He’s nodding in agreement as I’m talking. But he doesn’t know the next bit’s the toughest bit.
‘And you don’t want to get stuck here with a girl who just happened to float back into your life … even though she’s a friggin’ legend.’
I want him to smile at my lame attempt at a joke, but he doesn’t and his expression is impossible to read.
‘I don’t want that for you either,’ I add. ‘I need — want — you here, but I can’t bear the thought of you missing out on something and it being my fault. Not when you can have anything. You said it: London. You want to get lost.’
‘And you don’t,’ he says, so quietly it’s almost to himself.
He leans forward in the beanbag, fingers kneading his temples. I can almost see him weighing it all up in his head. The money. The time. The possibilities. If it’s what he wants, he can do this, he can do this right now, and that’s the most terrifying part for me.
‘I wish I wanted it, I do,’ I add, breaking the silence. ‘Oh God, I feel like a monster. Gelato? Does more gelato help?’
With a small smile, he accepts the tub. ‘Doesn’t hurt.’
‘Um, I better get Max back before he digs his way to London. Just promise me one thing?’
‘I’d say “anything”, but I don’t think I can trust you with that responsibility, Chicken Girl.’
‘Wise choice. Just promise me you won’t run away.’
‘But you said —’
‘Don’t run away,’ I repeat. ‘Say goodbye to everyone before you leave. If you do end up leaving, I mean.’
Milo chews on his bottom lip. That bottom lip. ‘I’m just talking shit. Besides, you’d always get a goodbye.’
I nod. ‘Good, ’cos I heard about this girl who ran off from this guy she was best mates with and they didn’t speak for like five years. Bad, right?’
‘Shocking.’
‘I heard they bumped into each other again though.’
‘No way, what are the chances?’ Milo says, settling into his beanbag. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Nah. It was a disaster.’ I smile, then squat down so we’re knee to knee. ‘But as far as disasters go, it was pretty friggin’ spectacular.’
***
I unclip the leash and Max bounds into Gayle’s arms, nearly taking out the floor lamp in the corner of the lounge room, before he leaps through the open sliding door and chases after a bird. Keeping an eye on him through the window, Gayle pours me a water and tells me her physio is wondering if I could wash her sausage dog every now and then, and her best friend needs someone to walk her staffy every night ’cos she’s worn out from juggling three casual jobs.
‘You’ve got yourself quite the booming business, if you want it,’ she says, scribbling down her friends’ numbers on a piece of paper for me. ‘We should start calling you the animal whisperer. Don’t tell Amvi, but Max is beyond smitten with you.’
I grin. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Awesome. He liked Milo too.’
‘Who?’
I hadn’t meant for that to slip out. ‘Oh … just my friend.’
Gayle’s eyes sparkle. ‘Well, your friend must be a good egg because Max is a tough judge of character.’ She laughs. ‘Ever think you could be a vet or work in a zoo, something like that?’
‘I dropped out of school last year, so …’
I didn’t mean to say that either — especially so bluntly — because it usually makes people feel even more uncomfortable than it makes me.
But Gayle poo-poos me with a flick of her wrist. ‘So nothing. You’re a bright girl and there’s plenty of time and ways to make whatever you want happen. Believe me.’ She groans when she spots Max digging a hole in the middle of the backyard to bury a T-shirt with the washing pegs still attached. ‘That dog … I just hung up that load.’
I try not to laugh at the sight of him tangled up in the material.
‘Anyway,’ she says with a smile, ‘I think Max is thrilled to have your undivided attention and he’ll see you at the same time tomorrow. And maybe your friend too?’
‘It’ll just be me.’
‘Okay, and a quick heads-up before you call my physio — her sausage dog is a cutie but he widdles when he’s nervous. Perks of the gig, darl.’
* * *
Milo: Have you phased me for Max?
Layla: Of course
Layla: Why? Missing me or something?
Milo: Never *
Milo: * Incorrect
Layla: Ha! Are we still meant to be following the rules or …?
