by Beale, Fleur
‘She phoned me,’ Jax said. ‘And she came over.’
Addy stared at her. ‘You didn’t say anything!’
Jax looked at her hands, not at us. ‘She said she was sorry. It was like having the old Lizzie back. I miss her.’
We were quiet and it was a tense sort of quiet with unsaid things pinging around the room.
I spoke first. ‘You stick with her if you want, Jax. Not me. I’ll never trust her again.’ But I missed her too — crazy, flamboyant Lizzie.
We looked at Addy. She shrugged. ‘Do what you want, Jax, but I’m with Min. Lizzie’s a two-faced bitch.’
They went home soon after that. I watched them go, and what I thought was that Lizzie was splitting us, choosing Jax because we all knew she had the softest heart and if any of us was going to crack it would be her.
I wondered what Lizzie would do when we ran into each other, because it was going to happen sooner or later.
But, wouldn’t you know it — I ran into Seb, not Lizzie.
‘Hiya, doll,’ he said, smiling that heartbreaker smile that answered my questions about my heart — it leapt straight into overdrive. He was in his car and he pulled up beside me, right where a camera-toting idiot flashed a shot off in my face.
‘Get in,’ Seb said, leaning over and opening the door.
And, god help me, I did.
We roared off leaving camera-guy eating our dust. Seb grinned at me, but didn’t say anything — just drove us down to the south coast and parked the car where we could watch the sea and where I could see the island with Dad on it if I knew where to look.
Seb still loved me. It was going to be all right. He would beg me to forgive him. He would tell me he was sorry — that he loved me and he’d never stopped loving me.
He draped an arm across my shoulders. ‘Great to see you, doll.’ He leaned towards me to kiss me.
I flung up a hand and flinched back against the door. My dreams suddenly were as insubstantial as the foam on the sand. ‘You can’t do this, Seb! You can’t just roar into my life and pick me up like a shell on the bloody beach as if nothing has happened.’
He smiled into my eyes, stroked a strand of hair off my cheek. ‘Lizzie was a mistake, doll. Trust me, she didn’t mean anything.’
I jerked my head away from his hand. ‘Don’t bloody call me doll. And she meant something to me. You went off with my best friend.’
He folded his arms and leaned them on the steering wheel. ‘Yeah, I guess. Dumb.’ He shot me another smile. ‘I’m sorry, doll, er, Minna. Won’t happen again, I promise.’
No, it wouldn’t because, just like that, the magic was gone. He wasn’t my boyfriend and the sadness was that I was glad. I sighed. ‘Drive me back, Seb.’
This time I got a puzzled look but he didn’t say anything and we drove back without speaking. I got out. ‘See you round.’
He just lifted a hand and watched as I walked up the path. That was it. Over. It was so over.
I went into the house, yelled out to Mum but didn’t go into the lounge because she had friends over — Jocasta and Mary I’d guess, judging by the shrieks of laughter. Mum would have that kid a couple of months early if they weren’t careful.
I sat on my bed and I wanted to howl. I couldn’t be over Seb. How could that happen when I’d loved him so much, thought of him every waking second? I groaned and grabbed my pillow because I needed to hug something — well, somebody would have been better but there was no handy body around. What was it Dad had said? Something about how I would have got over it all much quicker if we hadn’t been shut away on the island.
I thumped the pillow. Bloody life.
Mum called me. ‘What?’ I snarled, but not where she could hear me. By the time I got to the lounge I was my usual charming self. ‘Hi, Mum. Hello Jocasta. Mary.’
Mary, who was an arty photographer, grinned at me. ‘Just wanted to tell you, Minna — your filming on the island — first class. You’ve got the eye, my girl.’
Jocasta laughed at my flabbergasted face. ‘I adore the chook sequences. They’re priceless, and such a brilliant idea.’
I glanced at Mum, and if I had to put a name to the expression on her face it would have to be proud. ‘Um,’ I said, ‘thanks. But where’s the series up to?’ We’d decided, Mum and I, not to watch any of it.
Jocasta passed me the muffins she’d brought with her. ‘The last episode showed Robert’s arrival.’ She shook her head. ‘That Cara would kill and eat her nearest and dearest if it meant good television.’
I glanced at Mum who pulled her mouth down and sighed. ‘Well, that should be the last of the pyrotechnics.’
Yeah, well, maybe. But to my mind there were a few damp firecrackers waiting to dry out and explode, such as facing Lizzie, the hassling I would get when school started, the birth of the baby and the whole thing about where Dad would live or would he take off to some other island a million miles away. But with a bit of luck none of that would get on telly.
Dad and Noah came off the island for Christmas. Noah came home and Dad went to the Hargreaves grands’. Noah and I went there for dinner on Christmas Eve. Mum, of course, hadn’t been invited.
‘You are so lucky,’ I said to her. ‘And aren’t you going to tell me off for wearing clothes designed to send Gran bonkers?’
Mum grinned at me. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining, Min. And my silver lining is never having to see your grandmother again for as long as I live. You wear exactly what you like.’
‘Well! You’re singing a different tune these days!’ I said.
