Honeybee

by Craig Silvey;

  The helmet Len gave me didn’t fit as snug as Edie’s, and Len’s waist was thicker than Vic’s, so it didn’t feel the same being on the back of the Black Shadow again, but I still liked it.

  Len rode so fast that when I closed my eyes it felt like we were flying, like we had no weight at all. I held him tightly when we leaned into corners and felt protected from the wind. I pretended I was holding Vic and my throat swelled up and my eyes got blurry. When we went over the crests of hills my stomach jumped up to my chest. We were going really fast, but I wanted to go even faster. We climbed high enough in the hills to see the sun setting over the city in the distance.

  I thought about tipping the bike. I thought about jumping off. I thought about grabbing the handlebars and pulling us into the cars coming the other way. It would be done. I wouldn’t even feel it.

  But I also thought about Vic’s first ride on this bike with his dad, and I thought about his last-ever ride with me. I thought about Vic and Edie and how kind they were. I thought about Aggie and Peter and Diane, and I held on tighter to Len.

  When we got back, Len took his helmet off and made a whooping noise.

  ‘How about that, eh?’

  He told me to wander around and look at the bikes while he went into his office, which was a small room inside the shed. Ten minutes later, he whistled and waved me over. I went in and sat down.

  ‘So you’re happy to leave the bike here with me?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Fantastic. So, first things first. I’m going to get you to sign this.’

  He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. I wrote my name down where he tapped his finger.

  Then he opened a small, thin pad. He wrote on it, and signed it, and tore off a piece of paper. He gave it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s a cheque.’

  ‘What’s a cheque?’

  ‘What’s a cheque?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You don’t know what a … ? Never mind. It’s a method of payment. It’s yours. You take it to a bank, and they put that amount written there into your account.’

  ‘Why are you giving it to me?’

  ‘To purchase the Black Shadow. You just signed the bill of sale. Now, Vic and I both agreed on a figure, but the bike is in much better condition than he indicated. Out of respect to him and yourself, I’ve increased the purchase price by about fifteen per cent. I hope you see that as a gesture of good faith, and I hope you can see that the bike is going to be well housed under this roof.’

  I looked down at the cheque. It had my name and a number written on it.

  It was a hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars.

  I stared at it.

  ‘This can’t be right.’

  ‘Look, I believe it’s a fair figure. But I’m prepared to suspend the sale and get the bike independently appraised at my cost.’

  ‘I thought Vic was giving it to you.’

  ‘No mate.’

  ‘It’s too much.’

  ‘It’s a very rare item. There aren’t many around anymore. It’s a lot of money. It can set you up for life, if you’re smart with it. Make sure it goes towards something important.’

  My heart was beating fast. It was hard to think. Len stood up.

  ‘Put that in your pocket. Don’t lose it. I’ll give you a lift back home. And listen, anytime you want to come visit and see the bike or go out for a ride, you’re always welcome, alright?’

  I tried to say thank you but no sound came out.

  It was dark when Len pulled into Vic’s driveway. He shook my hand.

  ‘It was nice to meet you, Sam. Give me a bell when you’ve got your display ready and I’ll get it framed up for you.’

  I got out and waved as he drove off.

  Mrs Boyd’s security lights came on as she walked outside. When I looked in her direction she called out to me.

  ‘Sam! Sam?’

  I ignored her and put my head down and walked towards the house. The cheque was in my pocket, and I was afraid she was going to take it off me. I thought she might accuse me of somehow tricking Vic into putting me in his will, and would call the police again.

  I put the key in the door, but it was already unlocked.

  I guessed Peter must have come home and let himself in, but when I switched the light on in the lounge room, I knew something was wrong. The house had been ransacked. All of Edie’s collectables and framed photos had been thrown from the cabinets. The television had been pushed over.

  I went into the kitchen. The drawers and cupboards were open, and plates and bowls had been smashed.

  I walked slowly down the hall, turning on more lights as I went.

