Beautiful Monster (9 page)

In the morning she is exhausted. She's had only about two hours' sleep—and even those were full of angst. She looks at her face in the mirror. Thick concealer and foundation are required. She thinks she hears a noise in the living room and pauses, blusher brush in the air. Dad will already be at the clinic and at this time of the morning Mum will still be asleep. She holds her breath. Ned? She pokes her head out of the bathroom and glances around; there's no sign of anyone.

Her stomach is flipping. If he's here, this is it—she'll tell him it's over. To go away and leave her alone. In her mind she runs through the speech she formulated in the early hours of the morning. ‘If you love me, you'll let me go, Ned. It's been too long. We've gone our separate ways. I've moved on and I'm happy.' She cringes now at the sound of it—so melodramatic, so cheap romance.

She walks into the kitchen. No Ned. She must have imagined it. She finishes getting ready, surprised by a feeling of slight disappointment.

She stands on the platform and is jostled onto the train in a sea of grey-clad commuters. Inside it's standing room only, and she's wedged in place, sandwiched between business suits and oversized handbags. Then she sees him in the darkened train windows, halfway down the carriage, loosely swinging on the handle strap. She breathes in deeply. She will tell him.

He winks at her and her stomach drops. He slides his way between the gaps left by exiting commuters until he is up against her, his breath warm on her neck.

‘Hey, babe,' he whispers. ‘Can I come to work with you?'

She laughs at his suggestion, her resolve instantly evaporating. ‘Stop it,' she whispers, staring straight ahead, worried someone will see them. ‘You can't. I'm busy. Besides...' She's not sure what it is because she wishes he could come with her. She justifies this by telling herself there is still so much she needs to talk to him about before they say goodbye.

‘I'll meet you for lunch, then,' he says.

‘Persistent, aren't you?' She's relieved he hasn't given up.

‘Only with you, babe. I'll see you later.'

She can't see him leap from the train, but thinks she sees his black hair sliding through the crowd. She feels hollow when he's gone.

Kitty has opened the café and is rolling up the alfresco blinds when Tess arrives.

‘Hey,' Tess says, tying on her apron, ‘sorry, I got caught at the station. The train was late.'

‘No worries.' Kitty points towards the counter. ‘I've made the first ones—see what you think.'

Tess makes her way to the two coffee cups on the counter. In the foam of one, Kitty has created a love heart; in the one next to it, a feathered leaf. They're pretty impressive.

‘Nice work,' Tess says admiringly. ‘Take long?'

‘The love heart, no.' Kitty stands next to her, wiping her hands against her apron. ‘The leaf's a little harder. Which one do you want?'

Tess shakes her head slowly. ‘Actually, I'm going to take my coffee black for a while. I don't think I'm handling lactose well.'

Kitty nods and starts filling the cake cabinet. ‘Okay, then, you can make your own. Long black is easy.'

The morning is busy and Tess is grateful for it. She makes coffee, serves cake, wipes tables, stacks the dishwasher. Occasionally she glances out the window into the mall to watch the pedestrians. But she never sees him. By twelve-thirty her stomach is beginning to groan. She grabs sushi from the bar next door and walks down the street to the park.

He's already on the park bench when she walks up, her lunch in her hand. She sits down next to him, her heart racing. ‘How did you know I'd be here?' she asks, opening the plastic sushi container.

‘I've been watching you for a bit. You're a creature of habit, Tess. Always were.' He peers at her sushi. ‘Yuk!'

‘Why did you take so long—if you knew where I was, then?' The hurt is back in her voice.

‘It wasn't easy, I can tell you. I needed to be sure. They monitored you so closely after they let you out of hospital. I couldn't get near you. Your dad was like a guard dog.'

She chews slowly, watching him. Dad had hovered over her for months. And Mum had shown interest, too—almost surprised to find that Tess was still around. It had taken nearly all this time to win back her dad's trust—for him to believe that she was trying to make herself well again. How could she have let him down? She shakes her head. If he knew she was with Ned, he'd be angry—no, disappointed. She shouldn't be here.