Milo: Maybe, but I forget them so …
Layla: Maybe I forgot them too …
Milo: Well, if we BOTH forget them, maybe there’s no point in trying to follow them. PS: Especially when you love breaking rules 1 and 4 so much
Layla: Thought you forgot them? PS: You’re the master of breaking 3 and 5
Milo
I chew my thumbnail as I stare at the prices in the travel agency’s window. Mum’s at the post office; she thinks I’m getting an afternoon snack from Joe’s. Reminder to self: buy something on the way back so I don’t blow my cover.
Italy.
Bali.
London.
Fiji.
America.
It’s the same list as before, only this time the flights to London are cheaper. It feels like that might be a sign, but I’ve never been good at picking up signs. My palms are damp and I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m trekking to Machu Picchu, or standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, or butchering the French language to a Parisian waiter who doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. I’m just a guy trying to work out what to do next. (Hint: not computer science or becoming a teenage real-estate mogul.)
I wipe my palms down the front of my T-shirt, head spinning as I try to absorb all the info in the ads.
Cheap London flights!
Exclusive fares for under 26 year olds!
Never a dull moment!
A young agent with slicked hair and a crisp white shirt catches my eye through the window. He grins a toothy grin. Salesman mode is activated.
I look around; there’s no sign of Mum yet.
I walk into the travel agency.
Layla
I lie on my bed, knees up, scrolling through the photos on my phone. I pause on a selfie of me and Milo pulling stupid faces at the river, then crack up when I find the series of Max slobbering and rolling his way around the vegie patch.
And then I see a pop of purple. The DCC flyer from the hospital. I’d almost forgotten I snapped a photo of it.
I flick past it, to photos of Milo goofing around in my cat ears, and Shirin in her overalls splattered in yellow paint, then pause and head back to double-check something.
There was a butterfly in the logo. Thought I might’ve imagined that part.
After a few false starts with the sluggish internet — enough to make me almost want to scrap the whole thing — the DCC’s website loads. Information overwhelms the screen. Opening hours. Bulk-billing. Confidential sessions. Phone counselling.
Phone counselling.
My heart races as I imagine talking about my feelings with a counsellor again, especially as my memory has warped as the years have passed. Sorting through the tiniest of details would be like trying to do a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Shirin’s words ring in my ears: You’ve tried doing it alone. It hasn’t worked. Enough.
I look at the brochure again. My eyes linger on the word grief. I hate that word.
I close my eyes and try to pinpoint what Mum would want me to do. If I can’t be with her, then I have to think like her.
Inhale. Focus, Lay.
My only wish is for you to try your best and be kind to the people in your life.
She told me this as she tucked a loose curl behind my ear on the day I missed out on a prize at assembly. She told me this after encouraging me to be nice to the new girl at kindy who’d been sitting alone at rec
ess every day. She told me this the week before she died, when my head was hanging over the toilet bowl ’cos I was so nervous about my softball team’s practice.
She wanted me to help others be happy and she wanted me to be happy.
Maybe I am tired of fighting this on my own, like Shirin said. Or maybe, for the first time, I understand there’s nothing to be afraid of any more, because the worst has happened and now it’s over and I’m still here. Like I told Milo: if he can survive that crappy, crappy thing at the river, he can survive anything. I’ve already got through the unimaginable, and I’m still going. One scuffed boot in front of the other.
I crack my neck, then, hands trembling, punch the DCC’s number into my phone.
A counsellor called Hayley answers on the second ring. I’m shaking so much I nearly hang up. But I cling to the phone, stumble through an introduction, and tell her my name is Sarah. Too many people in this town know Dad, and knew Mum, which means they’ll know of me. Plus, I’ve always liked that name.
I’m talking fast — so fast that I wonder if she can even understand my gibberish.
Hayley’s voice is warm when she tells me she’s here to listen for as long as I want, for as long as I need.
I suck in a breath. My mouth feels a few too many steps ahead of my brain, but the more I try to stop it, the faster the words seem to pour out. Before I know it, there’s another person in the world who knows my story and things haven’t fallen apart.
