About a Girl (14 page)

Chapter Thirteen

T
HAT DAY, WE
went back to her room and lay down on her bed. When we kissed, her mouth was not yielding at all, but hard and questioning. We grappled with each other for a while like wrestlers, until Flynn sat up. She pushed her hair away from her eyes, and said she would make a cup of tea.

I watched as she pulled on her clothes and went out to the kitchen. When she returned with the tray I followed her onto the roof. The galvanised iron creaked under my weight, and I knelt while she poured tea. I felt very sandy and windswept and primitive crouched there, in clothes still damp from salt spray. My hands smelled of seaweed, or of Flynn. It occurred to me that Lavinia was a very ugly teapot, and quite impractical. It poured very badly, and the lid never sat straight.

SHADOW
, said the graffiti on the wall across the street. Timothy sat nearby, licking his haunches. We drank tea, and ate, without appetite, the inevitable banana cake. Everything was an echo of that first day. Only we were different.

She chose then to tell me that Rocco was finally coming home for certain. ‘When?' I demanded, jealousy flowering in my belly.

‘In a month,' she said.

‘And what have you decided? Which of us do you want?'

She only shook her head miserably, and did not reply.

I had already decided what I would do – what I must do, for myself, if not for Flynn.

‘Then I will choose for you,' I said, crumbling cake between my fingers.

She did not look at me.

‘I will go,' I said, woodenly.

‘Anna, don't do this. Please.'

She looked up, and I saw that she was crying.

‘You know, Flynn,' I went on, sounding as hard as steel, but crumbling inside, ‘you have a choice, but I don't. I like girls. Only girls.' (‘Only you', I should have said, because it was true.) ‘And I can see that if you have a choice, in the end you're going to choose boys. Why should you choose me, and make life difficult for yourself? But this is the way I
am
!'

I listened to myself, appalled.

‘Anna.
Please
.
Please
. Don't do this.'

Awkwardly, making my way carefully across the iron roof, I went and knelt in front of her and kissed her most tenderly. I ran my finger over her lips, across the tiny dent above the middle of the lip that makes the mouth into a bow. I am sure there is a word for that dent, but I don't know it. I don't think there is a word for walking away from someone when every part of you shrieks that you want to stay.

I finished with Flynn, that day on the roof, as though love were easy to come by. I walked away from her, just like that, climbing in through the window and not looking back.

I walked away like a dead thing, seeing only the walls, the floor, the stairs, the street.

Only then did I pause to take a breath.

Chapter Fourteen

A
ND THAT WAS
how I lost her.

When I opened the door of my flat, it was horribly silent. I walked to the windows and looked out, then turned my back on the offending, beautiful view.

An empty cup sat on the table. The cushions on which we'd perched to eat the Japanese food she'd made were still scattered on the floor. I ran a glass of water from the kitchen tap, took a sip, and tipped it out. There was a sharp pain in the middle of my body, as though I'd sustained a life-threatening injury.

I gnawed at my knuckles in an attempt to stop the pain. Pacing the room, I turned the
CD
player on, and off again at once. The music that had filled the room was wrong. All music would be wrong. What could be right when you have lost the person you love?

I took up a book and let it fall to the floor. What do you read when your heart is breaking? How can you breathe? I sat on the sofa with my fists pressed to my mouth. I thought I was dying.

Outside, I could hear the children next door, calling and calling as though they had lost something. The innocent purity of their voices cut into my chest, and I picked up a cushion and clutched it to me, at the place where my life was leaking away.

When I heard a knock at the door I leapt up, hope flooding through me as warm as alcohol. But it was only the children. ‘Have you seen our kitten?' they asked. Their faces, boy and girl, with identical blue eyes and high, smooth foreheads, were pale and serious and trusting. They looked up at me as though I might answer their prayers. The younger one, a boy of about six, took my hand for a moment. ‘It's a white kitten,' he said, ‘with a black nose. It's called Fluff.'

