Give Me Truth (4 page)

I'm back home by one. No sign of Rory or Dad but there's action in the kitchen. The radio is tuned to a gardening talkback show. Mum always listens to it, but her plants still keep on dying. As I draw closer I catch a whiff of cakes hot from the oven.

‘Hi, Caitlin.' She turns off the radio.

‘Been baking, Mum?'

‘Just a bit.'

‘You want me to clean that bowl up for you? Seems a pity to waste it.'

‘If you like.'

I dip my head into the bowl and emerge with a face smeared with chocolate. I only do it to get Mum's reaction.

‘You're a grot,' she says, passing me a paper towel.

I hand it back, then rub my face into her nose – chocolate transplant.

‘A grot and a nuisance.' She wipes off the chocolate. ‘Have you had your lunch?'

I notice that the floor's been cleaned. The sink is shiny. Mum's iced one tray of cakes. She's peeled the veggies for dinner.

‘Um, lunch – no. Not yet.'

‘Ham and cheese sandwich sound okay?'

‘Yep … looks like you've been working hard, Mum.'

As if they're specks of dust, she brushes my words aside.

‘So tell me about the audition. Did you get a part?'

I launch into a monologue – busting to share my news.

‘We all got in, Mum! Me and Glenna and Megan. No one else turned up, except for some geeky boy and his friend. Miss Boyle was desperate. Did I tell you she's putting the play on? Anyway, she even took this try-hard – Lenny, Lanny – something like that. He only auditioned to try to impress us. It didn't work. I feel a bit sorry for him, actually. He's such a loser.'

Mum is moving the whole time. Agitated. Checks the oven to see if the cakes are cooked. Searches through the fridge. Hardly looks at me.

‘Anything I can do to help?'

I only say it as a way of making contact –
Earth to Mum.

‘No, no – go on. I'm listening.'

‘Okay. I liked the other boy we met, David – the loser's friend. Nice blue eyes. He's got straight teeth, too. I think he must have had braces when he was young, same as me. Can I have one of these cakes?' Mum's slicing cheese now. Turns around long enough to nod, then gets back to it. ‘Thanks.' I polish off the cake in two bites. Yum. Then I remember what I was saying. ‘Yeah, this other guy, David, he's going to do the sound and lighting.'

‘Is he? Do you want this grilled?'

‘That'd be good. The play is called
Cyrano de Bergerac
. Some French guy with a big nose. He writes poetry too, so Glenna will be happy, and he's good at sword fights. Miss Boyle's going to lend us the DVD. It was a movie, as well as a play. We're doing four scenes and each of us will have a turn at playing Cyrano. Rehearsals are twice a week – for two months! And it's only going to have a few performances so I think that's an awful lot of effort for not very – '

I glance at Mum and stop. She's at the griller, clinging on to the edge of the stove with both hands as if it's the only thing holding her up. When I see her eyes – squeezed so tightly shut – my first thought is that she'll never be able to open them again.

‘I've heard of that play.' One muffled sob escapes. Only one. ‘It's supposed to be really good.'

‘Mum? What is it?'

‘Everything's all right, Caitlin. Keep talking. Please.'

‘It's about this morning, isn't it? You and Dad. You're still worked up about it.'

‘Let's not talk about that now. Tell me about the play.'

‘Forget the play. Tell me what's going on.'

I stand beside her and try to take her hand in mine. She pulls it away.

‘Nothing.' She folds her arms. ‘Nothing at all.'

‘Yeah, right. Are you sick?'

‘No. It's not anything like that.'

‘Is it Rory?'

‘Oh, for God's sakes – Rory's fine. Everything is fine.'

‘Then it
has
to be Dad. He's said something or done something. Why did you swear at him?'

‘I've had enough of this, Caitlin.'

‘But if it's still bothering you after all this time, then it's important. You have to tell me.'

Mum blocks her ears – as if that can shut me up.

‘It's Saturday, Mum – I know you can hear me – on Saturdays we don't have secrets. You're the one who made the rule. Nothing is off limits, that's what you said. I've told you all my stuff. Everything. And now the first chance I get to hear something of yours, you – '

‘All right.' She holds her hand up for me to stop. ‘I'll tell you.'