She glances around the park. The trees are bare and skeletally salute the grey sky. Two ducks, both brown, bob on the steel-coloured water.

‘So, what do you do for fun?' he says.

She shrugs. What does she do? Studies mostly—but that's only been recently. Before that, she still had her rowing; even though she had missed out on training the year before, Mr Mycock had welcomed her back on the team. They had won the finals this year, caned St Brigit's. It had been a well-deserved victory. Returning to rowing had been conditional, though, like everything else following her release from hospital. She'd been subjected to constant monitoring and weighing, and had been threatened with losing rowing if she fell back into her old patterns. Sometimes she felt like she was on parole—the punishment for murder would have been less intrusive.

But eventually they lightened up on her and stopped scrutinising every mouthful, counting every calorie (the irony of which never escaped her). On her return to school, the twins had welcomed her back and she'd stuck to them closely, needing friends, tired of the isolation she'd been living through. Lately, they'd found an old pub called The Library—its name allowed her to mislead her parents into thinking she was studying—that was filled with uni students. Tess blended in, and hadn't been asked for ID yet. On some nights it would be open mic, and if they'd had enough to drink they'd get up and sing badly or recite poetry, also badly. But now they were all under so much pressure the socialising was limited to birthdays—until after the exams.

‘Work a lot,' she says finally.

‘Boring, Tess,' he sneers. ‘You have turned B.O.R.I.N.G.'

‘What have you been doing, then, Ned?'

She is defensive, her life over the last two years anything but boring. It had been tumultuous, in fact, starting with his departure—abandonment, as she always angrily thought of it. Her hospitalisation, hanging on to high school by a thread, her life punctuated with appointments to doctors, nutritionists, the homeopath. The long sessions with the psych—talking about Brodie and, more importantly, her relationship with Ned. Privately struggling with bouts of blackness and secretly—so no one knew, especially not Dad—grieving for Ned. Hating herself. Loving herself. Learning how to forget about him.

She shouldn't be here. She should go. Her parents would be so disappointed. She stands unsteadily, her anger towards him reignited. ‘I'm going.'

‘No, babe. Don't.' Ned tugs at her. ‘Talk to me first. It's been so long. I've missed you so much.'

She can't help herself. She wishes she was strong enough to pull away from him. Walk away, without looking back, like he did. That's what she should do. Instead she sits down next to him again.

‘Tell me what it was like when you got sick,' he says.

Back at work, she is buoyed by the meeting. She's been too hard on him. Why does she want to send him away again? It wasn't all his fault. Her parents and the medical staff had made it impossible for him. Poor Ned. The idea of having him back excites her. He reminds her of what things used to be like—before they went really wrong. And it doesn't have to be like that again. This time it could be really different. He doesn't have to be in control.

She is virtually humming as she serves the afternoon customers.

‘Good day?'

It's Rohan, leaning against the counter, watching her. He works part-time in the sports shop two doors down. She knows from Saturday afternoon coffee that he's a first-year engineering student.

‘Yeah. Latte?' she asks, smiling at him.

He nods and watches her. ‘You should have more good days. You're almost glowing.'

She feels herself blush. ‘Here.' She pushes the coffee across the counter and takes the money from him.

‘You're not having one, too?' he asks.

She shakes her head and darts a look out into the mall. ‘Sorry, not today. I've got a huge mess to clean up out the back.' She sees the way his blue eyes seem to dim. ‘Maybe next Saturday,' she offers.

‘Okay.'

She watches Rohan carry his coffee to an outside table. She feels bad—they've had great afternoon chats—but today she just can't. Her heart isn't in it. And what if Ned is watching? She starts methodically wiping the benchtop.

Tess looks at Sharla's text message a few times, wondering what she should do. There's only the weekend left and then the exams begin. Maybe a group revision would be a good thing and it's been so long since she's had a night off. Since Ned's return, really. She runs up the stairs to change.

