Her father taps her, and she starts.
‘You all right, hon?
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ Lola wonders how long she’s been standing there daydreaming.
‘Thought you might be having a hypo,’ he says.
‘I’m fine,’ she repeats, and he draws back. Beckett tosses her the ball, and Lola jogs back to the wheelie bin they’re using as the other wicket. She hasn’t even been running around that much, but her singlet is sticking to her back. She wouldn’t mind if it rained right now, for some relief from the syrupy, cloying heat.
Lola’s about to wind up for her next bowl when Aunt Molly’s voice stops her in her tracks.
‘You never let up, do you? If you could just keep your thoughts to yourself for a few days …’
Molly is standing on the front lawn, her arms crossed over her floral sundress. Nana, a few feet away, clutches a mug in front of her tomato-stained apron.
‘There’s no need to snap my head off,’ Nana says, her voice wobbling.
‘Ah, Jesus,’ Noah says, suddenly very close to Lola. She wants to embrace him, but of course that’s impossible.
‘You could never be told,’ Nana carries on, her mug sloping forward so the contents are slopping over the side. ‘Out of all my children, you were always the one who couldn’t be told.’
‘And you were always right,’ Molly bites back. ‘You’ve never apologised to me for anything, ever.’
Nana gestures at Molly, spilling more tea. ‘What is it you want me to apologise for? For putting a roof over your head and food in your mouth? I did a damned sight more for you than your father ever—’
Molly clenches her fists at her sides. ‘That’s because you never gave him the chance.’
‘Oh, I could tell you plenty of things about your father that would make your hair stand on end,’ Nana says.
‘How about we head inside, guys?’ Lola’s father says. No one moves.
Richard appears from beneath the porch and murmurs to Molly.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I won’t.’ She begins walking very fast, off the property and down the road in the opposite direction from the beach.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Nana whirls around and storms back inside. Lola, her heart thumping, cuts her eyes towards Joe, who is approaching Richard, his voice soft but audible.
‘You going to go after her, mate?’
Richard massages his brow and mutters something. Joe shakes his head and trots off in the same direction his twin has taken.
‘Why don’t you stand up for her for once?’ Noah’s voice is low and furious.
Richard glares at him. ‘Perhaps you should find out what that was about before you stick your oar in.’
‘What do you mean?’ Noah asks.
‘Come on, Lola,’ her father says in her ear. ‘Inside, now.’
In the upstairs lounge, McKenzie is in her usual position with her legs hanging over the end of the couch, clutching her phone. Lola sits in a chair by the Christmas tree, flicking several fossilising pine needles off the arm. The tree has taken on a distinct lean, and at least half the baubles are lying on the ground, or have rolled under the table. After pulling three more baubles off the tree, Lola juggles them, pretending she isn’t trying to listen in to what Richard and Noah are arguing about outside.
‘Who’d like a cup of tea?’ Lola’s father asks in an overly cheerful tone.
‘Me,’ McKenzie and Sully chorus. Lola’s mother stands up and follows her husband into the kitchen, where they confer in low voices.
‘What were Aunt Molly and Nana arguing about?’ Lola whispers once Sully has turned his attention back to the TV.
McKenzie looks up from her phone. ‘So, Aunt Molly said she was really worried about Noah because he failed maths last year, and Nana said, well, he was doing just fine until you took him to Australia. And it went from there.’
Lola bites her lip and tries yet again to hear what Noah and Richard are saying, but she can’t hear their voices at all now.
‘Aunt Molly said, Why do you think we went to Melbourne? Sully’s the only one who didn’t run away,’ McKenzie says, simultaneously talking and tapping on her phone screen.
‘Mac …’ Sully says, a warning tone in his voice.
McKenzie gives him an innocent look. ‘I’m just repeating what she said.’
‘Running away from what?’ Lola says, her attention swinging between her uncle and her cousin.
‘Grandad being a drunk,’ McKenzie says and scowls at her father. ‘What?’
