by Bill Condon
‘I can talk to girls and clown around – there’s no pressure in that – but asking someone out is torture.’
I hear the truth in his voice, unmistakeable, and familiar. Torture to ask and risk being rejected, torture to never be asked. ‘You still there, Caitlin?’
‘Only just.’
‘Okay. One last thing: I want you to know that I’m not using you to practise on.’
I stare at the phone, demanding an explanation, but too stunned to know how to say it.
‘What I mean is, I didn’t ring you so I could get all the bad moves out of the way and use the good moves on someone better.’
‘Right … well I suppose that’s a good thing. Then why did you ring me?’
‘Because I think you’re fantastic. I don’t think there’s anyone better.’
Words can rip you apart. These ones do. I pause a moment to regroup, then come out swinging.
‘Hang on a second, Lanny. I have to find a sick bag – hey, get real – we have mirrors in this house. I know what I look like. I’m not stupid. All right? I’ll hang up if you try anything like that again.’
‘I mean it, Caitlin. Honest. You look great to me.’
‘Sure I do.’
‘But it’s not just about how people look, is it? If it is then I’m stuffed. I’ve got no chance.’
‘Oh stop it. That’s such bull. You look fine. You really do.’
Now he pauses. I wonder if my words could have ripped him apart. No. Impossible. He’s a guy. He’s Lanny.
‘Caitlin,’ he says at last.
I have my answer ready.
No, Lanny. Sorry, I really don’t want to go out with you. No hard feelings.
But he doesn’t ask that question.
‘Do you think it would be all right if I called you once in a while? Just say if you want me to go away and I’ll never bother you again. But I hope you don’t say it. It’s really good talking to you. I’d like to get to know you better.’
I’m an ocean cli?. He’s erosion. I feel a large part of me crumbling into the sea, yet somehow I don’t mind at all.
‘Sure, Lanny.’ I try to sound detached but I’m not certain that I make it. ‘You can call me again.’
Lanny and I sit on the steps outside the Science block.
He gives me room to talk about my cut lip if I want, and when I don’t mention it, he leaves it alone except to ask, just once, if I’m all right. When I tell him I am, that’s the end of it. A mate knows when to back off, when to give you some space. This time I bury the trouble at home deep inside me and that’s where it’s going to stay. I’d feel like a traitor if I told anyone about Mum and Dad.
‘Rehearsal tonight,’ he says. ‘You goin’, Dave?’
‘Probably.’
‘Because Glenna’s there. Right?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘She asked me if you had a girlfriend.’
‘I know you’re lying.’
‘Told her you were gay.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘She’s interested, I can tell. Whenever you’re around, her neck turns red – have you noticed?’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘You watch next time. She wants your body, Dave.’
‘Shuttt uppp.’
‘I asked her why she liked you and you know what she said?’
‘I’m not listening.’
‘Good things come in small packages.’
‘Hey Lanny – ’
‘Told her about your website, too, Dave – littledick dot com.’
‘Lanny – ’
‘She said she’s been there but she couldn’t see anything.’
‘Can I say something?’
‘I told her no one could!’
He’s laughing too hard to say any more so at last I get a turn.
‘Lanny, if she likes small things – no one beats you. You’re the man.’
He grins at me, holding his gaze a moment longer than he needs to. Then his fist pushes into my shoulder. It’s not a punch – it’s just being close.
‘I’m goin’ to the canteen,’ he says. ‘You want somethin’?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got to make a phone call.’
He saunters off, still smiling to himself. I head down to the oval. It’s the one place where I won’t be interrupted when I ring Dad.
I lean against the goal posts and stare at the phone for a long time. Suddenly talking is hard. He’s my father but I don’t know what to say. And how’s he going to react? I heard Mum say she didn’t love him. I felt what that did to him. I saw him cry. My proud Dad. How can he ever get past last night?
I punch in the number …
‘Hello. The office of Michael Curtis is unattended at the moment, but I shall return your call shortly. Please leave a message or send a fax, after the tone.’
I hang up without leaving a message. Wasn’t expecting the machine. Dad has the same routine every day. First thing he goes to his post office box. He’s back just after nine and then he doesn’t leave his desk until one. I timed the call just right. It’s a few minutes past eleven. He should be there. He has to be.
I wait a minute before hitting the number again.
‘Hello. The office of Michael Curtis is unattended at the moment, but I – ’
‘Hi, Dad. It’s David. Where are you? Just ringing to see how you’re goin’. Nothing much happening here. Everything’s good. You’ve got my mobile number so if you want to call me … anyway, I’ll try you again later. Okay? Bye.’
I’m so weak. Nothing much happening here – that was such a lie. I’m falling apart here, Dad! That’s what I should have said. You and Mum get it together and stop stuffing me and Allie around! Why didn’t I tell him that?
Or why didn’t I just say I loved him? Why was that so hard?
I’m about to ring again when someone calls my name.
A couple of guys at the top of the hill are waving for me to come up.
‘Hey, Curtis – your father’s here. office.’
I run all the way. As I reach the quadrangle the bell sounds and kids file into their classes. I dodge past them, take the steps to the office two at a time.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘David.’