I move closer.

‘One thing. This is between us. Only us, Caitlin. Do you understand me?'

Okay, okay. I bite a nail as I nod.

‘Not Megan or Glenna.'

‘I promise, Mum.'

‘You don't talk to your father about it, either. All right?'

‘Got it.'

Just tell me.

‘Your dad. He, um … '

She stops as though the words in her mouth have poisoned her.

This time she lets me take her hand.

You can do this, Mum.

‘Your father cheated on me.'

She pauses for my reaction. Apart from a look of confusion, there isn't any. I'm waiting for her to explain. Dad? Cheated? Dad doesn't cheat. Never. I don't get it. What is she talking about? He didn't. He wouldn't.

‘He had an affair.'

Her eyes tell me it's true. But I still shake my head.

‘I found out last night. He told me about it of his own accord.' Mum tries to rein in her emotions but they keep spilling out. ‘He said it was over. Said he was sorry … I don't know what to do now, Caitlin.'

In my head it's like a washing machine full of thoughts and questions all tangled and spinning, spinning. I babble, ‘Oh my God', before throwing myself at Mum and
hugging her as if I've just learnt she has a deadly disease.

‘Dad loves you.' I can't think of anything else to say. ‘I don't understand what he's done or why, but he loves you – no one else.'

I don't think Mum hears a word I say.

‘I want to get past it, forget it ever happened.' She pushes tears away as fast as they appear. ‘But I don't know if I can.'

‘Just hang on, Mum. Hang on to me.'

‘I can't do that forever.'

‘You won't have to. We'll work this out. We will.'

The words are as empty as a hollow tree but Mum needs them and so do I.

‘You think so, Caitlin?'

‘I know it, Mum.'

I cradle her in my arms as she sways back and forth.

 

A key turns in the front door. I hear Rory's chatter. Dad usually calls out to let us know he's home. Not today. He slips in like a burglar. Mum has fled to the garden, probably digging a hole to bury herself right this minute. I walk out of my room, unsure of what to say or do. I don't feel angry, though I know I should be. It's confusing. I've got sixteen years of loving from Dad weighed up against a few sentences from Mum that tear down everything I knew about him.

‘Here you go.' He hands me an ice-cream.

I feel tenseness shimmering off him, as though he's braced himself for me to say something. He has to know Mum would tell me.

‘It's hokey-pokey flavour.' Rory has more ice-cream on his face than there is in the cone. ‘I've had two. And a packet of chips.'

‘Thanks, Dad,' is all I say. It's too unreal yet. I need time to work it out. He's still my dad.

‘No problem.' He kneels down to help Rory with the ice-cream wrapping. I'm sure he's breathing easier.

Everything has to stay normal. That's my plan. If I can help Mum get past the early days, this thing will go away. It frightens me to think where it could lead if I can't stop it. I know so many kids at school whose family life has been screwed up because of divorce or separation. I'm not going to let that happen to us.

 

Just as we arranged, Megan and Glenna come for lunch the next day. Dad's cooking on the barbecue.

‘Won't be long now.'

Rory is the assistant chef.

‘How come you're burning everything, Dad?'

Mum's given me instructions, which I repeat to the letter.

‘Mum can't make it. She woke up this morning with
a really bad headache, so she's taken some painkillers and gone to bed. Sorry, guys.'

Megan and Glenna sit outside around the table on the back veranda, babbling away intently. Today it's about Megan's new boyfriend, Jimmy. He's a singer in a rock band.

‘It's getting really serious.' Megan delivers this in hushed tones as though it's a national secret. I don't care.

Instead of listening I put on my worried sick face, hoping they'll ask what's wrong, which will allow me to burst out crying while insisting, ‘Nothing's wrong'. And then they can prise the truth out of me and it won't be like I deliberately broke my promise to Mum. They both ignore me.

I sit there trying to think of subtle ways to blab about the dreaded secret, ripping words apart as soon as they come into my head.

