by Kate Gordon
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” said Patience, backing away. “I’ve got extra advanced biology to do. Hurrah!”
Patience wasn’t being sarcastic. Additional homework is my sister’s idea of heaven. She literally skipped away.
Viggo beamed at me. “Your young sister seems like an exceptional person.”
“She is,” I said proudly. “So …” I leaned into him, trying to forget how “unappealing” I looked. “Did you have a good night last night?
Viggo nodded emphatically. “I certainly did! I went home and spent a solid hour and a quarter boning up on my own pre-summer-school preparation …”
That wasn’t exactly what I meant but … okay.
“… and then I spent a further quarter of an hour before my bedtime perusing the prospectus and marking courses I thought you might enjoy engaging in. You’ll note …” His voice was suddenly softer and more tender. “I have—sneakily—marked a couple of classes I am also taking. I thought it might be a positive action if we took them together. Perhaps you could even enhance your learning by taking notes for both of us, and we could consolidate your information acquirement by way of—perhaps—you reiterating the main points of the lecturer to me in a post-lecture study session?”
I didn’t hear anything but “together” and “post-lecture study session”.
My heart swelled.
For a moment, I forgot about bed-hair.
I forgot about my daggy PJs.
I forgot about Wineglass Bay, and how I actually had been looking forward to going there with Jed, and how he was probably going to be a bit peeved that I wasn’t going.
I forgot all of that and concentrated instead on moving towards my boyfriend—Viggo MacDuff—and pulling him close.
“Thank you,” I said. “For taking the time to do that for me.”
His voice was a whisper in my ear. “No problem whatsoever, Constance. It was my pleasure. I enjoy helping you to find the best self you could possibly be. Even more so now we are …”
I pulled back slowly and looked him in the eye (which involved craning my neck quite a bit—Viggo was gorgeously tall). “We … are …?”
“We are,” Viggo said firmly.
And then he pulled me back to him.
And pressed his lips to mine.
And we kissed.
I.
Kissed.
Viggo.
MacDuff.
Oh Ben Folds.
Thirty
“Yep. Okay. TMI right there.”
Jed and I are sitting in McDonalds. He’s halfway through a mouthful of Big Mac.
I have a strong coffee … and an Oreo McFlurry.
There’s no way Jed would let me order an ordinary breakfast. I’m glad. Jed Food seems to be helping soothe my savaged soul and, since living on alfalfa and lean chicken breast for the year I was with Viggo, my body is giving me a high five for all the bad fats and carbohydrates. Sadly, however, one McFlurry can’t take the pain away entirely. Thinking about my first kiss with Viggo has made my chest go all funny. There are pinpricks at the back of my eyes.
I don’t reply to Jed, just shovel another heaped spoonful in my mouth and shrug.
“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I guess that was a difficult memory to relive.”
“Yup,” I reply after swallowing.
“I won’t be too hard on you about cancelling the East Coast trip I was really looking forward to then.”
“Please don’t be.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, though … was the kiss … I mean … Did you …”
“Did I like it?” I ask, reading Jed’s mind. “Of course I—”
But then I stop. And I try to remember. To really remember.
And I find I can’t. I can remember Viggo leaning in. I can remember him pressing his lips to mine. I can remember he smelled of his fancy Ralph Lauren aftershave. I can remember feeling excited, flattered …
But the actual kiss itself?
“Of course I did,” I say, ignoring the strange, uncertain feeling in my belly. “It was Viggo. Of course he was a good kisser.”
I know this part at least is true. Because obviously that first kiss wasn’t the only kiss I shared with Viggo MacDuff. He kissed me lots of times after. After he gave speeches or accepted awards he’d always come back to me and kiss me on the cheek. I liked those kisses—the public ones—because it showed the world I was Viggo MacDuff’s girlfriend. I belonged to him. Of course he kissed me in private, too. He kissed me goodbye and goodnight whenever we parted and his kisses were just like him: firm, assured, confident. So of course that first kiss would have been good. I don’t know why I blanked it out.