Today it’s the grey suit. Dark blue tie and white shirt. He always has the shiniest shoes in town. But there’s something not quite right. His movements seem slower, his energy down. I see silver bristles on his face that I only see on Sundays.
He turns to Mrs Sullivan, the school secretary. ‘Thank you. I won’t keep him long. If we can have a word alone.’
‘Of course.’
Once she’s gone Dad sits down. He looks at the carpet. I sit beside him.
‘Everything’s all right.’ I grin. It’s so phony but that’s what I do. ‘Allie’s good. I’m good. Mum’s still a bit cranky but she’ll come around. Maybe you should get her some chocolates or something – those peppermint ones that she …’
He isn’t listening. Not to a word. I catch a glimpse of the knuckles on his right hand. He’s knocked some skin off them and they’re red and puffy. Dad doesn’t get into fights but he might have punched a wall. I saw him do that once before. He can tell me about it if he wants to, but if he doesn’t I’ll never ask. For now all I can do is fill up the silence.
‘We stayed at Gran’s last night. Hope we don’t have to do that again in a hurry. She annoys me. Like, she said you and Mum weren’t getting back together. As if she’d have any idea. I should have told her to rack off. I will next time.’
I leave a space for him to jump in and say something. Finally he takes it.
Looking up at me, he asks, ‘How’s your face?’
‘Same as always. Nothing an extreme makeover can’t fix.’
That coaxes a tiny smile out of him.
‘No, really, it’s fine. No big deal.’
‘Good … look, about what happened …’
‘Don’t say it, D
ad. You don’t have to say anything to me. We’re cool.’
He nods and gently squeezes my arm. That says more to me than a truckload of words.
‘I want you to do something, David.’
‘Sure, anything.’
‘Will you talk to Allie for me? Make sure she’s all right? I didn’t want to go to her school and chance running into your mother, getting into it with her. I don’t want Allie to ever see that again.’
‘Yeah, I’ll talk to her, Dad. No problem. But you’ve got nothing to worry about there. Allie’s on your side, same as me. She just wants us all back home.’
‘I’m going to miss her birthday. Tell her I’m sorry. Will you do that for me?’
‘But her birthday isn’t for another week. We’ll all be back home by then – before then, I hope.’
‘No. It’s not going to be like that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have to go away.’
He waits for my response. So do I. It’s all spaghetti in my head. A whirl of tangled thoughts. I’m numb and staring.
‘I don’t know what else to do, David. I got up this morning, got dressed. The same routine as always. I was going to pretend that nothing had happened. Just move on with my life. But I can’t do it. I can’t pretend anymore.’
He stands. ‘Don’t make it more difficult than what it already is. Stay here.’ Unwavering, his eyes meet mine. ‘It’s best if you just stay here.’
Dad walks away from me, opens the office door, and doesn’t look back.
The abruptness of it freezes me.
I see him going but for a moment I can’t get off the chair. And when I do, when I chase after him, I have so many questions that I don’t know where to start. All I can do is blurt out, ‘Dad!’
He pauses to let me catch up. The whole school’s probably watching but I don’t care. I hug him. He keeps his hands by his side but he doesn’t push me away.
‘Dad, you’re not going anywhere, are you?’
He takes a step back to look at me.
‘You’ve turned out to be a fine young man. I’m proud of you.’
I hate him talking like that. Not now. It’s too serious. He can save the proud of you speech for when I’m twenty-one or when I’m getting married. Today I only want to hear normal talk. Normal is safe.
Then he puts a hand on my shoulder. I don’t want that either – and most of all, I don’t want what he says next …
‘David, I came here this morning to say goodbye.’
‘What are you talking about?’
His cold stare meets me.
‘I don’t get it, Dad. You don’t have to say goodbye.’
There’s no answer.
‘I don’t care what Mum says. You’ll be home again soon and it’ll be just like it was before.’
‘No. It won’t ever be the same.’
‘All right then. So what? If you don’t come home for a while I’ll still see you every day. I’ll bring Allie, too. It’s going to be okay, Dad. You never have to say goodbye to me.’
‘I did something, David. Last night.’
My mind flashes immediately to his bloodied knuckles.
‘What, Dad?’
‘I always told myself that I was living an honourable life. The pursuit of excellence. Service to others. I based every day on those principles. Last night everything was blurred. This morning I see clearly what I’ve become, how far I’ve fallen. There is no way back.’
‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
‘I can’t be here with you anymore. It is that simple.’
‘But –’ think of something, anything – ‘what about your job? You never take a day off. You have to be here for that.’
‘The business was always for my family. Now there’s no reason. For anything.’
My mouth is open and I’m breathing hard. I’ve been scared before, but not like this. Other people talk about doing things. Dad does them. He’s really leaving.
‘Go back to your classroom.’
‘No!’
‘Turn around. Walk away. Now, please.’
‘No. I won’t. You can hit me again if you like. Go for it.’
‘I will not hit you. Never ever again.’
‘I don’t care what happened last night. Nothing matters. But I’m not going anywhere. You’re my Dad. You have to stay. You don’t say goodbye. You don’t – ’
‘David.’