  It was the same in Vic’s spare room. His bed had been tipped over and my bag of clothes was ripped open.

  The door to Vic and Edie’s room was open, and I had a horrible feeling in my stomach. I didn’t want to go in there, but I couldn’t stop myself. I switched on the light and stepped inside.

  Edie’s wardrobe had been emptied out. Some dresses had been ripped. They were all over the floor and piled on the bed. The suitcases with her diaries had been opened and they were scattered everywhere. Her vanity table mirror was shattered. Her perfumes and cosmetics were all over the floor, and the drawers were removed.

  The ruined gold flapper dress I wore to The Gavel was crumpled in front of me. I knelt down to pick it up. Then suddenly I was grabbed from behind and lifted off my feet and held in a headlock. I kicked my feet and struggled against the arm locked against my throat.

  ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding with that old queen, hey? You suck his dick in here? Where is he now?’

  It was Steve’s voice.

  He spun me around and pushed me down on the bed. He pulled my wrist back and the pain shot right up my arm and I screamed. He put his hand over my mouth. He was wearing latex gloves.

  ‘Shut the fuck up. You have fucked up my life. First moment I met you I knew something wasn’t right. You’re a cancer that needs to get cut out.’

  He took his hand off my mouth and pinned my shoulders down. He smelled like beer and sweat.

  ‘What did you tell them? I need to know every fucking detail. Did you tell them about anything else? Do you understand who my cousin Gavin runs with? Who those guns belong to? Do you realise who you’re fucking with? What did you tell them? And don’t you fucking lie to me. I know it was you.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’

  He slapped me.

  ‘I said don’t lie to me. What did you tell them? Did you talk about Whippy? You must have, because he’s fucked off and nobody’s heard from him. Did you rat on him too? Hey?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything to anyone.’

  Steve put his hand around my throat and squeezed hard.

  ‘You think anyone’s going to fucking care that you’re gone? You think anyone would even fucking notice? Except your old queen here. He’d be the only one. Let me tell you, Sarah would be fucking relieved. She doesn’t want you. She never did. Your own mother. What do you say about that?’

  He loosened his grip and I got a breath in.

  ‘Do it,’ I whispered. ‘Do it. I hate you.’

  He shook his head and tightened his grip again.

  ‘You fucked my life. You fucked up my life.’

  ‘Do it,’ I mouthed at him.

  There were bright sparks in my vision. And there was a thumping sound in my head. It was fast and loud. It went away for a few seconds, then it started again, even louder.

  Steve let me go and stood up straight. He turned around. The banging in my head kept going. I sucked in air and it made me cough. Steve held his finger over his lips. He switched off the light. Then I realised the banging wasn’t in my head. It was someone knocking on the front door.

  ‘Help!’ I tried to yell, but no sound came out. I tried to run past Steve. The room was spinning. He caught me in the hallway and held me down.

  ‘No! No!’ My voice wa
s coming back.

  The knocking kept going. Steve pushed my face down into the carpet.

  I heard the doorhandle turn and the door creaked open. A woman’s voice called out.

  ‘Hello? Sam?’

  I felt Steve let me go. When I looked up I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  ‘Sam?’

  I got to my feet and made my way down the hallway with my hands on the wall to steady myself. I heard the back door sliding shut.

  Standing in the front doorway was Mrs Boyd.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  I didn’t answer. I just tried to stay upright.

  ‘What’s going on? Why is your face so red?’

  I just shook my head.

  She tried to look over my shoulder, then she focused back on me.

  ‘Sorry to barge in. You should keep this door locked. We haven’t met properly. I’m Beverley Boyd. I know who you are. And I’ve met your friend Peter. He’s told me all about you. Look, I know I’m a bit of a busybody, but I like to keep an eye on things. So I wanted to let you know I’ve seen someone sniffing around the house here earlier. He came driving past a few times, then he got out and had a look around. Big fellow. I’ve got his licence plate, and I took some video on my phone. Anyway, I didn’t want to scare you, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and not in any trouble, that’s all.’

