Everything is Changed (11 page)

jake

It's not hard to find something black to wear because it's pretty much all I own. But I have at least put on jeans without holes in them because I thought I should try to make an effort. I begged Alex to come with me but he refused. And it's not like I can make him come.

‘You're running late, aren't you?' It's Mum. She's just got up after working late last night. Her hair's all crazy and she's shuffling around in her oversized pyjamas.

‘I'm not going to school today. I'm going to a funeral,' I say, surprising myself that I've just blurted it out.

Even when tired, she's sharper than most people and she fixes me with a look. ‘Really? Whose?'

‘A friend's dad. It's no big deal. Just wanted to show my support. I never met him.'

She nods. Then smiles. ‘That's nice of you. It's never fun going to funerals. Do you want me to drive you?'

‘No. It's okay. There's a bunch of us,' I say, pretending to concentrate on retying my shoelaces.

‘How did he die?' She walks into the kitchen and starts making a pot of coffee. It's the first thing Mum always does in the morning, and then after it percolates, she sits down and finishes off the pot before she can even think about eating anything.

‘Car accident,' I say, sticking as close to the truth as I can.

‘Oh, that's awful. Do I know your friend?'

I shake my head. ‘Nah. It's someone I met through Alex.'

‘So Alex's going too?'

‘Yeah. Course,' I say, hoping today isn't the day she runs into Alex or his mum and learns the truth.

‘Where's the funeral?'

‘Camberwell somewhere. Not sure.'

‘Honey, I'll drive you,' she says again.

But I shake my head. ‘It's fine. Really. I should go.'

‘Okay, well, I'll be home tonight. Not working, thank god, so I'll cook something nice,' she says.

I kiss Mum goodbye and get out of there before she asks any questions I can't easily lie my way out of.

I've only ever been to one funeral and that was my grandfather Jack's. He was Catholic so it was in this very austere church he used to go to. The priest had known him for years so it was really personal, and I learned things about my grandfather's life that I'd never known. Like he'd grown up in foster homes and joined the navy when he was seventeen to escape. I remember Mum cried for the whole service and I just sat next to her and squeezed her hand. Jack had been a big part of my life, especially after Dad had left, and he'd pretty much raised my mum on his own because my grandmother died when Mum was a kid. He taught me how to kick a footy. And we used to go to AFL games sometimes because he lived just near the MCG in this dingy little flat in the back blocks of Richmond. Only Sydney Swans games, though, because he was an old South Melbourne supporter and still barracked for the red and whites.

It's strange thinking back to that funeral. Alex was there too and his dad came, which really struck me as weird at the time, because it wasn't like we were family friends or anything. But I think he thought he was doing the right thing by bringing Alex. I had to do a public reading of some poem about death that my grandfather apparently liked. My voice sounded really odd in the church, all shaky and soft like I was terrified of saying the words aloud.

Mum never talks about her dad, but I know she misses him. I miss him too even though I hated how yellow the skin on his fingers were from years of smoking tobacco.

I wonder what this funeral will be like. Alex tried to talk me out of going, but I have to go. I don't know why. I just want to see the man's family, hear about him, and learn what he was like. Alex thinks its part of some ongoing self-punishment. Maybe he's right and this is my way of making myself suffer without actually having to go to prison. Truth is, I'm still in shock that we killed this man and going to the funeral is my fact-finding mission to see what people know. And I'm secretly hoping that today I will hear the real reason the man died, and that it will have nothing to do with us.

Camberwell seems so far away. I can't believe this is where Alex lives now. It's so different to the borough. It's all wide streets with big trees and brand new cars. Even the houses look impressive and old, not brown brick and from the seventies. The church is supposed to be along here somewhere, but I can never quite work out how to read the GPS on my phone so every time I turn it in the direction I think the phone should face, the screen changes. That's the problem with spending your entire life in one small square like I usually do. I'm not normally inclined to navigate the wider world, because aside from going to school, the skate park and the shopping centre, I don't actually have anywhere else to go.

I turn the corner onto Burke Road. The church is St something and I keep walking in the direction I hope I'm supposed to go in, and wishing I'd worn something less casual. I imagine that people around here are probably quite a bit posher than I am, and now I'm terrified someone will take one look at me and know instinctively that I shouldn't be here and ask questions I can't answer. I consider turning back but then I see the huge crowd spilling out the front of a big pale stone church. They don't look like what I imagined. For a start, there are hardly any people wearing black and I feel really conspicuous, like I didn't get the email about the dress code. The hearse is parked right out the front and I avoid looking because I don't want to see the coffin. I had to ride in a hearse with Mum when we followed my grandfather's body to the crematorium. Cars kept stopping for us and it made me feel a little bit famous.

