Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  ‘Just my crazy sister up to her old tricks again,’ I said.

  ‘What, chasing after toy boys?’ Tracey grinned.

  ‘Wish I could be so lucky,’ Ginny grimaced.

  ‘No, she swears he’s not a youngster this time.’ I paused, and opened Google. ‘I don’t suppose any of you have heard of someone in the UK called JJ? He’s supposed to be famous.’

  Tracey shook her head. ‘That’s not much to go on. Why? Is your sister still chasing after the rich and famous?’

  ‘Seems like it. But I’ve never heard of anyone famous called JJ.’

  ‘Neither,’ said Ginny.

  ‘Here we are,’ I said, typing ‘JJ famous England’ into Google. ‘Let’s see what the world wide web can tell us.’ I scrolled down a list of entries that meant nothing to me, names the initials JJ stood for. Then I saw the name Jack Jeremiah and a tingling sort of alarm went off in my head.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I gasped. ‘I hope it’s not this one.’

  ‘Who?’ Tracey cried.

  ‘Come on Penny, tell us,’ Ginny said.

  ‘Ever heard of a Jack Jeremiah?’

  Tracey looked blank but Ginny cried, ‘Lord almighty! She can’t have!’

  ‘I’ll read it to you,’ I said, peering at the screen. ‘“Jack Jeremiah, aka JJ, the ageing rock star known for his alcohol-and drug-fuelled on-stage rampages, makes a comeback after twenty years.” That’s the teaser anyway. It links to an article from a UK tabloid.’

  I hit on the link and then it clicked. Literally and figuratively.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I said again, louder and with even more emphasis. ‘I don’t believe this.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘“Jack Jeremiah, rock legend in his day as lead guitar player in the rampaging Panthers, played to a sold-out arena last night in his first comeback concert after a well-earned time out that lasted twenty years. At sixty-five, Jeremiah might be ready to collect his old-age pension, but there was no Zimmer frame in sight last night as he showed all the vigour and vehemence of his heyday, gyrating, rooster-hopping and leaping across the stage in a display of energy and vitality someone half his age would have been proud of.

  ‘“Jeremiah and his band toured the world many times in the seventies and, after a series of run-ins with the police, including drug arrests, ripping up hotel rooms and running off with under-age girls at after-parties, the Panthers disappeared from the scene almost as quickly as they’d arrived …” And on it goes.’ I vaguely remembered hearing about the comeback show at the time, about a year earlier.

  ‘Well, your sister certainly knows how to pick ’em!’ Tracey said.

  ‘I predict there’ll be tears before bedtime with this one,’ Ginny said.

  ‘A bit late for that,’ I said. ‘Bedtime and tears seem to have arrived some time ago.’

  ‘I bet Panthers don’t change their spots any more than leopards.’

  ‘I have a feeling you may be right,’ I said ruefully. ‘I can’t understand what comes over her. I mean, she has a perfectly good husband. You could even say he’s the perfect husband.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the problem,’ Tracey said. ‘Perfection has its price.’

  ‘And some women prefer them mean,’ Ginny added, with a throaty growl.

  ‘But think what it could do for her reputation!’ I protested.

  ‘Maybe that’s what she’s thinking,’ Ginny threw in. ‘If she was worried about people perceiving her as boring …’

  ‘It might give her a dangerous edge, a bit of notoriety, that’s for sure,’ I said. ‘But it certainly won’t do much for trying to hide her age. The guy’s a pensioner, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Maybe she thinks he’ll make her look like a hot young babe by comparison.’

  ‘Could do! He certainly looks like a geriatric,’ Ginny added. ‘All those years getting wasted have certainly taken their toll.’

  ‘He’s awfully craggy,’ Tracey said, coming closer to peer at the photo on the screen. ‘But he’s not bad looking, for over sixty-five.’

  ‘He’s not bad at all,’ Ginny said. ‘I wouldn’t mind hanging onto his Fender for a while.’ She made a highly suggestive gesture.