I’m just tired.
“Maybe we should go home,” I say to Jed. “I’m starting to feel …”
I look around the restaurant. It’s full of smiling, happy people. People who had a great family Christmas yesterday, then a long, full-bellied sleep and are now having a special Boxing Day treat. The restaurant is still decked out in Christmas tinsel and there’s a plastic tree in the corner. Everything and everyone feels festive. Nobody here has just had their heart broken.
I’m the only one.
I’m all alone.
And I’m suddenly very, very tired.
“No.”
I look at Jed curiously. “No? What do you mean no?”
“No, you’re not going to bed.” There is a glint in Jed’s eye.
“But you’re the one who was suggesting it, back at the roller skating rink,” I point out.
“Yeah, I was being a dumbarse,” Jed says. He takes a final bite of his Big Mac and wipes the grease on his jeans. “You’re not going to bed, Connie-girl. We will go to your house, but only so you can get a jumper and some less-precious shoes.”
“That sounds ominous. Is this for another adventure?” The strange, sick feeling in my belly is transforming into a buzzing excitement. Why would I need a jumper in the middle of summer? Where is Jed going to take me?
“It sure is,” says Jed. “Well, not so much of an adventure. More of a reliving of another memory. A memory that’s not of Viggo MacDuff or ‘Congo’. I think we need a break from memories of Viggo MacDuff, just for an hour or two. I think we need to remember one of our great moments. A memory of Jed and Connie.”
“’Jennie’?” I grin.
“’Coned’,” he corrects, pronouncing it like “conehead”. I like it.
“Sounds good to me. Let’s go.” I stand up from the table and offer Jed my hand.
As we walk out of the restaurant, my phone buzzes again in my pocket. I ignore it. All of that can wait. The rest of the world can wait.
Even Viggo MacDuff can wait.
Suddenly, all I want is this: me and Jed and memories of before Viggo, when I was happy.
The thought stops me in my tracks.
Before Viggo.
When I was happy.
I don’t really mean that … do I?
I mean before we split up.
I mean before he broke my heart.
I don’t really mean I was happy before Viggo came into my life. I can’t mean that.
I love Viggo MacDuff.
I love him. That’s what all these memories are reinforcing for me. How great Viggo is. How clever he is. How successful he is. It’s just stupid Jed putting crazy doubting feelings in my head because he has some ridiculous bee in his bonnet about Viggo. He’s acting weird and it’s rubbing off on me.
“Let’s go,” I say, attempting to shake the weird. “Let’s go to my house and then let’s go and do some ‘Coned’ remembering.”
“About time,” Jed mutters under his breath.
Thirty-One
When we arrive home, Patience is sitting on our front doorstep. When she sees us walking towards the gate, she jumps up and runs towards us. “Connie Alwyn Chase, where have you been?” she asks, sounding much more like my grandmother than a newly teenaged girl. “I’ve been so worried!”
Patience sticks her bottom lip out. “I missed you. Mum and Dad got sick of me complaining, so we came home.”
“Oh, Pitter-Patter.” I kiss her on the cheek. “They didn’t mind coming home early?”
Patience shakes her head. “Auntie Barbara hates cricket so it’s banned in her house, even on Boxing Day. I think Dad was desperate for an excuse to leave. He would have been distraught if he’d missed the test! So anyway, what are we going to do today?”
“Um—” I look at Jed. He smiles and shrugs.
“We’re doing this thing,” he says. “See, Connie broke up with Viggo and—”
Patience’s face breaks into a huge grin. “Seriously? You and the douchebucket broke up? Oh frabjous day! Callooh Callay!”
My mouth is wide open.
I’ve have never, not once, not ever, heard my little sister swear. For a moment, this is the only part of what she just said that sinks in. Then it hits me; it wasn’t just random swearing. It was swearing about Viggo. “Wait—what did you just say?” I gasp.
