You Don't Even Know (14 page)

“You've seen how I am, Tilly, now leave.”

“You don't mean that.” Her voice cracked.

“Yeah, I do. And while we're talking, we're done.” I knew my words would pierce her.

She shook her head. “You're hurt and sad, and you're trying to make me feel the same way. Mum warned me.”

“Sure. If that makes you feel better. Either way, we're done. I don't love you. Didn't love you. End of story.” I leaned back in the chair, hands clasped behind my head.

Tilly rushed from my room. The door slammed behind her.

I'd sounded just like Dad.

The cleaner leaves her trolley in the doorway and enters our room. A spray bottle hangs by its trigger from one of her apron pockets. Blue cleaning cloths stick out of the other one.

“Hello. How you doing?” she says, as she sprays the sink near the window.

“Okay.”

“Is cold.” She shivers as though making sure I understand.

She moves from the sink to Mackie's side of the room. The flowers Deb and I added to Mackie's shelf are wilting. I slide off the bed, which is a little bit easier today, and walk, rather than totter, to her bed. “Is there a bin? Some of these are looking pretty manky.”

The cleaner smiles. “Leave it to Celie. Is good she has flowers, eh?”

“Yeah.” I look around me. More flowers have arrived since Deb helped me move a heap to Mackie's side. “Celie, could you help me carry some of those?” I point to the flowers on the floor. “When you're done.”

“Sure. Sure. Then I mop.”

Celie whirls into action. It's exhausting watching her. Flowers rearranged, water changed, dead ones chucked out. Floors mopped, everything dusted, even cupboard handles wiped.

She looks around the room. “Good job.” She winks and leaves.

Once she's gone, I cross the room and move the coffee jar of daisies to the front of the now-crowded shelf. After a quick check over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching, I pick up Mackie's scrapbook. Settled in the chair, I flip to a page I haven't read.

This one is different to the others. Beneath a handwritten heading, “Gratitude” are two large photos, one on each page, surrounded by collages of smaller photographs. There's two lop-eared rabbits from an earlier page; a guy and a girl in school uniform, poking their tongues out; the same two people with a third person in, what looks like, a selfie; a shell being lapped by the ocean and a couple of photos of Vicky laughing.

The first of the large photos, framed by cream paper, is of a boy, younger than me, and a girl with sparkling green eyes and long black hair. They sit either side of a guy, probably Vicky's age, with the saddest eyes ever. Across the bottom of the frame the purple writing reads, “I'm grateful for Dad and Ash.”

The photo on the right page is of Vicky, smiling into the face of a guy with tousled brown hair. Their arms are entwined and they both hold a champagne glass. Under the photo, Mackie has drawn hearts and written, “I'm grateful Mum and Tim are happy.”

The double page is framed with more cream paper, on which Mackie has written in black:

I am grateful for … Tammy and Granger being my BBFs … Ash talking openly … My rabbits, Flopsy and Mopsy … Being able to make clothes, bags, costumes and stuff … Mum's laugh … Tim's talks … Dr Stevenson's honesty … Watching a movie with Dad … Blueberries … Mr Dobson's skill and care … Strawberries … Watermelon … Macadamia nut ice-cream … Light, fluffy clouds in a blue sky … Painting … STILL BEING HERE …

With my index finger, I trace STILL BEING HERE.

My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes prickle. I can't seem to take in enough air. A feeling I won't name wells in my toes and rolls up towards my heart like a wave ready to break. Teeth gritted, I push the feeling back down and study the girl with sparkling green eyes.

She's in a few of the collage pictures, including the one with the sad man and the younger kid. She looks like one of those girls who laughs at weird things. She's tall and has creamy skin and freckles. Her clothes are different from the usual skinny leg jeans and T-shirts. She's wearing stripes with florals and crazy combinations of skirts, stockings and cardigans.

I look from her to the girl with the sunken cheeks and dark rings under her eyes in the bed. And I realise. The girl with the sparkly green eyes is Mackie.

I stand, place the scrapbook back on the table and return to my bed, where I ease myself onto the bedspread. I lie on my side and breathe.