  ‘Ginny! He’s not at all sexy,’ I said. ‘He’s an old man.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? These days a girl’s gotta take what she can get. And there aren’t many good ones left at our age. All the single guys I run into are either gay or have got so much baggage you wouldn’t go near them with a trolley.’

  ‘Amen to that!’

  ‘But a superannuated rock star?’ I cried. ‘There’s going to be trouble, I can tell.’

  ‘Your sister’s not the only one heading for trouble,’ Ginny said. ‘La Stupenda, Santangela di Palmavera, arrived at the weekend and I can now see how she got her reputation. She’s like a caged lion. Nothing is to her liking, no matter how many bottles of chilled San Pellegrino, fresh salmon sandwiches and crème anglaise pastries I have delivered to her room. The woman eats more than my bay mare.’

  ‘Well, at least she’s not getting stuck into the booze,’ I countered. ‘As long as she’s sober she can’t be too bad, surely?’

  ‘I wouldn’t speak too soon,’ Ginny said. ‘She’s been known to get stuck into the vodka after rehearsals. But short of clearing out the minibar and putting a lock on the outside of her hotel room door, I can’t see how I can keep her out of mischief.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought a fat, elderly diva could get herself into too much trouble.’

  ‘It ain’t over till the fat lady sings,’ joked Tracey.

  ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ Ginny countered. ‘That’s what I’m looking forward to — when the fat lady’s finished singing and has left on a jet plane, never to return.’

  We were interrupted by the ringing of my mobile. I toyed with the idea of not answering it until I recognised the number. It was Adam’s school.

  ‘Excuse me, girls, I’m going to have to take this,’ I said, flipping open the phone. ‘Penny Rushmore,’ I said, waving at Tracey and Ginny to vamoose.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Rushmore,’ said a smooth, deep male voice that I recognised as Adam’s Year 12 English teacher, Brian Henderson. Poor Mr Henderson seemed to have been teaching — or trying to teach — Adam the fundamentals of English language and literature forever. ‘I’m afraid that Adam has been absent from school for four days in a row,’ he continued, ‘and I was wondering if you knew about it?’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘I don’t believe it. He’s been going off in the car every morning in his uniform. He must have been at school.’

  ‘I’m afraid he hasn’t,’ Mr Henderson said. ‘He gave me a note from you saying he wasn’t well. But after two days’ absence he’s supposed to produce a doctor’s certificate and that hasn’t been forthcoming.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, flummoxed and furious. The note certainly hadn’t come from me. ‘I’ll have a talk to him.’

  ‘So has Adam been unwell?’

  ‘No, not that I know of.’ I wasn’t going to make things worse by lying to protect him. ‘I said, I’ll have a talk to him.’

  ‘Do you know what he’s been doing? Where he might have been?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ I thought for a minute. ‘Has his friend Darren been at school?’

  ‘Yes, he has.’

  ‘Well then, I’ve got absolutely no idea where he’s been. I’ll have a talk to him.’

  I realised I was beginning to sound like a cracked record but I really didn’t know what else to say. I was more focused on how I was going to kill Adam when I got home. The little sod had been home every day after school — or at Darren’s. So he must have been taking off in Dad’s car and driving who knows where for hours, then picking up Dad after four and coming back home, strewing his schoolbooks across his desk and pretending to have homework. I could feel my anger rising into a major hot flush.

  As soon as Mr Henderson ended the call, I dashed to the window, opened it and thrust m
y hot face into the freezing wind. It cooled my head but blew all the papers off the desk.

  ‘Damn him!’ I cried, rushing round the room picking them up and shoving them back on the desk under a weighty book. I looked at my watch: it was just on four. Adam should be home from his daily jaunt by now. I needed to be there, but I still had several urgent things to sort out.

  Tracey popped her head around the door. ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘You must think I’m an absolute drama queen,’ I said. ‘I seem to have had one chunk of bad news after the other this afternoon. It’s Adam this time. I’m going to have to leave early, if I can get away.’

  We discussed what needed to be done. I managed to pass some of it over to her, made a couple of calls to put things off for another day and dealt with the most pressing task then and there. Within thirty minutes I was out the door and on my way home, promising to get in at crack of dawn in the morning to make up for my early departure.