No, that won't work – try this – try that – aaarrrgghh!

I wish I could just hold up a sign saying HELP! But I can't.

 

‘Jimmy has asked me to go on the road with him.'

This catches Glenna's attention. Mine too.

‘You're not going, right?' Glenna shakes her head as she says it.

‘I might.'

‘You mean you'd drop out of school?'

‘Yeah, I think so. Probably.'

‘And you'd live with him?'

‘I'd love to. But Mum and Dad aren't real keen about it.'

‘I wonder why?'

That dash of sarcasm is all mine. Megan chooses to ignore it. ‘I think I can talk them around,' she says. ‘Jimmy said he'd teach me guitar. It would be a career. I'll be able to play in his band.'

Glenna looks at me. ‘Can you believe this?' Then back to Megan. ‘You've only known him for a few weeks.'

‘That doesn't matter. You can find out a lot about someone in that time. I understand who Jimmy is and what he stands for. That's enough for me.'

‘I just don't get you, Megan.'

‘What don't you get?'

‘I mean, what about me and Caitlin? I thought we were your friends.'

‘Oh, Glenny.'

‘It doesn't matter. Go with him.' Glenna stands. ‘I'm going to see if they need some help with the barbecue.'

‘Wait.' Megan holds her arm. ‘Don't be angry with me. This is the way life is. Nothing stays the same forever. Explain it to her, Caitlin. She listens to you.'

I always get this job. I'm the practical one with all the answers – except to my own questions. This time though,
I hesitate. I feel the same as Glenna. Why does everything have to change? I want to be sixteen forever, with the same friends and the same family. I don't want my life to be a reality show. I want it to be a feel-good sitcom. Reliable. Safe. Happy.

‘Caitlin. Did you hear me? I need help here.'

I can't deal with the future right now. What might become of our friendship. What might happen with Mum and Dad. It's too much.

My only solution is to hug Glenna. Megan joins in to make it a scrum. ‘Hold on tight.' I say it to myself as much as to them.

A week goes by. It holds our first play rehearsals and the endless procession called school. No one would guess I have any problems. I've almost convinced myself, too, though with each new day at home the atmosphere gets a little worse, a little colder. But we're still together, that's all that matters. And if there is trouble ahead, I say bring it on. We'll get through it. For sure and certain. We're a family.

It's a ten minute walk down Chapel Road to Parish College, but with some careful dawdling you can spin it out to twenty. I need some thinking time so I slip into dawdle mode.

My lip throbs and I think about Dad. We've had our fights. Nearly always my fault. Once I was mad about something – forget what now – and I took it out on the first thing I laid my hands on: Allie's netball trophy. Threw it against the wall and broke it. Allie was shattered even worse than the trophy. I expected to cop it that time. Dad came into my room, closed the door, and sat on the side of my bed.

‘You shouldn't have done that.' He looked very stern.

‘Yeah, I know, Dad. Sorry.'

‘You won't do it again, will you?'

‘No. I won't.'

Then he grinned. ‘This is just between me and you, David … it was a damn ugly trophy, wasn't it? I've wanted to smash it a few times myself. So don't do it again – but well done.'

That was one of the great moments of my life up to that point. As much as the relief I felt, it was sharing those secret words with Dad, feeling so close to him.

‘First thing you do is say sorry,' he said. ‘To Allie and your mum.'

‘Sure.'

‘Then we'll hit the shops – just you and me – and we'll come home with a decent bloody trophy!'

There were lots of times when my temper got the best of me. The worst one was when I was ten or twelve. We had an old pool table out in the shed and Dad and I used to play a fair bit. He would never let me win. Said I had to earn it or winning didn't mean anything. Losing every time was frustrating. So this day – after I'd lost about five games in a row – I chucked a pool cue at him. Really full-on pitched it. Just missed his eye. If he'd hit me that time I would have understood it, but I only got sent to bed. Lay there howling for hours. Made it super-loud so someone would have to come and rescue me. No one came. Deep into the night and finally asleep, I felt a hand touch my hair. I didn't open my eyes, just lay there
pretending to sleep. And Dad sat with me in the dark.