‘She’s a bitch swimming as fast as she can off the sinking ship,’ Mum said cheerfully and using the first mixed metaphor I’d heard for months. ‘Said some pretty nasty stuff on telly when the shit hit the fan, according to what Jocasta told me.’
Noah ambled into the room. ‘I’m betting Dad will be out of there before Boxing Day.’
We were arguing about it when Dad called from the doorway. ‘You two ready?’
That brought me down to earth. My father was a visitor in his own home, except that he wouldn’t even cross the threshold.
I picked up the pavlova I had crafted and we left with Mum’s words following us. ‘Have fun!’
Dad took the pav from me. ‘This is magnificent, Min. You’re a champion.’ He put it carefully in the car and then he gave me the hugest hug. ‘How are you? How’s everything going?’
God, that island had a lot to answer for — I couldn’t do anything now without wanting to burst into tears. ‘Okay,’ I sniffed. ‘It’s okay. Really, Dad.’
He grabbed my shoulders and took a long, hard look at me. ‘Hmm. All right. That’s good.’ He gave me a whack on the butt. ‘Let’s go then.’
About the only good thing Gran H had going for her was her cooking. We ate well, although I’d bet that all she could taste was vinegar and sawdust judging by the expression on her face. I chatted to Grandad and ignored her because I was not going to wreck a sumptuous meal of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, gravy and roast spuds — although why she chose to cook that on a summer evening only she would know.
We all made appropriately grateful comments.
Then it was time for dessert. I brought in the pav. It was a damned fine one and I wasn’t the only one to think so. I gave Grandad a slice double the size Gran would have given him. He winked at me.
There was an appreciative silence while we ate except for Gran saying to Noah, ‘Really, Noah — you’re back in civilisation now. Kindly do not lick your plate.’
Grandad smacked his lips and said, ‘That was delicious, Minna. You’re a champion.’
Dad said, ‘Fantastic, Min.’
Noah said, ‘Almost as good as the fish.’
We all looked at Gran H. She looked like she’d swallowed sour lemons and then came out with, ‘You’ve surprised me, Minna, I have to admit. There must be more of your father in you than I thought.’
I repeated that to Mum when we got home. She laughed for a w
eek.
Christmas Day was icky. We opened the presents in the morning but Dad wasn’t there and there weren’t any from him.
Mum gave me the drawing she’d done of me digging the bird bath. She’d done it in charcoal from that first sketch. I hugged her. ‘Thanks, Mum. I love it.’
I gave her a shawl in brilliant, jewelled colours, which I’d found in town one day with the girls. ‘I don’t know what you’ll do with it,’ I said, ‘but it kind of looked like you.’
She held it against her face. ‘It’s gorgeous, Min. I shall toss it around my shoulders and be a mad artist.’
Noah gave me a tiny fish he’d carved from a piece of wood. He laughed when he opened my present to him. A silver fish on a chain to wear around his neck.
We went to the Aveson grands’ for lunch and nobody mentioned Dad. It was as if he’d died. Gramps was doing fine with a brand new hip, but there was a For Sale sign outside their house.
Dad came to collect us mid-afternoon. He drove us to a motel. ‘Told you,’ said Noah.
Dad shook his head. ‘She makes me remember all over again why I left home at seventeen.’
But I think a large chunk of the reason for the motel was because he wanted to talk to us — me in particular.
He sat on the one kitchen chair, Noah grabbed the armchair and I lounged on the bed. ‘Right, kids. I’ve come to a decision.’
This, I felt, would not be good news. I didn’t say anything and neither did Noah.
Dad did the deep breath — another bad sign. ‘You both know that our marriage is finished?’
‘Yeah,’ said Noah. ‘But only because we’re rocket scientists.’
Dad got a tad snippy at that. ‘It wasn’t the easiest of situations, Noah.’
I managed not to say and whose fault was that? I must be growing up. But by the look on Dad’s face he heard what I didn’t say.
‘Yes. Well. That’s beside the point. The point is this. Noah, you and I will go back to the island until school starts, and then we’ll both come back.’
‘For good?’ I asked. This, I was having difficulty believing.
Dad nodded. ‘Yes. For good.’ He looked at me. ‘It’s not fair leaving you to cope with everything, Min.’ I sat up and opened my mouth but he grinned at me. ‘Oh, I know you can handle it all — no question. It’s just that I don’t think you should have to handle it.’
This was not what I had expected. I shook my head and tried to take in what else he was saying.
‘I’m going to look for a house near ours. Noah, you will spend every weekend with me. And you too, Min, if you want.’
I should have known it was too good to be true. They could go off and do boy stuff. I’d be like an extra leg they didn’t know what to do with. I stared at my feet. It would be good to have Dad back in the same city. It would be. I just wouldn’t see that much of him.
He spoke again. ‘And every Wednesday, Min, you and I will meet at my house at four o’clock. We’ll go to the supermarket and we’ll buy food. Then we’ll cook it.’
