by Brandy Scott
‘I know, I know,’ said Melinda, not wanting to get into details of the awfulness. ‘But I’m worried about how Aimee is taking it.’
‘Taking it?’
Was Lou living on another planet? ‘Her obsession with it. And,’ Melinda glanced over her shoulder, ‘this whole crazy idea that our letting-go exercise might have had something to do with it.’
‘Right.’ Lou swirled her champagne, brow creasing. ‘Do you think there’s any chance it did? That we did?’
‘Not at all.’ Melinda was emphatic. ‘You know we didn’t. It was miles away.’
‘Yes.’
‘There were fireworks everywhere. It was dark. They flew straight into a hill. And I don’t mean to be rude, but Peter Kasprowicz is only an amateur pilot.’
‘Right.’
Melinda topped up Lou’s glass. She needed to shut the situation down before it became one. Because when Aimee got obsessed about something, she started reassurance-seeking, and Melinda did not need Aimee asking everyone in town if they thought she and her friends had caused a plane accident. She shuddered internally at what Clint’s reaction would be. ‘Reputation is everything at this stage,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want anyone to even catch you littering.’
‘Look,’ said Melinda. ‘You know what Aimee’s like when she gets one of these ideas stuck in her head, decides she’s responsible for something. She stops being able to see straight. Her thoughts loop. It’s painful for her.’
Lou nodded.
‘I don’t want to see her go through that again.’
‘Especially since she’s not on her medication any more.’
‘She’s not?’ Shit. ‘Well, let’s make sure she doesn’t have to go back on it.’
Lou took a swig of her champagne. ‘I worry about her sometimes,’ she said. ‘Sitting in that big old house all day, scribbling in her notebooks.’
‘Exactly.’
‘All that time in her own head. It can’t be good for her.’
‘She needs a proper job. Or to be more involved in the vineyard. Something.’
Lou nodded, as Melinda knew she would. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.
‘You know my theory,’ said Melinda. ‘Nature abhors a vacuum. If you’re not working, you have time to come up with all sorts of crazy. Look at the gossipy school mums you have to deal with.’
Lou pulled a face.
‘So, are you with me?’ Melinda looked Lou straight in the eye, her closing-the-deal look. ‘Actually, maybe don’t have a word, but if she mentions the accident, can you just not engage? Remember what the therapist woman said last time. No enabling, no reassuring. If she brings it up, we shut the subject right down.’
‘Okay.’ Lou took another swig of champagne. ‘That sounds sensible.’
‘I’m only thinking of Aimee,’ said Melinda. ‘I don’t want to see her go downhill again.’ She took a decent swallow of her own drink. ‘And I’ll be honest,’ she said, as the bubbles hit her bloodstream, ‘I don’t really fancy people in town having another reason to talk about me. I imagine you don’t either.’
Lou stared off towards the river. ‘No,’ she said, sounding sad. ‘I’d rather they didn’t.’
Maybe that was a little near the bone. Lou had been the talk of Hensley for months when she’d got pregnant. Who was the father, would she keep the baby? While Melinda skipped happily back to university, Aimee following, visiting whenever they were home with stuffed toys and little outfits, but whispering their relief to each other on the way back to Melbourne afterwards. Thank goodness it wasn’t them.
Melinda shuffled around so she was sitting next to Lou, looking at the crowds gathered below them on the riverbank, unpacking tarpaulins and picnics, but nothing as nice as theirs. She put an arm around her friend. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For not being more tactful,’ said Melinda. ‘And for not telling you enough what an awesome job you’re doing, raising Tansy.’
Lou gave a hiccupy snort-laugh.
‘You are,’ said Melinda. ‘A fantastic job. You should be proud of yourself. I know you think she’s out of control sometimes, but I don’t think she’s that different from how we were.’ She thought of Lou’s secret teenage tattoo, of Aimee’s ill-advised Goth stage. ‘She’s beautiful and energetic and clever, and she’ll sort herself out. Honestly, this is just a phase. Tansy’s going to be fine.’
Lou shuddered a little, and Melinda squeezed tighter. ‘Oh Lou- Lou,’ she said. ‘Don’t get teary. See, this is what happens when you drink before lunch. And you know what the cure is?’ Lou shook her head. ‘More champagne. Here. Pass me your glass.’
