The music gets louder and I recognise it. It’s an old song. ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ by Bette Midler. About being uplifted and guided through life by someone you love.
As the photos continue, the music rises and so does the song. When Bette Midler tells the person they’re her hero, I clutch Mum’s hand and she squeezes mine back.
But I dare her, I dare her, to tell me now that words in music don’t matter.
The slideshow continues: air shows and Grandad’s kids, Hal as a teenager and Erik’s mum, Thea. Then Alex and Erik are on screen, muddy-faced toddlers splashing in puddles. As kids, they’re sitting on Grandad’s knee. Then they’re older, only there are three kids in dungarees in this picture, and I notice with a shock that one of them is me. Grandad is between us all, teaching us to fish at Rawson Falls. He’s got fishing reels clutched in his hands and he’s smiling proudly at the camera like we’re the best kids in the world.
When the photos finish, the lights come back on and the blinds are pulled up. Alex is swamped by people. Mum heads for Susan and people make a path as they become aware of the wheelchair. I turn for Alex but smack into someone else.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, looking up. But it’s Grandad.
I move aside to get out of his way, but he says, ‘Come here a minute, Ruby. I want to talk to you about something.’
He walks me to the window overlooking the airport, where three shiny small planes are lined up, their tails stark white under the yellow floodlights. The sun is slowly sinking below the mountains and everything is covered in golden light. We stand there a moment, watching the colours burn the edges of the sky.
‘There’s something I promised you, kiddo.’
‘It’s okay, Grandad. I understand.’
‘I haven’t forgotten, but sometimes, despite our best intentions, it’s not possible to keep a promise. So I wanted to run an alternative by you.’
‘A Plan B,’ I say.
It seems to be my lot in life.
‘It’s Erik,’ he says.
My face flushes at the mention of his name. ‘What about him?’
‘Erik’s a damn fine pilot.’ Grandad clears his throat. ‘Young, but very good. Cautious. Not like some of the cowboys out there. Ruby, I trust him with my life, and if you want to fly you can trust him with yours.’
I see Erik on the other side of the room, engaged in some intense conversation with one of Grandad’s Aero Club mates. He catches my eye across a sea of heads and gives me the ghost of a smile. I quickly look back at Grandad.
‘So if you wanted to experience the freedom of the skies . . . I can’t take the Bluebird up anymore obviously, but that doesn’t mean you kids can’t.’
‘Thanks, Grandad . . . it’s just . . .’
I don’t know how to tell him tactfully. I’m too scared to fly. And I don’t know Erik anymore, much less trust him with my life. But it’s almost as though he reads my mind.
‘It’s true you’ve got to be careful who you trust in life, Ruby. But that boy over there – he knows the Bluebird inside out, and I know him. He’s about as good as they come. He’s solid.’ Grandad rests one hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you’ve wanted to go up since you were an ankle biter, and you’re seventeen now. Plenty old enough. So if you want Erik to take you up, you just give him the nod.’
Then Grandad wraps me up in his arms and says, ‘So glad you came, kiddo.’
And I’m glad too.
A couple of hours in, Alex, Erik and I are sitting in chairs by the window. The glow of taxi lights makes it look magical out on the airstrip and the crowd has dwindled. I told Susan I’d drive us all home so she can ferry some of the older guys who’ve had too much to drink.
Alex makes a quick toilet stop before we leave.
‘So when did you get your licence?’ I ask Erik. It feels like a sensitive topic after our last discussion at the hangar. But I can’t stop thinking about what Grandad said.
‘My pilot’s licence?’
I nod.
‘I got my private licence two years back. Now I’m working on my commercial.’
‘Do you want to fly for the airlines one day? Is that the plan?’
His eyes shine. ‘Aer Lingus, maybe. Ireland’s national carrier.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I say. There’s an awkward silence between us. ‘Look, about the other day – in the hangar.’
He flinches. ‘It’s fine.’
‘What I said about not trusting you . . .’