‘No, no, I’m not listening. I don’t want to hear this.’
‘Goodbye.’
The word crashes down like the last nail in a coffin.
Dinnertime and we’re all seated around the table. It feels like we’re having a tea party in a war zone. It’s Mum and Dad’s war. And we’re all casualties.
We’re eating pasta. This is Rory’s favourite food because it allows him to be ultra-disgusting. He knows how much I hate seeing him with long pieces of pasta dangling from his mouth and, if he can get away with it, his nose. Tonight he doesn’t do any creative eating. He still makes a mess but it’s not on purpose. I guess even he can sense the cloud that hangs over us.
Mum and Dad sit opposite each other, avoiding eye contact. The only sounds come from chomps and slurps until Dad pipes up with: ‘Thanks for this, Denise. It’s very tasty.’
Mum’s fork makes the trip from the plate to her mouth without missing a beat. Dad’s words tumble down and die.
When Rory burps I tell him he’s disgusting, because he expects it, but secretly, the sound is so welcome I feel like cheering.
After dinner the chill factor coming off Mum drives Dad away, so I help wash the dishes. Rory never has to do them because he’s too young and too clumsy. Besides, he has to rush back to his room so he can blow up things in a computer game called, I suspect, Blowing Up Things. Any other time I’d be glad to be alone with Mum, but now I feel the chill too. There’s ice hanging from her every word. The coldness isn’t directed at me, it’s become a part of her. We don’t have our Saturday morning girl-time anymore. She’s too busy. Frozen with anger.
As we stack the plates I find it difficult to talk to her. I’d be so hurt if she pushed me away. But I have to try.
‘Mum?’
‘What?’ She has her back to me and doesn’t move. I wrap both arms around her. ‘What is it? I’m tired and I want to go to bed.’
‘I understand, Mum. What Dad did was awful. I say give him heaps, make him suffer. But not for the rest of his life. It was one bad thing he did. Just one. And you know he’s sorry.’
‘Caitlin, my love, if you truly did understand, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
She puts away a plate, takes a broom from the pantry and begins to sweep the kitchen floor, going at it hard and fast. Maybe she wants to exhaust herself so when she goes to bed she doesn’t feel anymore.
‘Sorry, Mum. You’re right.’ I stand in her way to make her look at me. ‘I couldn’t possibly know how you feel – all I know is how I feel. I can’t let you and Dad split up without at least trying.’
‘Well, now you’ve tried. Okay?’
‘Mum, this is so important. Why can’t you talk to him one more time? It won’t kill you. Just give him a chance.’
‘I’m sick of giving.’ She stares me into submission – it only takes a couple of seconds – ‘And we’ve already done our talking.’
She puts the broom back, kisses me goodnight – her lips are dry and hard – and trundles off to the empty desert that is her bed.
I expect to find Dad on the couch downstairs – the last stop before he gets kicked out for good – but instead I see the light shining from under his study door. I stand in front of it for a minute, unsure of whether to talk to him. What can I say? What good will it do? I have no answers but I can’t walk away.
I knock on the door.
‘Dad.’
‘It’s not locked, Caitlin.’
He’s looking out the window onto the street. A dark blue car is parked in
front of our house. There’s a man sitting behind the steering wheel. We live in a cul-de-sac so you notice cars that don’t belong. I’ve seen this one before.
‘Has he been there long, Dad?’
‘Half an hour or so.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘Don’t know.’ He shrugs and steps away from the window, pulling shut the curtains. ‘Forget it. It’s nothing.’
Back behind his desk, Dad straightens papers, shuffles through his drawer. ‘Be with you in a minute. I can’t seem to find my glasses.’
He needs a carer. Can never find anything. How could he possibly survive without me and Mum? I take his glasses from the top of the filing cabinet and hand them to him.
‘Oh good. Thanks.’ He puts them on and sits back in his chair, smiling pleasantly at me. ‘You’ve got your serious face on, Caitlin.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. What’s on your mind?’
I have no plan of attack. No questions prepared. I wish I didn’t know what he’d done so I could just hug him. But I do know.
‘Caitlin?’
The bravest and dumbest thing I’ve ever done is to jump from the highest point of the diving board at the swimming pool. I did it solely to show off to my friends, but I learnt something. When you’re scared senseless, don’t stop and think about it or you’ll freeze with the fear. Just shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and jump …
‘I’ve been talking to Mum.’
He keeps the smile going, even though he cringes a little.
‘She told me, Dad. What you did.’
No smiling now.
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Your affair.’
The words are ugly but I have to say them. I don’t want any more secrets.
‘Yes. Well, it’s true.’
‘I thought you might deny it … I wanted you to.’
‘No. I’ve always told you and Rory to admit it if you’ve done something wrong, so I think I should take my own advice.’ He leans forward to rest his hand on mine, hesitantly, as if he’s scared I’ll reject him. I don’t. ‘I’m sorry, Caitlin.’
‘I know you are. But why did you do it? It’s hurt Mum so much.’
He moves his hand away. ‘Look, to be honest, I don’t feel comfortable talking with you about this.’
‘Gee, Dad, I’m sorry you’re not comfortable. Neither is Mum.’
