The Life and Times of Gracie Faltrain

by Cath Crowley

  ‘Mum wants us there for the start of the next term. She thinks it’ll be easier that way.’

  Easier for who? I have so much to say, huge sentences about how I will miss her. I have so many words they won’t fit in my mouth. I try to break off a tiny piece of them. I can’t. I shrug her hand off my shoulder and leave.

  I want to ride back to Jane’s and tell her what I’m really thinking. Life won’t be anything without her. It will be a room with no television. No radio. Life will be noise with no sense. I can’t. If I say that then I’ll cry. So I don’t think about her standing at the door watching me close the gate. I paint out her face, the corners of her mouth pointing down, and her eyes, that look scared for the first time that I can remember.

  Mum is sitting at the kitchen table when I get there. Worry has dug trenches into her face.

  ‘Mum, I’ll work for free at the nursery.’

  ‘Gracie, I need someone responsible.’

  ‘I will be, Mum.’ I hold out my hand to her and she takes it.

  Most people wouldn’t describe my mum as gentle. If you saw her in the supermarket, speeding down the aisle with the shopping trolley, you’d definitely think, get out of that woman’s way, quick, like before she runs you over.

  But if you’ve ever seen her at the nursery, you’d say something else. There you’d see her touching the leaves of the agapanthus, looking for signs of disease. You’d see her putting her finger into the soil around a potted plant, testing to see if it’s thirsty. She touches me when I’m sick and I feel like one of her plants, her hands lightly checking my temperature. She’s slow and kind then, like now.

  ‘We’ll see how it goes, Gracie,’ she says. ‘If the Championships mean that much to you, I’ll try to find a way.’

  I hug her.

  We rent a video tonight. I curl up on the couch with my head on Mum’s lap. I tell her about Jane and hear her reply echoing through her belly: ‘It will be all right.’ I move closer to her and squash the feeling that someone is nibbling slowly at the corners of my life.

  I wish Dad was here, watching horror films with Mum and me, three voices shouting at the woman about to be attacked, ‘He’s behind you!’ I know Dad wants to be here. I know he misses us like crazy too.

  BILL FALTRAIN

  I’m lost. Not in the geographical sense, I’ve always been good with maps. I’m in Bendigo, trying to convince a school librarian that she needs a set of Geological Explorer books to really make her resource centre the learning hub she’d like it to be. Kids will spend their lunchtimes in this room if only she has these books on the shelves. I look at her and think, I haven’t been home in months. I should walk out of here and drive. I should get on the freeway and go without stopping.

  In my mind Gracie is hugging me, yelling at me about soccer and boys and books. I can’t get on that road, though. I’m lost in my heart and that’s the worst kind of lost to be. I feel like a sailor at the turn of the century, moving across oceans and discovering new lands. I’m looking desperately at the horizon, searching for a point to fix my sights on. The sea seems to stretch out forever. The sky is dark; I know there’s going to be a wall of water, powered by winds, and it’s going to be unstoppable. I want to shelter Gracie. I want to protect her from the waves.

  How can I protect Gracie when I can’t even take care of myself? I look at her and I see the person I was, years ago. She has my smile; it’s a little crooked on one side. Her shoulders are the same shape as mine. But Gracie has a whole life ahead of her. Mine’s half over and I can’t work out what I want as the ending.

  I should go back to Gracie and Helen. There was a time when that was all I wanted. I kept leaving little pieces of myself whenever I went away, though, and less and less of me went back to them. I didn’t laugh as much with Gracie. I didn’t tell Helen what I was thinking anymore. It’s not like I’ve left all those pieces in the one place, either. They’re scattered and I can’t remember where. I’m always looking for what will make me whole. What will make me happy?

  Somewhere along the way I started to think it wasn’t Helen anymore. She hasn’t changed. Her laugh is still the one I remember. Her finger is still the one I put the ring on all those years ago. I can’t understand why I don’t want to curve next to her, keep her back warm anymore. Surely you don’t lose love like keys?

