Moonlight Sonata

by Eileen Merriman

  ‘Oh no,’ Molly said. ‘It’s way too—’

  Joe pointed the deck at her. ‘If you say late, I’ll never let you live it down.’

  Molly, knowing she was fighting a losing battle, perched on the arm of the couch. ‘OK, fine, but where’s Megan?’

  ‘I suspect she’s in the little girls’ room.’ Joe leaned back against the cushions, his legs propped up on the coffee table. ‘But while we’re alone, I was going to ask you something.’

  ‘Ask away. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Soon.’ He pulled her down beside him. ‘I think I’ve got a good chance of getting into the journalism course here next year.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ She smiled. ‘It’d be great to have you back here.’ Not just great, perfect.

  ‘So I was thinking, we could flat together.’ He reached out to her. ‘And before you say it, I don’t think Megan’s going to care. She was telling me all about her plans to head to the UK before.’

  ‘The UK?’ Molly said, staring at him. If it hadn’t been for Richard’s offer, she would have thought it was a great idea. But maybe she’d made the right decision already. How was she meant to know?

  ‘Look,’ she said, watching his smile weaken before she’d even got a word out of her mouth, ‘Richard asked me to move in with him. Just tonight, in fact.’

  Joe moved away. ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I said yes.’ She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Is that what you really want?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Molly swallowed. ‘I think he’s a good person, and I — we — what?’ Why was Joe shaking his head at her like that?

  ‘OK, do you want to know what I really think?’ Joe sprang up and paced around the room. ‘I think things are going pretty fast between you two.’

  ‘We’ve been going out for over a year.’

  ‘He’s four years older than you.’

  Molly jumped up. ‘That’s nothing.’

  ‘Christ, Molly, I’ve only known the guy a few hours and I can already tell you three things about him that you don’t want to hear.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Anger surged through her. ‘Like what?’

  Joe held up his hand to count off on his fingers. ‘One. Patronising, towards you. Two. Controlling, of you. Three, boring, for you.’

  ‘No, Joe,’ Molly said, her voice rising to a near shriek. ‘This is all about you. As usual.’ Then she stormed out of the lounge, past a surprised-looking Megan, and into her room — where she slammed the door, just as she used to when she and Joe had fought as children.

  After that, Molly couldn’t get to sleep for hours. For the first hour or so, she heard intermittent laughter, mostly from Megan, interspersed with Joe’s bass rumble. She was seething. Where did Joe get off, talking about Richard like that? Patronising? Controlling? And worst of all, boring?

  She finally drifted off around three, but woke every hour. At quarter to six, Molly gave up and went to the kitchen to boil the kettle for a very large cup of coffee. After flicking the switch on, she turned to see that the door to the lounge was ajar. Peering inside, she saw four empty wine glasses, cards splayed across the coffee table, a half-eaten packet of potato chips and …

  An empty couch. The fold-out couch that Joe was meant to sleep on didn’t look as if it had been folded out at all.

  Surely he hadn’t taken off already, or even last night, straight after their argument? Molly was about to check the laundry for Joe’s pack when she heard a door open and close in the hallway, followed by a familiar throat-clearing.

  ‘I could kill a glass of water,’ Joe said, rubbing the back of his head, where his hair was sticking out in all sorts of directions. Molly looked from her brother, clad only in a pair of underwear, to the door he’d just closed behind him.

  Megan’s door.

  ‘You didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘What do you care?’ Joe grabbed a glass off the bench and filled it from the tap.

  ‘She just broke up with her boyfriend yesterday. Her boyfriend of three years.’

  ‘Didn’t seem to bother her last night,’ Joe said, not turning around.

  ‘I could kill you,’ Molly said, her voice low.

  Joe laughed and turned around. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, at which point Molly snatched the glass off him and threw the water in his face.

  It would be twelve months, two weeks and three days before they spoke to each other again.

  Chapter 19:

  LOLA

  After their swim, they return to the bonfire and drink more beer — all apart from Beckett, who plays games on his phone. Lola and Noah are sitting on either side of Tom, with no chance of touching. It’s safer that way. A couple of times, Lola considers going to see what Austin is up to, but decides it’s better to leave him alone. He’s probably having more fun with the adults anyway.

