Maeve groaned. She didn’t care that much about the party, but she couldn’t let Bianca down. ‘Mum, it’s probably the last party of the year. And then it will be summer and there won’t be any parties. At least, not ones that I’m invited to.’
‘There’s always muck-up day,’ said Andy, turning around again and grinning. ‘We were real ratbags at my school at the end of the year. Me and the boys, we put an ad in the Sydney Morning Herald – “Prime real estate for sale”. You know, “three hectares, ripe for redevelopment, central location”. Then we put the phone number of the Principal’s office. The switchboard rang hot as hell.’
‘I’m only in Year 8, Andy. You don’t muck up in Year 8. That’s Year 12.’
‘Andy, don’t tell her these stories. It doesn’t help,’ scolded Sue.
‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy and Maeve a crazy girl,’ added Andy, not turning around to look at them this time.
‘If Andy thinks it’s all right, then why not? You always said that you hated the way your mum and dad stopped you from doing anything fun. And now you’re even worse with me.’
‘She’s right, Sue. Your parents still can’t leave you alone. You don’t want history repeating.’
‘Don’t you start, Andy. At least my parents have tried to help us out.’
‘Help us out? You mean manipulated. Manipulated you and Maeve. Bullied you into sending her to the school of their choice, not yours or hers. Nothing they do for you comes without strings attached. Everything is conditional. That’s not love, that’s coercion.’
Suddenly, the argument wasn’t about Maeve at all. She backed away as Andy and Sue started dredging up every problem they’d ever had with her grandparents. It was always the same. Why did Andy have to bring the fight back to him every time? Now Sue would never let her go.
Maeve stormed out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. She sat on her bed with the doona over her head and tried to pretend she couldn’t hear the quarrelling downstairs. She wished Andy would shut up. It wasn’t as if the decision was up to him anyway. He wasn’t her parent. She and Mum had been fine before he came along. Maeve remembered crying when Sue told her Andy was moving in with them. It was as if she wasn’t enough for Sue.
After half an hour, the shouting from downstairs subsided and the house grew still. Maeve pulled the doona off her head and sat down at her desk, staring out the little window that looked out towards the Harbour Bridge. She pulled one of the Harry Potter books off her bookshelf and flicked through the pages, re-reading her favourite scenes at Hogwarts, half-wishing her grandparents had sent her to a boarding school.
Later that night, when Maeve had gone to bed, she heard Andy clumping down the hall to Ned’s room. That’s what they did when things got really spiky after an argument. One of them would get up and sleep on the folding bed beside Ned’s cot. In the morning they’d pretend that they’d slept with him because he was restless. Neither of them was a good liar.
Very faintly, Maeve could hear the sound of her mother crying. She rolled onto her side and covered her ears with her hands at first, but then she slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hall. Sue lay curled up alone.
Maeve pulled back the doona and slipped in beside her mum. Sue was lying so still that for a moment, Maeve wondered if she was holding her breath.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she whispered to her mother’s back.
‘I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry if we woke you.’
‘No, you didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep.’
‘I hope you understand, when Andy and I have our fights. It’s not about you. It’s not your fault or anything.’
‘It’s okay. He’s not my dad, anyway.’
‘He does love you, Maeve.’
‘Maybe. But I didn’t choose him and he didn’t choose me. You were the one who wanted to play happy families,’ said Maeve, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.
Sue lay very still and then she turned around to face Maeve.
‘You didn’t choose me either.’
‘Maybe I did,’ replied Maeve. ‘Maybe I saw you from heaven and thought, there’s the best mum in the world. Ned thought the same thing. That’s why we’re here.’
Maeve could just make out a small smile on her mother’s face in the dim light. ‘I’m so glad you and Ned have each other. I always wanted a brother or a sister. I hope you two will always be there for each other.’
‘Just wait until he’s a teenager. Then we’ll really start ganging up on you and Andy.’
Sue laughed. ‘I hope not. And I hope you don’t tell him everything either. There are some things parents like to keep to themselves. I didn’t know you knew about the party when you were conceived.’
