Beautiful Monster (10 page)

But now he's back and she has to be careful no one sees him. She has made that mistake before—and they sent him away. She would be cleverer than them. They think she's in a fishbowl? Well, she's just stuck that fishbowl in a giant tank and is now over the top peering in. Watching them all watch her.

There's a gigantic knot in her stomach as she gets off the bus at school on the morning of the first mock exam. She's already checked her bag several times to make sure she has enough pens, and backup pens should the first three fail. She pulls the strap of her bag over her shoulder and walks up to the gym where the exams are being held. They're only mock, she reminds herself. A test, a trial, a guide. She prays again and again that she won't fail them. She has enough time to sit under a tree and revise her notes—for the fifteenth time that morning. She knows this information so well, she tries to reassure herself. But what if none of it is in the paper—what if it's made up of stuff she hasn't studied? She shakes her head and tries to relax. She watches the other Year 12s meander casually towards the building and stand around chatting about the weekend. Tess feels the urge to leap to her feet and scream, ‘What is wrong with you people? Don't you realise what we are about to do?' But of course she doesn't. She curls her toes painfully inside her shoes and talks herself into breathing.

She wishes she didn't feel so tired. But she'd let Ned in late last night and she'd just needed him so badly that she couldn't send him away. He'd curled around her on the bed as she prattled on and on about how nervous and frightened she was.

‘You'll be okay, babe,' she remembered him whispering in her ear just before 3a.m., when she finally dozed off. ‘You always are.'

She watches the students enter the building and rises slowly.
What's the worst that can happen?
she asks herself.

‘You fail,' she hears Ned whisper. She looks around, but his voice, as it sometimes is, is only in her head.

‘I'll be fine,' she mutters. ‘I always am.'

Three hours pass quickly. Tess's hand cramps and the writer's lump on her finger throbs from where she has gripped the pen so hard. She scans her responses, pleased with herself. It was easy.
Maybe too easy,
the worried voice taunts.
Maybe you missed the point?
No. She shakes her head. She was well prepared, she'd studied hard. She's okay.

She goes home to start preparing for the next one.

The house is empty again—Dad at work, Mum at another class. But there's a knock on the door not long after Tess gets home.

Aunty Sue jiggles the tea bag a few times more than she needs to—stalling, Tess thinks.

‘So,' her aunt says eventually, as though it's only occurred to her, but Tess knows what this visit is about, did from the minute Aunty Sue came in. It's a weigh-in. Not a physical one, of course—Aunty Sue wouldn't be so obvious—but it's a reconnaissance mission. Fact finding. Has Dad put her up to this?

‘How is everything, my darling? How did it go today?'

‘Good,' says Tess, sipping her tea and then reaching for the fattest slice of carrot cake. ‘I think I'm really well prepared for it all.'

‘You've been working so hard.' Aunty Sue pulls out the chair and sits. ‘Not just school, but at Gino's. You seem so busy.'

‘Busy is good,' Tess says, swallowing as big a bite as she can manage without spraying crumbs across the counter. ‘I like being busy.'

Aunty Sue nods as if satisfied, and then sighs deeply. ‘How is it all, though? Honestly, now, with your favourite aunt and all.'

Tess wants to drop her eyes but knows Aunty Sue will pick it straight away. ‘I'm, fine. I promise. Just focused, I guess. Too busy for too much else.'

She watches her aunt relax.

‘Okay,' Aunty Sue says, almost in surrender. ‘Just worried—you can't blame your old aunt, now, can you?'

Tess shakes her head, deeply embarrassed. Aunty Sue had taken the hospitalisation worst of all. Even worse than her dad. ‘I knew something was wrong,' she'd heard her say, when they all thought she was asleep. ‘I should have done more. I knew, Liam. I just did.' Tess tries not to shudder at the memory. Poor Aunty Sue. Another person who thought they could have made a difference. But really, Tess wonders, what could she have done? This hadn't really involved her. Still, Tess wouldn't want Aunty Sue ever to feel that bad again; after all, she's been like a mother to her.

‘I saw Brodie,' Aunty Sue says after they've both stared into their teacups for a while.

Tess tries not to start, but she's so unused to anyone bringing up his name like that—in such a cavalier fashion, not prefaced with
Do you remember when Brodie ...
or
Sometimes Brodie would ...
It was almost like he still existed. Before she can respond, Aunty Sue continues.

‘He was in my lounge room, playing with a motorised helicopter. Flying it through the room—low, swooping my china collection. And I said, “Be careful my darling. Not in here.” Then I woke up.'

Aunty Sue is quiet now. Tess nods but is unsure how to respond.

‘I felt like I'd been harsh and when I was awake I regretted it—immediately. You know?'

It feels like a loaded question so Tess just nods again.

‘I wished I'd said something else, something nicer—I never usually see him and so...' Aunty Sue trails off.

Tess can do nothing else but nod. She knows exactly what Aunty Sue means.