He looks up at me and shakes his head. ‘Honest to god, Ruby, it’s okay. You don’t have to trust me.’
‘Alex only suggested it because Grandad was going to take me when I turned sixteen. But then she and I had a fight, and he lost his licence . . .’
He smiles grimly. ‘Bad luck, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
Erik’s silent for a while, caught up in his own thoughts. I want to tell him how it really is, but it’s hard.
‘I was too scared to go, anyway,’ I say finally. ‘Even with Grandad. Look, I’m not who I used to be. Who you remember. You should probably know that.’
He laughs. ‘No shit, Ruby. You’re, like, a woman now.’
My face burns scarlet, but I ignore my Ruby-ness and press on. ‘I just want you to know it’s not that I don’t want you to take me flying, okay? Not you, specifically. It’s just not that simple anymore.’
He studies my face, looking at me for so long that I can’t hold his gaze and I look down at my shoes. Then he says, ‘You’d have gone anywhere with me once. But times change, people change. I know. Maybe one day?’
I nod. ‘I hope so,’ I tell him. And I mean it.
Alex comes back from the toilet. ‘We ready to hit the road?’
They climb in the backseat of the Colorado as Mum gets in and I pack away the chair.
We drive to Alex’s in comfortable silence, and as Erik climbs out of the back seat, he rests a hand on my shoulder for a second.
Then he shuts the door.
Where his fingers were is a warm patch. I can feel it all the way home.
On the bus to school, I let the gossip wash over me. The rumour mill seems to have moved on from me to Anna. Angel is sitting across from me telling Millie that Anna needed twenty stitches. She got drunk and split her forehead open after tripping over a rock.
‘The scar is going to be so ugly,’ Angel says. ‘Disfigured for life.’
I chance a look at Millie, who doesn’t appear to be listening.
Maybe the worst is over for me. I can avoid Joey. Kyle seems to be bored of me, mostly. And gossip can only feast so long on a carcass before it grows hungry for fresh meat. Since I’ve ditched Insta, I feel temporarily safe.
But still no period.
And no avoiding Lukas.
I watch him climb the steps of the bus, sunnies on, hair spiked like razor blades. My bag is firmly planted beside me. My shield. Lukas looks up the aisle of the bus, and I arm myself, ready for the assault. He lifts his sunnies onto his hard hair, and looks right through me, then across to where Angel and Millie are sitting.
He passes me without a hint of recognition, and takes a seat behind Angel. Starts talking to her, and I listen as she breaks the news to him about Anna. Like it’s her grave duty to inform everyone about Anna’s disfigurement.
When I get off the bus, Kyle and Joey are waiting for Lukas, who pushes past me to give them both a hand slap. Kyle stops mid greeting to watch me go past.
‘Oh so many nights Ruby dreams she can sing . . .’ he taunts.
But I keep walking. Your voice could never make anything worse, Mum said. Kyle’s words rebound off me. It’s not my voice that’s the problem. I can sing in the same way that I can breathe.
As I walk through the crowded gates to meet Alex, I try to think of nice things. Scones with jam and cream, a hot tea cupped between my hands, the way Mum still lets me snuggle alongside her in bed. The warm patch from Erik’s hand on my shoulder last night. The strange electricity
in my stomach when he comes near. His strong hands touching mine on the handles of the wheelchair.
Joey’s sitting towards the back of the class next to Chante when Alex and I walk in. Their heads are bent together and she gives him an air kiss. I’m guessing they’ve become a thing over the weekend. I look over at Millie, sitting at the front of the class. Her back is stiff, chin lifted. The afternoon sun slants in golden shafts across our desks and lights her hair up round the edges like a halo.
I remember her message: This is what Joey does. You should be careful, okay?
I guess she learnt the same lesson as me.
Mrs Aversa arrives and continues a class about World War Two. There’s a sombre air over the class, nobody chatting or throwing notes. Not even a whisper.
‘Is everyone asleep today?’ Mrs Aversa says. ‘Do I need to open a window?’