Fluff
. Such a ridiculous name. But their anxiety was real. And I couldn't help them. I couldn't even help myself.

I sent them away with promises, and as I closed the door I wished I'd found an excuse for them to stay. I should have drawn them inside, given them a glass of juice, or gone out with them to hunt for Fluff. Alone, I thought that I might go under.

Of course, I didn't. I found that you don't die of a broken heart. You can lose an eternity of sleep, live for a time without food. The pain subsides to a dull ache. And then pure animal need takes over.

On the third day, I got home from work and was suddenly ravenous. I tore into hunks of bread and cheese and squashed a sweet, over-ripe tomato into my mouth, eating at the kitchen sink. I finally slept through sheer exhaustion, oversleeping because I found that when you sleep you are not thinking.

I did not dream of her.

In desperation, I made a list of things I could do to help me survive.

It said:

Go for walks – or drive into the country

Buy new
CD
s

Enjoy your life! It's the only one you've got!

Two days later I added:

Go back and finish that university course
(
??
)

Go home …

The idea lodged in my mind.

I gave two weeks' notice and resigned from my job.

Chapter Fifteen

I
T WAS SPRING
.

I had spent more than six months of my life obsessed with Flynn. And when I got home to Canberra, there was my family, almost exactly as I had left them.

I found my mother barefoot, watering the front garden (though I could tell she was out there waiting for me to arrive); she was so pleased to see me it brought tears to my eyes. And then Molly came running out, bursting with news so that she forgot to even say hello.

‘The cat's name is Puddy!' she announced. ‘And it's a boy. And Mummy's going to take it to the vet soon, to …' Here she floundered.

‘“Get fixed up,”' said my mother, nodding discreetly at me.

I had sent the grey cat down on the plane a week before, and it looked very much at home already. It lay on the floor of the kitchen whisking its tail while we had afternoon tea. I felt like an important visitor – my mother and Molly had made scones with jam and cream. But then, I remembered that we always had nice things to eat.

‘Hey, Sis!' Josh said, passing through the kitchen and stopping for a minute to grab a scone.

‘Still out in the garage?' I asked.

‘Still there,' he said. ‘Gig on Saturday night. Coming?'

‘Might.'

We brought all my bags and boxes in from the car, and apart from my clothes, I piled everything up in the corner of my old bedroom. I didn't want to unpack it all yet, and really, there wasn't a lot. Before I left, I'd sold or given away the old furniture and most of the crockery I'd been using.

Later, as I sat watching my mother make dinner (she in her northern sarong because of the warm day), she asked, ‘How are you really, Annie? You seem very quiet. And so thin!'

‘It's nothing,' I said. ‘I'm just a bit tired from the trip, that's all.'

There was no way, yet, that I could tell her about Flynn.

I wanted to go and see Michael, even though we'd not contacted each other in all my time up north. I found that he'd moved out of home; his mother gave me the address and I went round at once – it wasn't far. He lived in a flat at the back of a house a few streets away.

‘Hey!' he said, when he came to the door, his face lit up with surprise. We stood there for a moment looking at each other. He wore a T-shirt that said
PAVEMENT
, and shorts, and his face was unbearably sweet, the face I remembered from age eleven when he said,
Everyone's different in their own little way
.

‘How about showing me inside,' I said, gesturing wildly to cover my awkwardness.

We went into a combined kitchen and living area. There were various shabby couches, covered by throws. ‘Canberra, city of discarded couches,' said Michael, sitting me down and taking one facing me. We were silent for a moment, just taking each other in. ‘Sometimes I thought I'd never see you again,' he said. ‘Is this just a visit, or … ?'

‘I've come home,' I replied, feeling a slight sense of shame, as though I'd failed at the whole leaving-home thing. ‘I'm applying for uni here next year.'

He nodded. ‘You need to get back to what you're good at.'