Aimee sat happily under the gazebo enjoying the band, the darkening sky, the twinkling fairy lights. And the champagne. She was especially enjoying the champagne. She’d arrived to find Lou and Melinda already half-cut and felt obliged to catch up. Which she had, easily. Melinda kept producing bottle after bottle, like some kind of Moët magician, making one of Aimee’s favourite occasions even more special.
Aimee adored the Hensley Festival, always had. At events like this she could feel the whole town wrapped around her, like a warm blanket. She waved at Sam the newsagent and his wife, at the Surthis and their new baby. She loved the sense of community, the sharing of scones from Tupperware containers. She volunteered for everything during festival week, or at least all the safe activities, things like cake judging and flower arranging, where only feelings were likely to be hurt. Backroom roles. Although this year she’d somehow agreed to write a poem for the town’s anniversary and recite it, in front of everyone, at the annual concert. The mayor was giving her top billing. Actually, Aimee wasn’t looking forward to that particular event so much. That particular event might necessitate a Valium.
But right now, it was time for cake. Aimee was particularly proud of the cake. Three layers of chocolate espresso torte, made with almond flour so it was extra dense, heavy cream between the layers. She and the girls had spent all morning trying to replicate a marbled mirror icing that Shelley had seen on YouTube, scraping it off three times before they got it right.
She gave a nod, and Shelley and Tansy pulled the cake out of the esky. ‘Tah dah!’ they said, wobbling slightly. Clearly the adults weren’t the only ones enjoying the champagne.
‘No way,’ said Lou. ‘Did you two make this? This is amazing.’
‘Well, Mum helped,’ said Shelley.
Lou nodded. ‘Good to see she’s earning her keep.’
‘Set it up on one of the tables,’ Aimee directed. ‘Carefully. Byron, give them a hand.’ She rummaged in her bag, pulled out the special candles she’d bought earlier. ‘Bugger. Has anyone got a lighter?’
No one did. Aimee sent the kids off to ask around.
‘Honestly, that is one hell of a cake,’ said Lou, inspecting. She laid a gentle finger on the mirror icing, glassy and perfect. ‘It seems a shame to stick candles in it.’
‘But we have to,’ said Aimee. ‘You need to make a wish.’
‘Didn’t we already do that for New Year’s?’ said Lou.
The mention of their letting-go ceremony struck Aimee’s chest like a tiny arrow, but it didn’t penetrate. Didn’t set her heart racing. Good. She was secretly proud that she hadn’t brought up the accident all day, despite the morning paper reporting that there was going to be a formal inquiry. She’d practised her deep breathing and kept her thoughts to herself. The champagne was helping with that too, making everything feel lighter. Maybe she should develop a drinking problem. She gave a little giggle.
‘Aimee?’ said Lou.
‘Nothing.’ Aimee smiled. ‘So what did you wish for? When we . . . you know.’
‘To get out of here, of course,’ said Lou. ‘What do you think?’ She looked at Aimee. ‘What did you wish for?’
Aimee was conscious of Nick beside her, ready with the cake knife, of Byron hovering awkwardly at the edge of the gazebo, of Shelley eagerly
holding out a box of matches. ‘Nothing important.’ She put her arm around her daughter. ‘Good girl.’ Hang on. Why were there only two teenagers? ‘Where’s Tansy?’ she asked.
‘She met some people, down by the stage.’ Shelley looked uncomfortable. ‘She said she’d be back later.’
‘Well that’s just bloody rude,’ said Nick. ‘I’m going to go find her.’
Lou looked embarrassed; Aimee shot him a warning look.
‘No,’ said Nick. ‘It’s your birthday, she should be here. Shelley, you call her and tell her to come back.’
Lou shook her head. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘We were lucky to keep her this long. Let’s just get on with it.’
‘Right then,’ said Aimee extra brightly. ‘Who’s going to be brave and stick these candles in for me?’
Shelley stepped forward, taking the bright-yellow 3 and 5 from Aimee’s hand, and screwing their plastic bases into the cake. The icing cracked as the glaze gave, tiny fissures running in all directions.