  Sometimes she wonders if Austin was born old, at least in his brain. It’s an odd thought.

  But everything seems odd tonight, off-kilter. Perhaps that has something to do with the beer, or more likely, the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  Noah has a girlfriend I didn’t know about.

  McKenzie knows about me and Noah, but I don’t know how much she knows. Will she tell anyone? Will she let it slip to our parents? And what if she does?

  Lola lies back, the sky tilting above her.

  Tom says, ‘Only five minutes to go, Lola, are you going to make it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lola closes her eyes, feeling as though she’s on a kayak in rough seas. Up and down, side to side.

  ‘You’re not going to throw up, are you?’ Tom asks.

  ‘I only throw up when my blood sugar is low. And please don’t ask me what my blood sugar is. You’re starting to sound like Mum.’

  ‘It’s that bra you wore last year, dude,’ Noah says. It’s not really that funny, but Noah’s laughter is infectious, and they’re all kind of drunk. By the time they’ve quietened, sort of, it’s one minute to midnight.

  ‘Countdown’s on.’ McKenzie holds up her phone. Fifty-five … fifty-four … fifty-three …

  Lola counts with the others, her brain wandering.

  If I had a New Year’s resolution, what would it be?

  She clutches the wishbone pendant around her neck.

  I wish Noah and I could be boyfriend and girlfriend, and no one would care.

  I wish McKenzie would keep her mouth shut about whatever she saw Noah and me doing.

  I wish Austin would stop caring about what other people think of him, before he gets hurt.

  Three wishes, and they’re down to the last ten seconds. Tuning back in, Lola shouts with the others.

  Five, four, three, two, one.

  ‘Happy New Year!’ They chorus. Even Beckett has come to join them now. McKenzie turns and kisses first Tom and then Noah.

  ‘See,’ McKenzie says, her cheeks ruddy in the light of the fire, ‘you can kiss your cousins.’

  ‘Don’t expect them to kiss you back.’ Tom stretches. ‘Anyone made any New Year’s resolutions?’

  ‘Me.’ Beckett pokes a stick into the fire. ‘I want to win the school cross-country.’

  ‘Bo-ring,’ McKenzie sing-songs.

  Beckett shoves her. ‘Shut up. You can talk. All you do is post selfies of yourself on Instagram, in your undies.’

  McKenzie shoves him back. ‘That was just once. At least I don’t wear undies with holes in them.’ She takes the stick off him and waves it in the air. ‘I wish I could pass all my exams and get into Otago University.’

  ‘It’s meant to be a resolution, not a wish,’ Lola says. ‘You’re meant to try and make it happen yourself.’

  McKenzie gives her the evils. ‘Yeah? Well, what’s your resolution?’

  ‘To perfect my flicker ball delivery.’ Lola turns her right arm in a lazy circle. ‘How about you, Tom?’

  Tom leans back. ‘To save enough money for a car.’ They all look at Noah, whose head is dow
n. Lola thinks he might be writing something in the sand, but she’s not sure.

  Noah glances up. ‘Oh, me.’ He shakes his head. ‘If I tell you, it won’t come true.’

  ‘It’s a resolution, not a wish,’ McKenzie says. Lola resists the urge to kick sand in her face.

  ‘Fine, my resolution is to pass my exams too,’ Noah says, although Lola gets the impression that’s not what his resolution really is. Maybe she’ll ask him later, when they’re alone.

  Noah yawns and gets to his feet. ‘I’m off to bed now. See you in twenty-eighteen.’

  ‘It is twenty-eighteen.’ McKenzie’s voice is so loud it’s hurting Lola’s ears.

  Lola stands up, her head whirling. ‘I’m going to bed too.’

  ‘And you know what?’ Noah says, his voice rising over McKenzie, who is blathering on about party-poopers. ‘I might even hold Lola’s hand to stop her falling over.’

  ‘I’m not going to fall over.’ Lola stomps ahead of them, only stumbling slightly.

  ‘Hey, we’d better put out this fire,’ Tom says.

  ‘Oh yeah, better not set fire to the tree,’ McKenzie says and laughs raucously.