Maeve wriggled uncomfortably and slipped her hand out from under the covers. ‘I’m sorry for shouting that at you. I’ve known for ages. I heard you telling someone once. I was sitting under the kitchen table, playing with Ned, and I heard you.’
‘I guess it’s good we can talk about it, Maeve,’ said Sue. ‘I could never talk about anything with my own mother. Or my father.’
‘So tell me something different about my dad, my real dad.’
Sue grew quiet but Maeve knew she’d offer some small bit of information. It was a game they played, like knitting a scarf, where each time they talked a few new stitches were cast on and the scarf grew longer and more interesting. Before Andy came along, Maeve had never been able to ask her mother about her birth father, but somehow, now that he and Ned were in their lives, the past wasn’t so treacherous.
‘I wish I’d known him better. When I found out I was pregnant, I did try to find him, Maeve. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know that, Mum.’ This was always part of the process. Maeve had to reassure her mother if she was going to get her to talk about what had happened. As a young woman, Sue had fought with her parents to be allowed to go to art school and then, to their horror, she’d fallen pregnant to a stranger. It was bad enough that he wasn’t from a good Chinese-Australian family but he wasn’t even Australian. An Irish backpacker, a whirlwind romance, an accidental baby.
‘I loved his voice. I loved the stories he told. That man, he knew so many stories. Not just about Ireland, but about all the places he’d visited. He had a way of looking at things that was different to anyone I’d ever met. He was a real traveller, not a tourist. He’s probably still travelling. One day, I’ll give you the letter he wrote from Nepal.’
‘You never told me there was a letter.’
‘It was the only one.’
Sue was silent then. Maeve knew they were wandering into dangerous territory.
‘Tell me the story about how I got my name. Tell me that one again,’ said Maeve, snuggling down beside her mum, pretending that she was little again.
Maeve heard Sue take a deep breath. Somehow, stories were always easier to tell in the darkness.
‘Davy told me this story while we were riding a ferry across the harbour. I think that’s why I remembered it so well. And it was really rough on the water that day. We were caught in a storm and Davy had his arms around me. He was reciting a poem. He had this amazing memory. He could memorise great long poems word for word.
‘Something about the sound of the sea and his voice on that day stayed with me. When you were being born, I thought it was like riding a storm at sea. So as soon as you were in my arms, I looked at you and remembered the poem about the Irish queen that he’d told me on that stormy ferry ride. Maeve was a great ruler all in her own right, because in ancient times in that country, the women could be as powerful as the men. If I’d given you a Chinese name, it might have been Mu Lan.’
‘Like Mulan in that Disney cartoon?’
‘Not quite like the cartoon, but she was a great warrior woman, and so was Queen Maeve.’
‘And you remembered the poem when you saw me?’
‘I’m not like Davy, I can’t memorise poetry, but I never forgot
some of those lines. That Queen Maeve
. . . had lucky eyes and a high heart,
And wisdom that caught fire like the dried flax,
At need, and made her beautiful and fierce,
Sudden and laughing.
And that was you, when you were born, you were so beautiful and fierce and then you opened your eyes and I could have sworn that you smiled at me. They say newborn babies can’t see to smile, but you smiled. Sudden and laughing.’
‘There was another poem too, wasn’t there?’
‘That’s right. But I can only remember a snatch of the other one. There was a line that ran ‘you who are the Maeve of me’. Isn’t that beautiful? And you were my Maeve, the Maeve of me. So I couldn’t have called you by any other name. Even if Goong Goong and Por Por didn’t like it. I was a disappointment to them, but you will never be a disappointment to me, Maeve.’
Sue took Maeve’s hand and held it in a firm and loving grip.
‘Then I can go to the party?’ said Maeve, entwining her fingers with her mother’s and holding tight.
‘Maeve, don’t you ever let go?’
‘Nope, never. Why did you name me after a warrior queen? I had to turn out stubborn with a name like Maeve.’
Maeve heard her mother laughing in the darkness.