‘I still don't quite know what I want to do with myself after that,' I admitted. ‘But it's a beginning. Actually, I think I can't wait to start studying again.' But I was reluctant to talk about myself, so I changed the conversation. ‘So look at you – your own flat!'

‘I share with Anna …'

‘Your mum said.'

‘I've been tutoring at uni in my Honours year, which is how I can afford it. And Anna's on a PhD scholarship – she's at uni today. I've a good chance of getting a scholarship next year as well.'

From Michael, it didn't sound like boasting. He got up and went to the fridge for juice. A half-grown kitten ran in and he lifted her up and draped her round his shoulders. ‘This is Florence,' he said. ‘She just came to us out of the blue.'

‘The best way to get a cat. I brought one home from up north, but I've given it to Molly. Him, I should say – his name's Puddy.'

We couldn't stop smiling at each other, but it still felt strained.

‘Hey,' he said, putting the cat down. ‘Let's go out for a walk to the park.'

We walked down familiar streets to the selfsame park we used to lie about in as teenagers and, as we reclined on the scratchy grass, our faces to the sun, eyes squinted shut against the glare, he murmured, liltingly,
‘Tell me about Anna Livia. I want to know – all – about – Anna – Livia.'

‘You'll die if I tell you. You'll die when you hear …'
I replied at once, feeling a great rush of love for him.

He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Try me.'

At Josh's gig, bodies crammed into a narrow, dark pub; I saw pools of light, people edging past each other with trays of drinks, elbows squeezed to their sides, getting into position for a good view. The band was still setting up. I watched Josh, his hips narrow in tight jeans, flicking back his hair, hauling his amp across the floor and plugging in his guitar, the quintessential rock musician.

The band seemed to have a good following, because certain songs were greeted with cries of recognition and approval. It was all their own songs, too – why bother otherwise, was Josh's philosophy. I loved the music, so loud and rhythmic, melodic, danceable, though mostly people stood and swayed or tapped their feet. Josh had the right voice for rock music, husky, plaintive, yearning. I felt it tugging me towards him.

The music filled me with such longing that I suddenly wondered what Flynn was doing this Saturday night.

There was a girl on her own standing quite near me, a girl in ballet flats, a gypsy-like gathered skirt and plain black top, who held a glass against her chest though she seldom drank from it. She had a handsome face, and wore an intent, speculative expression. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I could see she was listening to the words.

Again, I thought of Flynn, and saw how difficult it would be to find anyone to match her.

But this looked a nice girl, a bookish-looking girl. The sort of girl I could imagine having as a friend. Just a friend.

In a lull between songs we caught each other's eye and she smiled at me. Looking towards the band, she nodded and said covetously, ‘He's beautiful, isn't he?'

‘Yes,' I said, ‘He is.'

And I did think my brother beautiful. All the energy and ardour of his performance marked him out as special. How had I ever thought he was just a layabout?

At the end of the gig the members of the band set up a table to sell their home-made
CD
s. I saw the girl who'd spoken to me approach Josh, and they started talking. I looked away for a while, and the next time I glanced over at them I was pleased to see him smiling and keying a number into his mobile phone.

Chapter Sixteen

I
UNPACKED THE
boxes I'd brought back. My
CD
s went back on the rack; the small group of favourite books I'd taken with me (mostly the black Russians) went back on the shelves. I found the slim book of poetry Flynn had given me (did I really look like that dopey girl on the cover?) and slid it between
Crime and Punishment
and a copy of
Notes from Underground
, which I'd bought from the shop before I left because I just had to have it. The Christina Rossetti book was so tiny it was all but invisible, a leaf caught between two rocks. One day I would decide what to do with it.

My mother came to the door. I knelt on the floor with things scattered round me.

‘May I come in?'

‘Of course.'

She sat on the floor next to me. ‘It must seem as though you've never left home.'