I realise she’s asked a question and expects a volunteer to answer it.
‘Can you repeat the question, Miss?’ Bonnie says behind me.
But Mrs Aversa must think it was me because she looks pointedly in my direction. ‘The question was: what impact did the Second World War have on women on the home front?’
The class stares blankly at her, me included. But she’s still looking at me expectantly.
‘Uh . . . they got to live without men?’ I say, hopefully.
She sighs. Grabs her marker and starts scrawling frantically across the whiteboard.
‘Don’t know why I bother,’ she mutters.
When she’s finished, she steps away from the board.
‘Here’s what happened on the home front.’ She stabs at the whiteboard like she wants to pierce a hole in it. ‘Women were left to do their work and the work traditionally done by men. Fortify their houses against attacks. Run farms, companies. Bring in the food, the money, educate the children . . . and not all of the men came back. So,’ she says, exasperated, and turning towards me as if I’m her only hope, ‘what effect do you think this might have had on the western world?’
I think for a second of a world with fewer men.
‘It gave women a taste for work and power. Which meant more rights and freedom than they had before the war began?’ I say.
‘Bingo!’ she says. ‘But who can think what the downside of this might have been?’ Her eyes hunt the classroom looking for a new victim. When no one volunteers, she comes back to me. I shrug.
‘Millie?’ she says, finally.
Millie scratches at a mark in the laminate on her table. ‘The women didn’t have wives,’ she says, sounding bored. ‘They had to do all the work at home, find a way to raise their babies and work.’
‘Bravo!’ Mrs Aversa says, smacking her desk with her marker. ‘This is exactly what happened. It was called the Suffragette Movement.’
If this is meant to make the girls in the class feel empowered, it’s not working. And I can’t concentrate properly, because my stomach feels crampy.
I raise my hand and leave class as calmly as I can. I put a pad on this morning in case, but by the time I get to the toilets, blood has soaked through my undies. I don’t even care. The relief is too immense.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ I whisper.
The blood is heavy and dark, and I have never been more grateful for the sight of it.
I sit on the toilet, rubbing my tummy to ease the cramps. My period is days late – is that why it’s so heavy? Or was I pregnant? Is this a miscarriage? I don’t know and I don’t care.
When I stand up I realise the blood has seeped through to the back of my skirt. So I stay in the toilet, trying to mop up the mess with toilet paper.
The bell rings for the next class. I know I’m meant to go to the nurse in sick bay if something like this happens. But I’ve suffered enough humiliation. This one’s a skipping school job.
‘Ruby?’ A voice calls in the bathroom.
‘Alex, thank god.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Want the good news or the bad news?’
‘What’s the good news?’
‘I got my period,’ I say. And just uttering the words is magical. The freedom, almost tangible. There is no baby. What would I have done if I was pregnant? Could I have had an abortion, pretended it never happened? Or would I have been like Mum – kept the baby no matter what? I never want to have to worry about that again.
I unlock the bathroom stall.
‘Ruby, you’re really pale,’ Alex says.
‘I’m cramping something savage. Which brings me to the bad news . . .’
I turn around.
‘Oh, shit. I’ll see if I have something.’ Alex rummages to the bottom of her bag and pulls out a sports shirt. ‘This’ll do. Tie it round your waist. I’ll take you to Sick Bay.’
There’s a rush of feet and laughter and noise outside as everyone heads to their next class.
I laugh. ‘You’re not that cruel. I just need some Panadol and fresh clothes.’
‘Okay, I’ll take you home. Lucky I drove this morning.’
Alex walks me to her dad’s ute and even though I’m in pain, I feel lighter. Like everything might be okay.
The sun bores down on the forest as Alex takes the dusty road home. Even the dog strung on the fence looks shrivelled and dry.
The roofline of our house plays peekaboo through the forest as I get nearer. It’s a welcome sight. This tiny ramshackle cottage has been a refuge to Mum and me in so many ways. Those walls have absorbed countless tears and torments, laughter and celebrations. The same walls have soaked up all of our music. If only I could squeeze out what we’ve put into them. What a symphony we’d make.
