Beautiful Monster (6 page)

Annelise's eyes slowly move from the view outside to her daughter's face. She blinks as if not recognising her and then speaks softly. ‘Hi Tess, yes, I'm fine. Off to school now?'

Tess nods. ‘Got an in-class today for English. Studied all night.'

‘You'll be fine.' Her mum distractedly pats Tess's hand. ‘You've always been excellent at English.'

‘See you when I get home?' Tess doesn't mean to make it sound like a question but she feels terribly nervous.

‘I'll be waiting.'

When the paper is handed out, she's sure she should be able to answer the question well, really well. But as she writes, her stomach grumbles, reminding her how hungry she is. Her thoughts drift from Chaucer to food, to Brodie, to visions of her mother and then, horribly, to her father's stricken face. She tries to focus on Chaucer, to concentrate on his words, but she smells bacon. They must be cooking it in the home economics room, or at the canteen. She smells the fat, almost hears it sizzling, and swallows the water building up in her mouth. Her stomach gives an enormous roar. She quickly covers it with her hand and looks around, embarrassed, but no one is watching—they're too engrossed writing. Chaucer—think, think. The words start to swim on the page, the letters going in and out of focus. Bacon fat fills the air. She feels it going up her nose, and breathes through her mouth. It sits on her tongue. Now she doesn't want to swallow. If she does she'll never know how many calories she's taking in. She panics, her breath coming rapidly. The marks on her page are illegible. She has to put her head down on the desk.

‘Tess, Tess.'

She is shaken awake by Miss McLoughlin. She sits up, startled, and looks around. Other students are rising and pushing their chairs in, moving out the door. She wipes her hand over her face; there's drool on her paper.

‘Are you okay?'

Tess glances at the teacher and then back at her page, her unfinished essay. Oh God! ‘I think, I might have...' She can't finish. Tears fill her eyes.

‘What's wrong, Tess? Late night?' Miss McLoughlin pulls out a chair and sits down. ‘You haven't been looking too well lately. Is everything okay?'

Tess shakes her head. ‘Things have been a little stressful and now I've failed this assignment.' She can't hold back the tears.

‘Is everything all right at home?' Miss McLoughlin asks.

Tess nods but says, ‘It's my brother's birthday...'

‘Oh.' Miss McLoughlin shakes her head. ‘Why didn't you remind me before, Tess? You wouldn't have had to sit this today. I would have given you an extension on it.'

Tess shrugs again. ‘I didn't think. I thought I could do it. That it would be okay. But now,' she inhales sharply, ‘I've failed.'

Her teacher collects the paper. ‘No, this isn't fair. You can sit it again another time. When there's not so much pressure on you.'

Tess rises but feels unsteady and grabs the edge of the desk for support.

‘Tess,' her teacher says, noticing, ‘are you eating properly? You seem so low on energy.'

Tess nods, glad her school uniform is baggy and Miss McLoughlin can't assess her properly. She pulls her hands up into her sleeves. ‘I didn't have breakfast,' she finally admits, ‘but I'm going to get something from the canteen. And, Miss, thanks for giving me another chance.'

She sits with Ned out on the oval. Since rowing ended she's been avoiding Maddie and Chloe. They've always been her friends, but the guilt from the finals hasn't left her and she can't meet their eyes. These days she seeks out Ned and they always sit somewhere isolated where no one can watch them.

She's bought an apple and a yoghurt—carefully reading the ingredients on the tub's side. Only 50 calories. She rips open the foil lid and starts gulping it down. The sourness and fruit make her lips pucker, but her stomach howls for more. She looks up to see Ned watching her.

‘You gunna eat all of that?' he asks.

She pauses, the spoon midway into the container. ‘I guess. It's not a lot and I haven't eaten anything today.'

‘You'll be sorry,' he warns.

‘What do you mean?' She puts the container down, as if it will infect her.

‘Later, when you're moaning over how bad you look. When you blame yourself for being so worthless. You'll think about this—the overindulgence—and regret it. Really regret it.'