I realise that, next to me, Jed is doubled over, his shoulders heaving with silent giggles. I elbow him in the shoulder and he straightens, biting his lip. His face is the colour of the poppies in Mum’s garden.
“I said Viggo MacDuff is a douchebucket,” Patience says, sticking her chin out. “And I’m glad you broke up with him. About time. So are we going to celebrate then? Shall we go and have cake?”
I am too gobsmacked to say a word in reply. Even though there is the possibility of cake.
“Connie? Cake?” Jed prompts. When I still don’t answer, Jed says, “I’m sure cake will factor somewhere in our adventures, Patty C. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Marvellous!” says Patience, grinning. “Where are we going?”
“Ah. Now, see, that would ruin the surprise for your sister,” Jed says. “But I will tell you that you should go and find a pair of hiking boots, and a thick jumper, and find some for Connie as well.”
“Easy!” Patience says, skipping up the steps. “Sounds intriguing! I can’t wait. As long as I don’t have to hear one word about Viggo MacDuff while we do … whatever it is we’re doing … I’ll be happy. Unless it’s a swear word! Oh Connie. I have never been so jubilant! This is the best Boxing Day ever!”
“Ah, now see …” Jed calls after Patience. “There’s the catch. You do have to hear about Viggo. We’re reliving every moment of ‘Congo’s’ relationship in minute detail. Twenty-five whole memories, all about him.”
Patience stops, twirls and grimaces. Then she looks thoughtful. Then she smirks. “Okay,” she says slowly. “That’s okay. I’m sure if we’re reliving memories of Viggo MacDuff, I’ll find plenty there to bitch about. This could be great fun! I’ll see you in a minute.”
My eyes are bulging again. First she’s calling Viggo a totally inexplicable swear word. Now she’s looking forward to bitching about him? What has happened to my angelic little sister?
And what on Earth did Viggo do to make her act like that?
Jed grins. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s a bit anti-Viggo today.”
“A bit?” I finally gasp. “Jed … if Patience doesn’t like Viggo, maybe … maybe there’s actually something …”
“I guess we’ll find out as we relive some more memories whether Viggo MacDuff actually is a ‘douchebucket’.” Jed suppresses a laugh. “But remember we’re having a bit of Viggo-free time while we have this next adventure.”
“That’s … fine.”
I feel shaken.
I just assumed Patience loved Viggo. I assumed my whole family loved Viggo. I assumed they were proud of me, for landing myself such an ambitious and successful boyfriend, for getting my act together and buckling down at school and dressing nicely and all the other things that had come as a side-effect of my relationship with Viggo.
I assumed he had charmed them like he charmed me.
I mean, why wouldn’t everyone love Viggo MacDuff?
Even after what happened at the party, I never for a moment stopped loving Viggo MacDuff and that was the first time he had ever been less than … perfect.
What happened at the party was the only thing that could ever make anyone think that Viggo MacDuff wasn’t completely fabulous. Or at least I’d thought that. But Jed keeps making all these cutting little remarks and now my Pollyanna of a sister is calling him a …
I can’t even say that word again.
I feel sick. Patience never thought badly of anyone and she thought badly of Viggo MacDuff.
I swallow. My hand goes to my fluttery belly. “Jed,” I say weakly. “Why does Patty think Viggo is a … Why do you? I thought Viggo MacDuff was perfect.”
“He is. Like I said. And that’s exactly the problem.”
“I didn’t understand that the last time you said it,” I say. “Isn’t being perfect a good thing?”
“Are we ready to go?”
Patience is walking out the front door, her arms full of woolly jumpers and hiking shoes. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she says. “Yay! I’m so excited!”
I take a brown jumper from her arms and Jed takes one of Dad’s. As I pull mine on, I hear Patience say something to Jed. I can’t make out exactly what it is, but when my head pops out the neck-hole, I hear Jed’s response.
He’s looking at me intently. “Yes, I saw them,” he says. “I hope so too.”
I look down to see that my tee-shirt has come untucked. My ribs are bare.
