Girl Saves Boy (20 page)

That’s something I realised about Mum only after she died—she liked to put people out. She didn’t take things seriously. I don’t think she ever really grew up. She loved to be the centre of attention.

I hate myself for having observed so little about her when she was alive. I feel like I’ve wasted sixteen years of my life, being so self-centred and only noticing when things get really bad. I hate myself for that. Maybe I deserve what is headed my way.

I went to the garden section, past mowers and terracotta pots and wheelbarrows and more, until I reached the ornaments aisle.

There were fountains and miniature waterfalls and hollow deities with ‘Made in China’ stamped on everything. Then I found them.

A whole bunch of garden gnomes, all standing in a row.

I wanted to buy a gnome to replace the one I’d dropped, the one from the front yard of Jewel and her mother’s place. But none looked the same. None of them looked right.

Okay, so I can’t explain my actions following this point. I’m going to say it was a fit of insanity.

I stuffed three garden gnomes into the front of my hoodie (they were all rather small, like me), clutched another gnome (this one was quite jazzy, with a pointy green hat with red dots) to my chest, and used my other arm to stop the gnomes in my hoodie from falling out. And I bolted.

Like that night with the lobster. Except I was stealing four garden gnomes, who were not actually in need of emancipation, on account of being inanimate objects.

This is going to seem crazy—and that’s because it is—but it sounded as if the gnomes were talking to me. They were egging me on.

My gnomes and I were dashing past the terra-cotta pots, the outdoor furniture, the barbecues, the mowers. Four gnomes. All saying,
Yes, Sacha, free us, emancipate us!

I know you know that I know I was nuts. I was spaced-out on pain medication and dying of cancer, okay? Don’t blame me; blame the drugs.

Needless to say, this grand plan of emancipating inanimate statues did not work out, and by the registers the three gnomes fell from my hoodie. I paused, looking down at them, ceramic bits smashed across the concrete floor. But then I bolted again with the remaining gnome gripped to my chest. Like a rugby player, except instead of a ball I had a garden gnome.

At the doors, a big guy with ‘Security’ printed on his jacket grabbed my arm and gave me a look that was either concerned or amused. I wasn’t sure. I stopped, then turned back towards the registers, where the queues of people were all staring at me, the cashiers too.

I laughed. And I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.

As I said: completely nuts.

They rang the police, not just because I’d attempted to steal four garden gnomes and broken three of them, but also because they were worried that they might have an escaped psychiatric patient on their hands (honestly: the security guy said this while he was on the phone to the cops and he knew I was listening), even though I assured them I was just high on prescription drugs. For some reason, this did not allay their fears.

The police came and drove me down to the station. We sat in a small, windowless room and I told them about how I sometimes stole garden gnomes from people’s front yards, but I’d returned them all today, and then I’d obviously had a bit of a relapse. Half the time they looked like they were biting back laughter. The fact that I was still in my pyjamas didn’t help. I explained how I was sick and on pain medication, and how that might have been a contributing factor to my behaviour.

They asked to see my ID, and I fished through my wallet. Most of my cards weren’t there. I realised that I had my old Harry Potter wallet, and that my current one was at home. I offered them my Beanie Kids Club membership card, but they shook their heads and tried not to smile again. To top it off I didn’t even have my mobile on me.

I didn’t tell them that the garden gnomes had been egging me on, because they’d have had me committed to a mental institution, instead of sending me on my way with a warning—I’m not sure what they were warning me against, and I’m not sure that they knew either. They said they’d let me off, but first they’d like me to get an adult I knew to pick me up (and assure them I wasn’t a crazy person, I guess). Clearly, since I was a day shy of eighteen, my own opinion didn’t matter. Ageists.

A policewoman stood by me in the hall while I made calls on their phone. I called Dad first. The phone rang and rang and rang, until the answering machine picked up. My own voice chirped at me: ‘You’ve reached the Thomas residence. We’re not able to take your call right now, but leave your name and number and Tristan or Sacha will call you back.’