She has to be careful with Ned; she's starting to feel things slip back to how they were before. In the first few days he was so accommodating and caring—keen to please her and win her back. And God, she had wanted him so much—he'd always been impossible to resist when he was at his most charming. But the last few days she's been reminded of that demanding side of him—the one that sulks when he doesn't get his own way, or disapproves of things she does. He'll disapprove of this, she thinks, applying mascara to her lashes. He'll be mad at her—but it makes her heart flutter slightly. She'll have to show him that things are different this time, and if he really loves her, he won't try and control her like he did before. Tonight will be a test.

They study for three hours. We've made good progress, Tess thinks as she walks into the pizza parlour. It's a busy Friday night, full of kids from school. Dan has phoned the order through so they won't have to wait long. But Tess sees that there are a lot of orders up on the counter. They grab a seat at the bar.

‘Monday, hey,' Tess says, watching the people at a table nearby. Two girls and two guys—she doesn't know them. They look like they're on a double date.

‘Bring it on,' Sharla responds enthusiastically.

‘Serious?' Tess says, watching the way the dark-haired girl is flirting so openly with the tall blond guy. The girl obviously has no issue with confidence, Tess thinks, but she's skinny and beautiful, so why not?

‘Probably thick as pig shit.'

Ned's voice. It makes her grin and then dart a look around the room. No sign of him. Sometimes he's just in her head, she thinks.

‘You're not nervous?'

‘Sure,' Sharla says, ‘but what can you do about it? We've gotta do them. Then they're over.'

Tess nods at Sharla's reasoning. She wishes she saw it that way too—but she can't. If only she knew what was in the papers, she'd feel confident. She finds the whole situation terrifying.

Next to them, Paulo is wiping the counter top. He smiles.

‘Hey girls—do me a favour?'

‘Sure.' They both nod. Paulo owns the shop and is always giving them freebies.

‘I just make new pizza—gluten-free. You know what that means?'

‘Yep,' Tess says quickly—she knows pretty much everything there is to know about food and nutrition. ‘What did you use—buckwheat or rice?'

‘Buckwheat.' Paulo looks impressed. ‘You know your stuff, Tessa—you quit Gino's and come work for me?'

Tess laughs and shakes her head. Gino's is a breeze compared to this place, which is always fully packed with kids from school. At least at Gino's she can almost escape her life.

‘So you try it for me?' Paulo asks. ‘As a favour?'

Sharla nods, and Tess is obliged to follow her lead.

‘Just one piece, Paulo—we've got about six ordered.'

‘Sure, sure,' he calls over his shoulder. He comes back from the kitchen with two large slices of pizza—vegetarian for Tess and one with meat for Sharla. ‘You eat and tell me if the base works.'

Tess eyes the portion—it's huge, about half a pizza. She folds it in half and takes a bite, as does Sharla. They look at each other, chewing slowly.

Sharla's eyes are wide as she nods. ‘Mine's great. Yours?'

Tess swallows slowly. It's delicious, but Paulo's used too much cheese. It feels oily in her mouth. ‘Great,' she says.

Sharla has almost finished hers. Tess forces herself to take another bite—through the servery, Paulo is watching. She gives him the thumbs-up. Then she sees Ned. She coughs hard, and suddenly the pizza feels like it's in her lung, making her choke. She feels Ned watching her intently. She splutters, tries to drink water, tears rolling down her face. Sharla puts down her crust and pats Tess's back—even though, from all the coughing she's doing, it's obvious she's still breathing.

‘Excuse me,' Tess squeaks, wiping her eyes. ‘Back in a sec. Finish mine?' She pushes her plate towards Sharla and rushes to the toilets, sliding into the disabled one behind Ned and locking the door.

‘What are you doing?' she says, though she's annoyed to find it sounds more like a request than a demand.

‘Thought I might get a pizza, too.' He sounds unconcerned.

‘You followed me?' Tess hisses. What was this, stalking?

‘Thought I'd come and keep an eye on you,' he whispers.

His presence overwhelms her, too close, too dangerous. She feels her stomach heave and pushes him out of the way, vomiting her pizza straight into the toilet. ‘God,' she whispers as she spits the last of the food out. She hasn't done that in a long time. The memories it brings are excruciating, but almost exquisite.