‘Okay, chicken, you can go to the party. But I will drop you off and I will be there to pick you up at ten p.m. on the nose and not a minute later.’
‘But it doesn’t start until eight! That’s only two hours.’
‘That’s two hours more than you were going to get when this conversation started. Take it or leave it.’
‘Done,’ said Maeve.
5
Three Musketeers
Steph was sullen as they sat at the bus stop together.
‘You won’t miss much,’ said Maeve. ‘It will be boring without you.’
‘I feel like I’m missing heaps,’ said Steph, flicking at the pages of her school diary. ‘Bunka doesn’t want me around the way she used to. It’s like three’s a crowd.’
‘That’s crazy, Steph. I know she doesn’t feel that way. It’s only really good when all three of us are together.’
‘Don’t start that triple-treat stuff again. You know things have changed. Sometimes I think I should cross over to Balmain High for Year 9. It would be a lot easier for my folks. The scholarship only covers fees and there are always extras.’
‘What? Leave St Phil’s! You can’t!’ Maeve felt her cheeks flush. Sometimes she worried it was all her fault that they were at St Philomena’s and not the local high school. Maeve’s grandparents had insisted that she attend St Philomena’s. When Steph and Bianca discovered that Maeve had no choice they both made sure she wouldn’t be alone. Steph talked her parents into letting her sit the scholarship exam so the three of them could stay together. It would have been terrible to be split up after sharing two years of kindergarten and seven years of primary school.
‘St Phil’s is great, but what I really want to do in the end is be an actor. I don’t need to be at St Phil’s for that.’
‘We have a great drama department. Ms Donahue is a legend, and you like McCabe too, don’t you? I mean, he’s the one who calls us the Three Musketeers. I’ve been thinking, maybe that’s a better name for us than triple treat.’
‘Are you trying to not talk about this party?’
Maeve took Steph’s face in her hands and forced her to look at her squarely. ‘Steph, you know what Bunka’s like. This time it’s me, next time it’s you. We do stuff without her too. We’re equal but different, that’s all.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Steph, her sulky expression giving way to a smile. ‘I get it. Bunka’s the beauty, I’m the brain, and you’re the muscle in this outfit?’
Maeve hugged her and laughed. ‘Just like the Three Musketeers! I looked them up on the Internet. I think you’re like Aramis. He’s the stylish thinker. And Bunka’s like Porthos – he’s the flirt.’
‘So what does that leave you? You’re not really muscly enough to be the strongman.’
‘Well, the third one is called Athos – but he’s not really like me. I mean, he has this secret past.’
‘Maybe that is you!’
‘Yeah, right. It’s so secret not even I know about it!’
‘Do I look fat in this?’ asked Bianca, turning around so Maeve could check her out from behind.
‘You don’t look fat in anything, Bunka. You know that,’ said Maeve.
‘I wish we were older. I’m so over being thirteen.’
‘Thirteen is okay. But fourteen will be better, I suppose.’
‘No, fifteen,’ said Bianca, sighing. ‘Life will really start happening when we’re fifteen.’
‘Actually, Bunka, our life is happening right now. Like this party that we’re meant to be at.’
They’d been at Jess’s for nearly an hour but Bianca had spent most of that time in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub looking stressed-out. Maeve told her the story of Queen Maeve and how that had helped talk her mother around, but Bianca seemed distracted by the mirror and had trouble following it.
‘Bunka, can we please go back to the party now?’ asked Maeve.
‘I can’t. I can’t go out until I’ve decided who I like best, Josh or Omar.’
‘Omar? Since when did Omar get on the radar?’
‘Since Saturday. And then he said “Hi” to me when he arrived so now I am really torn.’
‘No, you are really twisted. I’m going back out to the party and you can either sit here or come out with me.’
Most of the party was happening in the back yard where coloured lights were strung up along the fence. Maeve stood by the food table and picked at a plate of chips. Apart from Bianca, she didn’t really know anyone. They were all in Years 9 and 10 and only half of them were from St Philomena’s. She couldn’t believe she’d fought so hard to get permission to come.
