by Pat Flynn
I can almost understand where he’s coming from. I’ve wanted to be normal my whole life.
‘And now I’ve got what I deserve and you’re doing really well.’ he continues. ‘You’ve lost weight, made friends, you’ve even got a girlfriend.’
‘Well, not exactly.’ I don’t know why I said that. I should’ve soaked up the praise like a sponge.
‘What do you mean?’ he asks.
For some reason I feel like telling someone what has happened between me and Kayla. I don’t want to keep all of this pain to myself. ‘I did something bad and now Kayla doesn’t like me anymore.’
‘What did you do?’
I try and think of how to say it without saying too much. ‘I lied to her. Sort of.’
‘Sort of?’
‘Let’s just say I broke her trust.’
There’s a pause.
‘I know about that,’ he says, finally. ‘And if I were you I’d make things right as quick as you can. That’s what I wish I did.’
Another pause. Our conversation has run its race.
‘Hey, Withers?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Bet I beat you at handball tomorrow.’
‘Bet you don’t.’
We hang up and I start punching in the numbers for Thai. My order is on the tip of my tongue: fish cakes followed by beef massaman curry with a big bottle of Coke to keep my mouth from getting too hot. Then some coconut ice-cream for dessert to leave it with a cool and sweet taste.
It’s ringing.
I’d make things right as quick as you can … Withers’ voice echoes in my head. That’s what I wish I did.
‘ ’Ello?’ A woman answers. She sounds Thai.
I need this, I think. Food makes me feel better.
‘ ’Ello?’ She says it louder. ‘Anyone there?’
Since when? ‘Sorry. Wrong number.’ I hang up.
There’s something I need to do.
Chapter Eleven
It’s a long ride, especially with no food in my stomach. I not only forgot to eat any veggie lasagne, I didn’t even peel a banana for afternoon tea. It’s not like me.
Standing in front of my ex-girlfriend’s house without an invitation isn’t like me either. I take a slow breath, ring the bell, then think about sprinting away. Trouble is I’m so slow someone would probably see me.
Mr Berry answers the door. I was hoping for Kayla, but it’s a lot better than Mrs Berry.
‘Matthew. What a surprise.’ He looks at his watch. It’s not quite dark but it’s not exactly early afternoon either.
I try to get off on the right foot. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Berry?’
‘Not the best, actually. These heart attacks are a bugger of a thing to get over. I’m out of breath, tired all the time and I have to eat rabbit food all day. But thanks for asking.’
I’m sorry I did.
‘I have lost three kilos though.’ He pats his stomach. ‘Did you notice?’
The truth is it’s hard to notice three kilograms missing on a stomach like that, but I don’t want to tell him that. ‘Umm … you look good, sir. Is Kayla home?’
‘You’re in luck,’ he answers. ‘Her mum and brother went shopping but she stayed in to do some dance practice. She’s in the rumpus room. You know the way?’
I nod.
‘Go through. I need to sit down.’
Whenever I’m in the Berrys’ house the first thing I notice is the shininess. My mum’s a bit of a clean freak, especially when it comes to the kitchen, but Kayla’s mum takes it to a whole new level. The house sparkles – like no one actually lives here.
But I can hear some living going on in the rumpus room. The music’s loud and fast and punk-rocky and I’d love to see the dance, especially since Kayla learns jazz ballet.
The door’s open a crack so I peek in. Kayla’s not dancing, she’s lying on the floor doing stomach crunches in lycra tights and a sports bra. My eyes grow big, but not from what you’d expect.
She’s so thin I can see her ribs poking through the skin and on the edges of her tummy are what look like dabs of dark blue paint. It takes me a few seconds to realise what they are.
Bruises.
It nearly breaks my heart. To get bruises on her abs means she must be doing sets of about a million. Something’s definitely not right.
I knock but she doesn’t hear me. I edge inside the door. ‘Hello,’ I say.
She keeps crunching. I walk closer. ‘Hi.’
Did I mention the music is loud? Still, it’s like she’s in another world. Sit-up world.
I practically step on her. ‘Kayla. It’s me!’
Her eyes are closed, which is why she hasn’t seen me. Instead of kicking her I turn the music off to get her attention.
Believe it or not, she keeps crunching. Up and down. Up and down.
‘Kayla!’
‘Hang on.’ she says, ‘just … a … few … more. She gives a painful grunt, then stops. ‘Finished.’
I’m shocked. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Training,’ she says. ‘For dancing. Core stability is very important, you know.’
I want to tell her that her core looks like a chewed-up apple core, but I hold my tongue.
‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’ she says. ‘And why are you here?’
‘I want to talk to you.’ I say.
‘What about?’
‘About your … umm … food problem.’
‘I don’t have a food problem.’
I scrunch up my forehead. ‘You told me you wanted help, remember?’
She looks away. ‘I’m pretty sure I was wrong. I looked up the internet this arvo and it says I’m at a thin-to-healthy body weight.’
A lot more thin than healthy, I reckon. ‘What was the name of the website?’ I ask.
‘I can’t remember.’
It was probably anorexic.com.