That's how he is. Or was. Played it hard on the outside but underneath he wasn't tough at all. That's why I know that last night was a one-off. He didn't know what he was doing. One mistake doesn't rub out all the good things.

I have to talk to him. Tell him it's okay between us.

A 176 bus is way down the bottom of the hill. I could hop on it and be home in half an hour. Sort out school later. Dad will be thinking about what he did, thinking I'm angry with him, when I'm not. And Mum taking off like that with me and Allie – how's he handling that?

I run to the bus stop.

Mum'll go off her brain, but too bad. Someone in this family has got to –

Honk!

‘David.'

Mum's car glides along on the other side of the road.

‘Come over here and get in.'

Here's a test. One thing to run away when she's not looking. But to ignore her now when she's breathing fire? That's a death sentence, for sure.

‘Don't make me come and get you.'

I keep walking though every step takes me deeper into quicksand.

Honk! Honk!

‘Get … in … the … car!'

‘Oi, Dave!'

Behind me.

‘You heard yer mum.'

Lanny.

And Paul Myers.

‘Go on, get in the car – Daaavid.'

Ha, ha, ha.

‘Why don't you two go and get – '

‘David!'

Mum bangs on the brakes. Throws the passenger door open.

She's halfway out of the car.

I manage to hesitate for about two seconds to try to salvage some pride, but then my impersonation of bravery crashes and burns. I cross the road and get in the car.

Doors.

Seatbelts.

Gone.

I look back and see Lanny and Myers having the best laugh of their lives. My hand jerks out the window, the middle finger saluting them.

But they still laugh.

Mum's too angry to yell at me.

Too angry to even look at me.

So I fire the first shot.

‘Did you have to do that? In front of everyone? I'm not a little kid, you know. You embarrassed me.'

‘Embarrassed
you
?' She looks at me for the first time
– eyes wide and blazing. ‘I embarrassed
you
?'

‘Yeah, that's right. You didn't have to honk the horn. I was just about to get into the car. Now it's gunna be all over school – thanks a lot!'

Mum swerves the steering wheel hard and we lurch off the road, down a side street and barge wildly into the first parking spot.

‘You selfish little bastard.'

‘All I was doing was – '

‘Don't say anything. All right? Just listen for once in your life. Can you do that?'

‘If I have to.'

‘Yes, you have to. And don't talk to me in that tone. I am sick to death of it!'

‘What tone?'

If she goes insane, I win.

‘
THE TONE THAT SAYS YOU CAN SAY ANYTHING YOU LIKE TO ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT – WHEN YOU CAN'T
!'

I'm hanging on to the sides of the seat as if a giant wind has blown through. If loudest wins, Mum just scored gold. But now she's red in the face and looks exhausted. She leans back against the headrest and covers her eyes with both hands.

I wait and wait. It's like she can't make up her mind which way to kill me.

Finally, and much more softly …

‘First of all you apologise for running off like that when I was speaking to you.'

I nod.

‘No, say it, please. And you mean it.'

‘Okay. I'm sorry. That good enough?'

‘No!'

‘I'm sorry! How many times do I have to say it?'

‘You show me some respect in future.'

‘All right.'

She bows her head and sighs.

‘Is that it? Can I go now?'

‘No, you can't go. Stay there and shut up.'

There's a lull and I think she's gathering her breath to launch another attack. But then she looks at me with new eyes – the angry ones gone.

‘David, I don't want to stop you from seeing your dad. You will, for certain. But leave it a while. That's all I'm asking. Can you do that much for me?'

‘Why can't I see him today?'

‘Because' – long dramatic sigh – ‘in case you've forgotten, last night he – '

‘Okay! I know what happened. And I'm over it.'

‘But I'm not. Wait a few days and then we'll talk about it. Can we agree on that?'

‘What happens in a few days? Do I get to see him then?'

‘I'll think about it.'

‘Yeah, right. I know what that means. You can't brush me off like that. I want to see him.'