Suddenly she feels sick: she knows he's right. She picks up a handful of leaves and sticks them into the milky surface, to stop herself wanting any more.

‘You'll be glad you did that, Tess. Take control. Be strong, not weak—it'll make you happier.'

As they get up, she pitches the apple long and hard into the bushes surrounding the oval. ‘And the birds can eat that,' she says, grinning.

She walks through the front door. Nero rushes up to greet her, his tail wagging hard, and immediately she senses the emptiness. There's no one home. She drops her bag in the hallway, longing for the time when this would cause her mum to complain—and order her to pick it up and put it away. She opens the fridge door, stares for a long time and then slams it shut, repulsed by her desire for food. At the sink, she fills a tall glass with water and noisily gulps it down. Then a second glass. Her stomach is full.

There's a piece of paper on the table, a note in her dad's handwriting:

She sits down hard on the chair. Hurt and lonely. They went without her. It's like she doesn't even exist. Didn't they care that she might want to go, too? She fights back the tears, feels so tired.

On the kitchen bench is the cake she made yesterday. She knows what she must do.

At five minutes after five she hears the key in the lock.

‘Tess?' her dad calls. ‘We're back.'

He walks in, her mother behind him, and stops in surprise. Streamers hang from the ceiling and balloons bob in the corners of the room. Tess has painted a sign,
Happy Birthday Brodie,
and stuck it to the wall. In the centre of the table is his birthday cake, the candles unlit, surrounded by the rest of the food she'd made over the last hour and a half. It had been difficult to select the ingredients and make up the plates of sandwiches, spring rolls and mini pizzas, when every time she opened the fridge or the pantry the sight of the food made her anxious. She'd had no distraction, no Aunty Sue to take her mind off the job, but she'd forced herself to do it, convinced this would help them all.

‘What's this?' Her dad sounds nervous.

‘I thought we should celebrate.' Tess is now panicking, thinking she's done the wrong thing. ‘Brodie's birthday?'

Her mum steps forward, her hands shaking. ‘Tess, what a lovely idea. Yes, we should.'

They sit around the table. Liam pours them each a glass of wine and they pick at the food. Like Tess, no one seems to have much of an appetite.

‘Remember when Brodie raced his skateboard down the driveway?' Tess ventures finally.

‘And smashed into the brick wall?' her mum says. ‘Fifteen stitches across his forehead!'

‘He never knew where the brakes were,' Liam says, taking a sandwich off a plate.

‘What about when he told all the neighbours Dad was a trucker?' Annelise smiles.

‘No, Mum—he said
frucker,'
Tess corrects.

‘And they thought he was a foul-mouthed five- year-old.' Her dad is laughing hard.

‘And then,' Tess remembers, gasping at the funniness, ‘when Dad was introduced as Dr Edwards, they thought he was trying to make himself seem important. What did Mr Wilson say—“So you're a doctor of trucks, eh? Like a mechanic?'”

‘Time for the cake?' Annelise says.

Liam nods and lights the candles, all thirteen, and together they sing to Brodie. Tess tries to prevent her voice cracking on the words ‘Dear Brodie'.

‘Blow out the candles, Tess.' Annelise's voice has thickened.

‘No.' Tess looks at them both. ‘We should all do it.'

They lean in and blow.

Annelise grabs hold of Tess's arm. ‘Thank you, Tess, this was a wonderful idea. A much nicer way to think of Brodie today.'

Tess nods and holds her mum tightly.

‘Tess, you feel thin.' Annelise pulls back. ‘Are you losing weight?'

‘No Mum, I'm not.' Tess shakes her head.

Over the next few weeks Tess avoids Ned. He just isn't making her happy. In fact, when she thinks about him, it makes her hurt more. Miss McLoughlin allows her the last period to do her in-class essay, and Tess finds herself able to concentrate, now she's blocked Ned from her thoughts. When she finishes the paper, she's convinced she's done well.

‘Thanks again,' she says, handing the paper over.

‘No problem,' Miss McLoughlin says. ‘If you ever need anyone to talk to, you know you can always come to me.'

