by Kate Gordon
“Never stops talking about you,” he repeats. When I catch his eye again, he winks. “So, do you want to be here, Connie? Because we’re about to rock this popsicle stand and it won’t be the same without you.” He points to the mic stand at the front of the group of guys—two on guitar, one on keys.
I look at him, aghast. He’s not seriously saying that I …
“Jed says you have a good voice,” says Gus, shrugging. “And I’ve been thinking for a while that we could do with a female lead singer. Sub in for me so I can go get a beer after those Aerosmith songs that trash my throat; sing a few Killing Heidi and Magic Dirt tunes. Maybe some Hole … Whatcha reckon? Subject to your success in this audition, of course.” He gestures at the guy with the acoustic guitar and the Oasis hoodie. “Seb?”
Seb nods. He starts plucking on the strings. I recognise the song immediately.
“You know it?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say quietly.
“Then do it.”
I take a deep breath.
And I walk up to the microphone.
Thirty-Seven
“You were awesome,” Patience says for what feels like the fiftieth time.
“Thanks, Pitter-Patter.” I’m still blushing. Still buzzing. Still high as a kite.
I knew every word to the song and I sang them with a voice full of all the pain and heartbreak I’d felt over the past few days.
“You were meant for me, and I was meant for you …”
Jewel isn’t usually my cup of tea, musically, but I don’t know a teenage girl on the planet who doesn’t know the words to that song. Even if they weren’t born when it was released. It’s the quintessential song of breaking up.
Of lost love.
Of broken hearts and shattered dreams.
“I try and tell myself it’ll be all right …”
Will it be all right?
I look around the cafe table, at my sister, at the guys from the band.
At Jed.
Barenaked Ween have asked me to join, as an occasional lead singer, to duet with Gus and sing lead in “girl” songs.
I’ve agreed. But only if they change their name.
“Barenaked Ween is never going to sing their own songs,” I point out. “Barenaked Ween pigeonholes you as a covers band. And it kind of sounds a bit icky.”
“What should we call ourselves then?” Gus asks, taking a sip of his cappuccino (so nineties). I raise my flat white to my lips and blow. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“You sure you want to do this, Connie-girl?” Jed’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so excited. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re saying you want to do it but … I don’t want you to agree to it just for me. You’ve spent a year doing stuff someone else wants you to do. It’s time you just did what Connie wants to do.”
I think of the next memory I was going to tell.
Thirty-Eight
Memory 20
Viggo convinced me to go to the Rotary Youth Leadership camp with him on the same weekend that the Violent Femmes were playing in Hobart.
It wasn’t too bad. In fact, some of it was kind of fun. I liked learning to play golf (even if Viggo was grumpy when I beat him). We had fun cooking dinner together, and going hiking (even if Viggo grumbled the whole way about not knowing what hiking had to do with leadership—he still hated outdoors pursuits). And the part that I’d been looking forward to telling Jed and Patience—when I’d won the Best Newcomer Award at the ceremony on the last day, and Viggo had been so proud of me—that was nice.
But I still wished the whole time that I was at the concert.
There had been no chance of me going, though. Not when Viggo wanted me to do something else.
When I’d first told this memory, to Beezus, through a mouthful of chocolate, I’d concentrated on the fun we’d had together at the camp. I’d focused on how Viggo had complimented me on my quick learning and my willingness to “dig in and get my hands dirty” in the brainstorming sessions and debates. How I’d “taken instruction” (mostly from Viggo) well.
At the time, I’d been chuffed that I’d impressed Viggo so much.
Now?
All I can think of is how much that Violent Femmes concert would have rocked.
Now, all I can think of is how much I enjoyed myself, at the microphone, singing my heart out. I will join the band. Not for Jed. For me.
“So what do you think we should change our name to?” Gus asks.
I think for a moment, and then smile.
“Memories Of A Different Me,” I reply.
