Lullaby

by Bernard Beckett

  Maggie understood. There was a look in her eyes, not sadness exactly, but perhaps regret, that she’d made me tell it. Understanding. Was she letting her guard down, or was I just getting better at reading her? It was hard to tell.

  8

  ‘You said two things changed,’ Maggie said. ‘School and girls. Tell me about the girls.’

  We’d arrived at Harriet. From Harriet, it was a single jump to Emily, and one more would land us in this room. I felt the past rushing up at me, compressing in a Doppler howl of pain. It was Maggie’s job to make me stand and face it.

  ‘Harriet was the girl with the ferret, and I had a crush on her. You asked me before, how I felt about the group. At first it was about being loyal to Theo. Then it became about being with Harriet. The first time I skipped a lesson, it was for her. She let us know she was going to play sick and was looking for company. A gap opened, and I stepped through.

  ‘We sat under the trees by a stream that ran along the edge of the property. It was one of those spring days where the heat of the sun takes you by surprise, and suddenly everything seems possible. I suppose I’d imagined we’d sit and talk and she’d be surprised by how funny I could be. Mostly though, we lay on our backs and looked up at the willows, and let the ferret run all over us. Its feet were sharp and it smelt of piss. I hated it.

  ‘In picture books, it’s the creatures with small heads you can’t trust. But I didn’t complain, because wherever it walked, Harriet watched: along my chest, my stomach, down my leg. She studied every centimetre of the journey. Then she took it, and held it up to her chin and kissed its treacherous little nose, and it was my turn to look at her.

  ‘Her black shirt matched her hair, a night sky for the star sparkle of her silver chains. The ferret climbed over her breast, and I stared. It tiptoed across her ribs and traversed her stomach. I watched in delight, observing the spring in the skin beneath her naval. There was a strip of flesh, two fingers wide, between the end of her shirt and her jeans. She could have pulled her T-shirt lower, but she didn’t. The ferret scampered across the shiny point of her hip bone, and there was a moment when one of the feet disappeared into the gap between waistband and girl. Even as I watched, I knew I’d never forget it. The image would always be a part of me.’

  I stopped, embarrassed to have told more than the story needed. I remember being aware that I was presenting myself to Maggie, giving her permission to stare.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘I fell in love, I suppose.’

  ‘Did you tell her that?’

  ‘No, I had to get to the next class.’

  I blushed when Maggie laughed.

  ‘And later?’ she asked.

  ‘With Harriet and me? Nothing. We were friends. She said I wasn’t like other boys, that she felt like she could talk to me about anything, which at thirteen sounds more hopeful than it is. Perhaps she was just playing with me. I’ve never been able to work that out.’

  ‘But Theo knew.’

  I still don’t know how she worked these things out so quickly.

  ‘You want to tell the story?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t capture the mood. What did he do?’

  ‘Theo?’ I asked.

  Maggie nodded.

  ‘Short answer: he fucked her.’

  Now came the sex questions, and I would answer or I wouldn’t. And if you’d asked me before, if you’d asked anybody who knew me, they would have said I’d go quiet. But there’s something about a woman just waiting, looking at you. A smart woman. I had her attention, and I wanted to be worthy of it.

  ‘Long answer?’

  Theo’s dying. That’s all this is about.

  But nothing is ever only about one thing.

  At first it was as if I wasn’t there. The voice was mine, but some part of me had left the room.

  ‘Theo and I had the same taste in porn. We preferred the old-fashioned images, women posing alone, in flat 2-D, sometimes without colour. He liked to project them onto the bedroom wall from his Palm. We’d lie back and take them apart, one detail at a time: the faces, the smiles, the curves and proportions. Once, Mrs Struthers walked in on us, to say it was late and we should be quiet. I remember her blinking into the blue light, oblivious to the invitation spread across her face.

  ‘Theo liked talking to me about girls: his latest obsessions, his elaborate plans to win them over. He had sex before I did, and he wasn’t shy about sharing the details. But he never asked me for my own stories, and I never offered them. I think he knew I needed protecting.’

  ‘From what?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘What did you have to be ashamed of?’

  ‘Nothing, probably,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t lessen the fear.’

  ‘The fear of what?’

  ‘Being ashamed.’

  She let it go. I think perhaps shame is different for men, more terrifying.

  ‘Things changed,’ I said. ‘After Mrs Struthers threw that party. That’s when I think of it starting. Theo became more fragile, easier to offend. At one stage I thought it was the drugs. I tried to talk to him about it, but he became aggressive, said I was scared of living. He said, if I didn’t relax soon, I’d miss out on being a teenager altogether. I’ve often thought, if you averaged out our two approaches to growing up, you’d have it about right.