Tess nods gratefully, but lately, since Brodie's birthday, things have been going well. Her mum has been stable—so stable, in fact, she's almost like her old self. And her dad has been able to pick up more hours at the clinic. It's been a relief for everyone.

Tess runs down to the tennis courts. Last week, in a moment of rebellion—she was so sick of feeling controlled by Ned and was desperate for some physical activity—she joined the club. Now she plays every opportunity she can. She swings her racquet as she goes. Her mum was right: tennis is a great game.

Jordan opens the gate for her. ‘Hey Tess, we're thinking of playing mixed doubles today.'

‘Oh, really?' She's slightly out of breath. ‘I don't know how.'

‘It's easy,' he says, ‘we'll be partners. Same game—using the whole court. You'll find it simple.'

She's glad her cheeks are already pink from running, because she's sure to be blushing. Jordan has been so sweet to her since she joined the team. She nods. ‘Okay, I hope I don't let you down.'

‘Match point,' the umpire calls.

It's Tess's serve. She glances at Jordan nervously. You'll be fine, he mouths. She throws the ball high and hits it with all her strength. It spins down the court into the serve area and over Hannah's racquet.

‘Game, set, match Gray and Edwards.'

‘Whoo hoo!' Jordan shouts, picking up Tess and swinging her around. ‘I knew you'd do it. You're a natural.'

She laughs. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. You're a great teacher.'

‘Hey listen, a few of us are going out for some food. Wanna come?' Jordan asks.

She nods. ‘Yeah, that'd be great.'

They cram into the small booth. Jordan's leg is warm against hers. Everyone is talking about the game and the upcoming inter-school matches. Jordan thinks she should join his club on Saturdays and she nods, slowly chewing a chip. What would Ned say if he saw her now? He'd be furious. But she tries to blank out that thought: she feels so much happier when she doesn't have him bombarding her with his negativity.

‘I'll walk you home,' Jordan says as everyone else begins to leave.

They walk along in silence, Tess swinging her tennis bag in her hand. Finally Jordan says, ‘I'm really glad you joined the team, Tess. I think you're awesome.'

She smiles at him. ‘I'm glad I did too. Here, this is me.' They stop in front of her letter box. ‘Thanks for inviting me out. It was great.'

‘No worries.' He makes to leave and then turns back. ‘Tess?'

He bends down to kiss her. She can't help but kiss him back.

‘You're so tiny,' he says admiringly.

She nods, her breath taken away by his kiss. He is so hot and it sounds like he's inviting her out again. Despite feeling guilty, she can't wait.

Miss McLoughlin hands back her paper. ‘I'd like to see you at the end of class,' she says softly. Terror grips Tess's gut. Why? She scans the paper. It's a C. Embarrassed, she shoves it into her file.

At the end of the lesson she stays at her desk. Miss McLoughlin sits on the one in front. ‘Are you disappointed with that mark, Tess?'

Tess nods but can't look up. Disappointed isn't the half of it. Just when things were going well—tennis and Jordan, her mum and dad, Ned sensing her need for space and giving it to her. And now this. A fail. She can't bear it. Why can't everything be perfect?

‘I'm worried that your analysis isn't as strong as it used to be,' Miss McLoughlin says. ‘You seem to have lost the edge you used to have.'

The shame burns deep inside her.

‘Are you too busy doing other things?'

Tess can't speak for the humiliation she feels. ‘No,' she begins, ‘I thought I did well on this topic.'

‘It's not bad,' her teacher says gently, ‘but not your usual calibre. I can go through it with you if you like.'

Tess shakes her head. ‘Thanks, but I've got tennis, so I can't hang around.'

At tennis she can't concentrate on the ball and misses easy shots. Jordan watches her from the sidelines, puzzled. ‘Hey,' he says after her game—a 3–0 loss—‘what's going on? You okay?'

She nods. ‘Just off today.'

‘Can't be a winner every time,' he says, putting an arm around her. ‘Coming out?'