I looked around at my unpacking. ‘No,' I said. ‘It seems as if I did. I left home, all right.'

Then, as an afterthought, I said, ‘I kind of feel like a failure at it.'

‘Oh, why? You managed to get a job somewhere else, lived on your own in a flat … you just decided to come back, that's all.' She had that bright, upbeat tone that parents often use.

‘You don't think I should have stayed away?'

‘Of course not! And I love having you here. You're still only nineteen, after all.'

‘I plan to get some part-time work after I settle in and start uni. And I'll find somewhere to live – a share house I think. I don't want to live on my own again. And besides, I couldn't afford it down here, especially if I'm a student.'

‘Well, don't feel you have to leave too soon.' She reached over for an object swathed in newspaper, and automatically unwrapped it.

‘A teapot!' she said. ‘You said that you wanted to get one when I was up there.'

‘I think it's actually very ugly, don't you?' I said. ‘And it's not that practical. The lid doesn't fit properly, and it's quite hard to pour.'

She put it aside. ‘That's a pity. But I don't think it's all that ugly. Perhaps we could use it as a vase.'

‘It belonged to someone I knew,' I said, forging on. ‘Her name was Flynn.'

‘Flynn! The girl I met when I came up.'

‘That's right.' I stopped to consider what I'd say next.

‘She was my girlfriend, actually. I don't mean in a “friend” sense. I loved her. We were lovers. And … ' I felt tears spring to my eyes, ‘it didn't work out.'

‘Oh, Anna.'

I shrugged away her attempted hug.

‘And it wasn't just some crush. I really did love her. And the thing you need to know is … this isn't some temporary thing with me – some whim. I'm just not attracted to boys. I never have been.'

‘Anna, come
here
…'

And I became her child again. I put my arms around her, and closed my eyes. ‘Annie – I'm so glad you told me.'

‘Why?' I sat up and sniffed.

‘Because it's
you,
isn't it? And I need to know. And … '

‘What?'

‘Well, it fits a little piece of the jigsaw of
you
together, that I've been looking for for so long.'

‘You mean, why I'm so strange and peculiar?'

‘Yes, you goose.'

‘I really did love her,' I repeated. It was something I'd been telling myself over and over. ‘And it was me who finished it. Maybe if I'd done things differently we'd still be together.'

‘Life is full of
maybes
and
what-ifs
. Some things just don't work out. That's life.'

I looked at her. She shrugged, and I saw that after all that had happened over the last few years, with my father and everything, she really was all right.

‘Don't blame yourself,' she said.

And I discovered in Canberra that spring a little half-sister. No – a little sister – how can sisters come in halves?

Her name was Freya.

My mother had let me know when she was born, four months before, but I'd been so tied up with Flynn that it had passed right over me. So I brought her a belated gift – one of my favourite books,
Mr Rabbit and the Lovely Present
, with pictures by Maurice Sendak.

She was a beautiful baby, solid and sure of herself. She had astonishing red hair, standing up on top in a bush, translucent in the sunlight. Like Molly and me, she had Molly McGuire's hair and skin.

Molly and I sat next to her where she lay in her baby bouncer on the back deck. ‘All my girls,' said my father, fondly, as he walked past. ‘Like peas in a pod.'

Freya looked at me, pursed her lips, and looked away again. She caught sight of Molly, and smiled.

‘Freya
loves
Molly,' said Morgan gently to her baby. ‘Don't you?'

Molly smiled, and jiggled Freya's foot.

Morgan had cut all her long hair off so that it was short and spiky. She looked thinner in the face, and tired. With great tenderness, she picked up the baby and put her into my arms. ‘Don't be afraid,' she said. ‘Babies are fairly unbreakable as long as you're reasonably careful … yes, support her head like that. Anna – you're a natural!'

I didn't know about that. I looked down at Freya. She had a face like the magnolia flowers in our garden, creamy and scented, unfolding very slowly and gracefully, all in her own time.