  ‘Jesus,’ Noah says, waiting until they’re halfway up the beach before he takes Lola’s hand.

  ‘This is not putting out the fire,’ Lola mutters.

  ‘No one can see us. Besides, you’re pissed.’

  ‘So are you.’

  Noah lurches slightly and rights himself again. ‘That’s beside the point. Actually, no. We’re stopping each other from falling over.’

  ‘You know I can’t sneak out until she’s asleep,’ Lola says as another hyena-laugh drifts towards them.

  ‘I can wait.’ Noah diverts towards the sand dunes. ‘This way,’ he says, using the torch on his phone to illuminate a track running between two houses. After shoving the phone back in his pocket, he spins her around and kisses her on the lips. ‘Happy New Year, Lola.’

  ‘Happy New Year,’ Lola says, slightly worried that someone will stumble across them, but only slightly. The alcohol seems to have numbed her brain. She kisses Noah back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of woodsmoke.

  Cupping one of her breasts, Noah murmurs, ‘Do we really have to wait until McKenzie is asleep?’

  ‘Later,’ Lola says, her breath short.

  He groans. ‘You’re killing me,’ he says, but he takes his phone out to light their way, and they reach the house without touching again.

  It seems like forever before McKenzie comes to bed; so long that Lola falls asleep. She is jerked into wakefulness when she hears the door hit the wall, followed by a second thud when McKenzie flops onto the bed.

  ‘Are you awake?’ McKenzie asks. Lola ignores her, faking deep, slow breaths. Her cousin sighs.

  ‘So boring,’ she says and slopes off again, presumably to the bathroom. Lola slides her phone out from beneath her pillow. One seventeen am — oh great, Noah must have given up on her by now.

  After what seems a further aeon, but is actually two minutes, McKenzie staggers back into the room and shuts the door not-so-quietly behind her.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ she says, to no one in particular, and climbs into bed. After five agonising minutes, she begins to snore softly. Lola waits a while longer to be sure before throwing her sheet back.

  She’s barely set foot outside when she hears Tom. ‘Oh man, maybe I shouldn’t have had that last whisky.’

  Lola freezes. Next she hears Noah’s voice, his syllables slightly slurred.

  ‘Or the one after that,’ he says, and both boys laugh.

  ‘G’night, Bas-tard.’

  ‘G’night, Prick,’ Noah says, and Lola hears the unmistakable sound of someone peeing against the shed. Her heart thudding, she retreats into the lounge and curls into the corner of the couch, waiting for the boys to settle into their tents.

  It isn’t until she hears Noah’s voice that she realises she’s fallen asleep again.

  ‘Lola, it’s me.’ Blinking, Lola sits up, straightening her singlet. Noah pulls her onto his lap. ‘Sorry,’ he whispers.

  ‘It’s late,’ she murmurs.

  ‘I know.’ He kisses her earlobe. ‘Do you want to go back to bed?’

  ‘No,’ Lola says, although she’s tired now, so tired. But she lets him lead her across the back lawn and into his tent.

  ‘You feel hot,’ Noah whispers once they’re sitting on top of his sleeping bag.

  ‘You feel cold,’ she whispers back. He’s got goosebumps, as though it’s twelve rather than at least twenty degrees outside.

  Noah kisses her cheek. ‘We went for another swim.’

  ‘I thought you were going to bed.’

  ‘Yeah, but then Tom found Uncle Sully’s whisky in the kitchen, and we had a shot each, and then he said, man, it’s humid and I said, yeah, I could do with another swim. And after that we had another whisky and … I’m a little bit drunk, Lola. Are you drunk?’

  ‘I really am.’ When she closes her eyes, the spinning sensation is still there. She wonders if it will still be there in the morning. How long does it take for alcohol to wear off?

  Noah nuzzles his lips into her neck. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late. If you want to go to sleep, that’s OK.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Lola lifts his head to look into his face for an instant before kissing him, tasting the unfamiliar whisky on his tongue. Noah tugs on the bottom of her singlet, and she lets him slip it over her head. Drawing back, he pulls his t-shirt off. He kisses her again, so thoroughly, so deeply, that a moan escapes before she can stop it.