Yet the weight of it is still heavy. Because when I wake up, it’s Mum’s face I see, I tell Hayley. And when I go to sleep, it’s her voice I hear.
The rest of my words get caught in my throat, behind my teeth, under my tongue, and I can’t tell her the rest. That Mum was part of the tapestry of Durnan and so loved. She didn’t even realise it ’cos that was just how it had always been. Other parents’ faces would light up when she told a dirty joke at the school gate when she thought us kids were out of earshot; and she’d have the supermarket in stitches every time she waltzed down an aisle or played puppeteer with the unsuspecting roast barbecue chickens.
I won the lottery: I had her nearly all to myself. Most people aren’t lucky enough to say they’ve been loved with the fierce force of my mum for thirteen years.
Except me. I’m lucky enough to be able to say that.
‘I’m …’ My voice cracks. I try again. ‘I’m never going to get over this … am I?’
‘Sarah,’ Hayley says, her voice gentle, ‘no-one’s expecting you to get over this. To be alright with what happened. Yes, the days might get a little easier, with time. Your heart may hurt a little less, with time. But what you feel — that pain, that ache — it hurts this much inside you because it’s tied to how much you loved each other. And my word, it sounds like you loved each other.’
I can’t hold the tears back any longer, and when I try to hide the sniffing it comes out as a gurgle.
‘Sarah? Are you there?’
I wipe at my eyes, but there’s a million more tears waiting. ‘Yeah.’ My voice is wispy. ‘Yeah, I’m here.’
By now I’m crying so much a snot bubble forms out of my nose and I can’t help but laugh. I can almost hear Mum’s teasing.
‘Ah, God,’ I choke out between watery laughs. ‘This is crazy — I can’t stop.’
I drag my sleeve across my face, mopping my cheeks and lips and chin. Even my neck and chest are wet with tears.
‘Sarah, it sounds like your mum loved you just about as much as anyone can be loved. If you keep remembering that, you’ll always be connected. And no-one can take that away from you. No-one. She made you you.’
My chest tightens as I look over at the framed photo of me and Mum at the zoo.
‘Um …’ I begin, voice wavering. ‘Hayley?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Layla … My real name’s Layla.’
All the truth that’s been locked up inside me is out. I mightn’t have been able to stand by Mum’s grave, but I’ve dragged myself through the halls of the hospital, and thought of her every day for over half a decade. I might’ve spiralled after watching the video with Milo and Trent, but I’ve given myself permission to remember her again, despite the heaviness in my heart that still takes me by surprise every time. And I might’ve silenced myself for five years, but I’ve immersed myself in her memory to find my voice again.
‘That’s a gorgeous name,’ Hayley says, not skipping a beat. ‘Thank you for telling me. Layla. Yes, I think that suits you perfectly.’
I’m all out of words, so she pencils me in for another chat later in the week.
After I hang up, I exhale the breath I seem to have held onto for the entire call. Then I break down crying, buckling in on myself as my mascara stains my pillowcase. For once, I don’t try to hold it in.
* * *
Milo: Afternoon. You free to hang out today/tonight?
Milo: Hello …?
Milo: Night, Lay
* * *
Layla: Sorry I missed this — everything OK?
Milo: Yep, can we meet up soon?
Layla: Yeah, course
Layla: HANG ON … why? What’s happening? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?
Layla: Oh god. Timbuktu. You’re doing it
Layla: You’re doing it, aren’t you?
Layla: Please … if what I think is happening is happening, tell me now so I can prepare myself
Layla: Please …
Milo: Lay …
Milo: I REALLY didn’t want to do this over text, but … yeah, I’m going to London, leaving in a month, I think
Layla: AS IN NEXT MONTH? But I’ll miss your b’day
Milo: That’s OK. I missed yours!
Layla: I wasn’t in Durnan then
Milo: I won’t be in Durnan either
Layla: This is too big for texts. Treehouse tomoz at 9 pm?
Milo: Sounds good
Layla: Night, MD. Is this real life?
