Because of You

by Pip Harry

  ‘My friend, Zak, he’s disappeared. I can’t find him anywhere. I don’t know where else to look.’

  ‘Searching for Ben I went to the most horrific places you could imagine. Squats and dark lanes, full of squalor and filth. I was always terrified I’d be too late. He’d be gone. When I did manage to find him, he didn’t want to come home, told me to go away, leave him to die. As if any mother could leave their child to die. Sometimes I’d carry him to the car, like he was a baby again.’

  I haul my backpack on; it’s heavy with books and Meredith pulls it off gently. ‘Stay for a while. Read with us.’

  Ike is still curled up in a beanbag, laughing every few minutes at the genius of JK Rowling.

  ‘Yeah, alright.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You think books will save him?’ I say, pointing at Ike.

  ‘Books can save anyone. If they’re the right ones.’

  In the common room I take my time spooning six heaped teaspoons of Milo into hot microwaved milk and waiting for my cheese toastie to become molten lava, wondering where I’ll sit for the next forty-five minutes. Lunch used to be a blink in my day. Now it’s the longest part of it. Endless minutes and seconds dragging past. I almost miss being in the classroom.

  I look around for Lolly, but she’s been spending her lunch in the art room lately, working on her folio. It’s raining so everyone’s stuck together in a muggy box that smells like two-minute noodles and wet wool. Ebony and Kara are on the opposite side of the room, poring over their formal folders. Clearly, they don’t miss me.

  I grab a solo chair by the door so I can slip out when I’ve finished eating. Thank god for my phone. It’s my new best friend. I go through my social feeds. Kara has un-friended me on Facebook and Instagram, so thankfully there’s less selfies to wade through. I settle in to read some clickbait when I get an incoming text from Eddie. I can’t open it fast enough.

  Hi Nola! A reminder that open mic night is TONIGHT. You coming? Be at the bus at 6pm. E

  I read through his text again, combing through it for romantic subtext.

  Hi! Yes, I’m coming. Do I need to bring anything?

  Just you ☺

  I send him a peace sign. Looking forward to it.

  Me too. Should be fun.

  I put my phone away, and I can’t help smiling. In five hours I’ll get to see Eddie and Tiny, and that makes everything okay.

  The bus arrives to take us to Rough for open mic night. It feels like a celebration. Everyone chattering and excited. A night-time excursion.

  ‘Nola!’ says Pee Wee as I get on board. ‘Comin’ to my showcase are ya?’

  He’s wearing a blue suit with a silver embroidered waistcoat. He scrubs up pretty well.

  ‘Showcase?’

  ‘For my album. It’s the launch tonight. Drew is on sound.’

  Drew is clean shaven and dressed up, too.

  ‘Did you shave, Drew?’

  He strokes his smooth chin. ‘I did. Well, it’s an occasion, innit?’

  ‘Anyone know where Tiny is?’ I ask.

  ‘She went ahead of us,’ says Pee Wee. ‘She’s working in the kitchen tonight with them Sydney Eats crew. You two are thick as thieves, aren’t ya?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess we are.’

  I wait for the smart remark. The put-down, but it doesn’t come.

  ‘That’s nice. When she first came here I thought she could really do with a friend. Didn’t think it’d be you, mind, but then the world works in mysterious ways.’

  Eddie arrives a few minutes late, his face flushed. I hope he’ll take the seat next to me and he does.

  ‘Hey! You made it!’ he says.

  ‘Where’s your bike?’

  ‘It broke down on me two days ago in the middle of the Anzac Bridge. I can’t afford to fix it so I’ll be riding the bus for a while.’

  I’m aware of how close Eddie is to me. The whole right side of his body is touching mine. Thigh to shoulder. It makes my skin fizz.

  ‘I’ve also got two end of semester assignments due on Monday, I’m working for Sydney Eats with Tiny tonight and I’ve got two shifts at the supermarket over the weekend. Your standard week from hell. How are you?’

  ‘My best friend Ebony kicked me out of our group.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve been sitting by myself during lunch like Nola- no-mates.’

  ‘I’ll be your mate.’