  I let go of the wall. My legs were wobbly. I threw myself forwards and I hugged her.

  It took her a few moments, but she hugged me back, and we stayed like that for a long time.

  I was tempted to call Peter and ask him to come straight over, but I didn’t want to bother him or frighten him or put him in any danger. I didn’t want him to try to fix things or call the police either. I thought about going to Aggie’s house and sleeping there, or even hiding in her backyard. Instead, I locked every door and turned on every light.

  I spent the night cleaning up. I picked up the broken bowls and glasses and plates in the kitchen and swept the floors. I reorganised the drawers. I lifted the television back upright and returned things to the cabinets. I found some superglue and tried to repair Edie’s bone china teacups.

  It was late and I was tired, but I finally got to Vic and Edie’s room. I couldn’t leave it looking like that. I apologised to them both. I hung up Edie’s clothes and arranged them by colour. I packed away her diaries in order, then I put everything back on her vanity table. I promised Edie I would fix the mirror. I folded Vic’s clothes and put them back in the drawers. Lastly, I made the bed, then I took the cheque out of my pocket and hid it inside a pillow slip.

  There was still a lot of cleaning and tidying to do, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I took the tartan blanket from Vic’s bed and a sharp knife from the kitchen and I went into the garage. All the boxes had been pushed over and Vic’s careful sorting had been ruined. At least the Black Shadow was safe. That made me feel a bit better.

  I crawled into the back seat of the Kingswood and locked all the doors. It still smelled pretty bad in there. I curled up underneath the blanket and I thought about Julia Child until I fell asleep.

  On Monday I caught the bus to see Diane.

  I already knew what I was going to cook. I wanted to make her an apricot tarte Tatin, because I remembered her saying that she liked apricots and they were in season. I had a bag with all the ingredients.

  But when I got to her house, Diane didn’t take me to the kitchen. Instead we went into her office. I thought I had done something wrong, or she had just been polite about my cooking. Then I worried that she was going to send me home because she couldn’t help me, so when I sat down, I pinched the skin on my wrist and told myself that I didn’t care.

  She sat and smoothed her black skirt over her knees. She didn’t ask if I wanted tea or water, and Brick didn’t come in and sit beside me.

  ‘Sam, I’ve done some thinking over the weekend. I know this has often been difficult, and you’ve done such a great job opening up to me.’

  ‘But you don’t want me to come over anymore?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because we’re in here today, and you’re being really serious.’ Diane smiled.

  ‘No. I’d very much like to continue seeing you. We’re in the office today because I thought I might change the dynamic. I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself, about who I am and where I’ve come from. It’s not something I often do, but I wonder if it might help us to understand each other better. Would that be okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, good.’

  Diane took a deep breath.

  ‘Well. My name is Diane, as you know. I grew up in the suburbs. My dad was an electrician and my mum was a part-time hairdresser. I’m the youngest of three kids. My two brothers were very rambunctious, so when I was little I spent most of my time with the twin girls who lived next door. As soon as I got to their house I would run into their bedroom and dress up in their clothes and put ribbons and barrettes in my hair. We choreographed dance routines and practised gymnastics and staged elaborate melodramas with their Barbies and plush toys. We indulged our obsession with The Little Mermaid by watching it on video every lunchtime. I refused to put my own clothes back on when I went home. Eventually both sets of parents just gave up and let me wear whatever I liked, and I wore their skirts and dresses every day. My mum wasn’t precious. I was her third child, so she was beyond concern at that stage. However, it did become a problem when it was time to start school.’ ‘Why?’

  Diane looked at me. She didn’t say anything, and her expression didn’t change. She let me work it out. I got a tingly feeling on the back of my neck. I had to put my hands together to stop them from shaking.

  ‘You were in the wrong body,’ I said.

  She didn’t nod, but she didn’t shake her head either.