  Chapter 10

  As usual, when I got home there was a trail of shoes, socks, jackets, bags and snack-bar wrappers leading from the back door to the foot of the stairs. A mess of left-open bread bags, peanut butter jars and biscuit tins were spread across the kitchen bench. Although this was typical of Adam, today it made me feel even more annoyed than usual. I deposited my bag in the kitchen and stomped up to his room, deliberately leaving on my high heels to give me much-needed height. Since he’d started to tower over me, Adam had got the belittling pat on my head down to a fine art, especially when I was telling him off.

  He gave his usual grunt when I knocked on his bedroom door, so I entered. He looked at me, grunted again and went back to his computer screen.

  ‘I had a call from Mr Henderson today,’ I started.

  Grunt. He didn’t look away from the screen.

  ‘Adam, I’d like you to look at me when I’m talking to you. Can you come over here please?’

  I sat down on his big double bed and patted the charcoal duvet, indicating where I wanted him to sit. He looked appalled at the thought of it. I waited. He grunted. ‘Come on, I want to talk to you.’

  He grunted again, but this time the grunt sounded more like agreement than acknowledgement. At last, he closed off his game and reluctantly sat on the bed, some distance further away than I’d suggested.

  ‘Mr Henderson told me that you haven’t been to school for the last four school days.’

  He studied the duvet closely, fiddling with a seam.

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. So where were you?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘How could you be here? You drove off in Dad’s car every morning and came home with him at four every afternoon. How could you be here?’

  ‘I came back after everyone was out.’

  I took a moment to let that sink in.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Just wanted to.’

  ‘But Adam …’

  ‘I didn’t want to go to school, okay? It sucks.’

  ‘But you have to go to school. You know that. You need to pass your exams if you want to be a marine biologist. Isn’t that what you want to do?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  I threw up my hands, palms open, and shrugged. ‘So … I just don’t get it. What’s the problem? What sucks about it?’

  He mumbled something I couldn’t catch.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘ … having me on.’

  ‘What?’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you being bullied?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ He looked up at last and I could see fear in his eyes. He took a long time to speak again but I waited. At last he said, ‘It’s a couple of the guys in the first fifteen. They call me a geek and a faggot and I’m totally over it.’

  ‘Oh.’ The question of whether Adam was gay flashed through my mind, but then I remembered his lengthy relationship with Isabelle not that long ago. He hadn’t seemed very gay then. ‘Have you told any of your teachers about this?’

  ‘Nuh. You can’t do that. It’d make it worse.’

  ‘Oh.’ I didn’t want to argue the point with him. ‘Well, you realise that I’m going to have to talk to them about it.’

  ‘No, Mum, you can’t. Please.’ The fear was back in his eyes.

  ‘I can’t just do nothing, Adam. For a start, you’ve got to go back to school. You can’t bunk off any more. Would you like me to come with you?’

  The fear turned to a look of abject horror. ‘No way!’

  ‘Well, what about your father? Could he come with you and talk to Mr Henderson? Because someone’s got to do something. It can’t go on like this.’

  ‘No, don’t tell Dad. He’d kill me. He’s always said I’m a bit of a wuss for not playing rugby. He’d probably agree with them.’

  I went to put my arms around him and for once he didn’t shrug me off. He gave me a quick hug back then stood, clearly embarrassed at even such a perfunctory display of emotion.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum, I’ll be okay.’

  It was only when I threatened to march into the school and talk to the principal that I finally managed to get Adam to agree that I could tell Mr Henderson what was going on. As long as I didn’t turn up at school at the same time as Adam, and as long as he was in a class that was miles away from Mr Henderson’s office, I gained his reluctant concession to go to the school the next day.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. Really. You don’t have to follow me to make sure I go. I will. I promise.’

  • • •

  I don’t know how she found out — maybe she’d been listening at the door — but somehow Charlotte knew that Adam had been wagging school. She even knew he was being picked on by the big bully boys of the first fifteen. I swear that girl has contacts all over town.

  Over dinner, when the two were together for the first time that night, she brought it up with her usual tact.

