Hannah folds her arms and looks to the entrance doors. ‘At the Summer Dance.’
‘What?’ I demand. ‘You guys didn’t rehearse or anything?’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No.’
‘Would he reply if you called him?’
I don’t want her to know I already did, after the ceremony. He didn’t pick up.
‘Why don’t you call him?’ I shoot back. ‘I thought you and Charlie and Rocky used to be the Three Amigos. What happened to that?’
Hannah’s cheeks bulge. ‘It’s been complicated since – it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t expect a loser like you to understand how friendships work.’
Cow. She was trying to wound and she did.
But I am so done smiling my way through people’s barbs and slingshots.
‘I may not have a lot of mates,’ I say, looking her in the eye. ‘But I know friends should have each other’s backs. Especially when they’re going through something tough.’
Hannah draws back, some air puffing from her nostrils. Damage inflicted.
‘Just call him,’ she says.
‘Nup,’ I say. ‘I hope he doesn’t rock up and you can’t play your set, and Robbie makes you pay back the money you took for this gig.’
Hannah’s mouth drops open slightly. ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘I never knew you were such an arsehole, Zeke.’
‘Neither did I.’
The moment she turns tail and stalks back to the DJ’s booth at the side of the stage with Rocky, my heart starts pounding. I touch my thumb to the crucifix beneath my shirt. I take it back, God. I want Charlie to rock up and I want him to be okay.
I try calling him again, but it rings out. He doesn’t even have voicemail. Before I can text him, Rocky’s voice comes over the speakers.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, for the first time ever, Mr and Mrs Robbie Calogero!’
Robbie and Natalie float into the ballroom. Their hands are clasped together and pointed to the sky in an arrow of victory. Everyone stands and claps. Once they’re seated, we get to the only part of the wedding I’m looking forward to. Food is the only thing that gets better the more overblown it is. The courses parade down my throat: antipasti, arancini, minestrone, and then pasta! Beautiful tortellini in a good meaty sauce and a small mountain of Romano cheese.
After the pasta course, Rocky invites the newlyweds up for the bridal waltz. And then comes the bit I’ve been dreading.
‘Okay, now I invite the bridal party to the dance floor.’
It paralyses me with fear, asking one of the hottest girls in school to dance with me, even knowing that she’s obliged to. But as I step down from the dais and approach her, Richelle is a pro, smiling and taking my hand. I have to count aloud, under my breath, the one, two, three of the bridal waltz to get into the rhythm. A few people laugh. Maybe it wasn’t as under my breath as I thought. Richelle stiffens and stares blankly into the ballroom. I never knew it was possible to deliver the I-don’t-know-him look when you’re physically in the guy’s arms, but Richelle nails it.
I eventually get the rhythm right and we circle on the spot beside Hammer and Josie. Richelle’s hands rest limply on my shoulders, like two wet sponges. I can’t help but wish I had Hammer’s hands on me instead: they’d be rough-skinned and tough and his grip would be firm.
Finally, Rocky puts on a second song – a Delta Goodrem ballad that Natalie loves – and invites everyone up to the dance floor. People whirl past us: Uncle Gino and Aunty Marisa; Natalie’s parents; my cousin Angelo and one of Natalie’s slutty cousins (typical); Uncle Mario and Aunty Grace. Hammer’s brother, Doug, is dancing stiffly with some girl. I feel sorry for Doug. He has the drooping shoulders and weary face of someone who’s suffered from acne for a long time: he barely takes his eyes of his feet.
Someone wolf-whistles at us. I glance sideways in sync with Richelle to see my parents dancing past, arm in arm. Dad grins.
‘Looking good, kids,’ he booms. He winks at Richelle. ‘Good looking rooster, isn’t he, darlin’?’
Richelle laughs nervously. ‘Sure … reckon he needs some dancing lessons, though.’
Bitch. What did I ever do to you?
As we dance away from my parents, a hand taps my shoulder.
Hammer.
‘Mind if I cut in, buddy?’ he says boldly. I can smell beer on his breath.
Richelle stops dancing, bringing me to a halt, too. ‘What do you want?’