The rest of the week falls into a pattern. Tess sits at her desk, drinking black coffee and eating crackers. She studies constantly. She has revision sheets tacked to the toilet wall—she can't afford to waste any time. She reads
Wuthering Heights
over and over and over again. She gets it so well. Heathcliff and Catherine—a toxic love. She shuddered at the similarity the first time she'd read it. Childhood friends and then one a part of the other. Exactly like her and Ned. Tess reads the line again:

He is more myself than I am. She muses over this at night. She won't let him in, although she hears him at her window. She won't allow any distractions in this week of exams. And Ned has always been the biggest distraction of her life.

Finally it is over. She sighs and wearily puts her pen down as the teacher calls time. Her last exam finished, she rubs her aching wrist—sometimes she hates her body for its weakness and fragility. If only it could be as strong as her mind.

That evening Dad makes a celebratory dinner. They sit around the table almost warily; she feels they are watching her—again.

‘So,' Dad ventures finally, ‘what do you think?'

‘Good,' Tess says, shoving vegetable lasagne into her mouth. ‘I think I did well.'

Her mother responds, ‘I'm sure you did your best. I guess we'll know when we get the results.'

The results hang over her like an executioner's axe. She keeps waiting for it to fall—and in the background someone with a high-pitched voice shrieks, ‘Let them eat cake!' It awakens her from her dreams.

She can't shake her mother's words: ‘I'm sure you tried your best.' That's all they've ever demanded of her—her best. Before Brodie, she remembers her mum appraising her marked assignments.

‘Tess,' she'd say proudly, ‘I only care that you put in your best effort. Even if that's only a C grade.'

Back then she'd never achieved C grades; she'd never got anything less than As. And her mum always commented, ‘You're smart, Tess. You can be anything you want to be.' So anything less than an A now will look like she hasn't tried. Will be failure.

Ned is outside; she hears him moving through the bushes. There's no reason to lock him out. She sidles up to the window and pushes up the sash.

‘Hi,' she whispers into the darkness. He doesn't appear and she knows he's sulking. So she lies on her bed, tries to read and feels him near her.

‘You're neglecting me,' he says, staring at the ceiling.

‘I'm not.' She pushes into him. ‘I had to concentrate.'

‘Can't do that with me around?' he mutters.

‘No.' she pulls him close. ‘When you're around, you're all I think of.'

At school she sits at her desk, her knee jigging nervously under the tabletop. In front of her, the teacher is passing back the mock exams. ‘It was a pretty pleasing result,' he says, sliding the papers onto tables. Jacob turns his over and groans loudly. ‘From most of you.'

Fear grips Tess's insides. The paper lands in front of her and she slowly turns it over. She skips across the neat red handwriting and looks for the number at the bottom: 94. She feels the grin on her face. It's not too bad, she thinks, slowly searching the paper for her mistakes. She can handle 94.

By the end of the day, she's collected all six results. Each paper—except physics—in the nineties. Physics. She shakes her head as she waits for the bus. Why did she have to be so bad at it? She'd tried hard—studied more for that subject than any other. Getting only 87 was a major disappointment. She wasn't sure how to improve, and neither was Mr Phillips.

‘Well,' he'd suggested slowly, looking at her panicked face, ‘you could always be pleased with this result. It was the second highest in the class.'

‘Yes,' she'd said, ‘but how can I improve? There are only a couple of weeks before the finals—what do I have to do?'

‘Your revision timetable looks good,' he'd said again. ‘Go through this paper—and other past exams. Get a feel for the types of questions you might be asked. I think you know the content—maybe you just need to practise writing under pressure.'

Fat help, she thinks as she walks to the bus stop. Big, fat help. If she doesn't know it now, she never will—that's what he was saying. She has to put in more time; she has to revise this subject better. She dreads telling her mother about this one. Admitting how badly she's done. She feels like crying.

It's windy outside. She clutches the exam paper in her hand—creased from the folding and unfolding. She must go through question 18 again—she'd received only two marks out of a possible five for that one. How had she got it so wrong?

She waits for a break in the traffic, but a cyclist is coming towards her. There's Ned, waiting on the island in the middle of the road. She doesn't want anyone seeing her with Ned, asking questions, prying and then most likely telling her dad. Tess knows Dad is suspicious, has been monitoring her more closely again, suspecting that she's not eating. She sees this in the extra butter he adds to their meals, or the way dumplings now appear on their plates. Dumplings! They are not—and never have been—a part of their normal diet. He thinks she has no idea, but he's unaware of the glass walls around him, that Tess is watching what
he's
doing. How can she eat like that with Ned around? She shakes her head at the thought and glances again at Ned.

The cyclist is closer now; she can make out his form. A hard upper body, covered in sweat, the peak of his helmet and dark sunglasses obscuring his face.

Ned beckons, and her heart lifts. The wind tugs at the paper in her hand. She steps out. A car hurtles towards her, blaring its horn, and feels herself being yanked back roughly.