  ‘Lola, Lola, I do love you,’ he whispers, pushing her back onto the sleeping bag.

  Her head is floating, and she feels as though they’ve dropped out of time, suspended in the now, this moment. He hooks a leg over hers, and they tangle together, moving faster and faster until Lola can’t bear this almost-sex anymore. What are the chances of getting pregnant when it’s their first time anyway? She’s about to peel off her underwear, to tell him she wants to finish what they’ve started, when Noah groans and rolls off her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Lola says, even though she’s still feeling swollen all over, including in places she’s too embarrassed to name. After what seems an age, Noah turns back towards her and kisses her on the eyelids, the nose, the lips.

  ‘We should do this every night.’

  ‘Every night,’ she repeats. She wants more than this, though. She wants to satisfy this swollen, aching feeling. She wants to be closer. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispers in his ear.

  Noah holds her tight, kisses her slowly. ‘Me too, Lola,’ he says. ‘Me too.’

  And so their fate is sealed.

  Late morning, and Lola is sitting with the rest of her cousins in the lounge, most of them staring blearily at the TV or their phones. Their parents are outside, chatting beneath the sun umbrella, or, in Nana’s case, harvesting vegetables from her garden.

  ‘It’s so dry out there,’ Nana laments, stamping inside with a plastic bowl brimming with sugar-snap peas. ‘My roses aren’t going to survive much longer in this heat. I really hope this rain comes.’

  ‘What rain?’ McKenzie is slouched into a beanbag, her phone pinging almost continuously with notifications from her friends.

  Beckett holds up his phone to show her the weather app. ‘Storm coming on Wednesday.’

  ‘Oh. Great.’ McKenzie sticks her lower lip out.

  Tom says, ‘Nothing like a good storm, right Bas-tard?’

  ‘Nothing like it,’ Noah says from his spot on the couch, where he’s barely looked up from his book for the past hour, an apocalyptic epic by the looks of it. Lola, who is sitting at the table, listlessly thumbing through Nana’s woman’s magazines, wonders if Noah is regretting what they did in the early hours of the morning. But why would he — especially after their promise to each other?

  Next time I want to go all the way.

  Me too, Lola. Me too.
/>   Thinking of that gives her a weird feeling, as if dandelion clocks are spinning inside her chest. What if she changes her mind? Will he hate her for it?

  Molly sits next to Noah on the couch and touches the bridge of his nose. ‘You got burnt yesterday, buster.’

  Noah angles away. ‘It’s not that bad. Just be glad I’m getting some vitamin D.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for not wearing sunblock,’ Molly says, giving him a steely look.

  Tom, smirking, says, ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you to use protection before, Bas-tard?’

  Noah doesn’t say anything, just extends his middle finger. Lola wants to give him a secret smile, but there are far too many people in the room.

  ‘Well, you’re a sorry lot,’ Joe says, marching in from outside. ‘Too many Fantas last night, huh?’

  ‘We got to bed really late,’ McKenzie said, shooting Tom a look. She isn’t half obvious. Lola shuffles into the kitchen for another glass of water. Being hungover is a lot like having high blood sugars — being thirsty all the time and having to pee a lot.

  Her blood sugar was two point nine when she woke up. No wonder she felt crap, a double hangover. Lola seems to remember her doctor telling her that diabetes and alcohol don’t mix.

  The bin by the door stinks too, crammed with days-old stinky cheese wrappers and bloodstained plastic bags from their barbecue meat. She’d heard Nana complaining yesterday about the delay in rubbish collection with the public holidays. At the time, Lola hadn’t really cared, but even the sight of the empty wine and beer bottles by the back door makes her feel like barfing this morning.

  Behind her, Joe opens the fridge. ‘You could try some hair of the dog.’

  ‘Some what?’ Lola droops against the bench, scowling into her glass.

  ‘Hair of the dog.’ He holds up a bottle of beer. ‘That’s what you call it when you have more of what you had the night before to cancel out the effects of your hangover.’

  Lola transfers her scowl to her uncle. ‘I’m not … does it work?’

  Joe’s lips twist. ‘Hmm, sort of. Depends on how hungover you are.’