  5

  fate noun: a prophetic declaration of

  what must be

  HELEN

  The day I met Bill he was wearing odd socks. His shirt was untucked. I remember all this. Things he has forgotten.

  I was playing tennis with a friend when he walked onto the court. His hair was falling across one eye, like he was winking at all the girls. My friend lobbed the ball at me and I hit it hard. It went right where my heart was – well, sort of. Lucky I was holding back. We might never have had Gracie.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said and ran over to help. I wasn’t, though. Sometimes destiny needs a little help from a killer backhand.

  BILL

  I’d planned on the fact that Helen would be playing tennis. She didn’t know it but I’d been watching her for weeks. Of course, I hadn’t planned on the ball hitting me like that. What man would? She was worth it, though.

  ‘Good shot,’ I gasped, lying on the ground trying to look casual. It was fate. We were meant to be.

  GRACIE

  I’ve heard the story a million times. Mum lobbed a ball and hit Dad in the nuts. Whammo. The crazy thing is, the way they always told it to me, it sounded romantic. Sort of like a movie where the girl gets the guy but you don’t expect her to. In the past I’ve always loved hearing the story. Right now, though, I think those two have a lot to answer for.

  I mean, you grow up hearing a story like that and you start to expect things. Things like, love will come your way at just the right moment, or there’s a person out there who’s meant only for you. Like he’s got a label on his jumper with my name on it. A person starts looking for signs. Take Nick, for example. He came to our school in Year 8. The first time I saw him in class he had World Soccer hidden behind his science book. I was sitting near him and he must have known I was trying to look at it because he held it up a bit higher so that I could see. I caught a glimpse of a squad crowded around a trophy, fists in the air, and I knew. Nick was it. Maybe I should take Jane’s advice: ‘Just hit him in the balls, Faltrain, and test your parents’ theory.’

  NICK

  Heads it’s Annabelle, tails it’s – Gracie Faltrain.

  MARTIN

  There’s a whole heap of photos in the bottom drawer of our kitchen. Piles of them, not in albums or anything, just handfuls of stuff we’ve done together. There’s one of Mum and Dad before Karen and me were born. They’re standing out the front of our old house. The grass is so long in the picture it’s covering the bottom of Mum’s skirt. Dad’s looking at the camera and his eyes are wide and sort of wild. His smile’s so big I can see his teeth. His face looks kind of hopeful and their fingers are hooked, like they belong together. I can’t tell which fingers are Mum’s and which are Dad’s. She’s holding on just as tightly as he is, so how come she let go?

  6

  depart verb: to leave. Go. Gone. As in

  not coming back. Ever?

  GRACIE

  Mum says there’s a reason for everything. I can’t see any good reason why I should have to lose my best friend. It’s just not fair. I feel sick every time I see a plane. I want to rip England out of my atlas, declare it a non-country so they can’t leave. I have dreams where I’m on the runway, holding on to the wings of the plane, my body buffeted by the wind at take-off.

  I don’t want to say goodbye to Jane. Who thought of that word anyway? There’s nothing good in Jane’s leaving. What if I never see her again? Jane knows everything about me. She knows the scar on my leg is from when I fell on a nail in the adventure playground after Brendan Carlen dared me to walk on the fence. She knew to stand there smiling and then run and get my mum as soon a
s he was out of sight. All my secrets are hers, liking Nick, missing Dad so much I can’t stand it. Laughing with her makes everything all right, but maybe it would be better to pretend that she was never my friend so that I won’t miss her.

  She opens the door and I feel her shoulderblades through her jumper as I grab her and hold on. Tight. Maybe if I’m quiet no one will notice me hanging on to Jane as she walks onto the plane? Jane lets go before me. ‘Faltrain,’ she says,‘ you’ll be all right without me.’ I know that to get through the rest of this year, I will need to remember the way her voice sounds when she says it.

  ‘But I’ll miss you. Who’ll save me a seat on the bus in the mornings? Who’ll listen to me about Nick? Who will I watch videos with?’

