Screw Loose (7 page)

The Barbies shuddered; they were not keen on emos.

‘Threats are for later,' Presidential Candidate Barbie said firmly. ‘First, secure the accommodation.'

Chelsea got up and put on her dressing gown. She hated her dressing gown because it was way too pink and quilted, but this morning there were issues greater than sleepwear to contend with. She descended the stairs slowly.

Her parents were waiting for her on separate sofas. It was interesting that they'd chosen to hold this family conference now; they knew full well that Chelsea could be somewhat irrational early in the morning. She chose the sofa on which her mother was sitting, but sat at the end closest to her father.

Their mobiles were on the coffee table, and they were dressed for work: Barry in a charcoal suit and the Hermes tie Chelsea had bought him in Paris, and Annette in navy blue with the gold gumnut earrings Chelsea had bought for her in Sydney.

They'd done that deliberately. The room was full of tension.

Chelsea had already imagined how it might be announced.

Darling, we're getting divorced. There's going to be a long custody
battle over you. We both intend to contest everything, and I am
going to get a court order to make your father pay for all your
psychiatrist bills.

Her mother made a noise through her nose and looked at her. ‘Chelsea, we want you to stay calm and listen carefully to what we both have to tell you.' She moved her mobile on the coffee table so it sat at a right angle to Chelsea's father's mobile.

‘Firstly, we want to remind you how much both your father and I love you.'

‘Well why wouldn't you?' Chelsea snapped. She was starting to feel resentful – why had they chosen this of all times to get divorced? They knew she was knee-deep in organising the rowing team, not to mention a combined-schools formal and etiquette classes. Why would they make her life so difficult?

She had always been such a good daughter – if you overlooked the Mary M disaster and that time she had pushed the coffee maker off the bench after they refused to install a lift.

Her father nodded agreement. ‘Your mother and I have decided we would both be so much happier, and you would too, if we lived separately.'

‘I don't think so!' Chelsea's eyes were filling with tears. The silence in the room made the disinterested chimes of the bellbirds outside the balcony window sound all the louder.

Her father reached over and patted her on the knee. ‘I've decided to move up to Sydney, Duchess.'

The news hit her like a medicine ball in the chest.

‘It's terribly humid in Sydney,' Chelsea responded quite bravely.

Her father nodded.

‘Can I visit you?' she asked softly.

‘Absolutely, Duchess, I insist that you do.'

‘Why have you both done this?' she asked. ‘Was it because of me?'

‘No!' they chorused. Then her father spoke tenderly. ‘This is an amicable separation, Chelsea. Nothing will change for you.

You can still live in this house with your mother and come up to Sydney to see me whenever you feel like it.'

The girls at Mary Magdalene would be thrilled when they heard about this. Phones would light up all over the city.

‘It's because of Mr Ryan!' Chelsea looked furiously at her mother.

‘Don't be silly, darling,' her mother said uncomfortably. She had moved across the sofa and was rubbing her daughter's back. ‘That was just hospitality!'

Her father's mobile broke into song:
The Girl from Ipanema
.

‘I can't bear this! I don't want you to separate!' Chelsea cried.

She might suffer a complete personality change now: get a nose stud and sit cross-legged on the footpath in the city playing bongos like all those other kids from broken homes.

Her father turned off the phone. ‘Chelsea. I have met another lady. I will be living with her.'

Her mother's mobile went off now, too:
Mull of Kintyre.

Chelsea was stunned. ‘Who is she?' she asked her father.

‘Her name is Lindy. She's a successful events manager.'

Her mother was talking to a client.

‘I'll bet she is,' Chelsea mumbled. She tried to imagine Lindy: fake tan, loud voice, enjoys humidity. Craig Ryan's father was tragic, too. What abysmal step-parents they would make. Her mother hung up.

‘Come on, Duchess, don't be sad,' her father said, standing up and holding out his arms. She got off the sofa and cuddled him. He smelt of Dior Homme Cologne. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.'

‘What silver lining?' she asked.

‘Holidays in Sydney; a nice house.'

‘Yes, but it won't have views like this one,' she sighed into his chest.

‘It does,' he said gently as he rocked her. ‘Harbour views.'

‘Oh,' she sniffed. ‘But no lift.'

‘Yes, Duchess, it has a lift, too.'

Chelsea suddenly found it a little easier to cope.

IS THIS ABOUT YOU
?
OR IS IT ABOUT ME

I
T WAS ANOTHER
mild winter's morning at Vistaview Secondary College. Almost three weeks after her boyfriend had thrown her brother's baklava at her father, Zeynep Yarkan decided she had to stop bottling up her worries and talk her problems through – and what better person to get advice from than Chelsea Dean?

Something was definitely upsetting Angelo. She could tell that by the way his jaw moved when she was chatting to him: he was grinding his teeth. This meant some sort of tension.

She'd returned his shoelaces, neatly ironed and rolled up, but he had snatched them and his
thanks
didn't sound grateful at all. Her girl-genes could read this situation: they were having a lover's quarrel – without the quarrel.

He could be annoyed at her obsessive-compulsive activities.

But they were a benefit to both him and the community: who really liked locker handles at different angles, or wheelie bins that weren't lined up neatly down the street? Perhaps he was angry because she was Muslim?

Zeynep made her way across the quadrangle. She could see Chelsea sitting on a seat and Matilda Grey standing under a tree nearby, spying on her. Beautiful old trees dotted the grounds of Vistaview, but she rather avoided them; an entire lunchtime could be used up collecting leaves by hand.

She reached the bench and sat down. Chelsea was drinking from a water bottle. ‘Where's Angelo?' she asked.

