Family Drama 3-in-1 Box Set: String Bridge, The Book, Bitter Like Orange Peel

by Jessica Bell

  “No! I mean, no, please don’t go. When can I meet you?” Eydie speaks slowly. Taking care to pronounce her words properly.

  “Oh, thank goodness. What a relief. I thought this news might have shaken you. Shall we come over to your place today or tomorrow afternoon? After school perhaps? When do you get home from school?”

  “Um, no, I think it’d be better if I come over to you guys. I’ll come over after work. What’s ya, um ... your address?”

  Ailish gives her an address, and a time is set for the following afternoon. Eydie can’t believe it. Another family. She can have a new family!

  Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

  Eydie hangs up and looks at herself in the mirror. She smiles at herself, examines her features. Her dark red hair that curls up at the edges after a shower; her hazel eyes that sometimes look green under the apple tree; her crooked yet strangely button-like nose and chubby cheeks; her thick bottom lip, and the way her top lip curls up a little in the center as if preparing for a kiss. I wonder if we look similar. I wonder if she likes getting her nails done like me. We can get our nails done together. Like … sisters. She plays with the word sisters on her tongue. It feels good—like sucking on hard candy.

  Eydie runs into Beth’s bedroom and rummages through her dresser drawers—the place she found the letters from her father. The place that eased her guilty thoughts of wishing Beth was dead. Where she discovered Beth had been accepting money from Roger for years without uttering a word about it and spending it on booze. The place that is now … empty.

  The letters are gone.

  Ivy

  Strobe lights inject Ivy with an energy she hasn’t felt since Uni. Heavy disco beats thump through her feet, sending electric currents via the bar stool, through to her calves and thighs. She clenches her butt trying to tame a twinge of orgasmic energy between her legs triggered by the vibrations and thoughts of Brian. Or Amir?

  She has a sudden hankering for a snort of speed. She scans the raving crowd for a drug dealer. They all look too young. She downs the rest of her margarita and licks the entire rim of her glass free of salt.

  “Sweetcakes, seriously now. Isn’t it kinda soon?” Gabriel asks, finishing his question with a wink toward the bartender as he signals for him to bring two more margaritas.

  “Gabe, Brian’s been eyeing me for almost a year. How is it too soon?” The edges of Ivy’s mouth twitch, as if hesitant to reveal her first-ever crush on a good-for-nothing teenage delinquent. She’s dying to embellish this high, this buzz, with some drugs.

  When did I become so proper? When did I stop flashing my tits for a joke?

  She grabs the arm of a young man, a spitting image of Ringo Star with a bounce in his step. She looks him up and down, at his clothes for the hidden bulge. Nope.

  “Hey, lady, you wanna take a breath of fresh air?” Ringo runs his tongue along his front teeth and winks. Ivy is certain she’s seen this guy in a toothpaste commercial.

  “No thanks, bud. Thought you were someone else.”

  Ringo shrugs and walks away with a minuscule limp. Gabriel squints at Ivy as if he has no idea what’s got into her.

  “Okay … but have you been eyeing him for a year?” he asks, clicking his tongue.

  Ivy tsks. “What’s the problem? You’ve been encouraging me to date him for ages, and now you have a problem with me taking the next step? We’re just moving in together. What’s the big deal?”

  It hits Ivy that perhaps this is a big deal. Perhaps it is too soon.

  He wasn’t going to ask me to move in with him, was he? What was he going to ask me? Why didn’t I let him finish?

  She doesn’t even want this. Not really. She just wants life to be easy again. And Brian is easy. Who needs love anyway? It’s so overrated.

  Ivy looks at Gabriel and his long, thin face, wordlessly beseeching him to approve.

  If you weren’t gay, I’d so want to snog those thick lips of yours right now.

  Gabe responds with a look of concern, lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile.

  “The big deal is, sweetcakes, a few days ago you were so depressed that you could hardly get dressed to see a band play that you apparently adore, and now all of a sudden, you’re head over heels, you’ve got a new job, you’re thinking of finishing your PhD, and you’re moving in with a guy you practically just met. Not only this, but why on earth would Brian want to move so fast? He’s a man, darling.”