  ‘I hear Adam’s been bunking school.’

  That was enough to set Adam off majorly on the defensive. He started by claiming that he’d been at home studying, which led to peals of laughter and a ‘Yeah, right’ from Charlotte. She kept on picking on him and his friend Darren, despite protests from Dad and me, finally coming out with, ‘So is it true that you’re gay?’

  ‘I say, Charlotte, that’s going a bit far,’ Dad said.

  I can’t say I blamed Adam for his reaction. I mean, it was pretty mean of Charlotte to throw that at him out of the blue. I don’t know what was causing her to needle him, prodding him again and again as if she were practising acupuncture — she’d been so much better with him since she started at uni. But whatever was making her antsy was soon forgotten.

  ‘No, Charlotte, I’m not gay,’ Adam spat as he scraped back his chair roughly, tipping it over.

  Tigger yelped and belatedly jumped out of the way. Tigger habitually positions himself under Adam’s chair at the dinner table because he knows that’s the most likely source of food — especially vegetables intentionally slipped down to avoid being eaten.

  ‘And you’re hardly in a position to be criticising anyone for their choice of friends. I heard that you are having an affair with one of your lecturers. It’s so disgusting!’ He turned to me. ‘You should see her mooning away when she’s on the phone. She’s head over heels in love with him. Eew, gross! He’s old enough to be her father!’

  With that, Adam stormed out of the room, stamped up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door.

  ‘Dear oh dear, those two are in a right old mood tonight,’ Dad said. ‘It’s enough to give you indigestion. I think I’ll get those dishes started.’ He picked up his and Adam’s plates and departed for the kitchen.

  I could feel my jaw dropping. Where had I heard that expression before? It came to me in a sickening flash: Charlotte had said Steve was head over heels about Jacinta and the baby. It didn’t bode well. I opened my mouth to qu
estion her.

  ‘Don’t even begin,’ Charlotte said, holding up the palm of her hand at me like a stop sign.

  ‘But Charlotte …’

  She shook her head vehemently.

  ‘Is it true?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then I can’t say nothing and let you ruin your life. Having an affair with a student is a sackable offence. He’ll get into terrible trouble — and so will you.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I suppose he’s married?’

  ‘I said, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No, I can’t. I just can’t.’ She pushed back her chair and fled the room too.

  I looked at Tigger.

  ‘So what wonderful news have you got for me, huh? Savaged the postie? Impregnated the neighbourhood greyhound — ah no, another complete dog did that, the one called Steve. Everyone else in this family has got into trouble. You might as well, too.’

  But Tigger just sat there, wagging his tail hopefully.

  And then I remembered Stephanie’s news earlier. That meant there’d already been three in a row. I blew out a sigh. At least that meant there’d be no more bad news today.

  With both the kids upstairs in a funk, I figured there was no point trying to get them to come down and clean up, so I cleared the rest of the table, helped Dad stack the dishwasher and cleaned the bench in half the time it would have taken either of them to do it. It’s like I’ve always said to them: if they spent less time moaning about what they had to do and just got on with it, they’d already be finished and into their homework or whatever other feeble excuse they’d paraded.

  I had not long settled down for a bit of mindless blobbing out with yet another episode of Extreme Makeover (wishing they’d come and give me one), when the phone rang. It was answered in no time, and moments later Charlotte came downstairs.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said as she handed over the phone.

  I smiled wryly. ‘Maybe we can talk later,’ I said sotto voce, hand over the mouthpiece. She flashed a half smile — maybe, maybe not — and disappeared back out the door.

  It was Simon on the phone, hyped up and wanting to talk about work. Normally, he hardly ever mentions his job other than to talk about the people he works with and what they’re up to, so what he actually does every day at the university and the research project he’s involved in are mysteries to me. I knew it had something to do with bluefin tuna, how they were becoming depleted and also something about the amount of mercury in their food: he’d been out on a fishing boat most of last summer using a special net to trawl for tuna larvae. Lord alone knows what he did with it then. He’d very quickly come to the realisation that the finer points of fishy sex are of as much interest to me as the height of a Jimmy Choo heel is to him.