I contemplated how gay our names were. Dad actually was gay, so it kind of suited. My thoughts were punctured by a beep. I had to say something.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘I tried to steal four garden gnomes from Bunnings. They think I’m a psychiatric hospital escapee. Could you pick me up from the police station?’ I rattled off the address then hung up. I thought how bad that would sound when Dad got home and listened to the messages, and how bad it would be when he actually came in and spoke to the cops.

‘Can I make another call?’ I asked the police officer. She nodded. I picked up the phone again. This time someone did answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Geraldine!’ I said. ‘I’ve been arrested for stealing garden gnomes.’

‘It was bound to happen sooner or later,’ she said. I could almost hear a chuckle in her voice. Was she smiling? Smiling at my misfortune?

‘Can you pick me up from the police station?’ I told her the address.

‘I sure can. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?’

‘See you then. Thanks, Geraldine.’

‘No worries, Sacha. This is what friends’ mothers are for.’

Something strange happened during those fifteen minutes when Geraldine was on her way.

And, no, I don’t mean I-was-spoken-to-by-God strange, though that wouldn’t have been all that unexpected, considering how close I was to insanity.

I mean visited-by-Mr-Jason-Carr strange.

They had me locked in a cell. I’m not sure whether that was warranted, let alone legal, since I was under-age and I’d only stolen garden gnomes.

Mr Carr appeared to be flirting with the policewoman. Which was both illegal and appalling, but less appalling than it would have been had he been flirting with a police
man
. The policewoman unlocked the door of the cell. I stayed resolutely inside.

‘I got the message on your answering machine,’ he explained. ‘Your dad’s still out. He had a last-minute meeting to go to, with a curator at a gallery.’

‘How did you get the message? You don’t live with us. You don’t even have keys to our house.’

‘I’ve had keys for ages, Sacha,’ he said, almost sad about my ignorance, ‘and I’d
like
to live with you.’

I almost groaned at how ridiculous he sounded. But I didn’t.

‘Geraldine’s coming to pick me up,’ I said instead.

He nodded slowly. ‘I’d like us to be friends, Sacha.’

‘Oh, God.’ I put my head in my hands, ‘It’s been a stressful year, okay?’

‘I understand,’ he said. Then he came and sat beside me.

I started to cry, right there in the police station, next to Mr Carr, and I don’t think it was just the drugs.

Jewel

Friday morning I woke to the phone ringing. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, and finally lurched out of bed and picked up the phone.

‘Hello?’ I said.

‘Rachel?’ There was a man’s voice at the other end of the line.

‘No, this is her daughter,’ I said. ‘This is Jewel.’

‘Oh.’

‘I can take a message for you.’ I grabbed a pen and looked around for something to write on. ‘Who’s calling?’

‘It’s…uh, this is your dad.’

‘What?’ My voice went up a few octaves. The grogginess in my head disappeared instantly.

‘This is your dad…this is Kevin.’ He spoke slowly, like he was talking to a four year old, sounding out each syllable.

‘No, I heard you say that,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping you’d say something that made sense.’

I was still clutching the pen, and it began to tremble uncontrollably.

‘Jewel,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were back with your mother.’

‘You don’t know anything.’ My voice was shaky. ‘You’ve been gone for ten years.’ My words sounded as distant as his.

‘How long have you been there?’ I heard him swallow.

‘Almost a fortnight,’ I said. ‘Grandma died. Both Grandma and Grandpa are dead.’

‘I’m sorry, Jewel.’

‘What for?’

He was silent.

‘Why are you calling?’

‘To speak to your mother,’ he said finally. ‘
Is
she there?’

‘Why would you want to speak to her now?’ I asked, words tumbling out fast. ‘After you haven’t spoken to her in a decade. Why now? Don’t tell me
you’re
dying, too?’

‘I’m not dying, Jewel. Who else is dying? Are you all right, Jewel?’

‘Then explain yourself!’ I shouted.

He swallowed noisily again. ‘I don’t know what to say, Jewel—’

‘Would you stop saying my name?’ I snapped.

‘I’ve been speaking to your mother every couple of months since I left, Jewel,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Rachel said she told you we were talking. She thought that it’d be better if I didn’t speak to you directly, since you were so angry. And by the sounds of it you still are.’