‘I saw you broke up with Jai,’ Hammer says. ‘Thought you might wanna dance.’
Richelle’s hands detach from me instantly. ‘I guess so.’
Hammer puts his arms around Richelle’s waist and they sway into the sea of dancing figures, leaving me standing alone in the centre. I glance around for Josie and raise my eyebrows at her, holding out my hands half-heartedly to offer her a dance.
‘No, sorry, my feet are hurting,’ she mouths, walking off the dance floor.
The pit of my stomach burns like a smoking coal. I stride over to Robbie and Natalie without thinking of how it would look.
‘Guys,’ I say, pointing. ‘Hammer is dancing with Richelle.’
Robbie and Natalie follow my finger. Both of them smile.
‘Maybe they’re gonna work things out,’ Natalie says. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘I thought you didn’t want them dancing together.’
‘It’s fine if they’re happy,’ Natalie says. ‘Robbie, spin me.’
‘Bro, buzz off, we’re dancing,’ Robbie says, twirling Natalie beneath his arm.
I head back to my seat alone. I mash the buttons of my phone as I text Charlie, asking him where the hell he is. I give up all pretence and send him about a dozen bright red angry face emojis in a row.
After the song is over, Rocky calls everyone back to their seats for speeches. The waitress pours me and Hammer a flute of champagne each for the toasts. Guess she figures we’re over eighteen. Bonus. Champagne is kind of yuck, but my face gets warm and my head gets comfortably fuzzy.
Spud roasts Robbie: literally every story he has involves them drinking or clubbing. Freja gets emotional, eliciting a hug from Natalie at the lectern and applause from everyone. Natalie’s dad, Eric, reads his staccato one-minute speech directly from an ink-covered sheet of paper.
Dad speaks last. He tears up with pride as he looks over at Robbie and his new bride.
I know I should put everything aside, pause the tornado of my own soul, and be happy for my brother. But I don’t feel happy. When I see my father look at my brother like that, salt stings every wound within me.
He will never look at me with that pride.
The main course is served after the speeches. I have the chicken.
The lights dim after the plates are cleared. Hannah and Rocky huddle in the DJ booth, Rocky nervously scrolling through Natalie’s playlist. No sign of Charlie.
Rocky eventually says, ‘Okay, we’re going to play some requests before we get into our set.’
The requested songs get both sides of the wedding up to the dance floor. This has to be the first wedding in history where redneck trash like “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” has played in the same playlist as Lou Monte’s “Lazy Mary”.
When Uncle Gino busts out his accordion and the crowd forms a huge circle for the Tarantella, I wait for somebody to notice that I’m not in the circle with the rest of the family. I could join them. I could physically snake my arms between someone else and force my way in. But I don’t want to leave my seat until someone notices me and says, ‘Zeke, what are you doing? The whole family’s here. Come join us.’
But nobody does.
I’d had a little fantasy of teaching Hammer how to dance the Tarantella. It’s dead now.
After a while, Rocky and Hannah take to the stage.
‘We were originally going to do an electric party set, but we’re going to try a bit of a mini acoustic set before that delicious-looking wedding cake is cut,’ Hannah breathes
into the mic.
‘Hannah,’ Rocky interjects. ‘Um.’
He jerks his head at the doors of the ballroom, and the entire crowd follows his line of sight. Charlie Roth has just staggered in, lurching with each step he takes. His white singlet is splattered with bright red blood.
My heart jumps into my throat. Then Charlie takes a swig of something from a hip flask, and I realise it’s alcohol that has him staggering, not blood loss. The singlet isn’t soaked in blood: the red splatter is a printed design.
‘It’s okay, guys,’ Charlie calls across the ballroom, pocketing the hip flask. His voice is at drunk volume. ‘We can do an electric show now. I’m here!’
Whispers whip around every table. I don’t know where to look. Robbie and Natalie are muttering to one another. My mum has full-on laser eyes as she watches Charlie cross the dance floor. Dad shakes his head and crosses his arms.
And Natalie’s mum’s papery skin lights up scarlet with incandescent rage.