I pull my shirt and jumper down quickly but it’s too late.
He saw them.
So did she.
But they don’t know. They can’t know. Even if they suspect …
They won’t suspect. And if they do …
I’ll tell them the truth.
That I deserved it.
“Can we go now?” I ask briskly. “I’ve got a heap more memories to get through. And I want to see where Jed is taking us that needs jumpers in the middle of summer.”
Jed and Patience exchange a look.
I ignore them. “Come on already,” I say. “I’m long overdue for an adventure.”
Thirty-Two
We’re up the top of a mountain.
Of course we are. Where else would we need boots and woolly knits in December?
Jed got Tallulah working and he drove us to the lookout, and then we climbed.
And it is cold up here. So cold it feels like snow. So cold my skin is tingling through layers of fleece and heavy denim. So cold I can see my breath puffing white in the air in front of me. So cold Patience is gripping my arms and leaning into me to try to keep warm.
Viggo would call it “frigid” or “biting” or, if he was in a particularly good mood, “brisk” or “bracing”.
I think of all those words as I hike along the track with my sister and my best friend. But the words that came out of my mouth are, “Ben Folds, it’s bloody freezing.”
“Now now, Connie-girl. Use your polite words,” Jed says, and I’m relieved to see he’s smiling. He’s been looking tense ever since I put my jumper on, ever since my top rode up, ever since …
But he’s forgotten. Hopefully. Or he’s decided it—they—aren’t worth worrying about.
Or, like me, he’s just so transfixed by our surroundings—so utterly dumbfounded that there’s a place like this so close to our suburban home—that nothing else seems to matter anymore.
Of course, we’ve been up here before, on a school trip when Jed and I were little, but all I remember is that there was snow that day, and Jed and I made a snowman called Percy, and we saw a wombat bottom poking out of its hole.
I don’t remember being awestruck by the sheer awesomeness of this place. I
guess you don’t really notice that sort of thing when you’re eleven years old. But now, at seventeen, I’m so moved by the beauty around me that I’m almost crying.
I’m almost crying, and it has nothing to do with Viggo MacDuff.
In fact, for the first time since we broke up …
For the first time since we met …
Nothing is about Viggo MacDuff.
I haven’t thought about him in at least half an hour, and this realisation shocks me. I thought he was so much a part of me, so embedded in my brain, that I’d never be able to stop thinking about him, even for a minute, let alone a whole thirty of them.
“You look … pensive,” says Patience. She notices my raised eyebrow. “What? It’s one of my words of the week for English. It means thoughtful. But you probably already know that. Viggo probably taught you, right? The Human Thesaurus.”
“No, Connie was always an English nerd,” Jed corrects Patience. “Viggo is the Human Textbook.”
“Actually, is he even human?” Patience asks, all innocence. “I have been suspecting for some time that he is, in fact, a robot.”
“Why did I never know you didn’t like Viggo?” I ask, nudging Patience in the ribs. “You never told me.”
“As if I was going to tell you when you were still blissfully, head-over-heels in love with him!” Patience cries. “You would have hated me. But now you’ve broken up … oh, it feels so good to say it. I hate him.” She raises her voice. “I hate Viggo MacDuff!”
Above us, a flock of cockatoos takes flight from a tree. Patience laughs. “See, they hate him too. Just the mention of his name and they’re off.”
“Why did you hate him?” I ask.
Patience shrugs. “Same reason everyone does. He’s a total smarmy, arrogant, obnoxious, domineering, stick-up-his-bum, classical-music-loving, fun-hating bastard!”
I’m genuinely shocked. “Patience!”
Patience puts a hand to her mouth. “Oops. Not one of my words of the week for English. But very apt.”
“It’s okay, Pitter-patter,” I murmur. “I just want you to explain to me why you think that.” I glance at Jed. “And tell me why you do, too. Tell me why everyone hates Viggo MacDuff. Make me see it. Persuade me. Maybe then it will all hurt less.”