The Lamborghini.
A sick feeling spreads through my guts. I get Alex to drop me off before the house so I can wrap her shirt around my waist again and hide the blood.
I can’t deal with any more drama. I’m sneaking in.
I move towards the tree line, keeping in the shadows as I creep up alongside the house. It’s as still and serene as ever. I sidle up to the window beneath the living room. I can hear their voices now.
The window is open, but there’s no breeze, so the sheers hang limp. What if he’s here to make amends? Talk her into the Entertainment Centre gig? What if she listens to him?
I crouch beneath the window and strain to hear them.
‘There was one rule, Celeste. The band had one rule.’ I don’t like Robbie’s tone. It sounds condescending.
‘You say it like I was the only one who broke it,’ she says.
They’re both quiet for a moment.
‘I broke it because I loved you,’ Robbie says.
I stiffen. He loved my mother? I probably knew it deep down, the easy way they have with each other. I’ve never seen Mum like that.
Mum laughs brusquely. ‘Not in love enough to stick around. You carried on just fine without me. What was her name, my replacement? Jovana the pianist?’
‘Celeste, it wasn’t like that –’
‘Course it was. That’s the industry. Ruthless. People cut you down as soon as lift you up. Maybe that’s what drew me to it in the first place. The feeling of walking along a cliff’s edge.’
‘What a load of shit. Your mother drew you to it.’
‘You’re right. I owe everything to that woman. She stuck by me, looked after Ruby so I could still do gigs. When you were living it up in the UK.’
Robbie sighs. ‘How could I have known?’
Goosebumps prickle along my arms.
‘It’s called checking in. Ever heard of a phone?’
‘Celeste –’
‘You left with the band. I stayed behind. If you loved me so much, why didn’t you call to see how I was? I would have told you about her.’ Mum’s voice is cold. ‘But you didn’t call, and that told me everything I needed to know. I was on my own. Which is fine. I’m perfectly capable – my career was made without a single speck of assistance, and Ruby has been raised without yours. She’s a fine, strong girl. We didn’t need you
then; we don’t need you now.’
There were many men on many nights. It’s what she’s always told me. The idea of a flesh-and-blood father has always felt remote. As mystical as believing in unicorns.
My father is Robbie Vetter? A guy who loved Mum and left her?
‘But I could help her now,’ he says. ‘That voice of hers, it’s something else, and you know it. Let me put her in touch with the right people. You’ve denied me everything else – let me do this now.’
‘Is that what you call being a father?’ she says incredulously.
Father. The hot air freezes around me, but Robbie keeps going.
‘No. This isn’t about me. She should be allowed to chase her dreams.’
There’s silence for a second, and I can imagine the look on Mum’s face.
‘I had dreams,’ she says. ‘In case you’ve forgotten. Dreams don’t always work out. Anyway, as if you’ll stick around to play daddy. Always too busy chasing the next big thing.’
‘I didn’t leave you.’
‘You literally did,’ Mum says dryly.
‘I left Australia, not you. I wanted you to come.’ Robbie’s voice is rising again now, like it did the other night. ‘You’re impossible. You’ve always been impossible.’
‘Maybe I am, but what’s done is done. We can’t go back and live life a second time, can we?’ Mum says. ‘You only get one life and you’ve been very successful with yours. Congratulations.’
‘Celeste,’ Robbie’s voice softens. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’ve had shitty things happen. I can’t change that, but she only gets one life too. If you don’t let her shine, she may never forgive you.’
‘She’s seventeen. She’ll shine when she’s ready. Not a moment sooner. Now get out. Get out of my house.’
I hear footsteps, and Robbie’s quiet voice. ‘I hope she forgives you, Celeste. She’s all you have left.’
A moment later, the screen door bounces and Robbie’s outside in our front yard.
I spring up off the ground, take a couple of steps towards him, my eyes blazing.
Ruby Tuesday Page 16