  ‘We started to fight in a way that was new, more vicious. And afterwards, it wasn’t the hurt or the anger that stayed with me, but the loneliness. I was able to believe, for the first time, that he might not always be there. I’m sure he felt the same. That sort of loneliness is so dark, so frightening, there’s a part of you that wants to jump into it, before you’re pushed.’

  ‘So you began to actively undermine the relationship?’

  ‘No.’

  I wasn’t sure that was true.

  ‘But we both knew we could. The possibility of destruction hung there, like the gun over the mantelpiece in the opening act of a play. We understood the temptation.

  ‘Then one night there was an image shining on the wall, a woman not much older than we were, staring out across the decades. I saw it straight away, and so did Theo: the uncanny resemblance to Harriet. Theo’s face lit up with trouble.

  Look familiar?

  Turn it off, I said.

  You sure? You don’t want to look just a little longer. Harriet! Oh Harriet.

  Shut up.

  She would, I think, if you asked her. I think she’d let you.

  ‘He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was just having fun. But that’s what hurt. That I was fun to him. And not just to him. If it was that obvious, then surely they all knew, Harriet too. That’s shame. Theo didn’t get it. He was confident with girls, and when it didn’t work out, that was their problem, not his. He moved on. Whereas I fell in love too easily.’

  A small shudder of shyness passed through me. Maggie pretended not to notice.

  ‘In Theo’s head, all I needed was a little push to get me started. He made it his
mission to rescue me. I didn’t want rescuing, and, at the same time, I did. And it was better than fighting. I let it become his project, a way of pretending there was still a future where our paths didn’t diverge.

  ‘Theo would drag me along to parties where Harriet would be, but I was useless. He should have just given up, but the more pathetic I was, the more determined he became to be the hero. He organised a trip into the hills. He decided we’d go for the whole weekend: start at the gorge, get to the Forks before dark, then up over the ridge and back down the mountain track. Since Mum and Dad died, we’d hadn’t seen much of the forest. I only remember one time with a school group.

  ‘Mrs Struthers thought our plan was all part of the healing process, that we were looking to reconnect with our parents. And in that way adults have of dividing the world up into good and bad, she decided it was an excellent idea. I shouldn’t criticise her, I got it wrong too. When Theo told me we were going hiking, I imagined star prickled skies, burning calves, sausages too, and falling asleep exhausted. Until he explained he’d invited Harriet and Georgia along. Georgia was the second girl Theo’d had slept with, and they’d had an on-again off-again thing ever since. I liked Georgia. She said what she was thinking and took no shit from anyone, not even Theo. She wouldn’t complain about the walking, or the food, or having to dig you own toilet. Or the fact that this was no normal hike, that she was being used as part of Theo’s crazy project. Of course we started out all pretending there was nothing more to it than four friends and the call of the wild. Even I, beginner that I was, understood the way anticipation is sweetened by denial.

  ‘But then the pressure got to me. My pack grew heavy and I fell silent. I can’t explain why. Theo had done all he’d promised he would do. There was no work left, just play. But somehow I contrived to resent him for it. I’m stitched together from pride and fear, mostly. That’s the shameful truth of it.

  ‘Fear of what?’

  I don’t understand how Maggie could be so smart, and yet so stupid.

  ‘Embarrassment, confusion, rejection, public humiliation. Take your pick.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘During the walk, I disappeared inside myself. Theo overcompensated, telling jokes and playing tour guide, but I refused to come out. Inevitably, I suppose, I reached a place where everything looked different, even Harriet. I began to wonder why it was she’d agreed to come along, whether it was Theo she was really interested in. I was being a sulky little shit. It was nothing more complicated than that. Somebody should have slapped me.’

  ‘So what did happen then, if not slapping?’

  ‘You’re laughing at me.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Her face was serious but I didn’t buy it.

  ‘Do you regret the way you behaved?’

  ‘I’d lain beside Harriet and watched her stupid little ferret leave its paw prints on her body, and I was being invited to repeat the experience, without the ferret, or clothes. And I ruined it. Yeah, I regret that.’

  I was trying to tell it the way an adult would, cool and detached, but my face was burning up.

  ‘What else do you regret about it?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ I asked.

  ‘How did you ruin it?’

  ‘The campsite was a grass flat by the riverbed, broken up by clumps of young manuka. The scrub gave us an excuse to pitch the two tents well away from each other. That’s why Theo chose the spot. But I started to pitch right next to the other tent.