“Cool,” Gus says. “We can call ourselves MOADM for short. Everyone will want to know what it stands for. It’ll generate hype and interest. Of course, you’ll generate just as much.”
“Me?”
“With that funky blue hair and great clothes and that killer voice? You’ll be MOADM’s biggest drawcard.” Gus grins. “You’ll be our Gwen Stefani! Thanks for joining the MOADM team, Connie Chase. And thanks for introducing us, Jedward. I think this is going to be the beginning of something big.”
Thirty-Nine
Dad’s there when we get home, parked in front of the telly with a Boags stubbie in one hand, the other plunged into a bag of his favourite Kettle chips. The hand is not moving. He’s too transfixed. “Come on, mate!” He mutters. “Come on … come on … come on … Yes!”
Mum appears at my side. “He’s going to give himself a heart attack,” she says quietly.
“I swear I don’t know why he watches it when it stresses him out so much.”
Mum’s eyes drift up to my hair. I self-consciously raise a hand to it. “I know,” I say. “Jed made me. I’ll dye it back.”
“No!” Mum says quickly. “Don’t do that, Connie. Please. I like it!”
I’m confused. “You always said you wished I’d just leave my hair the way it was.”
Mum sighs. “When you were younger, maybe. When you were still my baby and I didn’t want my baby wrecking her beautiful, natural hair colour. I got used to it. It became part of you. You haven’t looked like Connie for a long time. I’m glad you’re back. But wait.” She puts a hand to her chest, feigning dismay. “What will Viggo the Great think?”
I look at her curiously. Whenever Mum called Viggo that before, I was proud. Now I finally sense a touch of sarcasm.
Maybe Patience is right. Maybe Mum and Dad really don’t like Viggo as much as I thought they do.
“They broke up.”
Patience snakes her arms around my waist and leans her cheek on my shoulder. “Apparently Connie did something bad and Viggo dumped her and Connie is heartbroken and now, to help mend her broken heart, she is telling Jed twenty-five memories of Viggo MacDuff, which she’s already told Beezus while eating advent calendar chocolate. I told you there was no point buying her an advent calendar as she’d just save it all up and eat it at the end. She does it every year. Well, apart from last year when she didn’t eat the chocolate at all because Viggo doesn’t approve of “the cheap stuff”. Anyway, she’s doing that and, while she’s doing that, Jed is taking them on little adventures. Because he is awesome. He’s making her do crazy things like the old Connie would have done. Don’t worry, Mum, not illegal stuff … I don’t think. It’s to make her see that she’s better off without Viggo. She’s a better person and has more fun. But Connie hasn’t realised that yet because she’s so caught up in the memories and she doesn’t realise that the memories make Viggo look like a total dou— bad person. Anyway, it was Jed who convinced her to dye her hair back to awesome. And he talked her into joining a band!”
Patience finally takes a breath and Mum looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“Well,” she says finally, and then looks behind me to where Jed is hovering in the doorway. “Jed, welcome back. It’s been a long time. And thank you for looking after Connie. I assume you’ve been here all night?”
Jed clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I know I should have
made sure Connie got some sleep …”
Mum waves a hand in the air. “Pish to sleep on Christmas. I stayed up all night drinking mulled wine and watching old home movies with my sister. I had some pretty … interesting hair of my own, back in the day. I’m just glad you were here, to look after Connie. As soon as we drove away I regretted leaving. I knew we shouldn’t have left her alone. I knew something was wrong. I’m just so glad you came when we …” She clears her throat.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “When we” what?
But she goes on. “You’re such a good friend to my girl. I’ve missed you.” Mum throws her arms up. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in! Unless you have to run away to other adventures. But … if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could use a nap. Why don’t the three of you go up to Connie’s room and have a lie down. There will be time for more gadding about later in the day. Maybe your father and I can even join you. I could do with an adventure, and he’ll need a distraction if Australia loses as badly as it looks like they’re going to.”