I breathed in the scent of roast meat and potatoes. Roast dinner with the works on a hot Saturday night in summer was ridiculous. Not that I was about to say that. Everyone was edgy enough. It was the first time Dad had asked friends over. Since Mia.

White runners crisscrossed the table. Candles were bunched on the sideboard and mantelpiece and scattered down the middle of the table amongst the white bowls filled with broccoli and carrots and snow peas. A platter of beef with verjuice was between two glass vases filled with green and white orchids. A woman wailed from Mum's iPod on its dock behind me.

Mum placed a large white bowl filled with roast potatoes on the table. “Does everyone have a drink?”

“Sorted, Christina,” said Dad, who sat at the end of the table like a medieval lord overseeing his followers.

Mum tossed the tea towel on the buffet behind her and sat with Harvey, opposite Dad. I was sandwiched between Dad's school friend Jai and his new girlfriend, Ochio. Ethan was across the table with Wortho and his second wife, Tiffany.

Dad raised his wine glass. “To good friends.”

“Indeed. Here's to us,” Wortho's voice drowned out the wailing woman.

“And bright futures,” added Jai, touching glasses with Wortho. Glasses chinked and leather seats creaked.

I didn't bother lifting my glass of water. Tiffany stared across the table at me.

“Enjoy, everyone,” said Dad.

I picked up my knife and fork and avoided eye contact with Mum, who had made it clear without words that my shorts and T-shirt didn't measure up to her dinner party standards.

“Ethan, are you still planning on doing law next year?” said Jai. “Or have your plans changed since …”

“No, no,” said Ethan. His eagerness made me cringe. “Still going to do a double degree, business and law. Live in res and join the rowing club.”

“Fabulous. Aren't you organised,” said Tiffany. “At Melbourne Uni?”

“Yes, St Mary's residence. Father Ryan has written me a great reference, and he's had a chat to the committee about, well, what happened.”

“Anisa has applied for physio at Melbourne and La Trobe and she plans to live in res,” said Jai, about his eldest daughter who, like Ethan, had finished VCE and was waiting for university offers. “But honestly, physio? I say if she can get the marks for physio, she should do medicine. Don't you think?” He looked to Dad and Wortho.

“Exactly.” Wortho's voice was like the roll of an orchestral drum. “Go for the bigger bucks. The prestige.”

“Because that's what it's all about,” I muttered.

“Alex,” Tiffany's cloying perfume wafted across the table and down my throat, “what are your plans when you finish school?”

I sliced my roast beef. Bloody juices flowed onto the white plate.

Did I tell her or stick to the family line of uni, degree, res, big bucks. Might be right for them, but it wasn't for me.

I wanted to be a professional lifeguard. Spend summer in Australia and move somewhere like Hawaii or Bali for the off-season. The only reason I'd go to uni would be to study PE so I could teach if working overseas in the off-season didn't work out. Maybe I wouldn't even do that. Maybe I'd be a lifeguard part-time and open a business, like a cafe and surf shop, at Phillip Island or along the Great Ocean Road.

“Alex? Plan?” Dad scoffed.

My attention snapped back to the room sparkling in the candlelight.

“Flat out getting him to think at all,” continued Dad.

Ethan laughed.

My hands curled into fists and dug into my knees.

“Of course Alex has plans, Dylan. He's your son.” Ochio turned to me. “So what are they, Alex?”

Mum spoke. “Alex is going to do a business degree, then take over the operational side of the business from Dylan. The way Dylan did from his father.”

“Fabulous, Alex.” Tiffany smiled. Pink lipstick stained her front teeth. “You two must be so proud – both sons in the family business. I suppose you will join your brothers too, Harvey.”

I couldn't take it. Hudson's Wreckers was not my future. I pulled my chair close to the table. “Actually, Tiffany, I won't be working in the family business. It'd be great and everything but it's not what I want.”

Silence slammed down on the dining room.

“Oh, really.” Tiffany looked from Dad to Mum, an eyebrow raised. “So what do you want?”

At the end of the table, Dad placed his knife and fork down and set those wolf eyes upon me.