Milo: Night, Lay. Think so. Pinch me tomorrow
Milo
The treehouse is bursting with red balloons. As I get closer, crunching on the dried leaves on the Perkinses’ lawn, I notice streamers hanging from each corner, loosely plaited together. And then I see her. She has a paper crown on her head — the Christmas bonbon kind.
Layla wriggles to the edge of the treehouse and hangs her legs over the side. ‘Surprise,’ she whispers through the dark. ‘Happy birthday, MD.’
‘What is this?’
‘Welcome to your early birthday party, silly.’ She gestures to the ladder. ‘Quick, get up here.’
‘This is break-and-entering, right?’
‘We’re not breaking anything, only entering, so no.’
I climb up to join her. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ she says, squeezing a crown onto my head, jamming a party whistle in my mouth and tossing confetti in the air over us.
I blow on the whistle and the paper tube unravels, nearly hitting Lay in the face. She giggles as she swats it away.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I say, still struggling to take it all in.
She edges closer to straighten my hat, which keeps slipping off. ‘You really do have a huge head. Lovely,’ she adds with a grin, ‘but huge. I never noticed that before.’
I laugh. ‘It’s my party and you’re paying me out?’
‘Come here,’ she says, swiping balloons out of the way so I can wriggle in further. Closer to her. ‘Got you a present.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, you’re leaving me and you suck, and I like to give people who suck presents.’ She hands me a long slim tube. ‘Go on. Open it.’
I pull off the lid and take a look. As suspected there’s a large sheet of paper rolled up inside.
‘If this is a blown-up photo of us as naked babies in the bath . . .’
I stride out the paper and uncurl it, then flatten it out across my lap. It’s a world map, each continent and ocean decorated with pinks, oranges, greens and blues.
&
nbsp; Layla leans in, tracing her fingers around Europe and Asia. ‘It’ll help you get lost … and found, if you ever want that too,’ she says.
Clearing my throat, I lean in and hug her. It’s over too quickly.
‘This is great. All of this. Thank you.’ It doesn’t sound like enough, but I don’t know if anything will right now. ‘You’re the best.’
‘It is and I am. I do have a confession though.’
‘Here we go.’
‘I was kinda freaked when you told me you were leaving.’
‘You mean when you bullied me into telling you, even though I had a plan for how I was going to do it?’ I grin. ‘Sounds familiar.’
‘There I go, getting in the way again,’ she says with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, nothing you could’ve done would’ve made it any easier ’cos … well … it just wouldn’t have.’
I’m trying to stop myself from filling in the blanks, but it’s hard to think straight.
‘I feel like an idiot ’cos there’s part of me that never thought you’d go through with it,’ she admits. ‘That you’d stop yourself. But I know what it means to you to walk away from this town, so now you’re doing it, despite everything, and it means …’ Her voice catches.
Maybe this isn’t about everything. Maybe this is about leaving despite one thing. One person. Or maybe I’m listening for what I want to hear.
‘It means …’
‘Yeah?’ I say.
‘It means you have to go. I know that sounds crazy ’cos you are going — it’s happening, you’ve told me — but I want you to know I get it. All my reasons for wanting you to stay can never make you forget all the reasons you need to leave.’
A rustling in the tree above us, probably a possum, interrupts the growing silence.
‘That was a good speech,’ I say. An embarrassed snort slips out.
‘I try,’ she says with a small smile. ‘Besides, there’s thousands of girls who’ll be lucky to meet you overseas. But if you stay any longer in Durnan, you know we’ll end up with each other.’
I nearly choke. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You know I’m right. There’s no-one else in this town — sorry, Trenticles, love him, but no — so if you stay, then we’ll probably get hitched one day ’cos we’re bored, stack on the weight from eating all that gelato, then I’ll take up chain-smoking ’cos I’m stressed out, and you’ll yell at our ratbag kids for not putting away their toys, and then I’ll yell at you for not pruning the pergola properly.’ She grins and throws a balloon at me. I tap it back towards her. ‘I’m thinking of me and my bum. It’s a nice bum, but it can’t handle a lifetime of our eating habits. We’re too good at it.’
Remind Me How This Ends Page 21