‘I can't tonight. I've gotta get home.'

He looks disappointed.

‘Sorry, next time, I promise.'

He smiles, looks like he wants to kiss her, but she pulls away. She's sure she senses Ned lurking around.

On her way home she is dejected and let down. How could she have done that to herself? Getting a C grade—she can't remember the last time she scored so badly. And the tennis. Total loser. And this thing with Jordan—what about Ned, the one who truly loves her? She totally hates herself.

She hears him coming up behind, and he drops in next to her. He's quiet for a while. She glances at him but says nothing. Finally he speaks.

‘So what's happening? I've stayed away. Waited for you to talk to me. How come you don't speak to me anymore?'

She shrugs; she doesn't know what to say.

‘We used to talk about everything. It feels like you don't trust me anymore. Not good enough for you and your tennis mates, then?' He sounds hurt.

She looks at him and can't bear the pain she hears in his voice ‘No, it's not that. I've just been doing other stuff.'

‘Saw you with that guy. What's that about? Should I be jealous?'

He's getting angry. She doesn't want him to get mad. When he gets mad he gets vicious.

‘No, Ned,' she lies, instantly trying to placate him. ‘He's my tennis partner, that's all. Nothing's happening.'

‘I couldn't stand it if you left me, Tess. You mean too much to me. You know that. I will love you more than anyone else. Ever.'

The fervour in his voice frightens her. He makes it sound like a death pact.

‘Nobody, nothing in this whole world could ever take your place.' She feels him relax.

‘Promise,' he whispers, ‘you'll always be mine?'

‘I promise.'

There are no lights on at home when she walks up the path, which strikes her as odd because her dad is on morning shifts and her mum, well, she's always at home. Since Brodie died, Mum struggles to leave the house, and won't without a fair amount of coaxing from Dad. So Tess wonders where they could be as she opens the door. ‘Hello?' she calls, although she knows the house is empty. Even stranger, there's no note on the counter for her. So unlike her dad. She checks her phone: no missed calls. Panicking, she walks from room to room, flicking on lights, but the house appears as normal. Not a thing out of place, nothing missing—except her parents. The emptiness terrifies her. She is pulling her phone out of her pocket to ring—someone, she's not sure who—when she hears footsteps running up the pathway.

‘Tess, Tess.' It's Mrs Olsen from next door. ‘I've been waiting for you, dear. Everything is all right. Sit down. Let me explain.'

Mrs Olsen is a round woman, kind and old, and she gathers Tess to her floral print bosom.

‘Mum wasn't too good today. Your dad had to take her in to see the doctor. He asked me to listen out for you—take you home, give you tea.'

‘What about Mum?' Tess asks, fearing the answer.

‘She had a bit of a breakdown, love.' Mrs Olsen squashes in next to Tess on the couch. ‘Something triggered her. Poor Annelise.' She shakes her head. ‘But your dad was here. And he knew exactly what to do. She's in safe hands with him.'

‘Where are they?' Tess asks.

‘They'll still be at the doctor's. I think he's getting her medication checked. It might need changing. Or upping. Your dad asked me if you could stay at my place until he returned. I've made a cottage pie—with beans.' Mrs Olsen rises slowly and holds out her hand.

Tess shakes her head. ‘Thanks, but I'd rather stay here. I've got homework to do. And if I get time I'll cook them some dinner. So when they get home, if they're hungry, they can eat.'

‘Okay. You're such a thoughtful girl,' Mrs Olsen squeezes her again. ‘If you need anything, you give me a holler. And I'll be around tomorrow to see your mum.'

She stares into the pantry, wondering what she can make, trying to view the its contents with detachment, and finally pulls out random bottles and packets. She starts chopping onions, and the juice stings her eyes. The pain distracts her from the task. She feels tears run down her face but doesn't pause to wipe them—she embraces the burning sensation.

Mum's finally cracked, Tess thinks. Tripped, gone over the edge, barmy, bonkers, loony, doolally. She is scared at what her mother's become.