Everyone is standing in clusters and chatting like it's the perfect place to catch up on things. I stand back, as far back as possible, so I can scan faces to try and find his daughter. I figure once we get inside I'll be able to spot her. Then the doors to the church open and people start filing in. It's a huge church. Anglican, I think. So much more impressive than the one my grandfather was farewelled in. Because I just want to hang near the back, I let people go in front of me, and wait until almost everyone else is inside before I start edging my way in.

As I head into the foyer, I hear music playing. Not the traditional organ music that played at my grandfather's funeral but a guitar being strummed. Two women in dark-coloured suits are handing out programs and gesturing for people to sign the visitor's book. I try and get past without signing because, really, how can I sign a visitor's book? But the man in front of me turns and hands me the pen and I know it would just seem strange if I passed it further down the line without writing anything. I don't want to draw attention to myself so I scribble a name. Alexander Cormack. And then I add his address like all the others in the lines before. It's his fault he wouldn't come with me so at least this way he's here in spirit.

Then one of the women hands me a program and without thinking I look at the front. And there it is. His face. Grinning at the camera as he holds up a giant snapper in his hands. He looks so happy. I quickly fold it over so I don't have to see him and squeeze into a spot right in the back corner. The church is crammed with people. The wooden pews are all full so guests stand three-rows thick at the back, which means I can't see down the front to where the family sits. As the minister starts talking and welcoming everyone to the funeral, I realise just what a bad idea this was. I'm starting to sweat. My jeans feel all tight and uncomfortable and I can't breathe properly.

Light pours in from the arched windows. The words coming from the front are about the man's amazing life and the legacy he's left behind and I know those words are for me. And then a baby screams, and I have to get out of here. But there must be about forty people between me and the door. I hear the minister mention the tragic event that cut the man's life short and I worry I'm going to faint.

I start pushing.

I wriggle past one man and then a couple of older women and keep going like that until I can nearly see my way out. I know people are giving me dirty looks but I focus on my hand that has started to shake and keep pushing through. Behind me, the gap closes like I was never there.

Somewhere at the front of the church a woman starts sobbing and I force myself out through the last pocket of people and into the day. The sun is way too bright. It's like someone is shining lights into my eyes to check my level of guilt.

‘Are you okay?' says a voice behind me and I spin around ready to run. But it's not someone come to arrest me. It's just one of the women in the dark-coloured suits. She's probably from the funeral home or maybe she's the driver of the hearse. Her face looks sincerely concerned for me.

‘Yeah,' I manage to say. She touches me on the arm and gives me a kind little smile and I resist trying to yank myself free of her.

‘Here,' she says, handing me a wad of tissues. ‘I always carry spares.'

I take them and wipe my eyes savagely like I'm trying to remove any sign that I'm upset. I start walking away from the church, knowing she's watching me and wondering what she thinks. I wait for her to call out or even chase me but thankfully she doesn't. I get down the road before my hand finally stops shaking. I realise I'm still clutching the program and I throw it into someone's garden, and start to run for the tram. I have to get back to the borough. I have to get away from here.

alex

I haven't spoken to Jake since that afternoon in the skate park, the day the man died. He keeps wanting to meet up and talk about it, keeps ringing me late at night, so I've started turning my phone off at home. Far as I can tell, there's nothing more to talk about. We didn't go to the police last year when it happened, so why would that change now just because he's dead?

I'm just trying to bury myself in my new school. I joined the rowing team and made the seconds, which is pretty cool given that I've never rowed, but I'm tall and strong and they needed a replacement rower so I'm it.

I've also joined the debating team, as nerdy as that sounds. And I put my name down for the outdoor camp that runs all of term two. If Dad wants me to be a joiner, then I'll be a joiner. The only problem with doing all this extra stuff is that it leaves me almost no time to go and see Ellie. It might be only 19 kilometres between Ellie's place and mine, but on public transport it takes over an hour. Seriously. A tram. A train. And a walk.

I'm too scared to take off my blazer because it's a big deal to be seen not wearing it on the way to or from school. But as I reach Ellie's, I'm just about to slip it off when she opens the front door with a grin as big as any I've seen.

‘Well, look at you,' she says, laughing.

I start trying to get the blazer off, but as I'm slipping it from one arm, she's pulling it back on.

‘I think you look cute,' she says, her lips brushing against mine. ‘I like boys in uniform.'

‘Hilarious.'

‘Yes I am. Come on, I've got Sunnyboys for us.'

I follow her into the house. It's only a little cooler inside, but as soon as I take off the stupid blazer I feel much better. I grab Ellie by the hand and pull her down onto the big brown leather couch with me. She smells sweaty and sweet all at the same time and I kiss her mouth, her cherry lip balm sticky on my lips.