Sully glowers back at her. ‘Perhaps don’t talk about things you know nothing about,’ he says, sounding uncharacteristically grumpy, and goes to join Lola’s parents in the kitchen.
‘God, everyone just needs to chill,’ McKenzie grumbles.
Lola stands up and wanders onto the balcony. The front yard is deserted. She can just glimpse the edge of the moon between the houses across the street, casting an eerie glow over the bay.
It’s not the first time she’s heard references to her grandfather being an alcoholic, or of the frequent arguments between her grandparents. The biggest argument of all was the one that resulted in Nana taking Molly to Christchurch for six years.
Imagine that, her father had said. For six years, I didn’t have a mother or a sister. And then, suddenly, they were home again, as if nothing had ever happened.
Sighing, Lola walks down the steps and across the lawn. She’s just reached the grass verge when she feels something hard nudge her foot. Crouching down, she sees it’s a phone with a cresting wave on the case. Noah’s phone, it must have fallen out of his pocket. When Lola turns it over, she inadvertently presses the on button. There’s an unread message blinking on the screen.
What’s up? I’m missing you so much. FaceTime me? Aimee x.
Lola’s heart thuds in her chest. A girlfriend, it has to be. A girlfriend Noah has never mentioned, not once.
After shoving the phone in her pocket, she continues down the road, her eyes stinging. How could she have been so stupid? Noah doesn’t care about her. She’s just a summertime fling, someone to kiss and feel up. Not that he’s ever told her it was anything other than that.
He’s never told her he has a girlfriend either.
‘Well, fuck you,’ she whispers. The words feel good, so she says them louder. She rounds the corner and slams into someone’s chest.
‘Lola.’ Noah takes her by the wrists.
Lola shakes him off. ‘Don’t.’
Noah steps back. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ She takes his phone out of her pocket and shoves it under his nose. ‘You’d better reply to Aimee. She’s missing you so much.’
‘Shit.’ Noah takes the phone, stuffs it into his pocket without even looking at it. ‘Look. I can ex—’
‘Don’t bother.’ She starts off again, her head down.
‘Lola.’ He jogs to catch up with her. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘What I think is that you have a girlfriend you decided not to tell me about. Right or wrong?’ Lola walks down a set of wooden steps and into the sand.
Half a step behind her, Noah says, ‘It doesn’t mean I was trying to use you.’
She whirls. ‘Really? I might be sixteen months younger than you, but I’m not dumb.’
‘I never said you were.’ Noah’s voice rises. ‘I didn’t plan for this to happen, and now everything’s all messed up in my head.’
‘Everything’s all messed up in your head?’ Lola clenches her fists. ‘Are you going to tell Aimee you’ve been cheating on her? Or are you just going to go back home and pretend this never happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
She halts. ‘That’s a no, then.’
They stand there for an instant, staring at each other. Moving closer, Noah raises his hand, as if to touch her, then drops it back at his side.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen Aimee for ages. She lives in Wellington. I don’t even know if we’re together anymore. And I can
’t — we can’t — tell our families about us. I won’t be able to see you for at least a year, maybe longer, the way things are going between Mum and Nana.’
‘I know that,’ Lola says. ‘But you could have told me. About her.’
‘Yeah, OK.’ Noah shuffles his feet.
Lola says, ‘I’m going for a walk now. By myself.’
‘It’s dark.’
‘I know, I’m not blind,’ she flares. ‘And I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you at all.’
‘Lola,’ he says, but she doesn’t hear what he says after that, because she’s jogging along the sand, the sea crashing into her ears.
Lola walks to the end of the beach, where the powdery sand gives way to stones and broken shells. There she perches on a rock, listening to the waves fizz over the gravel. The moonlight has turned the sea to silver. Behind her is a large pohutukawa tree, the gnarled branches stretching towards the ocean. From one of the branches dangles a rope swing; the swing on which she and the other kids used to take turns swinging out over the sea.