Mum looks away and folds her arms, shutting me out. She has brown hair the colour of chocolate. It's short and straight and drifts down to just above her forehead. Dad used to massage her head at night and she'd go to sleep on the lounge in front of the TV. Long after Allie and I went to bed Dad would sit with Mum, the TV off, the light off. He'd rub her head for hours. There were so many little things like that. The easy smiles, holding hands, notes they left for each other, always ending with a line of kisses. I don't understand how they could go from that to this. The more I think about it, the more questions I find.

‘Mum?'

‘Yes?'

‘What started all the fighting between you two?'

‘That's a big subject. I don't think I've got time to go into the whole thing now, David.'

‘I don't want every detail. Just give me a clue.'

‘Well, there were a lot of reasons. Basically, your father became jealous – about my career. It all sprang from there.'

‘But, Mum, he encouraged you all the time. He wanted you to make it. He was proud of you, I know that for sure.'

‘I'll always be grateful for how much your dad helped me. But then I was promoted. It happened at the same
time as his business was failing. I'd come home full of stories about how wonderful my job was, and I didn't stop to think that it was hurting him. He became bitter. It just ate him alive.'

‘Can't you talk about that stuff with him, Mum? Work it out?'

‘Perhaps. Perhaps. In time.'

Mum lingers on those words. There's a sadness in the way she says them that I've rarely heard from her. Mostly she's Wonder Woman. Not now. I think of TV footage of people raking through the ashes of burnt-out buildings. That's what she reminds me of. Only when she checks her watch do I know she's back with me.

‘I suppose we better get going,' she says.

‘Have we got a few more minutes, Mum?'

‘If you like. Is there something you wanted to talk about?'

‘I just want to get it clear in my head. About what happened between you two.'

‘I think I just told you.'

‘Yeah, I know. But there was nothing else?'

‘Not really.'

‘I mean … can I ask you something?'

‘Yes.'

‘You didn't have another guy or anything like that?'

‘Is that what your father told you?'

‘Nooo. He doesn't talk to me about stuff like that. Dad
never says anything bad about you. It's only
me
asking.'

‘I see.'

‘It's something I've thought about. I'd be a gutless wonder if I didn't ask – just so I know once and for all.'

‘No, of course there was no one else.' She says it quickly, then stares back at me, unblinking.

‘Fair enough, Mum. That's what I thought. I just had to hear it from you. You don't mind me asking, do you?'

‘No, I understand. Is there anything else you want to know?'

‘Only one last thing. You said you didn't love Dad. You didn't really mean that, did you?'

She slumps a little as if the question is a huge weight driving her into the ground.

After a moment …

‘Not last night. I didn't love him then.'

Mum should be a politician. So good at dodging questions.

‘I'm not just talking about last night,' I persist. ‘You can be mad at someone when they're an idiot. You can even hate them for a while. But it doesn't stay like that. If you really love them, you still love them. You know what I mean?'

‘Yes, I understand.'

‘So … do you love him, Mum?'

There's a long pause when there shouldn't be and suddenly I know her answer without her saying it. A tear
gives it away.

She moves closer and then her head's on my shoulder. I feel angry, disappointed, betrayed. Maybe
angry
tops the list. I don't understand how you can switch love off. I'm sure I never will. But my mum's hurting and I can't help but put my arms around her.

For about half a minute she stays next to me and there's no armour between us, no need for us to say anything.

Just as quickly the spell is broken.

‘Time to go. We'll
both
be late if we're not careful.'

She pecks me on the forehead and then, seeing the damage, uses a handkerchief to wipe away the lipstick.

‘I'll ring Dad today,' I say. ‘I have to.'

‘Of course.'

She smiles – not one of those brand new
the world is wonderful
jobs – a second-hand, battle-scarred smile.

‘That's a good idea. Ring him. He'd like that … now, shall I drop you at school or would you rather walk?'

Don't come anywhere near my school – puleeze!

‘Here is good, thanks, Mum.'

As I get out of the car she touches my arm and I turn around and look at her.

‘You didn't want me to lie, did you, David?'

‘No,' I say. But I wish she had.