  What are you doing? Theo demanded.

  Putting up my tent.

  Not here.

  It’s flat.

  Get the fuck over there.

  I moved, but not far enough to make anybody comfortable.

  ‘After dinner Georgia and Theo had an argument. I didn’t hear the details, but I can guess. Georgia was the one he could never get over, the only person I ever saw him need. She would have helped convince Harriet to come along, as a favour to Theo, and Georgia’s favours came at a price. By the time the campfire was glowing, my mood had infected the group. Even a session of post-dinner canisters couldn’t bring us back together. Georgia tried to get a game going, this thing with a pack of cards, suck and blow, you have to…’

  Maggie’s look of determined tolerance killed any thought I had of explaining.

  ‘But the game hissed and fizzled like the flames. Theo still imagined he could rescue the night. And why not? Two boys, two girls, two tents. It shouldn’t have been that difficult.

  Well, I’m knackered, he yawned. Who’s for bed?

  Might just go for a wander up the river first, I said. I was moving before Harriet could suggest she join me.

  ‘Theo came after me, caught me at the first bend and pulled me round by the shoulder like he was setting me up for a punch.

  Okay, what the fuck?

  Already said, I’m going for a walk.

  We didn’t come here to walk.

  I’ve changed my mind, I told him. It was the truth, but not all of it.

  Because? he asked.

  She’s not my type.

  So what?

  You wouldn’t understand.

  I understand you’ve got no balls.

  Better than having no standards.’

  I could see from Maggie’s face that she didn’t understand, and I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t what we said, that night, standing on the riverbed with the water dark behind us. It wasn’t the words we chose, but the shape they fell into, the rut of a thousand conversations past. A poem of anxiety, accusation and denial, and the last line always there, but never uttered.

  But that night, when he looked at me, I didn’t look away. I stared back long enough for there to be no doubt—too good for those girls, too good for you. And I turned and walked away.

  I didn’t tell Maggie, because I didn’t want her to know. I wanted to pretend it was just the words and nothing more.

  ‘Then what happened?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘I walked for an hour and a half. The moon was three-quarters full and the valley was deep with shadows and, apart from the tireless chatter of river and rock, silent. I jerked off in the blue light, but it didn’t make me feel any better. When I returned to the campsite I was surprised to see the fire still burning red. I had my apology ready. I thought about suggesting another canister; I was thawing. Only the figure sitting up at the fire, prodding it with a stick, wasn’t Harriet. It was Georgia. I took a seat on a log set at right angles to hers. The wind bounced and swirled through the valley, breathing life into the embers, turning one face suddenly orange, shrouding the other in smoke. We could hear the other two in Theo’s tent, giggling.

  Guess you’re with me, I said. I was nervous and hoping to be funny.

  Arsehole, she replied.

  It’s a family thing, I said.

  ‘Later Theo gave me his version. When he come back from the river, Georgia had wanted to know why I wasn’t with him. He’d defended me, because that’s how family works, and she’d stormed off. Harriet had started crying, Theo had tried to co
mfort her…That’s how he told it.

  ‘I dragged my sleeping bag out to the fire. In the morning the bottom was soaked and the top was shot through with little burn marks. We got a ride out that afternoon. We travelled back in silence, each of us wanting to get home and wash the whole thing off. I clung to the insane idea that it was all Theo’s fault, that he’d stolen Harriet from me. He blamed me for destroying his relationship with Georgia.

  ‘We got over it though. Theo was always good at sorry: gracious and generous, when the time came. It was just a case of waiting. It took longer than usual, a week or so, but we got there. I apologised back; there was plenty of stupid to go around. Forgiven, but not forgotten. I think we both knew that.

  ‘There was the time before that weekend, and the time after, and the two halves never quite fitted together.’

  ‘I don’t see what you did wrong,’ Maggie said.

  I shrugged. ‘I broke something that didn’t need to be broken.’

  It was the only way I could think of explaining.

  ‘You didn’t have to have sex with her, if you didn’t want to.’

  ‘I did want to.’

  She gave me that look, then. The look that people who’ve never been a teenage boy give to those who are.

  ‘So what do you think you broke?’

  I tried to find the right word. Fun, trust, hope, family…

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I still saw the others and said hello, but everybody understood we were drifting apart. I made friends in my class. Not good friends, I knew they wouldn’t outlast the seating plan, but it was the end of pretending. Harriet went into a transition project, and started training to cut hair. A year later I heard where she was working, but I never called in. I think I knew that if I saw her standing over a stranger, washing their hair, I’d fall out of love with her.’