She flushes and goes to the washbasin. He stands behind her; she feels him at her shoulder.

‘If you don't want me, Tess, let me know,' he says gently.

She drops her eyes. She's scared of where things are heading between them. Initially it seemed innocent, but now it's got danger all over it—again. She doesn't want him, not now, not ever. But she so badly needs him. How can she imagine him leaving her again?

‘You've got to be more careful,' she whispers, rinsing out her mouth, ‘or we'll get caught. And then they'll put me under lock and key until I'm thirty.'

He smiles and her heart leaps.

Sharla has the pizzas stacked up as she walks back to the bar.

‘Ready?' Tess asks.

But Sharla is just watching her, a strange look on her face. ‘You okay?' she asks finally.

‘Yeah, just coughed up a lung, but I'll survive.' Tess reaches for half the boxes, but Sharla puts her hand out.

‘Tess,' she whispers, ‘I know what you're up to.'

Tess feels a cold hand squeeze her heart. ‘What?' She regards Sharla adversarially.

‘Making excuses to avoid food. I remember what you used to be like—before that night at the school dance.' Sharla blinks rapidly. ‘I blamed myself for a long time. I should have said something to someone before it went so far. I've always wanted to apologise to you for not being a good friend. For standing back and watching you starve.'

Tess is relieved and overwhelmed. Sharla hadn't seen her and Ned—he is still safe. And Sharla's guilt is surprising: what could Sharla have done to change things?

They stood in the hotel bathroom, watching each other cautiously in the gilded mirror.

‘Tess, have you got a problem? You're all bones. I wouldn't be a friend if I kept my mouth shut any longer. We're all worried about you. People are talking.'

Tess scowled at her. ‘Who's talking? Whose business is this?'

She pushed past Sharla quickly, out into the ballroom. It felt like every pair of eyes was on her; they were all staring and gawping. She could hear their voices discussing her. She wanted to run. She looked over at Jordan, still sitting at their table—she wondered what he was saying, but she didn't want to hear it. She went to get her mother's coat.

‘You can't leave without permission,' the teacher on duty said. ‘This is a school function and it doesn't finish until eleven-thirty.'

She looked around wildly, feeling trapped. She had to get out. She couldn't breathe. Her heart felt like it might explode.

‘Can't ... breathe...' she gasped, putting her hand on her throat.

When she opened her eyes the same teacher was crouched next to her. Tess was on her side. She looked across the floral carpet, saw the bottoms of white tablecloths, and polished black shoes. Music played and lights flashed but she was aware of people standing around her in a ring. She tried to turn her head, utterly humiliated.

The teacher put a hand on her arm. ‘Keep still, an ambulance is coming.'

The word jolted her into panic. An ambulance. She tried to sit up. They restrained her.

‘Tess.' It was the principal's voice. ‘You're going to hospital in an ambulance. Your father is on his way.'

Without realising, she shakes her head at the memory. ‘Sharla, it's not that. And thanks. Honest, I'm okay. You saw me inhale that pizza. It did make me feel sick—but I guess that's what happens when you send food to the wrong organ.'

‘Okay. I'm sorry.' Sharla looks embarrassed and gathers up all six boxes. ‘I just thought for a crazy second that...'

Tess cuts her off. ‘That I couldn't stand a piece of pizza and had to chuck up? No way—that pizza was too good.'

‘Okay,' Sharla says again. ‘It's just that I promised myself that I'd never do nothing again. With any friend, if I thought they were in trouble.'

‘No trouble. I'm sweet. Promise.'

Tess waves to Paulo. ‘Thanks,' she calls boisterously, though inside her gut is cramping and she feels violently ill.

Tess opens the front door of her house and sniffs the air. A new smell—it reminds her of school: the art room, linseed oil and oil paint. She moves quietly through the rooms. Dad is at the clinic and Mum is at one of her groups. White canvases stand against the walls of the hallway. One has been painted. A heavy black background smeared with blue and red stripes—some kind of abstract thing. Tess ponders it for a while. Art therapy must be the tonic of the week, she thinks disparagingly. Great—now they'll have to watch her mother painting her grief.