Charlie reaches the stage and adjusts the mic. His eyes are bloodshot, the edges thick with black eyeliner. He’s freshly painted his nails black; his green satin boxer shorts are hanging out for all to see, his silver-studded belt barely holding up his black skinny jeans. Compared to Hannah in her yellow dress and Rocky in his suit, Charlie looks like a trashy teenage punk.
‘Okay, something old school to get this party started!’ Hannah calls, desperate to plough onwards. She shoots a glare at Charlie as he picks up his guitar. ‘One, two, three, four …’
She launches into “Beat It” by Michael Jackson, which somehow is enough to get people out of their shocked, gossipy stupors and up onto the dance floor.
The set is pumping. Even the middle-aged crowd get up to dance. Charlie and Rocky and Hannah sound rough, but more in tune than at the Summer Dance. Natalie is right in the thick of it, dancing with a triumphant grin while Acid Rose plays. She had to fight the formidable duo of her mother and her mother-in-law just to get her favourite band to play music at her own wedding. Natalie won in the end, but it’s probably the last time in her life she ever will.
I know Charlie’s presence in the room won’t go unchallenged, and it’s not just about his appearance or his tardiness. Natalie’s mum is at the entrance of the ballroom, covering her ear as she mutters into her mobile phone. My mum is beside her, hands on her hips.
Rocky smashes on his drums to signify the end of a Madonna cover.
‘I’m getting signals that it’s time to cut the cake,’ Hannah pants over the mic. ‘We’re gonna take a short break and we’ll be back soon.’
Rocky cuts the mics. Both he and Hannah grab one of Charlie’s arms and practically carry him down to the DJ booth. After Rocky plays some old 80s hit, they huddle together and start whispering at Charlie with shouting faces.
Robbie and Natalie cut their cake. Applause. Confetti. Photo flashes. Tears.
The waitresses begin to cycle the slices of rich, alcohol-soaked fruit cake out to the tables, while Mum and Natalie’s mum supervise. The waitresses hit up the bridal table first, and then head for the DJ’s booth. But before they can get there, Natalie’s mum intercepts them. Her face contorts with anger as she gives them a very specific order.
I already know what it is.
And I watch it unfold. The smallest thing in the universe is somehow the biggest thing to me.
Two plates, two skinny dessert forks, two slices of wedding cake cross the dance floor. The waitress hands one to Rocky and the other to Hannah.
No cake for Charlie.
My legs carry me off the dais to the cake table. Mum and Natalie’s mum are huddled together, arms folded.
‘Move, darling,’ Mum says, tugging the sleeve of my white shirt. ‘You’re getting in the way.’
‘You forgot to give a slice of cake to Charlie Roth.’
Natalie’s mum slams her plate onto the table. ‘That boy is not welcome here,’ she seethes. ‘He has a nerve showing his face.’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘What did he do?’
‘Zeke, go back to your seat, love,’ Mum says, with no love at all in her voice.
‘No, seriously,’ I say. ‘What has he done that’s so bad?’
‘He ruined my friend’s marriage,’ Natalie’s mum says, pressing the knife through the plastic cake icing.
‘I think Alicia’s husband was the one who did that,’ I say.
‘Zeke, sit down,’ Mum says. Her hold on my wrist tightens.
Natalie’s mum locks eyes with me. Her mouth is perfectly flat with suppressed rage. ‘Kevin was a loving, devoted husband until the boy tempted him with his filth. Don’t you know what he is?’
I knew it.
All along, people hid their hatred of Charlie behind what he’d done. He’d broken up a marriage. That was what everyone said. That’s what justified the contempt and the disgust.
But I knew it wasn’t that. The whole time, I knew it.
And now, at last, someone has actually said it.
Don’t you know what he is?
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll give him the cake myself.’
I grab a slice with my hands and plop it on a plate.
As I head for the DJ’s booth, a bony hand squeezes my wrist and jerks it back. The white ceramic plate falls to the floor and shatters. People glance up from their tables.
My mother stares at the fragments of china at her feet. ‘Sit down, Zeke.’
I gape at her. ‘You knocked it out of my hands.’