  ‘School was very confusing and difficult. Suddenly I was under pressure to perform a role that wasn’t natural for me. I was forever recalibrating, but failing over and over to make the adjustments that everyone else seemed to want me to make. I was bullied by boys, which further lessened my desire to be one. I gravitated towards the girls, but their parents often didn’t approve, so it made me very wary of forming any relationships. I persistently reinvented myself, trying to find the right way to fit in. By the time I was your age, my identity was so scrambled, and my relationship with my own body was so full of disappointment and anguish and revulsion, that I had no idea who I was.

  ‘However, I did make the choice to stop trying to accommodate everybody, and I went hard in the other direction. I became angry and contemptuous, and I deliberately provoked people. Sometimes this was an expression of my frustration, but subconsciously I was also stripping away the layers of lies that I had wrapped around my own truth. I went through a stage of questionable androgynous fashion, with lots of black clothing, ripped stockings, knee-high boots, goth make-up, big dyed hair, leather collars … you get the idea. I paired this with a brooding, snide cynicism and a resentment aimed at anyone who was happy and normal. I was on a strict diet of existential philosophers and very loud, very bad music. I was a smart kid, but I played dumb. I was mouthy and bitchy, so I ended up with nobody in my corner, which made me even more isolated and unhappy, and that just added fuel to my shame and self-loathing. By the time I staggered into my twenties, I was more hopeless and lost than ever. See, Sam, sometimes we don’t quite know what’s wrong, all we have are the feelings. We either lash out and express them in abstract ways, or we deny them or try to dull them. Either way, the root cause just swells inside us until it becomes unbearable. And that’s what happened to me. I didn’t see any way out.

  ‘So almost ten years ago, on Christmas Day, which was always a complicated time for me, I swallowed a whole box of ibuprofen and half a bottle of crème de menthe. I woke up in a hospital feeling like my insides had been scraped out, which, in some respects, they had. When I was discharged, I was sent to a counsellor, and not for the firs
t time. But this one was different. She was firm and fair and intelligent and very perceptive. She guided me back in time, and she helped me to reconnect with the small child whose pure desire was to dance and wear pretty dresses and live as a girl. We unravelled my behaviours. All my disordered thinking, my self-medicating, my repression, my disgust. The way I had treated myself was completely demystified. Everything finally made sense. She helped me overcome my shame, and she helped me reunite with the person I had been forced to conceal. She encouraged me to let her out. It was as though I had permission to be myself.

  ‘And from the very lowest rung, I began to rebuild. It wasn’t easy. It was a slow, incremental process, and it took a lot of courage. There was a lot of falling and getting back up. But things got better, Sam. I began transitioning. I don’t think it’s correct to say my body is wrong, but hormone therapy and surgery has brought me closer to who I am. And as my body started to change, so did my opinion of it. I discarded the name that never represented me, and I chose one that fit. Best of all, I discovered all the other parts of who I am, like my vocational purpose. I wanted to dedicate myself to helping people who feel lost and trapped in their own dark place. I want to help them find their words, to find their strength, to find their value, and to help give themselves permission to live as who they really are.’

  I sat on my hands. I looked at Diane for a long time. I was so stunned that I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe where she had come from. There were so many parts of my story in hers. It made me feel less alone.

  I opened my mouth and closed it again.

  Then I told the truth.

  ‘When I was little, I used to watch my mum get ready in front of the bathroom mirror. I remember exactly how she put her make-up on and how she styled her hair and how she chose earrings to go with her outfit. And it always felt normal for me to be just like her. I wore my hair really long. I used to dress up in her clothes all the time. I honestly thought that when I grew up I would look as beautiful as she did.’

  That made Diane smile. I kept going.

  ‘When I got older I wasn’t allowed to dress up anymore, so I did it in secret. By then I knew I wasn’t going to be anything like my mum when I was older. And it was really confusing, because it was still what I wanted. It was how I saw myself. Then, a couple of years ago, I found out why I felt so different to everybody else. And it was the best thing and the worst thing, because I finally knew what was wrong, and that I wasn’t the only person in the world who was like this, but there was no way for me to fix it.’