‘Of course I’m angry,’ I muttered. ‘You don’t just abandon your child and not talk to them for half their life, then expect them to be hunky dory with it.’

He sounded tired. ‘Your mum thought you’d be better off having a more stable upbringing with your grandparents. After…after what happened, neither your mother nor I was in a fit state to parent you properly. I really am sorry, Jewel. I said some awful things to you when you were young, before I left, and you didn’t deserve to be abandoned, or treated that way by either of us. Rachel and I did what we thought was best. We weren’t able to raise you the way you should have been raised. We were barely able to look after ourselves.’

‘I’m eighteen now,’ I said.

‘I know.’

‘You’ve never sent me birthday presents.’

‘I put money into your grandparents’ account,’ he said.

‘Do you have proof of this?’ I demanded. ‘Are you making this up?’

‘I have receipts. Both your mother and I were helping financially to support you.’

‘This is too much right now.’ I tried to speak firmly, but my voice wavered, thick with emotion. I was filled with a sense of betrayal—by my mother, this time.

‘That’s okay.’

The front door opened, and Mum stepped inside.

‘I have to go now, Dad,’ I said, and hung up the phone.

Mum put her jacket on the coat rack and looked at me. She and I stood on opposite sides of the living room.

‘Would now be a good time for that sit-down chat?’ she asked.

I nodded.

‘I’ll make tea. You want to grab some biscuits? I bought more Tim Tams.’

I nodded again and we went into the kitchen together. She put the kettle on. I got out a nice plate and set out a circle of chocolate biscuits so that it looked like a sun. When the tea was made we went back into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Neither of us touched the Tim Tams. Mum held her cup of tea close to her mouth, blowing on it.

‘He’s working in the opal industry in Alice Springs,’ she said quietly. ‘Did he tell you that?’

‘No. I didn’t really give him the opportunity. Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to him all this time? That you knew where he was?’

She sipped her tea noisily. ‘Because you needed stability, Jewel,’ she murmured. ‘Neither your dad nor I could offer you that while you were growing up. Not after Ben died. I couldn’t tell you about your dad…it would have confused you, complicated your life even more. Grandma and Grandpa were the best option.’

‘But they’re dead now.’

She looked at me. ‘But didn’t they raise you well, Jewel? Weren’t you happy?’

‘I guess.’

‘What do you think your life would have been like here?’ she asked, her voice soft, defeated. ‘Your father hasn’t ever come back, you know. I’ve only spoken to him on the phone. Passed on everything your grandmother told me about you. We both loved—
love
—you dearly, Jewel. We just weren’t in a space where we could raise you properly. And I think that Grandma and Grandpa did raise you properly.’

‘Why didn’t you come to either of their funerals?’ I asked. ‘Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, I mean.’

‘People grieve differently, Jewel,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to handle those funerals. They were my parents, and I wish I could have been there to support you, but I grew up there, and I don’t think I could have survived going back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you. I should have come.’

‘I missed you,’ I said. ‘Not just you, but the person you were before Ben died.’ My throat felt dry, and I barely said the words above a whisper. But I said his name.

She reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘None of us is going to be the exact same person we were before Ben died. But deep down we haven’t changed, not all that much. We can remain the same people fundamentally, but still change, and change isn’t always for the worse.’

Neither of us seemed to have anything else to say. I had so many thoughts and questions without answers swimming through my head that I couldn’t pick just one without getting tangled in a whole clump of them. There was way too much to process in just one morning.

‘Is there anything else?’ she asked.

‘Not today,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘As much as I love you now, Jewel, I wish I could have the eight-year-old you back. I wish I could raise you and watch you grow like I never got the opportunity to. I hope I didn’t ruin everything for you.’ Tears welled in her eyes.

I leant over and gave her a hug. ‘It’s okay, Mum. You didn’t ruin anything. You did the best you could, and that was good enough.’

We finished our tea, and then worked through the plate of biscuits. Mum turned on the TV and we sat there together all morning watching whatever was on, but not taking anything in. Mum cried and cried and cried, and I don’t know whether she was crying for me, or for Dad, or for herself, or for Ben. Maybe she was crying for everybody.