That made me sit up. ‘Every week? Four o’clock?’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Yep. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
I flopped back against the wall. ‘Stir-fry. I want stir-fry with cashews.’ He might do it and he might not. Only time would tell. But some of the unsettled feeling I’d had dispersed.
twenty-nine
The first day of school and the first encounter with Lizzie happened the same day.
A sample of the shit I got handed:
Ooh, look! There’s the telly brat!
Can I have your autograph?
How much money did they pay you?
You swear a lot.
Here comes Miss Celebrity. Where’s the red carpet?
But I actually preferred that to the kids who yelled and rushed me because they really did want my autograph.
I ignored the lot of them and walked into the hall with Jax and Addy where we would discover what classes we’d been put into.
Silas Jensen moved a couple of seats away from me. ‘Can’t sit too near the celeb. She’s got a nasty temper, this one.’
Then came Lizzie’s voice. ‘Get over yourself, Silas, and don’t be such a dick.’ She pushed past Jax and Addy and plonked herself down beside me in the space Silas had left. ‘Great to see you, Min.’ She gave me a hug. I didn’t hug back.
‘Lizzie,’ I said. ‘I can stand up for myself. And I’ll choose my friends.’ I eyeballed her. ‘Personally, I prefer people who are not two-faced, selfish cows.’ I turned my back on her.
‘Wow!’ Silas hissed. ‘Cat fight!’
But I wasn’t going to fight Lizzie. I simply wasn’t going to have anything to do with her.
The dean came in and gave us our timetables. I was in the same English class as Jax. The same Maths class as Addy. We were all three in the same Science class. But Lizzie was in every one of my classes except Science.
It could be an interesting year. I wondered how long it would take her to get the message that our friendship was history.
Dad bought a house ten minutes’ walk from our house. So far, he hasn’t missed a Wednesday dinner. I can now cook stir-fry and lasagne but he still can’t master the art of the pavlova. He and Mum have teamed up enough to make sure Noah can’t slide back into drug world. Dad’s even got the holidays covered — it’s back to the island for both of them and me if I want to go — which I might, especially if the baby turns out to be a screecher.
My half-brother was born by caesarean section at 1.30 in the morning of 7 February. Mum asked me to phone Robert. I sent him a text.
She called the baby Arthur.
‘Mum! You can’t! Arthur?’
‘That’s his name,’ she said. ‘Arthur Aveson.’
There was a bit of a media flurry when he was born. Cara said we had to let her do a follow-up because it was in the contract which was news to us, but we checked it and she was right.
The good thing about that was we got a truck-load of free gear for Arthur from firms who thought seeing their stuff on the programme would be good advertising. And Mum sold five paintings afterwards for what she called grossly inflated prices, but if people were stupid enough to pay that much, then she wasn’t going to stop them.
Arthur is okay. Well, actually, he’s quite sweet. Cute. He squeaks a bit, but he smiles a lot. Jax and Addy are his fan club. I wanted to take him with me on a duty visit to the Hargreaves grands, but Mum wouldn’t let me. She said there was a fine line between being my usual provoking self and being deliberately unkind.
Robert is bearable. He doesn’t try and be all pally with me and Noah — full marks for that. And he does adore the Wee Squeaky Brat. He’s got a girlfriend now and she goes completely gaga whenever she sights the WSB. Mum doesn’t seem worried about not being able to bring him up, but I think it helps that she knows Robert’s around.
In the follow-up programme, Cara asked me how the island had changed me. I shrugged. ‘I can cook now. And I can do things I’d never dreamed I could do.’
She leaned forward, her eyes shouting out Yay! At last, something deep and meaningful from Minna Hargreaves. ‘That’s very interesting, Minna. What sort of things?’
I smiled at her. ‘I can use a spider-infested, long-drop toilet without screaming.’
She gave up at that point. Full marks to Minna.
But I should have remembered that it’s never a good idea to think you’ve outsmarted Cara. She got an interview from Gran H, who was her usual free and frank self. ‘That child was a sulky brat before she went to the island. I have to admit that there’s been quite a transformation.’ And she would be right, because she’s always right, about everything.
But one thing makes me laugh every time I think of it. Because of the programme, chooks became the ‘in’ pets to have. People gave them to each other for Christmas, for birthdays, to keep their kids happy. But the problem is that when a chook is just a chick it’s very hard
to tell if it’s an Arthur or a Martha. Therefore all over the city, as the sun rises, you can hear crowing and cock-a-doodle-dooing. The pet column of the paper is full of ads saying: Rooster, free to a good home.
Brilliant.
Copyright
The author gratefully acknowledges the assistance of Creative New Zealand
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand
A RANDOM HOUSE BOOK
published by
Random House New Zealand
18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand
www.randomhouse.co.nz
Random House International
Random House
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London, SW1V 2SA
United Kingdom
Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd
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New South Wales 2061, Australia
Random House South Africa Pty Ltd
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Houghton 2198, South Africa
Random House Publishers India Private Ltd
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First published 2007
© 2007 Fleur Beale
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
ISBN 9781775530466
This book is copyright. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover and text design: Katy Yiakmis
Cover illustrations: gettyimages
Printed in Australia by Griffin Press