I folded and unfolded the edge of the runner near my plate. “What I really want is to be a professional lifeguard.”

“Like
Bondi Rescue
?” said Harvey. “Serious? That'd be way cool.”

“That's the problem,” sneered Ethan. “Alex isn't cool enough or good enough to do that.”

“Is that a proper job?” asked Ochio, looking from Jai to Wortho to Dad.

A leer crawled across Dad's face. “What Alex means, Ochio, is that he'll keep working as a lifeguard at the recreation centre while he studies business.” He turned to Wortho. “Any chance that Lake Wendouree will be right for the Masters Rowing next month?”

Dismissed. Again. I was over it.

Voice shaky, I ploughed over the top of him. “Actually, Dad. I mean permanently. And not at pools. I want to work beaches in Australia during the summer and move to Hawaii or Bali in the off-season. Like Benny's friend, Dale.”

“Who the hell is Dale?” Dad's eyes narrowed.

“Friend of Benny's. They were lifeguards together somewhere in New South Wales. I met him when he came to the rec centre with Benny.” Before Dad could ask, I added. “My water polo coach.” At least he used to be. Since everything with Mia, I didn't want to play water polo any more.

“Not Dale Anderson?” said Dad.

Wortho sniggered.

I shrugged. “Benny calls him Ando.”

“Has to be Dale Anderson.” Jai chuckled. “Figured he'd end up either a beach bum or in the big house.”

“What's the big house?” asked Harvey.

Jai chortled and leaned around me to talk to Ochio. “Dale Anderson was in our year at school. Pot-smoking, bleached-blond guy. Real beach bum, surfer type. Never fitted in with any of us. Got done for having dope at school in our last year, didn't he, Dylan?”

Like Dad, Wortho and Simon De Jong, Jai hadn't moved far since finishing school. A suburb closer to his old school and school friends. No way was I going to hang out with anyone from school or even come back to the place when I was done.

“Dale Anderson.” Dad reached for his wine glass. “Laziest bloke I've met. Weak. Real loser.”

Wortho leaned back in his chair like a seal lazing in the sun. “A professional lifeguard. That's hilarious!”

“Do you go to uni to be a lifeguard?” asked Harvey. “Or do you buff up and get tatts and that?”

“Alex with tatts? Yeah right.” Ethan shook his head. He couldn't let a chance to needle me go by.

“That will do.” Dad's voice fell like a weight on the table, crushing the banter. “Alex will not be a lifeguard.”

A bushfire of rage burned from my gut to the top of my head. I looked Dad square in the eyes. “The wreckers is not for me.”

A knife scraped a plate.

Beside me, Jai swallowed.

Dad's lip curled. “You're assuming you have what it takes to work in the family business.” Dad's voice sliced into me like a sword. “The people who work for me are hard workers. Respectful. Loyal. Disciplined. Trustworthy. That's hardly you, is it, Alex?”

The room pressed against my skin. My brain screamed “Tell him to stick it.” But I sat there, staring at my limp hands either side of the plate.

“You couldn't be trusted to empty my office bin.”

Something exploded in my brain. “Why don't you shove your bin and your business up your arse!” I flung my chair aside and stormed from the room and out the front door.

I've been sleeping, dozing maybe, because somehow I was aware of noises beyond my room – trolleys in the hallway, hushed conversations, distant beeps. With a yawn, I stretch and roll onto my back. Well, to avoid it hurting too much, it's more of a three-point turn than a roll.

Vicky sits by Mackie's bed. “Hi, Alex.”

“How are you?”

“Good.” She smiles, but doesn't look at me. “You've been at it again with the flowers.”

“If you don't like them–”

“No, no, thanks,” says Vicky, shooting me a quick glance. “They look lovely. Mackie deserves lovely things.” She turns back to her daughter. “Don't you, love?”

I watch Vicky wipe Mackie's face with a flannel and apply lip balm. She straightens the pillow and sheets. It's all about Mackie.

A pang of sorrow swoops in my chest. “Has she – Mackie – been sick for long?”

Vicky nods. “On and off since she was 14. Feels like forever.”

“Must be hard.”