One True Thing (18 page)

I give up trying to sleep and switch on my light. Luke is asleep in the next room, and Dad's in bed. Mum and her staff have pulled another all-nighter, and they've all bunked down at her office.

I turn my stereo on low and listen to the bootleg Harry gave me. It works for a while, but then it strikes me the way it always does – hearing music I love makes me want to make it too. I grab my Martin, but my fingers can't move fast enough to keep up. I take deep breaths, slow the rhythm of my blood and my brain so I can hold on to the words that fill it. I spend a long time playing the new song, my headphones plugged into my ears so no one can hear it. I stop to scribble lyrics in my notebook,
changing them, then changing them back. It's coming together, finally, and I want to play it for the band.

My gut twists at the idea of what might happen to No Politics. What if Tyler and Kessie argue? Will Kessie still write with me? Can we make it work? I just don't know how this thing with Kessie will fit into our friendship, if there's room in the space we have or if it's gone forever.

I change gears in my head. I set up my laptop and watch the guitar tutorial Harry sent me, practising the chorus of ‘Just Breathe' over and over until my fingertips start to burn.

In the morning, I drop Luke at Nathan's house, then text Kessie to meet at Carfe Diem. I can't do what I need to do without Kessie's help. She surprises me, saying she's already there, so I pick up my pace and head to the cafe.

As soon as I enter, I see Kessie – and Tyler sitting beside her.

I make a subtle adjustment, forcing a cool I'm not sure I can pull off, and fix the right kind of smile in place.
Will it always hurt like this?

Tyler is doing her best to keep her expression neutral, and I appreciate that. I imagine she's told Kessie about the pictures. Whoever did it would have spread the word
already. Otherwise, what would be the fun in doing it? Maximum reach, Harry would call it.

I approach the table, drinks all lined up, including one for me – strong skinny latte, just how I like it. I widen my smile.

Tyler looks up at me. ‘Hey, Frankie. Coffee?'

‘Thanks.'
Please don't mention yesterday
, I will her silently.
Please
.

I take my seat, and we all consider the drinks in front of us. Then we look up as one and quickly look down again.

‘So,' Kessie says, too brightly, ‘this is nice.'

It's so obviously
not
nice. So awkward and horrible and just plain
wrong
that I squeeze out a short laugh before I realise it, and Tyler's whole face relaxes. I notice Kessie lean against Tyler, not even aware she's doing it, while Tyler's body seems to open to her in a gesture both graceful and easy. They look good together. It's different and unexpected and totally natural. They fit, I realise. They totally fit.

Kessie's watching me now, and it feels like I'm being tested. I swallow the hard lump in my throat. I want to show them I'm okay. Even if I'm not.

‘Are we good for next week?' Tyler asks gently.

I take a minute to remind myself what she means. And then it hits me – Pearl Jam, Saturday week. ‘God. Yes. All good.' Luke's swimming is on the same day – State
Championships, which he's made for the first time. The whole family is going, even Mum. No cameras or media, though, which almost killed Harry when she told him.

‘Text you?' Tyler's words are clipped, but her expression hopeful.

‘Sure.' I look at Kessie. ‘Are we still on for this morning?' I wonder if I'm supposed to invite Tyler now, or if Kessie is free to come alone.

But Kessie leans over to Tyler, kisses her softly on the corner of her mouth and whispers goodbye. Then she stands beside me and says, ‘I'm ready.'

Kessie and I head down Grantham Street, towards the bay. I'm about to cross at the lights when Kessie stops beside me.

‘I figured we'd need some help,' she says, and waves at the approaching shape – Jake.

‘Are you kidding me?'

She doesn't waver. ‘He wants to help.'

‘He caused this whole mess!'

Kessie frowns. ‘You know that's not true.'

‘He took the photos, Kess!'

‘Yeah, he took the photos,' she says, blocking my path. ‘That's what he does. You would too, right? If you found the perfect song? Or heard it? You couldn't just walk past it. Could you? You'd have to at least
listen
.'

‘He betrayed me! Anyway, why would I want his help?'

Kessie exhales noisily just as Jake reaches us. ‘Because,
genius
, he's the only one here who's met the bloke!'

Jake touches my arm, but I brush it away. He runs a hand though his hair, his face a picture of contrition. ‘I'm going to apologise again. One more time. I'm really sorry. I wish I could undo this but I can't. So let me try to make it better.'

‘How can I trust you?' I hate that there are tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I want to hold on to my anger because it's safe and secure. He can't hurt me here. He can't.