‘I know,’ Mum says.
‘No. I mean you knocked it out of my hands,’ I say, bones grinding and blood simmering. ‘Not out of Charlie’s hands. Out of my hands.’
‘Zeke, people are looking at us,’ Mum whispers. ‘I will never forgive you if you make a scene and ruin your brother’s wedding.’
‘You knocked it out of my hands.’
‘Stop saying that!’ Mum hisses. ‘Smile, and go back to your seat!’
My heart has never hammered faster in my whole life as I stare her down and say, softly, ‘No.’
A shiver courses over my skin as I turn my back on her. Pieces of china crunch beneath my shoes as I cross the dance floor for the DJ’s booth.
I stretch my hand out to Charlie. ‘Wanna dance?’
Charlie’s bloodshot eyes widen. ‘With who?’
‘With each other.’
‘The dance floor’s empty.’
‘It won’t be once we’re on it.’
‘But this song – it’s …’ A strange smile spreads across Charlie’s face. ‘Dude. It’s Kylie Minogue.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s perfect.’
He takes my hand and stands up, as Hannah and Rocky stare on, silent and stunned.
‘Have you lost it?’ Charlie mutters as I drag him into the centre of the dance floor.
‘Nope,’ I say, grinning. ‘Lucky for you, I’m the only sane person in the whole room.’
I draw my arm around his shoulders and grind my body against his as the thumping disco beat radiates through the ballroom and two hundred people stare on in horror.
Saint Lawrence smiled when they set him on fire, but I won’t go down so easily. I won’t even let the flame catch.
I’ll raise my voice and scream for water.
This saint won’t burn.
20: Cemetery
Charlie
Am I in Zeke’s arms or is he in mine?
Neither of us is leading – I don’t think either of us knows how to dance to disco music – but we’re both moving – clumsy, loping, accidentally stomping on one another’s feet.
I’m too dizzy and bleary to even make out the faces staring on at us, but I know none of them are friendly: you can feel the waves of disgust radiating at us across the ballroom. I’m glad I’m half-cut. If I were sober, dancing with a boy in front of a crowd would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe it is and I’m just too drunk to realise it yet.
Zeke grabs my forearms in a monkey grip and pulls back
against me, spinning around on the dance floor. I grip back and spin against his weight; we twirl in a circle, the only people on this lonely and incredible dance floor.
I’ve never seen Zeke like this: there’s a spark in his eyes and a confidence to his movements. It’s like the old Zeke burned down and this new one crawled out of the rubble – charred black, stained with charcoal, but reborn.
I’m glad he survived the fire, because I didn’t.
In fact, I died all week.
Death #1
My first death was at Hannah’s place on Monday arvo. Rocky was on the hood of his red VT Commodore as I rolled up on my push bike, since my scooter was still painted fucking pink.
‘Hannah told me to tell you to go home,’ Rocky said.
‘I just got here.’
‘She doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Why not?’
Rocky kicked a pebble at me. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to her, do you, Charlie? She’s barely keeping it together.’
‘She’s barely keeping it together?’ I repeated.
‘Just rack off.’
‘I’m here for rehearsal. We can’t play as badly as we did at the Summer Dance. Nobody will ever want to hire Acid Rose again if we fuck up two shows in a row.’
Rocky slams his hand on the hood of his car. ‘Mate, how are you not getting this? We’re done. Acid Rose is over. We’re doing the wedding gig and then that’s it.’
‘You can’t just kick me out.’
‘We’re not kicking you out. We’re out. I’m out. Hannah’s out. We’ve left the band. There’s nobody left to kick you out. It’s over.’
‘Right.’ I got back on my bike. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t even show up on Saturday.’
‘If you don’t, we’ll lose our fee.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘It’d be good for you to know how it feels to lose something.’
Death #2
I skipped school Monday and Tuesday. I couldn’t deal with any of it. And if Brother Murphy was going to expel me anyway, what did it matter if I wagged?
On Wednesday I ordered a pizza delivery for lunch, and my mobile rang five minutes later. I thought it was the pizza place, so I answered. Rookie mistake.
Invisible Boys Page 25