  ‘And who will I hang out with, Faltrain? Have you thought about that?’ Her voice is dry and cracking like clay. I tell her she’ll be all right but it’s like I’m talking through a screen door. She’s on the other side and I can touch her through the wire, but she’s just a shadow that I have to strain my eyes to see.

  ‘Gracie?’

  ‘Dad! Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to call you.’

  ‘I know, kiddo, I’m sorry. I’m going to be a little longer; I’ve got some things to tie up here.’

  Have you ever tried really hard not to cry? It just gets harder and harder to speak, like there’s a tennis ball in your throat and you either need to spit it out or swallow it but you can’t do either. I don’t want Dad to know I’m crying, so I have to be quiet, say things like, ‘Uh-huh. Yep.’

  ‘So I’ll see you soon, honey?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I love you, kiddo.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Gracie? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yep. Yep. Yep.’

  BILL

  How can I explain to her that I just can’t come home? It’s too soon, it’s too late; I do want to be with Helen every second of the day but at the same time I don’t want to be with her at all. I want to have back what I felt at the beginning. I could no more leave her then than leave my arms or legs.

  How do you find the beginning though? There are no roads or signs. You start to doubt it even exists. The hardest thing isn’t deciding that I want to go back to when Helen and Gracie and I were us. The most difficult thing is finding the map to get there.

  Imagining that Gracie and Helen aren’t real anymore gives me a little peace. Except at night when I dream of them on the beach, walking along the shoreline. They’re looking out for my ship; it’s just a shape pasted on the horizon. They’re rubbing their arms in the cold and waiting for me to drop anchor.

  7

  Orion noun: the most important

  constellation of stars to recognise, the

  Hunter;

  Annabelle Orion noun: the huntress

  GRACIE

  The first person to talk to me at school about Jane is Annabelle Orion. If we’re getting technical, she doesn’t actually say anything. She just looks at me. She’s given me this exact look once before. I wanted to punch her then too. Right in the face.

  We were in kindergarten. I was pushing Annabelle, very gently, on the swing. Somehow, she tilted forward and fell on her face into the tanbark. She had little bits of bark stuck to her cheeks and she was crying, loud. Real loud. I only wanted to cover her mouth to dull the sound. I put my fingers to her lips to shoosh her and then the teacher came around the corner. Annabelle shouted, ‘Gracie did it. She pushed me.’ And there I was, standing next to the evidence. Framed.

  There were no witnesses and the teacher took Annabelle’s word over mine. After all, I was the one with my hand over the screaming victim’s mouth. Mum wiped streaks of anger from my face that afternoon. She didn’t ask me if I did it. She didn’t have to.

  Annabelle kept crying that day until the teacher went back inside. And then she smiled. A wide smile of triumph.

  ANNABELLE

  Why don’t I like Gracie Faltrain? She pushed me over once in kindergarten, and then she lied about it. She hasn’t changed at all. I looked at her in the toilets today and she said she was going to punch me. In the face. I bet she didn’t tell you that, did she?

  GRACIE

  Everyone else whispers today in English when Mrs Wilson says we can work in pairs. I rearrange my books on the table. It doesn’t matter that there’s someone sitting in the chair next to me. Without Jane, it’s empty. I’ve emailed her every day since she left; I keep my phone with me so I can text her but it’s not the same.

  Alyce Fuller asks me to be her partner. Her question is shaped like a hesitant hand held out for shaking. I look at her face and slightly hunched shoulders. I see Annabelle in the back corner, taking it all in. I think about replacing Jane with Alyce. ‘I’m working with someone else,’ I say. She blushes from her neck to her hairline, a fire spreading in a dry field.

  Alyce is nice. It isn’t that. Without Jane, though, I’m on the market. If I start to hang out with the wrong people then that’s who I’ll be stuck with for the rest of my time here at school. That’s almost three whole years of hanging out with Alyce. I’m not ready to be auctioned off to the first bidder, especially when that bidder hangs out with the school librarian.