‘Oh no,’ said Lou.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Nick, handing her the knife. ‘You’re going to have to cut into it anyway.’
Lou moved so she was behind the cake, positioned the knife above the shiny icing.
‘Wait!’ cried Shelley, shaking the matches. She held the wavering flame carefully to one candle, then the other, and Aimee tried not to think of their lanterns. ‘You need to make a wish,’ she said, forcing the image out of her head.
‘Wish,’ they all called. ‘Wish, wish!’
Lou gave them a half-smile and bent her head forward. Melinda held her hair back, as though they were sixteen again and someone was going to spew.
‘Well?’ asked Nick. ‘Was it your usual, or does being thirty- five warrant a whole new wish?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Aimee. She winked at Melinda and motioned for her to get ready. Melinda turned slightly so Aimee could see the blue-and-green package behind her back. ‘We know what Lou’s wish is,’ said Aimee. ‘To see the world.’ She grinned, bubbling with the delicious anticipation of what was coming next. ‘Well, maybe this will help.’
Melinda set the fat little parcel on the table in front of Lou. They’d wrapped it in maps, layers and layers of them, like a child’s pass-the-parcel, torn from an old picture book of Byron’s: Italy, Spain, Japan. Aimee had deliberately not used the Australian pages.
‘Open it!’ the children called.
Aimee got ready with the camera, the proper Nikon, not just the one on her phone. She couldn’t wait to see Lou’s face when she unwrapped this year’s present. This was even better than the vintage Betsey Johnson clutch. Aimee and Melinda had truly outdone themselves.
Lou took her time, turning the parcel over, feeling the hard little sides of it. She’s guessed, thought Aimee, but no, Lou looked completely taken aback when she finally peeled off the last layer of paper and took out the passport.
‘What —’ Lou’s face was white. ‘But how?’
‘We applied for you!’ Aimee was fizzing, like the champagne. ‘Melinda’s idea. Tansy found us your birth certificate and your driver’s licence photo, and we filled in all the forms. Melinda had to pretend to be you, and Sharna at the post office had to pretend not to know she was really Melinda, but let’s not dwell on that bit too much —’
‘No, let’s not,’ said Melinda.
‘But we knew you wouldn’t mind. And — here you go!’
Lou looked shell-shocked.
‘Hey.’ Nick leaned over the table, tapped a white envelope sticking out of the passport. ‘I think the girls have another surprise for you.’
It was a travel voucher, for five hundred dollars.
‘Just to get you on your way,’ said Melinda.
‘You can use it with any airline,’ said Aimee.
Lou put her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Melinda had taken over, and for that Lou was grateful. She hustled the three of them into a taxi, threw her car keys at Nick and instructed him and the kids to pack everything up.
‘To the old commercial hotel,’ she told the driver, while Lou sat between her friends and cried. Cried in a way she’d never cried before, not when she’d realised she was pregnant, not when her parents had disowned her, not when she’d found herself filling out application forms for child support rather than university. She cried so hard her breathing couldn’t keep up, as though a dam had burst and sixteen years of disappointment was finally gushing free. The others hugged her nervously; Lou was a little freaked out herself. She knew she was pissed off, but not that she was this miserable. By the time they reached Melinda’s she’d run out of tears and was hiccupping like a colicky baby.
‘Right,’ said Melinda, when they were all inside and she had the kettle on. ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘Tansy’s pregnant.’
It was a relief to finally say it. Lou felt a perverse pleasure in the shock on Aimee and Melinda’s faces. See. This was earth-shattering. This really was the end of the world.
‘Fuck,’ breathed Aimee, who never swore.
‘Bloody hell,’ agreed Melinda. ‘Oh Lou. I’m so . . . sorry?’ She put the fancy tin of tea bags she was holding back down on the bench. ‘God, I don’t even know what the appropriate response is.’
‘I don’t think there is one,’ said Lou. Hallmark didn’t make ‘Congratulations on Your Pregnant Teenager’ cards.
‘What does she want to do?’ said Aimee.
‘Who’s the father?’ said Melinda.
‘Does she want to have the baby?’ asked Aimee. ‘Keep it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lou, slumping against the bench. She could feel the damp of the sink seeping into the back of her new dress, already irreparably crumpled by the taxi ride. ‘I don’t really know anything,’ she admitted. ‘We haven’t really talked about it.’