  ‘Will you?’ I say, adding a little flirt to my voice.

  He gives me a sideways look that lasts a beat too long and lets his knee gently fall against mine when the bus lurches onto the road. I don’t move away. Instead, I lightly press back and remember what Tiny said about paying attention to Eddie’s signs. I look at his hands and notice he’s rolling a silver ring around his middle finger. Nervous habit? She might be onto something.

  ‘Yes. But you have to agree to the following terms and conditions: You must not complain when I watch my box set of The Godfather. Repeatedly. Understand that the extent of my cooking skills is ordering pizza. No pineapple. I will always arrive fifteen minutes late. Never on purpose. I often lose my keys, wallet and phone – sometimes all three at once – and will require your patience and understanding as I attempt to locate them.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘And your terms and conditions?’

  ‘Don’t say I’m bringing down my IQ when I watch repeat episodes of Real Housewives, America’s Next Top Model or Kardashians, even though they are the worst kind of reality trash. Pineapple on half the pizza, the other half must be a meat fiesta with barbecue sauce. Tardiness should be accompanied by a grovelling text.’

  ‘Deal.’

  He smiles at me and I feel a small glow of happiness.

  ‘Oh, before I forget.’ I reach into my bag and hand him my service logbook.

  ‘Can you fill this in for tonight?’

  Eddie takes his knee away from mine and scribbles in the date and hours.

  ‘You’re finished,’ he says, handing it back to me.

  ‘Finished what?’

  ‘Including tonight you’ve logged 23.5 hours. You only needed twenty, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, twenty is the minimum. So that’s it?’

  ‘No, that’s not it. We’d love you to stay on. Will you? If your teacher will let you keep coming during school hours? We can stop filling in this logbook, and you can become a regular volunteer. Yes?’

  ‘Yes. Definitely yes.’

  ‘Good. I don’t know what we’d do without you now.’

  ‘Same.’

  Eddie and I are in the kitchen at Rough, getting a feed ready for Sydney Eats. I’m heating trays of sausage rolls while Eddie pours drinks. After our time in the kitchen we make a good team. In the background, Siena is running the show, getting finger food prepped and out to the hungry crowd.

  ‘Good turnout!’ shouts Eddie over the noise of people.

  ‘Massive!’ I agree. I squirt tomato sauce in a bowl and arrange the rolls on a platter.

  ‘Order up!’ I shout at Nola, who is loitering nearby, sipping on a Fanta and trying not to stare at Eddie. She laughs and walks over to help out.

  ‘Will we get to hang out later, chef?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, after I finish service.’ I nod in Eddie’s direction. ‘Anything going to happen there tonight?’ I ask, teasing. I’d like to see her and Eddie together.

  ‘I doubt it!’ Nola says. ‘Shhh!’

  I help Siena make fresh spring rolls with slices of cucumber, capsicum and beef and mix up a simple chilli dipping sauce. I’ve done this before for a twenty-first at the RSL back home, and my fingers remember how to wrap the thin rice paper like I’m folding slippery origami.

  ‘You should be working in a commercial kitchen,’ says Siena. ‘You’re good
. With a bit of training you could be an incredible chef.’

  ‘Thanks, maybe one day,’ I say, smiling. Rough has been given a spruce up for the night. Every table has a white tablecloth and a candle burning in a glass jar. The lights have been dimmed and it feels special.

  Eddie jumps on the makeshift stage and grabs the microphone.

  ‘Go and listen to your friends,’ Siena says. ‘I’ll finish up here.’

  I take off my apron and join Nola in the crowd. She hugs me and I feel so lucky to have a real friend.

  ‘Testing!’ The microphone shrieks and everyone puts their hands over their ears.

  Eddie fiddles with the equipment and tries again. ‘This should be better. Okay, hi everyone! Welcome to open mic night. This is our sixth event here at Rough sharing our words, music and comedy or whatever else you guys feel like performing at the spur of the moment. Limericks, interpretive dance … anything goes. A bit of a shout out to the team from Sydney Eats for the great food service here tonight and to the guys at Rough for hosting us.’

  Eddie peers out to the crowd. ‘Is that you, Aimee?’