‘Watch the road, you blind bitch!' the driver snarls out of his window after swerving across a lane.

Tess falls backwards onto the cyclist and his bike. She untangles herself from him and stares, horrified and shaken.

‘You all right?' he asks.

She sits up slowly, nodding. Unsure whether she can speak. ‘Yeah, thanks,' she manages.

He has taken off his sunglasses and his small blue eyes watch her worriedly. ‘Dunno what would have happened to you if I hadn't been here.'

‘I think I might have been killed,' she says weakly, her heart racing madly.

His worry turns to anger. ‘Stupid thing, not looking where you're going.'

‘I'm not stupid—usually.' She glances towards the island. But Ned has vanished. Where is he? He puts her in the most dangerous situations and leaves her to deal with them alone. He nearly killed her—again.

‘Yeah, well, I'm Tom.' His voice softens, sensing he has been too harsh. ‘I'm just glad I was here.'

‘Thanks, Tom. You saved my life,' Tess says, bursting into tears. She starts shaking and is suddenly cold. Tom pulls a windcheater out of his backpack and wraps it around her. Tess hugs it tightly, relishing its warmth and protection. He sits with her for a while, not speaking.

‘Think you're okay now?' he asks eventually.

She nods and shivers again.

‘How you getting home?'

‘Bus.' She inclines her head towards the bus stop on the other side of the road.

‘I'll walk you there,' Tom says, ‘just to make sure you cross the road okay. Give you a lift—but I'm on my bike.'

Tess nods wordlessly. It's been almost fifteen minutes since Tom pulled her from the path of the car, and Ned hasn't returned. She can't believe he's abandoned her again. Pain stirs in her heart. No sign of him anywhere.

‘One in five minutes,' Tom says, reading the schedule on the bus shelter.

‘You don't have to stay,' Tess says finally. ‘I can wait on my own.'

‘Some knight in shining armour I'd be if I left you here now. No, have to see you safely on the bus.' He laughs.

‘Thanks,' she says, handing over his windcheater. ‘Sorry I ruined your ride.'

‘Livened it up. Thought I might need to use my first-aid skills. Have to admit I was disappointed you didn't need mouth to mouth.'

Tess blushes and glances away, embarrassed.

‘Sorry,' he says gently, ‘only joking. Not that I mean I wouldn't have liked to but I...' He stops, realising that he's making it worse.

Now Tess laughs at his embarrassment. ‘It's okay, Tom, thanks again.' With relief she sees the green bus heading towards her. ‘That'll be mine. The 469. Taking me straight to High Street.'

‘Okay,' he says, offering his hand. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you ... hey, you never said your name.'

‘Tess,' she says, squeezing his hand, ‘Edwards. And thank you so much, again—for saving my life.'

The doors open and she steps up.

‘Promise me something,' he shouts before the doors close.

‘What?'

‘You'll look next time before you throw yourself in front of traffic.'

She nods and waves and sinks into the first available seat. She rests her head against the window, allowing it to bounce against the glass with each jolt. It makes the pain in her head rattle but she doesn't care. Ned has left her again. She feels it inside—the old darkness. He's got bored, or is just angry and now he's pissed off, abandoning her, like he did before. She hates him.

There's no one at home when she walks into the house. Tess turns on the shower taps and studies the cuts and grazes on her elbows and arms, the massive bruise on her thigh. In the shower she shuts her eyes, letting the water run down her face. She momentarily relives the panic. She might have died out there. And where the hell was Ned now?

She steps out of the shower, grabs a towel and starts drying herself.

‘Hey, nasty bruise,' he says.

She doesn't allow herself to show surprise, even though she wasn't expecting him. ‘Yeah, well, I've got a few.' She turns to study the new bruise on her bum in the mirror—it's already black.

‘What happened?' He sounds irritated with her. ‘I came back and you were gone.'

She glares at him viciously. He's slouching, watching her. ‘I nearly fucking died, Ned,' she hisses. ‘I nearly got hit by a car. And where were you?'

‘Hey,' he immediately soothes her. ‘Shhhh,' he breathes into her hair. ‘I'm sorry, babe. I saw that guy pull you off the road. I knew you were safe. You didn't want anyone seeing us together. I waited outside the deli. When I got to the bus stop you were gone. You left
me
there. Are you okay?'

‘Yes.' She sags into him, relieved. He hadn't abandoned her, hadn't left her—he was protecting her. ‘I was so scared, Ned. I thought you'd gone again.'

‘You have to have more faith in me, babe. I'm not going anywhere, ever. I promise you. At least you're okay.'

‘I'm okay,' she whispers. ‘I always am.'

Her mother seems happy with her results.

‘Good work,' she says, looking up from her canvas at the papers in Tess's hand. ‘What was your worst subject?'

‘Physics,' Tess says, swallowing the lump in her throat. ‘I'll have to work harder than I did for this. Get the mark up.'

‘Yes.' Her mother has turned back to her painting, green and red swirls violently colliding on a black background. ‘You can only try your best.'