‘Why the hell not?’ said Melinda.
‘I didn’t want to push her.’
‘Well, you clearly have to.’ Melinda picked up the tea bags again, made a big bustle of sorting out mugs. ‘You have to make her tell you.’
Lou crossed her arms. ‘I’m not going to make her do anything.’
‘But you need to know who the father is, at least,’ said Melinda. ‘What the circumstances are. She’s still only sixteen, isn’t she? So this could be a case of . . . well.’ She pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge, poured it straight in their tea without sniffing it. In Melinda’s house, the milk was always fresh. ‘I mean, she could have been coerced. Taken advantage of. Especially if he’s older.’
Lou shook her head. ‘I don’t think Tansy needs anyone to take advantage of her,’ she said grimly. ‘God, that sounds awful, but you know what I mean. Anything she’s got herself into, she’s got herself into.’ Got them both into. Lou tried not to think about the stiff little passport in her handbag, its virgin pages that would stay that way. ‘She’s always been . . . I couldn’t . . .’ Lou stopped. Tansy was just Tansy. That was the problem.
‘Now, Lou,’ said Melinda, passing her a mug, ‘this is not your fault.’
Lou frowned. ‘I didn’t think it was.’
‘Well, just with all the statistics.’ Melinda had switched to her slightly patronising voice, the one she used with the slower sales associates who didn’t quite get it. Lou had been one of Melinda’s ‘curators’ when Tansy was young. The fact she’d managed to handle having Melinda as a boss for nearly a year without becoming violent was a minor miracle.
‘Statistics?’ asked Lou quietly. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘You know, teenage mothers creating more teenage mothers. The cycle.’
‘I created this?’ Lou’s hands tightened around her tea. ‘We’re part of a cycle?’
‘Sugar?’ Aimee moved between the two of them. ‘Biscuits? Have you got any biscuits, Mel? I really fancy something sweet.’
Melinda flushed, her neck blotching a deep pink as though someone had thrown hot tea at her. �
��It’s just more likely, that’s all. Kids with Tansy’s upbringing. To repeat what they know. It’s really common. What I mean is, you can’t blame yourself.’
Lou placed her mug back on the bench. ‘I don’t,’ she said slowly. ‘But it sounds like you think I should.’
‘No!’ said Melinda. ‘Of course not. I’m just saying I see how you could, if . . . Oh, never mind. This is coming out wrong.’
‘Yes,’ said Lou. ‘It is.’
‘Lou?’ Aimee pulled the French doors to the living room shut behind her as she stepped outside. ‘Sweetheart? Can I join you?’
Lou shrugged. Aimee decided to take that as a yes. She stepped around Melinda’s artfully distressed deckchairs and terracotta pots of basil as she made her way across the balcony. Lou looked almost luminous in the streetlights, leaning over the wooden railing in her floaty dress.
‘Can I have a puff of that?’ Aimee asked, holding out her hand.
Lou snorted. ‘You don’t smoke.’
‘Neither do you.’
‘Well, desperate times and all that.’ Lou still didn’t turn her head.
Aimee shuffled over so they were standing side by side. Below them, families flooded back into the main street from the river, laughing and calling to one other, clearly having a much better evening than Aimee and her friends. ‘You know she doesn’t mean it,’ she said.
Lou said nothing.
‘She doesn’t understand. Because she doesn’t have her own.’ Aimee took a drag of the cigarette Lou passed her and tried not to think about the last time they were on this balcony together. ‘Ugh. Nope, still foul.’ She handed it back with a shallow cough.
‘It was a shitty thing to say.’
Aimee nodded, trying to swallow away the burnt tobacco taste. ‘It was.’
‘Do you think it’s my fault?’
‘Of course not.’ Aimee searched for the right words. Words that would make things better rather than worse. ‘And neither does she. It’s just . . . you know what she’s like. She sees life as a series of challenges to excel at, and motherhood doesn’t work that way, obviously.’
‘The reason I’m not pushing Tansy on this isn’t because I’m a lousy mother. The reason I’m not pushing her is because I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want history to completely bloody repeat itself.’