Zeynep shrugged. Matilda was creeping closer. ‘Angelo Tarano smells like deodoriser,' she said loudly.

Having been nurtured by dingoes in her early years, Matilda had a highly developed sense of smell. Zeynep nodded politely.

Everyone was supposed to treat Matilda with care because her developmental years had been interrupted and she was now experiencing learning difficulties.

‘Why don't you ask me why I look so depressed,' Chelsea said.

‘Why do you look so depressed?' Zeynep asked.

‘Because my parents have split.'

‘Oh, Chels.' Zeynep slid closer to Chelsea and put her arm around her friend. ‘How come?'

‘It's so terrible I can hardly speak about it,' Chelsea said softly, indicating with a nudge and a glance that she didn't want to talk about it in front of Matilda.

Zeynep squeezed Chelsea. This was awful.

‘My parents split up, too,' said Matilda from behind them.

‘My dad says they didn't leave me in the desert and my mum says they did. Don't think you're special.'

‘What a pity you were found,' Chelsea whispered.

Chelsea and Matilda weren't very compatible. Chelsea was really a little jealous of all the publicity Matilda received, and there was tension between them because they both liked Craig Ryan.

Chelsea stood up suddenly. ‘What was that?' she asked, shading her eyes and scowling across the oval. ‘I hope it wasn't one of those damn feral cats prowling along the river again.'

Matilda was off.

Chelsea sat down. ‘My mother is having an affair with Craig's father. I couldn't say that in front of her. I'm so, so devastated. I've booked up the school counsellor every day next week.'

‘Poor Chels.' Zeynep hugged her hard. ‘Does your father know?'

‘Probably. He's having an affair, too. He's going off to live in Sydney – it's just dreadful.' She sounded very unhappy. ‘Zeynep, I could end up on welfare benefits.'

Zeynep was shocked.

‘My father's friend has a house with views of the harbour, which is my only consolation,' Chelsea continued. ‘But Craig's father is so utterly feral. It's too embarrassing.' She began to cry again.

‘Poor, poor Chels. Angelo and I have relationship issues, too,' Zeynep said, rubbing Chelsea's arm.

‘Is this about you or is it about me?' Chelsea asked. ‘We can talk about you and Angelo later. Consideration, Zeynep.'

Zeynep felt a bit guilty. ‘Sorry, Chels. It's about you.'

Chelsea went on. ‘I feel so abandoned. And when I get home that man, Mr Ryan, is in the house pretending to do repairs.'

‘Oh, Chelsea, you'll hate being poor. You get everything you want.'

Chelsea stared at her. ‘Don't go overboard. I will cope.' She sighed sadly. ‘But we must carry on. What is the problem with you and Angelo?' she asked rather crossly.

‘I think he doesn't like me any more. I returned his shoelaces and he snatched them and walked away. I'm trying to keep him, Chelsea. I'm feeding him and kissing him like you said, but I don't think it works any more.'

Chelsea shook her head. ‘You're a fool to lose him, Zeynep.

If he goes back into circulation he'll be snapped up. I'd probably snap him up myself.' She looked across the courtyard. ‘Oh, no!

Lesbian alert! Georgia Delahunty approaching. Do you want me to get rid of her?'

‘No, Chelsea! I like her.' Zeynep and Georgia were best friends, but Georgia had recently started wagging. Zeynep missed her.

Georgia sat down. She was drinking honeycomb milk.

Chelsea did an air kiss from her seat, and Georgia returned it with a mouth full of milk.

Zeynep smiled at her old friend. ‘Georgia, I need some advice about Angelo. He used to like you – you know how his mind works.' Actually, Georgia had once had a crush on Zeynep, which had made things rather awkward for a while.

But she was over that now.

‘Ha!' Chelsea snapped. ‘I think I'm the boy expert here.'

‘But you've never had a real boyfriend, Chelsea,' Zeynep reminded her.

Chelsea pursed her lips. ‘Excuse me, Zeynep! Stick in the knife when I'm wounded, why don't you? And you know nothing of my Mary Magdalene years. I've been told my name is carved into desktops at St Ethelred's. Is yours?'

‘Sorry.' Zeynep hung her head.

‘My parents have just separated, Georgia.' Chelsea pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed both her eyes.

‘I'm sorry, Chelsea. That's unfortunate for you,' Georgia said.

She turned to Zeynep and added, ‘I'm going to leave the school and go to Mary Magdalene. I thought I should tell you first.'

‘No!' Zeynep responded. ‘Don't do that. Why?'

‘They have a better hockey team,' Georgia said.

‘Maggers?' Chelsea said. ‘They're very choosy, Georgia. Have you enrolled? You won't survive the hair Gestapo, and you live in, like, Clifton Hill, don't you? I mean…'

‘I have an interview in a fortnight,' Georgia said firmly.

‘They'll accept me. I'll survive.'

‘You won't.'

‘What's up with Angelo, Zey?' Georgia asked. She had a caring voice.

‘I don't think he likes me any more.'

‘Why do you think that?'

‘I think maybe because I'm Muslim. Or maybe because I boiled his shoelaces.'

Georgia shook her head. ‘It wouldn't be because you're Muslim. He's not like that.'

‘It's probably your parents that are the problem,' Chelsea interrupted. ‘But at least they aren't separated,' she added.

‘I don't really understand Angelo, but I'm kind of Hindu – well, my parents are at least – and that didn't stop him from chasing me. Don't worry,' Georgia said. ‘He's maybe worried about footy. Perhaps he was embarrassed when he broke his finger? It's just a boy mood, probably. He'll come round.'

‘I suppose you're right,' Zeynep said.

They all stared out across the oval. Around them the familiar screams of lunchtime violence were a reminder of how safe their school life really was.