I look to Jed. My sister has already invited herself on our adventures. How will Jed feel if my parents hijack his plans as well?
“It’d be great,” he says. “I’d love to have you guys come. I’ve missed you too. You’re my spare parents. You know, for when the real parentals are finally revealed to be Stepford robots. It’s been lonely without y’all. But, in the interests of transparency, my next challenge does involve getting tattoos.”
Mum blanches.
“Umm …”
Jed winks. “Trust me, Mrs C. Trust me.”
Forty
I’ve only met Jed’s big sister Saffron once before, at a family barbecue. While the rest of the family were nibbling on gourmet sausages topped with homemade sauce and wrapped in homemade olive bread, trying with all their might not to let anything fall on Jed’s mum’s freshly scrubbed patio, Saffron was tucking into a lentil burger, flicking gobs of tahini and chunks of eggplant carelessly all over the place. She offered palm and tarot card readings to any willing takers, and free spontaneous renditions of Xavier Rudd songs as well. All the while, her two sons—Miracle and Gift—danced naked around Jed’s mum’s bemused corgi, chanting Buddhist mantras.
The only time I saw her stop smiling the whole time was when her mum called her “Caroline”. “It may be on my birth certificate, Maureen,” Saffron said, “but that’s just a piece of paper. Now peace the fuck out.”
Jed’s mum was mortified. I thought Saffron may well be the coolest person I’d ever met.
Saffron lives in Nimbin, so Jed’s parents don’t see her often. Which is, I think, exactly how they like it. She is back for the holidays, though, and we are going to visit.
“She’s not staying with your family?” Mum asks Jed as we pile into Dad’s vintage VK Commodore (the same car Warnie drives). It’s a bit squishy in the back seat; my left knee is pressed against Jed’s right one. My fingertips could brush his, if I wanted them to.
“Saffron says she doesn’t believe in houses anymore,” Jed says. “I think she just doesn’t believe in Mum’s house. Besides, I think Mum made it pretty clear she doesn’t want a screaming baby keeping her up at all hours of the night. Not that I heard Courage cry once on Christmas day. She is freakishly happy. Guess you don’t need a house to be happy. Just the wide open sky, circus skills, and tourists to pay for your henna tattoos.”
“I’m so excited,” Patience says. “I’m going to get a heart with ‘Taylor’ in it. For Taylor Swift,” she explains when my dad looks at her quizzically.
He gives a heavy-hearted sigh. “And here was I thinking I’d raised two girls with intelligence and taste.”
“Not everyone can be a connoisseur of fine music like you are, Steve,” Jed says, smiling cheekily. “Your Twelfth Man cricket songs cassette collection is second to none.”
“This is true,” Dad says, laughing.
“Maybe you’re right though, Dad,” Patience says, looking pensive. “Maybe I should get something scientific instead. Like a DNA string or a chemical symbol. How can I decide? My two great loves! Taylor and science. How can I choose between them?” She flings her arms in the air, exhaling. “What are you going to get, Connie?” she asks.
I’ve been thinking about it. After Jed had explained what we were doing—and that it didn’t involve permanent body art—I tossed a few ideas around in my head.
At first, I thought I might get “MOADM”, as a celebration of joining the band. But then I thought that was a bit tame. If I am going to get a tattoo that would only last a couple of weeks, I might as well get something crazy, right?
Yep, it seems the old Connie is coming back. Constance would never have wanted to get a crazy tattoo. She would have refused to do this at all, because Viggo definitely doesn’t approve of any form of body modification.
But Connie has always wanted a tattoo. And, who knows? Maybe one day soon she will get a real one.
After all, Viggo is gone for good, isn’t he?
I don’t need his approval for anything anymore.
Despite my broken heart, that knowledge feels kind of … liberating.
“I’m going to get Beezus in a heart,” I declare. “After all, he is the only man in my life now.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” asks my dad, smiling at me in the rear-view mirror.