Maeve looked at her watch. It was only 9.30. She still had half an hour to get through before they’d get picked up. Sue had insisted on coming in with them and talking to Jessica’s mum at the beginning of the party. It had been so embarrassing. No one else had even arrived. Somehow, the tables covered in pink tablecloths and the pink fruit punch with strawberries floating in it had reassured Sue and she’d left looking cheerful. Maeve hoped she wouldn’t come back inside when she came to pick them up. Things were definitely starting to look seedy. Food was spilt all over the back lawn and there was a growing pile of discarded tinnies down near the barbecue. A crowd of older kids were sitting on lounges right down the back of the yard, the tips of their cigarettes bright in the darkness. In the living room that opened onto the back porch, a dozen girls were dancing to the Black Eyed Peas with Josh Whitton in the middle. There was definitely a shortage of boys at the party.
Maeve filled a plastic cup with the punch, but after a mouthful she discreetly spat it out behind a tree.
‘Are you okay?’
Maeve wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Oh hi, Omar. Yeah, I’m fine. But the punch is disgusting. It was okay before, but it tastes weird now.’
‘It’s spiked. I saw Joe Turner pour a bottle of vodka into it.’
‘My mother will flip if she finds out there’s been drinking here.’
‘Jessica’s mum doesn’t look too stoked about it either,’ he said, gesturing with his head towards the back porch. A girl that Maeve didn’t recognise was throwing up in a bucket while Jessica’s mum, with an expression like thunder, held the girl’s long hair out of the way.
‘Yuk,’ said Maeve.
‘Yeah, gross,’ added Bianca, stepping between Maeve and Omar.
‘Hey, why don’t you two come hang with us?’ suggested Omar. ‘You can get a great view across Glebe from the upstairs balcony.’
‘We’d love to,’ said Bianca, crooking her finger for Maeve to follow. Maeve groaned inwardly.
Upstairs, on the balcony overlooking the street, a sm
all group sat chatting, their heads close together. Maeve hung over the railing and stared out into the night. When her mother’s silvery Corolla turned into the street she felt a rush of relief.
‘C’mon, Bunka. My mum is waiting for us downstairs.’
Bianca turned to Omar and touched him lightly on the arm.
‘See ya round, Omar. Gotta go.’
But Omar got up and caught her as she turned to leave. Without speaking he pulled Bianca to him and kissed her. Maeve saw Bianca stiffen but she didn’t pull back. Maeve didn’t know where to look.
As they walked down the stairs together, Maeve whispered to Bianca, ‘What was it like?’
‘Kind of gross. I hate my braces. I was so worried about cutting his lips I couldn’t relax. And his tongue! He tried to stick it in my mouth but it was all cold and gross and tasted like cigarettes. I think I’ll have to take up smoking if I’m going to ever get used to kissing him.’
‘Bianca!’
‘Only kidding. Anyway, maybe I like Josh better.’
Maeve laughed. ‘You are incredible. We should call you Bee instead of Bunka, buzzing from one flower to the next.’
‘Queen Bee and Queen Maeve, I like it!’
6
Tunnel vision
Maeve tugged at her uniform, trying to make the zip lie straight.
‘I really need a new uniform, Mum. This is so too small for me.’
Sue was trying to clean Ned’s face, wiping the remnants of his breakfast away and buttoning up a new shirt. ‘The school year is nearly over. You only have another six weeks. You’re not going to grow much in that short a time, sweetheart. Better to wait until February, then you’ll get the most wear out of the new one.’
‘But it’s pinching in all the wrong places,’ complained Maeve. ‘Ned gets a new shirt, which he doesn’t even need, and I have to wait months for a new uniform.’
Suddenly, she looked up and saw how tired and unhappy her mother looked.
‘Mum? Are you okay?’
‘Ned’s starting crèche today. I finally found him a place. Which is great. But even with an extra couple of days a week, I can’t see myself earning enough to justify the cost. And then there’s this Hong Kong holiday idea.’
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong Page 3