  By the time I’ve said no to Alyce, though, everyone is already paired off. I have to work on my own. So does she. Her eyes are red and she keeps biting her lip. What sort of a person cries because she has to work alone?

  ALYCE

  ‘Can I go to the toilet, Mrs Wilson?’ I ask and look down at my jumper.

  ‘Can’t you hold on for five minutes? The bell is about to go.’

  ‘I don’t think I can, Mrs Wilson.’ I know what she’s thinking: should I send someone with her? Is she all right? I know this is why she takes her time. Her hands snake across her desk, searching for the hall pass.

  Let me go, let me go, I think, before I cry and everyone sees me.

  ‘What’s the date today?’ she asks, filling out each line carefully.

  Hurry, or everyone will see my face shaking, my lips like rubber. Hurry. Everyone will think that they know why. That’s what I’ll hate the most. They’ll talk about me when I leave and Mrs Wilson will say, ‘Shoosh, get back to work,’ worried that I’ll hear. She’ll pull Gracie aside and talk to her and then I’ll have to stand there while she’s made to say sorry.

  I cry in the toilets, looking at the one line of graffiti that can’t be scrubbed away. Someone has made it permanent, scratched it deep into the wood above the toilet roll: This place is crap.

  It wasn’t just what Gracie said that upset me. It was that I stood there while she said it.

  GRACIE

  When the day starts as badly as mine did, you have to give yourself a little reward. At recess I head straight to the tuckshop. I’ve got a craving for a jam doughnut with pink icing. Nothing, not even a queue a mile long, is going to distract me from my goal. Not even Annabelle Orion, lining up behind me, will keep me from my doughnut.

  ‘Hi, Gracie, how’s life without Jane?’

  ‘Fine, Annabelle.’ I keep my response short. It’s better not to engage with the enemy.

  ‘I think you and Alyce will make great study partners.’

  I’m quiet. Ignore the enemy and they’ll go away. Keep your mind focused on the doughnut.

  ‘It’s good you’ve got a friend. She’ll be handy to have around at exam time.’

  And this is where I make my first mistake: ‘We are not good friends, Annabelle. I do not want to be friends with her.’

  And mistake number two: ‘She is boring.’

  And mistake number three: ‘I would not be friends with her if she was the last person alive in the school.’

  I’ve engaged with the enemy and she has me right where she wants me. I’m back in kindergarten taking the wrap for the swing incident all over again. I know from the smile on Annabelle’s face, without even looking, that Alyce is standing behind us in the queue.

  I stand in the line and face the
front. I know I should say something to Alyce. But what’s the right thing to say when you’ve just told someone they’re the most boring person in the school? How about sorry, Faltrain? I can hear Jane’s suggestion now. That’s no good; maybe it’s better if I don’t say anything? I’m still in the middle of my conversation with myself; I’m even nodding and moving my hands around a little, when Nick comes up behind me.

  ‘Gracie, hi.’

  There they are again, those flicks, that smile.

  ‘Come and sit with us on the oval?’ he asks.

  I forget all about Alyce, her confidence sliced into like a knife through flesh. She’s in the background bleeding and I don’t even bother to give her first aid.

  ‘Okay.’ I throw my answer at Annabelle. Her face is covered in jealousy, layered like foundation that’s one shade too dark for her skin.

  Shove that up your jumper, Annabelle Orion. Life’s a cake and I just got a huge piece of it.

  ALYCE

  They’re right. This place is crap.

  8

  problem noun: a difficult question,

  situation, person;

  problematic adjective: Gracie Faltrain

  NICK

  The problem with Gracie Faltrain is that she needs to make an effort with her looks. I mean, on the soccer field she sort of glides. I noticed that the first time I saw her play. She looks a bit ordinary when I talk to her at school, though, you know? None of the guys in our year have gone out with her. Word is, she doesn’t even like guys. I bet I can change that, though. If I wanted to, that is.