She picks up her mobile. No missed calls—but of course she would have heard it. Why hasn't her dad called? She scrolls through her phone book and stops on Jordan's number. It would be great to call him, have him come over, tell him about Brodie and Mum, have someone, anyone, just listen to her. But if he knew all that, he might not like her anymore. She shakes her head. She needs Ned.

‘She's done it, Ned.'

‘I know. It was inevitable,' he says. He doesn't seem that concerned.

‘But you realise what this means?'

‘She's tripped the light fantastic,' Ned says. ‘Maybe your dad is having her committed as we speak.'

‘Ned!' Tess shouts, frightened. ‘Don't say that.'

‘You were thinking it,' he sneers. ‘You know you were. And would it really be that bad, Tess? At least you wouldn't have to pretend anymore.'

‘Pretend what?' She can't hold back the tears; he's so harsh.

‘To be the good girl. The helpful, caring, considerate girl. Little Miss Perfect. Despite your best efforts, you fail. Don't you? Do you really think pretending to be nice is going to make them love you? They want him—Brodie. Nothing is going to change that!'

She recoils at his words. He moves away from her.

‘Look at your English marks, your tennis scores—can you even control what you weigh these days? She's not the only one to lose it. You've lost it, too. Honestly, Tess, how can you blame her? Look at yourself.'

She can't even face him because she's crying so hard. He's right. She
has
had those thoughts that if Mum went away—to get better—life might be easier for her and Dad. And every time she thinks it, she tries harder to be better, because if she works harder at being a better person, she'll help her mum.

She runs to her room; she has to get away from Ned. He doesn't seem to care about the impact his words have—it's like he doesn't even realise. She stands panting in her wardrobe. Fuck Ned, fuck him. He's such an arrogant pig—thinks he knows all the answers.

She pulls the scales out. It seems ages since she stood on them. She doesn't even bother stripping down to her underwear.
Tell it how it is,
she screams at the scales, before kicking off her shoes. Trembling she stands on the white platform. The red line shifts, adjusts, stops: 49. It's like a punch in the gut. She wants to cry. All this time, she's known she's put on weight. Known she was getting fatter. She couldn't stand on the scales for fear of seeing a number heavier than 47. And here it is in black and white. Evidence. Ned is right—as always. She has no control, no power. She is weak and disgusting.

‘And fat,' Ned whispers behind her. She turns, terror-stricken.

‘I'm so sorry, Ned,' she weeps, ‘for ignoring you and cutting you out of my life.'

‘It's okay, Tess,' he soothes. ‘I'll never go. I won't leave you. But you have to believe me. You do believe me, don't you?'

‘Yes.' She cries hard, holds herself tightly. ‘I do believe you. You love me Ned, don't you? Really?'

‘Tess, I love you more than anyone else in the whole world does. Just trust me. I'll make things okay.'

She tries to vomit but can't. The food she ate today is being processed—she left it too late. She imagines it turning into deposits of fat as she waits for her parents. The image of white globules clinging to her organs makes her want to scream. But she doesn't. She holds it together and waits for her parents to return.

It's after ten when she sees the headlights in the driveway. She listens to the car door slam and the slow footsteps—only one set; Mum isn't with him. Tess tries to smile as Dad walks into the house.

‘Kitten, I'm so sorry,' he says, rushing towards her.

‘It's okay.' She gets out of the chair, putting her homework on the table. ‘I've made a stir-fry. You hungry?'

He shakes his head. ‘Your mum is okay. Did you get my message?'

She nods, although the arrival of the message little more than an hour ago had hurt. How could he wait so long to check in with her? ‘Cos you're not that important,' Ned had said as they looked at the text.

‘Sure Dad,' Tess says brightly, ‘I saw it. Is she okay? What happened?'

Her dad presses reheat on the microwave, pours a glass of wine, shakes his head. ‘She was going through Brodie's things. Thought she was strong enough finally to box up his stuff. I didn't want her to. I didn't really think she was up to it. But you know Mum.'

Tess nods but thinks how little she does know her anymore.