‘You have to,' he says with a shrug. ‘What else can you do?'

I think about this, hating that he's right. ‘Tell me, then. How can you help?'

‘I followed him home.'

‘You did what?'

‘Do you want me to take you there or not?' Jake asks, unblinking. ‘I mean, we can stand here and yell if you'd prefer.'

It takes a minute for me to realise what I must look like. I push my hair off my face and pull my hoodie up over my head; I steady the furious racing of my heart, glance around to make sure that no one's paying us too much attention, or at least not ‘Isn't that the Premier's kid?' kind of attention. I nod curtly, and Jake immediately
turns the corner, taking us away from the intersection and towards the busy esplanade.

After a couple of blocks, we stop outside a door leading up to a hostel. We climb the dark, carpeted stairs and head to the reception area, which is really just a counter with a dreadlocked girl sitting behind it.

‘Can I help you?' she asks.

Jake approaches the counter and smiles. I follow him while Kessie hangs back. ‘I met someone here a few weeks ago …' His voice trails off with uncertainty, and I wonder if it's real or just an act.

The room is quiet and dimly lit, but there's a corridor leading away from the counter and I can hear muffled laughter coming from it.

‘Do you have a name?' The woman has the face of a thirty-year-old, but her voice is light and girlish.

Jake offers that twisted half-smile he uses to charm people. ‘Yeah. Colin …?' He looks at me, as though to check he's right, then turns that beaming smile on the receptionist again. ‘Leith. Colin Leith.' He tries to say the name like it's one no one's heard of, innocent and empty, not loaded with megabytes of analysis and commentary.

The woman blinks, unimpressed. ‘Yeah, you and everyone else.'

Jake clears his throat. ‘So he's not here?'

She looks up at him, suspicious now. ‘Not anymore. I told everyone that. He moved out weeks ago.'

‘Can you check, please? Maybe he left a forwarding address.' Jake's smile could melt an iceberg, but it's having exactly zero effect on the receptionist.

‘I'm not going to give out that information.' The receptionist sighs deeply and shuts the laptop. ‘Unless you're the police and have a warrant.'

Jake is about to protest but I cut in and push back my hoodie, revealing my face. ‘My name is Francesca Mulvaney-Webb, the Premier's daughter,' I say, a sheepish smile on my face. I hate saying my name to strangers because I never know whether they'll recognise it or not. Assuming they will makes me look like a tool. Assuming they won't has virtually the same effect. ‘I just want to meet him.'

She considers me for a long minute, something shifting in her expression. ‘I thought I recognised you.' She smiles gently. ‘Can't be much fun for you right now,' she says, and, ridiculously, tears sting my eyes.

‘I've had better months.' I slip the hood back on.

‘He's not here. He was, but he moved, like I said.' The woman hesitates, then lifts one shoulder. ‘There've been a lot of people looking for him – your mum included.' She looks apologetic. She believes she's telling me about my cheating mother, about her illicit affair with this man.

‘Thanks,' I mumble.

We're about to head down the stairs when I hear the receptionist calling to me.

I stop, turn around.

‘It sucks, the way they're treating your mum.'

I nod, those ever-ready tears making an unwelcome return.

She glances up the corridor, then back at me. ‘He hangs out at The Prince a lot.'

I blink, not really registering what she means.

‘The Prince Hotel, on Leeward. He's been spotted there a few times lately.'

‘Really? When?'

Her smile spreads. ‘Yesterday. The day before. I'd head down there now, if I were looking for him.' She stands taller then, flattens the expression on her face. ‘But we don't reveal information about our guests,' she adds evenly.

And although I want to throw my arms around her to thank her, I tighten the smile that threatens to split my face. ‘Right. Sorry to bother you.'

She smiles politely. ‘No bother at all.'

As we round the corner near the pub, I tell Kessie and Jake I need to do this alone.

‘Seriously?' Kessie asks.

‘You don't know this guy,' Jake adds.

I don't try to argue or reason with them. They don't know the truth yet. They can't know. ‘Please?' I ask, hoping this will be enough.

Jake glances around like he's scoping out the place. Kessie is just watching me, making up her mind.

‘I don't know what this bloke is going to say,' I tell them, ‘but it's about
my
family, my mum …' Even the idea of what they think Colin's done is enough to bring the colour to my cheeks.

‘I don't believe what they're saying,' Kessie says, shaking her head. ‘I mean, I know it's bullshit.' She faces Jake, offering that last bit for him. ‘It is.'