When had she stopped doing that? Two years ago? Three? Three years ago, she’d been twelve and Noah fourteen. She’d never imagined they’d be anything other than friends back then. Maybe she should have pushed him away when he tried to kiss her, instead of ruining everything.
But she’d wanted him to kiss her. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him back, either, even now she knows about Aimee.
Lola brings her knees up to her chest and drops her head on top of her arms. Why does life have to be so complicated? She can’t disagree with what Noah said earlier. What’s going to happen after they both go home? A long-distance relationship would be hard enough. Her parents will freak out if they find out what she and Noah have been up to.
Thinking of their stolen moment on the piano stool earlier, Lola feels the now-familiar ache return in her lower belly. She told him she’d go to his tent tonight — and then what? How far will they go over the next few days? How far has he gone with Aimee? Thinking of Noah kissing Aimee the way he kissed her is giving her a burning sensation in her throat.
Hearing the familiar sound of feet squeaking through sand, she squeezes her eyes shut. She’s not sure how she knows it’s Molly, but she does. Are footsteps like fingerprints?
‘Hey, Lola.’ Molly’s voice is soft, with none of the sharp edges Lola heard when her aunt was arguing with Nana earlier. ‘You OK?’
Lola takes a deep breath, tries to steady her voice. ‘Yeah. Are you?’
‘I think so.’ Molly climbs up beside her. ‘Sorry about before. Your nana and I don’t always see eye to eye.’
‘Because you quit your music degree?’ Lola raises her head, watches the currents swirl around the base of the rocks.
‘Not just that. It’s hard to explain.’
‘Oh.’ Lola wants to ask Molly about Aimee, but she’s not sure she wants to hear the answers. How long has Noah been going out with her? Have you met her? Is she pretty? ‘Noah said you’re going to stay on for a bit longer, instead of just a week.’
‘That’s right,’ Molly says. ‘It’s lovely to see you all getting on so well.’
‘Yeah, really well,’ Lola manages.
‘Especially you and Noah. He missed you all so much last summer. Sometimes I wonder if I should have left him in New Zealand, let him finish his schooling out here.’
‘Maybe,’ Lola says, wondering if Molly really wants a response from her, or if all she wants is a listening ear.
‘If it weren’t for Aimee’s parents flying her over, I think he would have — well, anyway. It’s been a hard year for us all.’ Molly squeezes Lola’s knee, her voice lifting a little. ‘You too, huh? Your mum rang when you were in hospital with your diabetes. That was a bit of a shock.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Lola says, trying to ignore the sharp jab in her gut at the mention of Aimee visiting Noah. ‘I kept getting up to pee all the time. Mum thought I had a urine infection at first.’ Diabetic ketoacidosis, the doctors had called it. Apparently all the sugar in Lola’s blood had made her potassium levels go through the roof, putting her at risk of a cardiac arrhythmia.
‘Did you know in the old days doctors used to diagnose diabetes by tasting patients’ urine?’
Lola screws up her nose. ‘That’s disgusting.’
Molly laughs. ‘Medicine is often disgusting, when you think about it.’
Lola lowers her head, tosses a stone into the water. ‘Hey, Aunt Molly?’
‘Hmm?’
‘How come you only had Noah? Is it because you’re so busy with your work?’
At first her aunt doesn’t say anything, and Lola worries she’s probed too deep.
Then Molly says, ‘It took us a long time to have Noah. Four years, including three rounds of failed IVF. And then it just happened. A New Year’s miracle.’
Lola frowns. ‘But Noah’s birthday is in September.’
‘Yes, but count back nine months.’
‘Oh.’ Lola flushes. ‘Right.’ Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. The thought of Molly and Richard doing it is just too gross.
‘Anyway,’ Molly says, ‘we knew that would be it, our one chance. I never thought I was so desperate to have a baby until I thought I couldn’t have one. We were lucky.’ She squeezes Lola’s knee again. ‘I hope you never have to go through that.’
‘Oh,’ Lola says reflexively, ‘I don’t want to have babies.’ She waits for Molly to say you’ll change your mind one day, like her mum always does.