“I so never understood that expression,” I say. I turn to Jed. “Did you—” I realise he’s looking at his lap, jaw clenched. “What’s up, compadre?” I ask. “Having trouble deciding between Iron Maiden’s Eddie and Megadeth’s Vic Rattlehead for your tattoo?”
“Yeah. That’s it,” he says.
“Jed, tell Mum and Dad how awesome Connie was in MOADM,” Patience says cheerily, not picking up on the black vibes emanating from Jed.
I’m worried, though. What is up with him? Jed is the least aggro metalhead in the world, usually, but his face is so stormy it reminds me …
I swallow.
It reminds me of Viggo.
And that memory makes me feel queasy.
It makes me think of the party. And … and the next memory.
Forty-One
Memory 21
I was meant to be going with Jed to see a new fantasy epic at the cinema. But that was before Viggo decided the Landcare group wasn’t meeting its KPIs and we needed an emergency working bee.
I hadn’t hung out with Jed for ages. I still felt bad for ditching our East Coast trip, and I’d been forced to refuse almost every one of his invitations since. Viggo tied up every free moment with activities and study. But I’d promised Jed the cinema date. I’d promised I wouldn’t bail.
Then Viggo suggested the working bee.
Of course, at the thought of missing out on a rare day away from school, the other members of the group groaned and protested.
“Constance, back me up here,” Viggo said tetchily. “The student-free day is the most sensible day to do this, isn’t it? Constance?”
I was looking down at my hands.
“Constance?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, well, Viggo … we don’t get that many days off, especially this time of year, what with midyear exams coming up and maybe … I don’t know … There was a segment on Sunrise the other day about how it’s really important that students have school and study free days in the lead-up to exams, for mental health reasons, to, um, ease stress, which could hamper exam performance and stuff … and, so, maybe we should just …”
I was sweating.
Viggo was looking at me as if I was a cockroach, a slug, something he wished very much to be able to squish under the toe of his handcrafted Salvatore Ferragamo boat shoe.
“Um …” I cleared my throat. “Maybe we should see if we could have some time off school on another day to do it. Instead of using our day off?”
Viggo was seething. His jaw was taut. There was a vein pulsing in his forehead. His fingers were gripping his pencil so hard I thought it might snap a
t any second.
I wanted to run from the room. My heart felt like it would burst from my chest. But I stayed, twisting my fingers, my cheeks burning.
“Right,” Viggo said quietly. His quiet voice was—I’d discovered—much more frightening than when he yelled. He’d done that—yelled—once or twice, when I’d really stuffed up. Yelling meant he was frustrated. His quiet voice meant he was really, truly furious. He looked away from me around the table. “Well, that’s Connie’s opinion. Luckily, Connie’s opinion doesn’t count for much. Kacey, what do you think?”
Kacey flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Obviously, I think Connie has a point,” she said brightly. She smiled at me sympathetically. “But I also agree with you, Viggo. We shouldn’t ask for time off. It would make us seem like we’re only doing the Landcare group to get out of school instead of because of our passion for the environment. If we’re really committed to this, we should use the student-free day. Besides, the weather forecast said it’s going to be a super sunny day on Tuesday. So we could bring our bikinis and go for a swim when we’re done! So … it might be okay—like a day off, anyway, Connie?” She smiled at me again. But Viggo only had eyes for her.
Viggo laughed. “Well, I don’t own a bikini, Kacey …”
She rolled her eyes. “But I bet you have some boardies, don’t you?”
Viggo leaned forwards. “As a matter of fact, I do own a pair of Ralph Lauren swimming shorts. I’ve been meaning to test them out.”
My stomach flipped. If I didn’t know that Viggo found Kacey shallow and dull—and that he was committed to me—I would have thought he was flirting with her.
But I knew he wasn’t. Not really. He was just angry at me and was punishing me by being extra nice to Kacey. It was okay. I deserved it.
But I still felt like scum.