  “And he’s good for me.” Right? “You said so yourself. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “I am happy. I’m just saying, keep a cushion under your belt, you know? This all seems way too good to be true. I mean, Jesus, I hope for your sake it is, but—.

  “But what?” Please say you’re just jealous. That you want some Brian cock for yourself.

  Gabe removes a strand of hair stuck to his sweaty top lip.

  “Gabe, I fell fast. I know that. But life’s too short. It really is. And he loves me. He’s already given me the world by encouraging me to go back to Uni, and by helping me get that job. He’s more than I could ever dream of. Why would he do all of that for me if he didn’t want to be with me?”

  “Ive ….

  The bartender brings them their fresh margaritas, and Gabriel breaks into a full-fledged smile. He stares into the glass as if about to jump into it, and pouts his lips.

  “All right. Screw logic. Just dive right in, baby!” Gabriel raises his glass. “To you and Brian.”

  “To me and Brian.” Ivy and Gabriel clink glasses a little too hard, and frozen margarita spills down both their arms and into their crotches. In a fit of laughter, they put their glasses down and pat themselves dry with serviettes the bartender brings. To Gabriel, it seems, spilling the margarita was the simple result of getting too enthusiastic. But to Ivy, behind the laughter, it’s the initiation of a bad omen. It has begun to nibble. At her bones. Like a microscopic germ contaminating an archaeological find to the point where it becomes unidentifiable. A lifeless shell of what once was. Something’s not right and she knows it. But will she ever admit it to herself?

  Seven margaritas each later, and a snort of coke from Ringo—who returned realizing what the whole exchange between him and Ivy was about—Gabriel and Ivy dance, Patsy and Edina style, to Pet Shop Boy’s Absolutely Fabulous theme song.

  Ivy (Patsy): Dull, soulless dance music.

  Gabriel (Edina): Bip bip bip, bop bop bop.

  Ivy (Patsy): Dull, soulless dance music.

  Gabriel (Edina): Ride on time, ride on time. Techno, techno, bloody techno, darling!

  Gabriel is about to go to the bar to get them both two more drinks, when he asks in an Edina accent, “Is Champas all right for you, darling?” with a wink and butt wiggle.

  “La Croix, sweetie, La Croix.” Ivy shakes her head and holds up her fingers to form a cross. She shuffles off the dance floor behind Gabriel and throws herself onto a stool, grabbing the edge of the bar to prevent an embarrassing fall.

  “Whoa, little too much to drink, darling?” Gabriel asks, appearing completely sober. Ivy looks up at his wavering foggy face and at the tri-image of the large TV screen of the Pet Shop Boys’ Absolutely Fabulous video clip overhead. Her body convulses forward, and she cups a hand to her mouth, stunting a vomit warning in its tracks. “Darling, I think we’d better get you home.”

  Ivy nods, managing to keep the spew at bay. Gabriel grabs Ivy’s bag and helps her to stand.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Mmm … yep.” Ivy stands, holds her head high, straightens her silver spandex boob tube above her beasts, and pretends to be fine. At least until they get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere to where she can take a nice deep breath of oxygen.

  Out on the street, waiting for a cab, the cold air cuts right through Ivy, bringing her senses back to life and turning her entertaining drunken dizziness and drugged bounce into a sick whirlpool of indignation.

  Why the fuck did I divorce my husband? We should have worke
d it out.

  The sound of cars on wet roads whoosh through her ears as if she’s listening to panned sound effects through headphones. She clutches her handbag tightly under her arm, when the ground starts to pulsate. She looks at Gabriel as if something is sawing her in half.

  “Honey—” Gabriel lights a cigarette. “Death isn’t embedded in your side. It’s your cell. Vibrating.”

  Ivy loosens her grip and sighs in relief. She searches her bag for the phone.

  “What the fuck time is it? Four a.m.?” Ivy rolls her eyes at Gabriel. He chuckles when she almost loses balance and starts to walk backward. She grabs the phone, then stops in the middle of the sidewalk, holding one arm out to her side as if ready to launch into flight.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh good, I haven’t woken you up. I had a feeling you’d be out and about.”