She undresses and slides beneath the sheets, desperate for sleep. The exams—she can't let anything get in the way of her success. She closes her eyes but can't stop thinking. All night it had felt like Sharla was watching her, unconvinced by Tess's explanation. Now paranoia rises up and envelops her.

She shakes her head against the pillows, trying to stop the memories. It was painful to remember when everything had begun to unravel after Brodie's death, her pathetic efforts to make things better, to lighten her father's load. He saw how hard she tried. ‘We're a team, kitten,' he'd say, squeezing her shoulder, ‘you and me.' Often she wished he'd say,
‘just
you and me,' because that was how it felt—Brodie and Mum both dead. But he had so much on his plate—looking after her mum, running the house, working—she never wanted to burden him with her own little problems.

Tess remembers going entire days without speaking a word, yet it was never quiet in her head. There were always replays going round and round, images or conversations she'd eavesdropped on. If her mum complained to her dad that she had a terrible headache, Tess promised herself she'd be especially quiet the next day. If her dad said, ‘Wow, kitten, you're growing so much—I'll have to find time to take you shopping for clothes,' Tess would wear the biggest ones she had so he would forget.

When she'd returned to school after the funeral, she felt like she was treated differently; other kids just didn't know what to say—they wouldn't ask how she was in case she started crying, and they avoided mentioning Brodie. As the days stretched on, it started to feel like Brodie had never existed, and that made her feel worse. She tried talking about him but saw the discomfort in her friends' eyes; obviously they wished she'd stop. And Tess knew not to speak about him at home either. But she just didn't know what to say instead, because Brodie was all she could think about. She found herself struggling to fit anywhere. Only Ned seemed to understand her.

Then one day, something happened that changed the way she felt about herself. She was at school, sitting with the twins, who tried more than anyone else to be normal around her. And Chloe said, ‘You're so skinny, Tess. How do you do it?'

The question surprised her. How
did
she do it? She'd never had to diet, or watch her weight. She'd never even given a thought to what she looked like—but at that moment she sensed Chloe's envy. Deep inside, Tess suddenly felt proud. She had something that others wanted, that they tried for but failed to achieve, and the best thing of all was that she didn't have to try very hard at all. She didn't realise it then, though it was so clear now, that from that point on, being skinny would become something she would always strive for—would
have
to achieve. An art form that she would perfect.

She looks at the clock: twelve-thirty. She wants to be up by six to start studying. But she just can't stop the circular thoughts.

Taking control had been so easy, following Chloe's comment. She stood next to the garbage bin at school—it was plastered with signs,
Keep Australia beautiful
and
Don't drop it—bin it
—and realised that if she threw the neatly wrapped sandwich away, no one would know. After school that day, she'd taken her pocket money and bought the scales, somehow aware she needed to hide them. It became part of her morning ritual, to stand on them and weigh herself, each day holding her breath and hoping the red line would fall under a certain number. As each year passed and she knew she'd grown, or her breasts had developed, she'd allowed herself a couple more kilos, always ensuring the red line sat below what the magazines claimed was her ideal body weight. She'd watched it and adjusted it. Until eventually she no longer trusted what the magazines said and had come up with her own version of what was ideal and how to get it. Her plan worked perfectly—until the night of the school ball. Then, when her ‘little secret' came out, she was mortified. She felt like a failure in her parents' eyes, a disappointment to them and herself.

In the days following her admission to hospital they'd all watched her, scrutinising her every move, weighing her every mouthful, monitoring her ever-expanding waistline. She felt like a fish in a bowl. Mindlessly swimming around while people peered at her through fingertip-smeared glass. Her watchers, believing they could look after her and make her better. And as the days passed, and Ned never came, she gave up on resisting them. Relinquished all her power and totally and utterly capitulated. With Ned gone, she couldn't stand up to them.