she took a deep breath, “homosexuality.”

Father Campion contemplated his coffee for a few seconds, then fixed his eyes on Louie’s. They were a dark brown. “Well, you’ve asked me two questions there, Louie,” he said, carefully. “I gather this isn’t an academic question.”

“No.”

“On the question of homosexuality the Vatican still believes it to be a sin, although the direction is to hate the sin and not the sinner.” He paused, while Louie heard the words sin and
sinner
replaying in her head. “However,” and his tone was much gentler now, “it is my view that the issue is more a matter of love, than sexuality.”