  “Kit. What the hell are you doing calling me so late?”

  “What’s wrong? You’re awake, aren’t you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to come home.”

  Ivy pulls the phone away from her ear and glares at the keypad as if it has a voice of its own. She looks at Gabriel, who shrugs in question. She puts the phone back to her ear.

  “Are you in Seattle?”

  “No, I mean home home. Australia home.”

  “Don’t be fucking ridiculous, Kit. What on earth would I want to do that for? I’m finally getting my shit together.”

  “Well, I’ve got some news about Dad, and, well, it’s gotten to the point where I think you should become more involved. I’m discovering some serious shit, Ivy, and I think you should be here. I think we should do this together. Mum has even decided to help. Don’t you want to be more involved?”

  Ivy coughs in disgust as if Kit’s request has regurgitated bile.

  “Kit, I don’t know what fucking world you’re living in, but it’s not mine, okay? I don’t give a damn about Dad or about any of the ‘serious shit’ you’re finding out. Let me live my life, and you live yours. Maybe you can try to do that on your own for once too, huh? Or would you like me to hire someone to hold your hand now that I’m not around anymore?”

  Ivy can hear Kit take a quick breath as if trying to ignore the hurt. “Ivy, we have another sister. Don’t you want to meet her?”

  “I’ve met her. I don’t care. I’ve known about her since I was ten. Big fucking yay.”

  “You what?”

  Silence thickens in Ivy’s ear.

  “How could you not have—.

  “Said anything? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t give a flying fuck. Maybe because some people don’t talk about things simply because they don’t want some crap in their lives. Maybe because my life is mine, and I can do what I like with it? Got it?”

  “But, I thought we … loved each other,” Kit gurgles. “I thought we were a team.”

  “Grow up, Kit. Things change. And love means shit compared to all the other crap in this world. Get used to it.”

  Kit starts to sob. Ivy feels a pinch of pain expand in her stomach like a bad odor. She should stop. She should apologize. But she can’t. The rage keeps swelling and gushing through her mouth in torrents.

  “And how the fuck can you talk about love, Kit? You don’t even know what love is. You ruined my marriage, you know that? You flaunted your sexy childlike hips in front of Amir—all the time! No wonder he came on to you. You led him on. And if you’d loved me you wouldn’t have let that happen. You wouldn’t have let him even try to touch you.” Ivy’s knees shake. She feels lightheaded, faint. “Stop calling me. Learn to live without me. We’re done.”

  Ivy hangs up the phone and throws it in her bag. She lifts her head, her mind and body flooded with freedom and guilty triumph, to see Gabriel’s hand cupped over his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks. At this moment, she realizes, she has just pushed away the only person in the world she unconditionally loves.

  And she may never be able to get her back.

  Ailish

  She’s been standing over the stove for five minutes, and her forehead is already dripping with sweat. She wipes it dry with the back of her hand, licks the chicken-curry-covered wooden spoon clean and rests it on the edge of the pan, when Kit comes stomping down the stairs. Crying?

  Kit hunches over in the kitchen doorway, clutching at her stomach as if stricken with severe cramps, trying to breathe amid a fit of tears—tears so thick and heavy they are almost silent. Like the slow release of air from a defective balloon. Ailish turns the hot plate off and dashes to Kit’s side, takes her in her arms, and strokes damp hair from her cheek. She walks her to the lounge and sits her on the couch, Kit’s shoulders shaking from quick gasps of air.

  “Kit. Kit, look at me.” Ailish lifts Kit’s chin. Her face is flushed and blotchy, shining from salty layers of tears. “Breathe.” She takes a jagged breath and releases the air through her open mouth. A small bubble of snot escapes from her right nostril. Ailish hands her a tissue that’s tucked under her left bra strap. Kit wipes her nose and shudders, looking into her lap again.

  “Sweetheart. What happened? What did Ivy say to you?”

  “She’s met her already ….

  Ailish tries to understand as best she can through Kit’s stammering, weak voice. Kit wails mid-sentence. Ailish cradles her, kisses her nose, and rests her cheek on the top of her head.