‘Just as long as you follow your dreams, Lola,’ Molly says, her voice sounding very far away. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.’
Lola balls her fingers into a fist, unfolds them again. ‘What if I don’t know what they are?’ She thinks that’s not entirely true. There’s her dream to play international cricket. But she’s feeling contrary, on edge.
‘Everyone has to have a dream,’ Molly says. ‘Without dreams, there’s no hope. When people lose hope, they die.’
A shiver winds down Lola’s spine, even though the air is still thick and balmy. Molly clears her throat and slides off the rock.
‘We should head back,’ she says. ‘Before someone sends out a search party.’
So they return to the beach house, where Lola goes straight to bed and lies awake for hours.
She wonders if Noah is lying awake too. She wonders why she should care.
Chapter 16:
MOLLY
When they arrive back at the house, Lola heads straight for her room. As Molly walks up the back steps to the upper level, she is assailed by the overpowering scent of decaying roses, which never quite seem to live up to her mother’s expectations. She’s hoping Hazel has gone to bed too; doesn’t think she can cope with another altercation tonight. Her mother’s words are like splinters, burrowing deeper with each recollection of their conversation.
I guess it’s been hard for Noah, moving away from all his friends and family, and his girlfriend. It must have been hard to concentrate at school.
He’s never been good at maths. It’s got nothing to do with the change in schools, Molly had retorted, not willing to admit that perhaps there was a grain of truth in her mother’s accusation. Well, even if it is partly true, what right does she have to challenge Molly’s parenting decisions? Hazel is hardly a paragon of motherhood herself.
And then, of course, the argument had degenerated, calling up past hurts. It was always the same argument.
I gave you everything I had. I went without so you could have opportunities I could only dream of.
But you took me away. You took me away from everything I loved.
Molly grips the bench. If you hadn’t taken me away, she thinks, continuing the argument in her head with her now-asleep mother, then maybe it never would have happened.
‘Want a drink, Sis?’ Sully walks into the kitchen and lifts the bottle of whisky off the top of the fridge. ‘Ants and Joe thought it was time for a wee dram.’
‘No, I — not yet.’ Molly leans against the bench, still wary. Sully had told her off before, as if she were still a kid. Told Molly off, when it was their mother who’d started it.
You need to stop being so sensitive, Molly, he’d said. Not everything Mum says is an accusation.
‘I’ll set one aside for you, shall I?’ Sully lines up four thick-bottomed glasses on the bench, plucking the roaming Christmas fairy out of the third. ‘Man, this chick gets around, doesn’t she?’
The fairy has gained a moustache and a G-string fashioned from rubber bands since Molly saw her last.
Molly inhales the peaty scent of whisky and says, ‘Actually, maybe I will have one.’ She wonders how much Sully has had to drink. Like their father, he never seems to suffer from a hangover. It’s her mother’s worst fear, that Sully will turn into their father, but Molly hasn’t seen any evidence of that yet. Sully doesn’t have his temper, for a start.
Passing her a glass with an inch of amber liquid in the bottom, Sully says, ‘Nice walk?’
‘It was … refreshing.’ The whisky sears the back of her throat. It feels good.
Sully clinks his glass against hers. ‘Here’s to Happy Families.’
‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ she says, moving over to the window.
‘If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.’ He stands next to her, and they stare over the backyard, where Tom, Beckett and Noah are tossing a rugby ball between the tents. Someone’s wrapped fluorescent tape around it to make it visible in the dark.
‘Maybe once I’ve had some more of this,’ she says, the whisky-glow warming her stomach.
Sully embraces her. ‘We missed you last year. Mum too.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. Two years is a long time to go without seeing your daughter. Your sister, too,’ he says, giving her a squeeze.
Molly doesn’t reply. From outside, she hears her son chortle — ‘Take that, Sir Prick!’ — and the guilt grows inside her. Is she repeating history, by taking her son away from the only life he’s ever known?
They’re his cousins, not his brothers. And his father … his father …
Moonlight Sonata Page 12