  Aimee is sitting near the back. She’s heavily pregnant now, ready to burst.

  ‘Haven’t you had that baby yet?’ Eddie jokes.

  ‘Not yet, maybe tonight’s the night!’ Aimee shouts back.

  ‘Anyone know how to deliver a baby?’ Eddie asks the crowd. ‘No? Well, I’m sure there’s a YouTube video for it. Can’t be too hard.’ Eddie takes a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I’ll start us off with a poem. It’s called “Clean”.’

  Everyone wolf whistles and then shuts up.

  Another program

  Another pledge

  30 days. 100

  Turning my back on you

  My lover

  Cheap seductress

  I won’t meet you in our dark place.

  Won’t let you kiss me

  With your sweet, chemical lips

  I’ll white knuckle today.

  Maybe the day after that.

  See things I don’t

  When you’re in my life.

  Sunlight falling across the floor

  Dust floating in the air.

  My son singing songs

  About red cars and bears.

  Eddie finishes and the room is silent. Then Pee Wee claps and everyone else joins in. ‘Far out man. That was poetic,’ he says to Eddie. ‘We should put your words to my music.’

  ‘Maybe we should,’ says Eddie, then he shoves the paper in his back pocket.

  ‘What was that about?’ I whisper to Nola. Does Eddie have a dark past?

  She shakes her head. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Next up we have Pee Wee, performing an acoustic track,’ says Eddie.

  Pee Wee’s guitar has seen better days. It’ll be a miracle if it’s tuned. Drew’s role is as his sound guy. He’s taking it seriously, adjusting the stand and making sure the mic is in the right spot.

  ‘I might start with a cover,’ says Pee Wee. ‘Here’s one you might know.’

  He starts playing ‘Creep’, by Radiohead. It’s one of my favourite songs of all time. Pee Wee’s voice is croaky and straining, but you can tell he used to be something. When he gets to the lines about being a weirdo, and asks the audience what the hell he’s doing here, the hairs raise up on my skin. What the hell are any of us doing here? Nola puts her arm around me and I rest my head on her shoulder, listening. Next, Hattie shuffles onstage and falls into a long, phlegmy cough that goes on so long Eddie gets her a glass of water, which she sips, hands shaking.

  ‘We haven’t seen Hattie for a while,’ says Eddie. ‘But we’re so glad to have her with us tonight to perform some bush poetry.’

  Hattie straightens her hunched back. She’s wearing a bright orange scarf, like the feathers of a tropical bird, with rosy blush on her cheeks. She looks so lovely.

  She draws the audience into the poem and doesn’t even look down at her page once.

  The audience claps and she takes a small dignified bow, her eyes full of tears.

  ‘You should go up,’ Nola says to me, but I’m still too full of fear.

  ‘Not tonight.’

  During interval I’m talking to Aimee when I hear a splat sound on the floor.

  ‘Oh!’ says Aimee. She holds her stomach and looks down at the floor at a puddle, confused.

  ‘Aimee, don’t panic, but your waters just broke,’ I say. ‘Have you had any contractions?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Would I know?’

  ‘Yeah, you’ll know. They hurt like hell.’ I grab her hand and take her to a seat. Whenever she moves, another gush of fluid spills from her and she collapses into fits of laughter.

  She then bends over and gasps in pain, bringing Siena and Nola over to the table to see what’s wrong.

  ‘That’s a contraction,’ I say, squeezing Aimee’s hand. ‘Relax, breathe, the next one should be a fair way off.’

  ‘Are you okay, Aimee?’ asks Siena.

  ‘I think I’m going to have my baby now,’ she says. ‘I knew I should’ve stayed home tonight.’

  ‘It’s time to go to the hospital,’ I say, remembering how quickly Charlie arrived once my own waters had broken.

  ‘We can take my van,’ says Siena.

  Aimee passes Siena her phone. ‘Call my husband. Tell him it’s game on.’