  Constance contacted Eleanor too? But she hated Eleanor. There must be more Eleanor is hiding from me. I knew it. I just knew it … Oh no … What if she knows?

  “She screamed at me. The whole time. She hates me,” Kit wails.

  “As Joseph Campbell says, we must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.” Ailish smiles and squeezes her daughter close to her chest. She rocks her back and forth like a child, wishing Kit were just that. If she could, she would pack their belongings and start a new life in a new state, a new city, away from the past.

  After a couple of minutes, Ailish levers Kit off her body and holds her by her shoulders. “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Kit looks up, a plague of red torment spreading through her whites like ink through veins on an X-ray. “I’ll call Eleanor to see if she has any insight into Ivy’s outburst. Perhaps she’s trying to get over some sort of trauma? And just took it out on you because you were conveniently there? Okay?” Will Ivy’s dramas ever end? “It’s high time Eleanor and I had a chat anyway.”

  Kit nods and lies down on her side, wiping her cheek dry against a cushion. She switches on the TV and presses Mute. Her crying stops for a moment as she stares at a nothingness Ailish is sure represents the absolute opposite. A few tears roll down the side of Kit’s face and into her ear. She uses the tissue Ailish gave her to wipe it. Kit’s skin is pale, making her hair look redder than usual. She reminds Ailish of Lolita.

  “Will you be okay on your own for a while? Do you want me to call Sein over?”

  Kit shakes her head and curls into a fetal position, her unshaven knees sticking over the edge of the couch. Ailish strokes them. The hair is so fine she can barely see or feel it. She’s never shaved her knees. Ailish smiles at the thought of Kit taking her advice.

  “Okay, I’ll stay a little while longer,” Ailish says, gently moving a strand of hair from the corner of Kit’s mouth.

  Kit falls asleep, wheezing through a blocked nose. Ailish covers her in a white cotton sheet, like she used to do when she was little. For some reason Kit slept better if she had something covering her, even during a heat wave, her tiny little toes sticking out the edge, the nails varnished with edible strawberry polish. It was the best thing Ailish had ever invented since discovering Kit liked to suck her toes instead of her thumb as a child.

  When Kit was a baby, Ailish would lie down beside her after she’d fallen asleep, dreaming that Roger was lying opposite. Would everything have been different now if he’d never walked out during that stupid fight over the Napolitano sauce?

/>   If only Ailish had been straight with Kit from the beginning, starting from Constance’s letter and the day they visited Beth and Eydie when she was four, then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess. Then maybe Eleanor wouldn’t have had any reason to keep secrets either.

  Have we both really been bringing up our daughters all this time relying on lies to protect them? And from what? Whom? Us? From our memories of a man who broke our hearts? Who disappointed us? And who gave me the right to blame him without letting him voice his side of the story? And what in the world could you possibly be hiding from, Eleanor?

  In the kitchen, Ailish shoves a few spoonfuls of chicken curry from the pan into her mouth, then puts enough on a plate for Kit, and leaves it in the microwave with a note on the door. She calls Eleanor at home. There’s no answer. She calls her office and is put through to the front desk. They say she has just finished surgery and should be in her office soon. But instead of waiting, Ailish grabs her handbag and heads to the hospital straightaway.

  She has to know how Eleanor knows about Eydie.

  Eydie

  “Ma!” Eydie pulls the drawer out of its casing, throws it across the room, and storms into the lounge. Beth is asleep again, an empty glass clutched in a hanging hand. Eydie kneels down beside her and slaps her mother’s face just hard enough for her to wake up. “Where have ya put them? Where have ya put the freakin’ letters? Wake up and tell me where ya freakin’ put them!”

  Beth sits up, blinks, whimpering foolishly, as if Eydie might feel sorry for her. “Put what, darl? I dunno what you’re bloody talkin’ ’bout.”

  “The letters from Roger, from Dad. The ones I told ya about at the hairdresser’s the other day. The ones I found, Ma! The ones that said to put me into Uni. The ones that had bloody blank cheques in them, for me. The cheques ya decided it’d be better to drink and vomit up instead! Don’t tell me you can’t remember, Ma. Don’t bullshit me. Where are they? I want them. Now! I want Dad’s address!”