‘Mum's home,' she whispers in my ear. I groan, making her laugh. ‘But she's out the back weeding right now so we have about three minutes, I reckon.'

‘So stop talking and kiss me,' I say, finding her mouth again.

I could kiss Ellie forever. As her tongue finds mine, I know she's smiling, and I smile back, our lips pressed together. I run my hands up her back and pull her closer, manoeuvring us both so I'm lying down and she's on top of me. She's only wearing a singlet and shorts so her warm skin is pressed against mine.

‘Alex, how nice to see you,' says a voice from behind us. I freeze. Ellie laughs but stays where she is, her body against the length of mine. ‘Good one, Mum.'

I'm not quite as relaxed around Ellie's parents as they keep telling me I can be, so I sit up, forcing Ellie to move too. ‘Hi, Laura.'

Ellie's mum holds up a wilting lettuce in one hand and a couple of dirt-covered carrots in the other. ‘You staying for dinner?'

‘No, I can't. But thanks.'

She nods. ‘I'll leave you both to it then.'

Ellie's mum walks out of the lounge and into the kitchen. I can hear her whistling. Ellie slides up so she's sitting on my lap and leans down to kiss me again, but all I can concentrate on is the banging sounds of dinner being made in the kitchen. Ellie nips my bottom lip with her teeth and whispers, ‘She doesn't care.'

I roll my eyes. ‘But I do.'

‘Boring,' says Ellie, climbing off and walking out of the room. I'm not used to parents being as casual as Ellie's. Actually, they aren't casual about everything, just their daughter making out in the lounge. But if Ellie's grades slip or if they think she isn't working hard enough at school, then she'd be in trouble. They have big plans for her.

‘So how is it?' says Ellie, handing me a Sunnyboy frozen ice triangle. She plonks down on the couch and rests her legs on mine.

‘Okay.'

She gnaws at the orange iceblock. ‘I hate that sound,' I say, licking the Sunnyboy but not biting it. She laughs and keeps doing it.

‘Just okay?'

I shrug. How do I explain it? ‘It's huge. Impressive. No girls. I don't know yet.'

‘I'm glad there are no girls,' she says.

‘But it's all the other boys talk about.'

‘Can you survive it?'

‘Yeah. I think so.'

‘Make any friends?' she asks in her singsong voice.

‘Maybe.'

‘Not saying much, Alex.'

‘Not much to say. How was your week?'

She laughs and I realise how much I love that sound. ‘Listen to us. We sound about a hundred. My day was fine, thanks. Double science. Double English. Have you spoken to Jake?' She looks at me, those eyes trying to work something free. I know she's digging for answers, but I have nothing to say.

‘Nah. Not for a while. Why?'

‘Don't know. He's been a bit weird.'

‘Yeah?' I suck the flavour from the ice until there's none left in that spot.

‘Yeah. Do you know what it could be?'

I shake my head. ‘Nah. Sorry. He's still pissed that I moved …' I see her frown and realise she's unconvinced.

‘I don't think that's why …' she says, chewing into the ice again and sending shivers down my back. ‘He told me he has to go a funeral, but wouldn't tell me whose it was. Don't you think that's weird?'

I really don't like where this conversation is going. Even though Jake isn't here, he's still dominating the afternoon and ruining my time with Ellie.

‘Yeah, but Jake is weird, El. I keep telling you that.'

‘Don't you care about him at all?'

Ellie's getting worked up in that way she has, where she tries to get to the bottom of something. Sometimes I love it, but other times, like right now, I just wish she'd let it go.

‘Yeah, but can we talk about something else?'

She gives me a look and I see her teetering between taking up the argument and not. There's a second where she seems to think and then says, ‘Like?'

I've already got my distraction planned. ‘Why is it called a Sunnyboy?' I hold up the iceblock. She pretends to think. ‘I don't know.'

‘Me neither.'

‘Well, that ended that conversation. Can we go back to Jake now?'

I move a bit and send her feet off my lap. I can't believe we're back here already.

‘Don't you worry about him, Alex?'

‘No. He's a big boy, El.'

She slides her feet back up again and kicks at my leg. ‘Yeah and he's supposed to be your best friend.'

‘Things change, El,' and as I say it I know it's true. We'll never be best friends again. ‘We've grown apart.'

‘Sometimes, Alex …' she starts.

I look over at her. I wish I could tell her why. Explain what happened that derailed us, but I can't. That secret stays with me. So I lean over and kiss her icy, orange-flavoured lips, hoping to distract her again from this conversation, so we can forget about Jake and all the trouble he's in.