I squat so I’m not looking down on her. ‘Why don’t you go and talk to Mr Cook? He’ll be able to help you.’
She gives her head a little shake. ‘I don’t like him. His eyes are too beady.’
‘Well, you have to talk to someone. Look how skinny you are.’
‘I’m am sooo not skinny. I’m fat!’
‘You are not!’
‘Yes, I am.’
My jaw drops. If she thinks she’s fat she’s more messed up than I thought.
‘You’re skin and bones.’ I point to her ribs. ‘And look at those bruises—’
‘Stop looking at me!’ She grabs a T-shirt and slips it on. ‘And get off my case! You sound like my mum.’
‘Kayla …’
A stony look comes over her face. It’s like I’m talking to a girl that I don’t know. Still, I need to finish what I came here to say.
My voice goes quiet. ‘No matter what you do to me or yourself, there’s something I want you to know.’
Slowly, she tilts her chin and looks at me with those soft green eyes. It’s the same girl, all right. Just one in a lot more pain.
‘I love you,’ I say, before I turn and leave.
It’s a long ride home, especially into a headwind.
Chapter Twelve
By the time I ride up our driveway – puffing – it’s pitch black. Mum’s waiting outside the front door, the porch light on.
The first thing she does is run down the stairs and give me a hug. The second thing she does is yell at me. ‘Where have you been? I was just about to call the police!’
‘What about my note?’ I say.
‘That you were going for a bike ride? I didn’t believe it – I thought a kidnapper made you write it!’
I chuckle.
‘This is no laughing matter, Matthew!’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
She crosses her arms and the shoulder pads in her jacket flex like muscles. ‘Now, tell me where you were. Really.’
‘Can we talk during dinner, Mum? I haven’t eaten a thing all day. Well, not since lunch.’
S
he doesn’t move.
‘Okay. I went to Kayla’s.’
She looks even madder, if that’s possible. ‘What were you doing there? Matthew, are you two starting to get … physical?’
‘No! We were just talking, Mum.’
‘I don’t know whether or not I can believe you.’
And for some reason that’s the last straw. When your girlfriend and mum can’t trust you, it’s a sad day.
Which may be the reason why I start crying like a baby, although I can’t be sure.
Her voice softens. ‘Matthew. What’s wrong?’
I wipe my face with my sleeve. ‘Nothing.’
But she must know I’m lying because she puts her arms around my fat body and holds me close. It doesn’t slow down the tears, though. If anything, they speed up.
But here, head on her shoulder pad, I feel better.
During dinner I tell Mum everything. Well, almost everything. I leave out the kissing-Kayla-at-the-party part and the photo and caption in Kayla’s diary.
She doesn’t interrupt and try and teach me little life lessons like she sometimes does, even at the all-you-can-eat Chinese part of the story. And when I tell her how she ignored me when I tried to get advice, she apologises.
‘I was really busy with work but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.’
I nod my head. Apology accepted. Now it’s time for one of my own. ‘Sorry for riding to Kayla’s without asking. It was something I thought I had to do. But …’
‘But what?’
‘It was a bad idea. I don’t think Kayla and I are gonna see each other any more …’
For some reason my eyes mist up again. I’m such a wimp.
Mum reaches across the table. ‘You were trying to be a good friend, Matt. Even though you shouldn’t run off like you did, I’m proud of you.’ She strokes the back of my fingers. ‘I think the most important thing is that Kayla gets better right now. Don’t you?’
I don’t say anything because I can’t. But I give a nod.
‘Would you mind if I called her mum for a chat?’ she asks.
I’m not sure how much luck Mum will have with Mrs Berry, but I suppose it’s worth a try. ‘All right.’
‘And if you ever want to talk. About anything. I’m here for you. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
I eat up all of my veggie lasagne. For one of Mum’s dishes, it’s not half bad.
Mum calls late that night, while I’m in bed. I’m supposed to be asleep, or at least reading my skateboarding novel, but instead I put my ear to the wall and listen.
‘There’s something I think you should know, Margaret. About Kayla.’
Mum’s got her best business voice on. She’s really good at talking, which is probably why her boss is always giving her a pay rise. ‘Matthew spoke to me about Kayla tonight. He thinks she’s got a problem and so do some girls at school.’
I’m propped up on an elbow and my arm is starting to ache. It has to carry a lot of body weight. When I flip around to use the other elbow (and ear), my foot accidentally kicks my skateboard book and it ollies off the bed and lands on the floor with a thump.
Mum must get suspicious because she takes the phone into a different room.
Far out! Silly skinny skateboarder.
It’s not until twenty minutes later that I hear Mum’s voice again. ‘Whatever you do, don’t blame yourself. It’s a hard job being a parent. Especially when our kids are going through puberty.’
Hey, leave me and my hormones out of this, I think.
‘If you need anything, anything at all, call me.’
I stifle a laugh. Imagine Mrs Berry calling my mum for advice on parenting? Although, I must say, my mum is in the running for most improved.
She hangs up and I hear footsteps come to a stop outside my door. It gently opens. I think about pretending to be asleep but I’m not twelve anymore, so instead I say hi.
‘You still up? It’s late.’