  I remember how it felt to hold Charlie in my arms after he was born. Our sticky skin together at last. Right at that moment I’d have done anything to protect him. Taken a bullet in the chest, given up my last drops of water in the desert, walked across hot coals. But that motherly bond vanished when we came home from the hospital. I was always so tired. Sometimes Charlie’s head would fall between my boobs when we were sleeping on the couch and I would wake up to him crying, his face red, gasping for air. I’d forget I was feeding him and stare off into space while he sucked air from an empty bottle. At night I’d sleep though his cries and Mum would have to drag herself out of bed and feed him for me, grumbling that she was too old for this. Didn’t I hear him? The whole neighbourhood bloody heard him.

  The panic rises slowly, like a wave rolling into shore. If the wave catches me, I’ll smash into the hard-packed sand and be sucked out to sea. I’ll drown.

  I walk backwards into a wall behind me. I can’t be anywhere near the pool of amniotic fluid that’s being cleaned off the floor.

  The wave arcs up in a wall. Crumbling white on top. It’ll break. Right over the top of me. Can’t everyone else see it? This tsunami?

  Somewhere music is playing and people are eating and laughing. I want to warn them about the wave. Raise the alarm and get everyone out of the room before it’s too late. Before we’re all washed away.

  Nola looks over at me and I imagine she has a rope that she’s tossing in my direction. I’ll grab onto it and if she pulls in the other direction, I won’t drown.

  ‘Hey, Tiny. Are you okay?’ she asks.

  I make a gurgling sound. There’s a tightness around my neck like someone’s hands are pressing along the collarbone, two thumbs digging hard into my neck, stopping the airflow.

  ‘No,’ I manage to whisper. ‘Help me.’

  Outside in the laneway, Nola rubs my back. ‘Don’t try to talk,’ she says. ‘Breathe.’

  I drop my head between my knees and tears drip from my nose, eyes and mouth. It tastes like salt water. She crouches next to me.

  ‘What happened, Tiny?’

  ‘I had a panic attack.’

  I push myself upright and my head spins. My heart rate starts to slow down. I feel better. It’s passed. Nola passes me a bottle of water and I drink heavily. Almost finishing the lot.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Nola asks.

  ‘Aimee going into labour reminded me of Charlie.
Nola, I was a crappy mum. I really messed up.’

  I’m exhausted. Pain still sitting like a bubble of acid in my throat. I don’t have the energy to stand, let alone find my way back to my kid.

  ‘When are you seeing your mum? Tell her how much you’ve changed. How much you miss Charlie.’

  ‘Tomorrow. For lunch. I’ll try but she doesn’t want me to see him.’

  Was that another reason I had a panic attack? Mum’s visit? I had to keep talking myself into showing up to meet her. Dr Robinson said I should visualise myself walking towards her hotel, going through the sliding doors and into the lobby. He said it might help to go over in my head beforehand what I’d say to her. I’d start by apologising as many times as it took for her to believe me. To understand how deeply I regretted those weeks after Charlie was born. If I could go back I’d do everything differently. Then I’d ask if she trusted me to start over.

  ‘Do you want to stay over at my place tonight?’ asks Nola. ‘I can help you get ready? You can sleep in my room.’

  ‘I dunno.’

  Maybe if I go to Nola’s house, she won’t let me skip my meeting with Mum. She’ll tell me it’s for the best and maybe even come with me to the hotel.

  ‘You can’t go back to the shelter tonight. Not like this.’

  Tiny has colour in her cheeks and she’s breathing normally. Watching her go under in that riptide of panic has made me realise how much I care about her. I can’t let her go back to her sad room at Hope Lane. There’s a rollout under my bed. Never used. It probably still has plastic wrapping on the mattress.

  ‘Will it be alright with your mum if I stay over?’ asks Tiny.

  ‘I’ll text her, but she’s always saying to bring my friends home. Do you want to go now? We could get a taxi. I’ve got some money.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I might walk for a while. Meet you here in an hour or so?’

  ‘Yeah. Tiny? Make sure you come back.’

  ‘I will.’

  Eddie makes tea and coffee at the cafe counter. He’s absorbed in the task and has the same concentrated, slightly puzzled expression he makes when he’s writing. Hattie has been put in charge of cutting up slices of cake and she’s put a piece into her mouth, chocolate icing smeared across one cheek.