‘How’d the phone call go?’ I ask.
‘Okay, I think. At first she was defensive, but later she admitted that they’d been worried about Kayla too. They just weren’t sure what to do.’
‘What are they going to do?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I suggested our GP as a first port of call.’
‘Doctor Morrison?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been impressed with how he’s dealt with your health issue.’
My health issue has been a near miss with diabetes. I suppose he is a pretty good doctor, although he’d be a lot better if he gave me jelly beans once in a while.
‘You get some sleep now,’ she says. ‘Everything will be okay.’
‘Night, Mum.’
‘Goodnight, love.’
She starts to shut the door when I think of something. ‘Hey, Mum?’
‘Yes, darl.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How do I know what?’
‘That everything will be okay.’
She thinks about this. ‘I just do.’
Yeah. That makes me feel a lot better.
Chapter Thirteen
For the next few weeks at school things are how they were BK. Before Kayla.
Withers and I hang out again, which is strange but okay. He laughs at my jokes and when we face-off in handball, I normally win.
Tash calls us Fatty 1 and Fatty 2, but I’ve never cared much about her opinion so I don’t let it bother me. Besides, the two of us can dish out more than Tash can take, so she mostly leaves us alone.
For something to do I still give kids advice about tuckshop, even though I don’t sample their full range of food and beverages anymore. I mostly stick to a chicken and salad roll, a piece of fruit and a smile off Jan, with the occasional small chocolate milk when I need a pick-me-up.
Life’s not too bad except for one small thing.
My heart is in a thousand little pieces.
Kayla sits two rows in front of me but she may as well be on another planet. She doesn’t talk to me. She doesn’t even look at me.
Nina and Jasmine tell me that she seems to be doing better, although they’re not sure because they’re not as close to her as they used to be. Miss Gossipy Tash made sure of that.
Tash sticks like glue to Kayla, their arms often linked while they walk around the playground. They spend a lot of lunchtime sitting on the grass looking glum together. It’s not the Kayla I knew.
Still, I can’t help but wonder about her. What she eats for lunch. Whether those bruises are still on her stomach. Whether she thinks about me.
Withers must see me glance in her direction on our way to the handball courts. ‘She’ll come back to you,’ he says. ‘Soon.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Soon as hell freezes over.’
‘No, she will,’ he says. ‘I bet you.’
I stop walking and put out my hand. ‘How much?’
He thinks for a few seconds. ‘No money. Lunch.’
‘From the tuckshop?’
‘Course.’
‘You’re on.’
We shake on it and make a date two weeks from now. I look forward to a free feed. Hopefully, there’ll be a new special by then – I’m still not too keen on the thought of fried rice.
Minutes turn into hours that become days. Places I go remind me of her, of when we were happy. While shopping with Mum I walk past the movies where we had our first date. I can’t recall much about the scary movie but I remember her hand clinging on to mine in the dark. On the way to the doctor’s, Mum and I drive past her house and I close my eyes and feel her lips on mine. Remembering these things hurts, but in a good way.
But late at night I don’t remember any good things. It’s just tears on her face and the way she looks away when our eyes now accidentally meet. The nights go slowly, especially when I can’t sleep.
Thirteen nights after my bet with Withers I’m sitting in front of the television, watching three shows at once, when there’s a knock on the door. At first I get a rush of exc
itement, thinking that Mum must have ordered takeout, until I remember that we’ve already eaten.
Apricot tuna.
Mum ran out of chicken. It wasn’t pretty.
Mum’s in the shower so I take a peek through the keyhole and get a bigger shock than if I saw the pizza delivery man.
It’s Kayla.
Pulling the door open I try to say hello but it sounds more like a squeak.
‘Are you busy?’ she asks.
‘Kind of.’ I don’t know why I said that. The only thing I was busy doing was pushing buttons on the remote.
‘I can come back another time …’
‘No, it’s okay. Come in.’
She steps past me and I smell the familiar scent of her.
‘Dad’s waiting outside,’ she says, ‘so I can’t be long. We’re on our way home from dancing.’
‘How’s it going?’ I ask.
‘Not great. I don’t have a lot of energy at the moment.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing.
My tummy does flip-flops as I check out the love of my life from across the kitchen table. She’s had her hair cut – a long fringe now hanging down to the bridge of her nose – and her face is thin and pale. Those green eyes look the same, though. They’re big and beautiful and for the first time in a long time they look right at me. I’m the one who keeps glancing away.
‘How’ve you been?’ she asks.
‘All right.’
‘See you’re friends with Withers again.’
‘Yep.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah.’
Another pause. Our conversation is going great guns.
Kayla bites her lip. ‘I’m going to say some stuff, okay? And I’d like you to listen.’
I’m still really nervous so I don’t answer. I just nod my head.
‘Okay, here goes.’ She taps her finger on the table. ‘I’ve been going to see a special doctor. For my … problem.’
I raise an eyebrow. She’s admitted she’s got a problem. That has to be a good sign.
She continues. ‘She told me that if I’m going to get better I have to do two things. One is to be honest and two is to forgive. That’s why I’m here.’
